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TASTE OF SHAME: Until It Takes
Dark!Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: violence, dubious consent, swearing, coercion, manipulation, obsessive behaviour
Word count: 5.5k+
A/N: This is a little addition to my ongoing story named Taste Of Shame. This isn't 'canon' in this series.
Do you read? Leave a comment.
MASTERLIST TASTE OF SHAME
They had told her it would be temporary. Three months, maybe four, just until her father settled his debts with the Shelbys, that was the arrangement. Winter had long since passed, and so had spring. Now the trees were losing their leaves again, and she was still here. In the big, empty house.
They never said she couldn’t leave. But no one told her how she could.
Thomas Shelby never offered much information when she cautiously asked only every few months to not anger him. He gave her answers that sounded reasonable enough on the surface. There was unrest, he said. Trouble brewing. An ambush on one of the supply lines. Her father had sent word, yes, but then silence again. Best not to risk sending her out alone and besides, the black mare had taken to her so they needed her in the stables.
It was said like fact, not request. In a matter-of-fact voice he used whenever she asked stupid questions. So she stayed, clenching her teeth in frustration and hopelessness.
Y/n worked. She learned to keep to the edges of the room when the men came in loud and laughing from the Garrison. She stopped asking many questions, learning to appreciate the small gestures coming from the Shelby family. Getting along so well with Ada she'd sometimes leave, spend the night in her house, forgetting about the whole world.
But in Arrow House? She took up her own space in the building with quiet acceptance. Her room was bigger than necessary with several windows, a wooden chest and table that Mr. Shelby had ordered for her. The bed was soft, but it was his.
Like everything around. Everything in her world always belonged to Thomas Shelby.
She ate dinner with them sometimes, when it was expected. Finn would chatter at her, Ada would smile in that distracted way she had. On a good day John and Arthur would argue about something absurd until Polly cut them both off. Polly watched her differently lately. Not unkindly, but like she was trying to solve a puzzle and didn’t yet have all the pieces. Polly grew concerned about Y/n's wellbeing as the time went on. She noticed the way she fit herself into the background of their life.
Tommy barely spoke to her in front of them. Sometimes she wondered why he kept her under his roof? With the clear dislike in his stone cold face expression that made her doubt herself every other day. Made her feel guilty even though he was the one enforcing her daily visits to his office.
So she kept going, everyday after he came back home Frances would come knocking on her door and she knew it was time.
He was brisk, formal, uninterested. If she entered a room, he kept working. If she lingered, his gaze passed right over her. He never sat near or spoke her name more than necessary.
It hadn’t always been like that, once she thought, watching him work when the silence stretched thinner than usual.
The lingering memory of his behaviour early on, that one time she got a glimpse of the devil hiding under his skin. Forced eye to eye with him, his hand wrapped around her throat as she gazed up with her teary eyes, lips wrapped tightly around him.
One time it happened, and then it passed. He never mentioned it. Never touched her again or spoke a word to keep her from unravelling and doubting her own sanity.
Sometimes she wondered if she’d imagined it. The ice in his eyes that turned almost black under the filthy emotions he would never let anyone close to him witness.
If she’d made it up out of nerves or loneliness or some warped version of gratitude. Because he had taken her in. He had kept her safe.
Be grateful, he once said, taking notice in how pale her eyes became.
There were days she barely saw him. And then there were others when she caught him watching her from a distance, always briefly, always blank-faced, like he wasn’t really seeing her at all.
Polly had noticed. She never said it outright, but it was there. In the way her eyes narrowed when Tommy left the room just after Y/N entered it. In the tightness of her mouth when she said, “You’re still here, then?” like she was waiting for someone else to admit why.
But no one ever did, forcing her to smile weakly with a shrug before swiftly steering the conversation elsewhere. She didn't want to anger any of them.
So Y/N kept doing what was expected. She fed the horses before dawn, helped Finn with the ledgers on rainy days, stitched up Charlie's torn shirt sleeves when no one else had time. She kept herself useful and quiet.
That one day she felt even more haunted than usual. Lack of structure and uneasiness, constant anxiety making her feel ill. So she spent the whole day in the stables, accompanied by the creatures that made her feel at least a little bit alive. Crossing the yard she noticed the lack of light in his office window. He wasn't home.
Sighing with relief, she wordlessly climbed the stairs to her own room, taking a bath and lying back in bed. Darkness seemed heavier than ever, making it hard to breathe.
The house was still, the fire long burned down in the sitting room. Wind pressed against the old panes, sighing through the eaves and her candle had guttered out sometime after midnight, but she hadn’t noticed. She’d fallen asleep with the book still open beside her, breath soft and even, one arm curled beneath her pillow.
She didn’t hear the door. Didn’t stir when it opened slowly, silently, on hinges that barely dared to creak.
The figure that stood there did not speak, nor move for several long seconds. Just watched. Standing in the doorway Thomas watched her relaxed face, cheek pressed into her pillow.
The room was dim, only the silvered edges of the moon outlining the frame of her body beneath the blankets. Her hair had fallen across her cheek. One foot stuck out from the covers, twitching faintly in sleep.
She didn't come, disobeying him once more, Thomas thought, letting out a silent chuckle. His eyes felt heavy, but not heavy enough to fight off the sounds. Death, explosions and gunpowder lingering in the air he breathed in. Tommy Shelby could afford anything but peace, seemed like. Tilting his head, breathing in the smoke he watched her. Thousands of thoughts brewing in his mind, making it harder to make any sense out. He drank too much, once again.
He stepped in. Maids had already gone to bed, that much he knew. He subconsciously paid attention, working along his own schedule that nobody had access too. Just him.
Carefully. Like a man crossing into a church after hours, knowing he shouldn’t be there. He didn't belong, even though he owned everything in this house. This city.
The floor didn’t groan beneath his weight, because he was practiced at this. Stealth was a second skin now, after France, after everything. His hand lingered at the edge of the dresser. Not touching. Not quite.
Something in the way she slept had made him jealous, envy of the peace she was so good at finding in her sleep. Something he couldn't do, no matter how hard he tried.
Something in his eyes moved — not desire, not tenderness, but something quieter and slower. Heavier. As if looking at her undid a thread that he hadn’t realized was fraying.
She turned slightly in her sleep, murmuring something he couldn’t make out, unaware he was here again.
In the previous couple times he lingered, it felt wrong. Like his secret, one of many.
He'd stepped back, retreating like smoke, and closed the door behind him with the same silence he had entered and she never woke. In the morning, she would notice nothing out of place. No hint of anything altered. No missing time. She would go down to the stables like always, and he would be by the table again, sleeves rolled, jaw set, speaking to her like she was a stranger again.
But not today. They were coming for him, he could feel it. Someone wanted to take his crown. His place and the life he created. Grinding his teeth hard enough to cause some pain, he closed his eyes feeling numb.
Y/n moved in her sleep lightly, feeling heavy mass caressing her face. Hot breathe bounced against her face, a couple of top buttons coming undone. The other hand pulled the material down, baring her shoulder and collarbone to the darkness of the room. His breath deepened, nose pressing against her skin as he inhaled deeply. Only then did she start waking up, realizing something was wrong.
”What..–” She began asking but got cut off. A firm hand slowly pressed against her windpipe, not enough to actually choke or violate, just as an instruction.
His lips pressed against her temple, pulling her harder against his material covered chest.
”Be quiet, Y/N” He breathed out, pressing his lips against her skin again. Unknowingly to her, Tommy was squeezing his eyes shut so hard it was almost painful. His drunk mind could barely cope with her scent so strong around him, making him dizzy in the worst way possible. ”Just be quiet for me, eh?”
