#peaky blinder

[thepeakygirl]

There’s one discussion that bothers me in this fandom and it’s the whole baby trapping situation. The discussion I don’t agree with is when it’s put across that Lizzie made this elaborate plan to baby trap Tommy. Both Grace and Lizzie got pregnant from a one night stand. Of course Tommy and grace loved each other but it was still a one night stand, she was married, Lizzie was not. Both women chose to keep their baby so I don’t see why it’s such an issue that Lizzie kept ruby when grace kept Charlie and both women had no idea how it would work out in the end. Tommy chose to marry Lizzie for his own gain. He could have just bought her a house like he said and supported his child. HE CHOSE marriage emphasis on HE CHOSE. You can’t accuse one woman of baby trapping without the other. Both didn’t know they would end up pregnant, both had the right to decide if they wanted to keep their baby or not. It takes two to tango, Tommy should have been more careful spreading his baby gravy too.

[babyfacebuttercup]

Brown Sugar

A/N: this was a request a few years ago I think and I’m finally done. Also be warned it’s 18+ lot of sexual themes here😅 I might have gotten carried away.

She hadn’t been in Camden Town long. Alfie Solomon’s blood ran in her veins but the two shared little in appearance. Alfie was crude unpolished and menacing. Y/N was poised silent and observant. A woman who understood exactly how much power lived in quiet corners and deep glances. The bakery wasn’t her idea of peace but it was her uncle’s territory and therefore the safest place for her to begin again.

The first time Thomas Shelby saw her it wasn’t love it was war. His steel-blue eyes landed on her like a storm. The kind of gaze that stripped skin from bone and she didn’t flinch. She simply looked back eyes unblinking head tilted just slightly as if to say she’d seen better men try harder.

“You don’t look like the rest of the help” Tommy said as he pulled out a cigarette letting it rest on his lips before lighting it slowly.

“I’m not” Y/N replied her voice smooth and low like melted molasses dripping slow and sticky with heat. Alfie had sent her to bring him tea. That’s how it started.

Their rendezvous began innocently in alleys behind the bakery late at night when the scent of smoke and rye bread still lingered. Words were traded like weapons and every accidental brush of her hand against his was a fuse waiting for fire. Y/N liked the way he watched her mouth when she spoke the way his breath hitched when she leaned too close. He was dangerous and she was curious. That’s all it took.

The first time they kissed it was in the back of Alfie’s office behind crates of aged scotch. His hands gripped her hips with the reverence of a man who’d been starved. Her soft skin gleamed like polished mahogany in the half-light and his lips pressed hot and slow against hers. She gasped when he pushed her against the brick her thighs parting for him instinctively. There was no talk only touch. Only the rasp of his voice in her ear telling her he’d dreamt of this.

Her moans echoed off the cold walls when his mouth found the curve of her breast tugging at her neckline until one dusky nipple was between his lips. He sucked it greedily hands slipping beneath her dress to stroke the soft skin of her thighs. She whimpered fingers tangled in his hair while he murmured her name like a prayer he didn’t believe in. When he entered her slow and deep she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out. He didn’t stop moving until her legs trembled around him and her back arched from the crates.

After that Tommy became reckless. She’d find him waiting outside in his motorcar cigarette burning low between his fingers jaw tight until she slid in beside him. Sometimes he’d take her to the Garrison push her into the back room and pull her onto his lap letting his hands explore her beneath velvet skirts while she rode him slow and shameless. Other nights they didn’t speak. He’d undress her in his bedroom like she was silk and she’d press kisses into the scars on his chest until he forgot his name.

It couldn’t last and they both knew it. Polly caught them first.

She opened the door to Tommy’s office and froze. Y/N was perched on the edge of his desk her brown skin glowing with sweat hair wild dress pushed up to her hips as Tommy thrust into her from behind one hand locked around her throat the other digging into her waist. Polly didn’t scream. She simply turned walked out and poured herself a drink.

Alfie was another story.

He found out two days later. The bruises on her thighs were like fingerprints and she didn’t bother hiding them. She walked through the bakery with her chin up hips swaying the scent of Tommy still clinging to her skin.

Alfie cornered her in the storeroom voice raised face red with fury.

“ You lettin’ that fuckin’ gypsy crawl up between your legs now is that it” he snapped pacing like a lion ready to maul.

Y/N didn’t deny it. She simply said “I’m not a girl anymore Alfie. You don’t get to decide who I let love me.”

He raised his hand like he might slap the truth from her mouth but he didn’t. Her eyes didn’t blink and he saw something in them he hadn’t seen before.

“You better hope he means it” Alfie growled before storming out. Tommy did mean it. But in the Shelby world meaning something didn’t mean it was safe.

He kept seeing her. Every stolen moment more dangerous than the last. He started talking about taking her away about marrying her about making her the only softness in his life of iron and war. And Y/N believed him. Not because she was foolish but because she saw the man he was when the world stopped watching. The man who kissed every inch of her skin as though her body was scripture. The man who whispered “Mine” every time he buried himself inside her like he was afraid she might vanish.

Y/N didn’t know how it would end. Whether blood or fire or something worse. But when Thomas Shelby looked at her like she was the only thing in Birmingham that made sense she knew she’d burn for him. And she knew she wouldn’t regret it.

But the fire never came. Not the kind she feared.

What came instead was a knock on her door one morning before the bakery opened. Rain dripped off Tommy’s coat and his cigarette was soaked through between his fingers but he didn’t care. His jaw was locked like he’d already made up his mind and the storm behind his eyes wasn’t rage. It was decision.

He stepped inside before she said a word. Took her face in his hands. Looked at her like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Then he kissed her slow and deep and when he pulled away he spoke so clearly it left no room for questions.

“I want you in my house not just in my bed. I want your mouth on my name and your name on my hand.” Y/N didn’t move at first. Just stared at him while her breath evened out and her heart kicked hard behind her ribs. Then she smiled slow and dangerous and let her fingers slip beneath his soaked coat.

“Then you better tell my uncle before I do.”

It didn’t go quietly. Alfie shouted. Broke a bottle. Called Tommy a walking corpse and a curse. But Y/N stood between them calm and sharp like a blade. Tommy didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. He said he wasn’t asking. He said she wasn’t property. He said he’d kill for her or walk away if that’s what she chose.

And she chose him.

The bakery didn’t feel like home anymore. Her hips didn’t belong in flour-dusted aisles. They belonged in silk sheets and quiet mornings and on Tommy’s lap with his hands resting on her thighs like that was where he’d found his peace. She moved in without a word. Claimed drawers. Left perfume in his bathroom and hairpins on the table. Her presence filled the house until it stopped feeling haunted.

Polly didn’t speak on it but she bought Y/N a new coat and told her to wear darker lipstick. Ada just laughed and said it was about time Tommy met his match. Arthur stopped calling her “that girl” and started calling her “our girl” when he was drunk.

Tommy never asked her to change. Never told her to quiet down or sit back. He let her argue. Let her curse. Let her walk into his meetings in a fitted dress that hugged every inch of her figure like it was stitched to her skin. She sat at his left side while old men blinked too hard and choked on their smoke. Tommy just smirked like he wanted them to.

One night she came home late from the Garrison alone. He was in bed already cigarette burning low one arm stretched across her side of the mattress.

“Where’ve you been?” He says with a cigarette in his mouth looking over us glasses. while looking over some paperwork. 

Saying without a glance to him. “Running your business better than you do.” He smiled without looking at her and patted the bed once.

“Come home then.”

She slid in beside him skin warm from the fire in the sitting room and pressed her lips to his chest slow and steady.

He caught her hand before she could move lower. Reached into the drawer. Pulled out a box. No words. Just opened it.

A gold ring. No stone. No fuss. Real. Solid. Heavy.

Y/N didn’t ask if he meant it.

She put it on and kissed him like an answer.

When they married it wasn’t a wedding. It was a decision. A signed name. A quiet promise. No flowers. No church. Just silk against skin and his hands around her waist when he said mine in front of the only people who mattered.

There were still nights full of teeth and bruises and sweat-soaked sheets where she rode him until he was too gone to speak. There were still mornings where he left blood on the doorstep and ash in the fireplace. But she never left. And he never asked her to.

Y/N Solomon-Shelby became the thing no one expected. Not just the woman in Tommy’s bed. But the one he built a life around. And when people spoke her name in whispers it wasn’t because of scandal anymore.

It was because they knew, she was the only thing in Birmingham. That could bring a man like Tommy Shelby to his knees.

[queenshelby]

AMERICAN GIRL (PART FIVE)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace's Stepdaughter!Reader

Warning: Grace is a bully, infidelity, taboo

When you made your way to your bedroom, you were surprised to see Emma, pretending to sleep in your bed. It was a clear statement – she wanted you to stay with her that night and you wondered whether she had a nightmare again.

"Sshh, it's alright," you whispered to her as  you sat down on the edge of the bed, gently stroking her hair. She didn't respond at first but gradually shifted closer to you, nuzzling her head on your shoulder.

"Why did he kiss you?" she  asked softly, curiosity tinting her voice.

"He shouldn't have," you admitted. "And honestly, I shouldn't be talking about this with you. You should be fast asleep, sweetheart."

Her grip tightened on your hand. "I am sorry I spied on you. I just heard the car pull up and hoped that it was you coming home," Emma  confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's alright, Em," you replied while still comforting her. 

"Do you like him?"  She asked the question hesitantly, as if she were unsure she wanted to know the answer.

Leaning down, I placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I actually think I might, but you can't tell Grace about it, okay?" you told Emma and she nodded obediently, hugging you tightly. 

You continued to run your fingers through Emma's hair, her breathing becoming deep and regular as sleep overtook her. Lulled by her slumbering figure, you let your thoughts drift, lingering on the curve of Thomas's smile and the way your heartbeat quickened with merely his presence.

You indeed wondered why had kissed you and whether it meant anything to him. There were many questions now that were clogging your mind, and you knew that there was no possible way that you could go to sleep like this. You had to know  – you had to find out the real reason behind Thomas's kiss. Had it been mere curiosity? Or perhaps, it was his impulsive side, leading him to act on his emotions?

You carefully disentangled yourself from Emma, who nestled deeper into her blankets, her soft snores reassuring you she wouldn't wake up anytime soon. You took one last look at her cherub face before stepping out of the room, gently closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, the oak floorboards creaked beneath your weight, guiding your path as you traversed the long winding corridors of the Shelby Residence. 

Arriving at the top of the grand staircase, you paused, basking in the stillness that enveloped the mansion. Every step you took echoed the turmoil brewing within you. The unknown left you both excited and anxious but unable to resist the temptation of discovery.

As expected, you saw some light coming from Tommy's office, and you found yourself drawn to it almost magnetically. Knocking  softly on the door, you entered only to find Thomas, all on his own, deep in thought, and absorbed by some official documents.

"You're still up," you murmured, your voice barely registering in the grand space.

Thomas looked up, his features softening at the sight of you. He closed the folder, his eyes not leaving yours, as he leaned back in his leather chair. "I am, but not for much longer." He smiled, his gaze sweeping over your figure in a quick, almost imperceptible manner.

