#tommy shelby x fem oc

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 4

Summary: Charlotte realises that she doesn't know her employer as well as she thought she did. Clouded by indecisions, she takes a path that may have unexpected consequences when things take a turn for the worst

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Mentions of PTSD. Tommy gets violent. No beta reading we die like John

Author’s note: I have NO excuse. Not even I know why I dropped the ball on this, but I will just say that 2024 has been sucker punching me in the face since January 1st and has not given me respite. I am hoping that this time I will be able to post more consistently, but again, who knows with me?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY GRAMMAR ERRORS

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark  @zablife

《Prev part -

Bright sunlight peeked into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, bathing everything in golden warmth. Blackbirds and nightingales chirped in their branches, their cheerful songs mingling with the sounds of the daily bustling of the state; horses neighing in their paddocks, hounds barking at the sight of wild rabbits; the old truck coming up the road bringing fresh meat and groceries for the week. It all sounded so typical, so average, not a toe out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Except Charlotte.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed under her aching body was not hers. Albeit top quality, the mattress she slept in had obviously been used before; softer around the middle and with a characteristic indent in the exact position where she sat every morning to slip on her stockings and shoes. But the one under her was much firmer and sturdy, and her back had definitely noticed it. The pillows also felt different, as did the sheets. The sun shone on the wrong side, not landing on the bed like she preferred. But it was all forgotten when she noticed a hand clinging to hers, fingers intertwined with her own on a gentle grip.

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up so quickly bright lights danced in her vision. She was used to being awoken in a startle; injured and dying soldiers didn’t wait for her to wash her face and tighten her corset before coming in. But waking up in Tommy’s bed, dressed in only her nightgown and robe and with his hand laced with hers surpassed any startle. 

The memories from the last 24 hours flooded her mind like a horror movie. Doctor Keller’s visit, the uncertainty of the wait, the abrupt waking up with Thomas moaning in pain in the dead of the night, and the horrifying discovery of the punctures on his back, crimson blood soaking through gauzes and clothes onto the bed sheets. 

The man next to her slept so peacefully, face buried in the pillows and soft snores escaping his lips, one could hardly believe the suffering he had been subjected to just hours prior. The laudanum dosage Charlotte administered should keep him out of it until midday at least, but that didn’t worry her; he definitely looked like he needed that rest.

Carefully, with the same gentleness one would handle a newborn with, Lottie turned him on his side, propping his body with pillows to properly assess the damage. At least he hadn’t bled through his clothes again, but that small relief did little to placate the cold feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach after she cut off the bandages. 

The wounds on his back had already begun to scab, surrounded by near black bruises of various sizes, from his mid back all the way down to the top of his tailbone. The punctures were evenly spaced both sideways and lengthwise, and Charlotte soon realised they were meant to follow the length of his spine. She could not even fathom the pain those must have caused, nerve damage or not.

Charlotte didn’t know how to proceed from there. Every fibre of her being urged her to run to Mrs. Gray, expose Doctor Keller for a charlatan, and let the Peaky Blinders dispose of him as they saw fit. But on the other hand, acting behind his back would surely shatter the feeble bond of trust Lottie and Tommy had developed. It didn’t matter that she only did it with his best interests in mind; he would perceive it as betrayal on her part, and would set back the small but significant progress she had made with him. She had a duty with her patient, but that duty had divided in two widely different roads, both pulling at her with equal strength.

A firm knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. In a panic, she realised it was a quarter past 10 in the morning, much later than the hour in which she usually fetched Tommy’s breakfast tray from the kitchens, a little after 9. A second, much larger panic overcame her as she took note of her state of dress, or rather, undress. She had no proper excuse to be in her nightgown only, and even if she explained that she had spent the night watching over Thomas, it still did not give her reason to look like she had just risen from bed, his bed. 

She paced back and forth, debating whether to answer the door or just feign deafness and pretend she wasn’t there. She could not hide there forever, but she much preferred to step out with no witnesses present. And God forbid it was Mrs. Gray on the other side; she held the woman in high esteem, and being found by her in such a compromising situation was mortifying, even if nothing less than honourable had happened. 

A third knock urged her to make a decision, and a small, female voice coming from the other side

“Nurse Tindall, are you in there? I’ve brought up the breakfast tray for Mr. Shelby, may I come in?”

Lottie breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised the voice of Ella, a new maid who was as sweet as she was witless. It would not be hard to distract her, as she did anything she was asked to, no matter how stupid the request sounded. Charlotte cleared her throat and walked closer to the door, making deliberate sounds around to appear busy.

“Mr. Shelby is getting dressed, come back later please” She did her best to sound firm in a kind way, not wanting to trigger another of the girl’s crying episodes over feeling herself scolded. But much to her unluckiness, Ella seemed committed to delivering the food, surely not wanting to unleash the cook’s wrath upon her. Peeling a cartful of potatoes surely drivers the lesson home to not let the eggs go cold.

“But I’ve already brought the tray over, and Mrs. Bird will be upset if I go back down with it. May I come in? I promise I won’t look!” Lottie could hear the distress in the girl’s voice; she knew that Ella would not survive long in the house’s service like that.

“I said no, Ella. Mr. Shelby needs his privacy” Her words came a little harsher than she had originally intended, and she could practically see Ella flinching and the wobble of her lower lip. Not wanting to send the maid back down defeated and in tears, she spoke again, a little softer this time “Leave the tray on the side table and I’ll bring it in once we’re finished here”

Lottie waited with bated breath, ears perked up as she heard Ella push aside some ornaments to place the silver tray down, catching even the soft tinkling of saucers and teacups. Her relief lasted only until she heard footsteps going down the stairs, for soon a deeper, slurred voice came from behind her.

“With that level of quick minded resourcefulness, you could work for my company”

Tommy was awake, no doubt aroused from his slumber by her banter with the maid. Charlotte had been certain that the sleeping tinctures would keep him under until at least after lunch, but again, what could half a cup of laudanum do against a man who had been using morphine and opium freely for the best part of the last five years?

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she immediately rushed to his side, taking a motherly stance as she gently brushed hair away from his forehead, discreetly checking for any rise in his temperature; although he felt sweaty, he didn’t seem to be running a fever. Her fingers circled his wrist, counting the steady beats of his heart, and her ears perked up, ready to detect any change in the pattern of his breathing.

“I am not dying, not yet at least” Thomas huffed, in what turned out to be a poor attempt at lightening the severity of the situation. But even then he couldn’t deny he had been left extremely weakened; even opening his eyes appeared to be a struggle, and the dark circles under them cut sharply against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

Charlotte felt grief tugging at her heartstrings at his sight, alongside an overcoming sense of guilt for not having stopped Doctor Keller; she should have trusted her gut and dragged them all out by the ankles the second they kept her from accompanying Thomas through the treatment. Nothing good ever came from things happening behind closed doors. And certainly nothing good could ever come from a treatment that required him to be gagged and held down.

She reached over to the basin to retrieve a damp cloth, gently dabbing away the sweat from Tommy’s temples and brow. His eyes closed again, tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. Lottie wanted to ask, she needed a what, a how and a why, but she didn’t want to push him when he looked like that, so miserable and battered. The sight of his back pierced and stabbed, his limp body lying on blood soaked sheets, and the helplessness and vulnerability in his eyes, had been forever engraved in her memory. To see a man like him brought down to that, it made her heart ache.

“Are you hungry?” She asked quietly, swallowing down her other questions and worries to focus first and foremost on his comfort. “I could ask the cook to make you something light if your stomach is upset. Maybe some soup and toast?”

He shook his head, opening one eye just enough to gauge Charlotte’s expression. Just like his aunt’s, there was something unsettling about Thomas’s gaze. While Mrs. Gray looked like she could know all your secrets with just one look, Thomas had a certain determination in his eyes, a glint of mischief added with something that Lottie couldn’t quite pinpoint; but she knew for certain that Mr. Shelby could convince anyone to do his bidding only by staring them down. But she also noticed he possessed the same perennial shadow that all war veterans did; a mark that they all shared and would never fade.

“I suppose asking you for a glass of whiskey and to pass me cigarettes won’t work even now, eh?”

Charlotte had always had more than a few opinions about Thomas’ average diet of eating nothing, but the fact that he felt well enough to joke about it did manage to lighten her spirits. She noticed he kept trying to dampen his lips and his tongue appeared quite parched; with a teaspoon she managed to give him some sips of water, since she didn’t feel confident enough to sit him up just yet.

A pregnant silence hovered in the air, with Charlotte knowing both had things they wanted to say. Her thoughts continued to swirl around aimlessly, torn between rushing straight to Mrs. Gray to tell her everything she knew so far, or to wait to hear the complete story from Tommy’s lips. But would he be willing to tell? Did he remember even, or had the memories been wiped away by the trauma and the pain medicines?

Even if she wished to avoid it forever, she couldn’t. She needed to redo the dressings on his back, and she had learned through experience the way some veterans reacted when their wounds were touched, as if the contact triggered the memories they so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down. And so, she figured she might try while the laudanum still lingered, hoping that the remaining opioids in his system would keep him tame should he lash out.

“Tommy, there’s some wounds left on your back from your…treatment” Calling that medicine left a bitter taste on Charlotte’s mouth, but she couldn’t go and call it torture to his face “I need to bandage them again but I promise to be careful. You need to let me know if anything is bothering you, is that okay?” A part of herself felt she was talking him down like a child, but that had worked before with other veterans in similar situations, and at worse, Thomas would get mad at her, which would be no different than usual.

But much to her surprise, Tommy appeared awfully calm with the information she had just given her, as if the notion of having been poked full of holes didn’t faze him at all. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine as she began to consider the option that Tommy knew what had been done to him, or worse, that he had willingly submitted to it.

While she gathered her supplies, she noticed some dried blood lingered under her nails from the previous night’s ordeal. The sight of all that blood, gauzes dripping with it, the liquid pooling since the sheets could not soak up any more…She had seen ten times worse over the years in the front, and had faced it all with a sternness that unnerved even her colleagues. Why could she not detach herself this time? Was it because she could not stand the desperate being taken advantage of? Or had she grown attached at last to her insufferable patient?

Suddenly her common sense decided to abandon her. She dropped what she had on her hands and rounded the bed to face Thomas, leaning down until she was eye to eye with him. She had to gauge the truth from him, she needed the story straight so she could put a stop to this.

“Thomas…Thomas do you know what that doctor did to you?” She breathed through her nose once, to keep her voice from faltering “Did he tell you what he did exactly?” She reached to take one of his hands. The previous night the contact had been an act of desperation, and now it bore similar purpose “I don’t know if you remember but last night you woke up and..and you were-”

“Bloodied and in pain? Yes, I remember” The way he said it, with such carelessness as if he were simply saying he woke up thirsty, didn’t sit quite right with Charlotte. Far too calm, even for a man like him. “Doctor Keller warned me that the first couple of nights would be difficult to get by. He told me to rely on the laudanum, but I thought I could toughen it out. I should have listened…the doctor always knows best.” 

His dovish words confirmed her worst fears, and Lottie felt her stomach drop to her knees. He knew. He knew everything that had been done to him. How could he not? Thomas Shelby wouldn’t let a doctor put a single finger on him without knowing first what would be done to him. 

Her grip on his fingers tightened, and she leaned closer, far closer than their faces had even been before “Tommy, what he’s done to you is inhuman. It’s barbaric. I’m sure men who have been tortured have endured less than what you did yesterday. You cannot let him get away with it, or he will do it again to others. I will tell Mrs. Gray to deal with him, we won’t let him get close to you again”

“No” That time, his hand gripped hers, with such strength that made her fingers ache. “You will not do such a thing. You will leave that man alone, and let him do what he must. Understood?” There, in that moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what Tommy used to be like, when he was the man that terrorised Small Heath and had half of Birmingham bending the knee like he were some sort of king. A man who had built an empire from scratch and, rumour had it, ruled it like a tyrant. 

“Thomas, look at yourself!” She protested, not allowing herself to be intimidated “Look at what he’s done to you. What treatment can be worth being punctured by needles the length of your hand all down your back? Do you even know what’s been injected?”

“I don’t need to know. All I need it’s for it to work” He had to have lost his mind, That was the only answer as to how Thomas could so blindly trust Keller. That quacksalver had sweet spoken his way into Tommy’s mind, and had used his fear and hopelessness as grounds to plant the seed of hope. He saw Tommy as a drowning man, and appeared before him offering him a raft, which turned out to be only a rotten piece of wood.

“No” Determination laced Lottie’s words “I will not allow this to continue. You have been taken for a fool, Thomas, and it is my duty as your nurse to make you see reason when you can’t for yourself. I know a trickster when I see one, and God knows I’ve seen plenty” She felt anger loaded in her words; but not directed at her patient. Rather directed at Keller, and the dozens of men like him who saw chance for profit in the suffering of the war veterans who had lost everything fighting for their lives “I will not allow that man to set foot here again. I’ll barricade the door myself if I must, and I know Mrs. Gray will agree with me” Charlotte knew that Mrs Gray tried to antagonise her nephew as little as possible, only in extreme circumstances; well, this was definitely one of those.

What happened next took Lottie completely aback. Thomas let go of her hand, but instead gripped her chin, his fingers holding her with such strength that she felt the pain radiate up her jaw. His eyes were pure ice, cold and unforgiving, and he pulled her face down, forcing her to meet his gaze

“You won’t do shit. You will do what you do, what you are paid to do, and nothing more. For everything else, you keep your head down. I believe Polly told you that you would be expected to turn a blind eye for some things; well, this is one of those things. You are not family, you are just a worker, and you do what you are told, eh?”

“But-”

“But nothing” His grip tightened even more, if possible, forcing a whine out of Charlotte’s lips. She had never seen him like this before, not even during her first days in the manor when he did everything in his power to be a nuisance to her and scare her away. He had screamed, he had slammed tables, he had thrown to the wall cups and glasses and trays, but not even once had he laid a hand on her “You do what I say, and nothing more. If you tell Polly, I will fire you on the spot. If you try to interfere with Doctor Keller, things can get very ugly very quickly. Am I clear?”

Charlotte felt fear. For the first time since her arrival to Arrow House, she felt fear. Her heart hammered her ribs and her knees felt weak. This man before her was not the Tommy who had shown weakness just the night before, asking her to keep him company for the night and holding her hand; not even the man who had flipped over a table because she begged him to eat. Lottie recognised in him the first tendrils of the madness proper of someone with nothing left to lose. Tommy saw Keller as his last chance, and he would not let anything or anyone take that chance away. He had become obsessed, and obsession was just a step away from madness.

She nodded at his words, if anything to get Tommy to let go of her face. After a few more seconds of staredown, in which she felt diminished to the size of a mouse, Tommy let her go and laid back down

“Good. Now fuck off. Doctor Keller said that the wounds need to be aired to heal faster, and I want to sleep”

Somehow, Charlotte found enough control of her legs to stand and walk away, tripping on the carpet and crashing against an armchair on her way out. Her heart beat rampantly, the thumping booming on her ears and temples. She held herself until she had closed the double doors behind her, and only then collapsed against the panelled wall, burying her face in her hands. She had been threatened before, plenty of times, by men far too deep in their cups, or their drugs, or in the demons inside their heads. 

But never before by a true threat.

She knew as well as any what the Peaky Blinders did, and she knew they had no qualms on the choosing of their victims. And something in the way Tommy said those words, the intensity of his gaze, the strength of his grip, told Charlotte that he wouldn’t doubt acting upon his words should she cross him. 

She immediately thought of telling Mrs Gray everything. Every last detail, her position in the house be damned; Thomas could fire her but he could not rid himself of his aunt. With that steely determination Charlotte walked down the stairs, her steps resonating in the emptiness of the house. But that lasted only until she reached the landing. Would Mrs Gray side with her? Or would she let her nephew entertain his false hopes, if only to give him a false sense of happiness? Would she find in the older woman an ally, or would she just waste her time and her job entertaining her sense of justice? After all, just like Thomas said, she was just a worker, not family, and she should not speak above her station.

And yet.

Clinging onto her morals as only support, Charlotte set out to find Mrs Gray and tell her exactly what had happened; it might cause her to lose the best job she had held since the war ended, but at least she would leave that house at peace with her morals. But her mission finished as quickly as it began. She asked Frances the whereabouts of Mrs Gray, and a bucket of ice water was dropped upon her head when she was informed that Mrs. Gray had left to tend business in London and would not return for at least a week. Speaking face to face with her, locked in the privacy of the older woman’s office was one thing. But telephone her all the way to London, and possibly interrupt her affairs to basically snitch on her nephew…

A week. She would have to wait a week. And Charlotte hoped her resolve would last that long.

~

She felt out of place, wearing her blouses and skirts after spending the best part of half a year in only her nurse uniforms. Lottie sat on the terrace of a fancy French cafe, enjoying an espresso and a small assortment of pastries. She had a few magazines before her, and pen and paper to finally write down those letters she had due for weeks, but she simply could not concentrate, not on a day like that. The bells of a nearby church rang five times; in the blink of an eye two hours of her life had escaped her, for it was a few minutes past three when she sat on that chair, feeling her knees weak and her hands clammy.

After Tommy’s threat, things had gone down as well as one could expect. Charlotte spent the following week walking on eggshells around him, scared to even look him in the eye. Tommy had been a particularly obedient patient, dutifully drinking all his medicines and eating all his meals like he had never done before, but he had once more condemned Lottie to the silent treatment, not giving her more word than the occasional command to bring him something or, more specifically, to leave him alone. She had anxiously awaited the return of Mrs. Gray, hoping his aunt would help him see reason where she had failed so spectacularly. 

The showdown between them had surely been heard all through the county, the tone of their argument escalating steadily to the point Charlotte could clearly listen to every word they said, even sitting at the foot of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees and her thumbs pressing on her brow in hopes of alleviating what had become a chronic headache. Perhaps she had committed a calamitous mistake telling everything to Mrs. Gray. Or perhaps her first big mistake had been taking that job.

When Mrs. Gray finally came down to meet her, she looked absolutely defeated; and Lottie knew right away that she had risked it all for nothing.

Thomas had absolutely refused to back down on his treatment, quoting over and over that Keller said it had to get worse before it got better. He had said horrible things about his aunt and Charlotte, about how they wished him ill and had no desire to see him recover his life because it suited them better to keep him chairbound. Mrs. Gray had let the hurtful words sweep past her like breeze, but Charlotte felt them more like stones thrown to her face, even if they were just lies. 

In the end, Lottie had not been fired, her job position saved by Mrs Gray’s resilience to not let go of the first caretaker who had made it past the three month mark. She did however insist that Lottie cash in all the days off she was owed, plus an extra paid day on the house. That gave her exactly a week of holiday, and therefore, would keep her away the day Doctor Keller was scheduled to come for his next appointment. 

When she boarded the car that would take her to the station that Sunday morning, wearing her navy blue coat and her prettiest hat, a part of her wondered if she should leave for good; mail in her resignation and have someone else pick up the rest of her belongings. She could not envision what future she could have there now, as her relationship with Tommy had surely been permanently and irreparably damaged by their rift. He would never trust her completely again, and she couldn’t stand by idly and watch him pay himself into an early, horrific death.

Not wishing to spend her week in good old Birmingham, Lottie decided her salary allowed her to take her time off in London. She found lodging on a small bed and breakfast near Camden, and put her time to good use, hoping to keep herself distracted. She got new books to read, dined in a different place each night, and finally gave her wardrobe a much overdue refresh. But she could never shake off the knowledge that, each day that passed, was a day closer to Doctor Keller returning to Tommy’s side. It remained a perpetual nagging feeling on the back of her mind. She could not go a single day without something reminding her of it.