She let out a choked breath, feeling one hand pressing onto one side of her neck, keeping her against him firmly. The other hand grazing over her covered stomach.
He was breathing hard, that one she was sure of.
His breath stuttered against her temple, hands trembling even as they wandered. He didn’t know where to put them, on her waist, neck, tangled in the hem of her nightgown.. so he touched everything. Everything he’d told himself he wouldn’t.
Everything he’d stayed away from like fire. She flinched when his hand slid under the thin fabric and caught on her hip. His thumb rubbed a slow, possessive circles there. His lips ghosted across her hairline.
“You never fucking listen”
His voice was low, ragged.
She tried to speak, but all she managed was, “Mr. Shelby—”
“Don’t,” he breathed sharply. “Don’t call me that. Not now. Not when I—”
He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, inhaling like he could swallow her whole. His fingers gripped harder at her hip, keeping her still.
“You were supposed to come. I told you to come. Every day.” Another breath left his lips, hot and shaky. “But you didn’t.”
He leaned more of his weight into her, forehead pressed to her jaw. She was trembling, whether from cold or fear or something stranger, she couldn’t say. His hand stayed at her hip, rubbing slow, aching circles with his thumb, like trying to soothe a wound that wouldn’t close.
“You're hurting me, Y/N,” he whispered like a secret. “Never listening” Under the influence his voice was more raw, not as detached as most days. Filled with frustration and hurt. Y/n was.. scared. He was breathing hard like a wild animal, almost crushing her with his weight.
“Please, just—” Y/n tried to reason but he shook his head, clenching his jaw.
“No,” he muttered. “No. You owe me this.”
She inhaled sharply when his hand slid from her hip to her stomach, fingertips grazing the edge of her ribs. Still under the nightgown, still shaking.
“I need it,” he added in a broken whisper. “Be good to me, eh?”
She turned her head, trying to put space between them, but he followed. Tommy's lips brushing against her cheek, her ear, her throat like he didn’t care where as long as it was her.
”Apologize” he said, voice trembling. “Tell me you’re sorry for hurting me.”
Her mouth parted, unsure if she was breathing or choking. It was so unlike him, he felt like a ticking bomb.
“Tell me you didn’t mean to disobey me. Tell me you’re sorry for making me wait.” She heard his words, letting out a shaky breath of her own. His words made sense, she figured he was angry at her for not showing up to his office tonight. Yet the words echoed in her head with a double meaning... One she probably made up herself.
He kissed her jaw, hard and needy.
“Say it, Dove. Say you’re sorry and I’ll stop.”
But he didn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t. His hands were everywhere now, still under the gown, roaming like they had a mind of their own. Every time she shifted, his grip tightened.
“I waited all evening,” he mumbled into her skin, again and again. “All bloody evening. Thought you’d come. Thought maybe you finally understood, but you didn’t.” His breath hitched. His hand slid over her lower back, fingers digging into her spine like he was holding on for dear life.
She gasped when his hand shifted, fingers dragging low under the soft cotton of her nightgown until he cupped her fully, possessively, intimately.
Her breath stilled, just like the whole room. Y/n couldn’t even think.
The heat of his palm over her mound pulsed through her like a curse. Not moving, just heavy and claiming. She instinctively squirmed, a pathetic shift of her hips under him, but it only pressed her harder into his hand. He groaned at the sensation, like her resistance pleased him even more.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her jaw, voice low, frayed. “Go on then. Squirm for me.”
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. Her lips parted and the apology slipped out, hoarse and instinctive.
“I’m sorry...”
A shaky exhale left his chest. He didn’t speak for a moment, just pressed a kiss just beneath her eye, where the first tear slid hot across her cheek. Then another, closer to her mouth.
“Don’t cry,” he said roughly, through his teeth. “Don’t fucking cry.”
He was almost on top of her now, his thigh pressing between hers, his weight unmistakable. She could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was clinging to by threads. His hand still hadn’t moved, still held her, warm and firm, thumb brushing the edge of delicate skin with maddening slowness. Like he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m trying,” he growled, lips grazing her cheekbone. “Fuck, Y/N… I’m trying so hard to do the right thing, but you’re making it so fucking difficult.”
She tried to speak, tried to move again, but the sensation was too much. Too intimate and real. One she never felt before.
“You’re driving me mad,” he whispered, continuing, almost to himself now. Tommy's nose nudged against her temple. His hand finally moved just a fraction, but the barest pressure of his palm pushing against the heat of her, and her whole body jerked in response.
He didn’t stop. He couldn't stop.
“Tell me again,” he rasped. “Tell me you’re sorry.” Making her heart beat faster. Y/n never understood why he was doing this. Why he kept making her apologize like this ever since she started living here.
Her tears kept falling slow at first, then faster, soaking into the pillow beside her head. She couldn’t stop them any more than she could stop the heat that curled low in her stomach, making everything worse.
“You’re drunk,” she whispered. “Please, Mr. Shelby—”
His hand snapped up, covering her mouth in an instant.
“Don’t call me that,” he hissed into her skin, his voice low and desperate. Thomas pressed his lips to her throat. Just breath and pressure, like he needed to feel her pulse against his mouth to stay grounded.
“Say my name,” he whispered against her skin. “Say it.”
Y/n shook her head under his hand, wide-eyed, tears still falling freely. Feeling it, he groaned– a sound from deep in his chest, heavy with frustration and something darker and just then his hand moved.
Still between her legs, still cupping her… but now he was touching.
His palm ground softly, deliberately, over the bundle of nerves through the thin fabric. A lazy, maddening circle.
“You’re not listening,” he breathed, the tip of his nose dragging along her collarbone. “And that’s what gets us here every fucking time.”
She wanted to ask him what the fuck he meant every time, but she couldn't force a sound out. Just a weak whimper beneath his palm.
His other hand, the one still over her mouth flexed slightly, holding her still and possessive. Like he needed her quiet so he could justify this to himself.
“Stop crying,” he murmured. “Stop fucking crying, Y/n. I’m just… touching.” The circles didn’t stop, soft and slow. The kind of touch that persuaded and made her body react without permission.
“I’m showing you affection,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Trying to be good to you.”
Another tear slipped down her cheek and he leaned in and kissed it, just beside the corner of her mouth.
“You keep acting like I’m a monster,” he whispered. “But I’m the only one who’s ever seen you, Y/N.” His breath was ragged and the wetness of her cheek smeared against his lips.
“I’m the only one who cares. And you—you just keep pushing me away.”
The hand between her legs moved more deliberately now. Still slow, still gentle and almost reverent, but this time, it meant something.
The pressure of his palm grew — slow, hypnotic circles that tightened her stomach and made her thighs twitch without her consent. The tension spiraled, unbearable and thick, like something coiled tight inside her chest and hips all at once.
She didn’t want it. She didn’t want him, but her body didn’t care.
“That’s it,” he whispered, lips grazing her neck. “Just let go.”
Y/n was trembling beneath him, her mouth still covered, eyes wide and wet as the heat bloomed and twisted. His voice was low, hoarse, possessive and curled through her like smoke. His breath shuddered against her cheek. His hand didn’t stop.
Then.. as she broke and the first wave of release hit her with blinding heat, his teeth sank into her neck. Sharp and hard.
“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as she tensed and whimpered into his palm, body jerking in his grip. “That’s it. Good girl. Good fucking girl.”
She shattered under him, completely helpless, silent except for the choked sound in her throat. Her tears kept falling, even as her thighs trembled and her hips rocked faintly against his hand.
Thomas didn’t speak or move. Just breathed.
When her orgasm finally faded into aftershocks, his hand stilled. Slowly, he pulled it from her underwear. Slick with the evidence of everything he’d done, of what she’d felt. Of what he made her feel.