It was a subtle gesture; however, it triggered goosebumps to spread across your skin.

"Come in," he offered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the mahogany desk. Thomas's eyes were vivid pools of curiosity; there was a certain intrigue brimming within him, and you were both the question and the answer to his restless night.

You hesitated for only a fleeting moment before moving further into the office. Its atmosphere was ripe with the scent of aged oak and the musky aroma of leather-bound books.

"Why did you kiss me?" you asked the question that had been weighing on your mind, the words falling lightly between you.

Thomas studied you for a moment, his eyes deep with unspoken reflections. "Impulse," he murmured at last, the single syllable carrying an emotional weight that seemed to defy explanation. He didn’t offer anything more, leaving you somewhat puzzled, and yet somehow, satisfied.

"I see," you replied quietly, your voice steady and measured as the silence lengthened between you. "So it was a mistake then?"  you asked, your voice barely wavering despite the disquiet building deep inside of you. Thomas stared at you for a moment, carefully weighing his next words. His eyes held a magnetic pull, his commanding presence making your heart race uncontrollably.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, drowning you both in an extended and deafening silence. The word hung in the air, a shocking revelation - an unwelcome truth. 

"Alright then," you murmured softly, masking your inner turmoil. You mustered a smile that failed to reach the depth of your eyes. "Have a good night, Tommy," you managed to say, swallowing down the bitterness.

Your voice sounded detached, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. You tried to pry your gaze away from his, but the pull towards Thomas was simply too strong to break free from him so easily.

Eventually though, you succeeded and you knew that, tomorrow was going to be another day.

You gently pushed the office door open, making no attempt to obscure the soft sigh that escaped your lips as you reentered the vast but comforting presence of the hallway. The dimmed glow of sconces adorning the walls guided your steps back to the sanctuary of your bedroom.

Returning to your bedchamber, you observed that this time around Emma lay undisturbed, wrapped in the soothing embrace of her dreams. As you undressed and slipped beneath the sheets, a myriad of unanswered questions whirled through your mind like an impenetrable fog.

With every attempt to make sense of the mysterious tension between you and Thomas, your thoughts became increasingly frayed and jumbled but, as the early morning light began to dance through the drapes, you finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

You awoke late, almost forgetting about your shift at the store. Quickly dressing, you hurried downstairs to save yourself from being late, skipping breakfast in the process.

Rushing out the door, you took a deep breath, prepared for another day of drudgery away from the Shelby residence but just as you looked around, you realised that there was no one to drive you.

Thus, you decided to take the car on the far left before driving off yourself to the town. The driveway seemed endless and unendingly twisted, but it served to prepare your mind for the day ahead. Fortunately, you managed to reach the parking lot of the Birmingham store where you worked with five minutes to spare.

As you entered the shop, you were somewhat surprised to see three bunches of flowers and a box of chocolates neatly arranged beside your station, catching your eye and not long after that, Ada came stumbling past.

"It looks like you made quite an impression last night at the Garrison,"  she teased, needling you with a pinch of friendly envy.

You blushed profusely as you took in the gifts before you with newfound surprise. 

"I suppose I did," you managed in response, trying to put on a nonchalant facade as you read through the notes and requests for dates from four different suitors.  You'd never had such attention from the opposite gender, and the sudden popularity made your heart race in excitement while also triggering an underlying shiver of anxiety.

"Of course, you did," Ada said wryly. "You're a Shelby now, remember? The perfect blend of grace and grit. No wonder they couldn't get enough."

Lost in the sea of compliments and secret longing, you barely noticed the day fly by and, just as the clock struck three, Tommy came walking into the store with his brothers Finn and Arthur.

"What is the go with all these fucking flowers?" Arthur  grumbled, eyeing the sea of red roses and delicate lilies surrounding you. You couldn't suppress your blush, shifting nervously as his gaze slid from the bouquets to you, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Tommy, however, remained silent as he took in the scene before him, his icy blue eyes scrutinizing every minute detail with a shrewd precision that made your skin prickle with awareness.

"These flowers were delivered here for Y/N, by several potential suitors I believe. So Finn, you really need to pick up your game if you want to catch her eye," Ada teased, causing Finn to blush.

"Uhm, right," he stammered before actually attempting to ask you out on a date while Tommy  studied you the entire time, an almost inscrutable look on his face. "Would you, perhaps, consider going out with me? I could take you somewhere nice," Finn  suggested, his voice wavering slightly as he offered you an awkward smile.

You eyed him kindly, understanding his discomfort. "Sure, I would love to," you replied softly. "Perhaps next week we could see a movie together," you offered, causing Tommy to gaze at you with a mixture of curiosity and perhaps a hint of irritation. Your attention was split between the unexpected date you just agreed to and the man who held your heart hostage, causing you  to feel dizzy and at his mercy.

"Finn is no fucking match for you Y/N. He is just a child playing games," Thomas finally interjected after both his brothers had left the store, waiting for him outside, smoking.

His tone was sharp; the edge of his words sliced through the air, ripe with unspoken accusations and concealed turmoil.

"Nonetheless, it is her decision, Tommy," Ada countered on your behalf, not understanding that, perhaps, her older brother was jealous . His mind spun with unsettling thoughts, feelings he couldn't quite understand. The jealousy he harbored towards Finn and every other potential suitor who did as little as just glance at you, left him infuriated.

"It is, but we don't want her to break Finn's fucking heart, eh"  Thomas retorted, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"And I have no attention of breaking anyone's heart," you replied defensively, the tone of your voice hinting at the frustration growing within you.

"Well then enjoy your date at the pictures, Y/N," Tommy said sarcastically, taking another drag of his cigarette to mask the awkwardness that hung in the air.

Unwilling to prolong the conversation, you began tidying the flowers and organizing them in a vase. Your actions, however, couldn't quell the burning curiosity that consumed you. The questions plaguing your mind swirled like a whirlpool, threatening to drown you in its enigmatic depths.

Why did Thomas care about what you did with your personal life? Furthermore, had his kiss meant something to him after all? Was it merely an impulse, as he had claimed? Or was there something deeper and unspoken that even he wasn't ready to confront just yet?

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[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ boiling over

| arthur shelby x fem. reader. ~2k words. tw: brief mention of sexual harassment

masterlist. | oneshot masterlist.

The first time Arthur Shelby met you, you were handing back a pistol to one of his men with a roll of your eyes and a warning not to leave loaded things lying around when you had a bar full of idiots and alcohol sloshing in their veins.

He liked you immediately. Not in the way he liked most women with their soft edges and easy smiles and the kind of charm that folded beneath the weight of his voice.

No, you were made of sharper stuff. You looked at him like you were already bored, like he was just one more man in a long list of men who thought swagger could outshine substance. And instead of folding, you pushed. Hard.

“You lot think you’re kings,” you stated blatantly that first night, with a dry tilt to your mouth and a gaze that didn’t waver. “But half of you couldn’t rule a teacup.”

He should’ve been insulted. Instead, he grinned like you’d handed him a challenge wrapped in velvet.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone workin’ under our roof.” He bit back with a spark in his eyes as they darted all over you.

“I talk a lot of shit because no one’s told me not to yet.” You retorted, but it was true, if they had an issue you knew you wouldn't have gotten hired and you certainly knew they wouldn't have kept you around. He had laughed at that, really laughed.. like the kind that came from the belly, and was unpolished and loud.

Then he stepped forward, closer than he needed to, until the air between you crackled. “You always this mouthy, or is it just for me?” “Depends,” you said. “You always this full of yourself, or is it just Thursdays?” And like that -- match struck.

From then on, it became a game. A fire lit slow and deliberate, both of you tossing kindling into it whenever you shared a room. You said things just to get under his skin. He said things just to see how far he could push before you'd bite back. The others noticed, of course. Tommy gave a grunt and muttered something about "Jesus Christ, Arthur" every time he caught wind of it, but didn’t interfere. Polly watched you both like she was deciding whether to shoot you or pour you a drink.

But Arthur? He was fucking delighted.

You made him feel like he was fifteen again, fists swinging and blood in his mouth, heart hammering for something he didn’t quite understand. Whatever he was feeling wasn't clean, but it was alive.

And he hadn’t felt alive like this in years.

One night, however, it boiled over.

You were cleaning behind the bar, rag in hand, and lips pulled into a tight line because some dickhead punter had tried grabbing at your waist, and Arthur had "taken care of it" by punching the man so hard he chipped a tooth.

You knew better than to say thank you because it only encouraged him, but you weren’t exactly angry either. Just annoyed and a bit irritated by the way he was watching you now, half-proud, half-smug, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for your lecture and half-hoping for it.

“You can’t solve everything with your fists, you know,” you muttered, not looking at him as your jaw tightened.

Arthur tilted his head, “Worked just fine on him.”

You slammed the bottle of gin a little harder than necessary onto the shelf. “He was drunk. Harmless.”

“He touched you.” He growled through his teeth as he pushed himself off the wall

You turned then. “And I handled it. You think I need some big bad Shelby to rescue me, do you?”

He stepped forward. “No. But I think you like it when I do.”

Your breath caught.. not because you were shocked, but because the bastard wasn’t wrong. And he knew it. You hated how well he could read you when he wanted to.

“I like being respected. Which is more than I can say for most men in this place.” You bit back after gaining your composure again.

He didn’t flinch. “I respect you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I respect your mouth, even when it’s spitting fire at me. I respect the way you move like you’d gut someone who got too close.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “And I respect how you keep lookin’ at me like you want to push me into a wall and kiss me or kill me, and you haven’t quite decided which.”

The silence that followed was loud enough to swallow the whole fucking room. Your eyes locked. And then, just like that, you laughed sharply and amused like a knife dragged across silk.

“Jesus, Shelby,” you breathed out, shaking your head. “You’ve got one hell of an ego.”

Arthur grinned. “And you’ve got one hell of a mouth.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls who threaten to stab you.”

“Only the ones I like.”

The tension in the room was no longer simmering. It was boiling. Ripping at the seams and clawing against restraint.

You stepped closer, chin tilted up in mock defiance. “You always flirt like you’re starting a fight?”

“You always fight like you’re flirting?” His voice was a low growl now, and you hated the way it slid right down your spine. Hated it, because it didn’t scare you. It thrilled you.

“Careful,” you teased, cocking your head. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might actually kiss you.”

Arthur didn’t miss a beat. “Then stop talkin’ and fucking do it.”

The kiss was not soft. It was not gentle. It was the kind of kiss that stole breath, that left bruises, that tasted like whiskey and rage and months of unspoken things finally said without words. He backed you into the wall and you let him, fingers in his shirt, dragging him closer until there was nothing between you but fire.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing like you’d run a mile, Arthur looked at you like he’d just won a war.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You smirked, smoothing your thumb over your bottom lip where his stubble had left a scrape.

“Told you I talk a lot of shit.”

Arthur just laughed, tugged you close again, and whispered against your mouth, “Yeah, but now I know you mean every word of it.”

[jelly-rei]

Finding Delilah (Part 1)

Summary: After Polly’s funeral, Delilah Shelby is left distraught and wrecked outside of the church she frequented. The new young priest, Lucas Woods, finds her and brings her in to pray. Delilah Also recalls Malcolm, an old friend of hers.