Charlotte felt her blood boil whenever she thought about how many men had been tricked before Thomas. Perhaps if she found one or two who had undergone the same treatment, with obviously less than satisfactory results, they could help her convince Tommy to abandon before it was too late. Hoping against hope, she set aside money to post a few small, as inconspicuous as possible advertisements, avoiding directly mentioning the doctor by name. At worst, it would all end in a few wasted coins and nothing else. 

Saturday she spent in a continuous fright, obsessively checking the hour everywhere she could. By 3 pm, she knew that awful man and his equally awful aids would be crossing the threshold. By 6, she figured they would be done cleaning up whatever gruesome mess they had left behind, with Tommy tucked in bed, absolutely knocked out by double and triple doses of opioids. 

She couldn’t find sleep that night, tossing and turning until the blankets were tangled in her legs. Even through emotional exhaustion her mind refused to quiet down. Was Tommy sleeping well? Was he comfortable? Would he wake again in the dead of the night in agony and alone, with no one to wipe his brow or change the sheets? Charlotte tried and failed again and again to force the thoughts out of her mind, but they refused to budge; even if she chastised herself for caring so deeply, she couldn’t help herself.

Sunday she spent no better, and after a short walk she decided to return to her room and give herself a lazy day, rearranging her suitcase and indulging in one of her new books alongside some cookies she bought nearby. She wasn’t expected back on the manor until Tuesday morning, yet she kept all her belongings packed and ready to go fleeing out the door.

After a humble dinner in a nearby pub, Lottie returned to her lodgings, deciding to indulge herself with a long bath, taking advantage of having a private bathroom. But just as she had crossed the entrance, a bellboy came to meet her, telling her there was a call for her on the front desk. 

Puzzled, Lottie followed the boy, wondering who could be calling her at that hour, since no one knew her whereabouts. Trepidation creeping up her spine, she picked the apparatus, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in her gut

“Hello?”

“Charlotte” Mrs Gray's voice resounded from the other side. Despite the familiarity, the knowledge that it was her calling didn’t reassure her one bit. A woman like her didn’t call at that hour to talk about the weather

“Mrs Gray, is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother to ask why or how she had Charlotte’s current address. They knew everything about everyone; they probably knew more about Charlotte than she herself did.

“No, things are not okay. Doctor Keller came yesterday; only God knows what he did, but Tommy didn’t wake up until today after midday, and he didn’t let me or any of the maids touch him or feed him”

Charlotte sighed, sensing immediately where the conversation was heading “Mrs. Gray, if you think that I can get past his thick head-”

“No” The older woman cut short “I don’t think you can, and that’s not why I called. Around dinner I went to check on him, try to get him to eat. Force feed him if I must. And I found him” Charlotte could hear her sigh slowly “I found him unconscious. So pale he was grey, laying in a pool of sweat. He had vomited too, I think. Couldn’t even wake him with a slap to the back”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her heart raced at the information she received, immediately noticing how bad the situation had turned “Mrs Gray, that is very serious. He needs to be seen by a doctor! Did you-”

“I called the ambulance. They’ve taken him right away. It’s the hospital I’m calling from. The doctor says he has an infection and that it’s reaching his blood”

Charlotte swallowed. Infections of the blood never had a good prognosis in the field, not even in the hospitals. Yet she clung to false hope when she asked her next question

“Did he…did he say it was bad?”

The pause that followed seemed to stretch for days, but that wasn’t half as bad as hearing Mrs. Gray voice crack for the first time

“They say he’s likely to die”

[feninina]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

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[randomcreator-09]

Small Heath's Songbird (Thomas Shelby x OCY/N!Reader)

(Gif not mine > @bonniebird)

I WANNA BE KISSED LIKE THIS TOO T^T

Part One - Part Two

✨Pure fluff, No Grace, no smut... for now 😏✨

🐧Aha~ hello people of this world... took me long to finish writing this aha busy playing adult, phew. Ok context, don't get me wrong, I love the original Grace but in this fic, she's nonexistent. OCY/N is an asian heh hope that ayt with yall. ALSO this will focus on season 3, where Tommy has his arrow house already. Although his single asf and relies on whores... Until hehehe yeah boi~ XD Also this is just a character intro sorta... but there would be some important factors here that you need to know to be able to fully understand part two, so READ IT >:D muhahahahaha🐧

Own character description but it's Y/N POV

3.4k words

REBLOG TO SPREAD ADDICTION and kudos are appreciated too thank you ^^

Enjoy reading ^^

Part One - Part Two

-----

Birmingham was unkind to those who were different from them. Although England wasn't perfect themselves they still held grudges to those they deemed 'peculiar'.

You were spot on in that criteria. Small in height, jet black wavy hair, slightly slanted almond eyes, and full lips. However your skin tone was the same as theirs, coming from your European side of the family, that didn't save you from the racial slurs you'd get when you moved to Birmingham. A lot of people weren't as happy as you were when you arrived, a few looks here and there, but your used to it even in your home country. You see, you had bright blue eyes (with a little tint of green). Very unique if you'd say, but people disagree on that, especially your people. They think your the devils daughter and for it they kicked you out too.

It's been a few months since you settled in Small Heath. A kind woman accepted you with open arms and let you stay for a while in her humble home till you found yourself a job. She was a whore yes, but that didn't bother you since you've seen a lot worse than being a whore. You respected her even, for it was hard to live by selling your body to people you don't love. She offered you a job once (to be a whore) but you quickly declined saying 'as much as I respect your field of work Missus, I'd like to keep my innocence to a man I love'.

Not that you were virgin, oh no, you've definitely had made love with a few men through your travels, but none of them really stuck with you or vice versa. They just didn't feel right.

Days went by and the landlady ran to you with the daily newspaper in hand. "Look!" she said pointing at an advertisement, "Personal assistant maid needed," as you took the newpaper from her hands and smiled with delight, 'this is it' you thought. The landlady stubbed her cigar dead on the newspaper "Fuck, it's the arrow house." she said as she took the newspaper from you shaking her head. "Wha- Missus but the pay is good?!" you retorted to which she glared at you at for, "The Arrow House is owned by a notorious gangster who'd either kill you or fuck your life up with his fukin fingers!" she explained crossing her arms facing you "you can't even become a prostitute here why bother going to a devils house and be his whore?" she continued.

Your brows furrowed in question. You didn't mind being with a devil sure but to be his whore... Now that may cross a line. "Personal Assistant maid, it doesn't say anythin about being a prostitute," you tried explaining, even though you knew what she meant by that. Most men thought any woman with no man in public is a whore. However the pay was good, it included your own room, free food, and a lot of free time too! With that thought in mind you could still go for that bar singer position every Saturday in the Garrison (to which you heard from the ladies who lived upstairs who tried the position and failed miserably).

The landlady shook her head and sighed, she can't stop you now for she knew, you have decided and when that happens nothing can ever change your mind. "Suit yourself," as she walked away.

-----

The day came and you got a call back from Frances (the head maid), looks like faith was on your side on this one. Hopefully, not as his whore...

You paused to admire the beautiful house as you walked down the gravel road (unsuccessful with pulling a cab because they'd just pass by you). Red bricks stacked upon each other and gorgeous grey pillars and intricate designs adorned it. Still can't believe he lives alone in this big mansion. You huffed air in your lungs as you stride to the main door, lifting your arms to knock.

Knock knock knock

As you puffed the door creaks open to a woman in black, "Ah, you must be Y/N, come in." as she gestured you in. You stared at awe at how spacious the place was. The stairs up was beautiful with portraits of horses and perhaps you thought the Shelby brothers. "We won't be doing much today. Mr. Shelby is out of town and so tomorrow is when you'll officially start. For now get comfortable and I'll roam you around," she spoke clear and concise as you answered by nodding and 'yes Miss Florence' following her to your room.

Your room was spacious as well. A queen size bed on the middle of the room with a window on the left side and a makeup desk on the right. The room was well lit with electric lamps on each side of the bed side and the ceiling was well sculptured with wooden structures, floor was wooden as well. Although the wall were concrete white walls. The room was on the second floor beside Miss Florence's room, away from Mr. Shelby's room, which was a relief on your side.

Miss Florence gave you an hour to get yourself acquainted with your room and said that you had to be out in the entrance where she would be waiting to tour you around. You nodded and she left.

-----

As you have arranged your things in your new room and got ready for the tour Miss Florence had in store for you, you looked at your reflection in the mirror to make sure you look alright for the day. With a nod and a smile you went out and to the entrance where Miss Florence would be.

Miss Florence, a composed and efficient figure, waited for you near the grand entrance of Arrow House, her expression warm yet formal. She nodded approvingly as you approached, and after a quick greeting, she began the tour.

“Arrow House has its own unique history,” Miss Florence explained as she led you through the main hall, with its high ceilings, elaborate chandeliers, and walls adorned with artwork of the family’s ancestors. “Mr. Shelby brought new life to it when he acquired it, though he values his privacy.”

She walked you through the elegant sitting rooms first, which, despite the muted tones and dark wood, held a sense of opulence. “These rooms are for Mr. Shelby’s meetings and guests. They don’t see much daily use,” she added, pausing by one of the grand fireplaces. The flickering light from the embers cast a warm glow, highlighting the fine detail in the antique furniture.

Next, she led you to the kitchen, which, unlike the other rooms, bustled with activity. The staff members here worked with impressive coordination, preparing meals and ensuring everything was ready at a moment’s notice. “The kitchen is where you’ll be helping from time to time,” Miss Florence informed you. “Mr. Shelby’s tastes are simple, but he expects high standards.”

She guided you through the dining hall, where a large mahogany table stood at the center, framed by polished silverware and neatly folded napkins. “It may look grand, but meals are usually straightforward affairs unless there are visitors,” she commented, giving a rare, light chuckle.

You followed her up the grand staircase, its carpeted steps soft beneath your feet. Miss Florence pointed out the various guest rooms, each one elegantly prepared, with tasteful decor, though they rarely saw visitors. “The family only uses these rooms on occasion,” she remarked, indicating the polished brass fixtures and thick curtains. “Mr. Shelby has specific guests, and they sometimes stay overnight. Best to keep everything ready.”

Finally, she took you down a corridor that led to Mr. Shelby’s private quarters. She paused outside the door of his room. “This is Mr. Shelby’s room. You’re not to enter unless asked.” She looked at you with a hint of seriousness before adding, “Privacy is highly regarded here.”

Finally, after guiding you through the upper floors, Miss Florence led you back downstairs. She stopped near a richly decorated doorway just off the main hall.

“And this,” she said, “is Mr. Shelby’s office. You’ll find him here often.” She looked at you pointedly, adding, “Best to knock and wait for a response before entering.”

Through the doorway, you could see the polished desk, papers stacked with military precision, and the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. This room, located on the ground floor, clearly held an air of authority and was situated close to the entry—perfect for swift meetings or private business.

With the tour complete, Miss Florence gave a small nod. “Take a moment to familiarize yourself with the house,” she said, before leaving you alone in the dimly lit hallway, surrounded by Arrow House’s quiet opulence.

The sun was still out so you planned to walk around outside. The house had a small garden at the side and a horse stables on the back which was clearly Mr. Shelby's.

The house also had a porch, with a posh white table and two chairs seeing the lush green forest from afar. You sighed as you felt the breeze on your neck to your half-tied hair and crossed your arms around you feeling the cold wind trickling your skin through your clothes. The clothes you wore were expensive to say the least, your former landlady was so sad you were moving out that she gifted you a luxurious royal blue dress to wear going to the mansion.

Suddenly a warm feeling enveloped you as you flinched looking at your shoulders. A dark coat was over your body and a quick smoke flickered your eyes to see a man with a defined jaw and cheekbones. "You must be Y/N," he said as he kept his eyes on the greenery. "Shelby, but you can call me Thomas" as he offered his hands towards you.

As you raised your hands slowly to shake his you hesitated and dropped your hands back to your sides. You removed his dark coat around you and offered it back, "Thank you for the kind gesture Mr. Shelby, but I am your personal made not a visitor. I am here to work for you" you said as you continued to look down at his shoes, unable to look up his face.

"Hmm," a low grumble from the throat made you lift your head up, and there you saw his head tilted closer to yours with his piercing blue eyes straight to yours. "Well, you have beautiful eyes that I can assure ye'" as he puffed out the smoke in his lungs, standing up and taking the coat on your hands and swiftly placing them again on top of your shoulders.

You could smell the strong cologne he had on. Mixed with the scent of the cigar he was taking and blood? It was dangerously addicting.

"You'll start tomorrow anyways," as he started to walk away slowly. "Let me at least treat you as a visitor before you get all busy." as he started to walk towards the stables. You suddenly feel blood rushing to your cheeks reminiscing about his scent and how his face was close to yours.

"You following or not?" a shout from afar caught your attention and removed you from your thoughts. "Yes Mr. Shelby, following!" you shouted back as you ran towards him.

-----(Tommy's POV)

The ride back to Arrow House was a haze of smoke, blood, and lingering fury. Changretta’s betrayal was handled, his lifeless eyes now a grim reminder of the consequences of crossing Thomas Shelby. Yet as the gravel crunched beneath his vehicle and the grand silhouette of Arrow House emerged, a part of him yearned for something—anything—other than the chaos he’d left behind.

As he placed his feet unto the gravel road, the cool evening breeze carried hints of earth and lavender, a stark contrast to the suffocating smoke-filled rooms of Birmingham. He loosened his tie as he rounded the corner of the porch, lighting himself a cigar, his gaze falling on a figure in a striking royal blue dress.

She stood there, arms crossed against the chill, her posture straight but her gaze distant as if lost in thought. Her hair was tied back neatly, a few tendrils escaping to frame a delicate face. He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching for a moment. She turned slightly, and the setting sun caught her profile—soft, porcelain skin glowing against the backdrop of the lush green garden.

For a brief moment, Thomas thought she was a guest, someone important perhaps, yet there was no carriage, no announcement of arrival. It wasn’t until he noticed the plain black shoes and the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress that he realized—this was the new maid.

"Interesting."

He removed his dark coat and approached her, draping it over her shoulders in a practiced motion. She flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, keeping his tone low as he puffed his cigarette. He glanced past her at the garden, keeping his expression unreadable.

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edges of the coat as if debating whether to keep it. “Shelby,” he introduced, his voice firm yet laced with intrigue, “but you can call me Thomas.” He extended a hand.

Her reaction amused him. She raised her hand but let it fall back to her side, averting her gaze. Then, she carefully removed the coat and held it out to him. “Thank you for the kind gesture, Mr. Shelby, but I am your personal maid, not a visitor. I am here to work for you.”

Thomas’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. Her voice was polite yet firm, and her shyness intrigued him. “Hmm.” The soft growl from his throat made her finally look up.

Her eyes caught him off guard. Blue, with a hint of green—bright and unique, a startling contrast against her dark lashes and raven hair. He tilted his head slightly, letting the silence linger as he leaned closer, holding her gaze.

“Well,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, “you have beautiful eyes, that I can assure ye’.” He took the coat from her hands and deliberately placed it back over her shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress. “You’ll start tomorrow anyways. Let me at least treat you as a visitor before you get all busy.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and started walking toward the stables, the weight of her presence lingering in his mind.

“You following or not?” he called out without looking back.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby! Following!” Her voice was a touch breathless, and it brought an unexpected smile to his lips.

-----Your POV

As the gravel crunched beneath your feet, you quickened your pace to catch up with Mr. Shelby, who was already nearing the stables. The breeze carried the faint scent of hay and leather, mingling with the earthy aroma of the horses. You hesitated briefly before stepping into the barn, the dim light casting soft shadows across the wooden beams.

Thomas Shelby stood near one of the horses, his fingers brushing through its mane with an ease that spoke of familiarity. The soft nickering of the animal filled the air as he looked over his shoulder to see you standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“You don’t have to just stand there,” he remarked, his tone light but firm. “They don’t bite… much.”

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you stepped closer, the warmth of the stable wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The horse he was grooming turned its head slightly, as if inspecting you. Its dark eyes held a quiet curiosity, much like its owner’s piercing gaze.

“Do you know much about horses?” he asked, handing you a brush without waiting for an answer.

You shook your head, gently taking the brush from his outstretched hand. “Not really, Mr. Shelby. I’ve always admired them, though.”

“Thomas,” he corrected, his voice steady. “If you’re working here, we may as well skip the formalities.”

You nodded, feeling a small wave of relief at his approachable tone. Moving to stand beside him, you watched as he demonstrated the technique, his hands methodical as he ran the brush down the horse’s side. You followed his lead, your movements careful and deliberate.

“This one’s name is Arrow,” he said, his voice softer now. “She’s got a temper, but if you’re patient, she’ll warm up to you.”

You couldn’t help but smile as Arrow leaned slightly into your touch, her warm breath puffing against your arm. “She’s beautiful,” you murmured, glancing at Thomas out of the corner of your eye.

“She knows it,” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, filled only by the rustling of hay and the rhythmic strokes of the brushes. You felt a strange sense of ease around him, despite the intimidating aura he carried.

“Why Birmingham?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but curious.

The question caught you off guard, and you paused mid-stroke. “It wasn’t really a choice,” you admitted. “I needed somewhere to start over, and Birmingham… well, it’s not as unkind as some places.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, thoughtful. “People here can be… particular,” he said. “But they’ll get used to you.”

You didn’t miss the unspoken meaning behind his words—he understood what it was like to be judged, to carry something on your shoulders that others didn’t bother to understand.

“And you?” you asked tentatively, surprising yourself with the question. “Do you get used to people?”

Thomas paused, his hands stilling on the brush. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before he turned back to Arrow. “Only the ones worth knowing.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken depth that made your heart flutter. Before you could respond, he straightened, dusting off his hands. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the barn door. “It’s getting dark.”

-----

The kitchen was warm and inviting, far cozier than the grandeur of the dining hall you’d seen earlier. Thomas moved with an ease that surprised you, setting out simple plates and pouring glasses of water. The smell of fresh bread and stew filled the air, and you found yourself relaxing as you took a seat at the modest wooden table.

“Not what you were expecting, was it?” he asked, setting a bowl of stew in front of you.

You shook your head, smiling. “Not at all. It’s… nice. Feels more real.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile as he took a seat across from you. “Real’s not a word people usually associate with me.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Maybe they’re not looking close enough.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and you felt the intensity of his gaze settle over you like a weight. The air between you shifted, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

As the meal went on, the conversation flowed easily, each shared story peeling back another layer of the man who, only hours ago, had been a mysterious and intimidating figure. By the time the plates were empty and the kitchen quieted, the darkness outside had deepened, wrapping the house in a blanket of stillness.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you. “You’ll do fine here,” he said softly accentuating the end remark, almost to himself.

You felt a warmth rise in your chest at his words, but before you could thank him, he stood and walked as he leaned to your side. The sudden closeness made your breath catch, and when he reached down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingered for just a moment too long.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without thinking, your hand brushed against his. He stopped, his eyes searching yours, and slowly in that moment, the space between you disappeared. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and unyielding, a moment that felt suspended in time.

When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “See you tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before he turned and left the kitchen.

You sat there, your heart racing, trying to piece together what had just happened. One thing was certain—life at Arrow House was going to be anything but ordinary.

----- End of part one (Part Two on December 24th [to be updated here])

Part One - Part Two

-----

🐧See what I did with the GIF and the ending huhhhhhhh ^w^ anyways hope ya'll can wait till 24th ehe🐧

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[evita-shelby]

Happy wife, Happy life

Or Tommy gets drunk and assumes his wife is someone else so he sleeps on the floor instead

For @runnning-outof-time with the prompt 34) “I didn’t get your name.”