He pressed that wet hand to her hip, smearing the warmth across her skin like a brand.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured again, quieter this time. Almost gentle.
His breathing was ragged when he buried his face in the crook of her neck for a moment, inhaling like he was trying to memorize her from the inside out. Her pulse and scent.
When he finally steadied, Tommy pulled back just enough to press a soft kiss to her damp forehead. Then touched his own to hers.
“Go to sleep,” he whispered.
Y/n blinked up at him, tears still tracking silently down her face. In the darkness she couldn't see his expression, only the outline of his face.
He stood without another word, hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to shake something off. He crossed the room in a few steps, paused in the doorway with his hand braced against the frame, and didn’t look back.
If he did, Thomas knew he wouldn’t leave.
The sheets stuck to her thighs when she woke. That was the first thing Y/n registered before her eyes even opened, before the pale morning light filtered in through the window. Her skin was damp, uncomfortable. Sticky between her legs.
Y/N blinked slowly, chest rising in a shallow breath as she looked around the room. Nothing was out of place. Her nightgown was still on, rumpled and slightly twisted around her hips. The air was quiet, thick with the scent of Tommy’s cologne from the night before as a subtle, lingering trace on the pillow beside her.
Slowly she sat up, and her thighs clenched involuntarily at the slick ache there. It wasn’t a dream.bThe realization hit her like a stone dropped in her stomach.
Dragging herself out of bed, she moved to the bathroom and flicked on the light. For a moment, she stared blankly at her reflection. Face pale, tired, lips parted. The corners of her eyes were puffy from dried tears. Her hair hung messily around her shoulders.
Then she tilted her head and her breath caught.
On her neck, above the collarbone, deep and unmistakably real bruise. Not just any bruise... Teeth marks. Faint purple spreading beneath the skin in a crescent shape.
She stared at it for a long time. Pressed her fingers gently to the skin, wincing. Tried to wipe it off with a wet cloth as if it were dirt, something temporary, something that could be erased, but it didn’t fade.
When she came down to the dining room, the long oak table was empty.
One of the maids — Anna, glanced up from her sweeping. “Oh,” she said, surprised. “Good morning, Y/n. Mr. Shelby left very early. Said he wouldn’t be back until late.”
Y/N gave a tight nod. Her voice didn’t come.
Anna hesitated, brow furrowing. “You alright, darling?”
In response she just forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, nodded and slipped past her without answering.
Even though she was used to him being gone most of the day, Arrow House still felt too quiet.
By late afternoon, Y/N had tucked herself into a corner of the sitting room with a book trying to read, though she hadn’t turned a page in over an hour. She kept glancing at the clock and thinking she’d hear the engine of his car outside.
Why was she waiting for him? Was it anxiety, fear or a weird... Excitement? She couldn't tell, maybe a mix of all three. Kept wondering what she’d say if he walked in.
If he’d say anything at all.
She didn’t hear Polly until the older woman cleared her throat softly by the doorway making Y/N jump slightly.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Polly said, holding a thin envelope in one hand. “Thomas asked me to drop these papers in his office.”
Y/N nodded slowly, setting the book down on her lap. Polly didn’t move right away, her sharp eyes swept over the room, then landed on Y/N’s face. She moved across the living room swiftly before her eyes caught on her neck and exposed collarbone.
Her gaze froze, just like her step.
Y/N realized too late that her nightgown neckline had shifted again and that the bruise was fully visible now, unhidden and damning in the light of day. Polly’s lips parted and eyes widened, then darkened in slow understanding.
Unable to hold up the heavy gaze, Y/n looked away and that was the only confirmation Polly needed.
She stepped forward not fast, but deliberate but her movements were stiff and controlled. Her hand tightened around the envelope.
“You’re leaving,” Polly said.
Y/N’s head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise and the suddenness. “What?”
“You’ll pack your things,” she said, voice harder now. “You’ll be gone before nightfall.”
“I—I don’t understand—”
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Polly snapped, her composure slipping just for a second. Her voice wasn’t cruel it was furious in a quiet, protective way. “You think I don’t know what happened? You think I haven’t seen this before?”
Y/N’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Polly strode across the room, opened the drawer of a desk, and pulled out a thick wad of notes, mostly tens and twenties, folded neatly into a leather pouch. She shoved it into Y/N’s hand.
“That’s a hundred pounds. That’ll get you out of Birmingham. Keep your head down. Don’t look back.” Y/N stared at her, wide-eyed, numb.
“But I didn’t—” she started to say, but Polly’s look silenced her. I know, her eyes showed. She sighed deeply, putting a hand over Y/n's shoulder with concern.
“I told him not to bring you here. I told him he wasn’t ready, but he never listens. And now look.”
Y/N’s fingers clenched around the pouch. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“I know it wasn’t,” Polly said, softer this time. “Which is why I’m giving you the chance to walk out of this with your soul intact.”
Silence was almost deafening. Y/N’s throat tightened and her vision blurred again. Polly looked at her for one long second. Her gaze wasn’t cold, it was sad. There was something like guilt flickering behind her eyes.
“This family breaks everything it touches,” Polly whispered. “Go now, before he finishes breaking you.”
When Thomas Shelby walked through the front door, the house was quiet. Not unusually so, just quiet enough to make him pause in the hallway for a second longer than usual. He took off his coat, hung it neatly, and headed toward the sitting room where a faint rustling could be heard.
Polly was there. Reading a newspaper she hadn’t looked at for more than ten seconds.
“Pol,” he greeted her In a smooth, tired voice, giving her a nod while lighting another cigarette. It was a long day.
She nodded. “Tommy.”
He glanced at the clock, then toward the hallway. “Has Y/N been up?” Thomas wanted to know, being aware of her difficulties with following instructions.
“She was,” Polly said without looking up. He blinked with another nod. Inhaling the smoke for a longer moment before letting it out.
“Tell one of the girls to send her to my office. It's time.”
One of the maids started to move from the kitchen, but Polly raised her hand. “No need.” Tommy turned slowly toward her with his eyebrow cocked. Polly folded the newspaper deliberately and set it on the armrest. “She’s gone.”
Silence.
His jaw shifted once. “Gone where?” Tommy's voice sounded a little different suddenly, a little lower and more gravelly.
“I sent her away. Back to her father.” Her voice was flat, purposeful. “Where she belongs.” You knew. He saw it in her eyes. Saw the truth snap into place between them like glass breaking under foot.
His nostrils flared, his facial expression neutral besides the tension. “Without asking me?”
“I didn’t need to ask.” She responded, her voice harsh as she tilted her head up. Meeting his gaze. ”She had to go. She doesn't belong here, Thomas.”
Followed by a pause, and then something sharp passed behind his eyes. Picking the cigarette from between his lips he tossed it into the ashtray a little harder than necessary. He nodded once and walked out of the room without another word.
Fifteen minutes later, every Shelby still breathing was gathered in the dining room. John. Arthur. Ada. Finn. And Michael, who looked more confused than the rest. Tommy entered last, sleeves rolled up, waistcoat perfect.
He stood at the head of the table, straightened his back and then... sighed.
“Right,” he said, checking the time on his gold watch.
Everyone felt the tension radiating off of him, the atmosphere shifting but then... then he smiled.
That smile that stretched on his face was the last thing anyone would associate with happiness. The empty, black stare etched into his features was horrifying.
The kind of smile that meant someone was going to bleed.
With one smooth motion, Tommy drew the revolver from his coat and without warning pressed it against the side of Michael’s head. Everyone froze, eyes turning into saucers.
Michael’s body went stiff. “What the fuck—?!”
Seeing the scene unfold, Arthur stood up. “Tommy—” But he cut him off with a hand in the air.