Part 2 >

1917

Behind the chapel walls where grown-ups prayed and whispered, Delilah Shelby, nine and full of restless energy, lay sprawled beneath the large oak tree, staring dreamily upwards. Beside her, Malcolm sat quietly, legs crossed neatly beneath him. He was eleven, His shirt was a size too big, his trousers muddy at the knees. And in his hand, he clutched a little wooden cross, no bigger than a matchbox, carved from scrap. He squeezed it now and then when he looked nervous—which was often.

The first time Delilah met Malcolm was when she had wandered off, curious as ever, chasing a butterfly past the rusted fence behind the church which Polly told her not to cross. She was barefoot, her dress stained with grass. Her brown hair wild from the wind.

Malcolm was a boy of few words and gentle eyes. His hair was a soft shade of blond, cut unevenly at the edges as if they were trimmed by a rushed or careless hand. His skin, fair and always a little dusty, gave him a slightly ghostlike softness in the sunlight. He had a narrow face with cheekbones that made him look older than he was. And his eyes were pale blue, and a light hint of grey.

“See that one there?” she pointed upward, tracing a vague outline in the air. “That cloud looks like a ship. Or maybe a dragon.” Malcolm followed her gesture, squinting slightly. A gentle smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “A ship,” he said quietly, fiddling with his fingers.

Delilah smiled, feeling satisfied. She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows and peering at him curiously. Malcolm kept his eyes on the sky, but she noticed the way his shoulders relaxed a little.

“What are you thinking about?” Delilah asked, plucking at blades of grass idly. Malcolm considered her question seriously, brows furrowed slightly. “Nothing important,” he murmured after a pause.

“Everything’s important, my Aunt Pol told me” she replied firmly, nodding her head as if it was an unquestionable truth. “Even the clouds are important.”

Malcolm glanced sideways at her, his eyes calm but thoughtful. “Then I suppose I’m thinking about clouds,” he finally admitted softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She giggled at that. Malcolm's lips twitched upward again. It was never quite a laughter, but Delilah understood it was his way of sharing her joy.

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the gentle rustle of the oak leaves. Delilah's heart felt light, and safe beneath the sprawling branches, Malcolm’s quiet presence brought a comforting anchor beside her.

She lay back again, watching the sky shift slowly from pale blue to a deeper hue, breathing in the scent of summer, unaware how precious these simple moments would one day become.

—

1934

It was the day after Polly’s funeral.

The rain poured down relentlessly against the ground, soaking the pavements, the gutters overflowing with dark water and street grit.

Delilah stood outside the church, her coat clinging to her frame, her hair flattened against her cheeks. She didn’t knock or move. Just stood there, eyes glazed, arms wrapped tightly around herself, swaying gently with the wind. The ache in her chest was unspeakable. She had wandered without direction, somehow ending up outside the church she had come to once or twice.

The doors slowly creaked open. Lucas Woods stood there, dark robes draped over his lean frame, holding a lantern that flickered against the storm. He looked at her for a long moment.

“Miss Shelby,” he said, voice calm and gentle. “You’ll freeze if you stay out here.” Delilah looked up at him, water dripping from her lashes. She recognized him—he was the new priest, she had seen him once at a distance and remembered thinking he looked too young to carry God in his mouth. But now, soaked and broken, carrying a heart heavy with grief, she didn’t care.

“I don’t know where else to go,” she whispered.

Lucas stepped aside. “Come inside.”

She hesitated, “But I’m dirty”

He gave her a small smile, “Never”

Lucas stretched his hand out to her and she grabbed onto it. She followed him in, boots sloshing quietly against the stone floor. The warmth hit her like a whisper, barely registering. Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her coat, revealing the black dress beneath—the same one she wore at Polly’s funeral.

Lucas led her to a pew. She sat without protest, rubbing her hands together. “What happened?” he asked, voice low. Delilah shook her head slowly. “My aunt died. They killed her. I tried to pray but nothing came out. It’s all gone...she’s gone”

Lucas didn’t flinch. He nodded slowly, like he understood. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “She must have meant a great deal to you.”

“She was everything,” Delilah whispered. “She raised me. Protected me. I don’t know who I am without her.” Lucas looked down, folding his hands in his lap.

“I understand more than you think.”

She glanced at him. “Do you?”

He nodded. “I lost someone too. My father.”

“Your father?”

Lucas’s voice was soft, even. “He wasn’t always a kind man. But he was… everything. Inescapable. His presence shaped me in ways I’m still trying to understand.”

She swallowed, “Was he good to you?”

Lucas smiled faintly, eyes distant. “He did his best. But he was important to me. And when he was gone, I didn’t know what to do with the hole he left…But in hindsight, now I’m the priest for this church..and I met you”

Delilah looked away, her eyes stinging again. “Your father was the priest here? Father Woods? so you must be Lucas Woods then” she sniffled.

“Indeed he was, and indeed I am” Lucas replied.

“I’m sorry about your father” she murmured.

Lucas turned to her gently, “You don’t have to be. Loss teaches us things. It bends us into shapes we don’t recognize. But it also brings us here.”

“To church?” she mused.

He smiled slightly. “To reflection. To prayer, if not to belief.”

Delilah hesitated. “Do you think prayer actually works?”

Lucas didn’t answer right away. “Sometimes. But not always in the way we want it to”

“Would you like to pray now?” he asked. Delilah blinked up at him, unsure but nodded slowly, “Okay.”

Lucas sat beside her, hands folded, head bowed. Delilah did the same, even if her hands shook, even if her eyes never truly closed. The candles flickered faintly on the altar, their tiny flames struggling against the storm outside. They prayed in silence. And for a while, that was enough to soothe Delilah’s broken heart.

—

She didn’t remember much of the walk home. The rain had let up, but her clothes were still damp. The silence in the streets matched the silence inside her. Her fingers fumbled with the key, and she stepped inside the flat, blinking against the soft warmth of the lamps she had left on.

She slipped off her coat, dropped it onto the floor, and moved to the telephone. Tommy had told her, like he always did—“Call me when you get home.” And so she always would.

Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted the receiver, pressing it to her ear.

“Thomas Shelby speaking.”

She closed her eyes, tried to steady her voice.

“Hello, Tommy…It’s me,” she said softly. “I’m home.”

He was quiet for a moment, then a breath of relief on the other end. “That’s good to hear” There was another long pause and he could feel him thinking.

“You alright?”

“No,” she whispered. “But I will be.”

She heard the faintest hint of something in his voice. Guilt. Or maybe it was worry for his little sister. But he didn’t push.

“Get some rest, Delilah.”

She swallowed hard “Alright, I’ll try.”

Delilah hung up the phone and tried to steady her breathing, trying to make sense or maybe take in everything that had just happened to her today.

She placed her hands together and bowed her head down to pray once more. Not for Polly, not for herself either.

“God…protect Malcolm, wherever he may be”

[imaginesforeveryone]

Arranged (Part 1)

Pairing: Finn Shelby x Y/N Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, drinking, some racist comments summary: You were the youngest child of you fathers, being part of a mob family in the heart of New York, your family had many enemies in the city, and even further away, and your life was about to change after a Peaky Boy barged into your life.

Finn’s POV

“Finn! get a move on it. We have to be at the church in 30 minutes!” Finn heard his Aunt Pol yell from the hotel door. This was the day that he so much dreaded. The day where his big brother married him away to a family that he needed to become alliance with. He had no idea who his bride was. He had no clue what she looked like. All he knew is that she is a Gotti. One of the most notorious mob families in New York. He finished up getting ready, grabbing his suit jacket and pushing past his Aunt Pol. 

“Hey.” Pol said following behind him. 

“Finn. I’m speaking to you.” She said grabbing his arm. 

“What aunt Pol?” He said turning towards her with a whole bunch of sassy. 

“I’m going to need you to tone down that sass with me boy.” Pol said looking up at him with daggers. 

“Sorry Aunt Pol.” He said breathing out a deep breath. 

“What is wrong child?” She asked. 

“Pol. Im being married off to a fucking wop for one and for two its the fucking Gotti’s. I also have no clue who this women is. So excuse me for being nervous.” He spoke before turning to keep walking. 

“Finn, you had to know the day would be coming that you would be married off to someone. You’re a fucking gypsy for christ sakes. It only comes with time.” Pol said following next to him. 

“Yeah, Pol I get it.” He said not arguing with her anymore because there was no point. 

“You never know she could be the most beautiful women you laid your eyes on. Don’t be a little sissy. You’re a Shelby, and us Shelby’s can make anything work.” She spoke pinching his cheek before getting on the elevator.

Y/N POV

“Suck it in.” The maid that was behind you holding the strings of your corset to began pulling it tight on you. As she did so, you had to catch your breathe quickly. 

“Fuck Amy. ” You breathed out to her. 

“Beauty is pain love, I’m sorry.” She said as she did up the corset. Women stood all around you making your hair perfect, and making sure your make up was on perfectly. It was just about time to get your dress on, but you mother wasn’t there yet. Starting to freak out a bit, you paced around the room in just your corset, heels, panties, stocking, and a garter. 

“Love calm down. It will be okay.” You heard the soothing sound of your mothers voice behind you. You smiled turning around and giving her a huge hug. 

“I’m going to miss you.” You whispered to her trying not to cry so you didn’t mess up your make up. 

“I’ll see you, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Now let’s not mess up this beautiful masterpiece with tears and smoothering.” She said taking a step back looking at your hair and make up. 

“Now come.” She said walking towards the big windows that overlooked New York City, and where your dress hung. It was nothing too crazy, simply white, silk, with small beading on the side to complement your already existing curves. You stood as your mother opened the dress so you could step into it. Shimmying it up your body and it laying so perfect upon every part of you, with an open back showing off the family crest tattoo you had directly on the top of you neck. She grabbed your veil that fell way longer than your dress, but brought the whole thing together. 

“Mom.” You almost whispered. 

“Yes darling.” She said as she fluffed out the veil to see how it will look when you walked down the aisle. 

“I’m marrying a Peaky boy right?” You asked her. 

“Yes darling.” She said little chocked up. 

“Will I be safe?” You asked. She took a few steps to round to the front of you. 

“You will be more than safe with them. As much as I’d love for you to stay in New York, sadly thats not how this arrangement works. But, they have agreed for us to come to England to visit you, and for you and your husband to travel here. This day is a cause for a big alliance in our families history.” She said gently caressing your face. You smiled at her. 

“What if he’s ugly?” You asked with a slight giggle. 

“I don’t think a Shelby boy can be ugly love. Its just not in their genes. But hey, it might be your luck.” She said with a pinch of your cheek and a giggle. 

“Alright, lets getting going.” She said rounding behind you to pick up your veil and follow you down the stairs of the church, to meet your father, who stood behind a closed door that you would enter in moments time to your new life. New husband. New family. 

“Hi, Daddy.” You said from behind him and holding your bouquet in your hands. 

“Oh, la mia bellissima figlia.” He spoked with a slight tear in his eyes. Which was weird for you to see because he was the most feared man in New York. 

