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sangaria12 · 5 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 22

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 22

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Chaos unfolds during you and Tommy's reception, in the aftermath, you find some comfort in Small Heath.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetophobia warning

You didn’t even register the direction the gunshots came from– just the chaos that followed. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. Someone dropped a tray with a crash that echoed beneath the chandelier’s sudden sway. The music stopped abruptly, a needle skidding off vinyl, and for a split second, everything stood still.

Then, another shot.

You grabbed Finn without thinking, your instincts moving faster than your mind. He’d been standing just beside the refreshment table, laughing, a slice of cake still in his hand. You yanked him down with you, ducking beneath the table just as chairs clattered and guests scattered.

His eyes were wide, panicked, and you could feel him shaking.

“We’re okay,” you said quickly, your arms around him, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s alright, stay low, don’t move.”

The tablecloth hung around you like a makeshift curtain, dimming the chaos outside.

Finn clutched your arm tightly. “What’s happening?” he whispered, voice cracking.

Above you, another loud bang– a third shot fired, but this one hit the ceiling, plaster raining down. You flinched, shielding Finn instinctively.

And then, through the noise, a voice bellowed across the room:

“A gift from Luca Changretta. Tell Tommy Shelby that his empire bleeds like any other.”

Finn clutched your arm tighter, his breathing shallow and fast. You pulled him in closer beneath the table, your body curled protectively over his, your hand cradling the back of his head to shield him from the falling plaster.

Around you, everything had gone still.

Not silent, there were still gasps and muffled screams, overturned chairs scraping against the floor, glass shattering somewhere across the room, but still in the way that fear locks a room in place, holding everyone in suspended disbelief.

You barely dared to breathe.

Footsteps thundered toward the exit, fast, heavy, purposeful. Then the sharp slam of the doors as the gunmen fled.

Gone, just like that.

No more shots. No more words. Just a trail of fear and smoke left behind in their wake.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you slowly looked out from beneath the table, your arm still curled tightly around Finn.

Polly’s voice rang out from somewhere across the room, sharp and panicked. Arthur was shouting orders. John’s voice followed, rough and urgent..

You pushed yourself up from the floor slowly, your limbs still shaky with adrenaline. Your hands found Finn first, gently helping him upright. He was pale, eyes wide, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look even younger than he was.

“Finn,” you said softly, brushing plaster dust from his jacket. “Are you alright?”

He nodded too quickly to be convincing. His breath hitched, and you reached for his face, cradling it gently between your palms. His skin was clammy, his cheeks flushed. You wiped a smear of dust from his cheek with your thumb, eyes scanning him for any sign of blood, any wound you might’ve missed in the panic.

“Look at me,” you said, steady but kind. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Just… hell– what was that?”

“Just breathe,” you murmured, still holding his face. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Your fingers lingered for a second longer, brushing through his hair before pulling him into a quick, fierce hug. He held onto you like a lifeline, his body trembling just slightly.

You heard Tommy before you saw him, the shift in the air, the magnetic pull. His voice was heavy. “Move– move!”

Before you knew it, Tommy was there, storming toward you, eyes scanning wildly– jaw clenched, breathing hard.

His eyes found yours and stopped.

“Fuck–” he breathed, his expression cracking, just for a second. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and sharp, breathless as he reached you, hands already skimming over your arms, your ribs, your waist.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head, slowly.

But he didn’t accept that. One hand cupped the back of your neck, grounding you firmly in place. His touch wasn’t gentle now– it was firm. Urgent.

“Look at me,” he said, voice fierce. “Are you okay?”

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Yes,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

He closed his eyes for half a second, like the air had been knocked from him. When they opened again, they were darker, stormier. Rage and relief tangled behind them.

“I told you,” he said, voice hoarse and cracking as his forehead dropped briefly to yours. “I told you to stay put.”

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, his hands falling from your face, jaw clenching as he turned slightly, already scanning the chaos again. You stood there, stunned, the weight of his anger settling heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to anger him. But the shame still twisted in your stomach like a blade.

Suddenly, you felt small fingers clutching at your arm.

Finn had latched onto you without a word, his arms winding around your waist. His face was pressed into your side, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes and immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, cradling the back of his head. “It’s alright,” you whispered, holding him tightly. “You’re alright.”

He didn’t speak, just shook, buried against you, trying to hide the fact that he’d been terrified. You swayed gently with him, murmuring something soft, your hand brushing through his hair, grounding him in the only way you could.

Tommy, meanwhile, had already shifted gears.

His eyes were scanning the room, sharp and calculating, jaw rigid with fury. “John! Arthur!” he barked. A bitter breath hissed from between Tommy’s teeth. “Find out how they got in. Who let them through the doors. Someone knew. Someone fucking knew!”

John nodded tightly, already heading toward the front.

Tommy’s jaw flexed again as he turned back toward Arthur. “And I want names! Every single fucking guest who wasn’t on the list, where they came from, who they came with. Someone vouched for those bastards.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You got it, Tom.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before muttering, “They didn’t want blood… not tonight. They wanted fear.”

His eyes flicked toward you then, still holding Finn, still trying to slow your breathing, your expression dazed and unreadable.

And in that instant, his fury turned razor-sharp again.

“They came into my fucking wedding,” he yelled. “That’s their warning shot? They’re going to regret not pulling the fucking trigger.”

He paced in a tight line, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing sharp and ragged. You’d seen him angry before– cold, calculating, precise. But this… this was something else. This was pure fury. Unfiltered. Barely contained.

“They walked through those doors,” he snapped, whirling around to face Arthur and John as they returned to his side. “They fired shots over our fucking heads– at my family, at my wife!”

His voice cracked on the last word, jaw tightening hard enough to make his cheek twitch. His hand went instinctively to his hip like he needed to reach for something– his gun, maybe, or just a way to release the rage bottled beneath his ribs.

“They wanted to humiliate us,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “To prove they could get in and out without a scratch. That they could touch us without drawing blood.”

Arthur stepped forward, voice low. “Tom, we’ll find ‘em. You know we will.”

Tommy’s glare cut through the room like a blade. “Not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want their names. I want their fucking heads.”

You flinched slightly at the venom in his tone, but Finn still clung to your side, and your instinct to protect him kept you grounded.

“They made a spectacle,” Tommy continued, turning toward the ruined tables, the chandelier still swaying faintly overhead. “A statement. They want war? Fine.”

His voice dropped to a growl– cold, merciless. “Then we’ll give them war.”

Arthur nodded grimly, but John exchanged a glance with him, uneasy. Polly hovered nearby, watching Tommy with that sharp, calculating stare of hers, as if measuring how far gone he really was.

And then beside you, Finn let out a soft sound– not quite a whimper, but close. His hands were still clutching the edge of your dress where he’d held on during the gunfire, his knuckles white. He was staring at the floor now, eyes unfocused, jaw tight, like he was trying to swallow whatever panic was still clawing its way through his chest.

“Finn?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just kept shaking his head like he was trying to make the memory disappear. His breathing had gone shallow again.

“Hey.” You crouched a little, meeting his eyes, brushing his fringe back gently. “You’re alright, Finn. It’s over now.”

He nodded, too quickly, too forcefully, and then abruptly turned to the side and vomited into the corner.

Polly immediately stepped toward him, but you raised a hand gently. “I’ve got him.”

The sound of Tommy’s voice barking another order behind you made Finn flinch visibly. That was it. Your chest clenched, protective instinct kicking in fully now.

“Come on, love,” you said, steady and soft, already slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get some air.”

But before you could take a full step, a firm hand caught your arm.

“You can’t go outside,” Tommy said sharply, eyes flashing.

You blinked at him, stunned. “He needs air, Tommy. He’s shaking.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “It’s not safe out there. Not yet.”

“He’s going to pass out if he stays in here,” you snapped.

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved two of his men forward with a curt gesture. “Go with them,” he barked. Then his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t go past the gate. And this time, do what you’re fucking told, please.”

You stared at him, nostrils flaring, heat rising behind your eyes. It wasn’t just the words, it was the tone, the way he said it like you were one of the men under his command instead of his wife, who’d just been dragged through chaos on her own wedding day.

Your lips parted, ready to spit something back, but instead you just wrenched your arm from his grip, your jaw tight.

You turned your back on him and led Finn away, your hand steady at his back. The weight of Tommy’s stare burned between your shoulder blades, but you didn’t look back.

Finn didn’t protest. He let you guide him away, his legs a bit unsteady beneath him. You led him down the corridor and out through the side door into the cool night air, the chaos muffled now behind stone walls and heavy doors. The moment you stepped outside, you felt him exhale, just a shaky breath, but a little steadier than before.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with him on the edge of the steps, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“I thought they were going to kill us,” Finn said quietly after a long pause.

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I know.”

You sat in silence for a long moment– just the two of you under the stars, the distant pulse of music and shouting still echoing faintly behind you. But out here, for just a little while, you could breathe.

The night air was sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering adrenaline still humming in your veins. Your heart hadn’t fully settled yet, and Finn was still tense beneath your arm, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You rubbed a slow, steady hand across his back, letting the silence stretch between you like a blanket. You didn’t need to fill it. Not yet.

“I’m sorry I threw up,” Finn said after a while, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand stilled for a second, then resumed its rhythm. “It’s okay, Finn. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

A few more minutes passed in stillness, broken only by the distant crack of glass, another door swinging open somewhere inside, a voice shouting orders. The tension of the evening hadn’t fully lifted, not even out here.

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, just holding him steady, when the door creaked open again behind you.

You turned.

Polly stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, her silhouette sharp against the warm glow from the reception hall. Her heels clicked softly on the stone, but there was no urgency in her steps, just the same quiet gravity she always carried like a second skin.

She stopped a few paces away, her eyes scanning you both. Her gaze softened when it landed on Finn. She crouched down beside him then, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “You alright, love?”

“I’m okay,” he lied.

Polly nodded once, glancing between you and Finn again. “Arthur’s still inside trying to calm people down. Tommy’s… doing what Tommy does.”

You swallowed and gave her a faint nod of thanks.

There was a long pause before you spoke again, your voice low, tired. “When can we go home?”

Polly looked at you for a moment, really looked. Not just at your face, but the slump in your shoulders, the way your hand still gripped Finn’s sleeve like you couldn’t quite let go of the fear yet.

“Soon,” she said gently. “They need to be sure it’s safe first.”

You nodded, but it didn’t ease the restlessness curling in your chest. You were still in your wedding dress. Your hands still smelled faintly of gunpowder and champagne. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the first shot rang out.

You could feel the pressure building behind your eyes, that familiar sting threatening to break through. You blinked hard, jaw clenched tight, willing the tears not to come.

Polly stepped closer, brushing a bit of hair from your face in a rare, tender gesture. “You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. You just need to breathe.”

You tried, but it caught in your throat.

“I didn’t even see it coming,” you whispered. “It was supposed to be– just for one day–”

“I know.” Her voice softened again, more mother than matriarch now.

You didn’t have the energy to say anything else. You just glanced down at Finn, who was quiet now, staring out at the street like it might tell him something the rest of you couldn’t.

Polly’s hand touched your arm again, firmer this time. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home soon.”

You nodded once more, but the weight of the evening settled heavy in your bones. You didn’t feel safe. Not yet. Not really.

Polly returned inside, but you stayed there in silence, shoulders tense beneath the weight of your dress, heart still pounding against your ribs like it hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that the threat was over. You kept your eyes on the door, waiting for it to open again. Hoping it would be him this time.

Finn sat quietly beside you, hands clasped in his lap, gaze fixed on the darkened garden path ahead. He hadn’t said anything else, but he leaned into your side slightly, like your presence was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

Minutes passed. Then, finally, the door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the gravel.

Tommy’s figure cut through the dim light like a shadow cast from something solid and unshakable, but there was a new heaviness in his expression, tighter around the eyes, jaw still clenched hard. His tie was crooked now, shirt undone at the collar, blood still flecked faintly at his temple. But his gaze was on you.

“Come on,” he murmured, one hand in his pocket, the other beckoning you gently. “Let’s go.”

You nodded and turned to Finn, brushing your hand gently against his shoulder. “Come on, love,” you said quietly. “Let’s get up.”

He nodded, a little dazed, letting you help him to his feet. He leaned on you more than he probably realized, but you didn’t mind. Your arm stayed steady beneath his.

Tommy reached for him then, his hand landing firm on Finn’s other shoulder, steadying him silently. His other hand reached for yours without a word, fingers curling around yours with quiet purpose.

You glanced down at your joined hands, his fingers warm and certain around yours. The earlier anger– the sting of him snapping at you, the way he’d barked and shut you out, had dissolved somewhere in the chaos. You couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it left you, only that now, standing here beside him, all you could feel was the dull throb of exhaustion and the steady comfort of his touch.

Because whatever his temper had been, whatever sharpness had cut through his voice… you knew it had come from fear.

And now, there was only this, his hand in yours, grounding you again. The way it always did.

Tommy gave your hand a small, silent squeeze, his eyes flicking to yours for a brief second, just long enough to say everything he hadn’t said earlier.

Then, together, the three of you moved toward the car. Slowly, quietly. Away from the wreckage. Toward whatever peace the night could still offer.

The car ride home was quiet.

No one said it out loud, but there was a silent agreement between all of you, not to scatter off into separate homes, not to retreat behind closed doors where the silence could swallow you whole. Instead, everyone returned to the Small Heath house. It felt safer that way. Closer. Warmer, somehow, even beneath the weight of what had just happened.

You weren’t sure if it was instinct or desperation that led to it, but no one argued. No one left.

Polly took up residence in her usual armchair, a cigarette already between her fingers. Ada curled up on the couch, shoes kicked off, eyes tired but still sharp. Arthur poured drinks, heavily, and John paced the hallway like a restless dog while Esme tried to convince him to sit down. The house was buzzing beneath the quiet, like everyone was trying to act normal, but every small noise made someone flinch. Every knock, every footstep.

You glanced at Finn, he hadn’t said much since the ride. He hadn’t let go of your hand either. Now, he sat slumped in the corner of the settee, shoulders curled in, eyes wide and unfocused. His plate of untouched food sat cooling beside him, forgotten.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight of him.

You moved toward him quietly and lowered yourself beside him. “You alright?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

He nodded quickly, but it was automatic, hollow. His lip trembled.

“Why don’t you head to bed, love? Get some rest?”

He shook his head before you even finished the sentence.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Finn mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched. You reached out, brushing your hand through his hair.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Then stay here with me a while.”

His shoulders eased just a little at that, like the weight pressing into him had lifted, only slightly, but enough.

Minutes passed, slow and heavy. You could hear Arthur and John’s low voices from the kitchen, the clink of glass, the occasional muttered curse. Somewhere down the hall, Tommy’s voice rumbled, low, clipped, issuing orders through the telephone. Polly’s lighter flicked in rhythm from her seat across the room, a steady little flame to match the storm still flickering behind her eyes.

Eventually, you felt Finn’s breathing slow. His body slackened slightly against yours, the last of his adrenaline fading into exhaustion. He was asleep– finally.

You stayed with him anyway, stroking his hair gently, letting your own head rest back against the cushion behind you.

Your eyes drifted closed for a moment, but your mind didn’t quiet. It circled endlessly around the night, around the chaos, around the gunfire echoing behind your ribs. The blood. The fear.

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

The door creaked open, and you turned slightly at the sound.

John stepped into the room, his gaze landing on Finn curled up beside you. He let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Poor kid,” he muttered.

You nodded quietly, brushing your hand once more through Finn’s hair before glancing up at John. “He finally fell asleep.”

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll take him upstairs.”

You hesitated, just for a second– some part of you reluctant to let Finn go. But John’s expression was kind, steady. And maybe you needed a moment to breathe.

“Alright,” you said gently, carefully easing yourself away from Finn.

John nodded. “I’ve got him.”

You watched as he crouched down and scooped Finn up in his arms with practiced ease. The younger boy stirred only faintly, murmuring something incoherent before settling again against John’s shoulder.

You followed behind them to the doorway, pausing just at the threshold. Your eyes drifted toward the sitting room, where the low hum of voices carried down the hallway– Tommy, Arthur, and Polly, deep in discussion.

You could see them through the doorway: Polly pacing slowly, a cigarette burning between her fingers; Arthur slouched forward, elbows on his knees, face tense; and Tommy, standing tall, arms folded tightly across his chest as he spoke in that low, unreadable tone he always used when trying to mask the storm brewing beneath the surface.

You watched him for a moment longer, his words indistinct but his posture unmistakably rigid. Earlier, at the reception, he'd mentioned revenge. War. Against whoever it was that had caused all of this.

A message from Luca Changretta.

You didn’t know who that was, not really. Only that whoever it was, was bound to cause you all a world of trouble.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. You thought, for a moment, about walking in, about catching Tommy’s eye, about pulling him away just for a moment. But he didn’t look up. He didn’t even seem to notice you standing there.

The weight of it settled in your chest again. You were too tired to find out more. Too drained to dig into the shadows gathering around the edges of your wedding night.

So instead, you turned quietly and followed behind John and Finn up the stairs, your footsteps soft on the floorboards.

Whatever that conversation was, whatever came next, it could wait. Tonight had taken enough from you already.

You followed John into Finn’s room, the quiet creak of the door barely audible over the sound of Finn’s soft breathing. The room was dim, only the low flicker of a lamp casting a warm glow across the walls. John moved carefully, easing Finn down onto the bed with practiced gentleness, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he settled.

You lingered by the doorway for a moment, then stepped in fully, moving to the chair in the corner. It was old, the cushion a little worn, but it cradled your tired body easily as you sank into it with a quiet exhale.

John glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded once, giving him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I just… want to stay with him for a bit.”

He studied you for a moment, then gave a single, quiet nod. “Alright,” he said simply. “Shout if you need anything.”

You nodded again, watching as he turned and stepped out, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

The room fell into stillness again. Just you and Finn.

You leaned back into the chair, gaze drifting toward him. His face looked softer in sleep– no longer clouded with fear or tension, just the slow, steady rhythm of rest. You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat and folded your arms across your chest, letting the quiet settle around you.

Your eyelids drifted lower.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But your body had finally reached its limit, and before you realized it, the blur of candlelight and the soft rhythm of Finn’s breathing had lulled you into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

It was the quiet sound of your name that stirred you first, soft, low, spoken like a secret. Then the gentle sweep of fingers through your hair, brushing lightly behind your ear.

Your lashes fluttered, the warmth of his voice coaxing you back to the surface. You blinked up at him, disoriented for a moment, the dim room coming slowly back into focus.

He crouched beside you, one hand still lingering at your hairline, the other settling softly on your knee. “You’ll be sore if you stay like that all night,” he said, voice quiet and full of something softer than usual.

You sat up slowly, blinking away the heaviness from your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright.” His voice was gentle. “Let’s get to bed.”

Your gaze flicked toward the bed, Finn was still curled beneath the blanket, breathing steady and slow. Safe. Asleep.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were still holding.

Tommy’s hand slipped down to yours, curling around your fingers. “Come on,” he said again, quieter now.

You nodded and stood slowly, glancing one last time at Finn before letting Tommy guide you out of the room. The hallway was dim, the house quieter now, tension still lingering in the air like smoke, but dulled beneath the weight of exhaustion.

You followed him down the corridor to the same spare room you’d taken care of Tommy in– the one you’d stepped inside a hundred times before, back when things were simpler. The sheets were clean but creased, the window cracked just enough to let the cool night air in. It wasn’t your house on the hill– but it was Small Heath. Familiar. Steady. Home.

Tommy shut the door softly behind you, then moved to pull the blanket back. “You alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, stepping toward the bed. “I just… didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“I know,” he said.

You slid beneath the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Tommy followed a beat later, lying beside you with a quiet sigh. His arm found its way around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you like nothing else could.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing, the faint creak of the old house settling around you.

Then his voice, rumbled, low and rough against the top of your head. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

You blinked, shifting just enough to glance up at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I should’ve listened.”

He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly along his chest. “You were just trying to protect me. On our wedding night.”