“Don’t,” Tommy said quietly. “Don’t fucking move.”
Ada’s voice cracked as she remained unmoving in her seat. Looking up at him with her eyes wide open in shock. “Tommy, Jesus Christ, what is this?”
But his eyes didn’t leave Polly’s, locked in a stare.
“You have about ten seconds,” Tommy said calmly, almost conversationally, “to tell me where she is before I blow the back of this little fucker’s head all over the wall.” His voice wasn't tense or angry, it was... Something else. Like the rest of sanity in his head broke with a snap. A voice of a man who spent four years digging tunnels and killing men with his own hands. Of a cold hearted murderer who sent hundreds of people to the cut.
Michael’s breath hitched. “Are you fucking mental?!”
Tommy didn’t blink, not once.
“One.”
“Tommy—” Polly started.
“Two.”
“Put the gun down, you bastard!” She screamed in fear and frustration, trying to judge whether he was bluffing.
“Three.”
Polly stepped forward, voice shaking now. “You wouldn’t.” she said with confidence but then.. Tommy’s grin widened.
“Four.”
“Tommy!” Arthur barked, not daring to move. John was completely silent the whole time.
“Five.”
“She’s gone!” Polly shouted, eyes locked to the barrel. “She’s gone and you’re never seeing her again!”
“Six.”
Tommy’s hand didn’t tremble. Michael was sweating, teeth clenched, jaw tight with fear.
“Seven.”
“Tommy, he’s your family—”
“Eight.”
He shifted the gun slightly, his eyes remaining locked on Polly's as he pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked through the room like thunder, plaster and dust exploded from the wall just inches from Michael’s head. A clean hole, sharp-edged and smoking.
Michael gasped, jerking violently in his seat, face pale, eyes blown wide with fear but Tommy didn’t flinch. He simply moved the gun back to Michael’s head, pressing it against his temple.
“Nine.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ada screamed and only then Polly lost it, hearing the fucking click.
“You fucking madman!” she roared, lunging forward. “You fucking psycho! Get away from him! That’s my son!” She shoved at his chest, hands trembling with rage. “You sick bastard! She’s in Surrey! She’s with her father! She’s gone, Tommy!” Her voice cracked as she pointed at him, hands shaking and her eyes narrowing in contempt. “And it’s your own goddamn fault.”
Silence fell again, heavy and sickening as Tommy stared at her, blank-faced. Breathing through his nose like he was still counting.
The barrel of the gun dropped. His arm went limp at his side. He turned toward the others, sweeping the room with one cold, empty glance.
“Meeting’s over,” he said.
The rhythmic clatter of the wheels was the only sound Y/N could focus on.
She stared out the window, hands tight in her lap, knuckles white against the fabric of her coat. Fields blurred past, but her reflection in the glass remained crystal clear: pale face, wide eyes, and a bruise on her neck she tried to cover with a silk scarf that didn’t match anything she owned.
She hadn’t eaten or slept.
All she could think was he’ll move on.
But still—
her stomach twisted in fear every time the train slowed.. and then it stopped. Too hard.
The passengers jolted, suitcases tumbled, a baby cried somewhere down the aisle. There were murmurs, concerned faces, people glancing around for announcements.
Then the conductor’s voice crackled overhead.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the sudden stop. There’s been an… issue on the tracks ahead. An obstruction, possibly an explosion. No injuries reported, but we’re required to stop the train. For safety.”
Y/N’s breath caught. The murmuring grew louder. Obstruction? Explosion? Her fingers gripped the seat.
The cars were being evacuated. Staff moved fast, ushering people out onto the gravel and field beside the line. They said it was precaution, just a delay.
But her body said otherwise and her instincts screamed.
She hauled her suitcase behind her, pushing through the crowd of elderly passengers, children clinging to mothers, people muttering about lost schedules. Something was wrong. She felt it in her spine. In her lungs.
The air was too thick, almost suffocating and she tried to push her way through the right crowd.
Y/n moved faster, chest tight, eyes darting scanning the crowd for what she didn’t want to see. Run, she thought, and then someone shoved her.
Not hard but just enough to knock her off balance. She tripped forward with a startled gasp and fell straight into someone’s arms.
She opened her mouth to apologize, panic already rising.. and froze.
That moustache. Those rough hands. The unmistakable grip on her shoulders, grounding her like a steel trap.
“Arthur,” she whispered, breathless. Terrified.
He didn’t smile or say hello. Just stared at her with grim eyes and pulled her up like she weighed nothing.
“We need to go,” he said, already tugging her toward the edge of the crowd. “There’s no time to lose.”
She stumbled behind him, the gravel tearing at her shoes. Her suitcase rolled, half-dragged. Her chest was tight, and the tears came again, sudden, hot and furious.
“No,” she said. “I can’t—what are you—”
“Don’t fight me,” Arthur said. “Not here.”
She didn’t even know if she was fighting. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. Just a blur of panic and shock and... something worse.
Something she didn’t want to admit.
The... relief.
Somewhere in that horror, that chaos — knowing he’d come for her, again, her gut clenched not only in fear, but in something close to recognition. She hated herself for it. Hated her chest for loosening. Hated that deep down she knew.. He never would’ve let her go.
Arthur shoved open the back door of the black car parked just off the path.
“He’s waiting,” Arthur said, as if that explained everything. “You’ve got five minutes before he gets tired of being nice.”
Y/N blinked up at him, rain starting to hit her face.
“Nice?” she echoed, her voice cracking. “You blew up a train track.”
Arthur just looked at her. “You don’t know what he’d blow up.”
The rain hadn’t stopped.
Y/N sat silently in the backseat, hands clenched around the wet scarf in her lap, the bruise on her neck still pulsing under her skin. Arthur didn’t say anything for the first few minutes. Just drove.
Then, finally, his voice broke the silence.
“You’re lucky, y’know.” He mused. She didn’t respond.
He glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “If I’d been five minutes later… they’d be scraping what’s left of that train off the trees.”
Y/n's eyes snapped to meet his, and her stomach turned.
“The steering car,” he said flatly. “That’s what he rigged. Front of the fuckin’ line. Driver wouldn’t’ve known a thing.”
Tears spilled again. Quiet, steady. Shame and fear tangled in her throat.
”Why?” She asked quietly, her throat tightening.
Arthur sighed and rubbed his face. “He hasn’t slept since you left. Put a gun to Michael's head.”
Y/N wrapped her arms around herself in a small hug, fearful and concerned as she whispered, “He’s not well.”
Arthur gave a bitter laugh. “He hasn’t been well since France.”
The silence stretched into a couple moments. Then he added a little softer:
“But this? This is new” He murmured. ”I don't know what happened, but.. it's Tommy. There's no changing his mind. ”
He looked at her again, eyes dark.
“There’s no line he won’t cross, I'm afraid.”
Frances nearly yanked the bedroom door open before Y/N could knock.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. “Come in, quickly now.”
She moved like a woman on the edge of breaking protocol. Still composed, still proper, but trembling just enough to show she knew what Tommy had become in Y/N’s absence.
Y/N stepped inside, soaked and stiff. Her luggage was already there. Frances moved fast, unzipping, sorting, folding. She laid things out neatly on the bed, working with mechanical precision.
“He wants to see you,” Frances said, eyes fixed on the drawer she was filling. “In his office. Immediately.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “I just got here—”
“He’s been waiting.” Frances finally looked at her. “You should go now.”
She paused for a moment, looking at her with worry and.. pity. Then added quietly:
“I’ll finish this.”
Y/N nodded, feeling numb. She turned toward the door, hands trembling again.
Walking down the stairs felt like an eternity. Her legs burned from the run with her heavy luggage and from the uncomfortable position she sat in the car.
She didn’t knock.