Gif by @cillianparadise

The sight of Tommy, this new Tommy who is always in control at all times, drunk as hell and stumbling into the bedroom, is a sight for sore eyes.

It is the old him, the one who laughed and loved horses and had ambition but not the sort to get you murdered by the Crown's most evil men.

“Did you have fun tonight, love?” You ask as your husband of four years stripped down to join you in bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I am sure you’re a catch, but I got a wife.” He answers, perfectly serious too and lies down on the floor after taking his pillow with him.

You can’t help but laugh and tease him. Not like he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Oh, so you’d rather sleep on the floor instead of your bed, Mr. Shelby?” you ask letting you arm hang over the edge of the bed and just low enough to bop his nose.

He hates it, and rolls his eyes at your immaturity.

“Yeah, happy wife happy life.” Tommy responds as if it made all the sense in the world.

Good boy, you say and he thanks you for the praise and rejects your advances while he’s at it.

“What if I told you your wife was in bed and can’t sleep without you with her?” you ask while you lightly pester him in ways only you did.

“Mhm, she’d shoot me if she caught me in bed with another woman, especially you.” He turned on his side and you paused as you raked your fingers through his mop of dark hair.

You.

Was there another tramp trying to woo him away from you?

You knew from the beginning that every woman here would sign off on their firstborn to be in his bed, and sell their soul to the devil to be in your shoes.

You were jealous, so much so that when he left for France you told him he could fuck a whore so long as you got to fuck a fella in return.

Your threat saved him from a bout of gonorrhea which Barney got from a whore who gave it to every man in the battalion save for Tommy.

“She doesn’t have to know,” you say keeping up the act so you know which woman you have to scare away from your fucking husband.

Couldn’t these ladies see the wedding band in his finger?

“She will, you aren’t exactly doing yourself any favors working in the pub, Miss. Miss?” Tommy faltered forgetting the name of the mousy barmaid. Looked like Jane Seymour , with that holier-than-thou face that got Anne Boleyn short of a head. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Grace. Grace Burgess.” You filled in the blanks and knew you’d make the blonde bitch leave Birmingham and scurry the fuck back to Belfast or your name isn’t Y/N Shelby.

Part 2

[colsons-baker]

The Gift

Series1 Tommy Shelby x Reader

Across the road and two doors down, that’s as far as Tommy had to go. But he had taken a detour to The Garrison, needing a bit of Dutch courage before he knocked on her door in Watery Lane. In his hands he held a box, wrapped in colourful paper and topped with a bow, a present for the day that was in it. He breathed in just as Y/N opened the door, giving her a quick smile. “Pol told me the party would be over by now. Thought it best I waited till after.” He explained. “Come in.” Y/N smiled, stepping back to give him room. “She’ll be happy to see ye.”

Tommy took the cap from his head as he stepped inside. “I got her sometin.” He said, turning back and holding the box out to her as she followed him to the living room. “Ye can give it to her yerself.” She said, nodding at the doorway. Tommy nodded and walked into the softly lit room, the smell of a freshly baked cake wafting in from the connected kitchen. On the floor sat a little girl, playing with some dolls - a present from her aunty Polly.

“Ada.” Tommy sighed, nodding at his sister. He should have known she would still be here, she couldn’t stay away from his daughter.

“Don’t worry, I’m goin.” Ada stood up. “Bye bye darlin.” She waved to the child who waved back, and Tommy couldn’t help but feel his heart skip at the image as his sister passed him.

He stood there watching her as Y/N saw Ada out, unsure of what to do or say. He had been trying his hardest lately, but she always cried when he was around. She couldn’t blame him, what sort of father was he? He had missed everything in her life so far because of the war, and he couldn’t be present much now because of it too.

It hadn’t been a mistake, he would never say that. But he never meant to get Y/N pregnant. He had been on leave and she had been working late in the bookies. Y/N had been one of the women that kept the whole Shelby enterprise running. He had opened a bottle of whiskey and he needed company, and then they went to bed.

Nine months later, he was in the tunnels as his daughter was born. He missed her first breath, her first cry…her first everything. And when he got back he couldn’t be much more useful. The things he was going through inside his head, well he couldn’t burden his beautiful little girl with that.

As for Y/N, she was everything he wanted and all that he couldn’t have, the war made sure of that. He could never be much of a husband, not with the nightmares and everything else that rattled around in him. But oh how he wished he could have done the right thing and marry her, rather than have her be stained because of him.

“She doesn’t bite ye know?” Y/N’s voice pierced his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “Give her the present.” She encouraged.

Tommy nodded and cleared his throat before he stepped closer, stopping the child mid-play as she turned her attention towards him.

“I heard it was someone’s birthday today.” Tommy said with a little smile. “And what’s a birthday without a present, eh?”

As he crouched down, he placed the box down in front of his daughter. The little girl’s eyes sparkled as she saw the brightly coloured box with the ribbon, knowing exactly what it meant. She crawled closer to the box, and to the man who sometimes came to visit her. Smiling up at him, she pushed it closer to him to open.

Tommy’s smile fell, was she pushing the present away? He went to stand up, but felt a hand on his shoulder. “She want’s ye to open it for her. She’s only two.” Y/N chuckled.

Tommy looked up at Y/N and nodded before turning his attention back to their daughter. “Shall we open it then, eh?” He asked, beginning to untie the bow. “See what’s inside.”

The little girl leaned forward to help rip the paper off, laughing at the fun of it all and making Tommy laugh too.

“Look at this, eh?” He said, as he pulled a teddy bear from the newly opened box. “A new friend to join yer dolls!” He motioned towards the other presents as the child clapped and then reached out for the teddy bear, which Tommy handed over. She hugged the bear close as she kept her eyes on Tommy. After a moment, she held out an arm for him.

“Hug her.” Y/N told him.

“What?” He looked over at the woman who was sat on the couch watching.

“Oh for gods sake Tommy, she wants ye to hug her!” Y/N laughed. “She wants to say thank you.”

Tommy looked back at the little girl, his eyebrows raised slightly at the idea. “A hug, eh?” He nodded. “I can do hugs.”

He held his arms out and his daughter moved into them. His daughter, who he held tightly as he stood, her arms wrapping around his neck and her cheek placed against his.

Tommy closed his eyes and breathed in. Maybe he could do this.

[shelby-fangirl00]

Hunting You-part two

Part one

Summary: Thomas POV. Thomas holds Penny for questioning after learning that she is an assassin. Tommy needs to know why he was targeted and who hired Penny.

Authors note: I kinda word vomit in this so it may not be the greatest but super smutty so 🤷‍♀️ enjoy!

Warnings: MATURE CONTENT, 18+ only. This chapter is pure smut 💅🏻

Thomas

Time always slows when your underground. It did in France and still does now. All the sounds from above are drowned out and I’m always left alone.

John carried the girl in, Arthur following close behind him. Together, they placed her on an old dusty chair, tying her hands together behind her back. I watch closely as they tightened a rope around her chest and stomach, concealing her to the chair. The rope clung to her in the most delicious way, accentuating her chest. Her head slumped in front of her, hair falling into her face.

“Search her, Tom?” Arthur asked, already reaching for her dress.

“Leave it, for now. I need you and John at the office. Find out if anyone helped her come off the boat last night. She might have friends here that she planned to stay with. Report back as soon as you know something.”

Arthur and John exchanged a funny look before staring back at me with cheeky grins.

“Have fun, Tom.” Arthur said before patting me on the shoulder and walking past. John followed closely behind him.

“Not too much fun. She may be pretty but she is the enemy!” He giggled, shoving Arthur playfully with his shoulder.

“When’s that ever stopped him before?” Arthur whispered loudly and they both fell into a fit of laughter.

“Fuck off now, yeh?” I grunted, before they finally left me in the silence.

I rolled my shoulders back and sighed loudly. She’ll be waking up any moment now.

I focused on her again, circling her unconscious body, eyeing the way her chest rose and fell steadily.

My eyes wandered down to her pale legs that were resting open just enough for me to peak at the inside of her thighs. Her dress had ridden up, just above her knees. Her creamy white skin looked so smooth in the dim lighting. I could easily sink down to my knees and have a good view at her.

Her hair was almost white. I wondered what it would be like to have my fingers tangled in her long locks. How it would look wrapped around my fist.

She was a pretty girl, long legs and supple lips. I squatted down to level with her. I placed my fingers under her chin and lifted her dainty face up. She really is a beauty.

What’s her story? Where is she from? Does she have a family, a husband? Surely not. I hate that I want to know everything about her. I’m sure she knew a great deal about me already.

There had been talks in Birmingham of a successful female assassin. Some of my men had warned me that a very peculiar looking woman had been sitting alone at the bar for hours. When I arrived, she had gotten up and caused a scene. I knew then that something was off.

I not so lightly patted her cheek to stir her awake. Her body attempted to squirm before her eyes fluttered open. Before she could register where she was, she almost leaned into my hand under her chin.

“Wake up, Nora.” I said plainly, my voice filled with venom.

Her eyes shot open at the sound of my voice and her body went rigid. She attempted to crane her neck away from my touch, but I only grabbed her by the chin, forcing those big green eyes on me.

“I’ll give you the wages I earned, just let me go.” she grumbled sleepily in the sweetest way. I giggled menacingly, still crouching down to her level.

“If you leave here without killing me, Im sure your buyer won’t be too keen. I imagine he’d be looking for you.”

She was silent.

I pushed her face away as I stood up and lit a cigarette. She never took her eyes off of me, so neither did I.

I let the silence sink in and get comfortable between us before speaking again.

“Who hired you?” I asked for the second time tonight. Her expression quickly changed from disgruntled to amused as she threw her head back and laughed. I couldn’t help but notice the way her neck pulsed and how I’d enjoy sinking my teeth into it.

“Like I told you before, I don’t ask questions.” She giggled again.

“And I don’t believe you.” I huffed, slowly approaching her again. Her body reacted to my proximity, almost breathless.

I leaned down, placing my face inches from hers. Without saying a word, I let my hand fall to her thigh, running my fingers up her stockings. She seemed to hold her breath but doesn’t protest. As my hands inched up further, my skin was met by two knives stuffed at the top of each stocking. I tsked at her mockingly while removing them slowly, letting my fingertips linger along her thighs a bit too long. The goosebumps that erupt over her body didn’t go unnoticed.

“Already found the gun. Two knifes. Anything else I should know about?” I say looking up at her from down below.

“Find out yourself.”

My cock twitched from underneath my pants at her words.

“You don’t want that, love." I lifted my face inches apart from hers.

I’ll ruin you.” My voice turned cold. I didn’t miss the way her legs clenched together.

She pulled her lips between her teeth, looking me up and down. “Too late for that.”

I knew she was testing me, but I could barely stop myself from reaching out and touching her.

For my own amusement, I reached my hand out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. My fingers traced down her neck , stopping at her prominent collar bone. "Tell me what it is and where it’s at.” I whispered to her. Her face blushed as she watched me watch her.

I give her several seconds to weigh out her options, and eventually, she gave in.

“Razor blades, 3 or 4, in my hair.” She sighed, as if defeated.

Christ, the woman was hiding blades in her hair. Is the universe playing a cruel game with me?

I rose up, my crotch level with her face. She huffed annoyingly. Carefully reaching for the visible pins that were holding her hair in place, I released her hair and 3 small blades fell to the ground. I kicked them aside.

“Razor blades, eh?” I chuckled.

“Men have a habit of grabbing me by my hair.” She let me fill in the blanks.

“Clever. Now, if you didn’t ask for a name, you must’ve seen his face.”

A beat.

“Think he was Italian. Definitely wealthy. Ran with a mob of men. Had a creepy mustache. He approached me at a pub in London."

"Changretta" of course.

"Can ya at least untie me? You seem equipped enough to handle me if I run." She grunted while attempting to move and squirm.

I tilted my head and studied her. "I could. But I think I like you better tied up like this." She froze, trying to avoid my eyes now. Was I affecting her that much too?

I stalked towards her so that my body loomed over hers. Her pretty doe eyes looked up at me. I imagined her just like this but with my cock buried deep in her mouth. Her eyes would water and her eyebrows would scrunch together as she'd try her best to take all of me in.

She stared at me with a blank expression and allowed her legs to fall open for me, surprisingly. Is this a trick? Either way, I was too driven by my own selfish needs to care. I licked my lips, eager to taste what's in between her thighs. I kneeled down once more, never taking my eyes off hers. She doesn't protest when I push the bottom of her dress up her thighs to expose those black stockings. I sucked in a shallow breath while rubbing my hands up and down her thighs. Her eyes fluttered a bit, but never shut fully and her mouth parted slightly. I smiled before dipping my head into her neck and breathing in her scent, rubbing my nose against her cold skin. She almost leaned into my touch, extending her neck to give me better access. I couldn’t help myself, I ran my tongue along the curve of her neck making her shutter. I chuckled at her sensitivity. I'm not the only one desperate for touch.

You're quite needy, aren't you?' I whispered before leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, stopping at the top of her breasts.

She pushed her chest up, giving me better access again.

She sighed dreamily.

“I have my weaknesses.” She whispered and let her eyes flutter shut. I smiled to myself before slowly pulling down the top of her dress and revealing her perky tits. My cock was suffocating against my slacks, but I had to wait. I wanted to take my time with her.

I stared deep into her eyes as I circled her nipple with my tongue before sucking her into my mouth, flicking her nipple with my tongue. She panted and let out the softest moan, which in turn, made me groan in satisfaction. As I worked at each of her nipples, my fingers found their way in between her legs.

“So wet already…” I wasted no time rubbing my fingers gently along her throbbing clit, making her jerk. I held her leg down and open with my other hand.

I rubbed small tight circles into her clit and she threw her head back and closed her eyes. I pulled away and she gasped.

“I want you to watch me make you come. If you look away, I’ll stop again.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed and watched as I continued rubbing. Her breathing hitched and her mouth hung open as her eyebrows scrunched together.

Christ, she was beautiful all tied up like this for me. Unable to move, completely helpless. I held all of the power here.

“Fuck Thomas, I-I…she sucked in a breath and I stopped my movements all together. She let out a cry that sounded almost painful.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

I chuckled again and stood up, making a show of unbuttoning my slacks and releasing my sore and swollen cock. I looked into her eyes as I stroked myself. Her eyes became hooded and she licked her lips, watching me stroke myself off to her. She looked so pretty all helpless and tied up, tits out and accentuated by the ropes, her dress pulled up to her waist. I could devour her all night if I wanted to.

“If you can be a good girl tonight, then I’ll let you cum. You have to prove yourself first.” I kept stroking my cock as I spoke the words, leaving her breathless. I loved watching her watch me.

I walked towards her again and tilted my head. Running my hand down her face, I ran my thumb over her lips. Without any hesitation, she put her mouth around my thumb. She sucked on it greedily, swiveling her tongue around it.

“Promise you’ll be good for me?” I grunted out.

She nodded her head quickly. “I promise to be on my best behavior.” I hummed at this and took a knife from the ground and cut the rope loose. This could be a stupid decision but I needed to fuck her endlessly tonight. I sensed that she needed that too.

Surprisingly, she waited for instructions before moving an inch. I got the sense that she enjoyed behind submissive in this way, the opposite of her every day life.

I took her hand in mind and she rose to her feet. Without asking, she kneeled down in front of me and caressed my thighs. Fuck, I needed her. I grabbed her chin roughly and she opened wide for me.

I wasted no time and sunk my cock into her warm wet mouth. Not waiting her for to adjust to my size, I sunk myself all the way in and she gagged around me, struggling to take in my size.

“Good girl, take all of me in that little throat of yours.” She moaned around my cock, making me twitch. I wrapped her hair around my fist and pulled all the way out of her throat before slamming back inside again and again and again. Tears ran down her cheeks and drool hung from her chin. She was a vision of beauty and I never wanted to take my eyes off of her.

I pulled out of her, feeling myself getting close to the edge. I needed to cum inside her pussy.

She gasped for air as I pulled out, wiping the spit away from her chin.

“I need you inside me Thomas.” She sobbed out.

I raised an eyebrow at her and wiped a tear from her eye. She looked so perfect.

“Beg for it.”

She wrapped her dainty fingers around my thighs.

“Please Thomas, please fuck me, I need you so badly.” The words coming out of her mouth nearly made me cum on the spot.

I gently took her hands and lifted her up to her feet again.

I sat down in the chair and dragged her onto my lap, straddling me. I wrapped my fingers around her waist and squeezed my fingers around her flesh. As I marveled at her tits and waist, she slowly unbuttoned my shirt and removed my suspenders. I allowed her to push the shirt down my arms, leaving me in my slacks. Her fingers splayed across my chest and she stared at the small cuts and scars scattered throughout.

I then gently pulled the bottom of her dress up around her waist and pulled it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her black stockings. I growled into her neck and sank my teeth between her skin. She moaned softly and pushed her chest into me, grinding her hips against me.

Reaching my hand in between her legs, I rubbed her swollen nub again, never taking my eyes off of her. She placed her hands behind her on my knees and her mouth popped open as I circled her clit over and over again.

“Fuck Tommy, don’t stop.” She moaned loudly and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I needed to see the look on her face when she came.

“Keep looking at me, love.”

I never stopped my movements, but quickened as she climbed closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck Tommy, I’m gonna cum…”

“Do it, love. Cum for me.”

Her eyes went wide and a silent scream escaped her lips. She never stopped looking into my eyes as she climaxed into my hand. She looked so beautiful when she completely let go.

Before she could even register what happened, I pulled my cock free and slid myself inside of her.

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight…” I grunted as i pushed her hips down slowly. She braced herself on my shoulders and let out a cry.

“Fuck, you make me feel so full…”

As she descended onto my cock, I allowed her to adjust to my size for a few seconds before lifting her up and slamming her back down. She cried out again.

Eventually, she found her rhythm and began to slam herself down on my cock. I cupped her tits in my hands and popped one into my mouth, biting at her nipples and making her sink her claws into my back.

Her pace quickened again.

“How do I feel?” She asked me through panted breaths.

“So fucking good. You’re gripping my cock so tight, love.”

She threw her head back and sighed at my words.

“I liked the way you looked with my cock shoved in your mouth…all defenseless and vulnerable…like my little toy…”

She groaned at my words and tangled her fingers in my hair.

Our soft pants and moans echoed off of the concrete walls around us.

I took my hands and started to lead her again, making her bounce harder and faster around me. I could feel her walls tightening and I was so close to the edge.

“Fuck, I need to cum inside of this pussy…”

“Cum with me, Thomas…I’m so close…”

Our pace only quickened and our breathing hitched at the same moment. I pushed her hair back and cupped her face.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded quickly, about to explode.

“Cum with me, now.”

We both let go as I filled her with my cum. her walls tightened and pulsed around me. My limbs filled with a warmness and my vision went blurry from what I can only describe as pure euphoria. Her hands found my face and cupped my cheeks as we both tried to steady our breathing. As we started to come down, we both couldn’t help but laugh.

She rested her forehead against mine.

To both of our surprise, I kissed her deeply and she moaned softly into the kiss, letting her arms lay lazily behind my neck.

“Tell me your name?”

She smiled softly.

“Penny.”

Penny...what a sweet name for such a venomous woman.

