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lethargicplatypus · 25 days ago

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The things he doesn’t talk about-Tommy Shelby

summary. you deserve better. he is trying to be better. he fears it might be too late.

pairing. tommy shelby x reader

warnings. angst

The rain comes in soft against the windows of Arrow House. It’s the kind of drizzle that blurs the lines between things—trees and sky, grief and guilt, memory and the present. Tommy stands at the far end of the room, still in his shirt sleeves, collar undone, cuffs wet with the damp that’s crept in from walking too long along the field at dusk.

There’s a fire burning in the grate, but it doesn’t reach him. Warmth lives elsewhere these days.

He watches you through the crack in the study door. You're moving quietly through the corridor, barefoot on the wooden floors, a towel slung over your shoulder, having just bathed Ruby. She trails behind you in a long cotton nightdress, dark hair damp and clinging to her cheeks, a wooden horse tucked under one arm like a secret she won’t let go.

“Tell Daddy good night, sweetheart,” you say softly, nudging her toward him.

Tommy kneels. His bones ache more than they should. She climbs into his arms anyway, and he breathes in the scent of her—rose soap and something wild underneath it, something that’s all her. She presses a kiss to his cheek. Her skin is soft, warmer than his own.

“Night-night, Daddy,” she whispers. “Tell the bad dreams not to come.”

He smiles the kind of smile he wears for her and no one else. “I will,” he says. “I’ll shoot them through the head if they try.”

She giggles, and something pulls in his chest.

Charlie waits in the hall, one shoulder against the wall, trying to look uninterested. But Tommy knows better. Charlie’s twelve now—on the verge of the kind of silence that comes with boys who’ve seen too much and learned to hide it. He ruffles his hair as he passes, the only gesture Charlie will allow him lately. Still, the boy leans into it, just a second longer than expected.

And then they’re gone, upstairs with you, and Tommy is left with the crackling fire and the weight of the silence he’s cultivated like a field—furrowed and disciplined, but barren.

He pours a glass of water. Once, it would have been whiskey. But that version of him is somewhere else now. Maybe buried beside Polly. Maybe standing beside Mosley, smirking in triumph at a plan that never came to pass.

The room stinks of things left unsaid.

He leans against the mantle and closes his eyes. His mind is never quiet. Not since France. Not since Grace. Not since Polly’s voice was cut from the world like a rope gone taut then snapped.

He finds you later in the bedroom. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing out your hair, the motion slow, rhythmic. You’ve stopped asking him if he’s okay. He thinks that might be the greatest kindness.

Your voice breaks the silence softly. “Ruby’s dreaming about horses again. Galloping, she said. Over fields of gold.”

Tommy swallows the lump in his throat. Ruby sees things sometimes. Dreams them before they happen. Like Polly used to. He hasn’t told you how much that terrifies him.

“She’s got that Shelby sight,” he says.

You stop brushing. You don’t speak. He watches the line of your jaw shift. You don’t want her to carry that, either.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say at last, looking down at your hands. “Maybe we should take her to the coast next week. Charlie could use the air. We all could.”

Tommy nods. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

There’s a pause. It hangs between you. You move to the pillows, lying back, arm over your head. He hasn’t touched you in weeks. You haven’t asked him to.

He stares at the curve of your waist under the cotton sheet. You love him. He knows that. Knows it in the way you make the house feel like a home, even when he's lost inside it. In the way you fold his shirts without complaint. In the way you look at him sometimes, like you remember the boy before the war.

But lately, he feels like you’re loving him from a distance. Like you're pulling away gently, kindly. And he’s afraid to reach across the space between you because he doesn't know what he'll find if you’ve already started to let go.

He lies down beside you but keeps his hands to himself. He waits until your breathing settles into sleep before letting his own eyes close.

But he doesn’t sleep. Not really.

Instead, he rolls that little glowing thing in his head—the memory of Polly’s hand on his cheek, the soft laugh of Ruby, the echo of your voice in the living room, asking what he wants for dinner like that might fix the pieces of him that still crack open in the night.

He rolls the pearl around. Just to watch it glow.

It’s still dark when he gets up. The house is silent, save for the faint whistle of wind moving across the moors outside. He dresses quietly—vest, shirt, trousers. No tie. Doesn’t need one to walk the grounds before sunrise. He used to do it drunk. Now he does it stone sober, and somehow it’s worse.

In the fields, the frost is silvering the grass. His boots crunch through it. He lights a cigarette even though he promised himself he’d stop. Too many promises these days. Too many lies he wants to believe.

The sky bleeds a pale blue above the trees. And somewhere beneath it all, the memory surfaces again—Mosley, smug and untouched, untouched after all his planning. Polly’s wagon, burning in the fire. The call that told him it was his fault. The IRA, pulling strings with invisible hands.

He takes a long drag.

Tommy Shelby. Father. Husband. Member of Parliament. The words feel like masks. Like parts in a play he agreed to perform because maybe, just maybe, they’d lead him back to himself.

He closes his eyes and hears your voice—soft, patient, grounding.

He doesn’t deserve you. But he needs you.

There’s movement behind him. He turns.

It’s you.

You’re in his coat, barefoot in the grass. Your arms wrap around yourself.

“You should’ve woken me,” you say. Not angry. Just tired.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to.”

You cross the space between you, slowly. You reach for the cigarette, take it from his fingers, and throw it to the ground. Your voice stays gentle. “You told Ruby you’d quit.”

He smiles faintly, sheepish, and for a second he looks younger. Not by much. But enough that something loosens in his chest when your hand finds his.

“You don’t have to carry it all, Tom,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

That’s when he looks away. Because he does. And he always will.

But still, he leans his forehead against yours.

For now, that’s all he can give.

That evening, the children chatter over dinner. Ruby talks about a bird she saw. Charlie discusses his reading assignment. Their voices fill the room like a hymn—comforting, repetitive, holy in its smallness.

Tommy eats in silence. He listens to the clatter of forks and the hum of the overhead light. You pass the salt. You smile at Ruby. You brush a lock of Charlie’s hair behind his ear.

He watches you. Tries to memorize your every movement.

And he thinks: This could be enough.

If only he weren’t waiting for it to fall apart.

You look up and meet his eyes. Your smile fades, just a little.

Later, when the children are asleep, you stand by his desk, arranging letters and papers. He approaches, cigarette in hand.

“Let me,” he says.

You move, making space for him. Neither of you speaks.

When your fingers brush, he flinches.

You notice. Of course you do.

“You still won’t let me in,” you say, drying your hands.

He sets the papers down too hard. They don’t tear, but it’s close.

“I let you in,” he says. Quiet. Controlled.

“No,” you reply. “You let me near. Not in.”

That hits deeper than anything you’ve said in months. Because it’s true. And he doesn’t know how to change it.

“I’m trying,” he says, voice low. “Trying to be better.”

Your expression softens.

“I know,” you say. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Then you kiss his cheek. Not like a lover, not like a wife. Like a promise. Or a goodbye you haven’t committed to yet.

He watches you go. And he thinks: You're growing tired of me. And all the things I don't talk about.

Two nights later, the nightmares return.

Not of the war. Not of France. But of Polly. Of her staring at him from the bottom of a river. Her voice echoing in his mind—You brought this, Thomas.

He wakes choking on a scream that never reaches his throat. His shirt clings to him, soaked through.

You’re already sitting up. You’ve learned to wake with him. To know when the dreams are bad.

“Tommy,” you whisper.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. The moonlight catches the tremble in his shoulders.

You come to him gently. You kneel. You put your hands on his knees.

“It was her,” he croaks. “She was... blaming me.”

You don’t say she wasn’t. You don’t lie. That’s not how you love him.

Instead, you say, “She also loved you. More than anything.”

He shakes his head.

You rest your cheek against his leg. Like grounding him to the floor. Like reminding him he’s still here. Still breathing.

“I don’t know how to let go of it,” he whispers.

Your voice is almost too soft to hear. “Then don’t. Carry it. But let me carry it with you.”

He can’t speak. His throat is tight. But he places a hand on your head, and for a moment, he lets the war inside him quiet.

Just for a moment.

In the morning, he wakes to sunlight bleeding through the tall curtains. The room is already warm. One of the housemaids must’ve lit the fire early, drawn the heavy drapes back. They’re ghosts in this place, the staff—trained to disappear before they can be felt. The house breathes with them, opens its doors and sets its tables, and no one speaks of how lonely luxury can feel when the walls are too wide and the beds too cold.

He sits up slowly.

You're not beside him. Your side of the bed is made already—pressed clean, as if you were never there.

For a second, he panics.

He finds you in the breakfast room. The long windows are open, spilling in birdsong and fresh air. Ruby is eating porridge from a silver bowl, legs swinging from a high chair she’s already grown too big for. Charlie’s across from her, toast in hand, arguing about something in a book he’s reading for school.

And you—you're standing by the hearth, still in your dressing gown, hair pinned loosely, watching them with that tired softness in your eyes. Not joy. But something steadier. Enduring. The kind of love that stays even when it’s weary.

You glance up as he enters.

A maid appears before he can speak, offering him tea in the good china. He nods absently. She vanishes like smoke.

You join him at the table, quiet. You butter a slice of bread for Ruby, who leans into your arm. Tommy watches the motion. It’s easy. It’s practiced. It’s home.

And still he can’t shake the sense that he’s watching something he doesn’t quite belong to. Like he’s wandered into someone else’s life and no one’s noticed yet.

You look over at him.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” you say softly.

He forces a smile. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He looks down at his untouched tea.

“I want to take you all away,” he says. “Just for a bit. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far.”

You raise a brow. “This place has a hundred rooms and thirty acres.”

“I mean farther.”

He doesn’t say away from ghosts, but you hear it anyway.

That night, the manor glows under candlelight. There’s a dinner for Labour backers—union men in ill-fitting suits, rising MPs with calloused hands and clean fingernails, firebrands from Birmingham who still bear the soot under their skin. They speak with passion, with urgency. They lean forward when Tommy talks about land reform and housing, nodding when he names Mosley for what he is, even if he doesn’t say the word fascist aloud.

These are not the men Tommy hates.

No—these are the ones he respects. Fights for. They are here not for the wine, not for the silver cutlery polished by quiet maids, but because they believe in something. As he does.

But belief doesn’t make it easier. It just makes it heavier.

He watches them, listens to their laughter mixing with the clink of forks and the soft shuffle of staff clearing plates. And all the while, he thinks about Polly. About the cost. About how ideals don’t bury the dead.

You wear a dark green gown that catches the light like a bottle in the sun. Your arm links with his when the guests arrive, and you smile when they greet you. You laugh, politely. You serve charm like wine—measured, refined. You are everything he needs to appear whole, the half of him that still remembers softness.

He sees the way they look at you. The admiration. The envy. But he knows you feel none of it.

Because underneath it all, he still lives elsewhere. Half in Parliament. Half in the past.

After the last guest leaves—after hands are shaken and cigars are stubbed out and the speeches have faded into night—you disappear.

He finds you standing alone on the balcony. Smoke coils from your lips in the cold air. You rarely smoke. Only when you’re angry. Or when something's come loose and you're trying not to show it.

“You believe in them,” you say without turning. “In what you're doing. But they cost you. I see it.”

He steps beside you. Quiet.

“I do believe in them,” he says. “In all of it.”

You nod. Your voice is quiet. “Then why does it feel like you're still pretending?”

He exhales. The night is brittle around you. Sharp with frost.

“Because belief doesn't make the war stop,” he says. “It just gives it new ground.”

You hand him the cigarette. His fingers brush yours. He doesn’t pull away this time.

“I don’t mind the fight, Tom,” you whisper. “I knew what you were. I still chose you. I always have.”

His throat tightens. He can’t speak, so he reaches instead—presses his forehead to yours like it’s a confession.

“I want to be here,” he says. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” you whisper.

He hesitates.

“But you’re growing tired of me.”

You don’t deny it. You don’t say no.

But your arms wrap around him anyway. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, he lets himself believe that means you’ll stay.

Later that night Tommy sits in his chair, in his study. The children are asleep. The house is quiet. The fire burns low.

He rolls it around again. That glowing thing in his head.

A pearl, not a jewel. Not beautiful. Not cut and polished. A growth. A wound made solid. Born from pain, hardened by years of not speaking.

He thinks about the war. The first one. The one that never ended, really.

He thinks about Grace. About the ghost of her singing.

He thinks about Polly’s words. You put us all in danger, Thomas. You knew what would come. And you chose it anyway.

He thinks about you.

The way you stood barefoot in frost. The way you kissed his cheek after telling him the truth. The way you hold Ruby like the world depends on it.

The way you’re still here.

For now.

He closes his eyes. Tries to sleep. Tries to find the man you once fell in love with, buried somewhere in the silence.

