#ada shelby fanfiction

[zablife]

Green Gloves (Part 1)

Ada Shelby & OC (Irene Robinson)

Summary: In the last months of 1917, a shy newcomer named Irene meets unruly Ada Shelby, forming a bond that only deepens with time.

Author's Note: I realized this would be too long to post as a one shot so I'll be posting 2-3 parts of this mini series.

WINTER 1917

The crowded church hall was quiet save for the clinking of knitting needles and a few scattered whispers. Ada quickly noted that every girl from school seemed to be in attendance and it was clear they’d all been kept away from home for the same purpose. That and, of course, the ever present need for socks and mittens for their fathers and brothers away at war. 

Losing interest in her project, Ada began to search for a diversion. Looking up from her work, her gaze drifted toward a ginger haired girl opposite her. She watched at the skillful way the girl’s hands worked, quickly looping over one another in a satisfying rhythm. It was a talent Ada sadly didn’t possess, a shortcoming she was well aware of thanks to Polly’s frequent complaints about leaving all the mending to her.

Head dropping toward the ball of yarn in her lap to pick at the tangled mess, Ada let out an heavy sigh. This would be surely be another wasted effort, she thought as she picked the strands apart to use them for a game of cat’s cradle. That too came to an abrupt halt when her clumsy fingers betrayed her once more, ring finger stuck tightly in the intricate web strung between her palms. 

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed while tugging at the ends helplessly, a giggle erupting at her pathetic plight.

Several young women looked up from their knitting, needles poised in the air along with their eyebrows at her language. Only one girl at the table remained unphased by the disturbance, which intrigued Ada.

“Has your mum sent you to stay out trouble on baking day as well?" Ada whispered hoarsely, earning her a sharp hush from the corner.

“Something like that…” the shy girl noted with a giggle, missing a stitch as she stared into the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. 

“I’m Ada. What’s your name?” 

“Irene,” the girl mumbled as she diligently worked to repair her mistake. 

“That’s a lovely scarf,” Ada remarked, voice full of hushed awe at the intricate detail in the pattern which had obviously been crafted with a great deal of love.

Smiling to herself at her progress, Irene folded the scarf in her lap before glancing up slowly. Her face tilted at an angle which hid her blushing cheeks, making it obvious to Ada she wasn’t the kind of person who took a compliment easily. In fact, she wondered if the girl would even answer.

“Thank you,” Irene eventually acknowledged before turning the attention back to Ada. “What are you knitting?”

“A disaster,” Ada snorted, holding up the knotted yarn she’d balled in her fist.

The unexpected candor made Irene laugh out loud, clamping a hand over her mouth to stay out of trouble and spare Ada’s feelings. “I can help if you’d like,” she offered sweetly.

“Need all the help I can get, don’t I?” Ada remarked, mouth quirked in playful smile.

“I think you might,” Irene conceded with a giggle.

——————————

SPRING 1918

“Why are we here?” Ada asked as she fidgeted in her seat. She knew why. Her best friend’s interest in medicine and a desire to help those in need, but it didn’t make the time pass any more quickly.

“To help the war effort. Try and pay attention. Won’t you?” Irene urged, focusing her full attention to the first aid lecture. A humorless and frightfully boring woman was demonstrating how to stop someone from choking, a topic which didn’t interest Ada in the least. 

Besides, she simply couldn’t understand why Irene could be so attentive to a woman who’d humiliated her as they volunteered last month, calling Irene an “ignorant little fool” because she’d mixed up items in the care packages.

“But we’ve already spent hours rolling bandages. My fingers are going to fall off, do they want it to be our bloody ears next!” Ada whined, hoping Irene would be swayed by her suffering.

A swift jerk of her head indicated the dowdy looking nurse had heard the commotion at the back of the room and she fired a quick reprimand. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class Miss Shelby?”

“No ma’am” Ada mumbled, chewing her lip as she slid down into her chair. She crossed her arms, a sulky pout settling over her brow as the woman turned her back to address the other ladies.

“As I was saying, the next step is to check the airway…” she lectured, turning toward a small diagram to gesture in a wooden manner.

Moments later a long, low sigh echoed across the table.“Can’t we leave?” Ada begged. Without a response from Irene, she began tugging on her friend’s sleeve like an impatient child. “She’s putting me to sleep!” she argued.

“Then sleep!” Irene hissed, wishing her new friend would take a nap.

“I would, but she smells of anchovies! ” Ada protested before she began to giggle uncontrollably.

At that moment the nurse spun around on her heel, charging toward Irene, a deep V carved in her forehead as she bent down to confront her. “What did you say, girl?” The nurse fumed, the fact that she was unable to recall Irene’s name infuriating Ada.

“Nothing,” Irene denied with a quick shake of her head. “Sh-she was asking for my notes, that’s, erm…that’s all,” she stumbled, shuffling some papers as she avoided eye contact.

Grasping the blank page from Irene’s fingertips, the nurse exclaimed, “You little liar!”

“And you’re a stupid cunt!” Ada shouted, standing from her chair defiantly. “It was me who called you boring and smelly!” she confessed, hands on her hips.

Irene’s eyes shot to the nurse’s face which was rapidly turning a bright shade of red as she sputtered with indignation. Irene gulped as the woman swung toward her, face inches from her nose as she seethed, “Now I remember you! You’re that stupid, worthless girl who cost us two extra days of packing last month!” 

Irene’s body trembled, eyes flooding with unshed tears as the woman wagged her finger. “You should be ashamed of yourself wasting the precious time of professionals. Don’t you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

If Irene hadn’t stood up at that moment, Ada might have started swinging, her fierce protectiveness for gentle Irene always at the ready. However, she stopped herself as she watched her friend’s chest expand with a deep breath, her lips quivering slightly as she eeked out a brave, “Cunt!”

All the girls in the room gasped as they heard the quiet, mouse like girl defend herself. A brief moment of silence echoed like the calm before a mighty storm before they heard a thunderous roar of anger, “Out! I want both of you out!”

Irene despaired, tearfully gathering her belongings as Ada glared at the woman who had insulted her best friend. 

They soon found themselves standing in the alley behind the church, Ada smoking a cigarette as Irene looked on in disbelief.

“What do we do?” she panicked, fingertips tracing her forehead in thought. 

Ada took another drag and Irene began to pace, silence lingering between them until she suddenly stopped face to face with her friend. “Now you’re quiet,” she observed in annoyance. “Why couldn’t you have just done what she asked?” 

Ada gulped, an uncomfortable pit forming in her stomach as she watched her friend’s large hazel eyes turn from their usual honeyed brown to cool emerald. It was only a trick of the light, but that was difficult to remember as she endured a wave of anxiety fueled by dread. 

Dropping the cigarette from her fingertips, she watched it tumble onto the cobblestones and toed it half heartedly with the tip of her boot. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“What am I going to tell my mum?” Irene asked, her voice quivering slightly. 

Ada’s eyes rose to meet Irene’s, recognizing the note of fear she was so desperately trying to conceal. Then an idea came to her, the certainty of it allowing her insides to slowly unclench.

“We’ll go to the pictures,” Ada declared brightly. “If we stay until supper, your mum won’t know,” she reasoned, hooking her arm over Irene’s. 

“What about that awful nurse? What if she visits my house?” Irene despaired, dropping her head to her chest.

Ada waited and wondered if she could betray family confidence. She’d known all afternoon that a certain gambling debt would be settled by Shelby Company Limited, Scudboat sent to drive husband and wife from town before nightfall. Irene didn’t need to hear all of this though.

“She won’t be here tonight to talk to anyone,” Ada said confidently.

“H-how do you know?” Irene sniffed.

Pursing her lips for a moment of careful thought, Ada decided a simple explanation best. “Because her husband’s in a lot of trouble and they have to leave town. My aunt told me so.”

She tugged at her friend as she whispered enticingly, “I think we should see the new Rudolph Valentino.” Giving Irene a nudge with her elbow she added, “Come on, he’s your favorite!”

Irene sighed in defeat as she allowed Ada to pull her along. “Why are you always the one getting us into trouble, but you want me to thank you for it?” she shook her head as though she were still trying to unravel the mystery of Ada’s charm. 

“Because you love it,” Ada said, casting a mischievous glance at Irene, blue eyes twinkling with glee.

“Maybe too much,” Irene conceded with a little smile. 

Cont reading Part 2

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[wonderlanddreamer]

[1923] Watery Lane, Birmingham.

In the aftermath of a violent ambush on their home, the Shelby family must act quickly to help Lydia, who has been struck by a bullet.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, injury, and blood.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The Shelby home, once a bastion of strength and family, now lay in disarray, its proud facade marred by the violence that had shattered its peace. The front door hung askew on its hinges, an ominous welcome to the chaos within. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, mingling with the splintered wood of furniture that had been upturned in the frenzy. The wallpaper, once pristine, was now marred with bullet holes and streaked with soot, a testament to the gunfire that had torn through the house like a relentless storm.

In the hallway, a mirror lay cracked and discarded, its fractured surface reflecting the turmoil in jagged pieces. Family photographs, once lovingly displayed, were now scattered across the floor, their frames broken, and images of happier times lying amid the debris. The once comforting hearth in the parlour now seemed cold and distant, its warmth extinguished by the violence that had invaded.

The betting shop, a symbol of the Shelby enterprise, fared no better. The smell of burnt paper hung in the air, mixing with the lingering scent of smoke. Betting slips and ledger pages were strewn about like leaves in a gale, their contents rendered meaningless amid the destruction. The counter, usually bustling with activity, was now a barricade of chaos, its surface scarred by stray bullets and splintered wood.

The shelves that once held stacks of coins and tidy ledgers were bare, their contents either pilfered or scattered in the melee. Chairs lay toppled and broken, a testament to the frantic struggle that had taken place. The safe, usually a symbol of security and prosperity, stood ominously open, its contents rifled through and discarded in the frenzy.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, its relentless patter a stark contrast to the silence now enveloping Watery Lane. It washed away the blood and soot, but it could not cleanse the memory of what had transpired. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the family was rallying as they always did—together.

The memory of the ambush replayed in Lydia's mind with vivid clarity. She had been running, heart pounding in her chest, when she spotted John ahead—a beacon of safety amid the chaos. But before she could reach him, a sharp, searing pain had exploded in her side, stealing her breath and sending her crashing to the ground. The world had spun around her, the sounds of gunfire and shouting stretching into a distant echo as she lay there, paralyzed by shock and pain. She couldn't quite recall which of her brothers had reached her side first, but there was no mistaking who had exacted vengeance on the man responsible for her injury. Despite her blurred vision, the sight of blood splattered across Arthur’s clenched fists was unmistakable. In a fit of turbulent rage, he had forsaken all weapons, choosing instead to unleash his fury with his bare hands. Each blow landed with ferocious intensity, reducing the man’s face to a grotesque, unrecognisable mess.

Now, Lydia lay curled on her bed, the very act of breathing a torturous endeavour. The bullet had left a jagged wound in her side, a cruel reminder of the violence she had narrowly escaped. Blood had soaked through her shirt, forming a dark, ominous stain that spread with each painful breath. The skin around the injury was angry and inflamed, radiating a heat that spoke of the body's desperate fight against the intrusion.

Her small hands, normally so full of life and mischief, clutched the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, as if anchoring herself against the tide of pain threatening to sweep her away. Her eyes, dulled by agony and fever, flickered to her Aunt Polly, seeking reassurance in her steady presence.

Polly Gray moved with the grace of someone who had faced crises such as these before. Her heart ached for Lydia's suffering, but she buried her emotions beneath a mask of calm determination. She gently dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, her movements careful and precise, trying to soothe Lydia's pain even as she prepared to alleviate it further.

The room around Lydia seemed to blur, the world reduced to a haze of pain that refused to relent. Each breath was a struggle, a sharp reminder of the bullet lodged in her side. Her pale skin felt like it was on fire, the wound throbbing with a relentless, searing agony that no amount of reassurance could ease. The damp cloth Ada used to wipe away her tears was a fleeting comfort, offering only momentary relief from the feverish heat that enveloped her.

Ada remained a tranquil presence, her gentle touch a beacon of calm in the storm of Lydia's suffering. Yet, despite Ada's soothing words and soft whispers, the pain clawed at Lydia's senses, drowning out the world around her. It was as if the hurt had taken on a life of its own, consuming her thoughts and rendering her oblivious to everything except the burning insistence of the injury. She had truly never felt anything like it, and never wanted to feel anything like it ever again.