His hand covered yours, warm and steady. “Didn’t exactly turn out how I pictured it,” he murmured with a rueful half-smile.

“How did you picture it?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “I suppose more champagne and dancing. Less… bullets and threats.”

You gave a soft, tired chuckle, resting your forehead against his collarbone. “Well, I am a Shelby now,” you said. “I can’t think of a warmer welcome.”

His chest rumbled faintly with a laugh. “I suppose,” he said, tilting his head down and brushing a kiss into your hair. "Mrs. Shelby."

You didn’t reply, just curled in closer, fingers curling loosely into his shirt. The storm outside might still rage, but here, in this small stretch of warmth and safety, it was just the two of you.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby.

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sangaria12 · 5 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 20

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 20

Chapter summary: You spend the day surrounded by laughter, chaos, and the warmth of the women closest to you, swept up in the whirlwind of wedding preparations. But beneath the celebration, a quiet undercurrent reminds you that marrying into the Shelby family means bracing for more than just lace and flowers.

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch.

The sitting room had been transformed into a flurry of fabrics and lace, bolts of satin draped across armchairs, ribbons strewn along tabletops, and the faint scent of tea and perfume lingering in the air.

You stood before the mirror in one of the dresses Polly had picked out– simple but elegant, ivory with delicate embroidery along the hem. Esme was curled in one of the chairs, one leg crossed over the other as she sipped from a teacup, offering the occasional blunt commentary that made Ada snort with laughter.

Ada, meanwhile, was holding up a dress of her own, turning it this way and that with a scrunched nose. “This one makes me look like a bloody doily,” she muttered.

“It’s lace,” Esme said dryly. “That’s the whole point.”

Polly, standing just behind you, adjusted the shoulders of the gown before smoothing the fabric along your back. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“You look beautiful, love,” she said, quiet and certain.

Your throat tightened a little, the weight of it suddenly real. You nodded faintly, gaze still fixed on your reflection.

“Marriage can be such a lovely thing,” she said, smoothing the fabric along your arm with care. “A joining of lives, not just names. The comfort of having someone to come home to. Someone who knows your breath before you speak, someone who reaches for your hand before you even realize you need it.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, heart fluttering at the gentle cadence of her words. For a moment, you let yourself imagine it in full. Tommy’s coat draped over the hook by the door, the sound of his voice in the next room, quiet laughter over shared cups of tea in the early hours of the morning.

“But,” Polly added, her voice dipping slightly, almost imperceptibly, “it’s not always peace and quiet mornings.”

Her hands drifted away, settling at her hips. Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Especially not when you’re marrying a Shelby.”

The weight of her words settled heavily in the room, unspoken truths threading through the warmth like a quiet wind shifting the curtains.

You didn’t say anything at first, and neither did Polly. She didn’t need to explain it further, you could feel it. You’d lived it already, in whispers and scars and the quiet worry that never fully left Tommy’s eyes.

Ada tried to brush it off with a scoff. “Bloody hell, Pol, you sound like you’re giving a eulogy.”

Esme chimed in from the corner, “She’s not wrong though. Loving a Shelby’s a bit like dancing in a minefield. Full of bloody surprises."

Polly arched a brow but said nothing more.

You turned back to the mirror again, eyes falling on your reflection– on the soft ivory dress, the delicate stitching at the sleeves, the slight curve of your shoulders beneath the fabric. You looked like a bride.

But you knew, beneath the pretty silk and the dainty lace, you’d need to be tough too.

Polly stepped forward again, smoothing your veil gently over your shoulder. “You’ll be alright,” she said, more softly now. “You’ve already been through worse. And you came out of it with your head still screwed on straight.”

“I don't know about that,” you murmured, catching her eyes in the mirror again. “Is it a bad sign that I'm a little worried about everything that comes with this? With him?”

“No,” Polly said, matter-of-fact. “It means you’ve got some sense. And you’re not walking into it blind.”

Ada rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Pol. Can’t you just say she looks beautiful like a normal person?”

“She does,” Polly said without missing a beat. “Beautiful and brave. The best combination a woman can be in this life of ours.”

You turned toward her, lips parting to thank her, but she caught your hand before you could say anything else. “But listen to me, there’ll be days when you feel like this family will swallow you whole. Like you’re drowning in the weight of his name. On those days, you come to me. You understand?”

You nodded slowly, your throat thick.

“I mean it,” she added, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

Ada clapped her hands together, breaking the quiet. “Alright, if we keep going down this road, I’m going to need a drink. Or five.”

Esme grinned. “I want in on that, too.”

Polly smirked faintly but said nothing, turning back to the rack of dresses.

You glanced at yourself one more time in the mirror, and despite the nerves curled in your stomach, you let yourself smile.

“Alright,” you said quietly, lifting your chin. “Let’s go celebrate.”

…

Later that evening, the Garrison was alive– raucous music blasting from the old record player someone had dragged into the back room, heels tapping against the floor, glasses clinking, and laughter echoing off the walls. Half-empty bottles of champagne and gin littered every table, a trail of discarded gloves, shawls, and jewelry scattered like breadcrumbs from the front bar to the back lounge.

Someone, probably Esme, had jumped up on one of the tables to dance not five minutes after arriving, kicking over a tray of drinks in the process. Ada had nearly fallen out of her chair from laughing, and Polly had only rolled her eyes, sipping her whiskey with an unimpressed sigh.

“Tell me again how this is supposed to be a classy evening,” Polly muttered dryly, lifting her glass.

“This is classy,” Ada said, slurring just a little, grinning like a madwoman. “It’s just Garrison-classy.”

“You’re all bloody animals,” Polly said, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

You were perched near the bar, clutching your drink and trying not to choke on your own laughter. Your stomach ached from it– actual, deep, belly laughs that left your eyes watering and your head light. You hadn’t felt that kind of lightness in months.

Ada flopped beside you, catching her breath. “You still sure you wanna marry into this chaos?”

“I’m starting to think this whole thing has just been an elaborate warning,” you said, still laughing.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Esme chimed in, lifting her glass. “But too late now, we've already claimed you as one of ours.”

“Poor girl,” Polly deadpanned, sipping her whiskey. “You’ll need thicker skin.”

“We should get her a survival kit,” Ada said. “You know, whiskey, earplugs, a helmet-”

“A list of insults translated from Arthur.,” Esme added, nodding solemnly.

You couldn’t even respond, you were laughing too hard.

“To the bride,” Esme shouted suddenly, raising her glass so fast she nearly knocked it over.

“To surviving the Shelbys,” Ada added.

You raised your own drink with a wide, flushed smile, cheeks warm from gin and laughter and something softer you couldn’t quite name.

You were breathless with laughter, leaning against the bar for support. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, your ribs sore from laughing too hard, and your stomach ached from too much champagne and not enough food.

Finn had poked his head in earlier to check on things and promptly turned around again when Esme shouted something wildly inappropriate about needing more gin and fewer men.

There were women singing loudly, off-key, of course, Ada tossing her shoe at Esme for stealing her drink, and Polly holding court at the corner table like a queen with her cigarette perched delicately between her fingers, completely unbothered by the chaos unraveling around her.

"I'm just saying," Ada declared, climbing onto the bar stool and sloshing her drink slightly, "if Tommy doesn’t cry at the altar, I think I'll throw my shoe at him. But if Arthur does cry, I'll also throw my shoe at him..."

"That’ll give him something to cry about," Esme wheezed with laughter. "But then you'll be barefoot before dessert."

"You’re all bloody mad," you gasped, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from the chaos and giddiness of it all.

"And you’re marrying into it," Polly said, raising her glass with a knowing smirk. “Poor girl.”

The night didn’t slow down– it only got rowdier. And you were well past tipsy by the time the next round of drinks landed on the table.

Your cheeks were flushed, your laughter louder than usual, and you’d somehow ended up slouched sideways in your chair with one arm flung dramatically over Ada’s shoulder, giggling uncontrollably at a story Esme was trying to tell, but kept interrupting herself by laughing too hard.

“I swear– he had no idea the horse was behind him!” Esme gasped, wheezing between words. “Poor bastard turned around and bam! Hoof right to the arse!”

You practically wheezed.

“He flew! I swear, I saw it! Like a bloody rag doll!” Esme said.

Ada clutched her drink and buried her face in your shoulder, laughing so hard she nearly spilled it. Even Polly had cracked a grin, though she sipped her gin with practiced composure and simply shook her head.

You tried to sit upright and failed, nearly toppling into Esme’s lap instead. “Easy!” Esme said.

“I’m fine,” you replied, waving a hand vaguely. “I’m totally, completely, absolutely–”

“Pissed,” Polly cut in, arching a brow.

“Yes,” you confirmed cheerfully. “That’s the word!”

The doors banged open then, and you nearly toppled off your seat at the sound.

Arthur’s voice thundered before he was even through the doorway. “Oi! What the fuck’s goin’ on in here?! Sounds like a goddamn circus!”

John followed close behind, eyes scanning the chaos before landing on Esme, and then you in your slouched, flushed, smiling state. He smirked instantly. “Well, well, well. Look who’s halfway to dancing on the bar.”

“Halfway?” you slurred, blinking blearily at him. “Excuse you, I’m a very graceful bar dancer.”

Arthur chuckled as he poured himself a drink. “Jesus Christ, someone cut her off.”

“No,” you protested, clinging to your glass and shielding it like a precious relic. “I’m celebrating life, Arthur.”

John dropped into the seat between you and his wife, nudging your shoulder. “You’re off your face.”

“I am elegantly tipsy, thank you.”

The room erupted into more laughter just as the door opened again, this time quieter, steadier.

The moment Tommy walked in, the room seemed to shift just a little, like the volume dimmed, the chaos softened, everything settling into place around his presence. His eyes scanned the room quickly, then locked on you.

You blinked at him, smile still half-stuck on your lips, and tried to straighten up in your chair. “Tommy!” you greeted far too enthusiastically.

His brows lifted slightly, lips twitching at the corners as he took in your flushed face, the flushed mess you were sitting in.

Ada raised her glass. “Welcome to the circus.”

Tommy exhaled through his nose, almost smiling now. “So I see.”

He crossed the room, slipping behind your chair, and rested a warm hand on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch immediately, more out of instinct than balance.

“Hi,” you whispered up at him, eyes a little too wide, a little too fond.

“Hi,” he said, low and amused. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m celebrating,” you corrected, lifting your glass in a wobbly little toast.

He shook his head, brushing a hand along the back of your neck. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”

“Sounds like future me’s problem,” you chirped.

You leaned into Tommy’s hand a little more, your cheek brushing his knuckles. The noise around you was still roaring, Arthur’s booming laugh, John trying to retell a joke he’d already butchered twice, Ada teasing Polly about guest lists, but Tommy stayed quiet, eyes still steady on you.

Then, softly, low enough that only you could hear it, he asked, “Should you really be drinking with your head still healing?”

You turned just enough to look up at him, brows lifting in exaggerated innocence. “I stopped taking tablets days ago. You worry too much.”

Tommy’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite.

“What about tomorrow?” he added, voice low and steady, fingers brushing absently at the base of your neck. “We’ve got cake tastings and flower arrangements to deal with, remember?”

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “That’s tomorrow?”

“That’s tomorrow,” he confirmed, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You groaned dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “Well… if I’m hungover, you’ll just have to make all the decisions for me.”

“Oh, no,” he murmured dryly. “You’re not sticking me with flower colors and cake tiers on my own.”

“I promise I’ll go,” you muttered, already half-melting into him. You reached for your glass again– slow, wobbly, determined. “C’mon, it’s one drink.”

"Pol, how many drinks has my lovely bride-to-be had tonight?" he asked above the noise.

"Three," Polly said back.

"Four!" Esme chimed in, correcting her.

Your jaw dropped. "Traitors," you muttered under your breath.

Tommy arched a brow.

“I meant it’s one night,” you said cheekily, raising the glass and giving him your most disarming smile.

Tommy sighed, but it was the kind of sigh that came from affection, not frustration. His hand slid from your shoulder to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing softly at the base of your hairline in a way that made your eyes flutter for a second.

“Just don’t overdo it,” he murmured. “Let me know when you’re ready to head home.”

Just when you were about to lean further into him, you felt the shift in his stance. His hand slid from your neck, fingers brushing your shoulder gently as he stood.

You blinked up at him, momentarily startled. “You’re leaving?”

He gave a small, half-smirk. “Don't want to interrupt. You lot looked like you were planning to take over the world just a minute ago.”

“We were,” Ada called from across the table. “Still are.”

You reached out and caught his wrist before he could move away completely. “Stay,” you said softly, eyes searching his.

Tommy hesitated. “Thought you’d want a night without me hovering.”

“I don’t mind hovering,” you said quickly, your hand still around his wrist. “I like it better when you’re here. Besides, Arthur and John have already ruined our girl time.”

Tommy’s mouth twitched, just slightly. “Fair point,” he muttered, casting a glance toward Arthur and John, who were now loudly bickering over whether Arthur could simultaneously arm-wrestle two men at once.

“See?” you said, gesturing toward the chaos. “You might as well stay.”

He looked at you for a long second, his eyes softening, the sharp lines of his face easing with something quieter– something just for you. Then, finally, he let out a low breath and pulled the chair back beside yours.

“Alright,” he said, settling beside you again.

You smiled, shifting slightly so your shoulder brushed his. His arm draped over the back of your chair again, fingers grazing your shoulder in that familiar way that always seemed to calm the noise in your head.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked softly, voice low enough only you could hear.

You nodded, leaning into him just a little. “I’m sure.”

The rest of the evening carried on in a blur of laughter and noise– Ada and Esme trying to convince Polly to dance, Arthur insisting on singing a half-forgotten pub song, Finn nearly dropping a tray of pints and earning a round of cheers when he somehow caught it.

But through it all, Tommy stayed beside you, steady and quiet. Every so often, his hand would find yours beneath the table, a quiet squeeze, a grounding touch.

At one point, Polly’s voice rang out from near the bar, clear and commanding as she lifted her glass. “One more toast,” she declared, her eyes twinkling with fondness. “To the bride and groom. May your love be fierce and your years be long.”

A chorus of cheers echoed through the room as everyone raised their glasses high, voices overlapping in celebration. You caught Tommy’s gaze through the crowd, and he smiled, small, private, but full of something steady and certain that warmed you straight through.

Later that night, the Garrison had begun to thin out, though the buzz of music and laughter still pulsed behind you as Tommy guided you gently toward the car, his hand firm around your waist.

You were giggling about something that had made perfect sense in your head, but came out in an incoherent stream of slurred words that even you weren’t sure you understood.

“I’m telling you,” you insisted, stumbling slightly as your boot caught the edge of the pavement. “If Polly would just let Esme stand on the stool, the whole thing would’ve– it would’ve worked out.”

Tommy exhaled a laugh through his nose, shaking his head as he caught you before you could tilt too far sideways. “Christ,” he muttered, “you’ve had too much.”

“I’ve had just enough,” you countered proudly, poking his chest with your index finger. “You… you worry too much. All tight shoulders and serious face. You should try giggling more.”

He chuckled, low and fond, steering you toward the car with one arm snug around your waist.

"That would be something, wouldn't it?" you sighed. "I don't think the world would know what to do with itself if Thomas Shelby giggled."

"I’ll add it to the list," he said unseriously.

You paused at the car door and turned to him with exaggerated seriousness. “You’re very handsome, you know? Too handsome, now that I really think about it. It’s quite distracting.”

He gave you a look– half amused, half exasperated. “Right. In you go.”

“No, wait,” you said, holding up a wobbly hand. “One more thing– very important. I think… I think the ground might be moving.”

Tommy opened the door, helping you in carefully, hands gentle as he guided you down into the seat. “That’s your head spinning, sweetheart.”

“Ah. Right. That makes more sense.”

As he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you slumped against the window with a content sigh, your eyelids already fluttering.

“You’re very good at this, by the way,” you mumbled, voice drowsy.

"You mean corralling my very drunk, soon-to-be wife?"

You hummed, as if contemplating it. “Yes," you said eventually. "You’re grumpy, but you’re a gentleman. A grumpy gentleman.”

Tommy glanced sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re going to feel this in the morning.”

“Worth it,” you said, then squinted at him with mock seriousness. “You’ll take care of me… right?”

His hand slid from the gearshift to rest briefly on your knee. “Course I will.”

You smiled at that, eyes slipping closed for a second as the rhythm of the car lulled you. “Good. ’Cause I don’t think I ever told you this, but I don’t handle my liquor well. I’m pretty sure I’ll be dying. Might need you to preemptively write my will.”

Tommy chuckled low under his breath. “Not sure there’s much to write. You’ve got half a bottle of gin and a hairpin in your coat pocket.”

“I was saving that hairpin for you,” you said dramatically, cracking one eye open. “It’s sentimental.”

“Right,” he said, amusement curling at the edge of his voice. “I’ll make sure it’s passed down through generations.”

“Make sure our children give it to their children,” you said, before you could filter the thought.

The air in the car suddenly felt heavier, thick with something unspoken. The laughter from moments before faded into a silence that stretched just a little too long.

You swallowed, glancing out the window like the answer might be waiting in the dark streets passing by. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk, maybe if the words hadn’t tumbled out so easily, you would’ve had a better response.

But Tommy spoke first.

“You’re drunker than I thought,” he said, voice light. Like he was offering you a way out. A way to pretend you hadn’t said it.

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to settle. “Maybe,” you murmured, shifting slightly in your seat. “Or maybe I just like the idea of hoarding hairpins for future generations.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but his fingers tapped against the steering wheel– once, then twice. He didn’t say anything else.

Another silence settled between you, not uncomfortable, but thick with meaning neither of you dared touch. You could still feel your words lingering in the air, like smoke curling between you. Maybe he was waiting for you to say something more. Maybe you were waiting for him to do the same.

But he didn’t. And neither did you.

Instead, Tommy’s hand shifted, brushing against your knee for only a moment before returning to the gearshift. The warmth of it lingered.

Your eyelids grew heavier with every mile. The warmth of the car, the gentle hum of the engine, and the quiet that had settled between you made it easy to drift. You weren’t sure exactly when your head tilted against the window or when your thoughts turned into the soft fog of sleep, but the next thing you felt was a hand brushing lightly against your arm.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice was low, gentle. “Come on, love. We’re home.”

You stirred, groggy and slow, blinking at the dim streetlamp outside the house.

“I can walk,” you mumbled, already fumbling for the door handle.

Tommy opened your door first, offering his hand, but you waved it off stubbornly. “I said I can walk.”

He hesitated, but stepped back with a sigh, watching you with that skeptical half-smirk that never quite reached his eyes when he was worried.

You swung your legs out and stood, only to feel the ground shift beneath your feet, your balance tipping just enough for your knees to wobble.

“Shit–” you muttered, reaching out blindly.

But you didn’t fall.

Tommy’s arm was already around your waist, strong and sure, catching you just before you could stumble. His other hand braced your elbow, steadying you with practiced ease.

“Told you,” he muttered, pulling you gently against him. “Drunker than you thought.”

You didn’t argue this time. You just leaned into him for a second, letting the dizziness pass, your cheek resting briefly against his chest before you grumbled, “I think the ground’s just got it out for me.”

That earned a short, low laugh from him, the kind that rumbled faintly through his chest as he steadied you again. “Right,” he repeated with a smirk. “Let’s get you inside before you go face-first into the pavement.”

“It’s a vendetta. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, well I’ll have a word with it in the morning,” he said dryly, guiding you up the steps with patient ease. “Sort it out properly.”

You reached the door, and he helped you inside without another stumble, his hand steady at your back. The moment the warmth of the house wrapped around you, a wave of exhaustion hit again. You sagged slightly in his arms, and he steadied you without a word, already reaching to take off your coat.

“You’re going to feel like hell in the morning,” he murmured, voice low against your temple as he slipped your shoes off one by one.

“M’fine,” you mumbled, swaying slightly as you tried, and failed, to toe off the second shoe yourself. “Just need… a nap. A long one. That lasts all night.”