#oh this is so beautiful and bittersweet #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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lethargicplatypus · 1 month ago

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War Goddess

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader Genre: Smut 18+ Word count: 4,8k Summary: You are Tommy’s wife. You hear him moan in the dark, caught in another war-drenched nightmare—except this time, he´s coming in his sleep. He asks you to help him in quite a special way and you say yes...You’re not sure what terrifies you more: The violence he craves… or the power he gives you. CN: Tons of smutty smut (but with a plot, of course ^^), Tommy forcedly being submissive, war trauma and healing attempt, heavy psychological themes tbh, Tommy being vulnerable but not able to suppress his dominant side, power and gun play, degradation, humiliation, bondage, blindfolding, kind of spicy interrogation, oral and anal stuff, edging, hard sex as usual. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care. Author’s note: My longest one-shot so far…Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

The bed is warm. His back is damp.

You wake before him, as you often do, your body curled against his. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on his chest, his jaw clenched. He mumbles something — unintelligible at first — then clearer, just enough for you to catch fragments.

“In the walls—"

He jolts, his hand clenching into a tight fist.

“They´re coming—"

“Hey, shh…” you whisper, trying to soothe him, but before your fingers can even find his skin, he cries out — loud, raw:

“Fuck—NO!”

He’s nowhere near waking.

You run your hand gently across his fevered cheek, but even your softest touch can’t reach him. He’s too far under — trapped in whatever nightmare his mind has pulled him back into.

“Please—” he pleads, voice cracking with anguish. “Take what you want—"

And then, startling you into stillness, you feel it: the hard press of his arousal against your stomach.

You freeze.

What the hell is happening in his head?

He shudders and turns his head. His lips part once more.

“Use me—hurt me—just don’t kill me…”

The words spill from him in a strangled mix of fear and something else — something desperate, broken, wanting. A twisted yearning that doesn’t make sense, and yet feels all too familiar to you.

You shouldn´t be aroused by what you are witnessing.

But you are.

***

You love him. That’s never been the question.

It’s what comes with loving him. The silence, the scars, the smoke that never clears. The way he disappears for days without a word. The way he comes back smelling of whiskey and gunpowder, like some battle you weren’t invited to.

Tommy has always been the hell of a dominant partner — what most would call an alpha male, without a second thought. Your safety, your well-being, they’ve always mattered to him, no doubt about that.

But only on his terms.

In daylight.

And by night.

Tommy doesn’t ask. He takes. And because you love him — and because you know he loves you, in whatever way he knows how — you’ve always let him.

***

You don’t speak of it the next day. You want. But your throat closes up.

He never talks about the war, not really. But you see it when he wakes in a cold sweat. When he touches you like he’s claiming land. When he looks at you like you’re the last thing standing between him and the abyss. But in this night, something shifted. Through the fevered haze of his words, his dreams have begun to take shape. Some buried trauma seems to claw its way to the surface — twisting, merging with an arousal that has no business being there, showing up as a wet dream in the dark. It shouldn't turn your stomach and your thighs into this aching knot of questions.

But it does.

Almost every night, Tommy lives through terror. Submission and destruction leading to a heavy climax he must be aware of the morning after... You wonder if there’s a way in — a way to reach him, to pull him from that place. To help him.

***

A week later, you're both drunk in the sitting room — the kind of drunk that slows time and peels away your last defenses. He watches you over the rim of his glass. His hair’s undone, shirt half open. His tie lies forgotten on the floor.

“You’ve been looking at me differently,” he says. His voice is low. Controlled. But not cold.

You blink. Try to smile. “Have I?”

He stands. Takes a step closer. Then another. Your little drinking session has had an unintended side effect: you're off guard now — and he's noticed. Which gives him the perfect opening to question the shift in your behavior.

“You heard me, didn’t you? That night.”

You don’t answer. But he sees it anyway. He always does.

His voice, usually sharp with command, softens unexpectedly. It disarms you more than you'd like to admit.

He stares into his glass of whiskey, thoughtful, then downs it in one swallow. Without looking up, he starts to speak.

“It was the tunnels. France. 1916. We knew they were under us. Digging. Germans. Could hear it through the fucking mud. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe.”

His sudden honesty confuses you. You had hoped that sharing a few drinks might loosen his tongue, maybe draw something out of him — but you hadn’t counted on much. His illegal dealings with the whiskey trade were hard to hide from you, of course — not least because he was his own best customer, though he liked to dress it up with the word "tasting."

Still, his seasoned tolerance meant that getting him drunk enough to slip wasn’t an easy game to play. Tommy and loss of control — those were two things that almost never coexisted. At least, not in the daylight world.

So the fact that he's opening up to you now — telling you things about what he's lived through — You want to believe it’s because he’s letting go. Because something in him is softening, and he’s showing you a part of himself he doesn’t let others see.

But you know better.

You’ve known Tommy too long not to recognize the strategy behind every move he makes. Nothing he does is ever without calculation.

He’s in front of you now.

“One night... I dreamed it wasn’t them anymore. It was you. Digging through. Breaking in. Pulling me under.”

A pause. Then:

“I panic. It’s life or death — a fight to survive. But... it’s you. The woman I desire. The woman who desires me…”

His jaw tightens under the weight of the words, clenched around a knot of fear, terror, helplessness. Tears track silently down his cheeks.

You listen, spellbound, aching to reach for him — to comfort him — but his entire body is so coiled, so rigid, you know he’d likely shove your hand away in fury.

“Everything blurs. The memory… it slips, dissolves. And then—fragments. They come back. Again and again. The same dream. Every damn night. No escape. I have to—”

Beads of sweat shine on his forehead. His fingers rake through his hair, fisting it so tightly his knuckles go white.

“I have to end it. The me inside the nightmares... he needs to understand it’s over. That it’s safe to let go. That it’s time to surrender.”

He reaches into his holster. Pulls the pistol.

Hands it to you.

“Next time… when you want me, really want me… use this. Hold it to my head. Overpower me. Take me. Hurt me. Fuck me raw. Do whatever it takes to let me overcome this fucking nightmare. I really mean it. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

Your fingers close around the metal. Still warm from him.

“You trust me that much?” you whisper.

He leans down, mouth to your ear.

“I need to.”

He pauses, then adds with a sharp edge to his voice, “But don’t you fucking dare look inside the magazine, eh?”

You hold his gaze, unflinching.

Impatiently, he presses on, “Got it? I trust you. Just trust me. No hesitation. Not for a second.”

As the weight of the pistol settles in your palm, you realize he’s not asking for danger. He’s begging for freedom.

From his ghosts.

And only you can give it to him.

***

He’s already asleep when you enter. Lying on his side, arm curled under the pillow, his breath deep and steady. The moonlight drapes him in silver, catching on the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat on his bare back.

You’ve prepared everything to make him relive the nightmare — without real danger, and with a happy ending. At least, that’s the plan.

Maybe you’ve gone too far, but here you are: wrapped in the long coat of his uniform, and beneath it, a whisper of black lace and silk over-the-knee stockings.

A femme fatale. A war goddess.

Ready to take on the fight with men and their ghosts.

Silently, you set down the items you've brought with you. A glass of cool water goes on the nightstand within his reach — he’ll need it later.

You stand there for a moment, watching. Your chest rises and falls. Faster. You know what you’re about to do. And you know what it means.

This isn’t a game to him. It never was.

You pick up the pistol. It’s heavier than you remember.

You slip onto the bed without a sound, carefully turn him around by the shoulder, straddling his hips, knees sinking into the mattress. Carefully, you slip the makeshift noose around his neck, crafted from a pair of your silk stockings. It tightens just enough to be felt — a whisper of threat, a breath of control.

He stirs as your weight settles over him but doesn’t wake. Not yet.

Your fingers trail down his chest. You feel the twitch of his muscles. His breath hitches.

You lean in, pressing your mouth to the shell of his ear. Then, with a sharp crack, you strike the wooden headboard several times with the pistol and shout his name — loud, commanding, unmistakably in charge.

“Don’t fight me, soldier,” you continue.

He tenses.

Eyes still closed, but his body wakes before he does — blood rushing, skin hot and sweaty.

You shift your weight, and his hands move instinctively to your thighs, still half-lost in whatever liminal place he drifts in.

He jolts awake, eyes wide with panic.

And that’s when you raise the pistol, slowly, deliberately, until he’s staring straight down the barrel.

Then you let the cold metal touch his temple.

He freezes.

The air turns electric.

He looks at you. Sees the gun. Sees your eyes. Besides his panic, there is something else, a slow, dark hunger blooming behind his gaze.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and hot.

You lean down and kiss him, deep and brutal, until he groans against your mouth and grabs your hips. But you don’t let him lead — not tonight.

Tonight, he’s yours.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol as you straddle him, your thighs framing his hips. With your other hand, you give the silk noose around his throat a slow, deliberate tug — just enough for him to feel your control over every breath he takes. You feel him hard beneath you — not just aroused, but wide awake now, sharp with tension. And still, he doesn’t move.

He’s waiting.

For you.

“Lift your hands above your head,” you command quietly.

He obeys.

There’s a clarity in your movements now, a calm, predatory resolve that leaves no doubt: you’re going to take exactly what you want from him.

The pistol slips soundlessly into the bulging pocket of Tommy’s military coat. Then you reach for the coarse hemp rope you had set aside — rough, unyielding, unforgiving — and begin wrapping it around his wrists. One loop, then another, until he’s bound. You secure the ends to the slatted headboard above him.

He watches you in tense, breathless silence, his chest rising and falling. You can see how hard he’s working to restrain himself, to keep from grinding hungrily against the heat between your thighs.

The oversized coat is carelessly fastened by a single button, gaping just enough to tease him with the barest glimpses of skin, of lace, of promise.

If Tommy only knew what else you were going to deny him tonight.

From the inside pocket of the coat, you draw something slick and black. Before he can register what it is, darkness swallows him whole.

Your silk sleep mask — what a perfect idea.

With his vision gone, his world narrows to sound, to sensation, to you. Every brush of fabric, every shift of weight, every breath you take.

You reach once more into the pocket where you stashed his gun, then let the heavy coat slide off your shoulders with a slow, deliberate rustle. For a moment, you wait, letting the silence stretch, then — click.

The unmistakable sound of the safety being released.

His body flinches beneath you. But he doesn’t speak.

He just lies there, blindfolded, bound, and waiting.

Ready for whatever’s coming next.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, soldier,” you say, voice low and even. “I think it’s time you talk.”

A pause. Then his answer, tight, unsure: “I— I don’t know what you mean…”

You slide the cold barrel of his own pistol along his temple. Not hard. Just enough to remind him who's holding the cards tonight.

“Start with what you think about when you’re alone. When you’re hard. When no one’s watching.”

He shifts under you. The ropes strain softly against the wood.

His answer comes hesitantly. “I… I think about things. Sometimes.”

You let the silence stretch, the pistol resting lightly against his temple.

“Go on.”

“I imagine… being under you. Not… not just like this. More.”

You lean in, your lips grazing his ear. “More how?”

He swallows. “Your thighs… I think about your thighs. And you… above me.”

You smile. “Above you?” you echo, feigning confusion. “You mean like now? Or do you want something more than just to be pinned?”

He says nothing.

“I think I know what you mean,” you continue softly. “You want me to sit on your face, don’t you? Use you like you’re nothing but a tongue.”

His breath catches.

“Say it.”

A beat. Then, quietly: “...yes, ma’am.”

You don’t move.

“Say it properly. I want to hear it.”

His voice is thick with shame and arousal. “I want you to sit on my face… ma’am. Use me.”

You feel it in the tension of his body—every muscle pulled taut beneath you, not from resistance, but from the unbearable strain of surrender. It isn’t the act of pleasuring you with his mouth that costs him; he's done that before, eagerly, with a fervor that bordered on reverence.

No, it’s the confession.

The admission that he wants to be used.

That he craves your weight, your power, your indifference to his pleasure. That he needs you to strip him of the armor he wears even in your bed.

And still, some part of you waits for the snap—for the moment he can’t take it anymore, when he breaks the ropes or tears off the blindfold, flips you beneath him and reclaims the control that defines him. You see the war in his clenched jaw, in the way his hips shift beneath you as if his cock could argue with his mouth. He wants to dominate. It's in his blood.

But somewhere deeper, darker, older, is this need: to be undone by you. To be freed from himself—not with mercy, but with force.

And you?

You’re willing to take him there.

As many times as it takes.

You lower yourself slowly, knees firm against the mattress, thighs bracketing his head. His breath hitches as the heat of your arousal nears his lips—he can smell you now, wet and aching, your desire soaked into the soft fabric barely shielding you. You don’t speak. You wait.

His voice, hoarse: “You don’t know what you do to me. Or maybe you do. Please… end me.”

A smile plays at the corners of your mouth. You remove the last barrier.

“You’re going to earn your reward, soldier,” you murmur. “Not with your cock, though. That’s not yours to use. Not yet.”