Her feet were bare, soaked against the hardwood. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, rain dripping down her arms, hair tangled and half-plastered to her face. She looked small, already crying before the door even closed behind her.
Tommy stood behind the bar cart near the window, a crystal decanter in his hand. He didn’t turn around, just poured the amber liquid into two glasses. One for him. One for her.
“Why are you crying?”
His voice was calm and tired. Like he hadn’t spoken in hours and didn’t want to waste words now.
She tried to answer, but the sob in her chest caught on her throat. Her lips pressed together tightly, as if silence could undo everything.
“Because i'm scared,” she finally whispered.
He turned then to look at her. His eyes were ruthless in how exhausted they looked, deep shadows under them, lids heavy, bloodshot, and yet still burning into her.
“You should be,” he said.
He took a slow sip of whiskey, then walked toward his chair. Sat. He didn’t offer her the guest seat. Didn’t ask her to sit.
He didn’t have to, this time.
She stayed standing with arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
“A year ago,” Tommy said, watching the fire flicker across the glass in his hand, “you asked me to trust you.”
She bit her lip, fresh tears falling.
“I did,” she whispered. He raised his eyes to her again.
“And now that trust is broken.”
His voice wasn’t angry. It was quiet, Matter-of-fact and that made it worse.
“Come here.” She hesitated. “Closer.”
She stepped forward, each movement stiff like she was walking into something sharp. She stopped just in front of him, unsure where to place her hands. He set the glass down, then reached for her wrist.
“Look at me.”
She did, and what she saw unraveled something inside her — he was frayed. Hollowed. His pupils too wide. His breath too slow. He hasn’t slept, not a minute.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. Thomas didn't respond, he just pulled her gently, but firmly, into his lap and her breath caught.
His hand cupped her cheek. Rough thumb brushing away a tear.
“You never fucking listen,” he murmured. His tone was almost loving and that made it unbearable. He pressed her head against his chest, fingers in her wet hair, breathing in the scent of her like a dying man who’d found air.
“You disappointed Mr. Shelby, Y/N.” He said quietly, lips pressed into her hairline.
“I know,” she whispered.
Then the room fell silent before minutes later his fingers tightened in her hair.
She gasped softly as he tilted her head back exposing the delicate line of her throat. Her hands pressed to his chest but she didn’t push. His nose grazed her skin, and Tommy inhaled deeply, slow and possessive.
His face pressed to the crook of her neck, lips barely touching.
“Did you run because I touched you, Dove?” he asked in a low tone, warning her to be truthful.
The answer clawed at her throat. She wanted to say yes. Wanted to scream, scratch and escape, but she couldn’t lie. Not to him.
“No,” she whispered.
Hearing it, Tommy hummed softly against her skin. Something low. Dark. Like satisfaction wrapped in velvet. His hands slid to her hips, anchoring her.
“I lied,” he said, so quiet it barely reached her ears. “Saying it was temporary. Saying you’d go home one day. I lied, Y/N.” The honey-like tone of his voice was contrary to his cruel words. His lips brushed her skin as he added. “You’re not going anywhere.”
His voice coiled around her like a noose, and she just sat there, breath trembling, his scent overwhelming her, her whole body held still by the gentle cage of his hands.
Y/n was absolutely frightened, both by her reaction to his touch and the words leaving his mouth. She expected everything, violence, screaming or cruel words. She knew how explosive his anger was, but this... This was different. She didn't expect his lips on her neck and gentle tone. No matter how horrifying the content of his words was, her mind wasn't functioning properly.
”I'm sorry, Mr. Shelby” She repeated the one thing she could barely remember. His breathing was heavier, and the memory of her last night in the Arrow House hit her once again. The way his bodyweight felt on top of her, his hands greedily touching every inch he could get to. Desperation hidden between each letter and something so... Human, so utterly contradictory to how he carried himself on daily.
Maybe he wasn’t the devil, she thought at the moment.
Her eyes fluttered shut under the heavy sensation, and that's when he suddenly got up. Hands holding her hips tightly as he moved across the room. One of his hands moved onto her throat, holding it firmly but not squeezing. His eyes locked onto hers.
”Tommy” He whispers, his lips brushing against hers. ”You're a big girl, Y/n. Call me by my name” Thomas demanded, pressing her against him.
He knew he should have pulled away, stop before everything unravels. He couldn't force himself to listen. ”I want to fucking hear you say it.” He said in a low tone through his teeth, the fury in him growing. How could you fucking run away?
Y/n shook her head, trying to get some distance but he didn't let her. He kept her pressed against his chest, teeth grazing her skin.
”Don't make me repeat myself” He said quietly and she squirmed in fear.
”Tommy” She breathed out, wanting to appease him. Pushing through the doorway to his bedroom, Tommy groaned hearing it, leaning forward and pushing her onto the bed.
”Good girl” He said lowly, his eyes darkening with a raw need. He pawed at her wet clothes, peeling the layers away with impatience. ”Good fucking girl”
Y/n's eyes fell shut at the praise. She let him take and take, and take. His hands were everywhere and Y/n heard his belt buckle hitting the floor. Panic grew inside her making her hands shake.
”Wait, I–” She tried to tell him but Thomas didn't let her.
”Quiet, Y/N.” He hissed, pressing his forehead against hers. ”I can't wait, I'm sorry, I can't fucking wait anymore.” He gritted through his teeth, as his fingers rubbed small circles into her pussy, making her gasp.
Y/n wanted to regain some deniability. To tell him to stop, push at his chest or... Or just stop clutching onto his shoulders, but she couldn't. The filthy wetness was echoing loudly throughout the room as he slid his fingers into her untouched pussy. How ready and willing for him.
”You're not leaving ever again.” He groaned into her lips, pulling his fingers out as he freed himself from his tight trousers. Using the wetness to pump his length as he looked her in the eyes. Pure sin shining in his eyes, luring Y/n in. Without waiting another moment he notched his tip against her entrance, his hand catching her wrists and holding them above her head. His eyes were almost black as he couldn't tear the gaze away from her lips.
She squeezed her eyes tightly, holding her breath for the upcoming pain. Her body trembled with fear as she anticipated the feeling of violent agony. Of being used till he'd lose interest and she'd be left to bleed for days, like her mum.
Thomas watches her pained expression, one of his hands cupping her cheek. Baring his teeth in the extreme effort to stay still and not move while she adjusted to the stretch.
”Breathe,” He whispered, holding her hips tightly. After several moments she sighed quietly, her tight walls pulsing around him with pleasure. Feeling it, he finally moved pulling back before pushing deep into her.
She didn’t know where her pain ended and her desire began. He blurred every line and rewrote every rule. His thumb wiped her cheek lightly, his lips pressing against her temple. ”Don't cry, Y/N. He whispered, before his fingers found her clit again, rubbing her towards the edge.
Y/n's back arched off the bed, her eyes were squeezed shut at the sensations. She wasn’t sure who she’d be after this, only that she wasn’t going to be untouched ever again.
”Please–” She whined weakly, unable to stay quiet. She didn't know what she was begging for, her body was like dough in his hands. Hearing it, Tommy groaned again as his hips began bucking into her harder and faster. With each thrust he was going a little too deep, making her moan weakly at the top of each movement. His hips smacked against her own, taking her with desperation bordering on obsession.
He roughly wrapped his hand around her neck, pulling her off of the bed.
”If you ever try to leave again...” His voice sounded almost inhuman with the intensity behind his words. ”I'll tie you to this bed and set this house on fire”
The threat hung in the air between them, but Y/n couldn't think of a single word to respond. He wants me to stay, echoed in her head as he pressed his lips against hers. He wasn't just kissing her, Tommy was devouring every inch of her being.