Tommy chuckled under his breath, catching your elbow before you could lose your balance again. “That’s called going to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Semantics,” you muttered, eyes barely open now.

His arm slid beneath your knees before you could protest, and in one fluid motion, he lifted you off the ground.

You let out a small noise of protest, but your head was already leaning against his shoulder. “I could’ve walked.”

“You would’ve ended up in the flower garden,” he said, carrying you through the quiet hallway with practiced ease.

“I don’t even like flowers that much,” you mumbled, your words slurring into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll remember that for the wedding,” he teased softly, his lips brushing the top of your head.

Your only reply was a sleepy little huff as he nudged open the bedroom door with his foot.

He eased you down onto the mattress with gentle hands, pulling the blanket up over your legs. You were already halfway gone, your head turning toward the pillow with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

Tommy paused, standing beside the bed for a moment, watching you settle. His expression softened, the hard edges of him easing just slightly.

Then he leaned down, brushing your hair back from your forehead, pressing another kiss there.

But before he could pull away, you reached up and caught the front of his shirt, fingers curling loosely into the fabric. “No,” you mumbled, tugging him down a little further. “Stay.”

“I am,” he said gently, but you shook your head, pulling harder until his face was inches from yours.

“That’s not what I meant,” you whispered, lips brushing close to his. “Come to bed, Tommy.”

He let out a low breath, but didn’t move. “You’re drunk.”

You smirked, eyelids heavy but gaze steady. “I’m drunk and still know exactly what I want.”

Tommy tried to hold his composure, but your fingers were already slipping beneath his collar, warm against the base of his neck. He caught your wrist gently, stilling your hand, but you only used the other to curl into his shirt, holding him tighter.

“Don’t walk away,” you murmured, your cheek brushing his jaw, your voice barely a breath now. “Just… stay here. With me.”

Your arms wrapped around him fully then, clinging with soft insistence, pulling him down toward you. Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his vest, splaying across his back like you needed to feel every inch of him, to keep him tethered to the bed.

He sighed, and you could feel the tension in his frame, the way his muscles coiled beneath your hands, the way his restraint flickered under the weight of your touch.

“You’re making this very difficult,” he muttered, voice low and strained, one hand bracing on the mattress beside you.

“You make everything difficult,” you whispered with a crooked grin, curling closer to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “But I love you anyway.”

Tommy’s breath caught at that, just slightly, but enough for you to feel it. His hand moved again, this time smoothing down your back, pausing at the curve of your waist.

“You won’t even remember saying any of this tomorrow,” he murmured, but the words lacked bite. He said it more to convince himself than you.

You tightened your grip, pressing your nose to his collarbone. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Sweetheart…” His voice was raw now, more vulnerable than he meant it to be. He buried his face in your hair for the briefest moment, just breathing you in.

And still, somehow, he found the will to gently ease you back onto the pillow.

“I love you, but you’re drunk,” he said quietly, brushing his fingers along your cheek. “Even if you’re bloody irresistible when you’re like this.”

You clung to his wrist, eyelids fluttering. “Fine, but you owe me,” you mumbled again, voice slurring slightly with sleep. “Can you at least stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “I’ll be right here.”

Your grip loosened slowly, sleep tugging at you until the weight of your eyelids was too much to fight. Tommy stayed there beside you until your breathing evened out, until your fingers slipped from his wrist and your body went slack beneath the blankets. Only then did he ease himself down beside you, propped against the headboard, one arm draped protectively across your waist, just like he promised.

You slept soundly, curled into him like you belonged nowhere else.

...

It was the pounding in your skull that woke you first– a steady, pulsing ache behind your eyes, sharp and relentless. You groaned, rolling over into the pillow and immediately regretting the movement. The world spun just slightly, and your stomach gave a slow, warning churn.

You pressed your hand to your forehead, wincing. “Oh, God…”

“You alive, over there?”

Tommy’s voice came from the doorway– dry, amused, and just a bit too loud for your current condition.

You cracked one eye open, glaring weakly at him. “Barely.”

He smirked, already crossing the room with a glass of water in one hand and something in the other. “Told you you’d feel it in the morning.”

“Please don’t be smug. It’s painful,” you groaned, sitting up slowly and clutching your temples.

Tommy handed you the water and some tablets, sinking down on the edge of the bed beside you as you gulped them down with a wince. He reached out, brushing your hair back from your clammy forehead with careful fingers.

“You look like hell.”

“You know how to charm a girl.”

He grinned and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Think I’m well passed charming you after what you said last night,” he murmured, tone light and teasing now.

You froze slightly, eyes narrowing. “What… what did I say?”

“Nothing too brash. Something about hairpins and passing them down through generations,” he said casually, stretching back a bit. “Something about our children.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I want to die.”

“Then there was the part where you tried to seduce me,” he added with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself now.

“I really want to die.”

Tommy chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you into his side. “You were charming,” he said. “Clingy. And ridiculous, of course. But charming.”

You groaned again, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “I can’t believe I said all that.”

“Well…” he said, glancing down at you. “You meant it, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch between you again.

“Good,” he said softly, brushing his lips against your hair. Then, Tommy stood up to grab the cup of tea he’d left on the nightstand. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

You squinted at it suspiciously. “Is it tea or some secret Shelby hangover cure?”

“Bit of both,” he said, handing it over. “Polly swears by it. Kept Arthur alive for nearly half of his twenties.”

You took a sip, grimacing slightly. “Tastes like dirt.”

“Aye. That it does.”

You glared at him over the rim of the mug, but he just grinned and disappeared briefly into the wardrobe. When he returned, he was tossing one of your sweaters toward the bed.

“Get dressed.”

“What?” Your brow furrowed. “Where are we going?”

Tommy shrugged, too casual to be trusted. “Got a few things to take care of.”

“Define a few things.’”

“Wedding festivities, remember? Flowers. Cake tasting. Something about centerpieces.” He waved a hand in vague circles. “Apparently, Polly said there’s a schedule now.”

You blinked at him. “You’re dragging me to do wedding planning while I’m half-dead?”

“I tried to get you home last night, but you insisted on that last drink,” he said with a shrug. “You brought this on yourself.”

You flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “This has to be some sort of punishment.”

“Come on,” he said, tugging the blanket back. “You’ll live.”

“Debatable.”

“C’mon then. Get up. I’ll bring a bucket just in case. Don't need you getting sick in my car.”

That earned him a glare, but you forced yourself up, groaning the whole way. The ache in your head still pulsed behind your eyes, but at least now it felt manageable. You shuffled into your clothes slowly, every movement exaggerated by your hangover-induced misery.

Outside, the air was sharp and cool, and it helped clear the fog just a little. Tommy kept a hand on your back as you walked, steady and quiet, and you leaned into him gratefully, your headache slowly loosening its grip. It still throbbed faintly at your temples, but this time it wasn’t from what you'd been through, it was your own doing. Self-inflicted, ordinary, even a little stupid, and strangely, that made it easier to bear. There was something almost comforting about it, something that reminded you you were healing. That pain like this, a hangover from too much laughter and champagne, was yours. Not his.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of floral arrangements and fabric swatches, of bakers offering samples and women with notebooks chattering about linens. You could hardly keep up, your head still tender and your brain moving at half-speed, but every time you felt yourself drifting, Tommy’s hand would find yours under the table or brush against your back in that grounding, comforting way of his.

When you finally sat down at the last stop– a bakery full of the smell of sugar and vanilla, you looked at him across the table with bleary eyes.

“You owe me a full day of doing absolutely nothing after this.”

Tommy smirked. “Whatever you’d like, love.”

You rolled your eyes, but a faint smile tugged at your lips.

Even with the pounding in your skull, even with the ache in your ribs and the exhaustion dragging through your limbs– there was something soft about it all. Something grounding. Something that made the thought of becoming his wife feel a little less like a dream and more like the most real thing in the world.

By the time you finally stepped through the front door, your entire body felt like it had been wrung out. You’d spent the day shoulder to shoulder with Tommy, sampling cakes until your teeth ached, listening to a florist go on about arrangements you barely understood, getting fitted for shoes you’d probably kick off halfway through the reception. Somewhere in between, you’d picked linens, reviewed seating charts, and argued about how many tiers a cake really needed to be.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d sighed, muttered that you were over it, and threatened to elope. But every time you looked at him, every time he’d leaned in with a subtle smirk or slipped his hand into yours, you forgot how tired you were.

But later, back at home, you had one thing on your mind: the couch and silence.

You were curled across it in your favorite robe, hair a little messy, feet tucked under a blanket, a book resting half-forgotten in your lap. Your eyes were heavy, your limbs slack, your head finally free from that dull ache that had lingered since the morning. You’d earned this.

You heard him before you saw him, the quiet creak of floorboards. And then, Tommy appeared in the doorway.

He paused, taking in the sight of you completely relaxed for the first time all day. A slow, amused smile curled at his mouth.

“You look comfortable,” he said, his voice low, tired in that way that made it even deeper.

“I am comfortable,” you said smugly. “And I intend to stay that way. You, on the other hand, owe me foot rubs, hot tea, and an apology for making me choose between peonies and gardenias.”

Tommy stepped forward with a glint in his eye, loosening his tie. “I don’t remember signing that agreement.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but then he was suddenly climbing onto the couch, half kneeling, half crawling, until his weight settled gently on top of you, arms bracketing your head, his face inches from yours.

Your breath caught.

“I did the noble thing last night,” he murmured, lips brushing just above your cheekbone. “Had to say no, despite my beautiful fiance throwing herself at me.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “I did not throw myself–”

“Practically begged,” he teased, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nearly dragged me to the bed.”

“That was clearly the gin talking.”

“And tonight,” he continued, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “You’re sober.”

Your heart thudded as his mouth found the hollow beneath your ear, slow and purposeful. One of his hands slid beneath the robe, fingers brushing lightly along your hip.

“Tommy–”

“You said I owed you,” he murmured. “I’m just here to deliver.”

You tilted your head back slightly, meeting his eyes– warm, intent, absolutely, devastatingly yours.

“Then you better not keep me waiting,” you said.

Tommy’s lips curved faintly at your words, but there was nothing teasing in the way his eyes flickered over your face now, just a slow, simmering heat that made your breath catch all over again.

“Is that so?” he echoed softly, voice rough at the edges.

You nodded, but it was the kind of small, breathless movement that barely made it past the nerves gathering in your chest. His mouth brushed yours before you could even respond again, just a featherlight kiss, a taste, more a question than a claim. But when you leaned up into it, the answer was loud and clear.

His next kiss was deeper– firm, deliberate, his hand sliding up along your side, fingers parting the fabric of your robe with careful ease. His body pressed gently but fully against yours, warmth sinking into your skin like something you’d been aching for all day.

You gasped softly against his mouth, feeling his other hand slide beneath you to cradle your back, keeping you pressed flush to him.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he rasped against your jaw, lips trailing kisses down the side of your neck. “Coming home, seeing you like that– curled up, like you’re already mine.”

You were dizzy in the best way, every inch of your skin awake under his touch. His fingers brushed against your thigh, slow and patient, making you shiver beneath him.

“I am yours,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out.

His head dipped lower, lips grazing the hollow of your collarbone. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin like a promise. His hand slid further up your leg beneath the robe, his thumb brushing in slow circles along the inside of your thigh.

You arched into him instinctively, your body already answering before your mind could form another thought. He kissed you again, slower this time, like he meant to memorize the shape of you, the taste of you, the way you sighed into him when his hand finally found the soft, sensitive skin just below your hip.

And through all of it– his hands, his mouth, his body warm and firm against yours, there was a tenderness beneath the heat. A kind of reverence in every kiss, every movement, like he wasn’t just claiming you, he was grounding you, reminding you again and again that you were safe. Wanted. Loved.

His mouth found yours again, slower now, softer, like he couldn’t get enough of just holding you close. You tangled your fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling your breath hitch as his thumb traced delicate circles against your waist.

“Still want that quiet night in?” he whispered against your lips, his voice a little hoarse now, full of heat and affection all at once.

You smiled, breathless, your heart full and fluttering. “I want this. You."

And you could feel him smile against your skin– soft, knowing, completely undone by you.

“Good,” he murmured.

His arms curled around you more securely, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. You melted into his warmth, into the solid strength of him, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Outside, the world kept spinning, chaotic and loud and unforgiving, but in that quiet space, wrapped in his arms, it all faded away.

For now, there was only this.

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

Note

Hey,

I love your writings.❤️Keep it up!

Could you please write a Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen) one-shot, where the reader is Newt‘s sister and an auror at Macusa. He has plotted for years to finally get her and while on an undercover mission, his followers kidnap her. She soon realizes how obsessed he is and try‘s to use those feelings against him. Her plan is to give in on his affection to earn his trust, but it goes further than she thought?(with smut,where he tries to babytrap her?)

♡: thank you so much also this is my first time writin about gellert grindelwald, i hope u like it

A beautiful butterfly

PAIRING: Gellert Grindelwald (mads mikkelsen) x auror!reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), kidnapping, power imbalance, obsessed gellert, young reader (age unspecified, gellert is 46), unprotected sex, body worshipping, teasing, baby trapping, breeding kink, praise, a little unhinged gellert, dubcon, kissing.

SYNOPSIS: Being Newt’s sister is prideful for you but it also comes at a high risk. Especially when you’re also an auror often going on undercover missions. All comes crashing down when you're kidnapped by none other than the brainwashed followers of the strongest wizard — Gellert Grindelwald. Realizing he's completely obsessed, you try to outsmart him but the consequences to that come with a heavy price to pay.

Wizards were strong, so were witches.

Being the sister of a renowned wizard and an auror working at MACUSA, you had your own reputation to uphold. Often going on undercover commissions and assignments for the congress you worked for.

Just like that, you were out on an undercover mission once more to bring back information regarding one of the most dangerous beasts — having escaped your brother’s suitcase once more.

You hadn't expected to be caught red handed rummaging through the little drawers, in hopes of finding some knowledge about the beast’s origin. Your wand stayed firm in your hand, fingers flicking through the pages of books.

Not a single person knew where the beast had gone to, hence the ministry sent you to look for him. You were the best at being a sneaky little spy, so when you were apprehended by a flock of dark wizards and witches, it left you flummoxed.

Your endeavor to flee proved to be futile when they somehow took your only protection from you, the wand. There was no point in fighting them. They overpowered you and you were in no mood to be turned into an orb cursed to roam the earth for all of eternity.

Or worse, a frog.

Your vision was concealed with a dark blindfold. There was no way you could see where they were talking you but you knew they used their teleportation to deliver you to whoever that commanded them. Confusion had clouded your mind — hoping that this captivity was based on a simple misunderstanding.

Your pleas fell upon deaf ears.

They didn't harm you, only telling you to keep your mouth shut and not make noise. There was no way you could tell where you were and when all the noise swirled into silence, your blindfold was pulled open.

In front of you stood Gellert Grindelwald, most probably the strongest dark wizard of all time.

You'd seen him and what he could do. He'd proved himself capable and strong when half of the aurors at MASUCA left and converted to his side. The tales of it were all known but you were never a part of it. How did he get his hands on you and why did he? When all of it happened, you were tending to other needs of the ministry.

If his intention was to also manipulate you into switching to his side, that wouldn't work at all. You were loyal, a firm believer in keeping humanity safe and oblivious to the magic that breathed beneath the earth’s core.

You analysed your surroundings.

The room was beautiful. High, beige colored walls. Spectacular carvings decorating the ceiling and the massive chandelier hanging from it gave away at the opulence of this room. The curtains were made of smooth georgette, keeping away the lovely moonlight from illuminating the room.

Candle holders were everywhere, on the drawers — to the vanity table. Your breath shuddered at just how breathtaking the room actually was.

“Do you like it?” He asked, staring at you with the same gaze with which you scanned the room.

You took a step back, calves coming in contact with the bed. “What?”

“The room. I got it decorated for you, do you like it?” You licked your lips in nervousness, staring at the man in confusion. Did he give all his followers such rooms, such beautiful rooms? Is that why they were this influenced into following him?

You blinked at him. “If you think by presenting me with such a glamorous looking room, I will give in to you then you are absolutely wrong. I have and will always be loyal to the Congress.”

Your voice was hard, tone stern as you stared at him with furrowed eyebrows. Gellert let out a small laugh, shaking his head at you then he closed some of the distance between the two of you by stepping forward. Your body reacted by pressing your calves deeper into the bed.

“I could never, my love. How dare I to win your love by such meaningless little presents?” You blinked, again. Dumbfounded by his choice of words.

The sparkle in his different colored eyes was glinting. “It is only to maks you happy. This, and all the other gifts I have prepared for you, my love.”

“Grindelwald, do you believe you can make me join you by manipulating me through your affections?” You asked, a finger pointing at him. Your tone was laced with pure venom. This was the enemy, not someone you could possibly have a love affair with.

And why was he even talking to you like he was madly in love with you? This made no sense to you whatsoever. Gellert stepped towards you, hands intertwined behind his back.

“It is no manipulation. You have captivated me ever since I saw you with Newt, and all the other aurors of the Congress.” His words were of pure deceive, you thought you knew that but you were oblivious to the raw obsession which had blossomed for you in Gellert’s heart when he'd laid his gaze upon you.

Gellert inhaled a deep breath, shutting his eyes shut when you bit on your lower lip in a moment of frustration. “I have searched everywhere for you, my butterfly. I put hold on my ambitious and goals to look for you and here I have you finally.”

From Gellert’s expression, he appeared entirely drawn and infatuated. This was a spell which you'd unknowingly put on him, one you didn't know how to take off him but as a loyal auror to the MACUSA, you could use this to your own advantage.

And so a cunning plan cooked in your mind.

“You mean to tell me you're in love with me?”

Gellert shook his head. “I'm gone far beyond that, to the point of no return. I mastered dark magic to a dangerous extent just to locate you.”

You felt your skin crawl at his words. This was something dark — something that could swallow you whole if not careful. Your gaze lingered over to his face, holding unwavering eye contact with him. “If I don't reciprocate these emotions, will you burn me like how you burned those other aurors?”

Your words a poisonous reminder of his past actions. Newt had told you how him and the aurors barely managed to survive Grindelwald’s dark, fire magic. It had almost managed to consume them all and you were apprehensive to meet the same fate.

Gellert’s eyes softened. Eyebrows dropping, akin to a puppy. “Rest assured, my beautiful butterfly. I could never inflict such harm upon you ever. You can take your sweet time.”

A smile had ceased his features.

Instead of responding to him, you sat down on the bed. Knees bunching up to your chest, in a hostile position. A sigh dropped from your shuddering lips and your eyes trailed up to his face.

“Will you keep me locked up in this room?”

Gellert’s blue eye twitched. “Absolutely not. I wish you to roam the perimeters of my fine establishment but, you mustn't escape and in order for that to happen, I will have to trust you.”

Your eyes dropped to the marbled floor. It reflected the yellow candlelight as you sent him a slow nod, suffocating the conversation right then and there. Begging him to release you would hardly work in your favor so you decided to play smart. Returning his affections until you'd win his trust was the route you chose for yourself.

But you didn't know it would end differently than what you'd anticipated.

— ♡ —

Gellert kept you locked in your room for days, only visiting when he brought you food or other basic necessities. You were beginning to miss the feel of your beautifully sculpted wand between your fingers albeit the awareness of never receiving it ever again tug at your heartstrings.

You couldn't tell how long it had been.

Surely had to be more than two weeks.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts and you gave your consent. Gellert had respected your privacy, as obsessed and infatuated he was. He'd never dare to barge into your room without your permission but that didn't mean he would stay behind the closed doors for a long period of time.

An auror entered.

You knew that because it was the same auror which used to work under MACUSA at one point, the same auror which would bring you your meals when Gellert was not available to tend to you. You'd expected a tray of all sorts of edible flavoursome pleasantries decorated on a tray but the woman's hands were empty.

“He's waiting for you at the library, if you'd follow me.”

Your eyes widened in an elemnt of surprise.