You press yourself against his mouth. He groans—hungry, eager—and you feel the warm pressure of his tongue between your thighs. Every movement is reverent, desperate, grateful. He drinks you in like a man parched.

“You’re so fucking hard, aren’t you?” you whisper, teasing. “Throbbing. Aching. Can’t wait to bury yourself—but you’ll have to wait. Only good boys get what they want. And you haven’t told me everything yet.”

His voice is muffled, but the words reach you, trembling with devotion: “Thank you, ma’am. You taste... incredible. I love this. I love being used by you.”

You slide your fingers through his hair, tighten slightly.

“Then prove it,” you say softly. “Confess more. Tell me the rest of your dirty little truths while you worship me.”

His breath hitches, hesitant at first, voice low and trembling: “I… sometimes imagine your finger… while you’re… using your mouth on me. It feels wrong, but… maybe that’s why it’s so… intense. Like I’m… losing myself in a way I’m not supposed to. It’s… a bit unsettling, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You didn't expect this turn of events, but you don't let it show and act cool. “Inside you? What do you mean by that? Don’t be afraid to say it.”

You can hear that the tension is almost breaking him. He struggles with the words: “I… I think about you… pushing something inside me…when you’re pleasuring me with your mouth.”

You lean closer, your tone gentle but insistent: “Push something inside you… What exactly, Thomas? I want to hear it.”

He swallows hard, cheeks flushing beneath the mask, finally admitting with a whisper: “Your finger. I imagine you… using your finger… while you’re making me yours.”

You see the mix of shame and relief in his posture as he speaks the words aloud, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the room.

You press your thighs a little tighter around his head, sensing his pulse racing beneath you.

For a second, you hesitate.

You’d stepped into this role for him willingly—eager, even—but the rawness in his voice takes you off guard. You hadn't anticipated this. Not that the subject itself is unfamiliar. Anal play was never taboo between you. On the contrary, he’s had no trouble taking the lead there before, no hesitation in pressing deep, in claiming you in every way he could.

Especially on days when business hadn't gone his way, or after another shouting match with his brother Arthur, he seemed possessed by the need to use your body in that degrading, desperate way. Not for pleasure, at least not primarily. For control. For relief. Like you were the only thing that could soak up his chaos.

And when he did, there was always that gleam in his eye, that hungry, near-feral focus that told you he wasn’t holding anything back. That when he had you like that, he felt powerful. Unstoppable. Like the world could burn and he wouldn’t notice if he was buried in you.

And now… now he wants to feel the opposite.

That image grounds you. Gives you direction.

You lift yourself from his face slowly, relishing the shaky breath he pulls in as you grant him air again and at the same time let him endure the uncertainty of how you will react to his confession.

Finally, to his surprise, you pull the sleep mask from his eyes. You want him to watch exactly what happens to him next. Sliding down his body with the smooth confidence of someone in full control, you let your tongue drag along his hot skin until you come to rest at his most sensitive spot, teasing him just enough to make him twitch.

He gasps, hips flexing instinctively—but you hold him still with a palm to his thigh.

You dip your head, let a slow strand of saliva trail from your lips to your fingers. Your eyes stay on his as you coat your middle finger, then reach lower, circling gently around his entrance—soft, slow, testing. Not entering. Just letting him feel that you could.

And will. When you decide.

“How many times,” you ask sternly, “have you imagined me forcing my way inside you? Don’t lie. I want details. Or I stop."

A tense pause. You can feel him swallow under your gaze, his breath shallow.

“Too many,” he admits hoarsely. “In the dark. When I can't sleep. When the flash backs come.”

He hesitates, then continues, the words dragging over gravel: “I imagine you… holding me down. One hand over my chest. Your mouth driving me mad. And then your finger. Slick. Insistent. Not asking.”

His body tenses as his dirty fantasies fall out of him, raw and real. “You don’t stop. You know exactly what it does to me. You edge me until I’m desperate. Until I’m begging.”

You listen closely as he stammers through his shame, your eyes locked on his. Your tongue circles the tip of his hardness with practiced precision, drawing a sharp, helpless breath from his throat. Meanwhile, your fingertip begins to apply gentle pressure—testing, teasing—until you feel him yield, inch by inch, his body pushing back, unmistakably begging for more.

"Fuck, just do it," he hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched in lust and defiance. "Claim me."

His chest rises with each breath, muscles tense, but his hips don’t lie—he’s aching for it. And yet, his voice lowers dangerously, his command laced with warning: "This never happened. You breathe a word of this to anyone and you’ll regret it."

His wrists twist in the silken bonds as if they were about to break free at any moment. As if the balance of power were about to reverse at the last moment because he can't bear it any other way.

"One time. That’s all. I needed to get it out of my system. After this, it goes back to the way it was. I’m in charge. Understood?"

Your finger presses in, slow and controlled. His body tenses against it, breath staggering. The sound he makes is halfway between a growl and a gasp, raw and involuntary. Still, he doesn’t stop you. He lifts his hips ever so slightly, as if giving in to you hurts less than resisting.

"God, don’t stop," he mutters, voice strained and dark. "Just—"

You take your time, tongue still working him in tight, knowing swirls, your finger moving with increasing confidence. The way he trembles beneath you, the broken sounds spilling from his lips—it’s more than arousal. It’s surrender. And it’s yours.

When you sense him teetering at the edge, you pull back. Slowly. Cruelly.

"Fuck!" he chokes out, head thrown back, fists clenched in the silk. "You—"

You do it again. And again. Bringing him close until his body is slick with tension, his voice hoarse from begging without words. Every time you stop, his eyes search yours with something like desperation—and still, he won’t say please.

Not yet.

Your finger is buried deep inside him, pressing against that sensitive spot with relentless precision, sending waves of agonizing pleasure through him. The warm, salty taste of his precum lingers on your tongue, rich and intoxicating. He groans, eyes fluttering shut, wrists tugging at the restraints. His entire body coils tight, every muscle trembling beneath your weight.

Finally, he cries out, “Please… I— I can’t…”

“Can’t?” you whisper. “That’s not what I saw in your eyes when you begged me to use you like this.”

With satisfaction, you let him believe for a moment that he can now experience relief. And then—you pull away.

His cry is raw, broken, the sound of a man unraveling.

“No, soldier. Not yet,” you pretend to be calming, “You don’t come until I say you can. You gave me that power, remember?”

You rise slowly, deliberately, your breath steady as your fingers glide over his sweat-slicked skin. His muscles twitch under your touch, every nerve drawn taut. You lean in, lips grazing the line of his jaw, breath warm against his cheek, and then, without hesitation, you guide yourself onto him.

Your body takes him in inch by inch, a slow, relentless claiming. His breath hitches, turns into a sharp gasp as you sink down fully, burying him inside you. He throws his head back, jaw clenched, wrists straining against the bonds.

“You think being inside me makes you in charge?” you whisper, voice laced with heat and mockery. “No, soldier. You’re just where I want you—hard, helpless, and desperate.”

He groans, shaking his head in defiance, but his hips betray him, rising to meet you, his body aching for more.

“You wanted this,” you say, grinding down with a slow, punishing rhythm.

He groans again. This time it’s almost a sob. “Yes,” he breathes.

“You think you still have control?” you taunt, increasing the pace just enough to keep him trembling on the edge. “Say it. Say who this cock belongs to.”

His eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritted, every word a battle. “…It’s yours.”

“Say it properly.”

He chokes on the next breath, voice low and broken: “My cock belongs to you, ma’am.”

You smirk, leaning in to bite gently at his throat. “Good boy.”

He's drenched in sweat, his eyes wild, teeth clenched hard as he tries to hold onto the last thread of composure. But it's gone. He's gone.

“I see you, Tommy. Even when you hide. And right now, you’re mine. My weapon. My ruin. My beautiful, broken thing,” you whisper.

“Take the gun,” he rasps, voice barely human. “Do it…now.”

You freeze for a heartbeat. He’s serious. His eyes are shining, bloodshot, locked on yours.

“You said… you'd surprise me,” he pants. “You said you’d do it. You have it, don’t you?”

He swallows, every word a plea and a command all at once. “Pick it up. Point it at me. While you're… riding me. Please. Fuck. Just—please.”

Your hand reaches for the revolver where it lies on the table. It feels impossibly heavy in your palm. You keep grinding against him, relentless, as you lift it and point it at his chest.

You remember what he told you. Don’t look in the magazine. Trust me.

And you hadn’t looked.

Not then.

But now the weight of the revolver in your hand feels heavier than it should. Loaded? Empty? Just one round waiting? You have no idea.

And that’s exactly how he wanted it.

You glance down at him—sweat-slicked, eyes wild, desperate—and you wonder: Did he ever want to win this round? Or lose it? You panic, but no matter what, you are aware that you have long since reached the point of no return.

Your breath grows uneven, ragged, blending with his in a tangle of gasps and broken sounds. The room pulses with heat and noise, the rhythm of skin on skin, breath on breath, your pleasure building in sync, your bodies answering each other.

“Pull the fucking trigger,” it bursts out of him.

You knew this was coming. And you hesitate for what feels like eternity. His eyes bore into yours, begging and burning all at once.

“Pull it.”

He growls now, louder. “Do it. DO IT.”

You squeeze your eyes shut—

Click.

Silence. Nothing.

You throw the gun aside with a shaky breath just as his cry tears through the room, loud, guttural, pure release. His body jerks beneath you, cock pulsing inside, spilling more than just heat. It’s everything—grief, helplessness, pain, old wounds he never dared name. All of it floods out of him at once, like his body finally found the only way it knows how to let go.

His wrists wrench free of the silk just as his body arches up into you. The bindings fall, forgotten. He seizes your waist and turns you on your back, breathing ragged, eyes wild. There's no hesitation anymore.

His fingers slide between your legs, slick and sure. His mouth follows, tongue teasing all of your sensitive spots, relentless, until you’re gasping, knees weak. Only when you're shaking, breathless, right on the edge, he flips you onto your stomach, pushing your hips up with practiced hands. He has long since recovered and is half hard again; a few strokes are enough to be ready again. He thrusts back in with a deep groan, hips snapping against you.

Now it's your turn to cry out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop until you do.

And when you come, you don’t hold back. Your knees give way, and you sink onto the mattress. He falls on top of you, still buried inside your core.

You cry out under his heavy weight, breaking apart, shaking, eyes wide open, he wraps his arms around you tightly — possessively, like the old Tommy is being back, but also like someone trying to anchor himself to something real.

His lips press to your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can.

But as the sweat cools on your skin and your heartbeat settles against his, one truth presses in quietly:

He didn’t just surrender tonight.

He chose to be known.

And that frightens you more than if he’d begged for the trigger a second time.

<<<You liked that? Click here for more>>>

***

Taglist

@jbrownta @mythicalcowboyatheart @shelbybabysblog @simpfortoomanymen @moonbeamott @gothic-chinadoll @weaponizedvirtue @ashibairo @darkdaydreamer

New to the Cillian party, so just let me know if you (don't) want to be tagged to my next stories!

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#jesus 🥵 the bit with the gun fucking hell #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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lethargicplatypus · 1 month ago

Text

chance with you.

[jason todd x reader]

summary: an unlucky night turns into something unexpected, something sacred shared with the stranger who saved you and offered to walk you home and fix your door at midnight.

warnings/content: drunk cat-calling, protective jason, awkward-ish jason, physical touch, reassurance, playful banter, slowburn, treating of wounds, vulnerability, fluff, jason is a horrible liar: i should not be getting close to her, this is a horrible idea- her door is absolute shit, i need to fix that.

Your night truly couldn't have gotten worse than this. You knew opting for the late night bus was a mistake. It never arrived on time, and now, you're rushing into some random grocery store because some drunkard decided to catcall on you while you were at the bus stop, and got pissed when you didn't respond to his advances.

You're too busy looking behind you to see if the creep would really follow you into a public space when you bump into a solid chest. Unintentionally, you gripped onto the stranger's shirt, the impact combined with your anxiety making you unintentionally hold onto anything that was sturdy. You look up in a panic and a cold, annoyed expression meets yours. He's giant, you note, and you wonder how many more intimidating men will be added to your streak today.

"Hey, lady- groping others isn't how you greet someone."

His voice, gruff and deep, snapping you out of your daze. You shake your head, trying to find the words to explain yourself but his expression grows frustrated as he goes to remove your hands. Panicking, you unintentionally tighten your grip, whispering in a hurry. "Someone's following me."

The switch is immediate, his frown deepening, but his gaze softens from apprehensive to protective. His acknowledgment is followed by a nod, gaze scouting behind you. "What do they look like?"

You're about to respond when you hear that obnoxious drunkard's voice, calling out to you.

"Hey, I wasn't done talking to you, bitch." He snarls.

You hear his footsteps coming closer and you're tempted to just bolt when your stranger shifts you quickly behind him. His shoulder blocks your gaze, his hand outstretched to hold your waist, keeping you shielded from the drunkard's view.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." Whatever annoyance he held earlier because of your collision, it was nothing compared to the venom in his voice now. The room's temperature feels like it's dropped several degrees with the command in his tone.