“Come on love, let’s get your out there.” He said pulling your veil of your face.

“Don’t let me fall daddy.” You spoke quietly.

“Never, neonata.” He said with a smirk. As the piano sounded, and the doors began to open slowly, your stomach became in knots.

wow, that’s a long walk

You thought to yourself looking down the aisle. Everyone stood up around you, as you got closer you could see the face of the man you were about to marry. Definitely not ugly, definitely looks so innocent. Him being a Shelby it came to a surprise to you. 

Finn’s POV

“Arthur fuck off.” He spoke to his best man, who stood next to him at the alter trying to make him more nervous than he already was. 

“I’m just messing little brother. But really what if she’s ugly. What if she has big man feet that could trample you over.” Arthur whispered to him. He looked over at Thomas who sat the closest to the aisle and closest to the alter. 

“Look at all these fucking wops man. We waited long enough once, now look at us, waiting again. Full circle aye?” Arthur said nudging him to help calm him. 

“You’ll be fine brother. It will be great.” He spoke out once more. 

“Arthur shut up.” Finn heard Thomas say as he bent over the railing that separated them from the aisle. As he sat down Finn heard the piano begin, and everyone rise. He fixed his tie a bit, and the single flower that was pinned to his tux jacket, and making sure his hair was slicked back perfectly. Watching as the doors slowly opened, and seeing a very tall Italian man, arm in arm with a very short, women who had a veil covering her face. Clearing his throat he watched as she moved down the aisle. As she neared the end, her father lifts the veil and gave a kiss on either side of her face. Which he was in awe about. Looking over at Arthur for confirmation as to what he thought. He gave confirming face to him. 

Y/N POV

Finally walked down the whole length of the aisle, feeling like it just took you 20 minutes to do so. Your dad lifted your veil and kissed both cheeks before taking your hand and the man taking a step down off the two stairs you had to get up and putting his hand out to help you up. Causing a small smile to spread across your face, and also one spreading across his freckled cheeks. Hand in hand you looked at each other as the priest read from the Bible and having you say the words to the man that stood in front of you. 

“Do you Finn Shelby, take Y/N Gotti, to be wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” He asked looking over at Finn. 

“I do.” He said as he slipped the most beautiful ring on your small finger. 

“Do you Y/N Gotti, take Finn Shelby to be you husband to have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” The priest asked motioning to you. 

“I do.” You said with a smile and taking Finn’s hand in yours and sliding the gold band around his thick finger and taking his hands into yours. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” He said as he closed the Bible and stepped back. You smirked up at him as he towered over you to lean down and kiss you. The whole place erupted. More from his side then yours, but that’s okay. As you kissed him, it felt, right? He was soft, not what you expected of a Shelby boy. Pulling away from you he smiled and took your hand in his leading you down the aisle once more as everyone threw bird seed at the two of you. You giggled and finally making it out and into the car that sat waiting for the newlyweds to enter the car.

I think this might work. You thought to your self as you look at Finn.

[onydung]

You Look Good in Red

Arthur Shelby x F!Reader

Summery : Your thought of Arthur in red as his wife

Note : This is a quick one and has not been proofread yet. Also dont mind the picture, there is no gorey scene, its quite wholesome?

Masterlist

GRAMMAR BAD, DON’T EAT ME!

You’ve always been a good wife to Arthur, at least that's what the family says. You were never nosy and always doing your wifely duties on the sidelines without much complaining. Sometimes outsiders would gossip amongst each other saying how much you don’t really fit in with the Shelbys or that the family trapped you into the marriage that you probably don’t want. 

In truth though, you were deeply in love with your husband. The romance you have with him was not really apparent, when he was first courting you he wrote poems and drew doodles to give to you whenever he bought bread at the bakery you used to work at and you would respond with a poem of your own and a sweet kiss before he went. The look he gave you afterwards was enough to give you the energy to deal with your shift the whole day. It’s not something outsiders or even his closest brothers would think of when guessing how you two end up together so it's always fun to see their reactions when you tell them. 

There is a disconnect with the Arthur strutting down the street and the Arthur you see in your shared bedroom but they are both sides of Arthur that you charised deeply. Countless times he would come home bloody, you would tend to him despite the stinging smell of iron, gently cleaning the crimson red blood off his face and countless times you can’t help but admire how the red blood in contrast to his fair freckled skin would make him more handsome in your eyes. You’ve never really said it outloud, knowing how much he hated being reminded of the things he did but you would always kiss him afterwards to remind you that you love him. If other people had the right to be afraid of him then you have the right to be in love with him too. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dressing up is the one of the privileges you have as a Shelby. Every party you attend you would have on your clothes each more luxurious next. Arthur would say it’s his way of rewarding you for always putting up with him which would return with a giggle and smile. You know that deep down this is also a reward for him too. He would touch you tenderly, feeling the softness of your blue silk gown, or mapping the rough intricate detail of the lace. He never would have said anything about it and dismissed that he even had any preference to begin with but you can tell he does by the twinkle in eyes, or how scrunched up his face would be. You get the feeling that it's more than just admiration you would see in other couples, there is a sense of envy and longing for something but you never really find out what it is or ask him what it was. 

“That new lipstick love?” 

It’s midnight after another party and you wore a new color lipstick, crimson red, as supposed to your regular coral one and it’s the first time Arthur has seen you in it. 

“Yes, I ran out of my regular one, so I bought a new one” you replied walking to the vanity where you saw your husband sitting on the queen size bed in only his trousers mirrored to you. His eyes look tired, half drunk, bore into you before he stood up to join you in front of the vanity. 

“It looks good on you love” he said before reaching down to gently guide you to face him before kissing your soft lips. You can hear the sound of his heartbeat with the sway of the wind, enjoying his thin lips as his mustache tickles your nose. You deepen the kiss for a little while longer before separating to meet his blue eyes before realizing the lipstick has transferred to his lips. 

“Oh the lipstick it transferred to you” you rush to try to find something to wipe it with only to find him looking at the mirror of the vanity with the same look you had seen but never understand until this moment. It’s the same look you’ve seen him make when drawing all those years ago before dropping the hobby to help his family; the same look you’ve seen him make admiring flowers when his brothers aren’t around; and the same look you see him look at you at the party across the room. 

You approach him again, slowly wrapping your arms around his waist as you rest your chin on his tense shoulders. 

“You look good in red, Art” you say as you can feel his shoulders loosen and his body slightly lean back at you. 

“I think so too”  

[novashelby]

"Never Forget to Write": Tommy Shelby x Reader Drabble

“Never forget to write,” he said. Both of their backs pressed against the dewy grass. It was a field somewhere out there where neither of them knew. He just took her hand and wandered them until both of their feet got tired. “Even if I don’t reply or I’m-”

“Tommy Shelby,” she whispered, turning on her side. She rested her head on her folded hands. “Sometimes you think so grey. Don’t say those things-”

“But it’s true.” He smiled, his thumb playing with her bottom lip. “Write me, always. And don’t ever forget me. I don’t want to come back and find that you’ve shacked up with some other.”

“Who other?” she teased. “You’re all going off to war!”

The silent air broke with a laugh. A laugh that wouldn’t last long for much longer for Tommy Shelby. Just a young man not aware of time spilling. The Tommy Shelby that laid on that field a boy, would never return to England anything, but a new man. A new man that’d be unrecognizable to the girl who rested beside him. “Yeah, I guess I am, huh? Off to war….”

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, K @runnning-outof-time! You already know that you are one of my greatest friends here. You are one of the sweetest, kindest, loveliest people around. You always make time to read my work and leave thoughtful comments. I appreciate it so much. I hope you enjoy my token of appreciation. I know how much you liked my other war!Tommy one shot, and so I used that as inspo to write this for you.

Divider: @strangergraphics

[gt-icons]

Gina Gray “Peaky Blinders” icons

‒ like or reblog if you save

[warnersister]

Intoxicating Toxicity

Song Based Headcannon

Michael Gray x Reader

The room was a mess. Valuables thrown; wallpaper torn; feelings hurt. You and Michael were silent for a moment, voices sore from the incessant screaming you did at one another. Constantly arguing, constantly on the same page but one of you has the book upside down. This time you were bickering because you were having a conversation with a young man at the races who was arguably charming. You had to converse with him as it was your job to be hospitable and make as much money as possible but Michael sees red every time another male breathes your air.

“Don’t make me get violent.” He spoke quietly, voice an eerie kind of gentle. “I’ll kill any man that fucking looks at you. Dares to see your beauty.” You clenched your jaw. “It’s my job, Michael. I can’t just ignore clients-” “well you know my views on you working. If I had it my way you’d be in this house all day; every day. Where I know you’re safe.” He exhaled smoothly. “That’s an old fashioned view now, Michael. I want to offer something too.” You reply, similar tone to your own voice. “You don’t need to. I’ll pay for anything. Everything. And if you disagree then I want my ring back because baby, that’s a diamond.”

You looked at your ring finger then back to Michael. “You don’t listen anyways-” you began “I’ll be quiet, then.” He cut you off. “I don’t really feel like fighting.” You say, sighing gently. There was silence for a moment in which you looked off absentmindedly; and in that time Michael studied your facial features appreciatively - seeing the cogs in your head turning as you thought independently. “I’ll quit.” You said quietly, looking back to your fiancée expectantly.

His eyes lit up as his body relaxed hearing the words he’d be wishing you’d say for years now. “I’ll give my notice tomorrow, two more weeks and I’m yours.” You continue. “And I’ll stay here and I’ll stay safe and I’ll go places with you because God knows nothing feels safe without a blinder.” Your chest rises and falls.

Michael approaches you slowly, grasping your face in between his hands before kissing you softly. “Thank you. And I’ll spend less time with Tommy, more with you. We’ll plan our wedding and get married. We’ll have ten kids and move to the country. I’ll be all yours if you’re all mine.” He leant his forehead against yours.

“Ten kids? I don’t think I can do that many.” You chuckle softly. “I’ll fuck you until I can’t.” And he kissed you again.

This was in no way your first nor last argument but this life was yours and so was Michael. And this is the way it will be.

[thepeakygirl]

Tommy and his babies

I forgot about duke for a moment

[ljz002-world]

Big Man

The dim lights of The Garrison flickered, casting soft shadows across the rustic wooden tables. The familiar smell of whiskey filled the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. Michael Gray, wearing his crisp tailored suit, sat nervously at a corner table, his fingers tapping anxiously against the polished wood. He glanced at his watch for the third time that evening, his heart racing—not from excitement, but from uncertainty.

Life had changed drastically for Michael since his return to Birmingham. But tonight, he was here on a date—a date with a man, a muscular bartender he’d met during one of his visits to a London pub.

The man named Y/N was larger than life, with arms that seemed to stretch endlessly and a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the pub. He had a presence that was magnetic, drawing people in and making them feel at ease. But for Michael, this date brought forth a whirlwind of emotions. Growing up in a traditional setting made him unsure of this whole idea of dating a man, that and the tumultuous world of the Peaky Blinders, he was accustomed to the viciousness and unpredictability of life. Maybe that's how he tried to calm his conciousness about the date. Life had many doors, and goig out with a man was just one of many. But still, now, he was faced with a different kind of unpredictability—personal feelings he simply didn’t know how to navigate.