She felt herself hanging on the edge again as he licked into her mouth and biting her bottom lip, causing her to taste copper. His sounds became louder, cursing under his breath in a language she didn't know.
Suddenly it all made sense when he pulsed and swelled, stretching her further. His face twisted in animalistic pleasure.
”N–not inside–” She tried to tell him but he pushed even deeper, making her wince as he hissed. His wet lips pressed against her jaw again, whispering.
”I'm sorry, love. I can't... Can't stop–” He bit down on the already bruised skin, breaking it as his hips pressed against her own, bottoming out.
Y/n whimpered, feeling the warmth filling her up, deeper with each movement of his hips. He soothed the blood with his tongue, bringing immediate relief.
She felt sore and stretched around him, her muscles still tensing in the aftermath of her strong climax.
He didn’t move, didn’t pull out. Just stayed there, buried so deep she could barely breathe, his hand splayed low on her belly like he already owned what might grow inside.
“We’ll keep going,” he murmured against her throat, voice rough with spent need. “Again and again. Until it takes.”
Her breath caught. Tommy sighed, a smile growing on his face, soft, reverent and unhinged.
“You’re going to carry my child, Y/N. My name. My blood. My fucking legacy.”
He kissed her temple, almost tenderly, caressing her cheek.
”i'm sorry, love. You will never be free of me” He whispered. ”Maybe I am the devil after all.”
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My GOD tommy in glasses WILL be the death of me
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Okay people, in a couple hours time I'm gonna post a one shot, kind of an addition to Taste Of Shame. It will NOT be part of the plot, just a little something that came to my head.
Got it? Great. Then clutch your pearls and wait
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Return To Sender (Part Two/Dark!Tommy)
Summary: Sat in front of the man you had done everything in your power to have an interview with, nerves finally nibble at the last of your confidence as he calls you out on your daring letter, now perched between his fingers. But when the first hurdle begins to cool, you soon realise that he has absolutely no intention of playing fairly, pushing you to storm out with a fiery goodbye, one you'd relay back to Dottie that in turn sparks a daring suggestion from your boss on how to entice Tommy into talking. Business unfinished, the article still needing to be written, you embark on a dangerous game under the watchful gaze of Tommy's eyes on the outside world.
Warnings: Language, Dark!Tommy, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, delusional take on love, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, stalking, angst.
Word Count: 3.5K
[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]
Sat facing the very man you'd gone to great lengths to secure an interview with, a breath of silence choked all the bravado from you. All that willful, strong-headed confidence, stripped away from your polished appearance as your eyes drifted unsteadily to the letter between his fingers, tapping in time to the beat of his heart along the table's edge.
"I...you were never..." you swallowed back the last of your crumbling reserve, your voice breaking with a nervous titter as his unyielding eyes studied every muscle tightening in your flushed face, silent amusement flickering in them before he finally granted you mercy.
" You'll have to forgive me for taking so long to get back to you, Y/N. I've had my hands...full" he spoke lightly, spoke your name just as casually as if all common etiquette and formality left the moment your heels stepped into his territory, onto his terms.
" Although...not as full as your letter promised" came the weight, the dreaded misstep you'd made, the searing sting of overzealous ambition as you watched his lips curl into a whisper of a smirk.
"That letter was in jest, Mr. Shelby. It was never supposed to be seen by anyone. To ever reach you" your voice tightened, hands clasped in your lap as you met his eyes, his teasing smile unforgiving of your scrambling attempts to save face.
"And yet here I am, with your bit of fun between my fingers, and I'm not laughing, sweetheart" he scolded you, tightening the noose of embarrassment one last notch with clear enjoyment as his tongue rolled against the roof of his mouth, waiting to see how much you'd squirm, if that bite he felt in your written words was still fresh enough to play along with him.
Eyes locked in a push of power, Tommy eased himself into the back of his creaking chair, legs slowly widening in both invitation and challenge before you faltered, and he witnessed your bluffing hand fold.
And as predicted, your head rose above his glaring eyes, spine adjusting your posture against your splintering backbone as Tommy cocked a brow at his bait, his invitation gracefully refused. For now.
" Shall we begin, Mr. Shelby" you cleared your throat, polished nails dragging your prepped questions from their folder as his heated stare filed every minute movement you made, cataloguing them to call upon when needed.
" Just need to go over a few minor things first, Y/N" his voice took on the measured calm of a businessman as he pulled a cigarette from the crumpled packet in front of him.
Match striking against the table's weathered wood, Tommy's eyes were set ablaze by a single flame as he cupped his hand, shielding the rolled tobacco from the steady draft that came from being caged below the earth's ground.
" Papers" he nodded through the first clouded breath of smoke to your bag sat atop the small table, eyes lingering on your slender fingers as they threaded through the leather satchel, searching for your credentials.
" Closer..." his voice darkened, eyes fixed on you without pause as you pushed into your heel, the sculpted leather snapping against your foot as you shifted forward, raising the document in your hand.
"...clos-er" he toyed each syllable out as you folded under his piercing eyes, leaning in a breath too near to the line of professionalism you were inching precariously over.
And just like that, you broke the first rule as you presented your personal information to his dragging eyes slowly moving from yours to the document in front of him, logging your address, age, everything but your dress size to memory.
" One last thing. For my own safety" he taunted with a raised brow, mocked the idea of you being a threat to him, Thomas Shelby, puppet master of Birmingham's underworld, as he reached for a typed paper on his bedside table.
" What is this?" you leaned forward, eyes flicking over the document in front of you too slow for just a quick glance before Tommy's arm came across the printed paper, palm turned and waiting.
" Pen" his fingers demanded, drawing out the moment on his time, on his watch as you broke the second rule by handing him the staple shaped stationary. It's sharp metal frame, well beyond what the prison deemed acceptable for a building full of pick-locking, murderous criminals.
" Just a bit of red tape. Something for my lawyer to wave around, to say I wasn't strong-arming an innocent civilian in my favour" he turned the pen slowly between his fingers, offering it to you as you squinted through hesitant eyes, trying to make out the typed words hidden under his arm.
" Iris, vanilla..." he murmured the notes of your perfumed letter that had settled in the muggy air with a toying smirk. Keeping your apprehensions at bay long enough for you to sign your name as your eyes snapped up from the document to see the calculated cruelty in his.
" And something a little sweeter. Can't quite put my finger on it...yet" his teasing turned sinister to unsettle you, to make you lose your grip on your high horse of crumbling bravado, with an unspoken promise to find that weakness, that one thing that would make you release the reins of control.
" Work hazard" you quipped back, finding your footing while blindly signing your name to bring an end to his hunt for more ground.
" Sweetheart, you drenched yourself over your words" his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth with amusement, lips salivating at the scent of you as his burning touch brushed over the tips of your fingers, slipping the paper from beneath your hovering hands.
Rule number three broken, your hooded eyes slowly rose from the leaking ink staining the tips of your fingers as his lingering touch embedded itself into the flesh that had willingly signed more than any mere legal document.
Met with the smug satisfaction of a hand well played plastered across his face, you watched as he filed your life safely away into his pocket with a statement that now sent a chill up your spine.
" Now then, Y/N. Let's make this riveting piece worth it"
One long, torturous hour had passed, a stretched fraction of time where Tommy dodged, skimmed, and flat-out refused to answer a single question you laid bare. For he was a new contender in the long game you had started, and you had suddenly found yourself on the losing side just as Dottie had predicted, all while an insufferable smirk stared back at you with unmistakable amusement.
He was enjoying it. Enjoying it far too much.
" No comment" Tommy leaned the weight of his body into the back of his chair as a breath of smoke settled above the wooden divide, the only barrier between you and the line of indiscretion you had already dipped your toes in.