Finally you were being let out and you couldn't contain the excitement within you. Still you tried to stay cool in front of the auror, nodding at her as you moved in pursuit of her. Through bright and moderate hallways — nothing could compete with the inside of your room and its walls.

A beautiful golden cage.

For his beautiful butterfly.

As you entered the library, your lips were agape. The view before you was the most beautiful ever. You'd expected a dull library, one you had back at your work place but this? This was completely captivating. A spectacular view of the sea greeted you through the large window. Gellert stood by the parapets, staring ahead.

Your heart beat picked up.

When he felt your presence, he was quick to turn around. A smile plastered on his face upon seeing you, silver locks neatly combed to the side. You slowly walked upto him, hesitation clear like crystal in your movements and Gellert couldn't wait for you to fully accept him.

You'd been obedient.

Ate your meals on time, listened to him, conversed with him and he could feel a sense of camaraderie had formed between the two though he ached for more. Friendship was not what he aimed with you. There were unnerving desires flogging within his core and he needed to set them free.

“Come here.”

You stood closer to him, hand on the glass railing. Your eyes ran across the potent waves of the sea crashing at the shore, and calming down. It was a repeated sight but you couldn't have enough of it.

“Its a beautiful sight, no?”

You nodded to him, focusing your attention on Gellert. “Yeah. It's breathtaking.”

“Nothing compares to you.” He so casually said and you wondered just how did you even manage to become the object of his affections and desire? It was hard to believe that he fell for you in a simple glance. Love at first sight coming from a dark wizard was of amusement.

Yet you didn't say anything about it.

“Gellert.” You called out, sharply taking in a breath. “Why me? I'm the sister of the man who seeks to destroy you. It is only natural for you to dislike me too.”

“We're wizards and witches, my butterfly. There is nothing natural about us.” He scoffed, shaking his head.

But he hadn't answered your question and he noticed the disarray on your face. Gellert’s hand lifted from the wood nailed into the tempered glass railing, reaching to cup the side of your face. Thumb settled over your chin in a gentle touch.

This was the first time in the two weeks you'd been here when he touched you.

His hands were cold, like he had no blood pumping through his veins. Your lips shuddered at the spark contrast of your warm skin against his cold blooded hand.

“You're kind.” He said, like it was the most beautiful thing ever about you. “You're so full of kindness and love for these animals, these filthy animals. Knowing you'll always be above them, be superior yet you protect them like they are your own.”

Your head tilted, bemused. “Don't you find them less than you? If you look down upon them, why did my kindness towards them intrigue you to the point of capturing me?”

Gellert’s eyes wandered. His other hand formed into a fist when he noticed how you gulped, the subtle movement of your throat sending him into a whirlpool. A turmoil of poorly contained desired and wanton exploding. The way your lips shuddered when he touched you. To you, he appeared calm and collected but on the inside Gellert was fighting his own demons.

“Because if you're so kind to love the muggles, you'd be kind enough to embrace me too.” The soft feeling of his gentle strokes over your cheek almost made you forget about everything.

The cunning plan. Winning his trust and escaping him was put on halt in that moment when Gellert stepped closer to you, face only an inch apart. His lips hovered above yours and you inhaled — warm breath mingling with his cold one.

He took your lips into a sweet kiss and you allowed him to, all a new step into the plan. To use his own feelings against him, find a way out and never look back. If you were to fight your way out of here, Gellert would end you with one swing of his wand. He'd mastered magic that was beyond your understanding even.

His other hand moved to hold your waist and you sighed into the kiss, tilting your head into giving him more access. Gellert’s tongue pried open your mouth for him, slipping into the warmth your cavern had to offer him. His tongue battled with yours but you'd already given up on winning, letting him consume you.

Before it could increase, evolve into something way past your comfort level, you retreated. Gellert’s hand ached to tighten around your waist but he held back, holding onto the tethered pieces of his self control.

Your chest rose up and down, the kiss having left you in a daze. You took a few steps backwards and then turned around, running out the library back to your room. Gellert not following you was a hint that he had finally begun to trust you.

You found yourself in the same room. Fingers trailing lines over your lips, a feeling best foreign to you spreading in your chest as well as stomach. You didn't know what was going on but there was only your freedom on your mind.

And the kiss.

The sweet kiss.

You were torn between following up with your plan and submitting to the sweet kiss. This was confusing and you dropped onto the bed, burying your face within your pillows.

— ♡ —

Days passed after the last encounter with him which included a kiss. He would come by, only for a few moments. Gellert would try to build conversations with you, in hopes that one day you might welcome him with open arms. You'd respond too, to slowly slither your way underneath the cloak of his trust. It wasn't such a difficult task because soon, Gellert had sent one of his followers with a dress for you.

The auror had placed the box on the bed and with the simple instructions to get ready and meet her outside, she left. You were baffled but still peeled open the nicely packed box and it revealed a beautiful dress.

A pale one, off shouldered with puffy sleeves and layers of fabric. You zipped yourself into it after a shower and then left the room, the woman leading you to a garden you didn't even know existed. Filled with magical beauty, you were in complete awe.

A table had been set. Decorated with all sorts of delicious looking pleasantries. The fairy lights illuminating the furniture was such an endearing sight. You walked further and found Gellert standing there and when he saw you, he extended his hand out for you.

You held onto it.

“God, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could devour you instead of my meal.” His comment caused the blood to rush to your cheeks. His thumb caressing the side of your hand as he lead you to the table.

After taking a seat at the table, Gellert also followed and sat across you. The dress made you appear nothing less than a beautiful fairy that had lost her way here. Grindelwald was completely enchanted by you — his hands and body aching to become one with you.

“I prepared this for you, for us, my butterfly.”

You nodded in acknowledgement.

Honestly no one had ever done this much for you. You had partners in the past but this? They could never reach Grindelwald’s level and it only worked to perplex you further.

You both started to eat.

“Do you like the food?”

You nodded. “It's very flavoursome. Thank you, Gellert.”

Everytime you said his name, he felt the chills in his bones. He often pondered late at night how you'd sound like when he's inside you, when he's completely buried deep within the warmth you had to offer. Gellert had appeared nothing less of a gentleman to you but only he knew of his deepest, most sickest desires for you.

Your voice was so soft.

An ache in him grew to hear you moan.

You both enjoyed your meal in silence and you reached over to grab a strawberry from the silver bowl, bringing it to your lips. You took a bite, relishing in its taste as a moan escaped you. Grindelwald was over the moon.

If these were the sounds you were supposed to make, his pants were already tightening.

After a moment, you two had finished eating and Gellert rose up from his seat. Sauntering towards you and holding his hand out for you, to hold.

You slipped your hand into his and stood up, walking in pursuit of him. The man lead you somewhere deep into the garden, a pathway made of stones that you carefully maneuvered your way on. Behind the bushes was concealed a bed — with see through pale curtains falling from its side. It had no roof over it, an unlimited view to the sparkling open sky.

“Gellert?” You asked, in burning anticipation.

He didn't listen to you, only pulled you along to the bed. He sat you down and then took a seat next to you, his hand still holding onto yours. “I've got something for you.”

He snapped his fingers and then multiple butterflies, in all sorts of colors, came flapping their wings. Your eyes enlarged and a smile automatically made its way to your features upon the sight. They were so beautiful and you loved how they moved their wings, a black butterfly with a holographic blue wings setting on your thigh.

You didn't touch it.

Only watched it.

“Gellert they're so gorgeous.” You whispered, impressed by this act of his. The butterflies had covered the area and you couldn't help bit try to capture a few, bridled by their beauty.

“Makes you want to capture them, doesn't it? How beautiful they are. You wish to keep them in a cage, only for you to look and touch.” Grindelwald had just given you and shown you a perfect example of your own situation and how he felt for you.

But you were a human.

A butterfly was a — butterfly.

Yet you couldn't help the guilt from spreading.

You stared at him, as the butterfly flapped its wings in front of you both. Gellert leaned forward, once again grasping your lips with his own. This time he had no intention of letting you leave.

His hands fell down to your waist, caressing it through the fabric. Lips wrapping around your lower lip, sucking on it like it could produce nectar at any given moment. Your back arched into the kiss and he immediately took that as you wanting more.

Gellert’s hands flew to the zipper of your dress, tugging it down. His fingers caressing along your spine in the process and your bated breath mingled with his. His tongue swirled around yours and when the dress dropped down to your waist, you gasped.

Your breasts were exposed and Gellert broke the kiss to admire them. He looked at you and you fought the urge to allow him — knowing that this was going too far into the plan you'd cooked up in your head. These were the consequences to your own actions.

“Gellert, please wait.” You breathlessly said.

He stopped. “Don't stop me now. I have waited years to have you.”

Before you could oppose, Gellert had already taken your breasts into his hand. Fondling the fat – playing with it. His fingers pinched and tugged and your lips released soft little whimpers. His hands were cold as ice and a hiss left you.

He took one erect nipple into his mouth as he undid the black bow at his tuxedo, letting it fall apart. Gellert sucked while toying with the other one and panic flooded in. You couldn't possibly let him go further with his, knowing that it wasn't your plan to do so but denying him right now could lead to suspicion.

As you tried to think of ways to make him stop, the desire burning in your core soon sheened your brain. Your hands hesitantly reached to tangle in his hair and feeling that response made Gellert act out more.

A form of consent, he took it as.

But in reality you couldn't do anything other than submit to the pleasure.

“You've got such a beautiful body.” He commented, hands dropping from your breasts and cupping your waist. His hands caressed your skin like it was a rare gem found among coal — only for the most fortunate ones. Your spine was erect and then Gellert pulled back.

His hands pushing your body down and you allowed him to, having no escape. The cold air mixed with his icy touch only worked as his allure. Gellert rid you of the dress, unveiling your glorious frame to his desperate gaze and he sharply breathed.

Chest rising up and down.

“Undress me, butterfly.” You swallowed, nervous at his command of your indulgence as well.

Your arms extended, fingertips pushing off the black coat off him. Gellert noticed the tremor in your hands and he couldn't care anymore. He'd waited years for this moment, to finally get his hands on you. It was cruel of you to expect more wait from him.

Your fingers undid the buttons of his white shirt and pried it open, exposing his broad chest. Gellert took one of your hands into his, bringing it upto his lips to deliver a firm kiss to it. Your heart beat fastened at that action.

Hands tugging at the buckle of his pants, you undid it and then tossed the belt somewhere in the garden. Gellert’s fingers caressed along your thigh, gently tapping at the exposed skin, gaze hungry and full of lust. Your breath hitched when he opened you to him, exposing your cunt.

You felt deeply ashamed of the saturation that had occured in your cunt.

You were an auror, a loyal auror to the Congress but here you were, involved in such sin with the dark wizard. The one who'd killed many of your colleagues and wished to change the order of the world.

Gellert slipped his own pants off along with his briefs. You were two naked bodies about to entangle and the idea terrified you. How could you ever possibly go back from this? Bring yourself to forget about this when its done?

You braced yourself in the name of a small sacrifice for an eternity of freedom.

Gellert’s hand found its way between your thighs and you let out a broken breath. His fingers trailing over your cunt — collecting your arousal. He was pleased with what he saw.

You were such a gorgeous girl. Laying before him with the moonlight illuminating your each feature, each flaw, all the beauty spots you had. Your hair like the waves of the sea, sprawled across the bed akin to vines that had trapped Gellert in their tight embrace. The constant twitching of your lips, the way heat prickled your cheeks and turned them beetroot. Gentle strokes of red paint over your canvas like skin.

He leaned forward to occupy your lips in a rough kiss.

He was a fucking mess and the grip on his self control was beginning to become lose.

Gellert’s fingers were coated in your slick and then he entered your pussy, swallowing the whimper which escaped you. His finger alone filled you and when you'd grown used to it, he added another one all while consuming your tongue.

You tilted your head to the side, your arms moving to wrap around his nape. Gellert fucked his fingers into your pussy, loving how tight you were. He could only imagine how delirious he would feel once he was inside your sweet cunt.

“G-Gellert.” You whimpered into the kiss, trying to break apart. “I can't breathe, Gellert.”

He didn't care. You could tell the man was losing any ounce of self control he once possessed, his lips pressing up against yours in a tight kiss. Spit coating your swollen lips and you gasped, to inhale, only for him to push his tongue inside your mouth. Roaming the warmness of it, he was kissing you feverishly.

His fingers plunged in and out of you and your back arched off the sheets. Your cunt throbbing due to the sensation being delivered to it. He curved his fingers and pushed into the gummy spot — a shriek breaking through you in the lip lock.

Gellert broke the kiss to breath.

As he stared down at you, he couldn't help but grow painfully harder and you swallowed when you caught glimpse of that. You could practically feel his cock against your knee and you sighed at the feeling.

“One kiss and you look like you'll pass out at any given moment.” He whispered, loving the way your lips puckered up and redenned over s single kiss.

A single, vigorous kiss of raw passion and infatuation.

“That wasn't a kiss.” You breathed, touching your lips with your fingers. “I-It felt like you were going to eat me at any second.”

Gellert chuckled at your words. He was glad you could feel his love for you through his actions. He was conscious about not possessing enough affection for you to acknowledge his love but he was pleased that you caught onto it.

His fingers worked their way, to prepare you and your arms flew back to his nape. Breath released in shattered little whines as he now added another form of pleasure by massaging your clit. The nerves being stimulated sent you to a different world — back rising from the mattress and lips falling apart.

Gellert felt you tighten.

“Going to cum, sweet girl?” You nodded at him, your thighs shivering.

Before you could chase after your release, he stopped. You whined in frustration, staring at him through hooded eyes. “W-Why?”

After asking him that, you wanted a void to open up and swallow you. You were not on his team, not a part of him, how could you beg for his touch? A release from a man like him? It all tore you apart and confused you.

“You're going to cum with me. On my cock, my beautiful butterfly.” He whispered, the gleam in his blue eye giving away his desire.

You shuddered when he pressed the fat head of his cock against your clit and you whimpered at the contact. Gellert licked his lips, dragging his head down and soon entering you.

The moment he did, you threw your arms around him. His hips pushed forward and his cock fully sunk into you. Your back arched when you felt him glide against your walls — your sinful arousal helping him in the process of it. Gellert couldn't help he was finally one with you.

Body entangled with yours.

Gellert brought his hands to cup your face and stared down at you, face at a close proximity with yours. He stared in your eyes, gaze flickering between your lips. “You okay?”

You nodded. The stretct of his cock had you delirious and you gasped when he moved inside you. Pulling his cock out only to slide it back inside. A constant rhythm of suppressed desires. “It'll feel good, my butterfly. I'll make sure that I please you first. I'm a selfish man but not when it comes to the pleasures of the woman I love.”

He leaned forward to kiss you and you, to your own shock, gave in. Letting him to kiss you like his life depended on it while the pace of his thrusts picked up. Gellert’s hands fell from your face, falling down to grip the curves your body you had to offer. Hands trailing up and down.

He felt as though he was in the presence of a goddess.

Tilting his head, he kissed you with profound fervour, as if to embed you with his taste. Gellert’s tongue occupied your mouth, teeth crashing with teeth. The kiss grew intense and so did the movement of his hips as he drove his cock into you. Thrusting and then you cried out in the moan when he fucked into you a little deeper.

He grinned.

He'd found that spot of sensitivity.

He broke the kiss to witness you all before him. A broken beauty that was finally within his grasp and there was no way he was ever going to let you go. He couldn't believe you'd come to him this easily, this willingly and all of it felt like a dream come true.

Gellert stared at you, admiring you.

“You're so beautiful, it makes me want to give you a child.”

Your eyes widened at his words. In a fit, you attempted to push him off you but Gellert was so blinded by his delusions, he only saw it as your excitement to build with a family with him. His demeanor changed — becoming darker as his hands gripped you by your hips, driving himself into you.

Your little hands tried to reach for him, leaving minor scratches at his shoulders. Gellert was completely far gone, there was no stopping him at all.

“G-Gellert, no.” You managed to stutter out through moans and whimpers.

He ignored it, thinking it to be an imagination.

You were regretting everything. You shouldn't have went ahead with this stupid plan. If you'd shown resistance from the beginning, none of this would've happened. Gellert wouldn't have thought of you to be this pliant and maybe he wouldn't have done this.

A big maybe.

The man was sick. He was going to have you one way another. You being pliant only made things easier for him and upon yourself.

Gellert’s grip tightened as he delivered harsh strokes. With utter determination to get you pregnant. If you were witu child, his child, you wouldn't possibly think of leaving him. Things would be different and everything would fall in his favor.

Your cunt clenched, still on edge from before and he hissed. “No, sweet girl. You will not cum until I am close. We will cum together and I will give you my child, a symbol of our love.”

Tears fell down.

Whether as seeds of your resistance or your pleasure. Unbeknownst to you and Gellert, he felt himself come closer to you.

But then he stalled, picking your leg up and placing it over his shoulder. His hands held your pelvis and his thumbs dug into your skin as his thrusts grew rougher, more firm. You sobbed, stomach tightening and reflexing whenever he slid across your walls.

Gellert groaned. Your pussy gripping his walls, not letting go. A greedy cunt you possessed and Gellert couldn't wait to fill it to the brim with his seed.

“Wish I'd find you sooner.” He grunted, “we would have a child by now but worry not my butterfly, it isn't too late. Is it?”

He was actually expecting you to answer when you were on the brink of falling apart. The irony of him.

“Is.” Gellert thrusted, fucking deeply into you with vigor. “It?”

You shook your head. “N-No. Never t-too late Gellert.”

He nodded his head in satisfaction, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. He felt his balls throb, and you felt his cock twitch inside you. Gellert was close and he smiled at you, silver strands of hair hovering over his sweaty forehead. “Ready, yeah? Ready, my butterfly?”

He was breathless.

Panting like the same beast that you were supposed to find.

You nodded, desperately. Cheeks blooming a red hue and tears wetting them. Gellert’s thrusts slowed down, as he felt his load seep into your cunt. He filled you to the brim, balls hot and throbbing to produce more. You also unraveled underneath him, eyes rolling back to your skull and chest heaving up. Chills danced across your spine as the blood rushed through your veind. Your whines echoing in the garden in contrast to his animalistic groans.

Gellert twitched, feeling how painfully tight your sweet cunt had gotten around him yet he could only find pleasure in it. Enjoying in the vice like grip. Your greedy pussy sucked him in, drinking each drop of his load, milking him dry.

“Yes. Yes, my love. Take my cock in your cunt like that, milk it fuckin’ dry. You'll make me a father, won't you, my sweet girl?”

There was no point in resisting him. You nodded your head as his hand reached down to cup your cheek, lovingly caressing it. You subconsciously leaned into his touch, an insatiable ache spreading in your chest for it.

When he'd filled you enough, Gellert pulled out and watched as his load dripped out of your gaping hole. His gaze lingering upto you and loving how fucked out you seem. Your arm was over your face, in a shameful attempt to veil it and Gellert reached for it, moving it aside.

“Don't hide yourself from me. You belong to me and I belong to you. There is nothing that should be concealed within us.” He laid next to you, pulling you into him. The hair on his chest slightly prickling against your skin.

You couldn't believe what you'd just done and committed to.

That too with Gellert.

Fucking Gellert Grindelwald.

“Our child will be the strongest wizard or witch ever. I'll see to it.” Gellert pressed a kiss to your head, hiding his face in your neck. The butterflies had disappeared now, the fairy lights dimming on their own.

Darkness consumed the area.

And you too lost yourself in Gellert’s warm embrace. Forever torn between your loyalty as an auror to MACUSA or the ache to be with Gellert.

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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It is a truth universally acknowledged that Batman isn’t the only one fiercely protective of his Robins.

Jason’s death led to the Rogues turning against the Joker—especially Harley. By then, she had already realized the extent of his abuse and had left him. So when she learned that her favorite Robin—a tough Crime Alley kid—had been beaten to death by her ex the first time she wasn’t around, she went ballistic.