As the clock struck eight, the door swung open, and there stood Y/N, casually dressed but radiating an infectious energy. His shaggy hair framed his face beautifully, and the moment his gaze landed on Michael, an easy grin spread across his features.

“Evening, sorry I’m late! Got caught up at work,” Y/N said, sliding into the seat across from Michael. “You wouldn’t believe the number of drinks I had to shake up tonight.”

There was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes, and despite himself, Michael found a small smile forming on his lips. “It’s alright,” he replied, feeling a mixture of warmth and nervousness wash over him. “I wasn’t waiting too long.”

“Good,” the bartender from London said, leaning slightly forward, his confidence commanding the moment. “So, what do you want to talk about? I hear you have a knack for numbers—financials and all that. Completely lost me.”

Michael chuckled, feeling the tension beginning to ease. “I suppose I do. But it’s not as interesting as people think. My real passion is...” He paused, hesitating as the words caught in his throat. “Family business, I guess. The Peaky Blinders.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, so you're a part of that infamous gang? Must be quite the life.”

This was where doubt began to creep back in. Most people back home either idolized the family or feared them, and Michael was never sure how someone outside that world would react. He found himself silently questioning if this was the right path, if this date was something he should even be pursuing.

“I wouldn’t say ‘infamous’ is a good word for it,” Michael said carefully. “It comes with its challenges, more than I care to admit. But it’s home.” He was surprised at how easily he let that slip.

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, his expression softening. “Home is important. But you’re more than just your last name, right?” He leaned back slightly, giving Michael space to breathe.

A few beats passed, and in the warmth of the moment, Michael felt his resolve beginning to falter. Perhaps the muscular man across from him saw him for who he truly was, not just the shadows of his lineage. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I guess I try to be.”

The big man smiled, and the warmth in his eyes sent shivers down Michael’s spine. They began exchanging stories—about work, life, dreams. Moments of laughter punctuated their conversation, washing away the last vestiges of Michael’s apprehension.

As the night wore on, Michael found himself more relaxed, intrigued by Y/N's insights and wit. They shared their hopes and fears, their ambitions and disappointments, as the whisky and camaraderie flowed. The world outside faded, leaving just the two of them in their cocoon of newfound connection.

By the time last call echoed through the pub, Michael discarded his reservations. Y/N's laughter heartened him like a cherished melody, beckoning him to step beyond his fears. Maybe this was where he belonged, at least for tonight—among laughter and shared dreams, forging connections that seemed almost unimaginable just hours before.

As they stepped out into the crisp Birmingham night, Michael looked at the other man, hoping the moment would linger. “So, do you want to do this again?”

Y/N puffed a teasing breath through his lips, his voice low and excited, “Only if you promise to tell me more about these Peaky Blinders.”

Michael laughed, a genuine sound that felt refreshing. “Deal.”

And as they walked side by side under the moonlit sky, Michael Gray couldn’t help but feel that this was the beginning of something profoundly transformative—both for him and for the man who had unwittingly drawn him out of his shell. Anything seemed possible now.

[queenshelby]

Auctioned (P. 4)

Pairing: Dom! Thomas Shelby x Virgin! Reader

Warning: SMUT!

The night of nights had finally come and you stood nervously in your lavish bedroom of Arrow House, the place you now called home. It was all so overwhelming - the grandeur, the opulence, and the weight of the responsibility that came with being in the service of Thomas Shelby, the infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders.

Tonight, was the night you would be losing your innocence to this man, and with this on your mind, you were startled when, suddenly, the door creaked open, and Alison sauntered in with a knowing smirk. She had been tasked with preparing you for your first time, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiety and curiosity.

"Alright, darling, let's get you ready," Alison said, her voice filled with a mixture of sympathy and matter-of-factness. "We'll start with a bath. It's important to be clean and presentable for what's to come."

As you undressed, Alison filled the large, marble bathtub with warm water, fragrant oils, and rose petals. The room was filled with an intoxicating scent as you stepped into the water, feeling a strange mix of comfort and apprehension.

"I know this is all new to you, and it won't be easy, my dear. Thomas is a man who knows what he wants, and he takes it without remorse,” Alison said, handing you a soft sponge. "But trust me, whilst Thomas Shelby may be rough around the edges, he does have an eye for innocence. He is a complex man. But he's also passionate and caring, in his own twisted way, and you may even enjoy yourself."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what lay ahead.

And then, you tilted your head, curiosity getting the better of your fear. "What is it that he sees in me you think? I am sure he could have money women for free,” you wondered as Alison's eyes sparkled mischievously.

"He sees a vulnerability that he can't resist. A purity that he longs to corrupt,” she determined as she gently washed your body, guiding your hesitant hands along your curves.

"Remember, he likes to be in control. Don't resist him," Alison said, her voice filled with a hint of warning. "You're here to please him. Understood?"

You nodded again, the weight of the situation sinking in. The thought of pleasing Thomas Shelby felt both terrifying and strangely exciting.

Once the bath was over, Alison helped you out and wrapped you in a fluffy towel. She sat you down on a plush velvet chair and moved to a nearby vanity, where she laid out an array of cosmetics.

"Now, my dear, let's talk about what to expect," Alison said, her voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and compassion. "It may hurt, and there may be some blood since it is your first time. It's perfectly normal, love. Thomas won't be fazed by it, and neither should you."

You bit your lip, your anxiety swirling like a storm inside you. You hadn't anticipated the reality of the situation being so raw and gritty. But you were committed, having agreed to Thomas Shelby's terms.

Alison then handed you a small bottle of painkillers, a stark reminder that this encounter would not be without its consequences. "Take these before you go to him. They will help with any discomfort you may feel afterwards. You can thank me later," she smirked as your trembling hand took the vial, the tiny capsules, a stark reminder of the pain that awaited you.

Numbly, you accepted the painkillers, but your mind was filled with a flurry of thoughts. Was this really what you had signed up for? Was it worth it?

Sensing your doubt, Alison leaned in closer, her voice low and gentle. "Honey, I won't sugarcoat it. Thomas has tastes that may seem unconventional to you. But you must do as you're told and please him, in return of which he will look after you,” she explained.

Her words offered a small glimmer of reassurance, but deep down, you couldn't shake the nerves and uncertainty that clung to you like a heavy fog.

Alison stood up and retrieved a beautifully embroidered silk robe from the wardrobe. She helped you slip it on, tying the delicate sash with a practised touch.

"Now that you're ready, my dear, let's talk about what Thomas expects from you," Alison said, her tone shifting to a more direct and business-like demeanour.

You leaned in, hanging on her every word, desperate to understand your role in this twisted dance of power and desire.

"Thomas likes it when you're attentive and when you anticipate his needs," Alison explained, her voice laced with a hint of admiration. "He's a dominant man, and he expects you to submit to his commands. You already had some practice this week, and I doubt that he would go as far as he usually does with me. That will happen in due course” Alison explained and, again, you nodded while fidgeting with the sash of the robe, trying to come to terms with the contradictory nature of Thomas Shelby. A man of darkness and light, capable of both cruelty and compassion.

"Now, let's talk about clean-up," Alison continued, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes.

"To avoid any unwanted consequences, you'll want to take some precautions after your encounter," Alison told you and her tone held a hint of macabre humor, as if she were discussing the mundane rather than the grotesque.

She took you to a small room adjoining the chamber, where supplies awaited. Bottles of antiseptics, cotton swabs, and instructions that felt more like warnings. It was a ritual you must perform after every encounter with Thomas.

"You'll need to be thorough," she explained, her fingers gently demonstrating the motions. "Cleanse yourself of his touch, his seed. We can't afford any slip-ups, my dear."

The realisation of what she meant hit you like a punch to the gut. The thought that this encounter could lead to something more permanent than just a night of submission and pain hadn't crossed your mind until now.

"But what if I'm..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "What if I'm with child?"

Alison's eyes softened for a moment, a glimmer of empathy breaking through the walls she had built around herself. "Then you'll do what you must. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."

The words hung in the air, the weight of the unsaid echoing in the silence. You knew what she meant - the desperate measures that would need to be taken if you were to avoid the consequences of bringing a Shelby child into this world.

"Now, love, I've taught you all I can for tonight but if you need anything, if there's anything you're unsure of, don't hesitate to come to me. I'm here for you,” Alison finally told you before leaving you to your own devices.

Gratitude welled up within you as a small smile tugged at the corners of your trembling lips. In this dark world, you had found an ally, someone who understood the intricacies and dangers that lay ahead.

You took a deep breath, drawing upon the newfound strength that Alison's words had instilled in you. Ready or not, you were about to face Thomas Shelby, the enigmatic and dangerous man who held your fate in his hands.

***

The hallway outside the bedroom was dimly lit, its worn carpet muffling the sounds of your anxious footsteps. As the door to Thomas' bedroom came into view, your heart began to race, pounding in your chest like a drum.

You hesitantly pushed open the door and stepped inside, feeling the weight of his gaze immediately upon you. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, suffused with his dominant presence. Each step closer to him felt like walking to the edge of a precipice, unsure of what lay below.

Thomas Shelby, the formidable leader of the Peaky Blinders, sat on a luxurious armchair near the fireplace, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His intense gaze locked onto you, causing a shiver to cascade down your spine. "Ten thousand pounds, eh," he quipped, his voice laced with arrogance.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I hope you won’t regret it, Mr. Shelby," Your eyes darted around the room, unable to meet his piercing gaze. The nervousness in your voice was palpable.

Thomas then stood up and circled you, his eyes tracing every contour of your body, his gaze filled with undisguised hunger. "I won’t," he then said, before making his first command.

“Now undress,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. With trembling hands, you began to peel away the layers of protective silk, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as your vulnerability became more exposed with each passing second.

“Show yourself to me, Love. Show me your innocent body,” he then cued and your heart skipped a beat as Thomas' words infiltrated your mind.

The contrast of light against shadow, innocence against raw power - it captivated you and frightened you all at once. Thomas moved closer, breathing in your delicate scent, his fingertips grazing the fabric of the robe that still hugged your trembling form. He leaned down, his voice seductive and filled with authority.

"Remember, Love, you are mine tonight. Every thought, every breath, every moan belongs to me. You are my property,” he told you as his gaze roamed over your trembling form, his lips curling up into a satisfied smirk.

You nodded, your voice failing you once again. You were but a canvas, ready to be painted with the brushstrokes of Thomas Shelby's desires. Slowly, Thomas stepped back, his eyes locked on yours as he began to strip away his tailored suit. The muscles of his chest and abdomen rippled with each movement, revealing a powerful physique that left you breathless. The air in the room crackled with a potent mix of anticipation and apprehension. There was a dance happening, an intricate choreography that only Thomas knew the steps to.

"Come closer," Thomas commanded, his voice soft but commanding and you took a hesitant step forward, the floor cool against the soles of your feet, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

In that moment, the line between fear and desire blurred, and you knew you were at the mercy of a man who thrived on both. He circled you like a predator stalking its prey, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your exposed neck. A shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively seeking the warmth and safety of his touch.