" Mr. Shelby, you're not under police questioning" your lips parted with a faint, exasperated breath as your cheeks flushed with frustration under his watchful gaze, under his hawk eyes, observant enough to notice the glisten of gloss at the corners of your cherry stained lips, the stretch of your buttoned blouse pressing against your chest with every breath you took.
"Aren't I?" he crooned with heavy eyes, lazy lids dragging his gaze down with a suppressed need for relief no man could find behind ceiling to floor iron bars.
As silence bent and contorted around you with a suffocating unease, Tommy sat back, basking in the unspoken tension he'd left in the air with eyes locked firmly on you as the dripping leak in the corner, echoed each passing second against the cobbled ground.
"Born and bred in Birmingham, then?" he cut through the silence, the list of questions you had yet to ask, with his own set of curiosities as his eyes drifted to the single strand of hair, clinging to the corner of your glossy lips.
" Yes."
"Now, do you believe that your charges truly represent your alleged crime?" you shifted from his diversions with a clipped answer, fingers failing to find the whisper of hair caught on the edge of your mouth as he steered the conversation back to you.
" Slums or city?" he snapped back with another question, head tilting enough for his eyes to drag down your fitted skirt, clinging to the curve of your hip. Too prim, too proper for any girl still living the hard life of a raised street kid. But not polished enough for him to believe you'd outgrown the back alleys you both knew by heart.
" City." You lied.
"Mr. Shelby, please. All I have is your name written down" you voiced, wearied from the cat and mouse game he was hell-bent on amusing himself with as you trailed away from your abrupt response.
"That'll just about do it then, eh? Thomas Shelby, OBE...ABC. Gangster playboy" he smirked, headlining your article with a cigarette perched between his fingers in front of you as you huffed with frustration, your attempts to hook that rebellious strand of hair from your lips becoming bothersome, when he suddenly reached across the table grabbing your wrist.
"Just think, love. It'll fly off the news stand" his eyes narrowed, grip slowly slackened for his fingers to slide over your knuckles to brush the whisper of hair from the corner of your mouth as a cold shock crawled down your spine, a breath caught in your lungs.
Shoulders stiffening, chest heaving, you felt his hand fall from your face as you watched his eyes soften for the briefest of moments with something dangerously tender, something that caught you off guard.
" You look stressed, Y/N" he leaned slowly into the back of his chair, mouth parting with a softening voice of concern that had your skin prickle with heat, a jittery unease curl in your chest at the unexpected hand he'd suddenly dealt.
" A stay at his Majesty's Inn can do wonders for that" a breathy scoff rumbled from his chest at his less than comfortable confides, as your wired eyes shifted to the sound of his shackled ankles and the pacing scuff marks he'd made in his stay.
" Clearly..." that withheld bite, that defiant blaze within you came out quicker than you could stop it as Tommy's brow arched, dulling the softness he'd let slip with darkening eyes, watching yours flick away as your body shuddered under the weight of his heavy arms falling onto the table.
" You should get your fella to ease that tension off your shoulders, sweetheart" his words came out fueled, sharp-edged as his demeanour whiplashed you with its sudden change like a slap in the dark.
' I don't have a fella" you threw back too fast, too defensively, without caution to his listening ears. You were unprotected, alone in a city of wolves with its pack leader at arms reach of it's new prey. And now he knew.
" Is that so?" his eyes narrowed, lips tightening at the edge of his mouth into an amused smirk as your heart thudded traitorously against your chest, and you began the scrambling climb back up your high horse from the fall that had rattled you.
" You were arrested on June the 7th this year at your residence and childhood home, number 6 Watery Lane, no?" you swiftly flipped back the turned tables swaying in Tommy's favour with the precision of a seasoned journalist, firing a succession of rapid questions to seize back control.
" No comment" Tommy turned his head, bored, uninterested in the topic of conversation as your inquiries picked up.
"You worked under the IRA and the Crown, feeding both sides with information. But you were betrayed?" you didn't stop as you steered away from the questions you had prepped, watching the tethered muscles in his jaw coil tight, his eyes seeping blackness as they bore into you.
" No comment"
" Who was the man that gave you in?" you pushed, and pushed, chest heaving with each defiant response he threw back at you as the slither of charged space between you began to sizzle.
" No comment.
" One of your own?"
"No comment. No comment...No comment"
" You've wasted my time today" you abruptly stood to your feet, your heavy breaths filing the air, adding music to Tommy's amusement as your wooden chair scraped back along the bricked cobblestone.
" I'll see you tomorrow instead, then" he muttered, lighting a cigarette with a flick of frustration. His patience rattled, frayed by you, your bite, and every teasing fucking curve of your body kept from him by the metal chains around his ankles.
" No, we're done" you snapped back, turning sharply on your heal, grabbing your bag, when your name boomed against the four walls, stopping you in your tracks.
" Y/N!" Tommy's head snapped to you, holding your paper of scribbled questions in the still air for your reaching hand when his eyes locked with yours as he dragged the flimsy document back a teasing inch, finger brushing deliberately over yours.
"Tomorrow" his voice dropped low with a command that left no room for compromise, before you snatched it away, leaving him with only the sound of your clicking heels and your parting shot mumbled under your breath.
" Wanker..."
The moment the iron door slammed shut, your chair shot across the room with a sharp scrape along the uneven ground as Tommy's boot caught its wooden leg from under the table, a bitter scoff rasping from his throat for the game you refused to play along to.
" Wanker" he echoed your insult with an amused chuckle, dragging the last breath of smoke from his cigarette down to its filter.
" Done enough of that, love" he muttered to himself in the silence you had left behind with a growing smirk, fingers drumming lightly against the table's edge as his darkening eyes calculated his next move.
Did you really think it would end here? That he'd throw out his early Christmas present like a spoiled child?
For you had become more important than any play thing for Tommy to pass the time with on Saint Nick's. You had become the whole day. The feast. And Tommy was intent on savouring every last bite of your fiery defiance.
" Guard! Phone!"
"Wanker?! Y/N, you didn't?" Dottie's eyes widened as you casually relayed your parting words the next day at the paper's headquarters, waving it off like it was a mere, inaudible mumble.
"Oh god...he's gonna have you whacked" she slumped into the chair beside you, limbs going loose with melodrama as your rolling eyes threatened to fall to the back of your skull at her dramatics.
" He's not going to have me whacked, Dottie" you flipped the page of a rival's newspaper in front of you, voice clearing with the faintest of doubts, when your eyes stilled looking ahead of you with the sinking feeling that you may have been waving a red flag in front of a charging bull. Shit.
" I haven't even finished my training..." Dottie whined an exasperated sigh as your finger traced the edge of the freshly printed newspaper.
" You will" you reassured her ramblings as you calmly turned the next page, eyes tugging to the printed column tucked in the corner about a dozen stolen motors used to rush the Crown's private secretary from town in a car chase.
" What's your favourite flower?" Dottie pulled her notebook into her lap, eyes flicking to yours with the urgency that came with planning a funeral. Your funeral.
" Hm?" you tore your eyes away from the headline that had been brazenly pulled off in broad daylight. A reckless move that had caused uproar at the palace. Tommy's kind of recklessness.
" Flowers, your favourite?" your trainee turned to you, pen hovering over her notebook like every overly earnest, bullet-point loving intern that came before her.
" Dottie?" your eyes squinted with a flicker of amusement at her runaway thoughts as you folded your arms, legs crossing under the table.
" Perhaps Lilies. They're in season, right?" her brows furrowed in thought, pen tapping against her little notebook half-full of your feigned advice, and now, the preparations for your funeral march.