Taglist:

@lyarr24

@casa-boiardi

@tigernach575

@crabat-the-queen

@adaydreamaway08

@everysage

@yurmomsawh0r

@trixie23

@star017

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@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts

[followsfrankiep]

Haunted (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Chapter 8 - Gods & Debts

TW: Smut, Explicit Words, Oral Sex, Mentions of substance abuse and alcoholism, etc.

Word count: 6.8k

A/N: OKAY. THEY'RE BACK. My og babies! Let me just tell you that this is MY favorite chapter of this series. Can't say the best but my FAVE for a reason. You may read this, if you're interested to know why, even if you haven't read the first 7 chapters. Letting u know that the word 'love' is overused in this chapter bc come onnnnn they deserve it after everything that happened.

Previous chapter

It had been a couple of weeks since the harrowing night when Alfie had rescued Izzy. The first few days were the toughest, Alfie had been tirelessly taking care of her, ensuring she had everything she needed to heal. He made sure her wounds were cleaned and cared for, gently icing the bruises that painted her skin, making sure she was eating, and always—always—being there when she needed him. When he was needed at the bakery, he reluctantly left her under the care of Ollie, not wanting to leave her alone, thinking she might do something to hurt herself.

She was slowly recovering, both physically and emotionally. Her bruises were fading, and her cuts were starting to heal, but the emotional scars ran deep. She often found herself lost in thought, her mind replaying the events of that night and Alfie would feel his chest ache at the sight. It ate away at him, the fact that there was something weighing on Izzy that he couldn’t fix with his own hands. Alfie wasn’t used to feeling helpless since he always found a way but, this was different. It was something he couldn’t touch, something he couldn’t fix with his hands no matter how badly he wanted to. One way he tried to help was by keeping her occupied. He wasn't wrong. He brought her to his office, claiming he needed her help sorting out some paperwork. Of course, they both knew he could manage it himself, but it wasn’t about the work—it was about giving her a moment to breathe, to focus on something other than her dark state of mind.

During the day, it seemed to help, even if just a little. Alfie couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief as Izzy settled into work, her pen moving across the scattered papers on his desk. That desk had always been his, a space that felt almost sacred, but now, sharing it with her, didn’t bother him at all. If anything, it gave him a sense of ease. The way her brow furrowed in thought, the faint concentration on her face—these were glimpses of the young woman he knew and loved.

But she wasn’t completely lost in her distractions. Even as she scribbled away, she always seemed to know when Alfie’s temper was about to boil over. When one of his men fumbled or said something that ticked him off, her hand would slip across the desk to catch his. She’d give his hands a squeeze, her eyes never leaving the papers in front of her. It was her way of calming him down. And somehow, it worked every time.

She was still his Izzy.

But the evenings were the hardest. On the ride home, the quiet would envelop them, slowly slipping back into that dark place. At night, she’d lie with her back to him, and he’d find himself staring at her silhouette, feeling the urge to reach out and in the end, he always held back with his hand retreating. On the nights when he realized she was still awake, he’d slip out of bed without a word. Downstairs, he’d warm a glass of milk, and she’d take it with that faint, warm smile of hers. It wasn’t much, but in those moments, he felt like he was doing something.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Alfie Solomons was over the moon having the love of his life back in his arms, though it was hard to say who was more relieved—him or his bakers. The men practically sighed in unison when they saw her strolling beside their boss again, muttering silent prayers of thanks to any god that might be listening. The prodigal bear tamer had returned.

Sunday morning. They just had breakfast and Izzy barely touched hers. She just finished her coffee and excused herself to have a breather at their porch. It wasn't long until Alfie smelled the smoke of what he called "cancer sticks" from where she was sitting.

Ain't fucking eating, just coffee and cigarettes in the morning. He thought, and made his way back to the kitchen.

He muttered to himself as he sliced up yet another round her daily fruit. "Right, apples, bananas… universal fucking medicine, innit? Fruit fixes everything, they say. Fucking Jack Nelson's lucky to be rotting under ground, yet my woman's out there, sulking and staring. Hell, I can’t take it anymore."

He put his pearing knife down a clatter, and stormed out onto the porch, the plate of fruit in his hands like it held the answers to every problem in the world. "Toss that fuckin' thing away, love," he began, "this ends now. You’re gonna eat these bloody fruits, and we’re not arguin’ about it."

Izzy blinked at him, her cigarette resting lazily in the ashtray beside her, picking up an apple slice, and popping it in her mouth. "Here, I’m eating. You happy now?"

She did not have any energy to argue with this old yapper right now so she fully obliged with what he said. He's had enough taking care of her anyway.

"Better." he replied, plunking himself down next to her on the bench. His intense gaze settled on her, studying the bruises fading across her arms and the cut that was healing on her cheek. "Talk to me, love."

Whatever is going on inside her mind was driving him nuts as well. Izzy sighed, her fingers brushing against the edge of the ashtray as she avoided his gaze. "It’s not that simple, Alfie," she murmured, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "I had a plan, you know? A way to get out of this shit of a life I was born into. But now… now it’s all fucked and stuck. I can’t move forward, and I can’t go back. I’ve been away from Birmingham for so long, I don’t even know how to return."

Alfie can't believe what he just heard. It infuriates him knowing that she was still considering going back to that shit hole. His grip on the plate of fruit firming as he processed her words. "Birmingham?" he repeated with evident disbelief.

"You’re not seriously thinkin’ about goin’ back to those fuckin’ Shelbys, are you? After everything that happened—after everything we’ve been through?"

"I have to," she shot back, her dark eyes finally meeting his. "I’m almost done, Alfie. I’ve been working on this for a long time, and I can’t just walk away now. I need to finish what I started."

Alfie’s expression darkened and growled. "And then what, eh? You finish your master plan, and then what? You leave? Go back to Brooklyn? Is that it, Izzy? You just fuckin' pack up and go?"

She didn’t answer and looked away. Alfie’s chest clenched at the thought of losing her again. She already slipped out of his hands when she was just in Small Heath, now there's a probability he might not see her again if she goes back home to America. He set the plate of fruit down on the empty space beside him, his hands reached for hers.

"Don’t do this," he said softly, his head tilting as his brows pulled together, and his sharp blue eyes searched hers. "Don’t leave me again. I just got you back, love. Whatever this plan of yours is, whatever you think you need to do—it’s ain't more important than what we have, yeah? It can’t be."

Izzy’s gaze softened, her fingers curling around his as she let out a shaky breath. She was not expecting him to be vulnerable at this moment.

"Alfie," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Y—"

"Camden is your home, love," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Don’t go."

Alfie Solomons.

If you’d asked her a few months ago what mattered most, she wouldn’t have hesitated—her plan was everything, her purpose, the reason why she went to Birmingham. Now, it was different. The thought of being away from the man in front of her was a pain she couldn’t face. People live on borrowed time, and unfortunately, the two of them are trapped in the scarcity of it. She's decided she would rather spend what little time she had in this world with Alfie than waste it chasing something that no longer felt as important.

Her plan did matter, but Alfie Solomons mattered more.

Izzy's fingers tightened around his and her dark eyes searching his face as if trying to find the words she couldn’t quite say. It was him who plead her to stay, and for a moment, she felt the storm inside her quiet just enough to let something else through.

Without a word, she leaned forward, her free hand brushing lightly against his beared as she pressed her lips to his softly, but as Alfie’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head, the kiss deepened, feeling him nibble on her lower lip gently. When she pulled back, her eyes fluttered shut, and she rested her forehead against his, her body and mind calming down. His fingers running through her locks and, his own breathing uneven as he poured every feeling he's been holding back in that kiss.

"You’re alright... We’re alright. Just stay with me, yeah?"

"Okay," she whispered and swallowed hard, nodding as her lips found his again, this time slower, steadier, as if sealing her promise. "Okay, Alfie."

Alfie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his grip on her hands firm but gentle. His other thumb brushed over her knuckles, and he closed his eyes, letting the relief wash over him. He pulled her closer, his arms enveloping around her. "Alright, love. You’re mine, yeah? No more runnin’ off. Just you and me." he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Now finish your fruit." He added.

-

The absence of Isobel Russo did not go unnoticed—least of all by Michael Gray.

It was Finn who had last seen her, slipping into the car of a stranger they later identified as none other than Jack Nelson. But under the terms of the agreement struck between Alfie and Tommy, the latter was tasked with keeping things in line. Like it or not, every member of the Shelby family was forced to move forward with business as usual.

Yet, as ever, that was far easier said than done.

Polly, ever the matriarch, found herself at war within her own home. Michael, consumed by rage and desperation, had taken to wrecking anything within arm’s reach, his frustration boiling over into self-destruction. It fell to Polly to drag him to work, forcing him to focus on business and away from the growing anguish of his girlfriend’s disappearance. It was an uphill battle. With his emotions spiraling unchecked and his worsening addiction, Michael was slipping further into an abyss no one seemed able to reach. Maybe it was his guilt and conscience, but her words from their last fight about her coming to Small Heath for him kept replaying on his mind, and now she's gone. He knew they were not okay, and he even asked her to consider mending their relationship.

Did she leave? Or was she taken away? Is she dead or alive?

Arthur was aware of Alfie’s involvement that night, he saw how he chased after Izzy speaking with Finn and him. Upon hearing this, Michael stormed to Camden to question him.

Arriving in his bakery, Michael bursted the door open in fury. The Alfie remained seated at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his fingers intertwined together, watching the scene unfold. His eyes flicked up, finding Michael Gray storming in, fists clenched looking ready to explode. It had only been a day or two since the night of the attack, wherein he took Izzy. He wasn’t a fool—he knew someone from the Shelby clan would come knocking soon.

Surely, he’d been waiting for it.

"Well, bloody hell," Alfie muttered, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk, looking amused. "If it ain’t the lad himself. You come all the way from Small Heath just to dent me doors, or you gonna use your mouth to talk, eh?"

Michael’s hands slammed against his desk, moving his face closer with his gaze sharp. "Where is she?" he hissed.

Alfie’s hand moved lazily to scratch at his beard, pretending to think hard. "Now, you’ll have to be a bit more specific there, sunshine," he replied, feing indifference. "'cause I’m sittin’ here with no bloody clue what—or who—you’re tootin' about."

"Don’t play games with me, Alfie!" Michael spat trembling in anger as his hands rattle the papers and glass resting on the surface. "Izzy. I know you were there that night! Arthur said you came after them. You know something, don’t you?"

The mention of Arthur’s name made Alfie’s brow furrowed, just slightly, though his demeanor remained calm as he leaned back in his chair again. The oldest shelby brother was indeed there, keeping him away from strangling Finn regarding Izzy's whereabouts. He tilted his head, giving Michael the slow, deliberate look of a man considering all his options.

"Now that’s a serious accusation you’re throwin’ about," Alfie said lowering his voice, his blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You think I’ve got your girl, do ya? What—you reckon I’ve got her tucked away somewhere, just for laughs, eh?"

Behind Michael, Arthur entered the room with a quieter and calmer presence. He pulled the door closed behind him, muttering a curse under his breath before stepping forward. His hat was tugged low over his face, and hands inside the pockets of his coat. "Michael," Arthur barked. "Hold your fuckin’ temper, will ya? You’re makin’ a scene."

Michael rounded on him for a split second, his chest heaving, before turning his rage back to Alfie. "You went after them!" he hissed, ignoring Arthur’s attempt to rein him in. "Arthur said you went out that night—you know something. Where the fuck is she?"

Arthur exhaled heavily, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I saw him leave, alright," he admitted, his voice strained. "But listen to me, Alfie—it’s got to be straight with us. We ain’t here to start a bloody war, mate. Tommy’s clear on that."

These people have no idea how willing he was to go to war just for the young woman situated in his home at the moment. He's already got Jack Nelson's blood in palms, surely he could take out a couple more if needed be.

The faintest flicker of annoyance crossed Alfie’s face, and he set his palms down against the edge of the desk. "Right," he muttered while drumming his fingers. "I’ll tell you what I do know, yeah? I did go out that night. Heard there's trouble. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about. But as far as your girl’s concerned… didn’t see her. Didn’t speak to her. Don’t know where she is, mate."

Michael’s was not at all convinced and feeling his body tense up, slowly losing his patience. "And that’s the truth, yeah, Alfie? ‘Cause if you know more than you’re lettin’ on, mate, it’s only gonna make things worse for everyone involved."

Alfie’s brow arched, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in the faintest smirk. "What d’you want me to say, eh? I know you lot think I’m a magician or somethin’, but I can’t pluck answers outta thin air. She probably went back home... if she's still alive."

"If I find out you’re lying—"

"You’ll what?" Alfie interrupted, his voice soft but no less threatening. He leaned forward slightly, meeting Michael’s glare head-on. "You come stormin’ into my office, slammin’ my desk about, waggin’ your finger like you’ve caught me in some grand conspiracy again, yeah? Or maybe you’ll bring your cousin along to try and twist my arm, eh? Whatever you’re thinkin’, lad, let me give you a bit of advice: Camden don’t play by Shelby rules."

Arthur saw how serious Alfie looked as compared to his playful demeanor earlier. He is not one known for empty threats so his hand clamped down on Michael’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make the younger man flinch. "That’s enough," Arthur firmly said. "Tommy’ll want this handled clean, not with you makin’ a fuckin' mess."

For a moment, Michael lingered, his glare locked on Alfie’s impassive face. Then, with a sharp jerk of his shoulder, he shrugged out of Arthur’s grip and turned toward the door. His eyes darted around the room as though searching for something—anything—that might betray Alfie’s claim, but there's none. He didn’t say another word as he stormed out, slamming it behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges.

Arthur stayed for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on Alfie with a mix of suspicion and weariness. "If there’s more to this," he muttered, "you’d best hope you’re on the right side of it, mate. ‘Cause if you’re not…"

"Ya'll come back with some damn gypsy pitchforks, yeah? Heard it before," Alfie said, his tone dismissive. "Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, eh? Got enough trouble without fixin’ hinges."

Arthur’s lips twitched, but he said nothing more as he followed Michael out, closing the door with a deliberate finality. Alfie sat back, exhaling long and slow as he stared at the empty room. His eyes drifted toward the window, watching their car go away.

"Peaky Fuckin' Blinders," he muttered under his breath, eyes going back to the papers in front of him. He knew Michael wouldn't stop looking for Izzy anytime soon, but he isn't planning to give her up either. Not today, not as long as he lives. He'll ensure that Camden would be a safe fortress for the woman he loves.

-

Tommy Shelby was a man bound by his word. He’d made a business deal with Alfie, part of his bargain in exchange for his help with the Russians, and he intended to honor it. But there was another promise, one that sat heavier on his chest—a promise to his aunt, Polly. He’d told her he’d look after Michael, no matter how far the lad veered off course. And now, those two promises were beginning to pull him in opposite directions.

When Michael came to him, wild-eyed and desperately begging for permission to return to the States to dig deeper into Jack Nelson’s shadowy world, Tommy hesitated. He knew Michael had been searching for Izzy for weeks now and he could see the torment eating away at the boy. The grief. The anger. The helplessness. It was written all over Michael’s face, in every erratic gesture and every sharp word. And yet, Tommy’s mind immediately went to the practicalities. Losing Michael now—it wasn’t just about family, it was about the sake of the company. Izzy, her operations officer, was already gone, taken by Alfie, and if Michael left too, being the next best thing, he would be forcing the few remaining hands to work twice as hard to keep things afloat.

Tommy calmly voiced these concerns to Polly in one of their private family meetings as he lit another cigarette. He expected pushback, maybe even anger, but Polly’s focus was elsewhere. Her face, lined with worry, was fixed firmly on Michael’s well-being. "Business can wait, Thomas," she’d said with an expression of evident resignation. "You don’t see it like I do. He's my son and he’s falling apart. If you don’t let him go, he’ll drown."

He wanted to argue, but deep down, he knew she was right. Michael’s torment was beyond doubt, and his obsession with finding Izzy was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Polly’s words replayed in his mind as he weighed the decision, the cigarette burning low between his fingers. He was reminded that Michael wasn’t just another piece on his chessboard—he was family. And when it came down to it, family had always come first. That was the Shelby way.

And so, despite his many reservations, Tommy granted the request. He gave Michael permission to return to the States.

The haunt for Isobel Russo was on.

And so, the wheels were set in motion, each family member grappling with the fallout of her absence. But in the Shelby family, nothing remained unresolved for long—and no debt went uncollected.

-

Camden Town.

Alfie would do anything for Izzy. That was never in question. From the simplest acts of peeling fruit for her to the darkest, taking a life from her past to keep her safe, he proved it time and time again. It wasn’t just about protecting her—it was about making sure she felt untouchable, like nothing and no one could harm her again. And after their long-overdue talk, where they both finally laid bare where they stood in their relationship, something shifted. As if a heavy weight has been lifted off their chests, freeing them from all the things they’d been holding back. For Izzy, it felt like she could finally breathe again. The decision that had been gnawing at her heart for so long was gone.

She chose him. No hesitation, no second thoughts—she chose Alfie.

And for the first time, she felt like she’d chosen someone who didn’t just understand her but cherished her for exactly who she was. Alfie gave her something she’d never known before: safety. Not the kind of safety you find in locks and walls, but in his presence, his touch, his love. His bear hugs would drown the constant noise running through her mind. With him, she felt warmth, comfort—something she never had growing up. She wasn’t alone anymore. She didn’t have to be strong all the time, didn’t have to fend for herself the way she’d been forced to for so long. For once, someone was taking care of her.

Alfie knew her past, the streets that had shaped her, the fights she’d fought just to survive, how she'd weaponize herself to thrive. He knew all of it, and yet it did not faze him. To the point of him saying "Why’d you go an’ say that, eh? Changes nothin’ for me, love, not a thing.". She didn’t have to hide anything, and didn’t have to prove herself to him. She’d grown up never expecting anything from anyone, and here was Alfie, showering her with a love so overwhelming that it left her speechless sometimes. In turn, she loved him for all of it—the sciatica, the witty yapping, even his old man mood swings. But mostly, she loved the way he made her feel like she was the center of his universe.

And oh, again that bear hug of his. That was her favorite. It kept getting brought up since it wasn’t just a hug—it was a promise. A promise that no matter how fucked up things can be, she had him, and he had her. In his arms, she was Izzy. And for a girl who had spent her life believing she didn’t need anyone, Alfie had shown her just how beautiful it could be to let someone in.

He wasn’t just her man—he was her home.

After practically shoving the pasty into her hands and insisting she eat every last bite, Alfie decided it was as good a time as any to take her to the synagogue. He had some accounts to settle, and though Izzy wasn’t Jewish, he figured it was only right to bring her along. Its familiar silhouette stirring something deep in Alfie’s chest. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d stepped inside these walls. Years, maybe. Decades, even. It was quiet and solemn place, smelling like old wood and candle wax, and he lead her to sit in a pew near the back. His hands rested firmly on his cane, his gaze locked straight ahead. The unusual quiet tension that radiated from him was enough to make Izzy fidget in her seat. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Alfie, what are we doing here?”

He didn’t answer. Not a word. The corner of his mouth twitched—whether from irritation or some attempt at restraint, she couldn’t tell. His silence only lit a fire under her curiosity.

“Alfie,” she pressed, still keeping her voice low. “You’re awfully...solemn. It’s unsettling. What is this place?”

"Alfie..."

"Mr. Solomons..."

Still nothing. She huffed, shifting even closer, her breath warm against his ear now. "What, you’ve taken a vow of silence now? Is this some kind of elaborate cult thing you didn’t warn me about?”

Alfie closed his eyes briefly, the kind of motion that begged for patience he didn’t have. His grip on his cane tightened just enough for her to notice. “Izzy,” he muttered keeping his voice low, “If you don’t stop naggin' me, I’ll bloody toss you out here m'self.”

She leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips while pretending to be offended. “Oh... you’d never,” she whispered, shaking her head, clearly satisfied from his annoyed reaction. "I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, old man."

He let out a sharp huff through his nose, his head shaking ever so slightly. His eyes, however, remained fixed forward. "You’re infuriating," he grumbled under his breath, though she caught the faintest flicker of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

That was enough for her—for now. She settled back in silence, though her curiosity still simmering underneath. What were they doing here? She knew Alfie wasn’t much for tradition, especially not when it came to faith. With the way he lived his life, she doubted he’d been in a synagogue in decades—if ever. And yet, here they were. Living together, sharing so much already, and this was a part of him she’d never seen.

“It’s a debt,” he said simply, finally breaking the silence.

She tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face.

“A debt? To who?”

“To Him,” Alfie replied, nodding toward the front of the synagogue, where the Ark stood solemnly against the wall. "The big fella upstairs.”

She blinked, taken aback. "God?" The word came out incredulous. "You’re repaying a debt to God?"

Well. This is it.

For a moment, she stared at him, half-convinced he’d lost his mind. This is it, she thought, her stomach twisting. This is early-onset dementia. I’m gonna be stuck looking after a senile old man I love.

But Alfie’s face didn’t show any of the teasing or madness she’d half-expected. His jaw was set firm, his eyes forward, his nod steady and deliberate. “For you,” he said. "For sendin’ you back to me." His gaze softened slightly but stayed fixed ahead. "And I reckon I owe Him a nod for that. It’s about respect, yeah? You don’t take somethin’ like that for granted."

The words hit her like drums beating on her chest, leaving her both speechless and breathless. Alfie Solomons, the man who lived like he owed no one and took no nonsense from anyone, was sitting here, quietly repaying a debt to God—for her. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sincerity in his expression stole her words, instead she just bit her lip. His answer was far from she expected.

Of course he means it, she thought, her heart pounding softly. Now I feel bad.

For a while, Izzy didn’t say anything. She let the quiet of the synagogue wrap around her as Alfie sat perfectly still, his hands resting on his cane and his gaze fixed straight ahead. She didn’t mind that he had his own ways of showing emotion—it was part of who he was, and she loved him for it. But as much as she tried to stay still and respectful, the calmness of the place started to settle over her a little too well. It was warm and quiet, and the weight of the pasty she stuffed down her throat earlier was still sitting heavily in her stomach.

Before she could stop it, a yawn crept up on her, loud and completely out of her control. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as her wide eyes darted toward Alfie.

His head whipped around, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Bloody hell, are you dozin’ off?” he hissed quietly.

“No,” she whispered, though her sleepy eyes betrayed her. “It’s just... it’s warm in here. And peaceful. And, well… you did make me eat a lot of pasty before we came here.”

He gave her an incredulous look, shaking his head slowly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, leaning back slightly. “Here I am, payin’ me respects, and you’re over ‘ere actin’ like it’s bedtime.”

She hummed softly, unbothered by his scolding as she let her head rest lightly against his shoulder. “If God didn’t want me to nap,” she murmured as drowsiness took over her, “He wouldn’t have made these pews so comfortable.”

“Bloody heathen,” he grumbled under his breath.

Even though he's annoyed, his hand shifted slightly, adjusting his arm to let her lean into him more comfortably. His hand rested against hers, and when her fingers curled around his instinctively, he didn’t pull away. Her voice softened as she mumbled something incoherent, her words melting into sleepy breaths as her body relaxed against his. Alfie stayed where he was, unmoving, feeling at peace in the silence.

This was all he wanted, wasn’t it? Just her beside him, safe and warm, with nothing pulling her away.

A man like him didn’t deserve much—he knew that. But for all the power and wealth he’d chased, this was the one thing that made him feel like he owed something back. He glanced down at her, her breathing slow and peaceful, and allowed himself the faintest smile. For years, he’d lived like God owed him for the life he’d been dealt. But having Izzy back in his life? For that, Alfie reckoned he owed God a bit more than He owed him. And, for once, he didn’t mind paying up.

Of course she wouldn't get off the hook that easily. Their drive home was as tense as his business meetings. Alfie gripped on the steering wheel tightly with his expression looking annoyed. He was obviously not speaking to her since they both got out of there. Clearly, this was his version of sulking. Izzy sat beside him in the passenger seat with her legs tucked up under her, looking at him from time to time with knowing smile tugging at her lips, finding him a bit endearing.

“Come on now,” she said casually. “Are you going to stew all the way home, or are you just going to give it to me right now?”

He let out a groan but did not take his eyes off the road. “Don’t try and charm your way out of this one, love. You bloody well know what you did.”

She bit back a laugh, shrugging her shoulders and pretending to be innocent. “Kindly enlighten me, Alfie. What exactly do you think I did?”

“You fell asleep,” he shot back gruffly. “Dozin’ off in the middle of a bloody synagogue. On me shoulder, no less, like it’s naptime for little Izzy.”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was...resting my eyes.”

“Restin’ your eyes?” Alfie’s head snapped toward her for a brief second, his expression pure disbelief before he turned back to the road. “That’s the excuse you’re goin’ with? In the middle of me payin’ respects?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she protested, though the teasing grin on her face showed her lack of real remorse. “It was warm in there. Peaceful. And I was full from the pasty—”

“The bloody pasty again,” Alfie muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every excuse in the book, you are. You couldn’t even stay awake while I was speakin' to God Himself..." he continued. “You’re lucky the rabbi didn’t catch you droolin’. That’d have been a right embarrassment.”

At that, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. A laugh burst out of her, unapologetic and loud, as she turned in her seat to fully face him. “Alright, alright,” she said, placing a hand on his thigh and rubbing it in slow, up and down. “I’ll make it up to you, okay? Once we get home.”

Alfie’s eyes darted down to her hand for the briefest moment, his grip on the wheel easing slightly. His eyes sharpened with a flicker of interest and his lips twitched, hinting at a smirk. She knew that look—knew exactly what she was doing. No matter how much she annoyed him, she always had a way of buttering him up. The old man didn’t stand a chance against her. And the worst part? He didn’t even mind.

“Make it up how?”

“Oh, you know exactly how.”

“Do I now?”

“Mm-hm,” she replied, settling back into her seat with a satisfied look. “Consider it my penance. You’ll feel plenty thanked by the time I’m done.”

Alfie shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. She sure is cocky about that no doubt—and annoyingly, she was always able to back it up. As the car turned onto their street, she glanced at him again, her voice softening.

“For the record, though... I do thank whoever’s out there—God, fate, or just plain luck—that I found myself you. My old, grouchy man.”

He glanced at her, his smirk fading into something gentler. “Old and grouchy, am I?” he still couldn’t resist a bit of banter.

“Sure,” she said with a mischievous grin, leaning just slightly toward him. “Let’s toss handsome into it too. You know, as the cherry on top.”

Alfie let out a low laugh as he pulled the car into their driveway. “Never thought I'd see the day I'll meet someone as snarky as me.”

“Eh. Less talking, more penance inside. Let's go.” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt with a wink.

“Whatever you say.” Alfie muttered, though his tone was warm. And as they stepped out of the car and into the house. Ever since she came back, he’d been handling her like a fragile glass, overly careful with every touch. It got to the point where she had to tell him it was okay—he could hug her, kiss her, whenever he wanted in which he did. But weeks had passed now, and though they shared the same bed, his hesitation still lingered. They haven't had sex since, and it was starting to wear on her. She wasn’t fragile. She wanted him to see that—wanted him to see her.

They did not even get to his bedroom. Izzy spent little to no time pulling Alfie into the couch and crashing her lips to his. Oh boy, they were hungry. He was laying down with his head resting on the couch cushions, and she was straddled on top of him, feeling his hard cock underneath his pants. Quickly, she took off her oh-so-modest dress she wore inside the synagogue and unbuttoned helped him strip down his clothes as well. With a use of his left hand, he unclasped her bra and threw it on the floor, pulling her closer to him, aggressively sucking and kneading her breasts.

"Mmm Alfie..."

His tongue felt so good flicking on her nipples, she can't help but breathe out a faint cry. She tugged his hair back and started kissing his jaw, down to his neck, leaving some faint marks on it, proceeding to kiss down to his chest, playfully biting his tattoos while undoing his pants. His cock sprung out of his pants hard, only to be welcomed by her wet and hot mouth slowly taking him whole, as she thirst on his shaft. Her tongue curled into a damp bed where his cock glides in and out slowly at first, until Izzy greedily draws him in deeper.

"God damn it, Izzy..." Alfie hissed in pleasure, holding her bobbing head.

She was fully engrossed in gratifying him, but choked on both his cock and her laugh, pulling away.

"W-what? Why'd you stop?" he panted, looking down on her.

Her hand wrapped around his cock which was already lubricated by her saliva earlier, jerking him off. A faint smirk curled her lips as when she saw his head fall back again. "Out of a sacred place and straight to 'God damn it'? Truly, sinful. Don't you think, honey?"

"Don't be a tease, love. Come on."

He groaned in frustration but was still amused with her remark. He was getting close to the brink and he did not want to waste any of his goodness on her palm. He held her wrist, pulling her up to capture her lips again with her arms falling on both side of his head. Without breaking their kiss, his fingers traced her panties, pulling them down hastily, her legs kicking them off the floor. Izzy still straddled on his waist, Alfie bent his knees to support her, his both hands lifted her ass up while the tip of his cock dipped into her folds, searching for her entrance, then slowly pushing in her silky wet pussy.

"Fuck.. Alfie.." she whimpered, feeling her walls stretch from his size as she push her hips down. "I fucking missed you inside me..."

"Ah, love… you’ve no..." he groaned in between words as he feels her warmth slowly consume him. "..idea how long I’ve been sufferin’ waitin’ for this—"

Alfie was in her deep, his grip on her waist tightened, and his brows drawing together as he looked at her. "Go on, then," he muttered, his tone both commanding and charged. "Show me how you pay your bloody penance, love."

Her hip started rocking forward and backward, sending them in an immediate ecstatic feeling they're both very much familiar with. She was dripping and his cock was hitting her spot repeatedly, eliciting a loud moan from her. His right hand remained the grip on her hips while his left hand reach up to her nape, pulling her down into a sloppy greedy kiss, their sweaty bodies rubbing together as she continued riding him. That lasted for a while but Izzy had to pull away from their kiss and rested her forehead on his beard, gasping for air as she pants, her hips still moving rhythmically with his hips bucking up and down. She arched her back, allowing his cock to enter her more, deeply, and graspingly.

"A-Alfie..." she whined, feeling her stomach coil. "So so fucking good..." her head tilted back and mouth agape, chasing her release. He was hitting it again and again, and she eagerly rides him more.

"Yeah? Fucking cum for me, beautiful." he reached down to her clit rubbing it in a circular motion, sending her to her edge. The closer she felt to her release, her walls clenched around him. It didn't take long until Alfie felt his surge as well. Izzy came and gushed over his cock, still proceeding to ride him.

"Fuck's sake, Isobel..." Alfie groaned when his cock twitched inside her with each release.

"Ohhhh..." Izzy was barely biting her lips, unable to fight a moan escaping from her lips as she feels his hot cum fill her up. She shifted her hips a little bit, ensuring she caught all the drippings from his cock. It felt so damn good.

Catching her breath, Izzy nestled close to Alfie, her head resting against his chest. His arm wrapped around her instinctively, holding her in place like she belonged there—and she did.

She was his.

Alfie’s hand trailed lazily along her back, his fingers brushing some strands of her dark-colored locks. "Well," he murmured, "you’ve got my blessing to sleep through every synagogue visit from now on—might even make a bloody tradition out of it."

Izzy couldn’t help but laugh softly, still catching her breath as she nestled closer to him. "So, that’s your way of saying penance accepted?"

He let out a low chuckle, his hand now resting at the small of her back. "Mm, penance accepted," he teased. "But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, right? You owe me more than that, love."

"More?" she mimicked, raising an eyebrow. "Greedy old man, aren’t you?"

His hand slid up her back, pulling her just a little closer. "When it comes to you, I’ll take what I can get." he said. "But you’ve never been one to hold back neither, eh?" he snorted, earning a chuckle from her.

For a moment, this was it—the silent warmth she'd thank the Gods for, the kind that didn’t need words or explanations.

Izzy tilted her face up toward him, her gaze locking with his, slowly, Alfie leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a soft, unhurried kiss. When they finally pulled apart, her forehead rested gently against his, a small, breathless smile tugging at her lips.

“I love you."

“I love you too, Isobel."

[strayrockette]

A Daughter Who Loves

A Daughters Letter

Masterlist

A/N: I can’t believe I’m finally knocking this one out of my drafts! I’m so happy to no longer see it sitting there taunting me to finish it😂 hope you guys enjoy ❤️please comment, like and reblog❤️

Summary: Takes place a couple years after the initial meeting with the unnamed soldier. You’ve found a new life for yourself far away from the unresolved trauma and issues of your past.

Dearest Father,

I used to love you. I still love you. But if news got around that you were dead, it wouldn't hurt as much as losing Mother. The worst part about loving you...is knowing that we'll never be a true family.

Despite it all, I must thank you.

-

The pen stilled in her hand. For the first time in years, her mind had failed to slather seething words upon the awaiting canvas. Y/N’s eyes drifted to the open window of the study.

The study was a room of serene contradiction, a place where history and modernity danced together. Heavy oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that whispered of the past. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center, its surface cluttered with papers, a brass inkstand, and a small, framed photograph of her and Thomas Shelby. The rich, dark wood contrasted sharply with the lighter tones of the pale, floral wallpaper, giving the room an air of understated elegance.

Through the tall, arched windows, the view of Arrow House's sprawling grounds unfolded in tranquil splendor. The vast acre of land stretched out like a lush green carpet, dotted here and there with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers. The manicured lawns seemed to reach out to the horizon, framed by clusters of ancient oak and chestnut trees. A winding gravel path meandered through the grounds, leading to a quaint stone bridge over a gentle brook. The distant hum of life from the village beyond was faint, almost like an afterthought, allowing the peaceful solitude of the estate to take center stage.

The study’s window was open just enough to let in a fresh breeze that rustled the heavy, velvet drapes. The scent of earth and flowers mingled with the cool air, creating a soothing atmosphere. It was in this moment of calm that Y/N found her thoughts drifting back to her father, whose presence was now as distant as the last whisper of the city’s bustling streets.

The room was silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway, marking the passage of time with a gentle, rhythmic insistence. Y/N's gaze lingered on the horizon, her mind grappling with the complexities of her feelings. The serenity of the estate contrasted sharply with the turbulent emotions that swirled within her, a reminder of the painful distance between the past and the present.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her emotions lift slightly with the breeze. For now, the letter remained unfinished, an echo of her unresolved feelings. But in this moment of stillness, she found a semblance of peace in the quiet beauty of the land outside.

Her husband, Thomas Shelby, entered the study with the quiet confidence that was uniquely his. The door swung open just enough to admit his tall frame, and his eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, softened when they fell upon her. He crossed the room with his usual deliberate stride, his polished black shoes making a subtle, almost reverent sound on the wooden floor.

Y/N, lost in the tranquil view from the window, had been sitting in the study for a while. Her thoughts had wandered to a time long past, a time when her life had intersected with the Shelby brothers.

Thomas’s presence was a welcome interruption, though it took her a moment to shift her attention from the peaceful scenery to him. He placed a warm, familiar hand on her shoulder, a touch that carried the weight of his love and the assurance of his support. His voice, though low and steady, held a note of playful affection as he spoke. “Love, are you planning on joining us for dinner with the family tonight?”

His words were like a lifeline to the present, pulling her from the swirl of past grievances and into the here and now. She looked up at him, her lips curving into a faint, mischievous smile.

“Dinner with the Shelby clan?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and amusement. “Is that the same family that turns every meal into a battleground? I’m surprised they’re all in the same room at once. Last I heard, you lot were still debating over who got first dibs on my chocolate chip cookies.”

Thomas chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate with the room’s deep, warm tones. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her ear as he spoke. “It’s not quite a battleground, though it can be lively. But I promise, it’s not all chaos. We have a few moments of civility before it all kicks off.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and unburdened. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can brave the family dinner. Someone has to keep you all in line.”

Thomas’s gaze softened, and he gently squeezed her shoulder before releasing her. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to face them alone.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, feeling a renewed sense of connection to the life she was building with him. The letter and the unresolved emotions of the past seemed to drift away, if only for a moment, replaced by the comforting reality of the present and the anticipation of a shared future.

She returned her gaze to the window, the sprawling grounds of Arrow House now seeming even more serene in the quiet aftermath of their conversation. The promise of a lively family dinner ahead brought a new layer of anticipation to her day, a reminder of the vibrant life she was now a part of.

In her reflective mood, Y/N thought back to her time as a nurse during World War I, when her path had first crossed with the Shelby brothers. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days spent tending to the wounded in a makeshift field hospital. Each brother had come through her care, their lives touched by the trauma of war. Thomas, Arthur, and John—each had been a different story, each had left a mark on her heart.

She remembered the late nights spent in the dimly lit wards, the quiet conversations that had unfolded amidst the beeping of machines and the rustling of sheets. Thomas had been the most reserved, his eyes betraying the weight of his experiences even as he tried to mask it with a veneer of stoic bravery. Arthur had been volatile, his wounds reflecting the turmoil within, while John had been more approachable, his easy smile a rare comfort in those dark times.

Y/N had tended to their injuries with a professionalism that masked her own fears and uncertainties. In the midst of the chaos, she had been a silent witness to their struggles and their unspoken camaraderie. The war had been a crucible that tested their mettle, and she had seen firsthand the bonds that had formed between them, forged in the fires of adversity.

As she sat in the study, the weight of those memories mingled with the serene beauty of the present. The sprawling grounds of Arrow House, with its manicured lawns and distant trees, seemed like a world apart from the grim reality of the wartime hospital. Yet, it was here, in this peaceful setting, that she had found a new chapter in her life.

The juxtaposition of past and present was not lost on her. She had moved from the sterile, oppressive environment of wartime care to the warm, welcoming embrace of her new life with Thomas. The contrast was stark, yet she embraced it with a sense of gratitude and acceptance. The Shelby family, for all their complexity and dysfunction, had become a part of her world, and she had become a part of theirs.

As Y/N glanced once more at the window, the promise of the evening’s dinner seemed to symbolize more than just a family gathering. It was a testament to the journey she had undertaken, a journey that had brought her from the battlefields of war to the hearth of Arrow House. The anticipation of the dinner ahead was a reminder of the new beginnings and the connections she had forged along the way.

Dearest Father,

The man I love has given me much more than I anticipated. I no longer ache at the thought of what could have been for my former family. I no longer wonder and question if I have a place in the world. Because I have found it beside the one man who has yet to let me down.

My heart is filled with love and warmth I have never felt. My days are spent basking in affection and care that you were unable to give. I am…happier than ever.

But I wish you were here, to see the women I have become. To know that, I am loved and cared for.

Sincerely,

A daughter who no longer grieves you.