Across the room, Finn stood beside Polly, trying to project an air of calm he didn't truly feel. His hands trembled slightly with the weight of responsibility, but he forced them to remain steady as he passed tools to Polly. Each time his fingers brushed Polly's, it was a silent exchange of strength and solidarity.

Finn's voice wavered as he spoke, reaching out to Lydia with a promise he desperately hoped to fulfil. "It’s going to be okay, Lyds," he said, his words laced with a mixture of hope and fear. But even as he spoke, he knew that his assurances were no match for the relentless pain that gripped his younger sister. His heart ached with the helplessness of watching Lydia suffer, wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

The door swung open and Tommy stepped inside, his presence commanding immediate attention. He carried with him a bowl of water in one hand and a cloth in the other. His appearance seemed to ease the tension in the room, his usually calculating gaze softened by concern as he looked at Lydia.

There was a tenderness in the way he approached, a complete contrast to the hardened leader he was known to be. His shirt was stained with blood, sleeves balled up to his elbows revealing injuries of his own that had been hastily patched up by John downstairs. Yet none of that mattered to him in that moment, his own pain of no importance to himself considering the juncture they were at.

As Tommy reached the bed, Ada quietly asked, her voice tinged with worry, “How are the others, Tommy?” He gave a brief nod as he set the bowl down with a gentle clink, his words concise but reassuring. “They’re managing,” he replied, not wanting to dwell on anything but Lydia at that moment.

Tommy carefully positioned himself on the bed so that Lydia could rest partially on his lap. His arms wrapped around her shoulders with a gentle strength, cradling her close against his chest. As Lydia settled against him, Tommy became acutely aware of the tremors coursing through her small frame. Holding her close, Tommy could feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against his arms, a frantic rhythm that echoed the turmoil within her. The sensation of her trembling tugged at something deep within him, a mixture of protectiveness and helplessness that he rarely allowed himself to feel. Tommy Shelby was accustomed to being the one in control, yet with Lydia in his arms, he was harshly reminded of the fragility of life and the limits of his power.

Lydia’s fear was palpable, a living thing that wrapped itself around her like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. The anticipation of having the bullet removed loomed over her like a dark cloud, and she was dreadfully aware of the pain it would bring.

"T-Tommy," she whimpered, her voice barely rising above the fragile whisper of her breath. It was a plea born of desperation and fear, her small hands clutching at his arms as if they were the only thing anchoring her to this world. “Please don’t. Don’t let them touch it. It hurts so much.”

Tommy's heart clenched at the painful vulnerability in her voice, an abdominal ache that resonated deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain away from her and take it upon himself, but he knew this was a battle she had to endure, and all he could do was be there, steadfast and unwavering.

He kept his voice steady and soothing, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of her fear. "I know, love. I know it hurts," he murmured, brushing his lips against the top of her head with infinite tenderness. His breath was warm against her skin, a tangible promise of his presence. "But you're the bravest of us all, you know that? You're our little soldier."

Lydia sniffled, her tears soaking into his sleeves as she clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, a reassuring rhythm that spoke of safety and love. "It will all be alright, little one," he whispered, his voice a soft rumble, each word a balm against her fear. “We're all here with you, Lydia. You're not alone, alright?"

Her sobs quieted into small, hiccuping breaths as she clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. Tommy nodded to Polly, signalling that Lydia was as ready as she could be. Ada and Finn moved to help hold her steady, each offering murmured words of encouragement, their touches gentle and sure.

The moment Polly began her work, time seemed to slow, stretching each second into an agonising eternity. Lydia's scream tore through the room, a raw, anguished sound that pierced the air like a knife. It was a sound that clawed at Tommy's heart, each note of her pain resonating deep within his soul. He held her tighter, as if his embrace could somehow shield her from her suffering.

"It's okay, little one. I'm here. I’ve got you. Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. He stroked her hair with a gentle hand, keeping her as steady as his strong arms would allow.

Polly worked with expert precision, her hands steady even as her heart ached for Lydia. She murmured soft reassurances as she carefully probed the wound, her fingers deft and sure despite the gravity of the task. The room was tense with anticipation, each person holding their breath as Polly continued her delicate work.

John and Arthur appeared in the doorway, drawn by the sound of their sister's distress. Their faces were grim, shadows etching deeper lines into their already weathered features. Each of them bore their own marks of the recent clash, Arthur’s knuckles were completely wrapped in bandages while John’s skin and clothes were still streaked with blood. They stood silently, knowing that too many hands would only add to the chaos, their presence a silent vow of solidarity and strength. Tommy caught their eyes, a brief exchange of looks that spoke volumes. At that moment, words were unnecessary.

Time seemed suspended, each moment stretching into an eternity filled with Lydia's cries and Tommy's whispered reassurances. Polly's focus was unwavering as she worked, her hands moving with a surgeon's precision despite the emotional weight of the task. Finally, with a deftness born of experience, she extracted the bullet.

The metallic clink as it fell into a dish was a sound that seemed to echo with finality, a signal that the worst was over. Relief washed through the room, palpable and profound, like a wave breaking against a weary shore. Lydia's cries subsided into soft whimpers, her body relaxing slightly as the immediate agony began to fade, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

Polly bandaged Lydia’s side with meticulous care, her touch embodying both the clinical precision of a healer and the tender affection of a mother. As she tied off the bandage, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Lydia's forehead. "There now, darling," she murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby. "It's done. You're such a brave girl."

Tommy's hold on Lydia did not waver; he kept her close, his cheek resting atop her head, his heart swelling with relief and pride. The tension that had gripped him slowly began to ease, though his arms remained wrapped protectively around her, a fortress against the world. "You did it, Lydia," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, each word a gentle caress. "It’s over, you did it."

Lydia nestled deeper into his embrace, her small body fitting perfectly against his. She was exhausted but comforted by the familiar presence of her family. "I was brave," she murmured, a small, tired smile playing on her lips, the pain of the moment already beginning to fade, replaced by the warmth of her brother's love and the safety of her family.

"The bravest," Tommy agreed, shifting slightly so she could rest more comfortably against him. His hand continued to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring, his presence a sanctuary of safety and love. As the room began to settle, the tension slowly dissipated like mist under the morning sun.

Ada leaned forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lydia's face, her touch tender and full of affection. "You were amazing, Lydia," she said, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to wrap around them all. Finn stood at the foot of the bed, his shoulders relaxing as the crisis passed, his eyes filled with admiration for his little sister's courage.

Gradually, the others began to leave the room, understanding that what Lydia needed most now was rest. They departed quietly, their footsteps soft against the floorboards, leaving Tommy and Lydia cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the dimly lit room.

As Lydia's eyelids grew heavy, her body finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, Tommy adjusted his hold, ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. In the quiet aftermath of chaos, as the candlelight flickered softly and the shadows danced less ominously, they were reminded once again of the power of family. Lydia drifted into a much-needed sleep, feeling safe and cherished, her brother's words echoing softly in her dreams.

Tags: @novashelby @lau219 @peakyswritings

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[corrupte3d-mindz]

Oooh! Absolutely love the older!reader story! It got me thinking, what about sugarmommy!reader?

On My Dime

(28) Cillian Murphy x (47) SugarMommy! Reader

Summary: Just a cute little fic!

Wordcount: 5.6k

Warnings: You’re 6’1 btw

tall! reader!, sugar mommy! reader, dom! reader?!, lovey dovey things from Cillian, passenger princess! Cillian, kissing, teasing, spoiling.

Cillian leaned back in the plush leather chair of the study, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the armrest. The walls, lined with an extensive collection of books, seemed to close in slightly, their spines whispering stories of past intellects. 

The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the room, creating an almost ethereal ambiance. His piercing blue eyes, framed by a hint of crow's feet, flicked towards the door every few seconds, listening for any sound that might indicate the end of her phone call. He could hear her laughter echoing through the grand hallway, her voice a melodic contrast to the serious tone he was trying to maintain for the interview. He shifted in his seat, the crisp fabric of his tailored dress shirt; that she had gotten made for him, began rustling softly. His mind, though focused on the questions posed by the interviewer on the computer but he couldn't help but wander back to her. She was an enigma to him – a powerful woman who exuded confidence and grace, her success evident in every facet of her life. The way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she handled her phone calls with a mix of charm and assertiveness, it all fascinated him.

"Cillian, can you tell us more about the women your dating?" the interviewer’s voice brought him back to the present.

Cillian cleared his throat, his Irish accent thickening as he began to speak. "Ah, well; she's very reserved and I rather not talk about her and I's relationship."

He glanced towards the door again, imagining her standing there, listening in, a playful smile on her lips. He could picture her perfectly – tall, statuesque, with a commanding presence that made even the grandest of rooms seem small. Her dark hair, always impeccably styled, and those striking eyes that held a wealth of secrets. He loved watching her work, the way she twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she spoke, a gesture that was both casual and intimate. Outside, she paced the length of the living room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The vast space of her home, with its modern decor and expansive views, served as the perfect backdrop for her high-powered conversations. She held her phone close to her ear, her tone a mix of frustration and amusement.

"And he can't be mad at me – I told him to pull his money out of the market and he didn't, so it's not my fault. But he's saying it is because I didn't personally do it myself," she said, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation.

Her friend on the other end of the line must have said something funny because she let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Don't make me laugh, Cillian's in an interview in the study," she added, her tone affectionate when she mentioned him. Back in the study, Cillian's lips curved into a small smile. He loved hearing her laugh, a sound that always managed to brighten his day. The interviewer, oblivious to the source of his distraction, continued with another question, but Cillian's mind was still half-focused on her. This one, though, was particularly grating. The interviewer, a persistent man with a grating voice, had a penchant for prying into his personal life. Cillian’s patience was wearing thin, the desire to end the conversation gnawing at him.

"But the people want to know about her, come on just-"

Cillian's sigh was heavy, laden with irritation. "I've said no," he interrupted, his tone firm and unyielding. "She doesn't like being in the public eye. Let her be." His voice carried a subtle threat, a warning that this line of questioning was unwelcome and would not be entertained further. The interviewer, sensing the unspoken menace in Cillian's voice, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Any other questions about my projects? About me, anything at all?" Cillian's gaze was intense, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the interviewer's through the computer screen, as if daring him to cross the line again.

The interviewer, cowed by the actor's palpable displeasure, quickly wrapped up the session. "No, that will be all. I appreciate you talking with me today." The screen went dark, and Cillian let out a long, relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair. The silence of the room was a welcome reprieve from the barrage of intrusive questions. He glanced toward the living room, where she was pacing in her heels, the sound of her steps a rhythmic click against the marble floor. She was on the phone, her voice carrying a note of exasperation as she spoke to a friend. "He's just a large cunt, a large one..." She felt Cillian staring at her, her body whipped around and her eyes met Cillian's, and she raised her hand in a questioning gesture, her eyebrows arched in curiosity.

Cillian waved her over, signaling that he was finally free from the interview's clutches. She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. "Well, I've got to let you go. Cillian needs to talk with me... Call you back--okay--bye bye." She ended the call, her voice trailing off as she made her way to the study. The sound of her heels against the marble floor was almost hypnotic, each step deliberate and measured, the click-clack echoing through the quiet house. Her presence was magnetic, drawing his eyes to her every movement. She stopped in front of him, her smile widening as she took in the sight of him slouched in the chair, the tension of the interview still lingering in his posture. She was a striking figure, her tall frame accentuated by the fitted black suit she wore, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was perfectly styled, cascading down her shoulders in soft waves, and her makeup was impeccable, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and full lips. There was an air of confidence about her, a commanding presence that filled the room.

As she stood before him, her hand extended, and he took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth and strength in her grip. As she pulled him to his feet and into her embrace, he sank into her, letting the comfort of her body envelop him. She was a full head taller than him, her frame imposing yet gentle as she held him close. Her hand moved to his face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, her touch light and affectionate. She smiled down at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that spoke of genuine care.

"Mind fried?" she asked, her voice soft but knowing. He merely nodded, the weariness of the day weighing heavily on him. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her chest. The scent of her – a mix of expensive perfume and something uniquely her own – was intoxicating, a balm to his frayed nerves.

"Yeah..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her. He could feel her fingers threading through his hair, the gentle motion soothing. She rested her chin on the top of his head, her humming creating a vibration that resonated through his body. It was a simple gesture, but it made the silence between them comfortable, even comforting.