"Mind your own business." The drunkard hisses, and you hear his footsteps etch closer and you grip your stranger's jacket tighter.

"Back off." You hear a clatter, and a loud 'thump' as items from the shelves clatter onto the ground at the impact. One tomato can lands near your feet, bumping into your shoe. You lean slightly to the side, peeking to see what happened, and you spot the drunkard keeling on the floor, groaning as he tries to get back up.

"If you ever come near her again, I'll make sure you'll regret it. For as long as I can." Your stranger's threat is immediate, combined with his easy show of strength, even you feel intimidated by this man's presence. Once the drunkard managed to scramble up on his two feet, he scurries like a slippery rat, tripping over fallen cans as he runs off.

Your stranger watches, body tense as he makes sure the drunkard was truly gone before eventually turning back to you.

"You alright?" He asks, hands going up to your shoulders, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion.

You nod your head, still in a daze, not over the adrenaline high as you keep glancing back behind his shoulder to see if the drunkard will come back. His shoulder blocks your gaze again, his body shifting so he's your main focus.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure he won't look your way ever again." He reassures you.

You want to ask how he can guarantee that, but something about his firm grip, his steady voice- tells you that he can. Now that he's all up in your face and your mind isn't in complete survival mode, you can get a closer look at him. He's got recent bruises on his jaw, bandages around his knuckles and a crooked nose from a fight gone wrong. You also note the most beautiful green eyes you've ever seen.

He's a fighter, it's confirmed within one glance. Yet, you find yourself not wanting him to let go, your mind convinced he can protect you in your anxious state.

"You trust me?" He asks.

It's a silly question. Nobody should be trusted right now, your mind chastises. You don't even know him. Yet, looking into his concerned gaze, you can't help but answer with a yes.

"Good." He affirms, relaxing more now that he's sure you're not going to bolt. "I'm going to get you home, it's not safe for you to walk alone right now." It's not a suggestion, he's your chaperone for the night whether you like it or not.

He grabs hold of your hand, leading you out of the store. "What's the direction?"

"4th Avenue." You answer, but you're quick to ask your own question. "What's your name?"

You can't keep calling him 'stranger' in your head when he just helped you deescalate such a dangerous situation. If this was the last time you'll ever see him, you hoped to at least have the memory of his name.

He looks back at you, thinking. Eventually, he gives it to you. "Jason."

It suits him, as you eye his broad back facing you when he turns and pulls you along with a soft grasp to let you know you could break free whenever you wanted to. His walk is brisk, as if he has somewhere he's supposed to get to but you're a detour. Right, he looked like he was in a rush earlier when you first bumped into him.

"You can just drop me off at the subway." You tried to offer, suddenly feeling guilty. "I'll be fine after when there's people on-"

"No." He rejects outright. "Don't place your trust in Gotham's citizens. If something were to happen to you on the train, no one's coming to save you. They'll just pretend to save their own asses."

You can't deny his harsh words, growing quiet again. You both cross streets, and he swiftly shifts you to the right of the sidewalk, away from the road. His voice eventually cuts through the awkwardness. "What's yours?"

Yours? He's asking for your name? You answer, and he hums in response, repeating your name in a mutter. You can't stop the way your heart picks up at the sound of your name in his voice, soft and considering, completely unlike how he was earlier in the store when he had confronted the drunkard.

You think it's just the saviour admiration you've heard about from those silly videos about hot firemen, but you can't stop staring at him like he's a figment of your imagination conjured to protect you. It certainly doesn't help that he's exactly your type.

"You live alone?" He asks.

"Yeah, but it's usually fine down my neighbourhood. Nothing much happens."

"Nothing yet." He pushes back. He's off muttering to himself again before he looks at you. "What's the security measures at your place?"

"My lock?" You know it sounds horrible, but you've just recently gotten this place and the upfront deposit has taken out more from your bank than you can chew. You doubt you could even install a grill for the door right now considering your wallet.

He stares at you to cement the fact that he did not find your words funny. For some reason, his expression makes you giggle.

When he reaches your apartment, his expression grows more pained at your miserable small lock, as if it offends him that your words weren't really a joke. "Alright." He huffs. "This won't do."

"Yeah, my bank account disagrees." You rebutt.

"Your bank account won't have anything to do with this." He mutters, analysing your door with a disapproving look. "I'll come back tomorrow with a better.. everything."

Your brow furrows as you try to understand his words before realisation dawns you. "You're not going to buy me a new lock, or door! You've already helped me tonight, I can't possibly accept-"

"Good thing I'm not asking." He says with a smirk. You get the feeling he's not used to taking no for an answer.

"You're stubborn." You're trying hard not to smile as you say it, but your teasing tilt in your voice doesn't really carry any bite.

"Heard that one before." He scoffs. "Just to prove my case." He bends down near eye level with your lock, and takes out a pin. He sticks the pin in, twists it around with a focused expression. After a few clicks, your door pops open.

You can't hide the shock in your eyes. You knew that lockpicking existed, but seeing it with your own eyes, on your own door? It dawns on you how easy it is for you to get robbed.

He's waiting for you to say something, a satisfied smirk on his face to have been proven right. He looks like such a jerk in this light, but you can't deny it's ridiculously hot how his smirk slants to the side.

You roll your eyes. "Alright, fine. It's your loss."

He stands on his feet, and you're struck by his height. He leans on the doorframe, looking down at you with a serious expression. "Not a loss for me."

You can't help but feel hot under his eyes, and you avert from his intense gaze. "What time are you coming tomorrow?"

"Is it alright if I come earlier in the morning? Around 5?" He asks. "I have a... night shift."

You nodded in understanding, before your eyes widened. "Wait, isn't it like midnight now? Are you late for your shift?"

He chuckles at your words. "Don't worry about it. Why don't you head on in? I just wanna make sure you're safe first before I head off."

You don't know what's overcome you. The fact that you really made it home safe thanks to him, that he's willing to help fix your door, or the pure exhaustion that's now settling in. You wrap your arms around him for a moment, giving him a squeeze. Really, your arms can barely fit around him, but you're just so thankful.

"Thank you." You murmur, voice cracking with emotion. "You've no idea how much you've saved me tonight. Thank you."

He's silent, but then, you feel warm arms hug you back, patting you in a soothing manner.

"You don't have to thank me for saving you." He responds. "I would've done it no matter what."

When you part, there's no awkwardness in the air, only a soft knowing that you'll always be grateful to your stranger.

"Goodnight, Jason." You whisper, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiles back, and true to his word, he waits till you close the door. Only when you locked it with the soft 'click', do you hear his footsteps fade away.

It's five in the morning like he said, when you hear your doorbell. With a groan, you push yourself up from your bed with a slight confusion to who it could possibly be at this hour. It didn't take long for last night's memories to hit you and you forced yourself to the front door. Opening it, you don't know what you expected but being greeted with a boxes in your face wasn't one of them.

"Huh?" You muttered aloud, shifting your head to the left, and spotting Jason being the boxes.

"You mind?" He asks, and you realise you're blocking the way. You quickly step aside and he moves in, putting the boxes on the floor. You register a new lock, new bolt, new chain, new security camera..

"Are you building me a new door or something?" You joke.

He looks at you with a grimace, and only then do you notice how exhausted he looks. There's a new bruise at the side of his cheek too.

"Oh my god. Are you alright?" You ask, assessing his face before looking him up and down. Is that blood on his pants?

"Peachy." He grumbles. "I'll just get this fixed up for you before I leave, alright?"

"No way." You object. "Get your ass to the couch. I'm getting a first-aid kit."

Before he can argue, you've already moved to the kitchen, looking through your cabinets before finding the case. You hear a sigh audible enough from the distance and when you turn around, he's slumped on the couch, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling and leg placed on the coffee table to reduce the pulling of his wound.

You sat beside him, opening the first-aid kit on your lap. "So what type of night shift do you work to cause this? And you should've gone to the hospital."

For some reason, he laughs at your suggestion. "Haven't gone to the hospital since I was 15." There's some dark tone in his words, an inside joke you don't get. You shrug it off.

"Okay, I get that Gotham's hospital bills are insane, but so is thinking you can walk off a bleeding leg." You huff, assessing his wound to see how to clean it. "And you haven't answered my question on your work."

He thinks a little, before answering. "I'm a chef." Even he doesn't sound so sure about that.

You raise a brow. "A chef?"

"Yeah." He huffs, seemingly amused. "I don't look the cooking type?"

"No, I can get the rebellious chef image." You play along with it, even if you don't fully believe his words. "You seem like the type to yell in the kitchen for an order gone wrong."

"Yeah, some junior was completely off with his aim." He mutters dryly. "Knife went for my thigh instead of the meat on the counter."

"Must have been a shock." You murmur. "This is going to hurt a little."

You press the cloth dapped in alcohol to his wound, and he hisses. Maybe it's to distract him from the sting, but he continues to talk. "You'll find that in my line of work, injuries are pretty common."

"Yeah, that bruise on your cheek common too?" You pointed out.

He shakes his head, smiling again, his chest breathing easier once you took the cloth away. "Nah, that's just some asshole who thought he was better than me. Proved him wrong."

"Remind me not to be a chef." You mused, taking a look at his wound now that the blood isn't blocking your sight. "Well, you'll live to see another day. It's not the worst I've seen, only needs to be bandaged."

"You see wounds often?" He asks.

"My mother was a nurse." You answered with a soft smile. "She thought her children needed to have some survival skills in a city like this."

"Yeah, but apparently, she didn't teach you about home security." He laments.

You can't help but laugh as your hands wrapped the bandage around his thigh. "You're never letting that one go, are you?"

"Never." He says, and it feels like some forbidden promise. Like this will be a running inside joke years from now, when you're not even sure if you'll see him tomorrow.

The thought dampens the moment for you, and you realise you shouldn't get attached. Done with wrapping the bandage, you take the blood-stained cloth and first-aid kit into your hands. You want to move them to the sink, but something keeps you planted to your spot beside him. "You don't have to fix the door today, you must be exhausted."

In a way, you wonder if it's selfish for you to want him to come back. When he's already done so much for you, coming to you when he's injured? You shouldn't keep demanding his time. By the looks of him, it seems to be something he doesn't like to waste.

"No, I'll get it all installed in an hour." He promises, and your heart deflates. You shouldn't feel disappointed, not when it was expected. You barely knew him, and so far, you've been causing him more trouble than you're worth.

"Yeah." You answer weakly. "Sure."

You move to get up from the couch to bring the items in your hand to the sink, but he beats you to it with his hand coming to grip your wrist. You stared at the contact, of his large hand completely wrapped around your wrist before looking at him. He seems to be thinking of something to say, the same way you're trying to avoid asking him to stay. "I may-" He struggles with his words for a moment. "-have some additional stuff to bring back another time."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Was he.. making an excuse to come back?

"Your windows." He gestures awkwardly. "Worse than your doors, really."

You stare at him, and a small laugh breaks out into a bigger one. You try to control your happiness, seeing his sheepish expression. "You going to revamp my entire apartment, Jason?"

He smiles at that. "Maybe? Do you want me to?"

You don't have to think twice about that. "Yes. I'd like you to."

"It's settled then." He murmurs, his fingers letting go of your wrist to hold your fingers like a loosened way of a handshake. "Nice to meet you officially. I'm Jason. Guess you're going to have to deal with me for awhile, miss."

Your grin is bright as you return the gesture, welcoming the warmth of his hand. "Nice to meet you, Jason."

#love it!#jason todd x reader #dc

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lethargicplatypus · 2 months ago

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ME, MY GIRLFRIEND AND MY GIRLFRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND BEST FRIEND

Summary: You and your bestie are a package deal; you thought he knew that by now.

Pairing: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne x fem! reader. Feat. best friend Donna, Kori, Stephanie and Diana.

DICK GRAYSON

It was one of those rare quiet nights. No alarms blaring, no villains plotting, no Bat-signals shining in the sky. Just Dick sprawled across the couch, half-watching a documentary and waiting for you to come back from the kitchen with popcorn.

You returned, phone pressed to your ear, clearly in the middle of a conversation with someone. You handed him the bowl before plodding back into the kitchen to get some drinks.

Dick watched you go with a smile. You were glowing—laughing at whatever was being said on the other end of the line, looking carefree and happy. He couldn’t help but admire you. You were everything good in his life wrapped up in one person. And tonight, he felt especially lucky to have you.

You were FaceTiming someone. Based on the way you were laughing and swapping stories from a wild night out, he assumed it was one of the girls, probably Donna or Kory.

You disappear from his line of sight, and he turns his focus back to the TV. Until you appear behind him, holding out the bottle of soda, and then he hears it.

"I love you!"

He looked up. You were smiling, voice soft and sincere. His heart stopped at the words, nearly bursting in delight. You'd said it, you'd finally said the three words he so longed to hear.