_

tag list: @mysticalpandora @ultimatreality @lovecleastrange @watercolorskyy @rockerchick05 @lyarr24

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Take It on the Run Pt. 2 | Thomas Shelby x Fem!OC

summary: Tommy keeps coming back to the cabaret but you never know why. Sometimes he stays but usually he doesn't, leaving his cigarette still smoking on the table. His flighty behavior and emotional unavailability starts to rub you the wrong way, but you can't bring yourself to hate him... but maybe you should.

warnings: outdated language concerning sex-workers; smut

word count: 4142k

Do I Move You?- Nina Simone 🎵

Daylight- David Kushner 🎶

Tommy Shelby told you that the cabaret “wasn’t his… thing” just a week ago and yet, when you begin your solo routine in a cream and sheer bodysuit, guess who’s sitting at that familiar table? You’re singing your song when you notice him, leaning back in his chair and holding a lit cigarette between his knuckles. His cheekbones are cast in an aggressive shadow but you can still make out his icy blue eyes looking back at you. 

You meet his gaze and match his neutral expression. You hadn’t expected to see him again after that night, maybe once or twice in passing but not here. You curse silently in your head and continue singing, feeling more self-conscious than usual beneath the hot stage lights. You can see his eyes pass over you though he makes no show of his thoughts when he takes another drag of his cigarette. 

Your song finally comes to an end and the crowd cheers with wolf whistles. Tommy doesn’t even clap, he stares at you for another moment and then stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. He downs the rest of his whiskey and stands, and leaves. You watch his back as he walks through the doors of the cabaret and doesn’t look back. Suddenly, you feel like a little girl, standing alone on the stage in a room full of strangers. 

…

After the cabaret closes, you go back onstage to grab your jar of tips. The house lights are dimmed, practically off. The rudimentary electricity flickers every few seconds, stimulating a migraine the longer you look. Your bare feet make no noise as you walk across the sticky stage. The sound of a lighter flicking open sounds from somewhere in the audience, revealing a cut-angular face and a peaky cap. The lighter snaps shut and a cigarette ends burns red in the dark. 

“Sorry I didn’t stay- had important business to attend to,” Tommy stands from his seat and drops his lighter into his breast pocket. He looks you up and down, smirking slightly at what you look like after the show. 

“Were you waiting for me?” You ask, not sure whether to be flattered or afraid. 

“I thought I’d congratulate you on a good performance,” Tommy shrugs and weaves between the tables with the chairs upturned on their tops. 

“You didn’t look like you enjoyed it,” you banter back and move closer to the lip of the stage. Tommy waves his hand in a dismissive fashion, scoffing. 

“I told you, cabaret’s not really my thing.” 

“Right,” you nod and come to the edge of the stage. Tommy stands just below you, his face coming up to your hips from his position on the floor. He looks up at you, tilting his head to the side as he looks you over. Your bodysuit is revealing, barely covering your tits and cunt. He twists his mouth slightly in an expression that almost looks like anger- jealousy. 

“Nice costume,” Tommy mutters and takes a long drag from his cigarette. You don’t respond so you both fall into a tense silence until he speaks again. “So you said you live here. Is that right?” 

You nod and point backstage. “Back there. Just me and the other girls. We all have rooms back there.” 

“Is that where you take all the men?” Tommy asks, gesturing with his cigarette. 

“Jealous are we?” You tease. Tommy looks away and shakes his head once. 

“Don’t.” His voice is stern and sharp. You know you’ve touched a nerve and you smile softly, biting your lip and looking down at your feet. 

“It’s affordable and safe here with the other girls… that’s why I live here.” You answer finally and Tommy looks back at your face, studying you. 

“Safe?” He asks softly, his judgmental brow raised. 

“It’s safer than walking home alone every night after the cabaret closes.” You elaborate, gesturing loosely to the streets of Birmingham right outside the cabaret walls. “Anyway, I’ve been here for five years now- I started sometime after the war. You get used to it pretty quickly.” 

Tommy clenches his jaw, silently counting the number of male clients you might have entertained in your time here. He takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tightly. 

“Sounds like a lonely life,” he says at last and you shrug. 

“So does yours.” 

Tommy looks back up at you with cold, annoyed eyes. He sets his cap back on his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah? And what do you know about my life?” 

“Nothing, I can just tell.” You tilt your head to the side, looking at him intently. Tommy falters beneath your direct eye contact and bristles. 

“Really?” He asks, his tone hard, “how?” 

You crouch down on the lip of the stage so that you’re face to face with Tommy. You take his left hand and hold it with his palm facing you. 

“No wedding ring, so you’re not married. You’re a criminal, so you struggle to trust others which is why you usually work alone. And… you came here. What were you looking for if not for a distraction?” Your eyes look between his. He scowls, pissed that you can see through him- or at least that you’re saying it aloud. 

“Very observant,” Tommy says coldly. 

“It’s part of the job, you have to know what the men need from you…” 

Tommy keeps his face neutral but his eyes leave your face, flicking to the side before going back to your face. His jaw is tight.

“And what is it that I need?” He asks slowly, dangerously. You look at him for a little while longer and then shake your head. 

“I don’t know…” you admit. You look down at his hand and turn it around in your hands. Tommy looks down at you, his brow furrows and he scoffs sarcastically. 

“Why are you holding my hand like that?” 

You look up at him and roll your eyes. “You’re mean, you know that?” 

“I’m aware,” he scoffs again and pulls his hand away. He clenches his fist and relaxes it. You laugh softly at his attitude and lean closer. 

“Why are you so mean?” 

Tommy looks you up and down, his eyes stopping briefly on your chest. Slowly, he raises his hand to your cheek and slides his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“Why do you try to get so close?” Tommy asks, his lip curled. 

“Does it scare you?” You ask softly against his thumb. 

“No, it doesn’t scare me.” His words brush against your lips like a slap. He smells richly like tobacco, and it almost makes your knees weak. You sigh and stand, stepping away from the lip of the stage. Tommy’s hand falls to his side again and he watches after you with a tilt to his head.

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby.” You whisper and grab your jar of tips. You can’t help but almost storm off the stage. Whenever you try to get closer to him, he has a way of ridiculing your feelings and affections. You don’t look back as you leave him standing in the dark cabaret. 

…

Then a few nights later, you see him again. And then again a few nights later. Those two nights he didn’t stay after or try in any way to speak to you. He’d started to just become another patron, another man that liked to watch you- fuck you, but nothing more. You couldn’t tell what he wanted or what he was thinking anymore and it started to really bother you. It’s not like you really had feelings for Thomas Shelby but you couldn’t deny how beautiful he was. As much as you hated the way he showed up and said nothing, you still loved seeing him in the audience surrounded by smoke like a veil. You knew he was there to watch you so you always tried to put on a good show in the hope that he would wait for you after. But he never did. 

Tommy was trying to avoid the Cabaret. He didn’t even have any feelings for you, not really. He was still grieving his true love and first wife, and didn’t have the ability to feel anything for anyone else. It wasn’t love that he felt for you- it was something else that he couldn’t quite put into words. He felt that you were really similar to him, that you could deeply understand one another and maybe even benefit from helping one another. But at the end of the day, you were just a cabaret dancer and Tommy didn’t need another cabaret dancer. But each time he forced himself to forget about you, he thought about your situation and the way you had spoken to him the first time he’d met you. You’d said that you wanted to be a “normal woman,” and while Tommy certainly wasn’t a normal man- maybe he could provide you with a more “normal” life. He knew he was capable of doing that, of giving you an escape from the cabaret into a life of safety, stability, and normalcy but wasn’t the idea too ridiculous to pursue? He didn’t even know you but he kept going back to the cabaret and seeing you. It made him angry to see you onstage, maybe it was jealousy but it was also knowing how much you hated the work. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but the boy he used to be was. He could do something right, something good but could he bring himself to do it?

So Tommy finds himself at the Cabaret again, sitting at his usual table, a cigarette dangling between his lips. This time when you see him sitting in the dim light of the bar, you stare him down. Tommy swallows tightly and taps his cigarette over his ashtray, watching you still. He knows what you’re trying to do. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from yours, his expression one of subtle challenge. You trail your fingers over your body starting from your pelvis up to your breasts. The whistles of the audience are lost on you, only capturing Tommy’s attention matters at that moment. His eyes follow your hands as they curve over your body and his jaw tightens. When your routine ends, he doesn’t leave, just blows out a cloud of smoke slowly. You bow and disappear backstage, a twitch of annoyance on your lip. 

Tommy flags down a waiter, one of his fists clenched at his side.

“I need you to pass a message to Diana, tell her to meet me backstage after the show tonight. Understand?” He mutters darkly and takes another drag. The young waiter, realizing who the patron is, swallows tightly and stutters. 

“Y-yes, Mr. Shelby. Anything else?” 

“No, that’ll be all.” Tommy exhales and returns his attention back to the stage. More dancers come on stage and perform but you aren’t among them this time. He downs another glass of whisky and checks his watch, the time is nearing midnight and the cabaret will be closing soon. Tommy watches from beneath his cap as patrons start to leave and waiters start busing the filthy tables. As the cabaret closes down around him, Tommy puts his cigarette between his lips and stands, sliding on his jacket. The waiter hurries over and ducks his head. 

“She’s ready for you backstage, Mr. Shelby.” 

“Alright, thank you.” He says around his cigarette and follows the man backstage through a greasy side door. 

“She’s in ‘er dressing room through there.” The waiter points to one of the doors along the thin, dim hallway. Tommy nods once again and waits for the man to leave before opening the door. 

When the door to your dressing room opens, you can’t help but jump a little. You turn around quickly, already ready for a fight. 

 “Tommy-” You start but he waves his hand through the hair, silencing you. 

“Don’t.” He says calmly and slams the door behind him. “Sit.” He points to the chair behind you. You look back at the chair, your brow furrowed. Slowly, you do as you’re told, looking up at Tommy with a hint of resentment in your eyes. 

“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” Tommy steps closer and rubs his hands over his face, stretching the skin. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, ignoring his question. Tommy steps closer, his brow raised. He can’t exactly explain why he’s so pissed off at you and because he can’t, it makes him angrier. 

“You know damn well why I’m here,” his voice is strained and tired.

“You keep showing up, just watch me perform and leave without speaking to me. What am I supposed to think?” You protest, your voice steady in its frustration. 

Tommy smiles and laughs, shaking his head like he’s laughing at his own joke. He sniffs and clears his throat. 

“You’re a smart woman, you can figure it out.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The truth is, you don’t know why he came back this time. You assume it’s for sex and that makes you even angrier. 

“Fuck you,” you snap and Tommy chuckles, his lips curving into a smirk. He closes the distance and leans his hands on the armrests of the chair, boxing you in. His face is just above yours, his eyes more vibrant in their emotion. 

“What that mouth of yours,” he says lowly, evenly. 

“Or what?” You start, “we fucked once and then you practically disappeared. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do.” You growl. 

Tommy’s grip on the armrests tightens as he tries to swallow down the mixture of anger and lust rising in his chest. Exhaling, he grabs your chin and holds it roughly in place. 

“I said watch your mouth. I’m not some random man you can just push around.” His voice is low and dark, like a threat. 

“No,” you mock unapologetically, “your’re Thomas fucking Shelby.” As if his name even means much to you. It certainly carried some weight in and around the cabaret but you’d told him before, you don’t concern yourself with business outside of the cabaret. 

Something snaps in Tommy’s eyes and he grits his teeth. “Listen to me. I won’t tell you again. Watch your fucking mouth,” he nearly spits. 

And before you can think it through, you respond. 

“Make me.” 

With a quick movement, Tommy suddenly pulls you to your feet by your arms and pins you against the wall, your face just beneath his. He doesn’t worry about being gentle with you, in fact he hopes it hurts you a little when he does this. You gasp out a breath of air when he shoves you against the wall and holds you by your shoulders. Your eyes widen and your lips fall open in surprise. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Tommy pants, his hand coming up to hold your throat. He stares directly into your eyes as you take a breath and struggle against him, your palms beating his chest. 

“Let me go, Tommy.” You ignore his question again, pissed. 

He grabs your wrists to keep you from hitting him and pushes his weight against you. He looks down into your eyes, his gaze changing from anger into one of passion. 

“You don’t really want me to do that, do you?”

You stop thrashing and take a breath, your eyes looking between his. As much as you hate him right now, god damn his eyes are beautiful. Remembering your frustration, however, you try to speak. 

“Tommy-” 

Tommy interrupts you, seeing the look of defiance in your eyes. He leans in, his lips close enough to brush against your neck. 

“Say my name again,” he orders softly. 

You take a deep breath, your heart racing. You can feel his breath against your neck and it sends shivers down your body into your cunt. Taking a second deep breath, you exhale. 

“Tommy…”

He smiles against your neck and starts to nip the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Then he moves his lips to rest against your ear. 

“I want you, Diana.” 

You close your eyes, sighing, your body starting to give in. But in the next moment you remember yourself and push him away. You move across the room, your legs weak and shaky. When you turn around, you’re both breathing heavily. Tommy removes his heavy coat and tosses it over a clothing rack. 

“For God’s sake, woman,” he grits out and runs his hand over his mouth. You exhale tightly, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the throbbing in your cunt. Instead of responding, you start to pull off your shoes and accessories, dropping them aggressively on the floor and makeup counter. You can’t even look at him without wanting to go back to him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Tommy scoffs as he watches you discard parts of your costume and ignore him. 

“Are you gonna keep acting like a child?” Tommy grumbles and leans against the wall with his arms across over his chest. You spin around, your arms gesturing wildly and your eyes flaming. 

“Jesus, Tommy! What do you want from me? Why do you keep coming back here just to never speak to me?” You rip off your feathered headband and toss it to the side angrily. Tommy watches you discard parts of your sheer costume. His eyes roam over your body, his lust once again starting to rule over his frustration. He sighs and passes a hand through his dark hair. He takes a breath, looking away from you, then finally turns back, his eyes jumping from your body to your eyes.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” he says softly, as if he’s exhausted. 

You freeze, never expecting him to say something like that. Tommy shakes his head, frustrated at himself now for giving you and your situation so much power over him. Though he won’t say it, he might be obsessed with you. He suddenly feels ashamed and his eyes go cold again. 

“Is that not what you wanted to hear?” He asks, his eyes turning away from you. In the harsh dressing room light, his cheekbones cast dark shadows on his face in profile. You wet your lips and shake your head, not able to believe him. 

“I’m not a whore, Tommy. You can’t just come back whenever you want to fuck me,” you mutter, suddenly exhausted too. Tommy looks back, his brow immediately furrows. He jumps off from the wall and closes the distance once again between you. He places his hands on your shoulders, holding you still. 

“That’s not what this is,” his voice is low but clear- direct. He’s becoming more impatient by the minute. It’s like you’re refusing to see sense, to understand what he’s trying to tell you. He doesn’t understand why you’re the only thing he can think about and why he wants more of you, in all senses, now. His hands travel up your shoulders to the sides of your neck before they come to rest on either side of your face. His pointer fingers rest behind your ears, tucked beneath your flapper’s bob. 

You finally look up into his eyes, your heart falling into your stomach at what you see. You start to believe him, god-damn it. You do. Tommy lets out a gruff sigh and caresses your cheek with his thumb, his eyes traveling over your face as if he has all the time in the world to do so. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want me just as bad,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before. And when he says it, it doesn’t sound like he just means sex anymore. But what more do you want from Tommy Shelby than just sex? 

Your hands move to his lapels, gripping the button holes. You close your eyes for a moment as Tommy’s thumb passes over your bottom lip. He sighs when you close your eyes, his head immediately tilting down to get closer to your lips. 

“You drive me fucking mad, you know?” Tommy mutters so close to your lips that you can feel the sound of his words. His mouth dodges your lips and finds your neck, kissing below your jaw. 

“I hate you sometimes,” you whisper back, your breath jumping when you feel his hand slip down to your waist. He nods against your skin and moves his mouth slowly up to yours. 

“I know.” 

As he says this, you break and pull your chemise over your hips so you can undo your garters. Tommy groans softly against your mouth as he feels your garters snap as they fall away. Tommy runs his hands up your thigh as you unbutton his trousers, both panting softly between kisses. Tommy unbuttons his shirt and lets it hang open as he picks you up and sits back in the chair. He sets you down on his lap where you’re straddling him. His hands roam over your thighs as you take his face in your hands. The straps of your chemise roll off your shoulders but the fabric still covers your chest.  

“I want to see you, Diana.” Tommy slides his hands up your sides. You look down at him, your eyes meeting and holding contact.

“Not yet,” you whisper. 

Tommy’s hands slide back down your sides to rest on your hips. One of his hands starts to rub circles on the small of your back over your chemise. He smirks softly and tilts his head to the side. 

“Why not?” 

You smile back and lean down, brushing your nose against his. “You have to earn it,” you whisper. You kiss Tommy gently and he sighs against your lips, pulling you closer by your hips. 

“Earn it,” he asks, his eyes still closed, “how the hell do I earn it then?” He smiles and looks back up at you. You kiss him briefly, adding to his sexual frustration. 

“You have to be good to me.”

“Good to you?” He repeats, groaning when you start to taunt him with short kisses. 

“Be good to me,” you whisper again and begin to kiss him harder. 

He slips his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. He kisses you passionately and deeply. You moan softly against his lips and Tommy moves one hand to slide up and down your thigh, holding you securely on his lap. 

“Is this good?” Tommy mutters, smiling. You giggle and shake your head, breaking the kiss. 

“You can touch me… but you can’t look- not yet.”

Tommy leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes, trying to contain himself. He sighs tightly and opens his eyes, his head still leaning back. His hands roam up your body to your waist and up to your chest. His hands are open and flat as he passes his palms over your breasts, still veiled in silky fabric. He watches your reaction as you gasp softly, your nipples hardening beneath his light touch. 

Your hands trail down his bare stomach to his unbuttoned trousers. You reach into his pants and pull out his erection. Tommy groans, his eyes not leaving yours as he continues to feel you up over your chemise. You rise up on your knees and align his cock between your thighs. You sit down slowly and sigh tightly as you feel him fill you up. You move slowly, rocking your hips back and forth. Tommy holds onto your hips, guiding you and matching your rhythm. He watches you in admiration as you take the lead, grinding harder and faster as you please. 

“Fuck.” Tommy pulls you down harder on his cock, causing you both to groan and gasp against each other. His hand slides up your back to rest against your spine, supporting you as you lean away from his chest. You’re whimpering as Tommy breathes heavily against your sternum, sweat glistening beneath your collarbones and between your breasts. You’re moving your hips as quickly as you can as Tommy guides you up and down. When you kiss him, he lets you slot your tongue between his lips. He groans when you suck on his wide bottom lip and his hips sputter up into yours. 

“Slow down, girl,” Tommy warns you between kisses, his hands slowing your hips down. “Stop for a second, look at me,” Tommy speaks softly though his words are broken up by heavy breaths. You stop and look down at him, your neck flushed with blood. 

“W-what is it?” 

Tommy looks up at you, his hands rubbing up and down your sides. Why he chooses this moment- he doesn’t know. He wets his lips. 

“Marry me.”

[vervainandspritz]

Can I get a request for Cillian Murphy? Angst, smut, fluff, I'm open to suggestions!

[cheekypeakyblinder]

𝕋𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕪'𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕗𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕

Do you see?

If shits going down.

Arthur is on Tommy's left side and John's on his right side?

Every goddamn time

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don’t Hold My Hand (I’ll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 3

Summary: The day Thomas has been awaiting for is finally here and things don't go as planned. The first crack begins to show

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Tommy suffers a pain episode

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long! These past weeks have been terribly busy and I have been having a major writer crisis. Yet here we are and I hope you enjoy!

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《 Prev part - Next Part 》

Ever since their last encounter, Thomas’ attitude towards her shifted. Charlotte couldn’t say he respected her, for that would take more than a few harsh words and stern looks. But he seemed to have found something in her that piqued his interest. He still refused her help on the daily with the most basic of things, stubborn as a mule, or rather stubborn as a Shelby, but he granted her the ‘honour’ of a few words of conversation every now and then. And Charlotte used every chance she could to try and talk him out of his miracle doctor.