Once, a newcomer held Nightwing at gunpoint and tried to unmask him on live television. When Harvey Dent saw how close this was to his own hideout, he knew he couldn’t let it slide. He wasn’t blind or foolish—he knew exactly who Nightwing was. The first Robin. A ray of sunshine—badass yet kind. Harvey took only a second to recall how that same little Robin had once helped him through a dissociative episode, choosing to assist rather than arrest him. And that was enough. The newcomer was never seen again.

As much as Damian disliked how close Catwoman was to his father, Selina adored the little kitten. He was honest, fierce, and compassionate in his own way. She loved that he shared her fondness for cats and animals. So when the shelter Damian volunteered at was attacked by Black Mask’s goons, Selina made sure that by the end of the month, Roman wouldn’t have a single piece of art left in his collection.

Eddie could hardly deny that his favorite Robin was the third one. After all, that particular little bird not only respected him as the Riddler but could also solve all his riddles effortlessly. So when a few goons rudely barged into their monthly riddle session, Eddie was not amused. He made sure they knew it.

Consider this your warning: Do not harm the Robins. Unless, of course, you fancy some trouble with the Rogues.

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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Cillian day dreaming about that scene in peaky blinders where Arthur shot luca to make him shut up

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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please please please 🥺🎀

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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The Peaky Role (Part 26)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Smut

The following day, after you already completed an entire morning of intense scenes with some of your co-stars, Nina and Ciara arrived on set with Cillian who still had to get into character for the day's scenes.

You spotted them from across the bustling set, the chatter of crew members weaving like a backdrop to their dynamic energy.

"Is that Y/N?" Ciara leaned forward, surprised by your costume and make-up.

"Yeah, that's her," Nina grinned before she pulled her sister towards you.

"Hello stranger," she called out, her voice bright against the background noise of the set.

You turned, a smile breaking across your face as you caught sight of them.

"Hey! What are you two doing here so early?" you asked as Ciara bounced on her heels, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Well, apparently it takes an hour to turn dad into Tommy Foocking Shelby," Nina teased, rolling her eyes as she pulled Ciara in closer, who couldn't help but stare.

"I suppose the makeup and wardrobe team really get into it," you replied, chuckling, and glanced over your shoulder to spot Cillian chatting with a crew member before, finally, disappearing to get changed.

"You look really hot in that," Ciara blurted out, her eyes shining with unfiltered admiration and you couldn't help but laugh, feeling the warmth of the compliment wash over you.

"It's all make-up and costume. It's ridiculous really," you replied, brushing off the praise while adjusting a loose strand of hair as you felt your cheeks warm.

Nina nudged you playfully. "It's not all make-up, Y/N. You have always been pretty," Nina remarked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Ciara chimed in, her excitement bubbling. "And you totally rock that outfit!" she told you just before you were called on to set again by Steven, in order to film another quick scene with Barry.

"Y/N! We need you on set, stat!" Steven's voice cut through the chatter, pulling your attention.

"Be right there!" you shouted back, quickening your pace to join your co-stars while Nina and Ciara took a seat, watching with eager eyes as you did three takes with Barry who, much to Nina's surprise, was much more charming in real life than on screen.

The scene was wrapped up within forty minutes and not long after that, Cillian finally appeared, dressed as Thomas Shelby, his hair slicked back, the trademark flat cap perched precariously atop his head, and the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

"Oh god, dad loos so out of place," Ciara chuckled, shaking her head as she nudged Nina. "It's like he's playing dress-up," she said, having never seen her father like this, other than on screen.

"You guys can hang around here, but you need to be quiet, okay?" Cillian said as he pulled Nina and Ciara closer, lowering his voice.

"Relax, Dad. We're pros at being invisible," Ciara responded and, with a roll of his eyes, Cillian couldn't help but chuckle.

"Good, because if I catch either of you chatting during a scene, you'll be out of here," he warned, his lips barely curving into a smile as he pointed a finger at them.

"Understood, Mr Shelby!" Nina screeched, stifling a laugh.

Cillian shot her a mock glare, then turned towards you as you, Steven and Barry as he approached.

Steven beckoned for your attention, clipboard in hand, eyes locked on you.

"Alright, we will reshoot the entire scene between you two first and then Barry steps in," he began, his tone brisk and focused. "Cillian, you'll need to bring that intensity back. Y/N, remember your character's desperation," Steven said as he focused on you, eyes sharp as a hawk.

"You got it," you replied, inhaling the scent of the set—aged wood mixed with stale coffee.

"Cillian, bring the tension. We need the audience to feel your character's internal struggle," Steven gestured emphatically, his eyes narrowing. "You two have a connection that's palpable. Use it. Y/N, you need to show fear, and Cillian, harness that anger," he went on to say as you nodded, the weight of his words settling deep within.

"Got it," you replied, your heartbeat quickening as you exchanged glances with Cillian.

He tilted his head slightly, an unspoken understanding passing between you.

Steven and Barry then stepped back to give you space and take their positions while Cillian shifted his weight, his gaze intense as he assessed the scene, his posture radiating authority now as he shifted into character.

"Let's reset," Steven commanded, his eyes sharp as he glances between you and Cillian and Cillian rolled his shoulders, readying himself. "You alright?" he asked you, his brow furrowing as he caught the flicker of tension around your lips.

"Yeah, just... nerves," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You've got this," he whispered back as his expression softened before Steven clapped his hands loudly.

"Action!" the director then called out and Cillian's character flared with intensity.

The scene started off by you approaching Cillian without saying a word. The focus was on your eyes as they locked onto Cillian's in a silent battle of betray and desire.

Your hand brushed against his cheek, and then you ran your thumb over his lips, the heat of the moment swirling around you both even before you leaned in for a kiss, which had an intensity to it that even the cameras seemed to capture.

The kiss was electric. Raw. Completely authentic. You melted into him, the world around you dissolving until there was only this moment, this character, this connection, which was something that, unbeknownst to you, disgusted Nina and her sister.

Just as the kiss deepened, Nina grimaced, whispering to Ciara, "This is so wrong."

"I know. So gross!" Ciara huffed, her brows knitting together as she turned away from the scene until, suddenly, the demur of Cillian's character changed.

Nina and Ciara watched on as Cillian pulled away and pushed you against the wall, his grip steady yet fierce.

"You think you can play me, don't you?" he growled, his eyes narrowing as they held yours, the tension thickening the air.

You inhaled sharply, your heart racing as you replied, "I'm playing for my life, Thomas."

Cillian's grip tightened, his blue eyes blazing with intensity.

"Your life?" he challenged, voice low and threatening as his thumb moved to your lip with a fierce brush as you bit him lightly, running your tongue over the spot, a teasing challenge in your eyes.

"You think this is a game?" Cillian's voice dropped low, heat radiating between you. "You have no idea what you're risking," he growled, his breath warm against your skin.

"I know exactly what I'm risking, Thomas," you shot back, locking eyes with him. "But I'll take my chances."

The tension crackled, thicker than ever, leaving the entire set silent as Cillian then grasped your throat.

"I've risked everything for this, Tommy," you countered, holding his gaze, the air crackling between you as he held you firm and it was then that Barry stepped on to the set.

"That's enough! You are hurting her!" his character exploded, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Cillian's grip faltered, eyes snapping to Barry, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across his face.

"Stay out of this, Duke," he warned, the fire in his gaze unwavering and, it was then that the director called cut.

"God that chemistry is off the charts," Steven remarked, shaking his head while Nina and Ciara looked on, eyes wide with a mix of horror and fascination.

"Disgusting, right?" Nina mouthed to Ciara, who nodded vigorously, unable to pull her gaze away.

Cillian stepped back, adjusting his cap, breath still heavy from the intensity of the moment while you couldn't help but blush, suddenly aware of the crew's eyes on you.

"Y/N, you alright?" Cillian asked, concern etching his brow as he stepped closer.

With a nod, your heart thundered in your chest as you focused on his intense gaze.

"Really, I'm fine," you assured him, forcing a smile despite the lingering adrenaline while Nina and Ciara exchanged glances, the tension in the air palpable.

"Don't worry girls, it's just acting," Barry mumbled, brushing off their concern as he stepped back, wide-eyed and amused by the fact that both Cillian's daughters were there to witness this scene which, almost surprisingly, only took one take to shoot.

"It's still weird seeing my dad kiss one of my friends, even though it's only for the screen," Nina muttered, crossing her arms with a dramatic flair as she watched you, her father and the director discussing the shoot.

"Yeah, it's like watching a car crash in slow motion," Ciara chimed in, causing Barry to break out in laughter.

"Well, you girls might be in for a surprise then when you see the entire movie," Barry grinned, leaning back casually against the set wall. "Because this scene had nothing on the first one, they filmed together," he went on to say before stepping back on to set so that you could finish off the next scene, involving a fight between Cillian's character and Barry's.

Once filming of the scenes was done, Cillian and you walked off set into different directions.

You caught sight of Nina, her expression still caught between bewilderment and amusement while Ciara had disappeared, back to the apartment.

"I can't believe you really just tongue-kissed my dad," she gawked, her eyes wide with disbelief. "It's so... wrong on so many levels!"

You chuckled nervously, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

"What can I say? It's just acting," you replied, your gaze flicking to where Cillian stood in conversation with Barry, tension lingering in the air.

"Yeah, but you used your tongue. It's gross. Ew," Nina wrinkled her nose, shaking her head as if trying to expel the thought from her mind.

"It's called acting, Nina. We have to make it believable," you shrugged, attempting to brush off her concern. "Besides, it's not really that bad. It's just a kiss," you told her, but she was still distraught by it.

"Just a kiss?" Nina's eyes widened. "Y/N, this is my dad we're talking about! It's like watching a train wreck."

"Look, it's all for the role," you countered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced at Cillian. "It doesn't mean anything," you lied, knowing deep down inside that the thrill of those stolen moments lingered.

"Well, I am glad it doesn't, because ew, I will have nightmares now after watching this," she chuckled before finally changing the topic and, luckily for you, the rest of the day went uneventful.

After spending another hour on set, you went to dinner with Nina while Ciara had some one-on-one time with her father.

At dinner, just across from the hotel, Nina had a few pints of Guinness and, just as she usually would when she was a little tipsy, she let loose about all the things that were bothering her in her life.

It went from her last unsuccessful date with a fellow student to the frustration of dealing with her mother's antics which, since the separation, had become worse.

"I swear, my mother is losing it," Nina scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Last week, she had another episode about dad finding a new place and leaving her and it really sucks," she said as she downed her pint and you had to bite your lip, not wanting to pry, but the worry lines on Nina's face pulled you in.

"But their marriage has been on the rocks for ages, right?" you tried to argue, wanting to pin down the timeline, shifting slightly in your seat. "So, maybe it is for the better if they find their own paths?" you went on to say, knowing very well that this was what Cillian wanted. He had spoken with you about this before and he believed it was time for them to separate for the sake of their happiness.

But Nina shook her head, her expression a mix of frustration and confusion. "Yeah, but she's still holding onto the idea that they'll fix things," Nina replied, her eyes narrowing. "And maybe they can. Maybe they just need some help, you know?" Nina leaned forward, her brows furrowing in thought.

"Help? Like couple’s therapy?" you asked, raising an eye and Nina nodded.

"I thought they tried this," you countered, shifting in your seat as the pub buzzed around you.

"Oh, they did. But mum's convinced that there is another woman, and I am not so sure anymore. I honestly think mum is just being paranoid," Nina said as she leaned back in her seat, fiddling with her pint glass. "And she always accused him of cheating, but there is no proof, you know?" she went on to say as she took a deep breath, her brow furrowing as she glanced at you.

"It's hard, Nina. I know. But sometimes people grow apart, and you really just need to let them sort it out," you replied, knowing that Cillian had moved on, but not wanting to upset your best friend/

Nina nodded; her brows furrowed. "I know," she mumbled, glancing down at her pint. "It's just hard watching them fall apart."

You leaned closer, studying her face. "Hey, I get it. It's messy and confusing. I've been there when dad got divorced, but you know that sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward," you urged, meeting her gaze with warmth. "And that counts for you too. You need to let go and let them work it out," you finished, and Nina sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"I know. You are right," Nina took a deep breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

"But it doesn't stop it from being bloody hard, does it?" she retorted, a flicker of determination shining through her frustration.

"Not at all," you nodded, knowing that was the truth and you felt guilty once again for the whirlwind of emotions that churned between Cillian and yourself, which was clearly adding to the chaos on hand.

"I was actually thinking about moving in with dad," Nina then confided, her voice low as she took a sip of her pint, her expression serious.

"Really? Just like that?" you asked, gulping slightly as you knew what this meant for you.

"Yeah, I've considered it," she replied, her eyes darting over the buzzing pub. "Mum's been getting crazier; Dad's got a better handle on things."

You leaned back, letting her words sink in while knowing very well how this would make things much more difficult for you and Cillian to keep your secret.

"That's a big step," you replied, keeping your tone steady, even as your heart raced. "Have you talked to him about it yet?"

Nina took a deep breath, her expression wavering between determination and uncertainty. "Not yet, but I will. Soon."

Tags:

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@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @kikimurphys @strangeobsessed

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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Don't Touch My Fuckin' Daughter

Paring: Father!TommyxDaughter!ReaderxAnnoying!Alfie

Warnings: Swearing, age gap flirting (but not dirty...banter like)

Summary: Alfie and Tommy Shelby's daughter roast him for a good five minutes.

Word Count: 2,425

A/N: This is my first time writing Alfie, so I am a little nervous. This one shot is all in good fun. :)

Please comment and reblog. Let me know how I did!

She was supposed to be studying. That’s what she had told Tommy. “Daddy, I want to go to university.” Uni-fuckin’-versity! She barely passed her secondary education. But he was willing to allow her to go under the condition…well, under three. “One,” he had started, pacing around her chair. “No fuckin’ partying! If I’m sending your modern woman’s arse to fuckin’ London to study, that’s exactly what you’re going to do!” He stopped pacing around the chair and knelt, getting real close to her face. His finger wiggling with purpose, he continued, “two, you pass your courses. You study, you do your work, your exams. And three! No fuckin’ boys.” Loud and clear, those were Tommy Shelby’s conditions for allowing his eighteen year old daughter to go to London for university. Well, not exactly university, but a women’s college. He was kind and all about it; getting her set up in a flat. It was a nice one, too, with a balcony. One room and a kitchen! Though, she couldn’t fry a bloody fuckin’ egg.

Everyone thought it silly, but Tommy wanted to test the waters. You know? Give the girl some breathing room to flourish and grow. Despite not exactly being confident in her success. Two months. No home visits, to and from. Only phone calls and short letters. Until one day, he decided that he wanted to join his little girl for afternoon tea. Early one Friday morning, he hopped in his car with some flowers and a small gift in hopes to make it for twelve.

When her flat appeared in the distance, he couldn’t wait to see how she was doing. She sounded so enthusiastic in her letters. “Oh, daddy! I am making so many friends in my courses! And my professors really like me. Life is good here in London.” He anticipated her flat to be decorated as Polly had decorated her bedroom back in Birmingham; pink aesthetic with white trim. He jiggled with the door, flowers under his arm and gift handle between his teeth.

“C’mon,” he grumbled in a muffle trying to shimmy the door open with the spare key. When the door finally opened the smile faded into a look of disgust. There was no pink aesthetic. No fucking white trimming. No paintings of Paris and Rome! Instead it was nothing short of the interior of an American mid-western tornado. And there was a stench of something rotten. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he whispered under his breath, attempting to walk in when he nearly tripped over a pastry box before getting his feet tangled in a pair of ladies trousers. “Shite!” he yelled out, gripping onto the sofa. He shouted for his daughter. But there was no answer. Only something of the mix of a snore and snort. He tossed the bouquet on the sofa when someone grunted. He turned his eyes and saw a boy slowly waking up, glaring up at him. On the rocking chair, there was another bloke.

“Mate,” the one on the sofa hissed, squinting as he sat up. Rubbing is eyes, he asked, “what the fuck?” He reached over to the half empty beer bottle to swish his mouth. Tommy arched a brow, clearly appalled.

He didn’t want to but he kept moving on, navigating the trash. He peeked in the loo and of course there was another bloke sleeping in the tub. Tommy grumbled and turned on the tap, watching the boy shoot up, cursing. “Get the fuck out!” he cursed, turning it off. The boy gave him a wild look trying to catch his breath. Before he could say anything, Tommy thumbed to the door. “Don’t you have a job to get to?” The boy blinked before replying no. “You’re fuckin’ kidding?! Get out…go on! And grab the two baboons on the fuckin’ couch while you’re at it, eh?” The boy nodded and walked past him, dripping wet and shivering.

Tommy prayed, which he never did, before entering her bedroom. “I swear to god,” he grumbled, hand on the door handle. “Better not be what I…fuckin’ ‘ell!” He hollered, opening her bedroom door. Hanging over her bed was another bloke and laying with her on the bed were three other girls. He screamed her name and she shot up, blinking for a moment before realizing who it was.

“Daddy!” she squealed, grabbing her blanket and covering herself. Her friends were waking up, and he yelled at them to ‘fuckin’ leave’. Which they were happy to when noticing Mr. Shelby was no man to mess around with. “Daddy! You didn’t say you were coming…why are you here? I mean, daddy, I am happy to see you…but why?”

Tommy froze, mouth open for a second before he finally said, “I didn’t think I needed permission to stop by considering I pay for the fucking flat!” She swallowed, and there was a pause. He was staring her down, shaking his head. “On Thursday night? Where do all these people live? Do these people work? It’s fuckin’ noon! Don’t you have a course at eight on Fridays?”

She winced. “Attendance…is…optional-but, daddy! As long as I do my work, and I do! I really, really do!” Tommy shook his head. “Are you disappointed?” She tried to give him the cute pout that he could never resist. Though, it was easy when the flat he paid for was absolutely trashed and his lovely daughter wasn’t attending her classes.

“You broke our conditions!” He pointed at her. “Now, c’mon. Get dressed. I’m taking you back to Birmingham until I am sure I can trust you.” He left her bedroom and she followed, getting dressed as she walked. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he grumbled, kicking shit out of the way before turning to her. “You need a map for this place! Look at it! Navigating the fuckin’ Amazon! I’m surprised Tarzan isn’t swinging by your bloomers hanging on the ceiling!”

“Daddy, alright,” she grumbled. “Let me just find my bag-”

“You can find Noah’s lost fucking ark better than finding anything in this dump.” He turned to her. “Love! I could wiggled myself through the fucking tunnels in Paris better than I’m walking through this.” He would not stop. “Stevie the fucking sewer rat doesn’t even want to eat whatever is growing that pan…it has fuzz! Why does the fucking pan in the sink have fuzz?!” He walked over to the kitchen shaking his head. “Tell me! Are you allergic to dish soap?! In fact, are you allergic to anything that needs responsibility! Seriously, who raised you? Because apparently it wasn’t me. No one in our family lives like this! In fact, no one lives like this.” The girl, used to her father’s antics, simply grabbed her coin purse and coat. “C’mon…what the fuck is this!?” He looked down and there was a pile of women’s panties hanging on his foot. “Whose are these?” He picked them up.

“Daddy! They’re mine!”

He started to get angry for a whole other reason. “What business do you have wearing underwear like this?” He threw them in a pile.

“Daddy!” she whined again, picking them up. “That’s the clean pile…that is the dirty pile.”

“Clean pile? Oh, so you're telling me there is something clean in this flat?”

They made their way down the stairs and to his car parked on the curb. The whole way down he complained. I bought you flowers…already wilted from the stench in there. I swear, I saw the fucking trashman in there picking through. Fuckin’ ‘ell, ten percent stuff…ninety percent garbage. The bloody fucking trenches were more organized! And on and on and on until they were finally in the car. He turned to her, giving her one last look of disappointment before saying, “I have a stop in London. You have to come with me and then we are going home…home! And when we get home, I want your keys to the car and the flat.”