He spins around, popcorn bowl flying as he locks his arms around your waist over the back of the couch and all but vibrates in excitement, shouting, "I love you too babe!"

Only to falter when you wriggle loose, shooting him an incredulous look as you hold your phone up near your mouth.

"Dick, what the hell? I'm on the phone." You scold him.

"Wha? Who are you professing your love to?" He squawks in outrage.

"Um, Donna?" You raise a brow, as if to say, duh.

"Donna?" He reels back with a whine, hand over his heart in offence that's only half fake.

"Oh my God, you're such a baby." You sigh, "Donna, I gotta go." Donna let out an amused laugh before you hung up, throwing your phone on the couch.

"Get up loser." You roll your eyes.

"Why? Just go and be with Donna."

"For the love of fuck." you huffed, "I love you, Dick. But if you're gonna be annoying about it then maybe I will go and —"

Dick suddenly lunges for you once more, burying his face in your stomach and whining like a petulant child. "You love me more than Donna, right?"

"...Sure, baby." You threw up a mental prayer, hoping Donna would forgive you.

JASON TODD

"Babe? You home?"

"On the couch, Jay." You call back, making him falter a little. You always ran to greet him when he got home, no matter what you were doing.

You don't sound injured or distressed, but Jason can't help the anxiety that rises in his chest as he stalks through the apartment. Only to freeze in betrayal at the sight of Starfire sitting on your lap, her arms wrapped around your neck as the two of you giggle together over some inside joke.

"Are you... are you cuddling my girlfriend?" He looked offended, glaring at where Kori was snuggling into your neck.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch Jason." You rolled your eyes, "Besides, you literally made out with Roy the other day?"

"For the mission!" Jason sputtered, cheeks as red as his helmet.

"Whatever you wanna tell yourself hon." You hummed.

Jason dramatically drops his helmet on the table and crosses his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Great. Just great. What’s next? A wedding invitation?"

Kori shrugs. "You would be welcome to attend."

Jason’s brain momentarily short-circuited before he sputtered. "…That was a joke, Kori."

You snort. "Don’t explode, Jay. We’re best friends. This is just Kori being affectionate. You know how she is."

Jason squinted suspiciously, pointing an accusatory finger. "I don’t sit on Roy’s lap. Not like that."

"Okay," you deadpanned, "but you could, you just don't."

Jason narrowed his eyes, walking slowly toward the couch, still pouting. "I feel like I’ve walked into a really weird romcom. Or a very specific fanfiction."

Kori simply smiled at Jason, not bothering to move. "Do not worry, Jason. You are still her chosen snuggle companion for the nightly hours."

"Damn right I am."

That night, as you lay in bed, Jason's arms wrapped tightly around you, on the verge of falling asleep, he suddenly asked. "You love me more than her, right, babe?"

You blink sleepily. "Hmm? Babe, I live with you."

"That’s not a no."

TIM DRAKE

Tim’s curled up on the couch in full comfort mode: hoodie, blanket, snacks, and a fond little smile on his face as he taps the FaceTime icon next to his girlfriend’s name.

It rings once. Twice. Then the screen opens to reveal not you, his beloved girlfriend, but Stephanie Brown.

In what appears to be a changing room, with a shit eating grin on her face.

"Hey, Loverboy."

Tim chokes on a gummy bear. "Why are you answering?!"

She grins, swinging the camera around to show you, standing in front of a mirror, wearing an absolutely illegal red lace number.

You gasp. "STEPHANIE!"

"You said you wanted his opinion!" She cackles.

"I meant after I bought it! It's supposed to be a surprise!"

Tim sputters, "I can check the fit! That’s literally my job!"

You tried not to laugh. "Babe, please stop behaving like you’re in an interview."

"But, I’m qualified! More than her! That should be me!" He says, indignant.

Steph winks. "Clearly not, if you’re stuck watching from home."

You grin, unable to stop yourself from throwing fuel on the fire. "It’s true. It’s a bestie thing. Steph’s like my other half."

"I thought I was your other half." Tim's eye was twitching.

"You thought wrong!" Steph mocked, wrapping her arms around you and cupping one of your boobs with her free hand as Tim screeched bloody murder over the phone.

"Those are mine! Mine!"

"Not anymore. Bye loser." Steph cackled before abruptly hanging up the phone, promptly declining every one of Tim's spam calls as you watched on with a wince.

"Steph, when I said I wanted to blow his mind, this is not what I meant."

BRUCE WAYNE

Bruce was exhausted, his bruises had bruises and muscles he wasn't previously aware of ached. It had been the 'week from hell', as Dick had moaned, with a large-scale Arkham breakout not even the worst thing that had happened.

His only solace had been knowing you'd be waiting for him in bed that night, soft and warm, your very presence enough to soothe him as you cuddled into his chest.

The batsuit lay scattered across the ground, he'd apologise to Alfred for the mess later, if he remembered, right now all he wanted was to pull you against his bare chest and bury his face in your neck for the foreseeable future.

He'd gotten back far later than expected, and though the bedroom door was open, your back was to him, snuggled under the covers having fallen asleep waiting for him.

Carefully pulling the covers back, he slid in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist with a contented sigh. Only to freeze at the feel of another body next to you. He's not immediately alarmed, assuming it's just Damian, only to nearly fall out of the bed at the sight of Diana.

"Hmm, Bruce?" You groaned, rolling to face him with a sleepy smile.

"Honey. There's an Amazon in our bed." He sighs.

"We're having a sleepover." You mumble, as if that was enough of an explanation.

"Whyyy?" He whines, too exhausted to be embarrassed about his childish behaviour.

"Cause cuddles."

"I give you cuddles!"

"Not Amazonian cuddles." You mumble under your breath.

"Are you saying she's better than me?" Bruce was outraged.

"It's not a competition." Before Bruce can counter, your door creaks open again, revealing an excited looking Clark dressed in pyjamas.

"No." He growls, making you, Clark and Diana all whine.

"Bruce, you know Clark gets fomo!"

#jason and bruce's lmao #dc

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lethargicplatypus · 2 months ago

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🎧 Love Never Wanted Me, But I Took It Anyway.

Tommy Shelby x Reader.

She had soft eyes and a softer heart, two things Tommy Shelby had never deserved.

He knew it, even as he stood in the hallway of her home with blood drying beneath his fingernails and guilt soaking through his bones. She shouldn’t have let him in. She shouldn’t have kissed him that night on Watery Lane. She shouldn’t have stayed, night after night, knowing full well that men like him were built for war, not warmth.

But she had.

And he, the selfish bastard that he was, had let her.

Tommy wasn’t a man built for love. Not the kind she gave so freely. His love came loaded with silence, with shadows, with names carved into marble. His love came with a cost, and she, a beautiful, impossible woman, had paid it in full.

But even when she bled for him, cried for him, pleaded with him to stop chasing death in every deal he made, he couldn’t let go.

Hands trembling, he dropped to the edge of her bed as she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of his shirts, unaware of the war inside him. She smiled. Soft. Warm. Forgiving.

He didn’t deserve her.

But Tommy Shelby had never let that stop him.

#selfish tommy my beloved #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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lethargicplatypus · 2 months ago

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From his tenderness | T.S

Summary: After a long and tiring day, Tommy tucks his wife in bed. 🔞

A/N: Saturday smut hehe

Tommy knew she was in a bad mood the second she entered his office. The windows of their shared house were all closed to keep the cold out, but she still felt her hands shaking.

She plopped into the sofa and left out a sigh, covering her face with both hands.

"You didn't answer any of my texts," Tommy started, "why did you get a phone if you're not gonna use it?"

"Tommy-" she complained, "I must've turned off the notifications, right? I'm sorry,"

He sized her up and cracked a weak smile, "You look fucking exhausted,"

"Tsk, thanks," she snorted.

"Rough day?"

"Yeah,"

"I ordered dinner,"

"What?"

"You didn't answer my texts so I ordered your favorite," Tommy explained and she grabbed her phone, glancing at the messages on the lockscreen.

"Hmm, I'm not hungry yet," she complained, "I just wanna go straight to bed,"

"Then go," he took a sip of his whiskey glass and went back to his work, "I'll join you later,"'

"Join me now,"

"I've work to do,"

"Don't you always? You had the whole day to finish this," she argued.

"I've got emails to send,"

"Oh? Managing to send emails without me?" she mocked, "They grow up so fast,"

"Weren't you going to bed?" Tommy gave her a scolding look.

Silence took over and she stood up, "I'll take a shower," she announced before leaving the office.

She made her way through the house checking her social media, dropping the phone on the bed when she got in the bedroom. Picking a set of clean clothes, she headed to the bathroom.

Taking her working clothes off felt the same as taking a burden off her back. She started the shower and waited until it got warm.

The water ran down her tense muscles, she quickly rubbed the soap on her skin and rinsed off. After washing her hair as well, she closed her eyes, enjoying the water on her back, however the incomplete chores of the day still clouded her mind.

With a deep frustrated sigh, she turned off the shower and grabbed her towel, perhaps a good night of sleep could achieve better success in relaxing her.

Back to the bedroom, she got dressed and plopped in bed, right in the middle, unbothered by her wet hair in the sheets or the fact Tommy might want to lay down later, he didn't put her first when she told him about her terrible day so she wouldn't put him first now either.

Except that, suddenly, a warm rough hand wrapped around her ankle.

"Fuck!" she jumped, pulling her leg back, "What're you doing?"

Tommy chuckled at how easily she got scared, they were the only people in the house, it couldn't be anyone else.

"You're not gonna eat?" he asked, grabbing her leg and gently squeezing her calf muscles.

"No, I just want to sleep," she frowned, "what happened to your emails?"

"I've set another priority,"

"Oh, really?" she scoffed and pulled her leg back again, "Or were you just struggling to edit a document?"

"I decided to do something you often do for me,"

"You're gonna convert my docx files to pdf?"

"Alright, fucking stop that," he demanded, "for someone who's so tired you're joking way too much,"

She smiled at his annoyed face, mentioning his lack of technological skills always made him defensive.

"So here's what you're gonna do," he held the hem of her shirt, "take these off, shut your pretty mouth and lay on your stomach,"

"Why?" she questioned.

"Do it," he gave her an assuring nod.

Hesitantly, she took her clothes off, laying down on only underwear. She frowned when Tommy reached for something from the dressing table and straddled her thighs.

"What are you-"

"Just relax, alright? I dropped my paperwork for this,"

A shiver ran down her spine as Tommy spread lotion through her back. He pressured in between her shoulder blades, melting the tension underneath his palm just like she had done for him many times.

A smirk showed on his face when he noticed the sleepy look on her face, he was certain that when he finished, she'd promptly fall asleep in his arms.

His rough hands trailed the way down to her lower back, effortlessly soothing the knots on her muscles. Tommy took his time to extinguish any ounces of tension, handling her body with the mastery he cultivated in the time they were together.

At certain point, she felt liquid in his hands, loose as a ragdoll, but surprisingly, not asleep yet. Whatever was clouding her mind was resistant to enough to not vanish.

Gently, Tommy lifted her hips and pressed her back down, making her arch for him. His fingers brushed on her clothed pussy making her whine,

"Tommy-" she peeked at him, "I'm tired,"

"It works for me when I can't sleep," he argued and she chuckled.

"Not always, that's why I insist you take your meds,"

"Yeah," he admitted in defeated tone, "and what an insistent creature you are,"

"You are a creature," she struck back then smiled, "come here,"

Turning to face him, she tried to attach her lips to his neck, he quickly held her jaw though, not allowing her leave any marks on him.

"No, last time I had to keep up with John spitting three jokes per minute,"

"But Tom-" she tried to remove his hand.

"No, just let me take care of you, eh?"

With a weak smile, she nodded, "Okay,"

Tommy pecked her lips and headed to the wardrobe, rummaging through the drawers until he found their lube bottle, "Tongue or fingers?"

"You,"

"Alright," with a naughty smirk, he also got a condom and a tiny vibrator.

Once he was back in bed, she attached their lips together, her mind slipped away from any worries at the feeling of his gentle kiss. One of Tommy's hands rested on the top of her head while the other guided her legs around him.

At the same time, her hands explored the soft skin under his shirt, the lean muscles twitched and she smiled against his lips, she knew Tommy had many women before and yet, simple gentle touches made him weak.

When necessity demanded, they broke the kiss, breathing heavily with desire.

"I love you," she breathed out.

"You better," he weakly smiled, pampering kisses on the valley of her breasts.

Reaching for their little toy, Tommy turned it on and attached his lips to her neck. Her eyes closed at the exquisite combination, nibbles soothed by his gentle tongue, followed by wet kisses.

In feather-like movements, he teased her nipples with the vibrator. He wasn't particularly fond of the loud sound, but he was of the sweet moans he heard when it came to play.