"Your sister wasn't wrong, eh," Thomas mused, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "There is a certain innocence about you, a vulnerability that intrigues me. It's rare in this world."

“My sister?” you asked, trembling, as you dared to look into his eyes, searching for any cracks in the façade. But all you found was an enigmatic intensity, a fire that consumed everything in its path.

“Your sister was the one who suggested that I attend the auction which I, may add, I considered to be somewhat distasteful,” Thomas pointed out and, whilst you had so many questions now, you knew that they all would have to wait when Thomas leaned in, his lips brushing gently against your ear as he whispered, sending delicious waves of electricity through your entire being. "But, enough of that now. Tonight, I will show you what it means to be mine and you will submit to me, completely," Tommy said and, with that, Thomas took your hand and led you towards the bed.

The soft sheets cradled your weight as he gently pushed you onto the mattress, his dominance like a spell that held you captive. His touch was electrifying, searing your skin as his hands roamed every inch of your trembling body. Each caress, each brush of his fingertips, sent quivers of anticipation through your core.

"Do you trust me, Love?" Thomas asked, his voice dripping with a mix of lust and possession. It was a question that held more weight than mere words could convey. You looked deep into his eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability that lay hidden beneath the layers of darkness.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I trust you." A fierce fire ignited within Thomas' gaze, his control slipping for a moment as he passionately claimed your lips, his kiss a mixture of tenderness and hunger. It was a whirlwind that consumed you, making you lose all sense of time and space.  

Every touch of his lips, every stroke of his fingers, made you forget about everything else except his commanding presence. He expertly navigated your body with the view of getting you ready for the inevitable. 

"Spread your legs, Love. Let me see how wet you are," Tommy commanded, his voice low and husky. Your heart hammered in your chest as you followed his instruction, your breath coming in short gasps.

"You are fucking soaking, eh," he determined, his finger stroking your inner thigh. "You really want me to fuck that virgin hole of yours, don't you Love?" he then asked with a devilish grin. Your face flushed red, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. The thought of giving yourself to him, of surrendering yourself completely, both terrified and excited you.

He pulled you closer, his large hands tracing gentle circles across your back.

"I can see it in your eyes, you want this," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear. Your heart hammered wildly in your chest, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as you pressed against him.

"I do, Mr. Shelby," you gasped nervously as he slid his hands along your hips, guiding you to straddle him. "But I am scared that it will hurt," you then admitted as your body shook slightly, fear and excitement coursing through you as you felt his fingers teasingly brush against your entrance.

"Don't worry, love," he whispered into your ear, his deep voice a soothing balm to your racing thoughts. "It will hurt, but only for a little bit. I won't fuck you until I make sure that you are ready," he assured you before beginning to trail kisses down your body.

"I will use my tongue on you first, sweetheart. Just like last night, eh" Tommy determined, his eyes burning with intensity. Your heart raced at the thought of what he meant, and the thought made you even more aroused. You nodded, unable to speak due to the throbbing pulse between your legs and Tommy smiled knowingly, adoring your shyness. 

As he slowly lowered himself to your level, his gaze fixated on yours, ensuring you were comfortable with every move he made. His hands caressed your hips and thighs, easing any discomfort that might arise from his actions.

Thomas's lips brushed gently against your sensitive skin, trailing tender kisses along your neck and shoulders. "Trust me, Love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. As you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace, you couldn't help but acknowledge the intoxicating sensation that overtook you with each deliberate stroke of his fingers, each soft press of his lips.

Eventually, then, he reached your glistening core and started circling it with his tongue, eliciting soft moans from you as he explored every inch of your nether regions. 

Gently, he lifted your leg, spreading you wider with his firm hands, taking full advantage of your submission. You gasped as he probed deeper, teasing your tightness with his tongue, drawing tiny circles around your entrance.

"Fuck, you taste amazing," Tommy groaned, his voice thick with desire. He continued to torment you, pushing you further and further along the edge of ecstasy. With each flick of his tongue, your body seemed to writhe with uncontrollable pleasure.

"Please, Mr. Shelby..." you begged, your voice hoarse from the intensity of your arousal.

Tommy smiled, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. He continued to torture you with his skilled mouth, pushing you to the precipice of orgasm.

You squirmed underneath him, trying to find some sort of release. The tension built up inside you, reaching almost unbearable levels.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the pressure growing stronger. "Tommy!" you cried out, your body shuddering violently. "Tommy, please! I need..." You didn't get to finish your sentence, as he shifted his position and smiled.

"No, Love. I won't let you cum until I fucked you thoroughly with my cock," Tommy smiled, unbothered by the fact that you had just dropped the formalities and called him by his first name.

The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, made you realize how much power he held over you, your body. It was an erotic thrill, the thought of being taken by him, of surrendering your body fully to his demands. 

"Now, get on to all fours for me Love. It is time!" Tommy ordered, causing you to swallow hard, thinking that this position in particular would be more uncomfortable than you had anticipated. 

Nevertheless, you complied, getting onto all fours, presenting your backside to him. You heard the rustle of the sheets behind you, as Tommy undressed, tossing the remainder of his clothes carelessly aside. His powerful presence filled the room, leaving no doubt as to whose domain it truly was. 

Your breath hitched as he came up behind you, his hands resting lightly on your hips. He took his time, running his fingers lightly over your body, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to hurry. 

"Are you ready for my cock, Love?" he asked, his voice laced with authority. Your heart pounded faster, the thought of him filling you, bringing not only terror but also a strange sense of exhilaration.

"Yes," you managed to utter, feeling a flush of pride at your own boldness. "I am ready, Mr. Shelby." Your words carried a newfound confidence, a sense of control that had been missing earlier.

Tommy smiled, pleased by your bravery. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Good," he whispered.

"I expect you to take it like a good girl, eh? And I want you to hold nice and still when I fill you," Tommy told you and you could hear the excitement in his voice, a fervour that mirrored your own. He lubricated his fingers, preparing himself for the task ahead. Gently, he pressed a single digit into your entrance, causing you to gasp and clench involuntarily. Slowly, he worked another finger inside of you, stretching you incrementally, building up to what was about to happen next. 

"Relax, Love," he instructed gently, his fingers working rhythmically in and out of you. "Let yourself feel the pleasure I'm going to give you." Your breathing became increasingly erratic, your entire focus narrowed to the point where you could only concentrate on his touch.

But, just before you could cum, Tommy removed his fingers and replaced them with his thick cock, which now pushed against your entrance.

"I am going to push in now," Tommy warned you and your eyes widened, your body trembling with anticipation and fear. But there was also a sense of triumph, as if conquering something deeply personal, something that made you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

You braced yourself, tensing as he began to push into you while you held on to one of the pillows.

"It hurts," you cried out while Tommy watched as his thick length pushed past your pussy lips as he forced another inch into you. 

"It's okay, Love. Breathe through it," he murmured, gripping your hips tightly. He knew that you were new to this, that it wouldn't come naturally to you. But you had to learn, you had to adapt. 

You gritted your teeth, tears stinging your eyes, feeling the pain sear through your body. 

"You are doing well. I am halfway in," Tommy told you as, eventually, he could feel your barrier. Your body tensed even more, but he kept pushing, gradually forcing your virgin walls to yield to his advance.

"This is your first time," he said, his voice full of admiration. "And I will be the one to claim your innocence, eh," Tommy groaned as, with a final forceful thrust, he was entirely sheathed within you, filling you completely. 

"Fuck, you are tight," you then heard Tommy curse as you felt a warm kind of liquid tickle down your inner thighs, which you knew may have been blood as Alison had warned you to be the case.

Your body was on fire, and it was only now that you realized the true extent of the physical impact of what had just occurred. 

"You are not so innocent anymore," Tommy groaned before slowly beginning to thrust in and out of you and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the pain.

Your body ached everywhere, yet a strange kind of pleasure mixed with the pain coursed through you. 

"Now tell me Love, who do you belong to?" Tommy asked, his voice gruff with desire. You couldn't believe you were really having this conversation, yet somehow, the heat of his body against yours and the ache inside you caused by his cock, made you believe it was real.

"I belong to you, Mr. Shelby," you replied, your voice shaking slightly. Despite the immense pain, your response was met with a smile of approval from Tommy.

He pulled out slightly, allowing you a moment to catch your breath, before plunging back in, harder this time.

"That's right Love. You belong to me," he groaned as he picked up the pace, thrusting into you harder and faster. Your body was starting to adjust to the intrusion, and despite the pain, a deep and powerful wave of pleasure washed over you with each thrust. The rhythmic slap of his hips against yours filled the room, drowning out everything else.

You bit your lip, trying to maintain composure as you clung desperately to the pillow, your nails digging into the fabric. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, but you weren't quite there yet.

Just as you were about to reach the peak, Tommy suddenly stopped, pulling out of you with a grunt.

"What are you doing?" you cried out, frustrated and disoriented by the sudden change.

"Shhh, Love," he whispered, placing a finger on your lips. "Just trust me." His intense gaze held yours, making it difficult for you to resist him. You nodded hesitantly, unsure of what he had planned.

Without warning, Tommy scooped you up in his arms, carrying you effortlessly across the room.

You gasped in surprise, wondering what was happening.

"Where are we going?" you asked nervously, unable to hide your apprehension.

"Trust me, Love," Tommy reassured you with a gentle smile. "You'll see."

As he reached the window, he carefully lowered you onto the ledge, standing close enough to support you if needed. Together, you looked out over the land surrounding Arrow House, the moonlight casting a silver glow upon the landscape below as well as the streets of Birmingham, far in the distance. 

"Do you see this?" he asked, gesturing toward the breathtaking view. "This is mine. All of it. Everything you see here, belongs to me." He paused, turning to face you with a look of determination in his eyes. "You too, belong to me. You are my fucking property and I want you to remember that every time you look at these streets, these buildings, everything that makes up this empire."

A cold chill ran down your spine, understanding the weight of his words. You were nothing more than a possession, belonging to him like any other material thing he owned.

The thought of being considered as valuable as the buildings below filled you with both anger and shame. You wanted to argue, to protest, but you couldn't deny the truth in his words.

"Now bend down, Love. I want to fuck you some more," Tommy growled, his voice low and commanding. Feeling the power in his words, you bent over the ledge, presenting yourself to him once again. He grabbed your hips firmly, positioning you perfectly. The wind gently brushed against your skin, chilling you to the core, but it didn't stop you from obeying him. 

"That's it, good girl," he cooed as he lined himself up with your sore entrance again. 

You felt the familiar burning sensation as he entered you once more, your muscles struggling to relax around his sizeable member.

"Remember, you belong to me, and I can do whatever I want with you," Tommy reminded you as he started to thrust into you.

Your cheeks flushed red as you felt a mixture of humiliation and arousal at his words.

You bit your lip hard, trying to focus on anything but the sensation of him sliding in and out of you.

With every thrust, you could feel him claiming you, marking you as his own. The intensity of his grip on your hips left no doubt about the strength of his dominance over you. It was as though he was branding you with his touch, leaving an indelible mark that would forever be a part of you.

"Come on, Love," he urged, his voice rough with passion.