After a few moments, she lifted her chin and gently took his face in her hands, tilting it up so their eyes met. Her gaze was steady and warm, filled with an understanding that required no words. Her thumb brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the tenderness of the moment.

"I've got to pick a couple of things up from the store. Do you want to stay or come with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, the touch brief but sweet. He opened his eyes, meeting hers with a small, grateful smile. "I'll come with you," he said, his voice low and earnest. There was something about her presence that made even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure, a respite from the chaos of his own thoughts.

Cillian watched her move through the space with an air of effortless grace and confidence, each step she took purposeful and deliberate. The way she gathered her essentials – wallet, sunshades, and the keys to her Aston Martin DB11 – spoke volumes about her meticulous nature. His eyes followed her every motion, appreciating the poise she exuded in even the simplest of tasks. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it, and Cillian found that incredibly attractive. As she moved towards the door, he hurried over, ready to open it for her. The gesture was small, but it was a testament to the respect and admiration he held for her. He stood at the door that led to the garage, waiting as she turned off the lights in the house. The silence of the moment was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding between them. When she approached, he opened the door, allowing her to step through first.

"Thank you, Cill," she said, her voice a soft, appreciative murmur. She pressed the button for the garage door opener, and as it slowly rose, Cillian stepped inside with her.

"Anything for you," he replied, his voice carrying the familiar lilt of his Irish accent, a warm smile playing on his lips. The afternoon sun began to filter into the garage, casting a golden glow over the array of cars parked within.

She unlocked the Aston Martin and started the engine, the soft purr of the machine a soothing sound. Cillian moved quickly to her side, getting ahead to open the door for her, a gentlemanly act that made her chuckle softly. As he shut the door behind her, he couldn't suppress a small sigh, the sound of leather against leather as he slid into the passenger seat, buckling up. She caught his eye, her hands already gripping the steering wheel with a practiced ease that made his mind wander briefly to less innocent thoughts. He quickly pushed those aside, focusing instead on the moment at hand.

"Hopefully your crazy fans aren't looking for you today," she remarked with a playful grin, as she carefully navigated the car out of the garage. The way she maneuvered the vehicle, creeping slowly to avoid any potential damage to her other prized possessions, was a testament to her attention to detail.

The remote in her hand closed the garage door behind them, and they started their journey out of the fenced perimeter of her massive manor. The slow drive through her property was another ritual, a careful inspection to ensure everything was in place, nothing amiss. She took her time, ensuring no stone was unturned. Reaching the gate house, she rolled down the window and punched in the gate code, the mechanism whirring as the gates parted to allow them passage. She always waited, watching the gates close behind them before moving on. It was a small but significant habit, one that spoke of her need for control and security. Turning to him with a smile, she noticed he was lost in thought, his gaze fixed out the window. She reached out, tapping his thigh gently before gripping it slightly. The touch brought him back to the present, and he sighed softly, placing his hand over hers, relishing the simple contact. As they drove through the streets and the bustling city, Cillian allowed himself to relax, enjoying the role of passenger princess. The city life buzzed around them, a stark contrast to the quiet opulence of her manor. Her hand remained on his thigh, a grounding presence as they navigated through the urban landscape.

The drive was filled with an easy silence, punctuated by the occasional comment or shared glance. Cillian found himself stealing glances at her, admiring the way she handled the car with confidence. The city seemed to bend to her will, just like everything else in her life. He appreciated these moments of simplicity, where it was just the two of them against the backdrop of a bustling world. Her wealth and status were impressive, but it was her grounded nature and genuine affection that truly captivated him. As they merged onto the highway, the Aston Martin's engine roared to life, its deep, throaty growl reverberating through the luxurious cabin. It was a reminder of the power she wielded, not just in the car but in life. She handled the car with the ease of someone used to commanding attention and respect. The sleek, leather interior cocooned them, a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside. Cillian sat in the passenger seat, his lean frame relaxed but alert, his sharp blue eyes glancing at her with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

He glanced over as she signaled and merged left; smoothly overtaking slower vehicles, her movements precise and confident. Cillian watched as she turned her head; Cillian turned his head and his and her gaze narrowed at the drivers they were passing. "How the fuck can you be on your phone and on the highway?!" she exclaimed, her tone a blend of exasperation and disbelief. Cillian smirked, shaking his head slightly. "People are mad," he muttered, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. He felt the rush of acceleration then he sighed, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes for a moment as she accelerated, the speedometer creeping past ninety. The world outside became a blur of colors and shapes, the cars they overtook transforming into indistinct streaks.

She expertly maneuvered through traffic, the Aston Martin responding to her every command with an agility that matched her own. He trusted her implicitly, her skill behind the wheel a testament to her competence in all areas of her life. Eventually, the high-speed pursuit eased as they approached their destination: Erewhon. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where they could indulge in the finer things without the constant harassment of paparazzi or fans; it was a fancy ass supermarket. He recalled when he heard about a particularly chaotic incident with another celebrity that had cemented Erewhon's reputation as a safe haven for the famous. Cillian recalled past incidents during their outings to Erewhon had saved them from being disrupted by unwanted attention, he was grateful for a place to uphold such a high set of rules.

She navigated the parking lot, opting for a secluded spot far from the other vehicles. "No one can fucking drive where we live," she muttered, her tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. Cillian smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in silent agreement. "There's a pair of sunglasses in the glovebox if you want them," she remarked, her fingers deftly unbuckling her seatbelt and beginning the meticulous process of shutting down the car. Cillian reached into the glovebox, retrieving the sunglasses and slipping them on. The world darkened through the tinted lenses, but it provided a shield against prying eyes. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he stepped out of the car with a fluid motion, the door closing behind him with a satisfying click. He rounded the front of the Aston Martin, each step purposeful yet unhurried. Reaching her side, he opened the door with a gallant gesture, extending a hand to assist her out of the low-slung vehicle. She accepted, her smile warm and appreciative, a silent exchange of gratitude in the brief wink she sent his way.

He closed the door behind her, the action as natural as breathing, and they stood momentarily in the parking lot, a picture of poised elegance. She locked the car, the soft beep of the alarm engaging as they made their way towards the entrance of Erewhon. Cillian's hand found its place at the small of her back, a subtle yet protective gesture as they navigated the sparse crowd. Inside, the atmosphere was a blend of exclusivity and tranquility, the kind of place where wealth and discretion mingled seamlessly. Cillian walked beside her, his presence understated yet unmistakable. He observed the surroundings with a practiced eye, noting the occasional glance of recognition from fellow patrons, yet they were largely left undisturbed.

Their shopping was a well-orchestrated routine, each selection a testament to her refined taste and his willingness to indulge her preferences. He offered quiet commentary on various items, his voice a low murmur tinged with his Irish accent, a comforting sound in the hushed environment of the upscale market. As they moved through the aisles, their dynamic was evident in the small, unspoken gestures: the way he reached for an item just as she looked at it, the subtle nod of approval she gave when he made a particularly insightful observation. They operated in a rhythm that spoke of deep understanding and mutual respect, a partnership that extended beyond the superficial.

She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to commanding attention, her height and poise setting her apart. Cillian followed closely, his presence quietly supportive, his eyes attentively tracking her movements. "Honestly, prices have gone up a lot," she remarked, her voice tinged with mild frustration as she gazed at a display of fine wines in the next aisle over. Cillian watched her, noting the furrow in her brow and the way her eyes flickered with a mixture of exasperation and contemplation. She sighed softly, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand responsibilities, before her gaze returned to him. A sudden realization sparked in her eyes, and she turned on her heel, striding purposefully towards him. Her presence was magnetic, drawing him in as she closed the distance. When she cupped his face, her touch was both commanding and tender, a juxtaposition that sent a thrill through him. She gently pushed him against the shelf, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left him breathless.

"Cill- I've got to pick up some files at my office..." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it resonated with authority. He nodded slightly, his mind already racing with the implications of her words. She moved closer, her breath warm against his skin, and the world around them seemed to blur into insignificance. "Do you want me to drop you off at home or do you want to come with me?" she asked, her gaze unwavering, searching his eyes for his answer. In that moment, the choice was simple. He could never resist the allure of being by her side, no matter the destination. "I'll go with you," he replied, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to the words. The decision was not just about accompanying her; it was about sharing every aspect of their lives, standing beside her through mundane tasks and extraordinary moments alike.

"......Good boy......," Her smile was a radiant confirmation of his choice, and she leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring with a possessiveness that made his heart race. He responded in kind, their tongues dancing together in a rhythm that was both familiar and electrifying. Her body pressed more firmly against his, pinning him against the shelf with a dominance that left no room for ambiguity.

When she finally pulled away, a long, thick line of saliva connected their lips, a tangible testament to their passion. She wiped it away with her thumb, her eyes never leaving his. He blushed deeply, the warmth spreading across his cheeks as he tried to steady his breathing. Her hand remained cupping his face, a lingering touch that grounded him even as his mind spun with desire. As she stepped back, her attention shifted back to their shopping cart, the moment of intensity giving way to the practicalities of their outing. Cillian took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. The taste of her still lingered on his lips, a reminder of the connection that burned brightly between them. He moved to stand beside her, his hand lightly brushing against hers as they resumed their shopping. The mundane act of selecting groceries felt charged with the undercurrent of their earlier exchange. Each item placed in the cart was a silent testament to their shared life, a series of choices that bound them together in a dance of mutual understanding.

Cillian's mind wandered as they continued through the aisles, reflecting on the complexity of their relationship. She was a force of nature, a woman of immense wealth and influence, yet with him, she revealed a vulnerability that few ever saw. He cherished those glimpses, the moments when she let her guard down and allowed him to see the softer side beneath her commanding exterior. Their bond was a delicate balance of power and intimacy, a dance they navigated with care and respect. Cillian admired her for her strength and intelligence, qualities that had propelled her to the pinnacle of her career. At the same time, he valued the quiet moments they shared, the simple joys of being together without the trappings of their public lives.

As they approached the checkout, Cillian could feel the weight of the day easing. The prospect of accompanying her to her office added a layer of excitement to their routine. It was another facet of her world he was eager to explore, another opportunity to stand beside her and witness the brilliance that defined her professional life. He packed their purchases with a meticulous attention to detail, each item placed with care. She watched him, her eyes reflecting a blend of amusement and affection. There was an unspoken language between them, a series of gestures and glances that conveyed more than words ever could. When they finally left the store, the sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the parking lot. Cillian opened the car door for her, a small act of chivalry that felt natural and right. She settled into the driver's seat with a satisfied sigh, the engine purring to life as she prepared to drive them to her office.

When they arrived at her office, the building loomed tall and imposing, a symbol of her success and determination. Cillian followed her inside, his eyes taking in the sleek, modern design that spoke of efficiency and power. She led him to her office, a space that was both elegant and functional, a reflection of her personality. As she gathered the files she needed, Cillian wandered around, admiring the artwork on the walls and the carefully curated decor. Everything in this space was a testament to her meticulous nature, her drive for perfection. He felt a surge of pride, knowing that he was part of her world, a trusted confidant and partner. When she was ready, they left the office together, the files securely in her bag. The drive home was quiet, a comfortable silence that spoke of their deep understanding. 

As they pulled into the driveway, the Aston Martin DB11's engine purred to a halt. She deftly shifted the car into park, pressing the button to open the trunk with an elegance that spoke to her familiarity with such a high-end machine. Cillian unbuckled his seatbelt, the click of the mechanism punctuating the tranquil silence that had settled over them. He stepped out, the sun casting long shadows across the pristine pavement, and moved to her side, opening the door with a smooth, practiced motion. She emerged from the car, her movements fluid and confident. "Thank you," she murmured, her smile warm and appreciative. Cillian returned the gesture with a nod, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, a subtle acknowledgment of their unspoken routine. She gathered her keys, wallet, sunglasses, and a stack of legal files, her arms laden with the tools of her trade.

He watched as she made her way inside, setting everything down with a purposeful efficiency before returning to assist with the groceries. They moved in tandem, a well-rehearsed dance of domesticity, each trip to and from the car marked by a silent rhythm. Cillian carried the bags with ease, his lean frame belying a quiet strength, while she matched his pace, her height and grace lending an air of effortless command. Inside the kitchen, they began unloading the bags, the clink of glass jars and rustle of paper bags filling the space. Cillian meticulously arranged the items, his movements deliberate and precise, reflecting his penchant for order. He glanced at her occasionally, appreciating the focused determination etched on her face as she worked.