She brought up every argument she could muster, but they were all met with indifferent shrugs of the shoulders, dismissive waves of the hand and, when she pressed too hard, with Thomas turning his back to her and escaping her well intentioned words, seeking refuge in the safety of his veranda. Charlotte remembered time after time when she had to convince soldiers to follow treatment for their own good, to have their medicines and do the exercises and quit the alcohol and the laudanum. She never had to talk a man out of doing something, and definitely never a man like Thomas Shelby.

“Just tell me this, Thomas. Have you ever, at least once, met or even seen any of these veterans this doctor has claimed to cure?”

His silence sufficed as a reply.

The faithful day, Charlotte awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and a heavy feeling in her stomach. A dull headache throbbed in her temples, since sleep had refused to find her, leaving her to toss and turn as the moon slowly gave way to the sun and the birds chirped in their branches. She did her best to carry on with her duties as usual, but every now and then she nervously glanced up towards the clock, waiting for the strike of 3 in the afternoon. The minutes felt too long and the hours too short. If she stared at the clock, the hands refused to move under her watchful gaze. But then she would turn her back for what felt like five minutes, and when she looked again, nearly an hour had transpired.

The doctor had sent beforehand some medicines that Thomas had to drink prior to the appointment. Charlotte had poured some onto a cup and stared at it intently, hoping that if she looked hard enough she could discern what exactly had been mixed into the ambary liquid, since the bottles had neither a chemist’s name nor any label. But other than identifying a hint of a sweet, herbal scent, she got nothing. 

A taxi stopped before the gates just five minutes to three. Mrs. Gray and Charlotte both awaited in the foyer, standing side by side, to welcome the man who promised them the greatest miracle to be ever seen. They heard voices out the door, and Frances opened before he could knock. The second the doctor crossed the threshold, the bad feeling in Charlotte’s gut worsened.

The man before her dressed poorly. And not in the modest but clean way that most working class people did. His brown suit had definitely seen better days, perhaps better years too; frayed at the hems, the seams stretched out and the buttons hanging precariously from thinned out threads. Whoever had sewn in the elbow patches definitely had very little practice in tailoring. The shirt had taken a yellow hue from wear and time, and some bare threads hung from the collar. The shoes desperately needed a visit to the shoemaker, soles detached on the tips, the gap widening with each step.

Two women came with him, one on each side and just a step behind him, both with severe faces and strict postures. They dressed as nurses did, with the light blue dress and the Sister Dora cap upon the hair, but had black rubber aprons tied about the waist instead of the usual soft white linen she herself wore. Their appearance evoked more butchers than healers. Charlotte could certainly picture them wielding cleavers and with red splatters on their faces, not precisely from slicing meat.

Mrs. Gray shared her apprehensions, that much Charlotte could tell by the way the older woman lowered her cigarette slowly, one hand holding onto the ruby pendant hanging from her neck, twirling the gem between her fingers nervously. They both shared a tense and brief side glance, loaded with trepidation,  when the doctor took Mrs Gray's hand and kissed it, his head lowered in a bow. She pulled away from his grasp delicately but firmly, the only betrayal in her collected facade being the slight narrowing of her eyes. He then tried to repeat the impish gesture with Charlotte; but the nurse’ hands remained firm behind her, not giving the audacious man even a speck of chance. 

The doctor straightened, arms behind his back and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. He appeared to not be unfazed by the tepid welcoming, although Charlotte easily noticed his barely concealed disappointment. Perhaps in other houses he had been received with tears and cheers like a hero who would save the day. She wondered if he had been sent off with the same enthusiasm after his magical treatments. 

“Miss and Madame, I am Doctor Elias Keller '' He put a hand to his chest and bowed again, as if he were being presented to Queen Mary and her daughter in Buckingham Palace. “These are my assistants, Bertha and Henrietta” Both women nodded curtly once, still standing just a step behind Doctor Keller, like petty soldiers flanking a high ranking officer, ready to rush to do his bidding.

The man put out his hand again towards Mrs. Gray, mayhaps hoping for a handshake. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead reaching for her cigarette case and lighting a new one. She took her time to take a long, deliberate drag and allowing the smoke to billow from her dark cherry lips before speaking

“I am Mrs. Gray, Mr. Shelby’s aunt. And this is Charlotte, Mr. Shelby’s private nurse” Charlotte had never heard her refer to Thomas as Mr. Shelby, but she understood the motive; she didn’t want to give Dr. Keller any chance of familiarity. As if she wanted, through subtle actions, to remind him of his position before he got too cocksure. In her line of work she had surely met one too many charlatans, Lottie thought, and she too could smell the rottenness in him. 

Doctor Keller smiled, although the gesture looked perfectly practised and not at all sincere. Charlotte did notice that he looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye, and not in a bawdy way; quite the opposite, in fact. He seemed uncomfortable with her presence, a feeling that had appeared upon his face only after Mrs. Gray mentioned her to be a nurse. He fixed his bowtie, giving it a firm tug before addressing her

“A nurse, you say? You certainly don’t look like one, far too young you are. Perhaps a maid turned caretaker?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with condescending amusement. Charlotte clenched her jaw, teeth nearly grinding in annoyance.

“War nurse, in fact. I served in convalescent homes and then field hospitals in France since 1916. I was awarded for distinguished service” She puffed out her chest at the last part. Even if her recognition strips and medal lay forgotten at the bottom of a drawer in her room she had the right to boast about them. She had earned them through hardship and sweat, and she would not let this mountebank look her down. 

Doctor Keller’s lips tightened into a line, but he regained himself with such ease one might even doubt the gesture existed. He straightened up once more, his eyes fixated upon Mrs. Gray, every aspect of his posture and demeanour indicating he wished to keep Charlotte excluded from the conversation

“Well Mrs. Gray, I must not be delayed. Every second that I am not by my patient’s side it is a second lost. I am very devoted to them and wish to give them only the best of everything, including my time” Charlotte had to look aside to disguise a poorly stifled laugh. The man didn’t spare her a glance, but his guarding dogs both looked her down with a mixture of annoyance and indignation. The shorter, much older woman reminded Charlotte of her commanding matron in the ward when she first enlisted; they both bore a particular type of severity in their faces that could put generals to their knees. Charlotte had bowed her head before the matron; out of respect for her status and service, but she would not let herself be intimidated by the walking circus before her.

Mrs. Gray on the other hand, had Doctor Keller’s complete attention on her. The man kept trying to go up the stairs, but she kept trying to delay him just a few more minutes

“You have just arrived, why don’t we have tea in the drawing room? We can sit down and discuss what treatment are you planning to implement on my nephew” Her manicured hand came to rest on the doctor’s bicep, as if attempting to steer him away from the grand staircase. But the man, who mere minutes ago had presented himself as fulsome and flirty towards her, didn’t take her attempts kindly. He stepped away from her touch, straightening out his worn jacket.

“Mrs. Gray, I must go to my patient at once. I am a very busy man and see many soldiers like him a day. My time is of precious value and not to be so easily wasted. If you do not show me to his rooms I will be forced to leave and reconsider his position as my patient” He spoke fast, a shrill tone edging his voice, the perfectly polished facade he had brought with himself showing the first crack. He appeared nervous to not have the family’s support, surely not used to be resisted that way. Charlotte prayed internally that Mrs. Gray would push just a little harder, that she would stand her ground for a bit more, enough to scare this opportunist into running and never looking back. 

But alas, Mrs. Gray relented, perhaps to spare herself of a round with her nephew when he found out she had blocked the way for his miracle doctor, or mayhaps because she too bore a miniscule sliver of hope that whatever they did to Thomas may work. 

She gave Charlotte a look, a brief one, no more than a second, but loaded with many conflicting feelings. Her lips quivered from the effort it took her to not say word, and she had to remind herself mentally of her position within that house; just a worker, placed there to look after the Master of the house, not to give opinions or interfere with his businesses. Feeling her heart tighten, Charlotte led the way towards Thomas’ chambers. When they reached the double doors she pushed them open, allowing them inside before stepping in. But she found her path blocked by the older assistant, who crossed her arm on the threshold to hold her back

“Doctor Keller works alone. If he needs help he will have us. Please wait outside” The harshness of her voice matched perfectly that of her face, her broad frame firmly forcing Charlotte out of the room. Incensed, and perhaps frightened, Charlotte stood her ground, her shoulder pushing against the human wall that was the other woman.

“I work here. I am his caretaker. You will not touch a hair of his head without me there” She spoke perhaps with more passion and strength than her station required, but she felt an overwhelming need to protect Thomas. She could not let, on her best judgement, allow this swindler to beguile Mr. Shelby and endanger his life on false promises.

Just when she readied to perhaps commit acts unbefitting of her against that woman, Mr. Shelby spoke up, his voice calm but firm.

“Charlotte. It’s okay. Just go downstairs”

The assistant stepped aside briefly, allowing Charlotte a peek inside. Thomas sat in his chair near the windows, an unlit cigarette perched between two fingers. Doctor Keller kneeled at his side, holding his free hand in his own in a reassuring grasp. The sunlights poured abundantly through the panes, golden beams framing them. 

“Charlotte. Please” He had never said please to her.

He nodded towards the doctor, and the man stood up, taking control of the wheelchair and leading Thomas away from the windows and from Charlotte’s view.

The last thing she thought she saw was a smile on Mr. Shelby’s face before the assistant slammed the door on her face.

Time moved painstakingly slowly. Hour after hour slipped away, the sun steadily making its way across the skies. Warm orange bathed the rooms towards the back of the house, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to sunset. Charlotte sat in the main room, a luxury she rarely granted herself. Before she laid a teapot of black currant tea which had not been touched, and biscuits she refused to eat. She had chewed her thumb in anxiousness, leaving the imprints of her own teeth on the pads.

At least five times during her wait, Charlotte made her way towards Thomas’ bedroom but stopped halfway through, doubting in her feet before slowly making her way back down. She wanted to go up and see for herself what they were doing; every fibre of her being urged her to. But at the same time she feared what she would see or hear there. 

A half past six, the double doors closed with a dry thud, and heavy footsteps resonated in the stairwell. Charlotte scrambled from her seat, almost slipping on the fancy rug and knocking her hip against a side table as she rushed into the foyer. Somehow Mrs. Gray beat her to it, already standing at the foot of the stairs even though she hadn’t seen her around since the doctor’s arrival.

Doctor Keller marched down the stairs ceremoniously, his head held high, as if he had just rediscovered America. He had removed his jacket, and his yellowed shirt clung to his body with sweat. His assistants walked behind him, carrying his cases and a bag Charlotte swore they hadn’t brought with them. Their rubber aprons had been wiped clean, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with Charlotte.

He addressed Mrs. Gray, once more his posture and actions disregarding Charlotte’s presence. The man took Mrs. Gray’s hands, and this time she didn’t push him back. His smile suggested reassurance and triumph.

“The procedure has gone well. Mr. Shelby is now upstairs in his bed, sleeping. He has been left exhausted and I suggest he is not disturbed until morning. I will return in a fortnight to repeat the treatment, and will continue to do so as many times as it is necessary, but I feel confident that progress will be seen before my return” 

Mrs. Gray’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and although she didn’t grant the doctor the reward of a smile, she had lost some of the apprehension she bore in the morning.

“Can you tell me what exactly is it that you have done to him? What sort of treatment is this?”

Doctor Keller chuckled heartily, shaking his head while he patted her hand “Now Mrs. Gray, those are gruesome details that delicacies like yourself should not have to endure” Charlotte buffed at the last part. Mrs. Gray could be described as anything but delicate. And the comment obviously didn’t sit well with the older woman either, for she immediately dropped the doctor’s hands and took a step back.

“Allow me to see you out, Doctor Keller” Even in now obvious annoyance, Mrs. Gray displayed an affability that Charlotte envied; a possession and control of the emotions that very few mastered. The small group headed outside while the valet brought the car around. But Charlotte did not follow, instead sprinting up the stairs towards Thomas’ bedroom.

She peered inside quietly, walking on tiptoes. Every window had been opened, the room smelling of damp soil and autumn leaves, but the earthy scent could not entirely mask the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol. The breeze had scattered papers from the desk all over the floor, and she hurried to pick them up, knowing how much disorganisation ticked Thomas off. As she placed them on the desk, she noticed they had left a kidney dish forgotten, alongside with a syringe filled with a milkish substance. The needle, the length of Charlotte’s hand, was coated in red.

Slowly, fearfully even, she turned towards the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to see, perhaps a gory scene with blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor, or a massacre akin to those seen in the field hospitals in France. Yet she only saw Thomas, laying on his side and submerged in a deep slumber, dressed only in his sleeping shirt and underwear.

She approached him slowly, her keen eye noticing the layer of sweat covering his skin, hair sticking to his temples and beads rolling down the curve of his neck. She dampened a cloth in the basin and wiped his forehead, feeling his skin feverish to the touch. The corners of his mouth had reddened marks, as if they had been rubbed raw against something coarse. Frowning in confusion, Charlotte leaned back, moving to examine the rest of his body. She found nail marks in his palms, in lines of bloodied crescent moon shapes. Just as she moved to grab the first aid kit to clean them, she picked up a small but significant detail.

The sheets had been changed

That morning, the bed had pure white sheets of plain linen without any embellishment, and these had simple blue embroidery on the edges, intertwined with Thomas’ initials as laundry marks. Charlotte could simply not understand why they would change the sheets amidst such secrecy instead of asking her or one of the maids to handle it, and neither could she find said sheets no matter where she looked. Clearly, whatever had been spilled on those linens, the doctor and his devils in tow wanted to be kept secret.

Worry crept up Charlotte’s spine and clawed at her throat. She didn’t want to disturb Thomas’ slumber, not after seeing him sleeping better than he had ever done before. Yet she could not ignore her instincts, not when they screamed at her so loud they drowned every other thought in her mind. 

So she sat by the bed and watched.

Waited and watched, while the sun gave way to the moon. A maid brought her food but she barely ate, feeling as if Thomas would burst into pieces or fade into mist if she took her eyes away from him for one second. Frances came near eleven, urging her to go to bed, but she only asked the older woman to take watch for a moment while she changed into her nightgown and robe. Even during the brief routine of closing the curtains and turning off lights she kept glancing towards him. But despite her best efforts she was only human, and the ever growing tension of the day had worn her out. She huddled in an armchair near the bed, a blanket around her legs and a small pillow supporting her neck. She had a book in her lap, but fatigue clouded her vision and foggied her thoughts. She swore she heard the grandfather clock chime 1 in the morning just before she fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up in a nightmare.

In the space between the land of dreams and the real world, guttural, horrific groans of pain seeped into her mind, making her hair stand on edge. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet chilled. She had to fight the drowsiness and exhaustion off her body and will her eyes to open. The room was illuminated only by moonlight coming from one curtain she had kept drawn back, casting phantasmagoric shadows on the walls. As her vision adjusted to the darkness and her senses sharpened, she sought the source of those sounds. Her first instinct was to go to the window, but she hadn’t moved a step when the grunts of pain returned, coming from very close to her. 

Thomas doubled over himself in the bed, fingers digging on the sheets and his jaw locked tightly around a corner of the pillow, poorly attempting to drown his pained cries. Charlotte rushed to turn on a lamp, and when warm light bathed him, she let out a scream of her own.

Crimson blossomed in the back of his nightshirt, the stains growing like flowers along the length of his spine. When she pushed his shirt up, she saw bandages entirely soaked in blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils. The flesh around them had reddened and swelled. Thomas kept writhing, only worsening things as whatever they had done to his back kept tearing open and bleeding anew. 

His fingers dug into his own hair, pulling at the black strands in desperation as he muffled the screams by biting into his forearm. Somehow that grounded Charlotte, setting her back into the same steeliness that got her through the war. She rushed to the medicine cupboard and pulled out bottles, not even bothering to check the labels, for she knew what she looked for. The laudanum she kept at the very bottom, hidden behind all the taller bottles, had not been opened. She went to pour it in a spoon, but thought it better and instead poured it into a glass, estimating what dosage would put two adult men to sleep. With the amount of whiskey and other things Thomas consumed on the daily, she knew a spoonful would barely give him a tickle.

She climbed in bed next to him, trying to sit him up so he could drink. But Thomas seemed to be paralysed with pain, and even the tiniest of movements reignited the agony. Not a word passed his lips, only exclamations of pains mixed with heavy, slowly drawn gasps of air, for even the simple act of breathing had become a struggle.

“Thomas, Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me” She cooed soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress “I have your medicines. But you need to sit up a bit to drink” Her calm words fell on deaf ears, and she couldn’t blame him for not heeding her command. Charlotte wanted desperately to ease his suffering, but for that she had to move him, which would only worsen his pain. She hated she had to do it, but it was for his own sake.

“I am sorry about this” She murmured as she sat by his side, hooking her arms under his heavy body the best she could to pull him up. The scream he emitted was otherworldly, and she could only silence it by putting her hand in his mouth, letting him bite her flesh like a rabid dog. The pain shot up her arm but she ignored it, not moving until his jaw had unclenched. She had managed to prop him upright against her chest, with her own back resting against the headboard. His head laid limp against her bosom, and the still fresh blood stained her robe. But none of that mattered at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to get him to drink with the spoon but he refused to open his mouth. Sweat now poured profusely down his face and neck, giving his skin an unhealthy glistening. Even in the faint light she could see his complexion had paled, but at least it appeared the bleeding had stopped. Charlotte forced the spoon past his lips, but he only splattered on it, spilling the laudanum everywhere. When she tried again, he shook his head like a child refusing his porridge. She sighed in frustration, and also because his weight against her made it hard to breathe.

“Thomas, please. It will do you good. I promise it. You will feel better”

Again, nothing. Every muscle in his body was painfully tense, and she could see the vein in his forehead popping and the pulse beating strong and quick in the side of his neck. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face, her thumb running up and down the sharp length of his jaw to ease the tension. After a few minutes she noticed a slight improvement and how his lips parted open. Lottie seized that opportunity and brought up the spoon again. And this time, he sipped the medicine.

“That’s it. Take it slowly. This will make you feel better Tommy”

The pet name escaped her without thinking, and honestly, she didn’t give it a second thought. His aunt called him that so often that it had simply slipped into her vocabulary. 

Spoon by spoon, slowly and carefully, Thomas drank the laudanum. The medicine acted quickly, and soon the relaxation became visible in his body. His muscles loosened, his breathing calmed and his pulse returned to normal.

Minutes ticked by in peaceful calmness, a stark contrast to the abrupt awakening she had. A brief glance to the clock showed her a quarter to four. Still a long time to go before sunrise. And a lot to be done. The bed had been left a disaster, as had Thomas himself. She would not bother with the sheets but the bandages and his clothes needed changing. It took her some serious shifting and pulling to get out from under him, but at last Charlotte managed to lay him down, propped comfortably on some pillows. She laid him as comfortable as she could, since she doubted she would be able to move him again. 

The shirt was a goner, so she had no qualms in cutting it to shreds to slip it off his body. The bandages soon followed, alongside the thick folds of gauze which were now blood soaked. The sight underneath stole the breath from her lungs

A series of wounds traced the length of Thomas’ spine, from lower to mid back. Perfectly lined puncture wounds, in pairs, going up at regular intervals. Whatever needle had been used surely resembled more an icepick, for the holes seemed to have been drilled in his flesh. Charlotte could not even fathom what sort of procedure Tommy had been put through, but now her other findings made sense. The nail marks on his own hands from where he has fisted them so tight, and the abrasions on his mouth, surely a leather strip or a simile had been put in his mouth as a gag. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought how he had willingly subjected himself to torture of the worst kind just for a crumb of hope.