"Take me deeper." You obeyed instinctively, burying your nails into his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. The pleasure-pain combination was reaching new heights, making you realize how unprepared you were for this intense experience.

As the tempo increased, the wind howled, matching the frenzy of your own cries. The air turned colder, sending shivers through your body, only making you crave more of his touch.

"You are making a mess all over the floor Love," Tommy groaned playfully, his grip on your hips tightening.

"I am sorry," you managed to utter, barely able to form the words due to the intensity of the sensations coursing through you.

"No apologies," he snapped, a dark gleam in his eye. "You enjoy it, don't you? Letting yourself go, feeling the sensations washing over you."

"Yes," you moaned, finding yourself helplessly lost in the moment.

"Good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming even more forceful.

"Keep looking out, let it remind you whose property you truly are." You obeyed, feeling your resolve waver under the intensity of his touch. The cold wind whipped against your skin, adding another layer of discomfort to your situation. Yet, the pain seemed to amplify the exquisite pleasure coursing through your body.

His grip on your hips tightened as he continued to move in and out of you, the rhythm matching the beat of your heart.

Your cries became louder, mingling with the wind and echoing through the silent corridors of Arrow House. As your body trembled from the intense sensations, you tried to suppress the growing fear that overwhelmed you. How could you possibly give yourself fully to such a man without losing yourself in the process?

With each thrust, you felt your connection to Thomas deepen, your vulnerability exposed, and your independence diminished. You found yourself struggling to reconcile the reality of your situation with the idealized image of love and devotion you had envisioned for yourself.

"Do you want to cum?" Tommy eventually asked, seeing that you could not take too much more of this.

You nodded vigorously, eager to release the pent-up tension coursing through your body.

He continued to thrust into you at a faster pace, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You felt a building pressure within you, an uncontrollable need to explode.

"Cum for me, Love," he commanded, his grip on your hips tightening further.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, engulfing you in a wave of pleasure unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

Your entire body shook with the intensity of it, your grip on the ledge tightening almost painfully.

"So good, isn't it?" Tommy asked, his eyes burning with pride. You couldn't find the words to answer him, still reeling from the aftershocks of your climax as he sped up again, finding his very own release. 

Sweat dripped down your forehead, mingling with the tears that stained your cheeks. The cold wind whipped against your heated skin, adding another layer of discomfort to your situation. Yet, the pain seemed to amplify the exquisite pleasure coursing through your body.

"Almost there Love. I am going to cum in this virgin cunt of yours, eh" Tommy groaned loudly, the sound filling the quietness of the night as your orgasm subsided and you felt increasingly sore.

"You better learn to love this feeling because it's going to become the norm. I will fill your holes with my cum every fucking day from now on," Tommy howled as he thrusted into you harder and you tried to catch your breath as you struggled to understand the extent of your submission to him. 

His harsh, possessive tone only served to make you tremble in fear and arousal simultaneously. You knew then that there was no escape from this life, no way to break free from his grasp.

"Y/N," he growled, pounding into you with renewed ferocity. "Your body belongs to me. Your pleasures are mine to control. Do you understand?"

Swallowing thickly, you nodded reluctantly, your throat raw from earlier cries. "Yes," you whispered, barely audible even to yourself.

"Good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming even more forceful as your cries became louder, mingling with the wind and echoing through the silent corridors of Arrow House. 

"Now, hold nice and still for me, eh" Tommy groaned, pulsating inside of you, and filling you with his warm seed.

"Fuck," Tommy groaned, pumping himself into you until he finally shot his entire load into you.

His body convulsed in ecstasy, and you felt the hot stickiness of his semen pouring into you, mixing with your very own wetness and the blood from your torn innocence until, eventually, he pulled out of your sore pussy.

"Look at that Love. Look at you leaking my cum," Tommy cooed, forcing you to turn around and making you look down at your soiled body, stained with his seed and the evidence of your lost virginity. 

"It's going to happen a lot more often now, eh?" Tommy smirked while your body was still trembling from the force of your orgasm.

"Yes Mr. Shelby. I will be at your service whenever you need," you said, your voice wavering slightly as you regained your composure. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze as you processed the implications of his last statement.

"Good girl," he said, the praise laced with his characteristic blend of authority and desire. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, causing you to flinch involuntarily. His eyes flashed with a mix of tenderness and menace, his expression conveying the complexity of his feelings towards you.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain your bearings after the intense encounter.

You stared at the mess you had made on the floor, feeling a strange mixture of shame and excitement. You glanced back at Thomas, who stood proudly watching you with a satisfied grin on his face. Your heart raced as you began to comprehend the true extent of your predicament – you were now owned by him, bound to fulfill his desires whenever he wished.

As you stood there, the wind whipping around you, you realized just how far you had come from the innocent young woman you once were.

"Now, you should get cleaned up Love. I am sure Alison explained the procedure to you?" Tommy asked casually, breaking the silence that had fallen upon you both.

"Yes, she did. She said it is to avoid pregnancy," you answered, feeling a sudden surge of panic at the thought of getting pregnant. 

"Correct, so I will leave you to it, eh?" Tommy smiled, his fingers brushing against your cheek affectionately.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby," you replied, attempting to mask your anxiety behind a veil of gratitude.

He gave you a slight nod before turning and walking towards the door, leaving you alone to process the events of the evening.

Standing there, you found yourself surrounded by the evidence of your defilement - the sweaty sheets tangled around your legs, the faint scent of sex in the air, and the knowledge that your innocence was irreparably shattered. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you thought about the future that lay ahead of you.

Even though you had been warned about what might happen, experiencing it firsthand left you reeling.

Your entire body ached from the intense physical exertion, yet your mind still buzzed with the aftermath of your loss of innocence. The cold draft of the night seeped through the open window, chilling your naked skin and reminding you of the vulnerability you felt.

This was your life now and, for some twisted reason, you already enjoyed it.

Tag List Insert

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[cinnamongirlblogs]

happy late st paddy’s day cillian Murphy

I can be his good luck charm

[jelly-rei]

Finding Delilah (Part 5)

<Part 4

Part 6>

Summary: Comfort, memories, and choices collide.

A/n: A lot of things happen in this chapter, so I hope it doesn’t seem too messy…

Word count: 3.3k

Content includes: Abuse, Casual anti-romani racism, mentions of death and murder

1917

“How many times did I say not to talk with those dirty gypsies!” Malcolm’s father roared as he whipped the boy with his leather belt, hitting against the tough skin of his freckled back. Malcolm looked behind at his father and said behind gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

“She’s not dirty, Papa! She’s a good girl…She don’t mean any harm!”.

His father lowered his belt and took one good look at the angry red welt on Malcolm’s back. “Sit down boy,” he instructed. His father placed a hand on Malcolm’s back making him hiss at the painful sting. Maybe it was guilt that crept across the old man’s face—or something like it. He couldn’t seem to meet his son’s gaze. Malcolm relented and sat stiffly next to his father as he was told, looking down at the floor, fiddling with the seam of his trousers waiting for what his father would say next.

“Now, you know why Papa gets really angry when you talk and play with people you don’t know….” His father’s voice faltered, trailing into the thick, suffocating air.

Malcolm bit down on the inside of his cheek, “But Papa…she’s not people…I know her”

Delilah wasn’t just anyone. She was his light. His sanctuary. The only soul whose laughter stitched something broken inside him back together. Malcolm would never allow anyone to speak ill about Delilah. She was his escape. And the only girl who’s energy made him smile. Her happiness made him happy. And that was all he needed.

“Her family are a bunch of gypsies for goodness sakes boy!” He bellowed, his face grimacing, causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen.

The insult hit harder than any belt. Malcolm shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

“Why does that matter Papa? You go to the same church as her Aunt and help those same gypsies that you spit on! Mama was a gypsy, so what do you have to say about that?!”

“Well look where that fuckin got her!”

Malcolm stared in disbelief at his father’s words, at his audacity. His mama had passed away from a sickness two years ago. He hadn’t known exactly what sickness had hollowed her out, but he remembered her pale skin, the blue veins mapping across it like rivers, the way Nolan had sat by her bedside everyday—changing her dressings, feeding her broth—while their father disappeared to do God knows what.

His mother had the palest skin like snow. Eyes sunken like a beautiful worn sculpture.

“What does that mean?” Malcolm choked out.

“Your mom was cursed, boy. Magic. Cursed by her own fucking community”

“How do you know Papa? Why would they curse her?” he demanded to know.

“Some of them heard about what I did, and I guess they didn’t like that” His father shrugged nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the cause of the problem. The whole situation that caused them to move to Small Heath in the very first place.

Malcolm sat back down and raked his fingers through his hair. His mother was a whore, Nolan was a known thief. Malcolm always knew that his family wasn’t really favoured by others back in his hometown. Never knew that the hate was so strong enough to kill someone.

His father was a criminal, constantly on the run from the law. Not sure what crime it was that led to his father threatening everyone in the village that he would kill them if they opened their mouths. But all Malcolm knew that it must’ve been horrible. The only people in the family who seemed to know about his father’s crime were his mother, Mary, and Nolan. And Nolan…he always looked like he'd seen it all.

“What did you do Papa…what did you do that made them so mad? Why’d they take it out on Mama?” Malcolm questioned with his head in his hands, fingers pressing deeply into his temples. Whatever the answer was, Malcolm knew he would still keep his mouth shut, and go on with whatever his father told him to do. He was always a Papa’s boy. He was always praised for it.

“What I did is none of your business. We came all the way here to make a name for ourselves. In here, we are no longer criminals”

Malcolm figured it was useless to try and ask and pry any further. It was clear that his father was never going to tell him and that he was probably going to die never knowing. He was just confused and wondered why it was his mother that was dragged into all this. Why his mother got the other end of the stick. Nolan once told him before he went to fight in France, “You can always reject your father, but you’ll always have your mother’s blood”. Malcolm never understood what that meant. Even now after Nolan had passed. People are always quick to blame your mother for how you turned out. So maybe whatever his father did, the village couldn’t take out their anger at him, out of fear of what he would or could do, then his mother would be the next choice.

“One more question Papa…”

“What now?”

“How long do I have to keep calling myself Malcolm?”

Delilah’s home, 1934

The lights were dim and the air was quiet back at Delilah’s humble abode. She lived in a small two story terrace building on the edge of Small Heath. It was much quieter here, slightly fewer gangs walking around, but still a walking distance from Saint Judes Church and Watery Lane. Her family had strongly advised her to move away from Small Heath when she mentioned that she wanted to continue living there. Everything happened there. Her whole life began there. It felt like she was letting go of everything she ever held on if she moved elsewhere. And Delilah didn’t like to let things go.

“You can’t stay here Dilly,” Polly urged.

“But Polly…I can’t seem to let go of Small Heath”, Delilah whispered.

“You need to move somewhere better, my love, your heart needs peace and Small Heath gonna give you that”

She knew that Polly meant well and was trying to help with her anxiety. Delilah was always weary and paranoid of something happening to her or anyone else in her family. It got to the point where her paranoia had caused her to be awake at the latest hour of the night, walking slowly to her siblings room, opening their doors hauntingly slowly, worrying that something might happen to them.