"Feels like we’ve bought half the store," he remarked with a faint smile, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. She laughed softly, a sound that resonated warmly in the sunlit kitchen. "Well, we do like our luxuries," she replied, her tone light yet tinged with genuine contentment.

After several trips, they finally emptied the trunk, the last of the bags deposited on the kitchen counter. She thanked him again, her eyes meeting his with a sincerity that transcended words. Taking her keys, she headed back out to pull the car into the garage. Cillian watched her go, a sense of admiration settling over him as she maneuvered the sleek vehicle with ease, the garage door closing behind her with a quiet hum. He began unpacking the bags, methodically placing items in their designated spots. She soon joined him, their movements synchronized in a silent symphony of familiarity and mutual respect. Together, they transformed the chaos of groceries into a well-organized array, each item finding its place in the pantry and refrigerator.

The task took time, but they worked efficiently, their partnership evident in the seamless flow of their actions. Cillian enjoyed these moments of mundane intimacy, where the outside world receded, leaving only the comforting presence of each other. He appreciated the simplicity of the task, a stark contrast to the often chaotic nature of his public life. As they finished, Cillian turned to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. "All set," he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. She moved closer, her silhouette framed by the setting sun that filtered through the expansive windows. Her presence was commanding, a reminder of the power she wielded, not just in her career but in every aspect of her life. Her arms encircled his waist, drawing him into a gentle embrace. Cillian's own arms responded instinctively, wrapping around her, pulling her closer. He felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest, a comforting reminder of the life they shared. They lingered in this embrace, the silence between them filled with unspoken words and shared memories. Cillian's mind drifted, reflecting on the unlikely circumstances that had brought them together. He, an actor still finding his footing in the world of cinema, and she, a seasoned lawyer and investor, her name a fixture in the corridors of power and influence. Yet, in moments like these, their worlds melded seamlessly.

She pulled away slightly, her hands coming up to cup his face. Her eyes searched his, filled with a tenderness that made his heart ache. "You're everything I could ask for and more, Cillian, y'know that?" she murmured, her voice a soft caress. He lost himself in her gaze, the depth of her affection evident in every line of her face. Her hands were warm against his skin, grounding him in the reality of their connection. She let go of his face only to lift him effortlessly by the waist, placing him on the cool marble countertop. He watched her, a small smile playing on his lips, his feet dangling as she stood before him, her height accentuated by the difference in their positions. "Pretty boy, you know that?" she teased, her voice light yet laced with sincerity. Cillian chuckled softly, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Aye, I reckon I've heard that a few times," he replied, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. His eyes twinkled with amusement, but beneath it was a deep-seated gratitude for the way she saw him, not just as an actor or a public figure, but as the man he was in these quiet, intimate moments.

As she stepped closer to him, the cool air of the spacious room contrasted with the heat building between them. Her hand cupped his face with a tenderness that belied her powerful exterior, her fingers tracing the contours of his jaw as if memorizing every detail. Cillian's eyes met hers, the intensity of her gaze filled with love and desire. Her proximity was intoxicating, her presence a heady mix of authority and warmth. As their lips met, the world around them seemed to fade away. The kiss was fervent, a collision of passion and longing. His hands found their way to shoulders, fingers pressing into the fabric of her suit, feeling the strength and softness beneath. Their tongues danced, exploring and tasting with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Cillian moved forward, his legs wrapping around her waist, drawing her closer. The movement was instinctual, a physical manifestation of his need to be as close to her as possible. She responded seamlessly, her other arm encircling his waist, lifting him effortlessly off the countertop.

He felt weightless, suspended between the cool marble and the warmth of her body. Her strength was astonishing, a stark reminder of the disparity in their physical power. Yet, it was also comforting, a symbol of the security and stability she provided. As she carried him, their lips remained locked, their kiss deepening with each passing second. The pantry doors provided a new backdrop to their fervent embrace. Cillian felt the wood against his back, a solid counterpoint to the softness of her lips and the firmness of her grip. Her movements were deliberate, each step a testament to her control and determination. She pressed against him, her body a seamless extension of her will, holding him in place as their kiss intensified. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath mingling with hers in the small space between them. "You’ve got a way of makin' me feel like I'm flyin'," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper tinged with his Irish accent, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and affection. "That's because you are," she replied softly, her voice filled with a blend of love and confidence that only made his heart race faster. She leaned in again, capturing his lips with renewed fervor, the heat of their kiss contrasting with the cool air of the kitchen.

Cillian’s hands roamed her back, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric, a tactile reminder of her strength and resilience. He marveled at how effortlessly she held him, her power tempered with a gentleness that made him feel cherished and protected. Her kiss was a blend of passion and possession, a declaration of her feelings that left him breathless and yearning for more. As she pressed him against the pantry doors, the kiss deepened, their tongues exploring with an insatiable hunger. Cillian’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, their bodies moving in a rhythm that spoke of deep-seated desire and mutual understanding. Her hand on his face guided the kiss, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw, grounding him in the intensity of the moment.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps between kisses, the heat of their bodies mingling in the cool air of the kitchen. Every touch, every kiss was a reaffirmation of their connection, a silent promise of the depth of their feelings for each other. Cillian’s world narrowed to the sensation of her lips, her hands, and the solid presence of her body against his. The intensity of their embrace was almost overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the love and desire that bound them together. She held him effortlessly, her strength a constant reminder of the power dynamics that played out between them. Yet, in this moment, it was not about power but about connection, about the raw, unfiltered emotions that flowed between them.

As she finally pulled back, her breathing heavy, Cillian looked into her eyes, seeing the same depth of emotion reflected back at him. "You make me feel invincible," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. Her smile was radiant, her hand still cradling his face. "That’s because you are to me," she replied, her voice soft and sincere. She leaned in for one last kiss, a gentle brush of lips that was both a promise and a reassurance, sealing the bond between them.

In the quiet aftermath, they remained entwined, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling as they shared a moment of profound intimacy. The world outside might demand their attention, but here, in the sanctuary of her kitchen, it was just the two of them, lost in the depths of their love and desire.

Author's Notes:

I meant to post this yesterday but I got sidetracked; and had things come up. So here it is but idk about it. Do I like it? yesn't

Don't know really, lately I've just been burned out; but I feel like I owe everyone something every time I write..also does this count as a size kink? I don't think it does?....

however I've been working on the last ask but I'm just having I hard time with it because I can't see Cillian as a Dom; like he's a bottom in my eyes unless he's being a dick and not asking before doing it; you get what I'm putting down? I have one of those ones on the backlogs ready to go but it's fucking dark and I don't know about it.

[f64l]

Lovely tutoring by Tommy Shelby Pt. 1

summary | You are forced to marry Finn Shelby because your father owes the Shelby family a lot of money. Your parents' only wish is to have an heir to their small business the year after you marry. But when you are still not pregnant after four months of marriage, Thomas Shelby decides to help you and Finn. And he is shocked to discover that his little brother is not only unable to produce an heir, but also unable to please his innocent wife. 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ ONLY!! unprotected sex, creampie, fingering), age gap (reader's age unspecified), kinda hurt/comfort (but like, kind of sexual comfort), slight manipulation/coercion since the reader is very vulnerable and confused at the time, inexperienced reader, praise, slight choking, mildly dubious consent

Last warning under 18 year olds!

You are sitting in the hard chair in front of your desk. You stare out the window. There's still half an hour before your father walks you down the aisle and hands you over to a man you barely know. A man you even fear a little. When you were relatively young, your parents' business wasn't doing very well. Until the Shelby family lent them money and they were able to expand the business. But now they can't pay back the money. Your parents will have to trade you for a debt-free life. You shiver and rub your red eyes. You haven't left your room since you realised you were marrying into this murderous family. Your maid brings you food and something to drink, and you have had a few visits from the dressmaker who made your wedding dress. ‘At least your parents still had money for that!’, the little voice in your head shouts mockingly. The silky fabric of the dress flows down your figure. The fabric is beautiful, but you don't find yourself attractive. You look much too young. Who thought you would make a suitable wife?

And how did your parents get the idea that you could give birth to a child within a year? If you didn't even think you were beautiful, how could a man? Besides, your mother didn't even try to explain to you how a woman gets to be with child. She just brushed you off when you asked, swearing that your future husband would take care of it and that you would soon understand what it meant to become a woman. You were still conscious when your mother knocked on your door. And also when your good-hearted maid walks you to the door of the car and hugs you goodbye. After those last moments of emotional consciousness you felt numb. You stared out the window of your car until you arrived at the church and your father pulled you towards the majestic wooden door. Now everyone was looking at you. You recognised your aunts. And your uncles, and their sons and daughters. You could see your little sister carrying a basket of flowers. You had done all this for her too. You don't look at your husband. And you don't look into his eyes when you're standing right in front of him. You look behind him. At a painting of Maria, mother of Jesus. ‘Please protect me!’, you beg inside your head. You don't notice you and your husband exchanging vows, and you only seem to wake up from this trance when you are sitting in a corner of the pub that belonged to the Shelbys. Your husband was getting drunk with his brothers and your father was enjoying himself too. But you couldn't even get up.

You follow Finn into your own house, which his big brother Thomas has bought for him. It wasn't too hard for you to say goodbye to your parents. But your sister and you cried a lot. Finn staggered and you helped him into your bedroom. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. There is a big bed, a wardrobe and a dressing table. Finn is fiddling with his belt. The metal brooches clink against each other. He has already tossed aside his elegant jacket and shirt. You can't help blushing. He is undeniably a handsome man. 

“What are you doing? Get undressed and get into bed!”, he slurs.

“What for?”, you ask, confused.

“Well, to get you pregnant, of course. That's what your parents want. Even if I don't want to have one with you. I don't love you at all.”, he staggers again and falls onto the bed. Even though he's drunk and would probably have said a lot of things differently if he hadn't been, his words still stung. Nevertheless, you begin to undress. You put your dress over a chair and lie down in your bed.

“No, you have to take off your undergarments too. Just like me! Don't you know how to fuck?”, he asks in disbelief. 

‘Fuck? What's that?’. Unsure, you also take off your nightgown. Why was that nightgown made when it isn’t even needed? You quickly try to cover your nakedness. You are startled when he pushes your legs apart and rubs his member until it is very hard and he moans. Without warning, he penetrates you and you try to get out from under him.  

You've never felt pain like this before. It burns as he begins to move inside you. You have to sob when he doesn't stop, even though you beg him to. But it doesn't take long for him to twitch and quickly pull out of you. He moans and pumps his member until a white fluid from it lands on your thigh. You shake and cry. Finn falls exhausted onto the bed beside you and turns to the side. You gently touch your wounded opening. There's blood on your fingers and you have to put a hand over your mouth so that Finn doesn't feel disturbed by your sobs. You slowly pull your nightgown back on and pull the blanket up to your chin. But you're still a long way from sleep. Is this how it feels to become a women? Is this what it's like to get pregnant? Then, you don’t want children at all!

Finn doesn't remember your first night together. And you don't tell him about your bad experience for fear he'll get angry. Almost every night he wants you to undress and perform this act with him. It almost always hurts. But not as much as the first time. And he always moans loudly, as if he likes it. Does he like moving inside you, or does he like hurting you? You can't really imagine. He's actually a very nice person outside the bedroom. Softer than his brothers and quite shy. Sometimes he'll bring you a flower he's bought from a shopkeeper, and thank you when you've cooked. You also get on well with his sister and aunt. And his brother Arthur is always trying to make you laugh. You don't talk to Thomas much, but sometimes he smiles at you. But there was still one thing bothering all of you. You still weren't pregnant. Polly told you almost every morning, and even a doctor could confirm it. Every time Polly mentioned it, Finn would look guilty, as if he knew what was wrong with you.

About four months after your wedding, Thomas asks you to come into his office. You sit bolt upright. Your eyes scan the room anxiously.

“I'd like to talk to you about your condition, darling. Or rather, the state you're not in.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry I'm not pregnant yet. I know it's a requirement for my parents.”

“Don't worry, sweetheart. Finn has as much to do with it as you, right?”

‘Yes’.

“Do you and Finn fuck a lot?”, embarrassed you look down at your hands.

“Almost every night he wants to.”, you mutter. 