She washed him clean as best as she could in that position, rinsing away the blood and sweat. She didn’t have any medicines at hand to apply to the wounds, so she only rebandaged them, making a mental note to ring a real doctor the next day for some real medicines. Since the sheets could not be changed nor could he be dressed again, Charlotte laid some clean towels around him and tucked him tight with the blankets. 

As she moved around him, she paid close attention to his face for the first time. Without that perennial scowl on his face he appeared much younger, even under all that messy hair and unkempt beard. His eyelashes were enviably long, casting shadows upon his high cheekbones even under the weak light of the bedside lamp. His nose had a straight slope, and his jaw a particular sharpness, noticeable despite the beard. He was objectively very handsome, a man girls would surely fawn over. 

Just as she readied to retake her watching post, Charlotte noticed again the nail marks on his palms, now swelling up and the skin purpling. She took his hand on her lap as she cleaned it gently, wrapping a simple bandage around them. Just as she moved to stand, his hand gripped tightly the fabric of her robe, stalling her moves. 

When she turned to face him, she realised Thomas had been awake this whole time. His eyes were open, and the ice had melted from them, giving way to a sharp shade of blue, vibrant even under the obvious exhaustion. His eyes fixed upon her, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment. Charlotte had stared into those eyes many times, and had read many hidden emotions behind the blueness, but that night she saw something new, something she never expected to see in him; vulnerability. Raw, deep, unsuppressed vulnerability. The first glimpse of the man behind the carefully crafted iron mask.

It felt almost wrong to be allowed to see the facade crack, like being made privy to a secret she felt unworthy of. At last, she lowered her eyes first, working on putting aside her medical supplies, just to keep her hands and her concentration busy.

“Sleep, Tommy” The words were hushed, her voice meant to be soothing, although he wouldn’t need much soothing with the dosage of laudanum she gave him “Rest will do you good” 

Charlotte moved to stand, but he moved to grip her wrist instead, his hold firm but not hurtful. She looked up to him again, confusion lacing her features.

“Stay”

The words were spoken through great effort, coming out raspy and strained, but perfectly clear. 

“I will not leave you. I will sit right by your bed” She reassured him, but he didn’t let go. In a sudden movement he pulled on her arm, throwing her off balance and tossing her rather unceremoniously on the bed, so that their bodies laid close together. She felt her heart rise to her throat, eyes wide and breaths quick at the sudden proximity. She wondered if the pain medicines had loosened Thomas’ inhibitions. Or perhaps he was just in desperate need of some of the human contact he often rejected.

For long minutes Tommy just stared at her wordlessly, not offering an explanation as to why he did that, nor letting go of her arm either. Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, yet she could not look away from him either. The silence lingered until she chose to break the spell.

“Tommy?”

His fingers slid down from her wrist, lacing his hand with hers. His next words held a longing and rawness Charlotte didn’t believe possible in him.

“Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight"

[feninina]

𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙧 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

jonathan had a very twisted mind and he knew how to hid it perfectly. he also knew, since the moment your father brought you to him practically begging for his help that he was going to have too much fun with you; shaping you, deconstructing you to craft your mind into something so wrecked, so useless, that your only thought from now on would be him.

you were young, naive, beautiful; all that he could ever want and wish — and there you were, heartbroken and desperate, opening your heart to him maybe hoping he would help you, and, in jonathan’s eyes, that’s what he was going to do, he was going to cure you and make you the perfect trophy wife, to nobody else but him.

you were sick, and he had the perfect antidote for you.

“i know what a girl like you needs”

“you think, doctor? what is it?”

“yeah, to be fucked stupid”

i’m so very anxious and nervous to publish this but i also can’t wait omg 😭 anyways hope you enjoyed that little snippet

[randomcreator-09]

Small Heath's Songbird (Thomas ShelbyxOCY/N)

- To be released on December 15 (Part One:Small Heath's Songbird)<<< RELEASED

- December 24 (Part Two:Christmas Eve special) <<<RELEASED

Like this post to be tagged on both parts.

Reblog to share the delulu virus XD

WE'RE BACK ON TRACK BOYS!!!!!

Like this post to be tagged on both parts. Reblog to share the delulu virus XD

[hotdilfs11]

Mafia Boss-Thomas Shelby x Reader pt 1

Rest of the parts

✩summary: The Shelby knew this girl when she was very little. However, when her mother passed away (at 16) everything changed and everyone drifted away from each other. Now after seven years Veronica is a mafia boss in her fathers business. Her father. sent her to Birmingham on business, will this play off well?

✩pairings:girl named Veronica(POC) x Thomas Shelby

✩warnings:mention of death

—————————————————————————

I’m a mafia boss, or soon to be. My father is the boss of The Hawthorns Estate, along with my brothers, who are my father's right hand. A little backstory: I grew up in Birmingham with my mother. I was always around the Shelby boys, especially Thomas ever. since I was a little girl. They were all older than me. John was 17, Thomas was 18, and Arthur was 21. Anyway, Tommy and I were so close that anytime I had a complaint about anyone, he'd be the one to back me up and protect me. However, that changed drastically when my mother got ill when I turned fifteen years old. She never got better and died a year later, after my sixteenth birthday. It was devastating to watch my mother die slowly. The Shelbys were there for me when she passed away, and they were also willing to take me in since I didn't know who my father was.

DAY OF FUNERAL IN THE CEMETERY

As the Shelbys and I started walking through the cemetery to put my mother to rest, Four black cars pulled up in a straight line before my mother's funeral. Two Jeeps, one BMW, and one big Land Rover Polly was behind me, reassuring me. She had her right hand on my shoulder and her pocketbook in her free hand. Tommy was beside me on the left, close to me, making sure no one could hurt me, then John and Arthur on the left and right behind me. All four of them were ferociously protecting me.

"Who the fuck is that?" Polly said with a mean British accent. She didn’t want anyone to bother me at all, especially at my mother's funeral. Poll and Thomas looked at each other in concern as the cars started parking one by one in the line at the cemetery. “Tommy, sit here with her”, Poll said as she started walking up to these mysterious black cars. Tommy nodded and stood closer to me. He put one of his rough hands around my waist. I felt the warmth radiating off of his hands as he squeezed my waist letting me sink into him.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Poll screamed at the parked cars. As Poll was walking up to the cars, two men started getting out. Big, bulky, and scary, in black suits with sunglasses. The men began to open the doors of the BMW and the Jeep. Four other men climbed out of the cars with suits on. One had curly hair, was dark-skinned, slightly built, and tall; he kind of looked like me. The other two had olive-colored skin, jet-black hair; they were also tall; however, one was a little bit shorter with a strong build, and the other was tall with a medium build. Then the last guy He was old, maybe fifty years old, pale, big-boned, and also tall; he had to be about “6’7”.

Tommy pulled me a little bit closer to his warm, muscular body; he was practically hovering over me. John and Arthur also inched closer to me, also standing behind Tommy.

"Who the fuck are you?” Poll says she is concerned about realizing how tall all of these men are, but she doesn't let that stop her one bit.

"Who the fuck are you, I may ask?” the older one said in a heavy Italian, New York.

"I asked you first," Polly said, walking up to him.

"That girl over there, I’m her father, and these are her brothers now; what are your relations with my daughter along with those three boys over there?" He says

Poll looked back at us, concerned, and then looked back at the guy she was talking to with a brave look painted on her face. "What’s your name, I might ask?" she says, looking up at the older gentleman.

"My name is Hamilton Hawthorn; these are my sons," he says as he starts pointing at each of them.

"My oldest Ambrose," he said, pointing to the one with the curly hair. "My second oldest Cyrus," he pointed to the tall one with the jet black hair, and finally, my youngest Alexander," he pointed to the shorter one with the slightly bigger build.

"Now my daughter over there is the second oldest out of all of them. I’ve come to get her; she’s coming to New York with me.” Hamilton demands

“Fuck," Polly whispers to herself, looking at her feet.

She turns away from Hamilton to look back at all of us. "Veronica dear, come please!" she yells in a sorrowful voice.

I hesitantly started walking to Polly; however, I got stopped by Tommy. He grabbed my hand, tightening his grip, and gave me an unsure expression along with the other Shelby boys. Polly sees what’s happening and yells, "It’s okay, boys." Tommy slowly lets go of my hand as I start to walk over to the strange man. I was feeling apprehensive as I got closer and closer to Polly, unsure about what was about to happen.

When I got to Polly, she grabbed my shoulder and gave me a weary smile as she said, "This is your father, Hamilton, and these are your brothers. Ambrose, Cyrus, and Alexander"

I frowned at Polly in confusion. "So that means..."

"It means you're not staying in Birmingham, dear. After this, we’ll have to say our goodbyes," she says as tears start to form in her eyes, but she still keeps a brave face.

"But I,I, no Polly,” my voice started to crack, scared for what was going to happen. I look back to see the Shelby boys standing there for one last time, and then I look at Polly with sadness painted on my face. Polly stands in front of me with a fearless look on her face. She grabbed both of my shoulders tight and said, “You are the bravest girl I’ve ever met. Braver than me when I was your age, and braver than those boys up there. I’m so bloody proud of you and what you've become." We both start to tear up, and we gracefully hug each other for a long time, not wanting to let go of each other.

When the funeral ended, I said my heartfelt goodbyes to each of the Shelbys and went off to New York.

[shelby-fangirl00]

The Nanny

Chapter 1

Summary: Winnie Carter leaves her life in Small Heath to take a job at the Arrow House. While Winnie is secretive about her life back in Birmingham, Thomas is determined to break down her walls and find out the truth of her identity. His odd obsession confuses both Thomas and Winnie and he will go to all lengths to find out what makes Winnie tick. (Multiple parts) (Multiple POVs)

Authors note: Bear with me as I may be a bit rusty since I haven't wrote in over a year now.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! Smut in upcoming chapters, next chapter will be Tommy's POV

Winnie

I inhaled the cool autumn air that whipped around me as I marveled at the mansion. Arrow House. This place had history, long before the gangster took over ownership. It was hard to imagine someone who was born and raised in small heath, like myself, ended up in a place like this. I glanced behind me as the car drove off, leaving me and my suitcases behind. For a second, I thought of flagging them down to take me back home. But I couldn't. My son needed me to be here. He was the only reason I was here.

I carried my luggage up the steps and awkwardly knocked twice on the giant double doors that seemed to tower over me. An older woman in a maids uniform answered and smiled sweetly at me.

"Welcome! Please come in!" Her tone was warm and kind and I already felt safe in her presence. Her grey hair was pinned up in a tight bun and her black dress was perfectly unwrinkled.

"So nice to meet you. it's Winnie, by the way." I stuck my hand out to shake hers.

"Francis. It's so lovely to have you here. We've all been anxiously awaiting your arrival, as well as Charles. First, bring your bags and I'll show you to your room." I could barely focus on what she was saying as I marveled at the inside of that place.

I followed Francis through the maze of a mansion. The ceilings were so high and everything seemed to be in pristine condition, I was almost scared of touching anything in that museum of a home. We went up a winding staircase. As we walked up and up and up, the walls were lined with family portraits of the Shelby's, from what I assumed. A very beautiful woman with golden hair seemed to be the most notable of the portraits, as there were several of them. I would assume this was Mr.Shelby's wife. There was also portraits of her and a stoic looking man as well, which must be him. He was different than I pictured...

We stopped at the very top floor, finally making it to a row of rooms in a dark narrow hallway, which I assumed were for the employees who resided here.

"There are two shared washrooms on each end of the hallway. My room is just a few doors down from yours and I'm a bit of a night owl so if you need something throughout the night, don't be a stranger." She smiled as she unlocked the door with what looked like a master key and revealed a small room with a bed, a dresser and a small closet. This was similar to my room at home, which was more than I expected already. There was a window above my bed that overlooked the horse stables, which was nice. Francis stated that only her room and this one had a window, so I was grateful. I plopped my suitcases on top of the bed.

"It's lovely in here, thank you, Francis."

"Don't thank me, dear. The head of household assigns the rooms, so you can thank Mr.Shelby when you meet him. In fact, Mr.Shelby will be in tonight and has requested to have dinner with you."

Francis must have seen the panic on my face because she giggled and walked towards me.

"He usually does this with any of the staff that works directly with his son. He is quite protective. You can use the rest of the day to unpack your things and get settled. There is also a small wash bin stored in your closet as well if you wanted to freshen up in here. After dinner, I can give you a tour of this place. We can discuss how everything will work later tonight. Any questions?"

My brain short circuited, because the last thing I wanted to do was sit through a painfully awkward dinner with this man.

"Is there anything I should know about Mr.Shelby before I meet him?"

Francis smiled as if she was amused.

"He aims to be feared. He has a hard exterior but as long as you address him properly and respect him, his house and family, you'll have nothing to worry about. And answer any questions he asks truthfully, because he will find out either way."

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

I sat at the enormous dining table and almost had the urge to laugh. This place was almost ridiculous. Who needed all of this shit? The table could sit at least 20 people. Francis had me sit right beside Mr.Shelby's seat at the end of the table. I wrung my hands together in anticipation, waiting for him to come in. I knew nothing about him aside from that fact that he is a Peaky Blinder and had made quite the name for himself. Ironically, I was from Birmingham and my son and mother currently resided in a flat there. I remember seeing them around town as a teenager, but mother always cautioned us to keep our heads down and walk on the opposite side of the street when we saw the Blinders. I was always curious though. I did have a friend that used to fuck one of the Shelby brothers, John, from time to time and she would tell me all kinds of horror stories about them. But I always took it with a grain of salt, as everyone in town seemed to be fascinated by them, including me at one point.

I wondered if Mrs.Shelby would also be at this diner tonight. I assumed she would like talk to the woman who would be taking care of her son every day, but Francis hadn't mentioned her yet.

I wore a simple blue dress with black stockings and black heels, hoping this was acceptable enough for a formal dinner, as I had never been to one of these before. I pinned my blonde hair in a loose bun, strands dangling out nicely, framing my face. Just as I took a drink of water (which I wished Francis would've gave me something stronger), Francis came walking in through the foyer with a man in toe behind her. I stood from my chair and waited to be introduced.

"Mr.Shelby, this is Winnie, the new nanny. Winnie, Mr.Shelby."

I nearly choked on my own spit at the sight of this man. Have I ever seen a man this swoon-worthy I thought to myself. His portraits were handsome, but nothing could capture the essence of this man. His jawline was hard and his eyes were a crystal-like blue. Freckles danced across his cheeks. He had an expensive navy blue suit on that made his shoulders look particularly broad. He couldn't have been over 35.

His eyes pierced through me in a demanding way. He stuck out a large hand decorated in gold rings and I placed my frail hand in his, making a point to firmly shake it, trying to not show how weak my knees were at this point. I still saw no sign of his wife, which was curious. I would have to ask Francis about this later.

"Thomas Shelby. Pleased to meet you Winnie...?"

"Winnie Carter, sir." He eyed me curiously, but his face remained uninterested and emotionless.

We both sat down and Francis left to bring out the food.

"I'm glad you could fill in on such short notice. We cut our last nanny loose a few weeks ago." He didn't give me any more explanation as to why she was fired and I didn't dare to ask.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr.Shelby. I'm confident I will live up to your expectations."

I tried to remain calm and not stare at him like a lunatic, but he was magnetic and it was hard not to. An uncomfortable silence fell between us and then Francis returned, setting a plate of food in front of both of us. Chicken and potatoes with carrots. Not being shy, I dug into my food. I hadn't eaten a warm meal in days. I could feel him watching me as I scarfed down my food, so I awkwardly put my fork down and looked into his eyes. He hadn't touched his food.

"Do you drink, Mrs.Carter?" I couldn't help but giggle. Mr.Shelby raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Mrs.Carter would be my mother, sir. I'm not married."

He hummed before responding. "My apologies. Rude of me to assume. Anyways, do you drink?" As if on cue, Francis set a glass of what I assume was whiskey in front of him.

"Is this a trick question? If it is, I am a very proper lady who only drinks champagne during celebrations."

He chuckled, downed his glass and eyed me again, his finger tapping on the empty glass. This time, he lingered on my face and I swore his eyes dropped to my lips. "No tricks, you don't technically start work until tomorrow morning."

"In that case, yeah I drink whiskey." Another smirk.

"I should've guessed that. Francis, please bring a bottle out for me and Ms.Carter." I physically recoiled at such a proper way to refer to me.

"Forgive me sir, but I prefer to be called Winnie, or just Win."

"Winnie it is. So, I'm sure Francis told you, but I usually meet with anyone who will be working with my son, Charlie. I need to get to know you and make sure your intentions are pure."

My intentions? Did he think I was a spy or a kidnapper or something?

I nodded my head and poured out a drink for myself after Francis set the bottle and a glass in front of us. I downed the liquid in a gulp and handed him the bottle.

He poured himself another drink for him and I as well. We clinked our glasses together and downed them again.

"You're from Small Heath then?"

For fuck sake. Of course my voice gave me away. I thought about making up an elaborate lie, but Francis warned me to be truthful.

“Born and raised. Me family still lives there."

He tilted his head and smiled genuinely this time.

"Isn't that curious...How old are ya?"

"26 next week."

He nodded his head.

"I think I know of your family. Your father works in one of our coal factories?"

I nodded then. "Yep. Worked there me whole life. Mum stayed home."

"Big family?"

I poured first, trying to avoid any conversation about my son.

"Not big at all" is all I said.

"Hmm." I avoided his eyes and let them fall into the drink as I downed my third glass. I decided not to drink anymore tonight. It felt like he could sense my deception. It's not like I was lying...I just wasn't telling the full story. I am entitled to my privacy.

I finally looked up and caught his eyes falling down my figure, shamelessly. A shiver ran up my spine and goosebumps broke out on my thighs. Christ, I cannot get involved with a married man, let alone my employer.

He placed his elbows on the table top and leaned in closer to me. My heart skipped in my chest.

"Do you have anything you want to ask me, Winnie? Nothing is off the table." My name coming out of his mouth in that low and gravelly voice made my legs shake. I inhaled sharply.

My mouth popped open and his eyes shot to my mouth next, waiting for me to say something. I felt myself leaning closer to him now as well.

"Are you as scary as they say you are?" I whispered in a childlike fashion, trying to stay casual.

The smile that formed across his face was devious and his eyes almost turned black.

"Yeah, I am" he stated curtly and leaned back into his chair, still leaving his plat untouched.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Winnie. I only need to actually be scary if ya cross me. You won't cross me, right love?"

I gulped and shook my head no. "Of course not, sir. I don't have a reason to."

Which is true, I don't. I am here to make money and to support my son.

"You seem trustworthy enough. I hope I don't spook you off too soon. My boy Charlie is a fairly easy child to get along with. He is only 3 years old and as of lately, Francis has been taking care of him. He loves horses more than anything. He likes to be outside as much as possible, so be prepared to be in the stables regularly. Francis will fill you in with all of the details and we will talk again tomorrow night about how your first day went. Any more questions?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat from his sudden change in demeanor. He no longer was flirtatious and interested, he was now distant and professional, so I was too.

"None at this time, Mr.Shelby."

"Good, now go ahead and eat and I'll finish in my study. Good luck with Charlie." He said as he stood and sauntered out of the dining hall, leaving his plate of food untouched and at the table.

What the fuck just happened?

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