“Wait, daddy, I am going to a business meeting with you? You never-”

“It’s not a meeting,” he said. “It’s just a check in, if you will.” A check in? She scoffed. Her father must do that often, she had thought. He drove for some time, every so often telling her about the new rules for when she moves back home. “Hand in your keys. No more allowance! You’ll get a job, work part time and go to school in Birmingham. Finn will be taking you to and from. And I’ll tell you another thing…no more fucking partying.” He parked the car at what looked like a distillery. She climbed out after him and followed at his tail.

“Who are we meeting?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder, and replied sarcastically, “the Jewish spokesman…don’t speak. Just stand there and we’ll leave. The less he has to comment on, the better.” She stopped for a minute, knitting her brows before shrugging. They walked inside and down a stairwell before tucking themselves in a room. There was a man turned, mumbling to himself. Even inside, he wore a top hat and held onto a walking stick.

“Mornin’, Alfie,” Tommy said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He looked up at his girl and nodded to the chair next to him.

The man turned, and snorted. “It’s fuckin’ noon, Tommy.”

Tommy sighed, and nodded. “Noon, Alfie.”

Alfie turned and raised his brow at the girl who simply smiled at him. “What the fuck is this!? Picking up strays along the fuckin’ way?” She laughed and told her father that he was funny.

“Yeah,” he responded, dryly, rolling his eyes. “He gets funnier as the time moves on. At least he thinks so.” He motioned to his daughter. “Alfie, this is my girl. Just picking her up from school. Thought since I was in the area, I’d pay a visit.”

Alfie was still looking at the girl, mouth gaped a bit. “Tommy! Tommy fuckin’ Shelby, you know you don’t have to go that fuckin young? She looks like she’s still attached to her mother’s-”

“No, no! Sir,” she laughed, shaking her head. “No! He’s my daddy.”

That only made it worse. “Didn’t fucking know you were into that, but at least your money is being spent on something more than whiskey and whatever else you fucking Gypsies spend yer money on.” Tommy let out a long annoyed sigh, instantly rubbing his temple. “Well, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that! It’s your prerogative, aint it, yeah?”

“She’s my daughter, Alfie,” he said. “Thank you for just making this short visit more uncomfortable than it had to be. On point and key, eh?”

Alfie looked at the girl to Tommy and back to the girl. He walked over, leaning into her face before facing Tommy. “She fucking looks nothing like ya’!” He went back to examining her face, smiling slightly. “That fuckin’ God…I’ll tell you that much! She must take after-”

“Adopted,” Tommy interrupted. “She’s adopted. That’s why.”

“Good fuckin’ luck that is,” he said. “Cause if I had a father that looked like you, I’d pray every fucking day I didn’t look like ya’!”

“Thank you, Mr.-er?” She winced, wanting to be polite. “What should I call you? My daddy taught me to never address an elder by their first name.” The air in the room shifted, and Alfie straightened. When his smile dropped, Tommy’s widened. “Oh! I offended you. I’m sorry. But thank you…I am also happy that I don’t share DNA with him…he’s got,” she paused, and stood, leaning into the mysterious man’s ear. “Issues.”

The smiles switched again and Alfie pulled away, gently putting a hand on her arm. “That is what I’ve been fuckin’ saying, mate! You got problems.” He looked back down at the girl, and took off his hat. “Sorry, love, I don’t mean to swear so much.”

Tommy looked taken aback and said, “Alfie, I’m surprised. You have social awareness. Since when?”

“Well, unlike you, I like her!” Alfie said. “She’s pleasant to be around. You, on the other hand, not so fuckin’ much.”

“Pleasant? Keep her hair overnight,” Tommy said. “Then call me in the morning and let me know how much hair you've lost up top…not that there is much to lose. Noticed you're getting quite thin up there.”

“Daddy!” she whined, her bottom lip pouting out. She affectionately rubbed Alfie’s arm and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry. He’s always like this-”

“I know!” Alfie agreed, taking a seat and pulling her down with him. “Pass my cigar case, love.” Tommy’s jaw stiffened when her delicate hand reached for his metal cigar case. Tommy swatted her hand away. “What?!”

“Get off his lap-”

“Daddy, you’re being ridiculous,” she accused, grabbing the case and taking one out for him, lighting it. “There you go, Mr. Solomons.”

“Call me, Alfie, love,” he said, puffing it. “You know, he comes in here while I’m minding my own business-”

“He does that to me, too!” she agreed, shaking her head. To keep her steady, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled. “Shows absolutely no respect. Just barges right in. Did that to me today, Alfie. And guess what? I’m the bad one because my flat is messy! How am I to clean it for him if I don’t even know he’s coming?” Tommy rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath unreal.

“Un-fuckin-real,” Alfie agreed, looking at Tommy. “You could learn a thing or two from this girl, Tommy. Sweet, pleasant, and personable. She has a personality! Say, what do you have, Tommy?”

His daughter frowned. “Generational trauma…stems from his father. No doubt about it.” She turned to her father, and reached out her hand. “Daddy, it’s okay. You will be okay.” With that, Tommy stood, and fixed his coat.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Enough of this. Come on, we are gonna head out. Alfie, good-bye. Just wanted to stop and say hello-”

“And you already did,” Alfie said. “So why did you stay so long?” He smiled back at the girl, and rubbed her arm kindly. She giggled lightly and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You come back here anytime. Makes dealing with him easier.”

“I will, Alfie,” she said, sliding off his lap and walking to the door. She waved goodbye and left.

“And you’re still here. The Shelby I like left, leaving the one that gives me nothing, but-”

“Alfie,” he interrupted, pointing his gloved finger at the man. “Touch my daughter like that again and I’ll fuckin’ shoot you, yeah?”

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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Evie Fun fact:

Even when she is an adult, Tommy takes Evie on Daddy-Daughter dates...

Like this date to the zoo...

Tommy: EVIE, PUT THAT DUCK BACK IN THE POND...

Random lady *points to a young girl*: She yours?

Tommy: no....that one is....*points to a 22 year old Evie trying to pick up ducks*

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sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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Peaky Match Masterlist

Find your match number using this quiz.

Then look your number up to find out three things about yourself AND three Peaky characters you would be compatible with!

(The links aren’t in yet cause I haven’t posted all the pieces yet, please give me 5-10 minutes to post, tag, and link everything properly)

#136: Freddie Thorne, Jessie Eden, Isaiah Jesus

#137: Ruben Oliver, Lizzie Stark, Tommy Shelby

#138: Lizzie Stark, Ada Thorne, Arthur Shelby

#146: Alfie Solomons, Aberama Gold, Polly Gray

#147: Ada Thorne, Danny Whiz-Bang, Tommy Shelby

#148: Michael Gray, Esme Shelby, Tommy Shelby

#156: Tatiana Petrovna, Michael Gray, Grace Burgess

#157: Arthur Shelby, Charlotte Murray, May Carleton

#158: Bonnie Gold, Polly Gray, Ben Younger

#236: Tommy Shelby, Linda Shelby, Jessie Eden

#237: Ada Shelby, Jeremiah Jesus, Grace Burgess

#238: Jessie Eden, Ben Younger, Alfie Solomons

#246: Johnny Dogs, Polly Gray, John Shelby

#247: Freddie Thorne, Alfie Solomons, Esme Shelby

#248: John Shelby, Lizzie Stark, Luca Changretta

#256: Grace Burgess, Ruben Oliver, Alfie Solomons

#257: Michael Gray, May Carleton, Ada Shelby

#258: Polly Gray, Isaiah Jesus, John Shelby

182 notes · View notes

sangaria12 · 6 months ago

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Peaky Match #158: Bonnie Gold, Polly Gray, Ben Younger

This is a result from the Who’s Your Peaky Match? quiz. The content is under a read more to prevent spoilers for those who haven’t taken the quiz yet.

Keep reading

73 notes · View notes

sangaria12 · 7 months ago

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nightcap

synopsis - A teasing game with Thomas Shelby turns into something dangerously intoxicating when he takes her to a private skyline, pushing her to the edge of pleasure and surrender. Beneath the city lights on his motorcycle, she learns firsthand that Tommy doesn’t just take—he claims. And when it’s over, breathless and wrecked, he leaves no room for doubt—she’s his now.

words - 6,803

pairing - modern!tommy shelby x reader / modern!thomas shelby x reader

warnings - 🔞 smut, domineering, power imbalance, strong language, smoking & alcohol use, mild roughness/manhandling, public sex, unprotected sex on a motorcycle

notes - My first contribution to the the fandom, & excited to be back. 💞

MDNI, 18+ only

The Garrison wasn’t my kind of place. It reeked of old money and new problems, filled with men in expensive suits and women who knew exactly what they were worth. Everything about it was curated—mahogany walls, dim golden lighting, whispers of jazz threading through the air.

I’d been roped into coming, convinced by a friend who had promised me just one drink—and then promptly vanished into a corner booth with some guy whose name she wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

And so, I was left alone at the bar, lazily stirring my vodka soda, debating whether I should send the "emergency call me now" text and slip out unnoticed.

Then I felt it.

The unmistakable weight of someone watching.

Not a passing glance. Not some drunk idiot trying to get my attention.

No—this was different.

This was slow. Intentional. A gaze that settled over me like cigarette smoke, curling around my skin, leaving a mark before I even turned my head.

And when I did—

I swear the whole damn room narrowed to just him.

He sat at the far end of the bar, posture easy, but eyes sharp. A whiskey glass rested in his hand, the liquid catching the dim glow of the lights above. A cigarette twirled lazily between his fingers, though he made no move to light it.

His suit—dark, immaculate, undoubtedly expensive—fit like a second skin, but he wore it with the kind of effortless confidence that made me think he could just as easily command a room in nothing but rolled-up sleeves and bloodstained knuckles.

And he was looking at me.

Not just looking.

Studying.

Like he was already two steps ahead of whatever conversation we hadn’t even started yet.

The corner of his mouth curved—just slightly, just enough to tell me that he knew exactly what he was doing.

I arched a brow, lifting my glass to my lips. Not a chance, mate.

His smirk deepened.

And just like that, he stood, cutting through the bar’s low hum of conversation with nothing but presence alone.

Before I could think better of it, he was there—sliding into the empty space beside me, his scent of whiskey, smoke, and something distinctly dangerous curling into my lungs.

He let the silence settle between us, let it stretch just long enough to make me aware of the fact that I was waiting for him to speak first.

Then—

“You were about to leave.”

His voice was smooth, edged with something that belonged to a different time, a different world.

I glanced at him, unimpressed. “And you thought I needed a reason to stay?”

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close. “No. I thought you needed an excuse.”

I took a slow sip of my drink. “You always this sure of yourself?”

“Not sure,” he mused. “Certain.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “What’s the difference?”

He took a sip of his whiskey, gaze never leaving mine. “Sure is when you think you’re right.” He set his glass down, leaning in just slightly, just enough to make my pulse skip. “Certain is when you know you are.”

A slow heat curled in my stomach.

I should’ve walked away. Should’ve let him have his fun and left him in the wake of my indifference.

Instead, I turned slightly toward him, matching the tilt of his body with my own.

“Alright,” I murmured. “If you’re so certain, tell me this—what am I drinking?”

His eyes flicked to my glass, then back to me, his smirk deepening like I had just played right into his hands.

“Vodka soda,” he said, voice smooth as sin. “You wanted something simple. No frills, nothing too strong. A drink you could leave behind without a second thought.” He tilted his head. “Because you weren’t planning on staying.”

My stomach flipped.

I masked it with a scoff. “Lucky guess.”

His smirk didn’t falter. “Not luck.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Alright, Mr. Certain—what else?”

He traced the rim of his whiskey glass with one slow finger. “You’re here with a friend, but she’s abandoned you by now.”

I lifted a brow. “How do you know that?”

“You’ve checked your phone twice since I walked over, but you’re not texting anyone. Just looking.” He paused, gaze flicking over my expression. “Either she’s with someone, or she’s gone entirely. Either way—you’re here alone.”

Damn it.

He was right.

I shifted in my seat, ignoring the way his eyes flicked to the movement like he noticed everything.

“You always psychoanalyze women at bars?” I asked, arching a brow.

His smirk deepened. “Only the interesting ones.”

The bartender slid another whiskey toward him, and as he reached for it, I caught sight of the tattoos peeking out beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

Not decorative. Not careless.

The kind of marks that meant something.

The kind that made me think this man was not just some businessman stopping in for a nightcap.

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I asked, “And you are?”

He lifted his whiskey, watching me over the rim.

Then—

“Thomas Shelby.”

My breath hitched.

Because I knew that name.

Not from social media. Not from magazine spreads of men in custom suits and corner offices.

No.

I knew it from whispered conversations. From the way people said it in hushed tones, like the name itself was too dangerous to hold in their mouths for long.

From stories of power. Of money. Of violence.

The kind of name that meant you were either important enough to know it—

Or stupid enough to ignore it.

My fingers curled around my glass. “Thomas Shelby,” I repeated, tasting the weight of it on my tongue.

He smiled, slow and wicked.

“At your service.”

I swallowed, heart pounding.

He wasn’t just playing a game.

My first mistake was holding his gaze too long.

My second mistake was not looking away.

Because Thomas Shelby wasn’t just dangerous—he was the kind of man who knew he was dangerous. The kind who could make a simple conversation feel like a game of high-stakes poker, where I didn’t know if I was playing against him or already in his palm.

And right now, with his sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, I had a sinking feeling I was losing.

But God, what a way to lose.

I swallowed the last sip of my drink, setting the glass down with deliberate ease, as if I wasn’t hyper-aware of how close he was now, how the air between us had shifted—something thick and electric humming in the space that separated us.

“You always introduce yourself like that?” I asked, my voice steady despite the way my pulse betrayed me.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “Like what?”

“Like a warning.”

The corner of his mouth curved. “Would you rather I lie?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I think you like the way people react to your name.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

“And how did you react, then?” His voice was low, smooth, wrapping around me like velvet and smoke.

I lifted my chin slightly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flustering me. “I haven’t decided yet.”

His smirk deepened. “No?”

“No.” I held my ground, matching his energy. “You could be trouble.”

His gaze flicked over me, slow and knowing. “Trouble, is it?”

He exhaled, the scent of whiskey curling between us as he leaned in just slightly—just enough that his breath ghosted against my cheek, the faintest whisper of warmth on my skin.

“Trouble doesn’t ask for permission, love,” he murmured. “If I was trouble, you’d already know.”

I should’ve pulled away.

I should’ve told him he was getting too close.

Instead, I let the moment stretch.

His eyes flickered down to my lips, just briefly, just enough to make my stomach twist with something dark and thrilling.

My voice was quieter when I spoke again. “And what if I don’t mind a little trouble?”

His lips parted, his gaze flicking back to mine, something sharp and dangerous glinting in those impossibly blue eyes.

Then—

A slow, lazy smirk.

“I’d say you’re playing with fire.”

I swallowed, pulse hammering.

“And you?” I asked, my voice barely a murmur now. “Do you like fire?”

His smirk faded just slightly—replaced by something deeper. Something unreadable.

“I don’t mind getting burned,” he said.

His fingers grazed the rim of his whiskey glass, slow, absent, like he was considering something.

Then, just as the air between us thickened, just as my breath hitched—

He pulled back.

Deliberate. Measured. Like he wanted me to feel the loss of space.

And damn him, I did.

I exhaled slowly, watching as he took one last sip of his drink before setting it down with an air of finality.

Then, with infuriating ease, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and slipped it between his lips.

He didn’t light it.

Didn’t even try.

Just watched me.

Waiting.

I tilted my head slightly, feeling bolder than I should. “You always carry those around just to look intimidating?”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “Something like that.”

I smirked, leaning in just slightly. “Or maybe it’s just a habit you can’t kick.”

His lips parted slightly, the cigarette shifting as his smirk grew.

“Are we talking about the cigarette, love?” he murmured.

My stomach twisted.

I should have looked away. I should have laughed it off.

Instead—

I plucked the cigarette from his lips with two fingers.

His brows lifted slightly in amusement, but he didn’t stop me.

Didn’t even move.

Just watched.

Daring me.

I brought it to my lips, letting it linger there for just a second, the faint taste of smoke and whiskey still clinging to the filter.

Then, slowly, deliberately, I set it down on the bar between us.

“You tell me,” I murmured, holding his gaze.

Something flickered in his expression—something dark and interested.

Then—

He laughed.

Not loud. Not showy.

Just a deep, quiet chuckle. Like he wasn’t used to being surprised. Like he wasn’t used to losing.

And yet, the way he was looking at me now—

It felt a hell of a lot like he didn’t mind.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re a bold little thing, aren’t you?”

I smirked, reaching for my drink. “Takes one to know one.”

His gaze darkened, lingering on my lips before flicking back up to my eyes.

Then—

A slow, wicked grin.

“You’re trouble, love,” he murmured, voice edged with something close to admiration.

I took a sip of my drink, feigning nonchalance.

“You started it.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “And you’re finishing it, are you?”

I set my glass down, tilting my head slightly. “Depends.”

His brows lifted. “On what?”

I let the moment stretch, feeling the heat crackle between us.

Then, with a smirk of my own, I said—

“On whether or not you’re planning on actually doing something about it.”

His smirk faded.

Not in disappointment.

Not in amusement.

But in something deeper.

Something dangerous.

His fingers brushed against mine, slow and deliberate. Just enough to make my breath catch.

Then—

He leaned in, voice dark and smooth as velvet.

“Careful, love.” His breath ghosted against my skin. “You might just get what you’re asking for.”

And just like that—

I knew.

I wasn’t just playing with fire.

I was already burning.

His fingers were still resting against mine, the lightest touch—barely there, but enough to make my skin hum. He could’ve pulled away. Could’ve laughed it off, leaned back, put the game to rest.

But instead, he tilted his head, studied me in that slow, dangerous way—like he was debating something.

Then, just as I thought he might call my bluff—

He pushed back his whiskey, took one last slow sip, and stood.

No words. No warning.

Just an unspoken follow me as he turned toward the door.

I hesitated for only a second—just long enough for common sense to remind me that this was Thomas fucking Shelby, and this was probably a bad idea.

Then, with a steadying breath, I slid off my barstool, grabbed my purse, and followed him out into the night.

The air outside was crisp, tinged with the faint smell of rain and city lights. The streets were quieter now, the usual hum of nightlife fading into something softer, more intimate.

Thomas stood by the curb, rolling his cigarette between his fingers, as if debating whether to light it.

Then, he glanced at me. “You coming, then?”

I lifted a brow. “Depends. Where are we going?”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “Not afraid, are you?”

I stepped closer, the space between us narrowing to something charged, something electric.

“Should I be?”

His lips twitched. “Probably.”

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. “Then you’re not very good at keeping secrets, are you?”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it.

Then, with a slow smirk of his own, he turned toward the sleek black car parked just down the street. A Bentley. Vintage. Of course.

He pulled open the passenger door, one hand resting casually on the frame as he looked at me expectantly.

I crossed my arms, playing coy. “And if I say no?”

His smirk deepened. “Then you’ll spend the rest of the night wondering where I was taking you.”

Damn him.

I hated that he was right.

With a sigh that was far too dramatic for my own liking, I stepped forward, sliding into the passenger seat.

Thomas shut the door behind me, rounding the car with effortless ease before settling into the driver’s seat.

He didn’t start the engine right away.

Instead, he turned toward me, resting one arm on the steering wheel, watching me like he was still deciding something.

Then—

“You ever been on the back of a bike before?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “A motorcycle?”

He hummed, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “That a problem?”

I scoffed. “Let me guess—vintage, too?”

His smirk widened slightly, but he didn’t confirm or deny it.

Instead, he leaned toward me—just slightly, just enough for his voice to drop into something lower, something meant just for me.

“If you’re going to get on the back of my bike, love…” His fingers brushed against my knee, light as a whisper, but enough to make my breath hitch. “…you’re going to have to hold on tight.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

I shouldn’t have wanted this. Shouldn’t have wanted him.

But suddenly, the thought of my arms wrapped around his torso, pressed against the heat of his body as the city blurred past us—

It was all I could think about.

I swallowed, feigning nonchalance. “I think I can manage.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he finally started the engine.