“And you don't?”

“Not always.”

“Don't you like it?”, you feel the heat in your cheeks. This conversation is very uncomfortable for you.

“No, it just hurts a lot.” 

“Mhh, are you always wet enough, sweetheart?”

“Wet enough? Sometimes I bleed. Is that what you mean?”, he groans.

“No, for you to enjoy it, you have to be wet. So my brother's a bit of a handful, eh?

You shrug. You didn't have anything to compare it with.

“Have you ever come before?”

“Come? No, I don't think so. Is it bad if I had come before?”, he laughs out loud.

“But they really didn't tell you anything, did they?”, he touches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to help you both. I'm going to talk to Finn after that, and then i'm going to come and see you tonight, and then we'll see what we can get out of him. Alright, love?”, you nod uncertain. ‘How will he be able to help us?’

I'm so sorry it took me so long to upload the first part of this story. But I had to share a room with my little brother for a few days, so I couldn't really write or go on tumblr because I didn't want him to see this (you know what I mean?). Anyway, how are you today? And do you want to see part two? I'm just about to finish it. So let me know if you liked it or if you have any suggestions! Love you, bye!

[novashelby]

Would my Peaky Blinders community enjoy taking part in a community secret Santa? I notice we all pretty follow one another and /or communicate in some ways. We are a chill Fandom for the most part.

How it would work:

On October 1st, I will set up a way for people to submit their names(URL). And set the deadline for October 7th. I will use a generator to set up and match people to others.

Obviously, I am the one dealing with the URLS, so my name won't be in the "bucket". But I will be dealing with the oversight and people can ask me questions. I can even talk to their person without revealing who and what.

You HAVE to be over 18. Ageless blogs cannot join. EMPTY blogs cannot join. You should have some writing on your blog. I'll get to specifics later.

What you would do for your person: write a 1,500 one shot based off what they seem to like. Obviously, if they love intense smut and you are a fluff queen, you shouldn't write things that make you uncomfy. And vice versa. Don't write smut for someone who seems to mostly write fluff. It's a gift 🎁 so, I don't think it's right of anyone to expect any certain thing.

Again, specifics to come later.

All fanfics should be posted no earlier than December 20th and no later than 25th.

Once I know people are actually interested, I will answer questions and make a mass post explaining everything better.

[bettythemouse]

Tommy Shelby Headcannon

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first writing post on my new account, any advice or criticism is greatly appreciated, please let me know what you think!

He sees you for the first time:

• Tommy seeing you for the first time would distract him greatly

• He’d be drinking at the Garrison, watching Arthur and John make drunken fools of themselves

• He’d go out for a smoke alone after a while, to catch his breath and concentrate on his thoughts

• And you?

• You’d be outside in the cold, smoking a cigarette of your own just a few meters away

• You wouldn’t dare go to the Garrison alone, despite how much you’d wanted a drink

• But Tommy would take the cig from his mouth, exhale, look around a bit

• and lay his eyes on you

• you

• Who were you?

• Suddenly all the plots and schemes and money stopped in his mind. He was distracted. Heavily distracted. Had he been talking with someone before seeing you, he would’ve shut up

• You didn’t see him yet. Even if you had, he stood without light in his face so you wouldn’t have recognised him or even realised who he was looking at

• But Tommy could see your face. He could see every detail, the mole on your cheek, the cupid shaped lip, the slight scowl on your face when ash blew onto your coat. And he was completely mesmerised

• You finished your cigarette, threw it to the ground and stamped on it. Cleared your throat and got ready to continue your walk-

• “Oh!”

• “My apologies.”

• “No, no, it was my fault, I couldn’t see where I was going.”

• You had unexpectedly bumped into someone. You couldn’t see them but you could tell they were male

• And polite

• You smiled at them, despite not fully being able to see their face and continued on your way, a little embarrassed

• And Tommy watched you. Watched you trail off into the night. And although he couldn’t see your face anymore, he was still mesmerised.

• And he knew

• Somehow

• That he’d see you again

[serendipitiashelby]

Serendipitia | Thomas Shelby fanfic MOODBOARD

SINOPSE No período do pós-guerra, Noemi Stein retorna à Birmingham, onde retoma seu elo com Ada Shelby, também sua aliada política no perigoso movimento sufragista. Compartilhando um pequeno sobrado pelas apertadas ruelas de Small Heath, passam a planejar a abertura da primeira livraria da região. Entre ideias eufóricas (e necessidade de dinheiro para financiar o imóvel), Ada leva Noemi a uma grande festividade da família Shelby. É ali que Noemi conhece, pelo encanto dos encontros fortuitos e inesperados,

onde, pelo poder da serendipidade, encontraria aquele que

um amor que nunca estaria escrito nos livros da futura livraria. Er

LEIA NO WATTPAD

MOODBOARD

[little-space-babe]

Our Violent Delights : A Peaky Blinders Story

Our Violent Delights : A Peaky Blinders Story

Two families: Gypsy and Moors

One curse: To kill them all

If Thomas Shelby got the missing crate filled with guns, then who got the crate with the motorcycle? Thomas Shelby may have recognizes an opportunity to move up in the world, but he never plan for it to bring some unexpected guests. Let alone family secrets.

[dragonsneversharetheirtreasure]

Requiem || Tommy, Arthur, John and Essie Shelby

𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵? 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

Summary: Tommy, Arthur and John die in a fight that goes spectacularly wrong - Essie learns just who her big brothers are

"They loved you, you know" Essie frowned staring at the egg in the box. A present from her brothers for her thirteenth birthday "Yeah.." She nodded at Pol's question "But I dont care anymore" -coming soon-

@hllywdwhre, @queenzee27, @sherwoodknights, @munstysmind, @gothicacetheatrekid

[traumadumpwriter]

I do update more frequently and there r already more chapters on my Wattpad @/slowlychanging!

Heavy trigger warning for abuse, SA, assault, violence, self harm, mentions of r*pe

If you enjoy please don’t forget to like, repost, comment. Give me feedback! I love to hear it!

Check out the other chapters by going to the Freedom tag on my page!

Freedom: A John Shelby Mini Fic

Chapter Eight: 2764 words

The next day, Alice awoke first, momentarily confused by her surroundings until she felt the comforting warmth surrounding her and smelt that familiar scent of tobacco and cinnamon. As she remembered the previous night, a grin formed upon her pink lips and a giddiness in her stomach. John's muscular arms were loosely laid across her body and his handsome head rested on the pillow beside hers.

A pale beam of early morning sunlight peaked through the curtains and illuminated his chiseled physique, bringing a grin to Alice's face and she almost let out an elated giggle, completely awe struck by the man.

Gently, she tried to remove his arm in order to go downstairs and make breakfast, but he groaned and held her tighter, half opening his eyes for a second and murmuring something before closing them again.

"I was gonna make us breakfast, I should probably get going soon." Alice whispered, unsure if John was actually conscious enough to understand her.

Another groan left his mouth before his eyes opened again, this time fully, and almost instantly a smile formed at the corners of his lips as he looked up at the woman beside him. Her hair was messy as was the loosely fitting pyjama top he'd lent her; the white cloth hanging from her chest revealing the outline of her breasts very clearly - especially in the cold morning air.

"Heavenly." He thought to himself before squeezing her tightly again and pulling her under the covers.

"No breakfast. Stay here." He grumbled, burying his face into her side.

Butterflies were going crazy in Alice's stomach as an involuntary blush formed on her face.

"I'm so lucky." She thought before sliding back down in the bed to face him.

His expression was still sleepy and she laughed quietly at that, warming back into his arms. She'd never felt so safe and comfortable beside a man before, let alone loved, and it almost felt too good to be true.

"Okay. But not for long. I have to get to work." She quietly responded, interlocking her fingers with John's before closing her eyes again.

"Nah you don't. I'll tell Arthur to fuck off." He smirked slightly, his eyes still open and watching Alice intently as she smiled at his response, sleepily sinking into the pillow.

She wasn't going to argue with that after all, who could resist a day off work spent in the arms of John Shelby?

So, she snuggled tightly into his chest with a happy sigh and drifted back to sleep again whilst John silently watched her for a while, feeling really hopeful for the first time in a long time.

The previous night couldn't have gone more perfect. From her carefree dancing; the gleam it gave her eyes and how it made his stomach whirl, to the romantic confessions and subsequent expression of love. He hadn't experienced bliss with a woman like that before, even continuing into the morning after - usually he had no interest in there even being a morning after.

The bliss didn't last for much longer though.

An hour later, just as John had drifted off to sleep again, the front door slammed open and in stormed Arthur.

"Ain't you been told to lock that door!" He shouted through the house, shocking Alice awake too.

John quickly pulled the blanket up to her neck as Arthur made his way upstairs - knowing he would also just storm into the bedroom without any consideration as he had into the house. His brother sounded angry which was a bad sign, so John rolled out of the bed in preparation for some immediate action.

"What's happening?" Alice whispered but Arthur's shout cut her off.

"Wake up John! And where's Alice-" his loudness was also cut off when he walked into the room, doing a double take and half smiling for a second before returning to his serious expression.

"Both of you needed now, Tommy's called a meeting. We're dealing with the Turks today." He spoke quickly and went to leave the room before John responded.

"What do you mean both of us? She ain't involved." John scowled at his brother as he buttoned up his shirt.

"You tell that to Tommy." Arthur scoffed before turning to Alice with an awkward nod and then leaving.

She too rolled out of bed and began getting dressed, matching John's speed as she sensed the urgency despite her confusion. A big part of her was excited, interested in the secrets of the family business and the lives they lived. Only a small part was nervous.

John on the other hand was full of dread, his blissful morning now becoming a potentially hellish one. His silence alerted Alice to his worry and she moved to comfort him, interlocking her fingers with his before heading out the front door.

"I'm sure it'll be okay John." She softly spoke before placing a gentle kiss on his lips "I have faith in you."

A small smile began to tease at the corners, but her beautiful, innocent eyes soon brought them back down as he thought about the horrors they'd already seen and now the new horrors his desensitised brother potentially wanted to introduce.

With a heavy sigh, he planted a kiss on the top of her head before mumbling "Just don't agree to anything stupid" and opening the heavy wooden door.

The walk to the family home was swift and silent, only being a road away, and the air was thick when they arrived.

Polly sat at the table, smoking a cigarette and impatiently tapping her fingers against the varnish whilst Tommy and Arthur were stood still, leant against their chairs. All eyes landed on Alice and the silence was becoming unbearable as she realised things might be more serious than she'd thought.

"What's going on then?" John took a sharp intake of breath and stared at his brother with thin eyes, drawing the stares from Alice to him.

"Ergin was at that club last night. Saw the two of you having a great time." Tommy answered with an equally unfriendly gaze.

"Well I didn't see him. Didn't see any Turks in fact. And what's it matter if I did? Weren't their territory."

Tommy was silent for a moment, a million thoughts going through his head as he looked at his younger brother - projected through his icy glare - and then he turned to face Alice.

"One of his men recognised you. They know your husband, Jones Buckley; said they started business recently."

Instantly, the heavy feeling in John's gut doubled and Alice's tripled, her hands starting to shake slightly even at the mention of the man. God, it had been a long time since she heard the last name he'd forced onto her, and it made her feel sick. She wondered how Jones could've even come into conversation, how a man associated with the Turks would've ever even have seen her with him before.

But then a painful memory of a tanned man visiting the campsite in search for a cheap whore struck her, and she realised that there had been a man at the club last night who had seen her at her most vulnerable - and she hadn't even noticed him.

That made her feel more sick, even more scared, although those feelings quickly deflected into anger.

"So this is kind of a two birds with one stone situation, if you agree of course." Tommy continued, grounding her to reality again.

"What do you mean, Tommy? Agree to what?" Alice quickly spoke in an uncertain tone.

He took a sharp drag on his cigarette before continuing, not looking at all at his younger brother despite the intense glare he was sending his way. John's mind was also racing; the reveal of the secret last name making him feel even worse than he thought it would. That and the fact that Tommy found it out before he did.

"You distract Ergin and his closer men while we take care of his soldiers. He wants you to dance and fuck. I told him he could for a night-"

"Are you fucking mad!" John finally snapped and shouted, cutting Tommy off and storming towards him, much to Alice's shock. Arthur quickly stepped between the two as John's fists started to ball and Tommy resumed his standard, unamused face.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me Tommy. You're taking the fucking piss-"

"Let him finish!" Polly loudly interrupted John and put the room into silence again.