She barely realized when they started to leave her lungs, Tommy couldn't waste the opportunity to point out, "Not so stressed now, eh?"

"Hm-hmm," she denied.

"Does it feel good, love?" he whispered, lips brushing against her ear.

"Hm," finally opening her eyes, she pleaded, "want you, Tom,"

With a mix of scoff and laugh, Tommy put the vibrator away and laid down on the bed, "C'here,"

Taking her panties off, she placed one knee on each side of his head, at full display for him. She gripped on the headboard feeling his warm breath against her.

He affectionately stroked her hips at the same time kisses were placed on her inner thighs, a playful bite made her gasp with laughter which was quickly interrupted by the feeling of his warm mouth.

Tommy dragged his tongue through her wet folds, tasting her entry before moving to her swollen clit. Wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud, he switched between licking and gently sucking.

His strong hands pulled her further into his face and instinctively, her hips moved searching for more. As his name poured from her lips in weak moans, she moved forward trying to get him on her entry again, he obliged, teasing her needy hole before giving her pussy an appreciative kiss.

Suddenly, Tommy stopped, contanting himself with tracing her inner lips with feather-like touches.

"Tom?" she asked, confused and slightly frustrated with the lack of touch.

"It's alright," he soothed, "I got you,"

Pushing two fingers into her, he resumed his movements, this time the double pleasure got louder moans from her. His fingertips brushed the perfect spot on her insides and the coldness of his wedding ring added an even better touch, she felt herself soaking up his hand and chin.

The sweet tightness of an orgasm started to grow on her stomach, resting her cheek on the headboard, her hips moved in small circles trying to get all the pleasure her man provided.

She took a hand to Tommy's head, holding into his soft hair, the raspy groan he left out against her pussy was enough to send her over the edge. She couldn't control the urge of fucking his face through the overwhelming wave of pleasure.

He kept going until she started panting and finally feeling her eyelids heavy. Every ounce of stress or energy left her body and she moaned a spoiled sound, expressing how satisfied she was. Tommy should have stopped by then, he didn't.

Guiding her arms behind her back, he simply ordered her not to move, there was no need for physical restraint, her unquestionable obedience was enough. Pulling the hood of her clit, he left her completely exposed, flapping his tongue on her reddish tip.

"Tommy, please," she whined, "please, please please, it's sensitive,"

Tommy chuckled hearing her pathetic begging, dragging his tongue to her soaked entry and finishing his short torture sucking her lips together.

With two little smacks on her ass, he allowed her to get off his face. She moved down to his hips, comfortably sitting before laying down on his chest with her eyes closed.

"Want to sleep now?" he whispered.

"No," she quietly answered, "still want you,"

"Yeah? You're sleepy, I can tell,"

"Hmmm," she complained, "want you, Tom,"

"I know, love, but looks like you're already sleeping,"

"Hm,"

"When you wake up I'll give you what you want, alright?"

She took a moment to considerate his offer, then finally agreed, "Hmm,"

Kissing her forehead, Tommy stroked her lower back until he heard low snores coming from her. With a small smile, he carefully got out of bed, covering her naked body with a blanket before leaving the room.

He still had paperwork to make, this time without worrying about her.

#im so sleeby and this would be heaven rn #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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lethargicplatypus · 3 months ago

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Grey Warden Alistair Theirin could not stop staring at you.

There was nothing special about this moment, he knew, yet that did not stop his eyes from pulling themselves away from the bowl of stew cradled in hand, only to rest dutifully on you, draped across the ground on the other side of the campfire. Flames flickered and danced to the song of the wind, distorting the breathtaking portrait you cut straight into his heart. It softened him to see you relaxing, finally, among all this chaos and death.

He almost feels guilty, for placing the weight of the world on your shoulders with grieving hands, but then Leliana makes you laugh hard enough to scrunch up your face and, Maker – he’s never heard such a sweeter sound. He wants to bottle it up, to drink from it forever. He knows he’d always remember this very moment, this memory already engraving itself into his soul. How the sound of your joy feels strong and steady as it passes through his lips and settles in his bones. How you look, limned in molten gold of the last rays of daylight before they dissolve back into the horizon from whence they came.

He’s never been one to blaspheme, not really, but he knows he’d remember how you’re Holy just as you are: the future Hero of Ferelden lounging among fallen leaves and broken twigs, dirt scuffing your clothes with your loyal Barkspawn at your feet – gnawing on a bone of questionable origin.

You were not the picture of divinity he was raised to revere, but that did not stop him from wishing he could fall at your feet and worship you here and now, at the glorious end of the world closing in hard and fast. He would pray to you every night, every morning upon waking, every moment on the battlefield when you all walk away bloody and battered, but on your feet - not on a pyre burning just as brightly as the smile you’re giving him this very second.

His heart stutters, chest tightens, lips tilting up, and up, and up, because it’s impossible not to grin when you’re looking at him like there’s no other place you’d rather be.

And then something clicks. Shakes him out of his latest daydream of admiration because, fuck. You caught him staring at you like you’re a deity reborn.

#please please please im nothing #alistair theirin x reader #dragon age

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lethargicplatypus · 3 months ago

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communication is key

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

Part II

It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.

Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.

Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting.

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

“So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.

#fuck this is so good lmao #jason todd x reader #dc

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lethargicplatypus · 4 months ago

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"do not kiss me again"

Whenever you leave a room, you leave a kiss on Zoro’s cheek. It’s become such a habit that you do it without ever thinking (and he’ll deny everything, but he leans toward you when he sees you get up to leave).

Sometimes you did it without ever saying a word, eyes still on the logbook Nami had you double check as you stood to put away your coffee mug. Zoro, still sat in the chair beside yours, barely acknowledges as you cradle the back of his head, angling his cheek toward you to press a chaste kiss there.

It’s somewhat of a ritual, a way for affection to be shared without the need for words, which neither of you were particularly good with. Sure, the crew rolled their eyes and gagged nearly every time, but they thought it was sweet for the most part (save for the stupid cook).

Luffy would think it's sweet too, if he actually understood, that is. He knows you and Zoro are exclusive cause you love each other and all that jazz, but he doesn’t get that the affection you’ll show each other is reserved for that type of relationship. So after the first ten times he sees you leave a kiss on Zoro’s cheek as you leave a room, he assumes this is some new thing to do. A new way to say goodbye.

Safe to say, Usopp was less than receptive to his farewell leaving breakfast that day.

“Gah! Luffy!”

“They started it!”

You froze at the sink, trying so very hard to not smile, but then you looked at Zoro, and laughter bubbled out of you. “Luffy—” You giggled “—that’s a me and Zoro thing. Like, a me and Zoro thing.”

He blinked slowly, nodding even slower. “Psh, I knew that.”

Usopp was still wiping his cheek with his napkin, shooting his captain a narrowed look. “Do not kiss me again.”

#let luffy give and receive kisses 😭#roronoa zoro x reader #one piece

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lethargicplatypus · 4 months ago

Note

Tommy Shelby with calling your bf your husband instead?

Here you are. Sorry for the wait.

*gif not mine*

In your defense, the first time it wasn’t your fault. Someone else did it and you didn’t have the chance to correct them before Tommy shot them.

A man held a knife to your throat as they threatened you. The blood had rushed to your head at the threat to your life so all you had picked up was certain words.

“You...husband Tommy...he’s gonna regret...then we’ll kill—” BANG!

Tommy shot the man, blood splattering the wall behind you and a little on your dress. He had checked that you were okay before he helped get rid of the body. You were okay, safe. It didn’t register too much what had happened, what had been said, until the next time it happened.

And that time it was by Arthur.

“Would you tell your bloody husband to relax? We’ve got this,” he said as he stormed out of the back room, his face set in a scowl. He still stopped by to give you a gentle pat on the shoulder before he left.

You furrowed your eyebrows before you looked at the door to the backroom once more. Tommy followed his brother out, mumbling something as he lit a cigarette. Huh.

“Did Arthur just…” call you my husband, you were going to ask, but Tommy shook his head and waved you off.

“He’s just pissed at me. Ignore him love.”

So you did.

It happened a few other times, other Peaky Blinders and Arthur once more. A few strangers. Each time you heard it, you were confused, but you never questioned it. You just responded and kept going. It was obvious they meant you. And you knew for a fact that Tommy heard it sometimes to and he never corrected them.

So one day you decided to test that theory yourself. At dinner.

The waiter came up with a bored look as you both looked over your menus.

“Can I take your drink order?”

“I’ll start with a glass of wine, red please. My husband will have a glass of whiskey.”

The waiter wandered off to get the drinks. After a moment you looked over at Tommy. He was looking over his menu at you, his eyes nearly glittering in the low light of the restaurant.

“Husband, huh?”

“Well everyone already calls me your wife and you my husband. Might as well join them, shouldn’t we?”

He grinned and let his menu rest on the table. He leaned forward and reached out to grab your hand.

“Once we leave this restaurant, I’ll take you to the nearest jeweler and we’ll pick out the biggest diamond to put on this finger.”

Butterflies took flight in your stomach. You couldn’t wait.

#i love this trope so much #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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lethargicplatypus · 4 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 19

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 19

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: As you slowly heal, you begin to feel at home again, surrounded by family and laughter. All the while, Tommy knows your future together is just beginning.

Word count: 5k

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.

A/N: Ayyy, no gallbladder, new me! Thanks for the kind messages, those were so nice to read once the anesthesia got out of my system. And thanks for being patient for this next chapter, enjoy!

Tommy made space for your pain like it was something sacred. He didn’t flinch away from it. He didn’t try to fix it with rushed words or smother it with false promises. He just stayed close– quiet, constant, steady in a way you hadn’t even known how much you needed until he gave it to you without asking.

He noticed things before you even said them. The way your hand drifted toward your temple just seconds before the ache began to pulse behind your eyes. The way your fingers curled against your ribs on the bad days, subtly, protectively. The way your breaths would catch, shallow and uneven, whenever the room got too loud or when a door slammed too hard, dragging you back to places you didn’t want to be.

Sometimes you didn’t even realize it yourself– how your posture stiffened, how your eyes unfocused, how your hand trembled slightly at your side. But Tommy always did. And somehow, he never made it feel like weakness.

He simply got up, fingers brushing your forehead, muttering, “Sit down I’ll get your tablets.”

You were growing dependent on the way he moved through a room now– quieter, softer, like the very air around him had adjusted to make space for you. He never hovered, never made you feel suffocated. But he was always there, just close enough for you to lean into if you needed it. His touch came gently, never rushed, fingers brushing lightly over your back, his hand coming to rest against your shoulder, thumb grazing slow circles into your skin until your breathing slowed.

He didn’t ask questions when you winced. Didn’t press when your hand drifted to your temple in quiet discomfort. He simply adjusted, dimmed the lamps, turned down the radio, sat beside you in silence until the pain passed. Or he’d get up, fingers brushing your forehead, muttering, “Sit down, I’ll get your tablets.”

And you found, over time, that it wasn’t just the medicine or the rest that soothed you– it was him. It was the way he kept showing up, again and again, without needing to be asked.

Without ever once making you feel like a burden.

You stopped trying to hide your pain, your fatigue, and your bad days from him. You didn’t pretend you were fine just to avoid the flicker of worry in his eyes. Because the truth was, you’d come to crave that tenderness, the way he tucked you under his arm at night, pressed kisses to your shoulder in the dark, murmured things into your hair like “You’re alright now,” and “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

Slowly, you’d started easing your way back into work. Not full shifts– just a few hours at a time, usually when the Garrison was quiet. Harry never pushed. Polly had all but sworn she'd throttle you herself if you overdid it again. But it was Tommy who was always there, without fail.

Even when he had other business to tend to, he found a reason to be nearby. Sitting at the end of the bar with a paper in one hand and a whiskey glass he barely touched. Sometimes he stayed behind the scenes, speaking to Harry about stock or deliveries. Sometimes he just stood quietly near the doorway, arms folded across his chest, eyes on you like a sentinel.

He never said it outright, never hovered too close, but you always knew he was watching. And somehow, that made all the difference.

Because there were still moments when the noise in the pub grew too loud, when laughter and clinking glasses blurred into one hollow sound, echoing in your ears like the roar of a tunnel. There were moments when someone’s voice snapped too sharply, when a glass dropped, when a door slammed too hard. There were moments when your vision blurred and the world went distant– when your hands froze mid-motion and your breath hitched in your throat.

But Tommy always saw it.

He didn’t need words or confessions. He knew the signs now, the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers clenched too tightly around a glass, the way your eyes lost their focus for just a second too long.

He’d appear beside you before you could even try to brush it off.

Sometimes it was just a hand brushing the small of your back. A low voice in your ear: “Let's get some air, love.”

Sometimes it was the press of a glass of water into your palm, the grounding weight of his fingers over yours.

And sometimes, on the harder days, he’d take the tray from your hands without a word and simply say, “Time to go home.”

You never argued anymore.