“Let’s find out, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were at a private garage tucked between narrow city streets, the scent of oil and leather thick in the air.

The moment I laid eyes on the bike, I knew I had been right.

Vintage. Sleek. A classic.

Black and chrome, polished to a shine, looking like it had been pulled straight from another era.

Of course it was perfect. Of course it was his.

Thomas walked over to it, tossing his suit jacket over the seat before pulling a helmet from the rack.

Then, with that same infuriating smirk, he extended it toward me.

“Last chance to back out.”

I lifted my chin, taking the helmet without hesitation. “Not a chance, Shelby.”

He chuckled, low and warm, before grabbing his own helmet and swinging a leg over the bike with practiced ease.

I hesitated for only a second before doing the same, sliding onto the seat behind him.

The moment my arms wrapped around his waist, I felt it—

The solid warmth of him, the way his body fit against mine like we had done this a hundred times before.

He smelled like whiskey and smoke, like leather and something distinctly him.

I swallowed, tightening my grip slightly as the engine roared to life beneath us.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Comfortable?”

I smirked, letting my fingers tease against the fabric of his shirt.

“I could get used to it.”

His chuckle was barely audible over the purr of the engine.

“Hold on, love.”

And then, before I could even process it—

He took off.

The city blurred around us, neon lights streaking past, the wind whipping through my hair as I pressed against his back, gripping tighter as the bike cut through the night like a blade.

I should’ve been afraid.

But all I felt was alive.

Thomas rode like he owned the streets, smooth and effortless, his body moving with each turn like he was carved from the same steel as the bike beneath us.

And me?

I wasn’t just along for the ride.

I was falling.

Falling into something reckless. Something dangerous.

Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to escape.

The bike slowed as we reached the edge of the city, pulling off onto a quiet stretch of road overlooking the skyline.

The moment the engine cut off, silence settled between us—thick and heavy, the air charged with something unsaid.

Neither of us moved.

Then, slowly, Thomas turned his head, his voice lower now, rougher.

“Still think you can handle a little trouble?”

I let out a slow breath, heartbeat hammering.

Then, with a smirk of my own, I leaned in—

Close enough that my lips nearly brushed his ear.

“I know I can.”

His fingers curled against the handlebar, knuckles white.

And just like that—

He turned fully, eyes dark, gaze locked onto mine like a hunter deciding whether to strike.

I didn’t look away.

Didn’t even blink.

And then—

His hand found my thigh, slow and deliberate, fingertips tracing fire up my skin.

And when he spoke again, his voice was barely a murmur—

“Careful, love.” His lips ghosted over my jaw. “I might just take you at your word.”

And God help me—

I wanted him to.

“I never say things I don’t mean, Shelby.”

A sharp inhale.

And then—

He moved.

One second, I was pressed against his back, the wind still tangled in my hair, the city lights stretching out before us—

The next, I was beneath him, my back against the cool leather seat of the bike, his body caging mine, hands braced on either side of my hips.

I gasped, pulse hammering as his weight pressed into me, his knee slipping between my legs—firm, unyielding, just enough to make my breath hitch.

He smirked, watching me with dark, unreadable eyes.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, love.”

I lifted my chin, refusing to break first.

“So are you.”

His fingers found my wrist, his grip firm but careful, tracing slow, lazy circles against my skin.

“You should be afraid of me.”

I swallowed, heartbeat slamming against my ribs.

“Maybe I want to be afraid.”

Something flickered in his expression—something dark, something sharp.

And then, before I could take another breath, his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was possession.

A claiming.

His lips crashed against mine, fierce and demanding, his hand sliding into my hair, tilting my head back as he kissed me like he had every intention of ruining me.

And God help me—

I wanted him to.

I gasped against his mouth, my hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer, deeper, heat coiling low in my stomach as he pressed his knee harder between my thighs.

A low sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.

His smirk was immediate.

“Fuck, you sound good like that,” he muttered against my lips.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an easy victory. Instead, I tilted my hips just slightly—just enough to press against hiss knee in return.

His grip tightened, a sharp inhale through his teeth, his fingers digging into my thighs.

“Oh, you’re playing dirty now,” he murmured, voice rough.

I smirked, feigning innocence. “Who, me?”

A dark chuckle. “I should warn you, love—”

His fingers moved, skimming up beneath my dress, teasing, tracing maddeningly slow lines up the inside of my thighs.

My breath hitched, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“—I don’t lose.”

And then, before I could fire back—

He tilted his head, his mouth finding the curve of my neck again, kissing, biting, sucking.

My fingers clenched against him, my body arching involuntarily, heat coiling low in my stomach.

“Fuck,” I whispered, barely a breath.

He groaned low against my skin, his hands gripping me tighter, his lips trailing lower, his teeth scraping my neck.

He growled against my lips, his grip tightening in my hair.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re asking for,” he muttered, his voice rough, edged with something dangerous.

I smirked, breathless. “Then maybe you should show me.”

The moment he kissed me, the rest of the world blurred.

The cool night air, the distant hum of the city below, the rough leather seat beneath me—it all faded, swallowed whole by the sharp, intoxicating pull of Thomas Shelby.

His lips were demanding, his grip firm—one hand buried in my hair, the other sliding down my side, slow and deliberate. He kissed like a man who didn’t just take what he wanted—he made sure you felt it, deep in your bones, deep in the parts of you that would remember him long after he was gone.

I gasped against his mouth, and that was all the invitation he needed.

His hands moved, sliding down to grip my thighs, and before I could so much as catch my breath, he lifted me. Effortless, as if I weighed nothing at all.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, my hands bracing against his shoulders.

He smirked against my skin, his breath warm as he murmured, “Still think you can handle a little trouble, love?”

I tightened my grip on his jacket, my nails grazing against the fabric. “You ask too many questions, Shelby.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

Then, without warning—

He turned, pressing me back against the bike, his body caging mine, pinning me there with nothing but the solid weight of him.

The heat of his body bled through his clothes, through mine, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me there like he had no intention of letting me go.

And God help me—

I didn’t want him to.

His mouth was at my jaw now, lips trailing lower, grazing along my neck in a slow, deliberate tease. His stubble scraped against my skin, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through me.

I gasped, my head tilting back, exposing more of my throat to him, my fingers curling into the leather of his jacket.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained—like he was barely holding himself back.

I smirked, breathless. “Something wrong?”

His grip on my thighs tightened. “You really don’t know when to stop pushing, do you?”

“Maybe I want to see how far I can push you.”

A sharp inhale.

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin just beneath my jaw, his tongue flicking against it just enough to make me shudder.

I barely had time to process the heat pooling low in my stomach before his hands moved—sliding up beneath the hem of my dress, his fingertips grazing the soft, sensitive skin of my thighs.

My breath hitched, my pulse hammering so hard I could feel it.

His hands moved higher.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my grip tightening on his shoulders, my entire body coiled with anticipation, with want, with the undeniable realization that I had walked straight into the lion’s den—

And I was not getting out unscathed.

His fingers traced slow, teasing patterns against the inside of my thigh, his touch light, infuriatingly light.

I squirmed against him, trying to close the space between us, but he only chuckled, his grip tightening, holding me still.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured, his voice dark, amused.

I exhaled sharply. “And you’re cruel.”

He chuckled, his lips brushing against mine, teasing. “I did warn you.”

I huffed, frustration curling through me, my nails digging into his jacket.

He kissed me like he had been waiting for this moment all night—fierce, hungry, claiming. His hands gripped my thighs tighter, his body pressing me harder against the bike, until there was nothing left between us but heat and fabric and the maddening ache of needing more.

I moaned against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and suddenly, his hands moved—gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him.

The feeling of him—hard and ready beneath me—sent a bolt of white-hot need straight through me.

I gasped, and he took full advantage—his tongue slipping past my lips, deepening the kiss, stealing my breath and any remaining sense of control I thought I had.

He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against mine as he murmured, “You sure you can handle this, love?”

I exhaled shakily, my entire body thrumming with anticipation.

I tightened my legs around his waist, my nails dragging lightly against the nape of his neck.

“Why don’t you find out?”

His smirk was wicked.

The world had narrowed down to heat, leather, and the solid press of Thomas Shelby between my thighs.

He wasn’t stopping.

He was stalling—drawing it out, making me feel every agonizing second of restraint before he finally decided to snap.

And God help me, I wanted him to snap.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles along my thighs, slipping under the hem of my dress, barely brushing where I wanted him most. I let out a shaky breath, my nails digging into the back of his neck.

He smirked against my skin, pressing a teasing kiss just below my jaw.

“Getting impatient, are we?”

I exhaled sharply. “You’re insufferable.”

“Am I?” His hand inched higher, fingertips teasing along the lace of my underwear. Barely there. Not nearly enough.

I swallowed, my breath catching as he tilted his head, watching me like he enjoyed the way I squirmed beneath him.

Then—

His lips brushed against my ear.

“Tell me where you want me, love.”

A slow ache coiled low in my stomach, heat pooling between my thighs.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an easy victory. Instead, I shifted slightly, pressing myself against his hand.

His smirk deepened.

Then—

He moved.

A single finger, pressing down over the lace, teasing, just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight through me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my grip tightening on his shoulders.

He stilled, his mouth hovering over mine, his voice dark, taunting.

“Is that what you wanted?”

I hated that I couldn’t think straight, that my body was already betraying me, that I was already tilting my hips against his hand, chasing the friction.

“Thomas—”

“Say it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering. “I need you.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

Then—

The sound of fabric tearing.

I gasped, barely processing the cool air against my skin before his hand was on me—no barriers, no teasing now, just slow, torturous pressure right where I needed it.

I let out a sharp moan, my head falling back.

“Fuck, you sound good like that,” he muttered, his voice laced with something dark, something hungry.

His fingers moved with lazy confidence, tracing slow, maddening circles, never quite giving me enough, making me ache for it.

I whimpered, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, my hips shifting against him.

His smirk was wicked.

Then—

He stopped.

I let out a choked noise of protest, my eyes snapping open.

“Thomas, don’t you dare—”

He gripped my chin, tilting my head so our eyes met.

His smirk deepened. “You want more?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He chuckled, low and dark. “Such a stubborn little thing.”

Then, without warning—

He slid two fingers inside.

I cried out, my nails scraping against his shoulders, my head falling forward against his chest.

“Fuck,” I gasped.

He groaned, his grip tightening on my waist, his breath hot against my temple. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t need to.

He took his time, watching me, listening, his fingers moving in slow, devastating strokes, his thumb circling just enough to make my thighs tremble.

I clenched around him, my breath ragged, my entire body burning.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re already so fucking wet for me.”

I barely had time to process the words before his pace changed—faster now, harder, his thumb pressing just right, his fingers curling inside me, finding that spot that had my entire body shattering.

I gasped, my back arching, my fingers fisting in his shirt as I came apart around him.

His name fell from my lips like a prayer, breathless, desperate.

He groaned low in his throat, his other hand tightening on my waist, his mouth grazing along my jaw.

I was still trembling when he finally slowed, his fingers slipping from me, leaving me aching, breathless, completely undone.

He pulled back slightly, watching me with something dark, something possessive in his gaze.

Then, with infuriating calm, he lifted his fingers to his lips, tasting me with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

I swallowed hard, my breath still uneven, my entire body throbbing.

His smirk was pure sin.

“You’re fucking ruined for anyone else, love.”

I exhaled shakily, my heart still hammering.

Then, despite the weakness in my legs, I shoved at his chest, making him stumble back just slightly.

He chuckled, looking utterly pleased with himself.

I straightened, my legs still trembling, but my voice was steady when I said,

“Don’t get cocky, Shelby.”

He grinned, stepping closer again, his hands finding my waist.

“Too late for that.”

I rolled my eyes.

But before I could retort, he grabbed my chin, tilting my face up to his.

His expression shifted—still smug, but darker now, his voice dropping lower.

“You do know I’m nowhere near finished with you, right?”

A shiver ran down my spine.

Then, before I could respond—

He kissed me.

Deep, slow, thorough.

Like a promise.

Like a warning.

And fuck—

I was ready for whatever came next.

I barely had a moment to catch my breath before Thomas was moving again.

His grip on my waist was firm, guiding, pulling me forward until I was flush against him, heat radiating from his body like a slow-burning fire. His lips trailed lower, brushing against my jaw, then my throat, teasing, tasting—until he reached my collarbone, where he bit down, just enough to make me gasp.

I swore I felt him smirk against my skin.

“You like that,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

That was a mistake.

Because suddenly, Thomas swung a leg over the motorcycle, straddling it backwards and I was being lifted, his hands gripping my thighs as he hoisted me onto his lap.

I gasped, my fingers scrambling for purchase, instinctively grabbing his shoulders to steady myself.

His smirk was dark, wicked.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below my ear. “I was starting to wonder if I’d have to work harder for those pretty little noises.”

I hated him.

I wanted him.

I couldn’t think when he touched me like this.

I tried to regain some semblance of control, curling my fingers into his collar, yanking him closer until our lips crashed together, my teeth grazing his lower lip in retaliation.

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

Then—

His hands moved, gripping my hips, pressing me down onto his thigh, making sure I felt exactly what he was doing to me.

My breath hitched.

“Fuck, Tommy—”

His grin sharpened, his fingers tightening just enough to keep me right where he wanted me.

“Oh, now you’re using my name properly?” His voice was all smooth arrogance, all sinister charm.

I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

I also wanted to bite his fucking lip again.

Before I could decide which urge to give into, he rolled his hips against me, his fingers digging into my thighs as he guided my movement against him.

My head tipped back, my breath shattered, a sharp sound escaping my lips before I could stop it.

His grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, his breath hot against my throat. “Let me hear you, love.”

I should have resisted.

I should have at least tried.

But his fingers were digging into my thighs, his thigh pressing between mine, and my body was already betraying me, my hips tilting forward to chase the friction he was so generously providing.

His smirk deepened.

“Fuck—” My fingers fisted in his shirt, my body trembling as heat coiled low in my stomach, every movement sending another pulse of electricity straight through me.

He tilted his head, watching me with a dark intensity, like he was committing every little reaction to memory.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” he muttered, his grip tightening, forcing me to keep going, making me take what I needed.

I moaned, my legs clenching around him, my body so close to snapping.

He must have felt it, because his lips brushed against my ear, his voice dipping into something low and filthy.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

A sharp, shattering heat rushed through me, my body tightening, my breath catching on a choked sound as I came undone against him, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

His hands held me steady, kept me anchored, kept me his.

I was wrecked, ruined, entirely at his mercy.

And he fucking knew it.

His smirk was lazy, satisfied, cocky as hell.

I barely had time to recover before he reached for my chin, tilting my face toward him, forcing me to look at him.

His voice was a quiet, simmering promise.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver ran through me.

I swallowed hard, my breath still ragged.

Then, slowly, I matched his smirk, lifting a brow in challenge.

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

His eyes darkened.

And then—

I wasn’t waiting anymore.

Thomas Shelby was not a patient man.

And neither was I.

The moment I threw that challenge at him, something shifted. Something snapped.

His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker—something primal.

His fingers dug under my thighs, pushing me up, stumbling backwards off the bike, legs trembling. He swung his leg up off the bike in one fluid motion and pulled me closer, his eyes dark.

Thomas grabbed me, flipped me, bending me slightly over the bike.

My chest hit the cool leather seat, my fingers gripping the edge of the bike as I let out a startled gasp.

“Tommy—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, his hands sliding down my spine, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of me.

A slow, lazy drag of his fingers over my hip, teasing the inside of my thigh, just enough to make me shiver, to make my breath catch.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice laced with pure satisfaction. “So fucking desperate for it.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

That was a mistake.

Because suddenly—

I let out a sharp inhale, my dress bunched up around my waist, cool air kissing my bare skin as he dragged my ruined underwear down my thighs in one swift motion.

A low, appreciative hum rumbled from his chest. “Look at you…” His hand slid between my legs, fingers skimming—barely touching—before pressing just enough to make me squirm against him.

I bit my lip, desperate for more, my body already aching for him.

He chuckled, dark and unforgiving, his free hand gripping my waist. “Tell me, love,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through my wetness, taunting. “Is this for me?”

I hated how smug he sounded.

I hated that he already knew the answer.

Still, I refused to give in so easily.

I lifted my head, turning slightly to glance back at him, meeting those icy blue eyes with a defiant smirk.

“You’re wasting time, Shelby.”

His fingers tightened on my hips, holding me in place.

My body went taut, trembling, as I felt the press of him against me, hard and unrelenting, teasing, just barely there.

I swallowed, my breath ragged.

“Thomas—”

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice a dark, taunting whisper against my ear. “Say you want it.”

I should have fought it—made him work for it—but I was already gone, already ruined by his touch, already too far past the point of caring.

“I want it,” I breathed.

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest.

Then—

He pushed inside.

I let out a sharp gasp, my body stretching around him, my nails digging into the leather seat as I tried to catch my breath.

“Fuck,” Tommy hissed, his grip bruising on my hips as he stilled for a brief moment, feeling just how tight I was around him.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—he was everywhere.

Then—he moved.

Slow at first. Deep, controlled, dragging it out just to make me feel it.

I whimpered, my nails scraping the leather, my body already clenching around him, desperate for more.

He must have felt it, because he groaned, his grip tightening, his pace quickening, each thrust harder, deeper, ruthless.

My moans filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city below, but up here—in this moment—there was nothing else.

Nothing but Tommy. His hands. His body. His fucking name falling from my lips like a prayer.

A sharp cry tore from my lips, my body rocking against the bike, the entire world melting away, leaving only this, only him, only the raw, devastating pleasure of him claiming me completely.

His grip on my hips tightened, holding me exactly where he wanted me, forcing me to take everything he gave.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice raw, wrecked.

I could barely breathe, could barely think, the pleasure building too fast, my body already coiling toward the edge, desperate, helpless against the way he took me apart so easily.

His fingers slid between my legs, pressing exactly where I needed, rubbing circles, pushing me closer to the edge with every relentless thrust.

My breath broke, my legs trembling, my body teetering on the edge.

Then—his lips brushed against my ear, his voice a raw, possessive growl.

“Come for me.”

And just like that—I shattered.

Pleasure ripped through me, my body clenching around him, my head falling forward as I cried out his name, every muscle tightening as wave after devastating wave crashed over me.

Tommy groaned, his rhythm faltering, his hand fisting in my hair as he followed, his body tensing before he spilled inside me, my name a rough whisper against my skin.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

I was wrecked—utterly spent, my body boneless against the bike, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Tommy let out a slow, uneven breath, his hands sliding down my sides, his touch softer now, gentler—as if he was steadying me, grounding me.

Then—

He pressed a slow, possessive kiss to the base of my spine.

And just like that—I knew I was his.

Time blurred.

Minutes, maybe an hour later, I found myself still tangled up in him, my bare back against his chest, my legs over his lap as we recovered, the night air cool against my heated skin.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, taking a slow drag before pressing it between my lips, his fingers brushing against my mouth.

I inhaled deeply, the smoke calming, familiar, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue.

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, charged, something unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

Finally, he exhaled, his lips ghosting over my shoulder.

“You’re mine now.”

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t even a demand.

It was a fact.

I turned slightly, arching a brow, pretending to consider.

“Oh?” I mused, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

His low chuckle vibrated against my skin.

“You didn’t have to.”

His fingers traced lazy circles along my thigh, possessive, casual—like he already owned me.

Like I wouldn’t dare walk away.

And the worst part?

He was right.

I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know your thoughts on how this went, and if you want more. I'm sooo excited to get back into writing. 💗

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sangaria12 · 7 months ago

Text

Peaky Blinders AU

Title: Used to be Young (Demons) Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC (Joana Simmons) Setting: Season 2 AU Rating: Mature (might change) Status: WIP

Summary: Joana Simmons returns to Birmingham several years after the war ended—to help her siblings tending to their sick mother before returning to her quiet life in a Cotswolds village. Fate though has other plans for her.