Tommy cleared his throat, turning back to Alice before continuing. "You wouldn't actually have to sleep with him, or anyone, he just thinks you will. I've got something for you to put in their drinks, it'll take fifteen minutes to kick in, if he tries to have you in that time I've got a gun you'll be able to hide in a handbag but the blinders should be in the room before anything happens-"

"So you want me to potentially murder multiple men for you, at a relatively high risk to myself?" Alice interrupted him with a raised eyebrow, sensing how bad Tommy wanted - maybe even needed - her to do this task and enjoying the power it gave her over him. The part about her husband gave her an intense pang of anxiety again though, what did he have to do with all of this? It couldn't be good.

"What do I gain from this? What does my husband have to do with anything?" Her voice sounded cool now despite the anxiety she really felt.

Everyone was slightly taken aback to hear her call him her husband - everyone except for John. She'd never spoken about her time away to anyone in the room other than him and it remained somewhat of a mystery to everyone else. All they knew was that he was a bad man - a bad man that John was desperate to kill - and certainly hadn't earned the title of 'husband'.

Of course, Tommy showed no reaction though and continued talking calmly - as if he wasn't actually mentally praying for her to agree to the plan. He and Arthur had worked out the initial part of catching Ergin's attention, they just weren't counting on her and John's revenge plan falling into the mix - although it potentially made the plan even more perfect.

John on the other hand, completely uninformed, was horrified, angrier at his brother than he'd ever been and terrified of something happening to Alice. He stood in silence though, waiting for her to refuse Tommy's offer and put his mind at ease. Slight ease. There were still a million questions he had to ask his brother, most regarding the identity of Jones Buckley - the full name that he hadn't even coaxed out of Alice yet.

"Cut off the original supplier, Jones will return to see them eventually, have no choice but to come to us. Then we can-"

"Then we can kill him too." She cut him off, everything finally clicking into place.

The two stared intensely at each other, Alice thinking over his words and Tommy hoping he'd said the right ones. Their dominant stares - their distrustful bargaining, it felt uncomfortably similar to that night in The Garrison with David. Getting Alice involved in Peaky business wasn't something Tommy felt great about, but in the long run it would surely be worth it as this was the perfect opportunity to get to the Turks and Jones.

"How much you paying me for this?" She finally spoke, much to John's immense but silent annoyance. He wished he could be shocked that she was so willing to put herself in danger, but he wasn't. Instead, he was irritated at both her and Tommy - mentally cursing his brother. Then he looked around the room and saw the lack of shock on Arthur and Polly's faces.

"Bloody bastards, they're in on it too. Arthur purposely sent me to that bar last night. And Pol, how could she support this?"

"Eight pounds if it all goes right." Tommy replied.

"Where and when?"

"Their hotel, seven o'clock, today."

She only thought for a second before responding "Deal."

At that word, a white hot rush of dread and rage surged through John's body and a heavy exhale left his nostrils as he thinned his eyes at everybody in the room, except for Alice. He couldn't even look at Alice; so disappointed in her decision but knowing he had no right to stop her and that trying to would just make her more determined.

So instead, he said nothing and walked out of the house, his hand going straight into his pocket for a cigarette and lighter. He felt betrayed by his family and worried sick for his lover; tutting and shaking his head at the ground as he kicked at the small rocks around him.

"Arthur purposely recommended that bar to me. They knew the Turks would be there. They somehow knew that Ergin would want Alice." His furious trail of thoughts didn't last long as he heard Alice exiting the family home.

She called his name as she caught up to him but his gaze remained on the rocks below.

"John! I'll be fine! You needn't stress!" She smiled once she reached his side, looking up at his face as he purposefully didn't look at hers.

"We've still got hours. Why don't I make us some breakfast?" Her tone remained cheerful, desperately hanging on to that morning's bliss despite John's evident drastic mood change.

A heavy sigh left his lips before he finally spoke, still staring straight ahead.

"I told you not to agree to anything stupid." He muttered bitterly.

"Well I don't think I have." Her tone was still soft although her hope for a happy breakfast with John had dwindled.  "Can I have a cigarette?"

Promptly, he handed her the box, finally making eye contact before exhaling a plume of smoke and tutting.

"Tommy's a cunt for putting you up to this. Ergin's a dangerous man, it's not gonna be as simple as you think it is." His voice was low and his expression stoic.

"All I've ever known is dangerous men. Yourself included."

"Not like this you haven't. I'm serious, Alice. If he catches on to the plan he will kill you.. And even if he don't, who's to say you're able to kill him before he gets his way with you? Why would you even agree to risk that?"

"I don't know." She scoffed lightly. "Maybe because this is the path to my husband that we need. This is what you wanted last night. And besides, I'm confident that I can kill Ergin-"

"You've never killed anyone before! Let alone a gang boss! Or atleast I don't think you have but who fucking knows!" John erupted with sudden volume, earning another unimpressed scoff from the woman. "If you had any fucking sense you would've told Tommy to fuck off, fuck off Jones, fuck off the money! You cannot do this Alice-"

"Oh I can't, can't I?" She cut him off with volume to match his own, thinning her eyes and putting her left hand on her hip as she sucked down the cigarette with the right one. "I'm not some kind of delicate fucking victim, John! Nor am I your wife. So think twice before telling me what I can and can't fucking do! I'm just trying to help your family whilst getting my own revenge too. Like Tommy said, two birds one stone.. I thought you'd appreciate it."

John threw his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, resuming his previous stare into the stoney backstreet of Watery Lane instead of Alice's pale face.

"Why would I ever appreciate you putting yourself in danger? It's like you want bad stuff to happen to you.. I don't bloody get it." He muttered.

"But last night, you said I could kill Jones. Isn't this just a step to that?"

"I might've said it but I didn't mean it! No more blood needs to be on your hands! Only mine!"

Alice stood in silence for a few seconds, more irritated with John than she'd ever been. There were so many things she wanted to angrily spew but she didn't have the energy. Her mind was focused on the task before her now and so she decided to walk away - ignoring John's rude tut.

"I'll see you later." She spoke in a flat tone as she went back into the family house, where Arthur was waiting to give her every detail necessary for the plan to work.

[marleyelona]

I've had this peaky blinders story I've been working on for years and was just wondering if I should publish it here or not. Would anyone be interested???

[zablife]

Green Gloves (Part 2)

Summary: Ada learns a bit more about Irene's family history as the girls' shenanigans continue.

Author's Note: If you'd like to see the way I picture Irene's family, check out her details here.

Warnings: mention of injury, death, underage drinking, vomiting

Part 1

Peering inside the quiet stillness of the betting shop, Irene gulped at the thought of crossing the threshold into the Shelbys’ lair. It wasn’t only the late hour that made her uneasy, she always had an eery feeling of being watched in this mysterious place.

When she first mentioned this to Ada, her observation was met with a dismissive chuckle and an explanation that it was only Aunt Polly’s traditions that made their home seem different. "I don't believe the superstitions and neither should you!" Ada had advised.

It was easier said than done when faced with the reality, however. Irene's head snapped at the slightest sound, her trembling voice echoing against Ada's back. “I don’t like this,” in a disapproving tone. Desperate fingers grappling at her friend’s elbow, she attempted to draw Ada from the double doors she knew to be strictly off limits.

“Why? Scared of the dark? Or Aunt Pol’s curses?” Ada teased, wriggling free of her grasp and quickly slipping inside. 

Eventually losing sight of her friend and unwilling to follow, Irene stood rooted to the spot just outside the door. Eyes trailing toward the cracked ceiling, she strained to listen for footsteps indicating the formidable Polly Gray would appear to punish them.

The sudden twitch of her limbs revealed her state of anxiety, realizing she’d been holding her breath when the light headedness caused her to sway on her feet. Stumbling backward against the kitchen table, she propped herself up against the far end and silently cursed Ada for whatever errand was taking so long. 

Though she wasn’t sure how long she might be waiting, Irene didn’t dare take a seat, her discomfort in her surroundings gnawing fiercely at her insides. She briefly thought of tidying the cluttered surface in front of her, hands reaching for a dirty teacup when she noticed the curious sight of Polly’s bible and rosary next to a stack of brightly decorated cards.

She hadn’t known what they were a few weeks ago, but now she had a rudimentary understanding of tarot. Ada explained her aunt gave readings as a way to provide solace to war widows and those clinging to the hope they wouldn’t soon fall victim. Though Irene hadn't decided how she felt about the practice, it was a detail about Ada's family Irene thought best not to mention to her devoutly religious mother.

A scuffle across the floorboards indicated Ada was returning from her mission, her triumphant whisper echoing through the corridor. “Found it!" Ada announced proudly as she beckoned Irene. "Time to go."

Irene didn’t ask what she was carrying in the small sack at her side. In all honesty, she didn’t care what Ada had come for, only that they were free to leave. 

—————————-

“This is why we broke into your aunt’s shop?” Irene accused, her voice pitching higher than intended at the shock of seeing a whisky bottle peeking out from the edges of burlap.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down! Do you want your mum to catch us?” Ada scolded. 

Irene clamped a hand over her mouth, peering into the hall before closing the door to her room. “S no crime to take somefin' from your own house,” came Ada's muffled reply, teeth clenched around the cork of the bottle to dislodge it.

Overcome with curiosity, Irene peered over Ada's shoulder asking, “Where did you find it?”

“Arthur...stashed... a bottle in...his office,” Ada struggled to reply, continuing to tug at the stubborn cork before eventually freeing it with a satisfying pop. She took a swig and recoiled at the burn at the back of her throat, then extended the bottle to Irene.

As Irene held the glass between her palms, she stared into the foul smelling liquid with trepidation. “Who’s Arthur?” she asked before taking a small sip and sliding the bottle back to Ada with a shiver.

Hands hovering at the neck, Ada’s fingers stilled momentarily and she seemed to hold her breath. Irene thought she detected a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes before she blinked it away with her usual irreverence. Her head bobbed slightly as she huffed out a little chuckle, “According to Polly, he’s an ignorant git who causes too much trouble."

As Ada drank some more, Irene studied her face for any sign she might continue, but the moment had seemingly passed. Attempting to hide the overexcited tremble in her voice, Irene ventured, “Is he your sweetheart?” 

Laughter punctuated the silence, Ada’s shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she fell over, one hand clutching her mouth to stifle her soft snorts.

Irene looked on in utter confusion and slight annoyance. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

Pushing onto her elbows, Ada attempted to sit upright as she continued to chuckle, “That’s something Arthur’s never been called before!” Wiping a tear from her eye, she repeated, “sweetheart.” As Irene waited for an explanation, Ada waved her hand dismissively, “He’s my older brother.”

“Oh, of course,” Irene sighed, a note of relief evident in her voice. “You’d only mentioned John,” she added quickly, remembering the little house with tow headed children playing outside.

“I hadn’t meant to hide it. Honestly, I think I forget sometimes now that they’ve been away so long,” Ada uttered softly. Clearing her throat of any lingering sentiment, she explained, “There’s Arthur, Tommy and John besides me and Finn.” Sweeping the hair from her eyes, she asked, “And the Robinsons? Are there more brothers you’ve kept secret from me?” With a teasing wink, she passed the bottle back to her friend.

Irene shook her head as she tipped it against her lips, a dribble of amber liquid spilling down her chin. Wiping it away quickly to keep it from falling onto her dress, she was too preoccupied to stop herself from confessing, “Father would have preferred sons, but Martin’s the only one. What a disappointment for him, eh?” 

As soon as she locked eyes with Ada’s curious stare, she pressed her lips together tightly. However, she had to admit the catharsis of saying the words aloud for the first time. Taking another gulp of whisky, she noted how little it burned now, the sudden warmth lapping at her spine to coax the truth from her with ease. 

"I'm not sure what the point of it was, following the rules when Martin ignored them,” she snorted softly at the memory of the spirited disagreements between father and son, especially when Martin told them he intended to enlist. “Mum always said they could fight about everything and nothing, too alike for their own good."

Her gaze shifted to Martin’s books stacked by her bed, the beloved volumes entrusted to her care before his departure. She exhaled deeply, staving off the blooming ache in her chest at the notion of her loved ones assembled for the last time. A distant look in her eye, she confided quietly, “Sometimes I wonder if he might be alive if it weren't for Martin.”