" Lilies bud in summer, Dottie. And If you'd pull your eyes away from that dreaded little notebook of death, you'd see that I'm still very much, alive" you shook your head with a small chuckle of fondness, despite the morbid diversion of your little worker bee.
" Lord Of All...Hopelessness" Dottie muttered aloud as she scribbled down the hymn she'd picked for your gloomy day as your mouth fell slack with a scoff of disbelief at her brutal jab.
" I was thinking more...How Great Thou Art" you straightened your back, eyes flicking to her underlining her song of choice back and forth with enthusiasm.
" Oh, please" she rolled her eyes, flipping her notebook shut before you had the chance to glance at her less than flattering choice of bible verses for you.
" What are you fussing about, girl?" your boss Mr. Collins marched through the office, eyes snapping to Dottie's mumbling as the room cleared for his bulldozing steps and stocky frame.
" Y/N's funeral. She has a potential hit out on her" Dottie casually informed him as you leaned forward, hand out with half-formed words ready to chime in when your boss beat you to it.
" Good. One less salary to pay, and the five year headache I can finally be rid of, gone" he puffed on his cigar, mouth puckering like a gasping fish around its filter as he stopped in front of your desk.
" So, did he talk?" he brushed off Dottie's fears about your possible assassination, like he was filing papers at the end of the day as he turned to you with a more pressing matter.
" No. He's not gonna bite, Arney" you huffed, swiveling around in your chair until Collins' hand came down like a sledgehammer onto the leather back, halting you mid-turn.
" He thinks it's some big...fucking game" you grabbed the newspaper on your desk, manicured finger stabbing at the small colum you were certain Tommy had orchestrated in retaliation for his arrest.
" Then play along, kid" Collins' ruthlessness for the hustle, for the grind that came with being the editor and chief of the best-selling paper in the county curled at his lips.
" How?" you threw your arms up, convinced Tommy was holding a full house while all you'd been dealt were diamonds and clubs from a crooked deck.
" He's a bloody gangster, for heaven’s sake! Seduce the man!" your boss's voice rumbled, grabbing the rival paper from your hands to toss in the bin before storming off to his office to bark at another poor sod.
Sat back in your chair, your heels pressed against the wooden floorboards, swiveling you side to side as your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth in thought.
" Y/N, I'm not sure that's a..." Dottie's concerns over Collins' reckless words of advice had her err on the side of caution when you suddenly grabbed her hand, cutting her off before she had a chance to voice them.
" Come" you lead the way, pulling her coat from the back of her chair as your clicking heels echoed through the buildings' towering halls.
"Where are we going?" she huffed, jostling with her coat and bag as her kitten steps quickened to keep pace with your steady strides and the premature smirk of triumph growing on your lips.
" Shopping, Dottie. I'm going to smoke him out with a new dress"
"That the one?" a young peaky soldier glanced over his shoulder from under the bricked-overpass, watching you descend the stone stairs with a flustered Dottie still grappling with her bag behind you as you hailed for a cab across the street.
" Aye. That one's, Tommy's" Arthur's eyes narrowed through the shadow of his peak cap as he flicked his cigarette into the muddy ground. Grit and earth crushing under his laced boots as he shifted against the cobbled wall.
" His little firecracker" the eldest Shelby muttered, voice thick with amusement and the duty of care he'd been entrusted with by his younger brother.
" You keep your eye on her. And your eye only, understood?" the mischief in Arthur's eyes darkened with an order for the lad to keep his hands to himself, that you were spoken for, no longer up for grabs.
" Because we can't risk her pretty little fireworks burning out before my dear brothers got a front row seat, now can we?" Arthur's lips curled into a knowing smirk at what awaited you as you stood by the side of the road flagging down a taxi.
" Go on, now" the eldest sibling flicked his chin, motioning for the peaky to get to work as he melted into the shadows curling around the cobbled wall, eyes locked on you, the girl who had rattled his younger brother to the core.
" I'm just saying, it's all fun and games until it isn't, Y/N" Dottie continued to inundate you with her thoughts on Mr. Collins' daring suggestion to get Tommy to budge as a black cab screeched up to the curb.
" You need be ruthless in this man's world, Dottie. Let the fools think they have the upper hand. Makes it all the sweeter when you pull the rug from under their feet" your lips curled into a smile as your hand settled on the taxi's door when a boisterous intruder shoved you aside, claiming your cab for himself.
" Oi!" Swaggered up a suited lad, peaked cap low over his brows as his hand shot pass you to the chancer, fists curling tightly into the scruff of his collar as he slammed his body up against the framed metal door.
" Get" he said through gritted teeth, midday sun catching the unmistakable glint of stitched razors in his tweed crown as he tossed the man to the floor without another word.
" Alright miss?" the young lad turned to you, calm and collected as the discarded opportunist groaned at his feet, scrambling away before he caught sight of what a true peaky smile was made of.
"Yes..." your response came out as a question more than a confirmation, one you were seemingly asking yourself as your eyes searched your unofficial, and unknowingly appointed bodyguard.
" Alright. I'll be seeing you, then" he nodded once, hands sliding into his trouser pockets as he turned, passing the ballsy cab jumper with a toying lunge, before swaggering off with a mocking chuckle.
" Collins must have gotten security..." Dottie's eyes tracked the striped shirt peaky as yours drifted to the opposite side of the road, looking, searching for more than any cocky, bravado wearing lad. For Arney was not only tight with money, he was infamously stubborn when it came to any expense that the paper wouldn't profit off. And hired security? That rang like a laughable offense when it came to your boss' crooked moral compass.
" Must have..." your voice quietened into a murmur as your eyes weaved through the hustle on the streets until the back of your neck prickled with awareness.
There it was, falling back into the shadows of the darkened underpass with a menacing agenda dressed in politeness, as a finger flicked the edge of its peaked cap in recognition before turning on its heel into the inky haze.
Arthur Shelby. Tommy's eyes
You were being watched.
"Same applies as last time. No sharing of private information, no passing of contraband, and absolutely no touching" the guard listed the house rules you had already broken in record time, and were inching ever closer to breaking again, all for the sake of finishing your article.
Heels coming to an abrupt stop against the rough ground, you pulled your fitted coat from your shoulders, watching him drag the screeching door back as a gust of cold draft prickled your skin.
" I hope you know what you're doing, lass" the officer turned to you, eyes raking over your sinfully tight dress. Each stitch, each seam sculpted to every curve, every inch of your body like running water over soft skin.
" He's in chains, no?" you ignored his concerns, clinging to the only detail your mind deemed important. Yet, still foolish to think that shackled ankles, and a guard within shouting distance, were enough to stop a man like Tommy Shelby who played by his own rules, who burnt the board and all its pieces when the game didn't go his way.
" He is. But that won't stop his eyes, or what that red dress says, will it now?" the guard provoked the sensibility hiding behind your fueled ambition, when you stepped into Tommy's threshold, crushing its last warning to turn around beneath your heel.
Chest heaving, palms sweaty, you walked the line of no return between the narrow bricked corridor, until you steadily approached his open den to see him standing there, a smirk playing on his lips through a parting haze of tobacco smoke.
" Red..." his brow cocked, darkening eyes undressing every inch of your forged confidence, leaving you naked before him with only the scent of your perfume and that last, sweet note he couldn't quite name. Desperation.
" For war?" he watched you calmly take your seat, heated gaze fixed on your finger slowly tracing along your skin, parting the soft fabric from your collarbone as your eyes lifted through curled lashes.
" Shall we begin...Tommy?" you leered away from his observations, smothering the last of the formalities as you watched him sink into his chair with a menacing smirk, curling tauntingly at the corner of his lips with a warning.
" You're playing a dangerous game, girl. A very dangerous game"
*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 🧡*
[Next Part] coming soon!
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