Read Chapter 4 on AO3

Start at the beginning

Snippet “Don’t you think he would have married you after the war?” Her mother asks softly. “I didn’t even know if he would come back. Like my father didn’t come back,” Joana just shrugs her shoulders, “What would I’ve done then? In another town, I could pretend I was married and my supposed husband died while defending King and Country.” “That was probably the best you could’ve done. It certainly was the right thing to do,” her mother reassures her.

Tag list: @accaus (let me know if you want to be added)

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sangaria12 · 7 months ago

Text

The Peaky Role (Part 19)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

That day, lunchtime came around within no time as you had kept yourself busy all day, shooting one scene after another. Most of your scenes that day were dialogue heavy with Cillian's character, which was somewhat challenging for you, but the moment you stepped into the break room, your stress was forgotten.

You sat down across form Barry who was munching on a sandwich, crumbs dusting his chin.

"Starving?" you chuckled, watching him eat and smile at you at the same time.

"Always. What about you? You look like you've been through a war zone," he teased, a playful glint in his eye.

"I've survived," you shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. "The scenes this morning were just really heavy," you explained, seeing how these dialogue heavy scenes and scenes involving pretend violence were always difficult to film.

"I could see that, but you did amazingly," Barry grinned, brushing the crumbs from his shirt. "Seriously, you brought a lot of emotion to the table."

"Thanks," you replied, your heart warming at the praise.

He leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, what's the plan for later?" he asked, knowing that, soon, he had to return to set for his scenes with Paul and Cillian.

"Oh not much," you replied, taking a bite of your own sandwich now and glancing at him. "Just going back to my apartment, watch a movie, order some food. Stuff like that."

Barry chuckled, the sound warm. "How exciting. Sounds like a quiet one," he mused, tilting his head. He was always so full of energy and this, in itself, amused you. "Fancy joining me for dinner instead? I know a place nearby that does the best seafood."

A spark of surprise flickered in your chest. "Dinner? With you?" you asked, wondering what he meant by that. Was this a date, or something else?

"Yeah, why not?" Barry grinned, his confidence radiating. "Should be good craic. Just the two of us grabbing a bite, right?" he said and you leaned back, considering. You knew that you could do with some company outside of work.

"Sounds fun. Seafood, you say?" you clarified and Barry nodded.

"Best in town. You in?" Barry asked, just to mak sure and, finally, you nodded, your heart racing.

"Okay, what's it called? I can meet you there at seven," you asked, trying to keep it casual so that he would know that this was not a date.

"It's called The Clam Shack. Trust me; you won't regret it," Barry grinned, flashing that charming smile again before getting up from his seat.

"Perfect. I'll see you there then," you replied, your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves, hoping that Barry would not misunderstand your intentions. You liked him, as a friend, but not in any other way and you worried about him possibly feeling mislead.

"Hey, Barry," you called out after him as he was ready to leave, disposing of his rubbish. "I just want to clarify something," you said, leaning forward against the table, a hint of seriousness creeping into your tone.

He paused, curiosity dancing in his blue eyes. "Sure, what's up," he asked and you hesitated for a moment before speaking up.

"This isn't a date," you reminded him, your heart racing as you pushed against the flutter of anxiety.

"I know. It's just grabbing a casual bite to eat," Barry replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, a glint of relief shining through.

You nodded, feeling the air lighten. "Good, I will see you at seven then," you said as you pushed the thought aside while Barry grinned and grabbed his bag.

"Jupp, see you at seven," Barry winked before striding away, confidence radiating from him.

***

You took a deep breath, the weight of the afternoon's tension evaporating slightly. You only had a few more scenes that day, all of which were short and easy and, after you were done, you quickly made your way home to wash off your make-up and get dressed for the evening.

You rummaged through your wardrobe, pulling out a simple cotton dress before putting it away again. You were unsure what to wear, contemplating every option, seeing that this was not a date and, just as you found another dress to wear, your phone rang.

Nina's name lit up the screen.

"Hey, what's up?" you answered, almost unable to multitask.

"Hello to you too," Nina replied, her voice edged with curiosity.

"Where are you? Are you on set? What are you doing?" she asked, curious to see how your day had been.

You paused, twisting a strand of hair around your finger.

"No, I am at the apartment, getting ready to go out for dinner actually," you reply, pulling a simple blouse over your head.

"With who?" Nina's voice sharpened, curiosity piquing as you glanced at the mirror, checking your reflection.

"Just Barry. We're grabbing a bite," you said, keeping your tone light.

"Barry? As in Barry Keoghan?'" she exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief.

"Yeah, that Barry," you confirmed, rolling your eyes playfully in the mirror.

Nina scoffed, her amusement evident. "Oh my god Y/N, really? You are going on a date with Barry Keoghan?" Nina asked, her excitement bubbling over.

"It's not a date, it's just dinner," you quickly countered, slipping a pair of earrings in.

Nina scoffed, her disbelief clear. "Just dinner? With him?" she asked before giggling. "He's a lady's man Y/N - a very hot lady's man!" she exclaimed while giggling some more.

"It's really nothing Nina. It's just two friends grabbing a bite after work," you reassured her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Nina's laughter faltered, replaced by a teasing tone. "Come on, Y/N. Tell me the truth!" she begged but you could not help but chuckle.

"I am telling you the truth, Nina. I am not into him and, to be honest, he is a little too old for me, don't you think?" you told your best friend so that she would stop teasing you and, in the end, she did. She believed you.

"Alright, if you say so," Nina replied, her voice lightening. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Always," you assured her, a smile creeping onto your face as you finished getting ready. "I'll catch you later."

"Text me how it goes!" She said goodbye as you hung up, anticipation bubbling within you as you glanced at the clock. An hour until dinner.

***

Just after Nina hung, she decided to call her father Cillian as well to make arrangements for next week. He had promised that he would pick her and her sister up from the airport and she knew that she had to remind him of it.

During filming, he was always becoming a little more difficult to deal with, juggling chaos on set and family matters but, even with that being the case and much to Nina's surprise, her father picked up his phone after less than three rings.

"Hey, Sweetpea," Cillian said as he picked up the phone and his voice sounded warm, but fatigue laced his words.

"Hey, Dad. How are you going?" Nina asked, her tone cheerful and excited.

"Busy, but managing," he replied, shuffling papers in the background. "How about you? How is uni?" he asked and Nina fiddled with her phone while breaking out in a smile.

"Good, just wrapping up exams. But, dad, about next week - I am just checking in to see if you can pick me and Isla up from the airport still," she asked, her voice light, but a hint of urgency crept in, knowing very well what her father was like when he was away for work.

"Of course, I'll be there," Cillian replied, his voice gentle. "You land at ten in the morning, right?" he asked and Nina's heart lifted at the confirmation.

"Yeah, and I can't wait to see you. Isla is excited too," Nina told her father and, of course, he too was excited to see his daughters.

"Good. I'll make sure we do something fun, alright? I have two days off and we could go shopping or something," Cillian said and Nina's excitement bubbled at the prospect of getting her father to pay for some new clothes.

"That sounds perfect! Maybe even catch a movie?" she asked and, of course, her father agreed.

"Done deal," Cillian replied, his warmth radiating through the phone.

"Maybe Y/N could come too?" she suggested, her hope evident as she bit the corner of her lip, gauging his reaction.

"Sure, I mean, you could ask her when you get here," Cillian agreed reluctantly. "Although she is filming those days, so she might not have the energy to go out after work," he continued, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Jesus dad, she is still young, not like you. And she's certainly got enough energy to go out with another cast member tonight," Nina retorted, a teasing smile spreading across her face. "So, I am sure she will have enough energy to go out with her best friend next," Nina explained, causing Cillian to scoff lightly.

"Who is she going out with?" he asked, his voice tightening slightly.

"Dad, I can't really tell you as I am not sure if she would want me to," Nina said carefully but sensing her father's curiosity bubble. "Despite, it's just a casual dinner. Don't worry about it."

Cillian frowned, tension flickering across his brow. "If it's just a casual dinner, then why can't you tell me who it is?"

Nina sighed, shifting in her seat. "Because, Dad, it's not a big deal, and, I mean, why do you want to know anyway?" she asked and Cillian sighed heavily.

"I just wanted to make sure that she doesn't get herself into any trouble," Cillian stated, his brow knotted.

"Relax, Dad. She is not a kid," Nina replied, rolling her eyes. "But if it makes you feel any better, the cast member she is going out with is Barry Keoghan. I think he is a friend of yours and, really, it's nothing. She even said so herself, alright?" Nina explained carefully while Cillian's jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance flashing in his eyes.

"Barry Keoghan? Seriously?" he asked as he crossed his arms, a protective edge creeping into his tone.

Nina scoffed. "Yes Dad. Barry Keoghan. And, like I said, it's just dinner."

"It's never just dinner with a guy like him," Cillian muttered, tension threading through his voice.

"You're being ridiculous, Dad," Nina shot back, exasperated. "And I got to go, so please stay out of Y/N's business," she warned, a flicker of defiance in her gaze.

"Alright. Have a good night Sweetpea," Cillian muttered, the edge in his voice softening just a fraction.

"Bye dad. Love you," Nina hung up, feeling a mix of frustration and concern.

She stared at her phone, the tension tightening her chest, worrying whether she had told her father too much. But then again, you said it was a casual dinner and you never said to her to keep it as a secret. So hopefully you would not be angry with her for revealing it.

But the knot in her stomach twisted tighter at the thought. She shrugged it of in the end though, pushing her worries aside as she glanced at the clock again. It was time for her to catch up with some friends as well and then pack for her trip to Liverpool.

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sangaria12 · 7 months ago

Text

The Peaky Role (Part 17)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

The set had been feeling different for the past few days since you returned to filming and, each time you glanced at Cillian, a weight settled in your chest, the air thick with unspoken words as you both clearly took some time to reflect on your most recent choices in life, none of which were merely casual decisions.

There was some awkwardness between you and your best friend's father now and it was uncomfortable, making you worry about how this would affect the filming and, more importantly, your friendship with Nina who was set to arrive on set with her young sister next week.

Despite this, however, your first week back on set passed in a blur.

You were busy filming and, whilst you had some awkward interactions with Cillian, such as exchanging perfunctory conversations that felt more like carefully constructed scripts than genuine exchanges, you both managed to keep things professional.

But then, by the time Friday came around, even others on set had picked up on the distance between you and Cillian. It was a distance that had not been there before and, as it became known that Cillian was getting divorced from Danielle, everyone just assumed that his change in mood, even towards you, was due to the breakup which simply took a toll on him.

You caught whispers exchanged by the crew and cast relating to Cillian's failing marriage, the sharp undercurrent of curiosity buzzing in the air, and it was Shaheen, in particular, who caught on quickly that there was something more going on beneath the surface. There was something between you and Cillian and she wanted to know what it was.

***

One day, she observed you staring into the distance during a break, her knowing eyes scanning your face. "Everything okay?" she asked, her voice carrying that maternal concern that made you want to simultaneously confide everything and retreat.

"Yes, I am fine," you replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just thinking about the scenes for the evening," you lied, and her raised eyebrow suggested she didn't quite believe you.

Despite being an actress, you were a terrible liar and the tension in the air hummed like a live wire.

"It's really just a long week," you replied, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly when you realised that she was suspicious.

Shaheen crossed her arms, studying you. "Alright, I won't annoy you with anymore questions but just know I'm here if you need to talk," she said before turning her head and watching as the new cast member strolled in, which is when the energy in the room changed.

***

The Irish man, who was cast to play Thomas Shelby's son as well as one of your many lovers in the movie, entered with an easy grin, the energy around him shifting almost instantly.

He had a confidence that drew all eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a spark of intrigue as he approached.

"Hey, I'm Barry," he announced, extending a hand, eyes glinting with mischief. "And you must be Y/N, right?" he asked, flashing a charming smile that lit up his handsome face.

"Yeah, that's me," you replied, shaking his hand, feeling warmth radiate from his touch.

"Nice," he grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've heard good things about your acting, so I am looking forward to working with you," he said politely, and you smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement at his enthusiasm.

"Glad to hear it," you replied, sensing Cillian's gaze from the corner of your eye as he appeared on set, his expression hardening momentarily as Barry gave you one of his signature smiles. "And… uhm, I am looking forward to working with you too, although our first scene later today is somewhat awkward," you blurted out, causing Barry to chuckle, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Yeah, I love how they schedule these scenes on the first day we work together," Barry teased, leaning against a nearby crate. "What were they thinking?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't know, but's quite the introduction, isn't it?" you thought out loud and Barry chuckled again, seeing the humour in the situation.

"Jupp," he thus said. "It's the perfect way to break the ice," he winked, the playfulness lifting your spirits right before you noticed Cillian watch the exchange from the sidelines, arms crossed, jaw tense.

Barry caught sight of him, and his smile widened, unfaced. He didn't know the extent of your connection to Cillian but had heard from Steven Knight that he was your best friend's father, thus assuming that he might be somewhat protective of you.

This, however, did not deter Barry from being flirtatious at all and, if anything, it even spurred him on as he turned on the charm. He thought it would be funny to edge Cillian on while you, however, felt a little trapped, caught in a tension that thickened the air.

Barry was known to be a bit of a womanizer ever since his career took off and he split up from his last girlfriend who was not much older than you and you wondered whether it bothered Cillian that you seemingly got along with him.

Going by age alone, Barry was a much more appropriate match for you and, even though you had absolutely no interest in him, seeing Cillian's jealousy from afar made you suppress a smile.

It made the corners of your mouth twitch upward slightly as you glanced back at Cillian before Barry caught your attention once more, noticing your somewhat awkward interaction with Cillian.

"Looks like you've got a personal bodyguard back there," Barry remarked, gesturing towards Cillian with a playful smirk. "So should I back off?" he asked, feigning a mock-serious expression as he took a step back, hands raised in surrender.

Cillian's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing but he remained silent, watching the exchange unfold with a simmering intensity that made you wonder what exactly he was thinking.

"Do you mean Cillian?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at Barry. His grin widened.

"Yeah, your 'bodyguard'," Barry teased, leaning closer, a playful smirk dancing on his lips but, instead of laughing at his comment, you swallowed hard, the pit in your stomach tightening.

"No, it's not like that at all. Cillian is just... protective," you quickly clarified, glancing over your shoulder. "We've known each other for a while, and...," you began to explain, nervousness creeping into your tone, but Barry interrupted.

His grin widened, clearly unfazed. "Relax Y/N, I was just trying to make a joke. I know that he is your friend's father, so I was just messing about," he clarified, which is when you realised that Barry's nature was just that. He was naturally flirtatious and charming, while enjoying a good laugh.

"Right," you laughed, but the knot tightened in your stomach, which was not the kind of reaction Barry expected. He tilted his head, studying you, his grin fading just a notch.

"I suppose I see you on set in an hour then?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with a playful glint.

"Yeah, definitely," you replied, forcing a smile, your thoughts still lingering on Cillian's watchful gaze and Barry nodded, turning to gather his things, before walking away, wondering what had just happened.

***

An hour had passed since you met Barry for the first time and, as you were getting ready for your final scene of the day, nervousness began to set in.

Your last scene for the day was also your first scene with Barry where your character manipulates his character to sleep with her as part of a revenge plot against Thomas Shelby and, whilst there was no more than a kiss that is being displayed on screen, you felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

"You've got this!" Shaheen encouraged you as she noticed your nervousness, but you still did not feel ready.

"Right," you thus replied, pacing slightly as you adjusted your costume and, unfortunately for you, when you finally stepped onto the damp cobblestones, preparing for your next scene, you caught sight of Cillian standing amidst the crew, his arms crossed, brow furrowed.

When he caught your eye, his expression shifted to one of tight-lipped concern, a look you couldn't decipher.

"You good, Y/N?" Shaheen's voice broke through your thoughts, her gaze steady, eyes flickering between you and Cillian, curiosity igniting a spark in her tone.

"Yeah, just... thinking," you replied, forcing a smile while your chest tightened at the sight of Cillian. "I thought, you know, this was a closed set," you whispered, leaning into Shaheen's ear as you adjusted your costume nervously.

"Not unless you've got your clothes off, so no, this isn't a closed set," she teased, her grin infectious as she nudged your shoulder.

You shot her a sidelong glance, feigning irritation but failing to suppress a grin.

"Right, of course," you mumbled as Steven Knight called for you.

"Are you ready Y/N?" His voice boomed across the set, commanding attention. You squared your shoulders, pushing the nerves aside.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, stepping into the light on set as Barry was already adjusting himself in front of the camera, relaxed and confident.

"I can do this," you whispered to yourself as you slid into character, trying to embody the vibe of the sullen lover.

"Alright... here we go," Steven called out, his voice slicing through the tense silence of the set.

You exchanged a quick glance with Barry, who smiled with encouragement, also noticing your nervousness just before the director called 'action'.

As soon as the director called 'action', Barry began his dialogue and, as the scene progressed after two takes, you also found yourself lost in your character, momentarily forgetting about Cillian standing there, watching you both.

But then, when Barry suddenly pulled you into a passionate kiss, your heart raced - not from thrill, but anxiety.

"Cut!" the director barked, breaking the spell that hung between you and Barry.

Cillian's glare pierced the air as you stepped back, warmth pooling beneath your skin.

"Y/N, I need to see some passion in those eyes," the director called, his brow furrowing in frustration and you noticed an audible sigh of frustration from Cillian.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of discontent passing over his features.

"Again, Y/N. Show me the fire," the director urged, impatience creeping into his voice. "Whatever you did during your scene with Cillian two weeks ago, I need you to bring it!"

You nodded, determination coursing through you before you inhaled deeply, focusing on the moment.

"Let's do this," you declared, stealing a glance at Barry and, immediately, his playful smirk returned, and the energy crackled between you both.

"Right, back in character," he winked, and the world narrowed to just the two of you.

After a handful of repeats, you still felt the tension though but not from the script, but from Cillian's palpable frustration lurking at the corner of the sound stage. It mounted like a tempest.

It was obvious to you that he wasn't frustrated with your performance though but, rather, the sheer fact that you were kissing someone else.

For a seasoned actor, this kind of thinking was completely irrational though and, yet, Cillian's brow furrowed deeper with each take until, finally, the director called 'cut' again.

'Take five,' he then announced which, for a scene like this, was not unusual, but it was then when Cillian, as an executive producer, interrupted, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the set.

"Steven, I think we need to rethink that scene," Cillian's eyes pinned on the monitor, intensity radiating from him.

"Why's that?" Steven turned, surprise flashing across his face.

"It's just not necessary," Cillian replied, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze, his tone final and for everyone to hear while you bit your lip, a flicker of fear rippling through you.

"Just let it flow, Cillian," Steven replied, waving him off. "It's key for the character dynamics," he explained before noting the character's manipulated nature.

Cillian's eyes narrowed, frustration twisting his features. He disagreed and was ready to voice his concerns.

"With all due respect, Steven, this scene feels overdone. We don't need another cliché to tell the story," he said which is when Barry chuckled lightly, glancing between them, but tension hung thick in the air.

"Well, I am sorry, but you are wrong Cillian. We need this scene," Steven said and, soon enough, the scene shifted back into focus and you prepared for another round, yet every time Barry leaned in, the heat of the moment flared, only to be extinguished by the weight of Cillian's gaze.

By the time the director called "wrap," you felt drained, the emotional rollercoaster of your character resonating in stark contrast to the knot in your stomach. You stepped away, desperate for air, only to find yourself wandering towards the coffee station.

As you grabbed a cup, the corner of your eye caught Cillian again, observing you from a distance, the intensity of his presence drawing you in like a moth to a flame. But beside him loomed Shaheen, light-heartedly chatting as you approached.

"I screwed up, didn't I?" you asked her as you poured the coffee, tension coiling in your gut.

Shaheen chuckled, sipping her own drink. "You didn't screw anything, and Steven said he got what he needed in the end, even though it took eight takes," she chuckled, rolling her eyes while Cillian's narrowed eyes shot daggers towards Barry across the set.

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