"I don't understand," Ada admitted with a look of concern.

“He couldn’t bear to hear his only son had been gravely wounded, so he collapsed. Everyone says it was a weakened heart, but I think it was a broken one," Irene nodded softly to herself. "It's as though it only beat for one person." The rest of us weren't enough, she added in her mind, but the tears collecting along her lash line conveyed the sentiment.

Ada reached to grasp her friend’s hand in the darkness, giving a gentle squeeze. She'd never given much thought to Arthur Sr's opinion of her, but it was clear Irene's needs were different. There would always be a piece of her which craved the love and attention Mr. Robinson gave so freely to her brother.

Looking down at their interlaced fingers, Irene's heart swelled at the closeness and comfort. There hadn’t been much in the past year, her mum busying herself with the business of carrying on like the dutiful wife and mother she'd always been. Irene often thought how easy a decision it would be to trade this life for her old one, even with the squabbles and slights.

“Is your family close?” Irene asked suddenly, hazel eyes glistening with hope.

“Always within striking distance,” Ada smirked, earning a bubble of laughter from Irene.

“Can't be helped really with a family business," she explained with a shrug. "Arthur runs the betting shop with Tommy and John working under him,” she repeated, knowing the order of things as Polly had explained them many times over. It was important to know, lest others get the wrong impression while they were away that things would be any different after the war.

Irene suddenly felt a cold chill run down her spine at the thought of the infamous Shelby temper, head snapping toward the half empty bottle in her hand. “Shouldn’t we save the rest for Arthur if he comes looking?” 

“Nah, fuck him!” Ada snickered, stealing it for another swig. 

“Are you so sure he won’t return for it?” Irene laughed as her hand fell across Ada's in a disjointed attempt to grab at the bottle. She froze the moment the words left her mouth, fingertips brushing along Ada's knuckles as she relinquished her hold. “I’m so sorry, Ada. I'm not sure why I said that," she murmured in apology.

She felt her stomach lurch, threatening to overturn its contents and turned away from Ada with downcast eyes. "I've had too much,” she gestured to the bottle, hanging her head in shame.

“S’alright,” Ada replied, eyes glazing over from her own indulgence. With a wave of her hand she continued, "Pol says whisky is good proofing water." Placing her palm against Irene's back she added earnestly, "You're a good person."

Irene shifted, burying her head in her friend’s shoulder and inhaled the sweet scent of rose water with a hint of the unique tea in Aunt Polly's cupboards.

"Are you like her?" Irene wondered aloud.

"Hmmm?"

"Have you seen...things... in the cards, I mean?"

"Never tried," Ada admitted. "Nor the tea leaves."

"What's that?"

"Surely you noticed all the cups," Ada muttered. "Pol reads the leaves left over, to tell the future."

"She can?"

"So she claims. Predicted the death of our neighbor two years ago," Ada proclaimed before furrowing her brow with newfound concentration. "Come to think of it, she could have predicted your father's death...if you'd known her then, of course."

Irene shook her head violently. "No, I wouldn't have wanted to know."

"Really?" Ada asked, eyebrows raised. "I'd want to know if my old man dropped dead. Might throw a party," she grinned at the thought of the selfish bastard dying alone somewhere. However, the joke was lost on poor Irene who sat in heavy silence.

"F-forget I said anything," Ada stuttered awkwardly, hoping Irene would leave that particular conversation for another day. To her relief, exhaustion was quickly overtaking her friend, Irene's eyelids drooping beneath the weight of impending sleep. Her limbs growing heavy, she allowed her body to sink into Ada's side with a small sigh of satisfaction. Arm slung across Ada's waist, her breathing slowed and she found herself drifting toward peaceful slumber.

That is, until Ada suddenly jolted her awake.

“What is it? My mum?” Irene said, rubbing her eyes.

“I think I know what will cheer us up,” Ada suggested, rising to her feet.

“I don’t want any more whisky,” Irene protested, holding up a hand.

Ada only giggled as she took Irene by the arm and lead her out the door toward her mother’s shop. 

“We can't go down there!” Irene hissed.

“I just want to try on a few dresses. Please, Irene!” Ada begged.

All fight gone from her body, Irene gave in with one stipulation, “Just one or two.” Ada nodded her head vigorously in agreement.

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

An hour and a considerable amount of whisky later, both girls were prancing about the shop in frocks Mrs. Robinson had spent weeks preparing for the ladies of neighboring towns. Ada insisted Irene try a pale yellow dress even though she balked incessantly about it being her least favorite color. And in retaliation, Irene chose the first thing Ada showed true disdain for, a mass of ruffles and lace.

Standing before the full length mirror, Ada studied herself carefully, turning this way and that to see how she looked in the garment. Casting a jealous glance at Irene, she noted how much better her friend filled out the bodice of her dress. “I wish I had your tits,” Ada whined without realizing she’d actually said the words aloud.

“Seriously?” Irene asked with incredulous delight. “Gosh, I’d love to have your tiny waist!” Ada's cheeks flushed with heat, unable to remark as Irene ran her fingers along the boning of her dress with featherlight touch.

Their eyes locked in the mirror for a moment before Ada broke away to reach for Irene’s hand, promenading her partner around the shop with a flourish. “You look simply marvelous,” she complimented in a posh accent. Twirling her friend closer she added, "for a giant banana" with a snicker of mischievous delight.

Irene stuck her tongue out impishly, but chose to return the wayward compliment. “Not nearly as lovely as you, my dear lace doily,” she snorted, hinging forward in a deep bow that nearly saw her face plant onto the workroom floor.

Motionless against the cold boards, she was horrified to notice how they moved in undulating waves around her, Ada's legs swaying along. Irene shook her head with an unpleasant grimace. "Ada, stop moving!” she pleaded in a pitiful tone.

“M’not!” Ada protested. Glancing down at her very green looking friend, she suddenly began to panic. “Wait…are you going to be sick?”

“No!” Irene answered emphatically before bolting upright.

Ada knelt down to her, rubbing Irene’s back in soothing circles. “You'll be alright, won't you?"

Irene shut her eyes to the nausea building in the pit of her stomach, biting her lip in stubborn insistence that she could hold off the inevitable.

“That’s it,” Ada encouraged. “Wait for me to get this off you at least,” she muttered, fingers twisting in the buttons uselessly. 

At that very moment, Irene hurled the contents of her stomach onto the dress, Ada and the floor.

Ada stopped short, muddled brain taking a long beat to process what had just occurred. Arms flopping by her sides dramatically she winced in despair, “Bloody hell, Irene!”

Taking a huge gulp of air, Irene turned toward her friend and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her ruined garment. Her watery eyes searched Ada's briefly before she fell back against the ground with a thud. "That's what you get for making me wear yellow," she chided before her eyes slammed closed.

Cont. reading Part 3

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

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@callsign-fangirl

@notyour-valentine

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@dreamlandcreations

@lilladygrinningsoul

[wonderlanddreamer]

What I think the Shelby's love languages are with zero explanation -

Tommy: Acts of service.

Arthur: Physical touch.

John & Ada: Quality Time.

Polly & Finn: Words of Affirmation.

Michael: Recieving Gifts.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Lies She Told

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x Cheating Wife! Reader

Summary: Thomas finds out his wife has been unfaithful.

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: Barely Proof-Read

possessive! Thomas, cheating, angst, yelling.

Inspiration: Darlin’ - Chase Matthew

The Arrow House was alive with the hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the subtle, yet unmistakable undertone of power. Thomas Shelby stood in the midst of it all, his sharp blue eyes surveying the room with a practiced indifference.

The event was a display of wealth, a gathering of influential people whose lives intersected with his in the labyrinthine world of business. The house, his fortress, was filled with guests, all eager to curry favor, to be seen, to be acknowledged by the man who held the reins of so many fates. Yet, amidst the sea of faces, his mind was elsewhere. A businessman, flushed with alcohol and self-importance, was rambling on about the portrait that hung on the wall—a painting of Thomas on horseback. The man’s admiration was laced with sycophancy, but Thomas barely registered the words. He offered a perfunctory smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, before dismissing the man with a curt nod. The urge to find his wife was gnawing at him, a strange sense of unease settling in his chest. She was always near him at these events, her presence a constant, a subtle reminder of his power and control. But tonight, she was conspicuously absent.

He had noticed things lately, small things that gnawed at him. The scent of another man’s cologne lingering on his wife’s clothes, the way she seemed distant, her mind always somewhere else. He’d dismissed it at first, chalking it up to the pressures of his business, the strain it placed on their marriage. But the doubts had grown, festering like an untreated wound. 

Thomas’s steps were measured, deliberate, as he moved through the throngs of people. He navigated the crowd with a practiced ease, his mere presence parting the guests like the tide. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, his mind too focused on the task at hand. The more he looked, the more his concern grew. He knew every corner of this house, every nook and cranny, and yet she was nowhere to be found. It was unlike her, and that worried him. The farther he went from the main gathering, the quieter the house became. The laughter and chatter faded into a dull murmur as he moved deeper into the shadows of the grand estate. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, the polished floors reflecting the dim light of the wall sconces. It was in these quiet moments that Thomas felt most at ease, away from the watchful eyes, away from the noise. But tonight, even the silence did little to calm the unease that was building within him.

Then he heard it—soft, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him stop in his tracks. A voice, faint and foreign, carried through the air. “Darlin’... please don’t tempt me...” The accent was Southern, American, and entirely out of place in his home. It was the tone that caught his attention more than the words, the intimate, almost pleading quality that made his blood run cold.

Thomas’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, his eyes narrowing as he honed in on the source. His heart began to pound, a slow, steady rhythm that echoed in his ears as he moved forward, his pace quickening. The voice was a thread, pulling him toward something he wasn’t sure he wanted to see, but something he needed to confirm. His thoughts were a whirlwind of suspicion and disbelief, each step bringing him closer to a truth he feared. His footsteps were almost silent on the floor beneath him as he made his way towards the back of the house. There was something pulling him in that direction, an instinct honed by years of surviving on the streets, by being one step ahead of danger. He reached the corridor that led to the servants' quarters, a place he rarely ventured. But tonight, something drew him there. As he approached, he noticed the door to the maid’s room slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out into the darkened hallway.

Thomas stopped, his heart thudding in his chest, the sound loud in his ears. He could hear voices, low and muffled, coming from inside. One voice was his wife’s, unmistakable in its softness, in the way it had once brought him comfort. But now it sent a chill down his spine. The other voice was unfamiliar, a man’s voice, rough with a country accent. “Darlin’... you’re too good for him... too sweet,” the words echoed in his mind, each one a dagger twisting in his gut. Anger surged through him, a hot, violent rage that he hadn’t felt in years. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He felt a red mist descending, clouding his vision, filling his mind with thoughts of violence, of retribution. Without thinking, he reached for the door handle, yanking it back with a force that made the wood groan in protest. The door flew open, slamming against the wall, and the room was suddenly bathed in harsh, overhead light as he flicked the switch.

The scene before him was like something out of a nightmare. His wife, the woman he had trusted above all others, and there she was—his wife, standing far too close to a man Thomas had never seen before. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a rough, rugged look that spoke of a life far removed from the polished circles of Birmingham society. They froze, their eyes locking with his, the shock evident on their faces. His hand rested on the small of her back, his body angled toward hers in a way that made Thomas’s stomach turn; it was too familiar, too intimate. Thomas’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of impending violence. His eyes flicked to his wife, then to the man, and back again. The silence in the room was deafening, the air thick with tension. Thomas took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to rein in the fury that threatened to explode. His hand came up to the bridge of his nose, pinching it slightly as he closed his eyes, a hiss of frustration escaping his lips. He needed to control himself, to think clearly. But the betrayal was like a knife in his back, twisting deeper with every passing second. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. He wanted to hurt them both, to make them pay for what they had done. But more than that, he wanted answers. He needed to understand how this had happened, how he had been blindsided in his own home.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, dripping with barely contained rage. “What the fuck is goin’ on ‘ere?” His words were slow, deliberate, each one a bullet aimed at the two people standing before him. He wanted to see them squirm, to see the fear in their eyes as they realized the gravity of what they had done. His wife flinched at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide with fear and guilt. The man beside her paled, his bravado crumbling in the face of Thomas’s cold fury.

“Tommy, I... I can explain,” his wife stammered, her voice shaking. But Thomas wasn’t interested in her explanations, not yet. He stepped into the room, his presence dominating the space, making it feel smaller, more claustrophobic.