Because you knew better now– he wasn’t taking something from you. He was giving you a place to rest. A home amidst the chaos.

Your bad days didn’t vanish overnight. Instead, they faded, slowly, soft around the edges like an old bruise, tender but no longer sharp. The kind of healing that didn’t announce itself, but made itself known in the quiet, everyday ways. A morning without nausea. A shift without a headache. A night without waking from a scream caught in your throat.

It had been a little over two weeks since the attack when you got your stitches out at home.

You’d refused to go back to the hospital. You’d been adamant, stubborn, insisting you could handle it yourself. Tommy had argued, of course. Said it wasn’t safe, that it should be a doctor. But you’d seen the way his jaw clenched when the word hospital left your mouth, the flicker of something haunted behind his eyes. Maybe he hated the thought of going back there just as much as you did. Maybe that’s why, after a long stare and a muttered curse, he finally relented.

You sat in front of the fireplace with a clean towel laid across your lap, the small surgical scissors set neatly beside it. Tommy hovered behind you, tense, arms crossed, while Finn fidgeted nervously beside you with a bottle of antiseptic and trembling hands.

“You sure about this?” Tommy asked for the fifth time, the tension in his voice betraying his calm exterior. He stood stiff behind you, arms crossed, brow furrowed with that ever-present concern he tried so hard to keep tucked behind his sharp edges.

“Positive,” you said firmly, though your voice came quieter now. You reached back to pull your hair aside, fingertips brushing over the row of delicate stitches near your scalp. The skin was still tender there, faintly bruised, the area around it pink and healing.

“Do it like I showed you,” you said gently to Finn, trying to inject some reassurance into your tone– for his sake more than yours.

Finn nodded, eyes wide with concentration as he held the small scissors in trembling fingers. His brows were drawn tight in focus, lips moving in a near-whisper as he muttered each step to himself like a prayer. “Just one snip… then the next… hold steady…”

His hands were gentle, careful, each movement slow and deliberate as he leaned in. The first snip made your jaw clench, a sharp tug of discomfort rippling through your scalp– but you didn’t flinch.

Tommy’s hand found your shoulder. It was solid and grounding. Not pushing, not pulling, just there. A quiet presence, steady as stone. His thumb brushed once against the fabric of your shirt, a silent question wrapped in the gentlest of touches: Are you alright? Do I need to stop this?

But you didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You were holding steady, and so was he.

Still, he didn’t move far. He hovered behind Finn like a sentry, sharp and still, his eyes locked on every movement with unrelenting focus. Watching every cut with hawk-eyed precision, his jaw clenched tight, shoulders taut with barely contained tension. His fingers twitched at his sides, like it was physically painful not to take the scissors himself. Like he was counting every heartbeat between snips, each one a test of his patience, his trust, his control.

Every breath you took, he tracked it. Every flinch, every wince, every flicker of discomfort in your face– he saw it all. And though he didn’t say a word, the protectiveness rolled off him like smoke from a slow burn. Fierce. Quiet. Unshakable.

The ordeal wasn’t painless. Some stings still made your eyes water, sharp and sudden, biting deeper than you expected. You clenched your jaw through them, fingers gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles ached. One stitch tugged too much and you cursed under your breath, a quiet hiss of pain slipping out before you could stop it.

Tommy’s hand tensed instinctively on your shoulder, his thumb brushing a soothing arc into your skin, like he wanted to absorb the sting himself. Finn froze for a second, eyes darting to Tommy’s, and you caught the flicker of panic in his face.

But you nodded, gave him a small, tight smile. “It’s alright, keep going.”

So he continued– slower this time, steadier.

It was bearable. But more than that, it was yours. Your threshold. Your moment. A quiet reclamation of something that had been taken from you, torn from you in the dark. You hadn’t had control over much lately, but this… this was something you got to choose. To do on your terms.

When the final stitch fell into Finn’s palm, he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. “That’s all of them,” he said quietly, pride and relief tangled in his voice.

You nodded, swallowing the thick lump in your throat. A faint sheen of sweat clung to your brow, your pulse thrumming in your ears. And for just a moment, your spine softened, your body leaning instinctively back against Tommy’s chest.

He caught you without hesitation, like he’d been waiting for it. His hand slid to your upper back, warm and solid, anchoring you in place. His other arm came around you gently, cradling you in a loose but protective hold, steadying you before you even realized you’d needed it. You let your head rest there for just a breath, just long enough to feel safe again.

…

Later that evening, the house felt warmer than it had in weeks– not just from the fire crackling in the hearth, but from something else. Something lighter. Something whole.

You were curled on the sofa with a cup of tea in your hands, the ache in your head a dull hum rather than a sharp throb. The tension that had clung to your shoulders for so long seemed to have loosened just a little, the heaviness in your ribs easing with each passing hour.

Across the room, Finn was in the middle of animatedly retelling the story to Arthur and John, hands gesturing wildly as he reenacted every snip of the scissors.

“And I held the scissors just like she showed me, right? And I made sure not to cut too close–.”

John leaned back, raising a brow. “And you’re proud of this, are you?”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “Jesus Christ. You really let an eleven-year-old near your head with a pair of scissors?”

You lifted a brow over the rim of your tea. “He’s nearly twelve.”

“Oh, well then,” Arthur deadpanned. “That makes it so much better.”

John nearly choked on his drink, grinning over the rim of his glass. “Thought you had more sense than that, Doc,” he teased. “We pegged you for the clever one.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your smile betrayed you.

“Next time,” John added, “just hand him a bone saw and tell him to take out your appendix out while he’s at it. Our Finn’s like a proper surgeon now.”

Tommy, leaning in the doorway with a cigarette between his fingers, exhaled slowly. “She insisted,” he said, his voice dry but laced with a quiet fondness.

Arthur gave a mock sigh, shaking his head. “Stubborn and reckless. She really does belong in this family.”

You chuckled softly, the sound settling in your chest like a balm. There was something comforting in the noise, in the way they bickered and teased and filled the room with something that almost felt like peace.

And God, how badly you wanted to belong to it. To all of it.

To the way Ada rolled her eyes fondly when Arthur got too loud, to Polly’s sharp glances that said more than most people could with words, to the way John always seemed to carry a joke on the tip of his tongue, even when the world was heavy. To the way Finn beamed under their praise, soaking in every bit of it like sunlight.

You wanted to be part of that rhythm, that mess, that strange, beautiful chaos that somehow still managed to feel like home.

A family bound not just by blood, but by something deeper. Something forged in the fire and hardened by loss. Something you’d never had before, not really.

And when you looked across the room– when your eyes met Tommy’s, still watching you through the curl of cigarette smoke, you knew he saw it, too. That want. That ache to belong.

His mouth curled slightly, barely-there, but just enough.

You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way his eyes softened. In the way his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for you. In the way he always had a place ready beside him, whether it was at the table, in a quiet room, or in the heart of everything that mattered.

Dinner was easy. Warm. Polly dished out stew and bread, filling everyone’s bowls with that same stern affection that made you feel more like a family than a gang. The table was cluttered with mismatched cutlery, chipped mugs, and laughter that carried through the cracks in the walls. It was the kind of evening that warmed the walls from the inside out. The fire had been stoked again, wine poured freely, and Polly had even allowed herself to lean back in her chair, half-smiling as Ada recounted something sharp and clever that had happened at work.

Now, everyone had settled into the living room, plates cleared, laughter lingering in the air like smoke.

Tommy stood near the mantle, a glass of whiskey in his hand, letting the quiet hum of conversation wash over him. He wasn’t speaking much. He didn’t need to.

His eyes were fixed across the room– on you.

You were curled on the couch, legs tucked up beneath you, a blanket draped across your lap. Arthur and John were telling some god awful story about a pub brawl years ago– half of it likely embellished, the other half completely fabricated, and you were laughing. Fully, properly laughing. Head tilted back slightly, eyes squinting, a hand pressing gently to your ribs from the lingering soreness, but laughing all the same.

And just like that, a knot inside his chest loosened.

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it there for so long, weeks now, maybe longer. The weight of watching you fight through the pain, through the nightmares, through the quiet moments when you thought no one saw you falter. He’d been bracing for the worst, living half on edge since the day he carried you out of that basement.

But now, watching you smile like that– he felt something soften inside him.

It wasn’t just relief. It was gratitude. Fierce and quiet and overwhelming.

His fingers tightened slightly around his glass, anchoring himself to the present moment. To the sound of your voice mingling with his brothers’. To the way your eyes lit up when you leaned toward Finn to nudge him with some teasing remark. To the way you fit here, like you always had, like you always would.

Polly caught his gaze from across the room. Didn’t say anything. Just raised her glass slightly and gave him a knowing look.

Tommy finally wandered into the room, quiet and unassuming as ever, settling beside you on the arm of the couch. He didn’t say much, just let his hand brush gently over your shoulder before placing a light kiss to the top of your head. You leaned into him instinctively, your body curling closer beneath the weight of his touch. That small contact settled something in you again, like a thread stitching itself back in place.

Later, after everyone had gone home, and the house had settled into a quieter hum, you stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking out into the now-empty living room. The fire was a soft glow now, flickering low. Tommy was there, leaning back in his armchair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his shirt a little rumpled from the evening.

You walked toward him, barefoot and tired, but lighter than you had been in weeks. He looked up when you approached, reaching out a hand without saying a word.

You took it. He pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist, your legs folding into the side of the chair as you rested your head against his shoulder. His fingers found your ribs, just above where the bruises used to be, his touch featherlight, reverent.

“No headache tonight?” he murmured, voice low against your temple.

You shook your head, your fingers playing gently with the buttons of his shirt. “No. Not tonight.”

“Good,” he said, and you felt the tension slip from his body, just a little. “That’s good.”

You sat like that for a while, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. No ghosts. No shadows. Just warmth and breath and the slow, steady rhythm of healing.

When he finally carried you to bed, you didn’t flinch. You just let yourself lean into him, safe and at ease in his arms.

The room was dark except for the glow from the hallway, and he didn’t bother switching on a light. He set you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as you slid beneath the covers. He climbed in behind you, settling in close, wrapping an arm around your middle like it was second nature now.

You melted into the warmth of him, your head resting against his chest, your fingers idly toying with the fabric of his shirt. You were already slipping into sleep, eyelids heavy, breath steady, when you thought you heard it– something quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Marry me.”

You didn’t move, didn’t respond. Maybe he hadn’t even said it at all. Maybe it was just the echo of some distant dream, a thread of longing spun into the quiet.

But the words lingered in your mind, warm and weightless, curling beneath your ribs.

Marry me.

Your heart fluttered, soft and full. You imagined it– what it might feel like to be his wife. To belong to him in every way. To wear his name like a promise, to wake up every day and fall asleep every night beside him, knowing you were his, and he was yours.

The thought settled gently around you, a hazy comfort.

And as sleep pulled you under, you let yourself believe it– just for tonight.

…

You woke the next morning to a soft, hazy light creeping in through the curtains. You were still curled against him, his hand resting over your stomach, breath slow and even beside you.

That dream– you remembered it now, vague and hazy around the edges. You’d dreamt of him holding you close, whispering something warm against your ear, something that made your chest ache even now. God, you’d dreamt that he asked you to marry him. It had felt so real. So impossibly soft. You’d drifted off with that wish pressed into your bones, aching in your chest long after sleep took you.

For a moment, you just watched him.

The early morning light filtered faintly through the curtains, casting a soft glow over his features. His lashes rested against his cheeks, long and dark, the faintest shadow of stubble dusting his jaw. That familiar crease between his brows lingered, even in sleep– a quiet reminder of the weight he always carried, even when the world was silent.

You let your eyes trace him, every line, every detail etched into your memory. The curve of his mouth, the slight parting of his lips, the way one hand still rested possessively at your waist beneath the blanket, fingers curled as if he feared you might disappear in the night.

Your heart ached with something quiet and full– something that swelled in your chest, too tender to name. And then, gently, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Soft. Careful. Reverent.

His lips twitched beneath yours, just slightly.

You smiled faintly to yourself and kissed him again, just a whisper against the edge of his jaw, where his stubble grazed your skin. Then a third, slower kiss to the hollow just below his cheekbone. You could smell the faint trace of smoke still clinging to him, the warmth of his skin beneath your lips.

Another kiss, featherlight and lingering at the corner of his mouth again, and this time you felt his breath catch, subtle, but there.

His hand shifted at your waist, fingers flexing lightly. His brow twitched. Then his eyes opened, just barely.

“Morning,” you whispered.

Tommy blinked slowly, still pulling himself into wakefulness. “Morning.”

You hesitated, then gave a small, sleepy smile.

Tommy shifted beside you, then, groaning softly as he wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you gently into his chest, burying his face against your neck. You laughed under your breath as your hands found his shoulders.

Then his voice came, low and gruff from sleep, brushing against your skin.

“You know,” he murmured, “how you mentioned not being part of this family last week.”