Ada would lift her blanket and invite her in and hold her tight, letting her know that she’s okay. “Come here Dilly, lay with me, see I’m right here…I’m okay”.

It always scared Arthur the most when she would peek at his door, but he always reassured her as well. “Bloody hell Delilah…You scared me. I’m alright, love”.

John never questioned it and would sit outside on the dining table, distracting her with meaningless conversations.

Oddly enough, Thomas never flinched. Maybe it was because he never slept and was just as paranoid as her. He shared the same fear, always hearing the sound of a pickaxe picking on the back of his wall. Delilah would always invite herself onto his bed, hugging him tightly and he would do the same. He had quickly learned that squeezing her tightly was effective in making her racing heart beat at a gentle pace.

Her home was warm. Not much furniture that filled the space. She liked it that way, not much clutter, especially since her mind was already very much cluttered with thoughts all over the place. Her bed was placed perfectly where the sun would shine through the window but wouldn’t glare directly into her eyes, but instead, bath her in its golden rays. Delilah didn’t do much at home. Her routine consisted of waking up, sometimes she would have breakfast, call Ada and Tommy, and sit on her couch until she would get tired and fall asleep.

She lived alone and didn’t, if not, never had anyone over at her home. But this was going to change because Ada had called a day ago while Delilah was preparing to go to sleep.

“Evening Dilly, are you free tomorrow?—of course you are, you’ve got nothing to do anyway”

Delilah scoffed at her sister’s snarky comment, “Well if taking care of Izzy counts then yes, I am very busy”.

“No, feeding and sleeping with that ginger cat of yours does not count”

Delilah laughed, her siblings never did like her ginger cat, Izzy. Arthur called it a dangerous thing because she bit him once and he now has a grudge. When John was still alive he would call her lazy girl, which wasn’t necessarily wrong. Tommy didn’t even want to be near it.

“If that’s the the case the no, I am not busy tomorrow”

“Good, I’ll be coming over tomorrow. No reason, just figured I wanted to see my cute little sister, mourn, and drink wine while we talk about our wonderful family”

Ada strutted through the busy streets with her large fur coat. Her makeup was elegantly done as always, red rogue perfectly making her lips stand out. She clutched her handbag and walked past the crowd. Ada had an aura and energy around her that made others turn their heads at her when she walked by.

Knock knock knock. She waited patiently for her little sister’s arrival. Soon later, Delilah slowly opened the door and immediately brought a smile to Ada’s face.

“Ada!” Delilah squealed as she yanked her sister inside by her arm.

Ada gasped but quickly balanced herself back on her feet and crossed her arms around her chest, looking at Delilah with that same look she always had. That “I missed you like crazy” look.

“Morning Delilah, I’ve missed my little sister,” Ada said with a playful raised brow as she wrapped her arms around Delilah’s frame.

Delilah assisted Ada to sit on the armchair and went to the kitchen. Ada removed her fur coat placing it on the coat rack, before sitting down comfortably.

“Wine or Whiskey?”

Ada scoffed at the question.

“Whiskey is for heartbreak. Wine, now that’s for grief”

Delilah was amused by that statement. It reminded her of a time where one of Tommy’s friends, or something like that, told her that Gin was for the melancholy and Rum was for violence. But she didn’t have any of those, so it was either Wine or Whiskey. Though wine was usually used for toast and celebrations while whiskey was more for numbing the pain, there was no use in numbing a pain that would never go away. So instead we commemorate it. And Polly was a person to celebrate.

Delilah poured the drink into their cups and they both raised a toast, “To Polly, one hell of a woman she was” said Ada. Delilah nodded and took a sip of her wine.

“That she was”

As they drank, Ada wrapped an arm around Delilah’s shoulder and layed on it. Ada took a deep breath and released a deep sigh. One that dissolved all the weight in her chest. Delilah let her eyes close shut gently. Just having Ada—her only sister, here with her was enough to anchor her back to the ground beneath her very feet. Delilah didn’t know that all she needed to remind her that she’s still real was for another human being to hold her hand and say, “I see you”.

“You know I’ll always be here with you right Delilah?” Ada blurted, her fingers lovingly brushing down Delilah’s brown curls.

Delilah melted into her sister's arms and grunted.

“I’ll remind you that you’re my little sister, and a very special woman in my life, if you go missing, be it physically or spiritually, I’ll never stop finding you”

Silent tears fell from Delilah’s eyes, Ada’s warm hands brushing circles on the small of her back. Ada's eyes flickered upward to the photo of Polly and John in his uniform framed very nicely near the fireplace. Delilah took the pictures from their rooms after they passed away.

“That's a nice picture of them you have there”

Delilah wiped her hot tears away, “Mhm…I don’t want to forget what they look like. I’ve already forgotten what Mom and Dad look like. And Malcolm…”

The mention of Malcolm’s name made Ada sit up straight. “Malcolm? wasn’t that your boyfriend as a kid?”. Delilah swatted Ada’s arm and Ada giggled playfully.

“No he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was just a really good friend of mine back when I was 9. I don't know why, but I have really bad memory. I seem to have forgotten what he looks like already…”

Ada shrugged, “Well it was 17 years ago, that is a long time, Dily”.

Delilah nodded and sighed. She realised that she was starting to forget faces when she couldn’t even get an image of her mother in her head when asked what she looked like. All she could remember was that she had beautiful blue eyes and a voice soft like a feather. And John, she almost forgot if he had brown or blond hair, or if he had freckles on his skin.

So for Polly, she promised she would never forget what she looks like. Polly had beautiful brown curls that she never failed to style so beautifully, every tie and every hairpin fit so perfectly. She had eyes that commanded and hands that could make a man crumble. Those same hands that soothed all her siblings to sleep

“I miss Pol, Ada”

“I miss her too love, let’s just sit here together and talk about her okay? I have all day”

Lucas Woods was wandering around Saint Jude’s Church. Everyone in Small Heath always joked about how Father Woods never leaves the Church. How his soul is stuck there. If you needed someone, you could bet your last penny that Lucas Woods would be there, sitting gracefully on a pew, staring off into the distance.

When the Church was empty—which was always the case, he walked out and found himself at the back of the Church. An overgrown grass patch with wildflowers, and an oak tree in front of him. The oak tree was calling for him to lay underneath it. For once, he felt his chest tightening and his heart telling him to just lay down and let the grass settle on him. Lucas made his way to the tree and hesitantly lowered his body down onto the grass. The tree leaves and long branches sheltering him from the blazing sun. He felt the tight strings stitched into his heart loosening slightly as he rested.

He must’ve fallen deeply asleep because he didn’t realise that there was another person who had been watching him as he rested.

“Delilah?”

Delilah’s eyes widened and she shook her head, “Oh, Oh! Lucas I’m so sorry! I was just walking around here and saw you laying down and thought something had happened to you…” she sputtered.

Her genuine concern was something that Lucas loved about that girl. He could not help but smile at her trying to explain herself. He blinked awake, sunlight shining in his eyes.

“That’s alright Delilah, I was just sleeping. Sorry to worry you my dear”

Delilah’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red. Lucas scooted a little to the side and patted on the empty space next to him. As soon as she sat next to Lucas she could feel the tension in her shoulders relax. Lucas was looking off into the distance as he always did and Delilah was staring at him once again. He just looked so unexplainably at peace but so tired at the same time. The way his eyes had heavy bags but the way his skin was reflecting off the sun so breathtakingly. She always thought everyone she saw was beautiful. And Lucas was beautiful. So painfully beautiful.

Lucas turned to face Delilah and gave her a warm smile, catching her off guard. “Is there something on my face?” he teased. Delilah laughed, “No Lucas, it’s just that…” she reached her hands out as she spoke, and her fingers rested ever so lightly on his textured skin. Lucas watched—feeling his heartbeat quicken and his face warming up slowly but he found himself never wanting her hands to leave.

“Just what, Delilah?”

“Just that you look so beautiful”

His eyes locked onto hers, a mix of surprise and vulnerability reflected in his gaze. As she touched his face, a gentle warmth spread through his body. He remained silent, unsure how to respond to the sincerity in her voice. The word "beautiful" hung in the air, unfamiliar yet deeply touching. For a moment, time seemed to pause, with only the sound of their quiet breathing filling the space between them. His silence wasn't indifference; it was the quiet reverence of someone hearing something beautiful for the first time.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” he mused.

Delilah didn’t respond. Instead, she just let her hands rest on his skin. She didn’t need him to believe her words. But she always felt that she needed to let others know just how beautiful they looked. She couldn't help but be captivated by the unique features of everyone she met. Each person's face told a story, and she found herself drawn to the distinct qualities that made them who they were. With an infectious enthusiasm, she'd often blurt out compliments, her words spilling from a genuine place of admiration. "You're so beautiful," she'd say, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. The way someone's smile lit up their entire face, the quirky shape of their eyebrows, or the radiant glow of their skin—each trait was a masterpiece in her eyes.

“You’re beautiful yourself, Delilah”

Delilah smiled sheepishly at his compliment. Hiding her face in her hands. “Goodness… Lucas, I'm so sorry” she chuckled.

“You just look like someone I once knew,” She muttered.

HMP Birmingham, 1934

The guard didn’t even look him in the eye when he unlocked the cell door.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he muttered.

Michael Shelby stood from the narrow bed, smoothing the wrinkles from his worn shirt. His expression sharpened with suspicion—he wasn’t expecting anyone. Not yet, anyway. His boots scraped against the cold floor as he followed the guard through the dim corridors, passing faces he no longer bothered to remember.

In the visiting room, a single man sat at the far end, hands folded neatly in front of him. He was young, but the way he carried himself made him seem older—like something gnawed away at him from the inside out. His clothes were modest and neat. The kind you wouldn’t glance twice at on the street. Michael slid into the chair opposite him, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. The stranger lifted his head, pale eyes meeting Michael’s without much urgency.

“You’re the visitor?” Michael asked, one brow lifting.

The man simply nodded. No name. No pleasantries.

There was a long pause, just the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Michael drummed his fingers against the table, impatient. “Well?”

The man spoke, his voice low, almost bored. “Your wife made arrangements. She’s paid well.”

Michael leaned forward slightly. “Arrangements for what?”

“To take care of Thomas Shelby.”

The words hung heavy between them. Michael’s jaw tightened.

“No”

The visitor tilted his head, studying him the way one might study a flickering candle, wondering how long it would last.

Michael’s voice was steady. “I kill Thomas Shelby myself. But Arthur goes first.”

The man said nothing, only tapping a finger lightly against the edge of the table. As if he had heard the same thing a hundred times before. Michael went on, voice hardening, “Arthur’s a rabid dog. If I don’t put him down first, he’ll come straight for me. It has to be him first. Then Tommy.”

At last, the man gave a small nod. “As you wish, Mr Gray” he said easily, like the outcome was none of his concern. He stood, smoothing the front of his coat, preparing to leave. But just before he turned away, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“I hope you don’t regret your choices,” he said softly. Then he was gone, slipping from the room with the same soundless efficiency he had arrived with, leaving Michael sitting alone beneath the flickering overhead light, feeling—for the first time in a long time—very, very cold.