“Don’t.” His voice was low, dangerous, the kind of tone that made even the bravest men think twice. He stepped into the room, his gaze fixed on the man, who was now standing tall, as if trying to assert his dominance. But Thomas Shelby was not a man to be challenged, especially not in his own home.

His eyes bore into the man who still had the audacity to stand so close to his wife. “Who even the fuck are yeh?” Thomas growled, his voice low and deadly, the kind of voice that made men confess their sins.

“You’ve got some nerve, eh?” Thomas’s voice was laced with venom, his accent thickening as his anger grew. He took another step closer, his eyes never leaving the man’s face. “Comin’ into my house, touchin’ my wife... Yeh must be either brave or stupid. Or both.”

His gaze was locked on the man, a pitiful excuse for a human being who now stood trembling before him. The man was trying to speak, but his words were garbled, caught in his throat as if the very act of forming a sentence in Thomas’s presence was too much for him to bear. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands shook at his sides, like a cornered animal ready to bolt at the first sign of mercy—or danger. Thomas’s jaw tightened, the muscle twitching beneath his skin as he held back the surge of violence that clawed at his insides.

The room was painfully silent, save for the man’s ragged breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Thomas’s wife shifted uncomfortably behind him. But even without looking at her, Thomas could feel her presence—could sense the guilt radiating off her in waves, mingling with the stench of fear and betrayal that hung heavy in the air. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his polished shoes. The man flinched, his eyes wide with terror, darting from Thomas to his wife and back again. Thomas could see the thoughts racing through the man’s mind, the desperate scramble to find a way out, a way to explain himself, to justify the unforgivable. But there was no justification—not for this.

“Answer me,” Thomas growled, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that made men think twice before crossing him. It was a command, not a request, and the man knew it. But still, he hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, words failing him in the face of Thomas’s cold, unyielding stare.

Thomas’s eyes flicked back to his wife, catching the brief, pleading glance she sent the man’s way, a silent cry for help that went unanswered. The sight of it—of her still trying to protect this man, this nobody—made something inside him snap. His anger, already a simmering storm, flared hot and uncontrollable, flooding his veins with a heat that burned away any remnants of restraint. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until the man finally found his voice, though it wavered with fear. “I-I didn’t mean... I never wanted to... I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby... Please, I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what?” Thomas interrupted, his voice a sharp, cutting blade. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them until he was towering over the man, his presence overwhelming. “Didn’t know she was married? Didn’t know who I was?” He sneered, his lip curling with disgust. “Or didn’t care?”

The man’s breath hitched, and he glanced desperately at Thomas’s wife, as if hoping she might intervene, might save him from the wrath that was surely coming. But Thomas wasn’t having it. He reached out, his hand like a vice as he grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him forward until they were nose to nose. The man’s feet barely touched the ground, and his breath came in short, panicked gasps as he struggled in Thomas’s grip.

“Yeh think I don’t know men like yeh?” Thomas hissed, his voice low but filled with venom. “Yeh think I haven’t dealt with worse scum than you in the streets of Birmingham? Yer nothing. Less than nothing. And yeh had the audacity to touch what’s mine?”

He shoved the man back, releasing him with a force that sent him stumbling into the wall behind him. The man crumpled, his legs giving out beneath him as he slid to the floor, his back against the faded wallpaper. Thomas loomed over him, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, the urge to beat the life out of this pitiful creature nearly overpowering. But he held back—barely—his mind still whirring, still calculating. Violence wasn’t the answer—not yet. He needed to know more. Needed to understand the full extent of this betrayal before he could decide how to deal with it. He turned his attention to his wife, who was now openly weeping, her face buried in her hands. The sound of her sobs grated on his nerves, a reminder of the pain she had caused, the trust she had shattered. But there was something else too, something in the way she cried that made him pause. It wasn’t just guilt or fear that drove her tears—there was something deeper, a sadness that he hadn’t expected, hadn’t seen before.

“Tommy, please...” she whispered, her voice muffled by her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to happen... I swear, it was a mistake... I’ve been so lonely...”

At the word lonely, Thomas felt a fresh wave of anger crash over him. He could hardly believe the audacity of it, the sheer gall of her to use such an excuse. Lonely? Lonely? As if that justified anything. As if that gave her the right to betray him, to throw away everything they had built together over the past four years. His teeth ground together, the sound nearly audible in the tense silence of the room.

“Lonely,” he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “Yeh think that’s a fuckin’ excuse? Yeh think that makes it alright?” His words were sharp, each one hitting her like a physical blow, and she flinched as if she had been struck. But he didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. The floodgates had opened, and all the bitterness, the hurt, the betrayal he had been holding back came pouring out, each word laced with venom.

“Yeh think I don’t know what lonely is? Yeh think I don’t feel it too? Every time I’m away, every time I have to leave this house to keep us safe, to keep yeh safe, yeh think I don’t feel it? But I didn’t stray, did I? I didn’t go lookin’ for comfort in someone else’s arms, did I? And yet here yeh are, beggin’ for forgiveness, tryin’ to make me understand.”

His fists were still clenched at his sides, the knuckles white and trembling with the effort it took not to lash out, not to give in to the primal urge to break something—anything. But he couldn’t let that happen. He needed to stay in control, needed to keep his head clear, even as his heart ached and his blood boiled with the realization of what she had done. He turned back to the man, who was still cowering on the floor, eyes wide with terror as he looked up at Thomas, knowing that his fate lay in the hands of the man who stood above him. Thomas took a deep breath, forcing himself to think, to plan, to strategize. This man wasn’t worth his anger, wasn’t worth the blood that would be spilled if he gave in to his rage. But he couldn’t let him off easy—not after this.

“Yeh better run while yeh still can,” Thomas said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “Maybe yeh’ll be far enough away before my men get to yeh. But don’t count on it.”

The man hesitated for only a moment, and then, with a choked sob of relief, he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door. Thomas didn’t move as the man brushed past him, didn’t flinch as the double doors slammed shut behind him, leaving the room in an oppressive, suffocating silence. Finally, when the sound of the man’s footsteps had faded into the distance, Thomas turned back to his wife. She was still crying, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, and for a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—he felt a pang of something like pity. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the cold, hard reality of what she had done.

He took a step closer to her, his shoes thudding softly against the wooden floor. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, before wrapping around her wrists in a firm, possessive grip. There was no anger in the touch, not yet. It was more a need to connect, to hold onto something that felt real in a moment when everything else seemed to be slipping away. His other hand found its way to her waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, pulling her closer. The familiar scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, a scent that once brought him comfort but now only reminded him of what might be lost.

“Why would yeh throw what we have away… why?” His voice was low, gritty, carrying the weight of the unspoken accusations that lingered between them. It wasn’t just a question; it was a plea, a desperate attempt to understand how the woman he loved could betray him. His breath was warm against her ear, and he could feel the slight tremor in her body as he spoke. But whether that tremor was from fear, guilt, or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell.

The silence that followed his question was deafening. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, a dull thud that seemed to echo in the small room. His grip on her wrists tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that he was there, that he wasn’t letting go until he got the answers he needed. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to piece together the puzzle of their relationship. Where had it all gone wrong? Was it something he did? Or was it something she had been planning all along? Thomas was a man who prided himself on control, on being able to manage every aspect of his life with a precision that few could match. But here, now, with his wife in his grasp and the specter of infidelity hanging over them, he felt that control slipping. And it terrified him. He had been faithful to her, had given her everything she could ever want, and yet here they were, standing on the precipice of something that could destroy them both.

His eyes searched hers, looking for the truth, for any sign that she might deny the accusations, that she might reassure him, tell him he was wrong. But instead, he saw something else—something that made his stomach churn. Was it guilt? Or was it defiance? He couldn’t tell, and that only made his grip tighten further, his knuckles whitening as he held onto her as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“Eh?” he pressed, his voice a low growl now, the frustration evident in every syllable. 

Thomas's left her waist and darted roughly to her hand that bared her wedding ring he had custom made just for her. He gripped her hand with a force that teetered on the edge of violence, his fingers digging into her soft skin. The silver wedding ring gleamed ominously in the dim light, a symbol of their union now turned into a weapon. He shoved her hand roughly in front of her face, forcing her to confront the reality of what that ring meant. “Yeh see this fuckin’ rock on yer’ finger…” he hissed, his voice low and gravelly, each word laced with venom. “That means yer fuckin’ mine!”

His wife’s eyes, wide with a mix of fear and defiance, flickered between his own and the ring, her lips trembling as she tried to form a response. But before she could even utter a word, Thomas yanked her closer, their faces now inches apart. His breath was hot against her cheek, the scent of whiskey still clinging to him from the earlier hours. His jaw clenched as he spoke again, slower this time, his voice dropping even lower, the words grinding out like stones against each other. “D’ya understand? Mine.” There was no room for doubt in his tone, no space for negotiation. This was not a man who tolerated disobedience or betrayal. This was a man who had built an empire from nothing, a man who had clawed his way out of the mud and blood of Small Heath to stand at the top. And now, the very idea that the woman he had chosen to stand beside him, the woman he had protected and loved in his own cold, twisted way, could be betraying him? It was an affront he could barely comprehend, let alone tolerate.

He cupped her face, his fingers curling against her skin with a force that bordered on roughness, a desperate need to feel her, to remind himself that she was still his, despite the cracks that had formed in the foundation of their marriage. His thumb brushed over her cheek, a gesture that was almost tender if not for the underlying tension that coiled in his muscles, a barely restrained violence that simmered just below the surface. He pulled her towards him, their lips colliding in a kiss that was more a battle than an embrace. It wasn’t the gentle, loving kiss of a husband to his wife; it was a claiming, a demand, a statement of ownership wrapped in the guise of affection. The kiss was harsh, driven by a mix of need and anger, of love and betrayal. His lips pressed against hers with a bruising intensity, as if he could kiss the doubt away, as if he could force her to be faithful through sheer willpower. His other hand tangled in her hair, the softness of the strands a stark contrast to the roughness of his grip. He held her there, anchored in place, as if letting go would mean losing her entirely. He could feel the resistance in her, the hesitation, and it only spurred him on, deepening the kiss, trying to pull something from her, a confession, a reassurance, anything that would give him peace.

Time seemed to stretch, the kiss consuming them both, blocking out the world beyond the four walls of the room. It was just them now, two people locked in a struggle as old as time itself—love and trust, suspicion and betrayal. Thomas knew what he was fighting for, but he wasn’t sure if she did. He wasn’t sure if she felt the same desperation, the same need to make this work, to keep what they had from crumbling into dust. When he finally pulled back, his chest heaving from the intensity of the kiss, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested against hers, his breath hot and heavy against her lips as he searched her eyes for something—anything—that would tell him he wasn’t making a mistake. His eyes bore into hers, seeking the truth, pleading with her to give him some sign that she was still the woman he married, the woman he had been faithful to for four long years. There was a flicker there, a glimmer of something that might have been hope, or perhaps it was just a reflection of his own desperate need to believe. But whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“We made that promise,” he said, his voice a low growl, thick with the accent of Birmingham, every word carrying the weight of their past, their vows, their life together. “Four years, we’ve been through hell and back, and I’ve stood by you every step of the way. But now...” He trailed off, his grip on her face tightening slightly, a flash of anger, of pain, flickering across his features. “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

Author's Notes:

Ahhhhhhh! where have I been? School started for me and I've also been in a writers block lolz. But yeah, hopefully this story doesn't suck.. anyways toodles!!

[novashelby]

Evie: The Younger Years

Pairing: Father-Daughter Bond; Dad!ShelbyxOFC

Warnings: Some mentions of childhood trauma, but not in depth.

Summary: When poor little Evie was left by her mother, Tommy felt the need to step up. Out of everything in his life, he knew that Evie was the one right choice.

This story is written in sitcom-like segments. For the most part, it is meant to be fluffy, adorable, and just comedy. I wanted something light hearted for when I don't wanna write smut/intense themes.

Please give it a chance if you like funny stuff.

Ao3

Wattpad

[flowermoonsblog]

PEAKY BLINDERS FANDOM Can someone point me to fan fiction about Ada and Isaiah (whether they're here or on other writing sites). After watching 6X3, I was enchanted by their chemistry and sexual tension. I would enjoy reading more about it.‼️🙏🏽🙏🏽