You stilled slightly, eyes lifting as your heart kicked in your chest. His arms tightened around you just a little, and he leaned back enough to look at you properly, his hair tousled, eyes heavy-lidded but clear now. Focused. Sure.

“I want you to be,” he said simply, earnestly. “I want you to marry me.”

You stared at him, lips parting, breath catching in your throat.

And then, after a long beat, you whispered, “Wait… did you ask me that last night?”

Tommy let out a quiet, sheepish chuckle, brushing his fingers through your hair.

“I did,” he said. “You were half-asleep, barely conscious.”

Your heart thudded, full to the brim.

“I thought I’d dreamt it,” you murmured, eyes searching his. “I thought I just wanted it so badly it bled into my dreams.”

Tommy’s hand cradled your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Well,” he said softly, lips curling faintly, “lucky for you, you’re the one person I don’t mind repeating myself for.”

Your breath hitched softly at his words, a small laugh catching in your throat– half disbelief, half emotion.

His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of you in this exact moment.

Then he shifted, just slightly, just enough to sit up a little straighter, one hand still cupping your face while the other slid to rest over your heart, grounding and steady.

“I want you with me,” he said quietly, the weight of his words filling the soft hush of the room. “Not just in this house. Not just in my bed. I want you beside me in everything. Always.”

You swallowed, lips parting– but no words came. Your eyes burned again, but this time it wasn’t fear or shame or pain. It was warmth. Fierce, aching love.

“Marry me,” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart pounding so hard it was all you could hear.

“I don’t have a ring yet,” he added, a flicker of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. “But I’ll get one. Hell, I’ll get ten if you want.”

You let out a tearful laugh, your hand sliding up to rest over his where it still cupped your cheek. “Tommy…”

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, steady as stone. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”

There wasn’t a question anymore– there didn’t need to be. You leaned forward slowly, resting your forehead to his.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

His eyes slipped closed for a moment, his jaw flexing slightly like he was anchoring himself in the sound of it. Then he pulled you in, into a kiss that wasn’t urgent or rushed, just full. Full of everything he didn’t have the words for.

When he pulled back, his smile was small but real. “I still think you’ll be the death of me,” he said quietly, voice rough with affection. “But at least I’ll die happy.”

…

The rest of the morning passed in a dreamlike haze, full of quiet smiles and lingering touches, kisses that never quite felt long enough, and soft murmurs exchanged between warm sheets. You couldn’t stop catching his gaze, couldn’t stop replaying his words in your mind. It didn’t even feel real yet.

By evening, the house was humming with life again.

Tommy had insisted on hosting everyone for dinner– “just a quiet night,” he’d said. But the long table in the dining room was anything but quiet now.

The scent of roasted meat, garlic, and freshly baked bread filled the air, wafting from the kitchen where a special meal had been prepared, “proper food,” as Arthur had called it with a grin when he’d first walked in. Every detail was taken care of, cloth napkins, polished silverware, flickering candlelight softening the room. It was simple, but elegant in that unspoken Shelby way, comfort laced with pride.

Laughter bounced off the walls before dinner even hit the table. John and Arthur had already started in with their usual antics, arguing over which one of them could drink more before the food came out, while Finn, still with a boyish grin, tried to referee and ended up getting teased by both.

Ada lounged with a glass of wine in hand, her legs tucked up beneath her as she rolled her eyes at her brothers but smiled all the same. Esme had made herself comfortable near Polly, the two women deep in conversation about something that made Polly raise a brow and shake her head in mock disapproval.

Tommy had kept a steady eye on everything all evening, but not in the usual watchful way. Tonight, there was something softer about him– something looser in his shoulders, more content in the set of his jaw. His hand never strayed far from yours, brushing your back as he passed behind you, pulling your chair out, filling your glass. His touch lingered. Like he couldn’t quite believe it either.

The food was passed around the table– platters heaped with roasted vegetables, bowls of buttery potatoes, glistening meats carved and served with care. Everyone talked over each other, laughing between bites, telling stories from the week. You couldn’t remember the last time the house had felt so full, so light, so alive.

And then, just as plates began to empty and the noise reached its comfortable peak, Tommy stood.

The room quieted almost instinctively– half out of habit, half out of curiosity.

He held his glass in one hand, his gaze sweeping across the table, but his eyes landed last, and longest, on you.

“Thank you all for being here,” he said, his voice even, but there was a note of warmth there that wasn’t always present when he addressed a room.

There were a few murmured 'of course' and 'always' in return, but Tommy raised his glass slightly higher.

“I wanted to host a proper celebration,” he added, his voice steady now, but touched with something unspoken. His gaze locked with yours. “In honor of my soon-to-be wife.”

A stunned hush passed over the table for only a moment– then it erupted.

John let out a loud whoop, raising his glass in the air so quickly he nearly sloshed it onto Esme. Arthur stood up halfway just to reach across and thump Tommy on the back.

“’Bout bloody time!” he grinned.

Polly gave you the kind of look that said I knew before either of you did, and raised her glass elegantly with a soft smile. Ada’s grin was wide, genuine, her eyes flicking between you both with open warmth. Finn, cheeks flushed and grinning ear to ear, looked like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to clap or not– but did anyway.

The table echoed with toasts and laughter, glasses clinking, voices overlapping with well-wishes and teasing jabs, but all you could do was look at Tommy. At the way he looked at you like you were the only one in the room.

Somewhere down the table, Ada leaned toward Polly, her voice low but not nearly quiet enough to go unheard.

“Well, I suppose we’ve got a wedding to plan now.”

Polly gave a small, approving nod, sipping from her glass. “Not suppose, Ada, we do. And if it’s going to be done, it’ll be done properly.”

Ada grinned, eyes glinting. “Properly, meaning you’ll take over and boss everyone around.”

Polly didn’t even blink. “Exactly.”

You caught the exchange, a laugh slipping out before you could help it. Polly glanced at you knowingly, lifting her glass again with a subtle wink that only made you smile wider.

Tommy’s hand slipped beneath the table, finding yours again, lacing your fingers together like he’d done it a thousand times before.

And as the table buzzed with talk of dates and dresses and where the hell they were going to seat this person and that one, you leaned in just a little closer to him, the sound of his quiet laugh brushing your ear.

It was chaos. Loud and unfiltered and so beautifully full.

“Cheers,” he said softly, just for you.

You didn’t speak, just smiled, eyes shining, and squeezed his hand back.

And for the rest of the night, even as laughter carried on and stories were told and another bottle of wine was passed around, that moment stayed etched between you.

A quiet promise in the middle of the noise.

A beginning wrapped in warmth.

#i love loverboy tommy so much 😭#thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders

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lethargicplatypus · 4 months ago

Text

a place of worship.

you and law find an abandoned church and you get ideas (law x gn!reader)

cw: crack, talk of sex, no actual smut but def suggestive, doing things in a church that you're not supposed to, short (this is more a drabble) MDNI this is 18+

"You know, I've always wanted to fuck in a church..."

Sat next to you in the tiny pew, Law gave you a disgruntled sideeye.

"...do I even wanna know?"

You sighed wistfully. Gaze set upon the large stained glass window, which miraculously had remained fully intact over the decades, the walls around it slowly starting to disintegrate. The altar had certainly seen better days, but the sun was high up in the sky making hundreds of colourful dots scatter across it's surface.

It was beautiful, in a messy way.

It reminded you of Law.

"Something about establishing dominance I guess."

It had been a joke, kind of. You knew Law would be annoyed by it. Or turned on. Then annoyed that he got turned on. And maybe you'd get something out of that when you went back to the Tang.

But now... he hadn't said no yet.

You couldn't help yourself, the more you thought about it, the more fleshed out the idea became.

Images started floating around in your head: you, bent over a cold slab of crumbling stone, hard edges pressing into your soft skin. A place of worship...

You stripped out of your jacket.

"I can't believe you sometimes." Law muttered under his breath, but making no move to stop you.

You ignored him and continued to chase those delicious images in your head. Spread out on marble, a head between your thighs...Law on his knees, staring up at you...

"Are you not wondering how my moans would sound bouncing off of these old ass walls?" You asked, a little breathlessly.

You heard him shift around beside you. Good to know he wasn't entirely unaffected.

No longer waiting for an answer, you threw all caution to the wind. One of your hands started to creep towards the front of your pants, the fabric suddenly annoying and in the way.

The zipper was pulled down and you slipped your hand inside and-

Strong fingers were wrapped around your hand before things could get even remotely interesting.

"Are you out of your mind?! Behave yourself!" Law hissed at you, head whipping around, eyes looking every which way, as if expecting to be caught any moment.

But the crew was miles away, restocking the submarines storage. You sensed them, a faint buzz of excitement cursing through them, probably glad about seeing the sun after a long time underwater.

And you knew Law sensed them too.

"I haven't even done anything yet..." Your voice was small but the teasing lilt evident. He really worried too much.

The good thing about Law's ridiculous outcry was how suddenly he was just so much closer to you. The smell of his aftershave was thick and something settled in your gut at the familiarity of it, the spiciness of it enveloping your senses.

He had good taste with things like that.

You pressed a kiss against his throat, straining to look back at the front door of the tiny church. (Chapel, really.)

His head whipped back around.

"Would you stop trying to seduce me in a church?!"

It was your turn to scoff.

"Oh, don't be all holy now Law, you can't tell me you're not thinking about it. Your ears are all red."

He let go of your wrist as if burned and you'd nearly miss the contact if you weren't so distracted by the way he nervously ran his fingers through his soft, dark hair. He probably regretted not wearing his hat, but you loved it.

Avoiding your gaze now, he was sulking. His arms crossed over his chest defiantly.

It was adorable.

God, you wanted to eat him.

You leaned in close again, chest pushing into his side. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, as you softly spoke into his ear.

"I need you...don't you wanna bend me over the altar and fuck me? Pretty please?"

His eyes closed for a moment, as if to try and stay collected. But there was no mission here, nothing to focus on but you.

After a long sigh he shook his head and a small scoff slipped through his lips.

"You're a menace."

You grinned at him, wild and madly in love.

"I'm your menace."

Slowly, carefully, your hand brushed against the inside of his thigh and a jolt moved through the muscle there, making golden eyes snap to yours. Half-lidded, normally lethal in their scrutiny, but now you wanted his focus.

You wanted all of his attention.

Were greedy for it.

There was a tension in the air suddenly, atmosphere charged with potential.

Yes, that's it.

Heartbeat pounding in your throat, you got up from your seat on the bench without any haste. Not breaking eye contact with Law, your fingers grasped the edge of your shirt, pulling it over your head in a smooth motion. His eyes didn't move from yours. The shirt fell to the ground.

A short walk, just a couple of careful steps and you felt cold stone at your back.

Law was still sitting down, legs spread and head thrown back lazily, the beginnings of a grin on his face. A one man audience.

You were sure there was no human or god watching the two of you right now.

And who needed God when you had Law to watch over you? To look at you.

"This is a place of worship, right?"

He didn't answer.

"So...", you jumped onto the slab of stone "...go on then."

You leaned back, presenting yourself to him. The picture of temptation.

"Worship."

hi I'm still alive, had this in my drafts for a while and decided to finish/post it, hope you enjoyed!

#hell yeah #trafalgar law x reader #one piece

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lethargicplatypus · 5 months ago

Note

Modern! Peaky blinders with a reader who really likes stuffed animals like they make them bring them to Build-A-Bear to get new ones. like how would they act if the reader wants to make them put a voice recording in the bear that says I love you in their voice. ☺️

Obsessed with this cause it's adorable!!!!! It has been yearsssss since I was in build a bear ngl so I don't know how accurate this will be!

Tommy

🌿 Thinks you're very sweet and that the fact you're still in touch with your inner child is a good thing. He's very precious about the idea of you keeping your softness and so he is more than happy to let you run riot in build a bear or any other toy store...

🌿 When you say you want to make him a build a bear he humours you with a small smile, pretending not to know what you mean. "I don't need a teddy bear angel, whenever I want a hug I find you..." Which of course makes you giggle as you protest. "No I mean I want to make you as a bear..."

🌿 Tommy's not sure how he feels about that, he's not sure the aesthetics of love, peace and hugs that they have at build a bear are really going to be able to capture him however... You're looking up at him with your big, undeniable eyes and he's not one for saying "No" to his girl over trivial things like this....

🌿 And anyway it's worth saying yes and letting you give it your best shot just for the way you squeal and throw your arms around him, jumping up so that he has to catch you whilst you thank him over and over covering his face in kisses as you promise him his bear is going to be the best you've ever made....

🌿 "Well I don't doubt that for a second love, it seems you're the expert..." He's teasing you on purpose because he loves to see you frown, the cute way your brows crease as you try to work out whether he's being rude to you or not. You all hands on hips like "I am, actually."

🌿 Tommy's a little concerned about being seen in Build a Bear, mostly because it's the kind of cheap shot some daily mail pap will take and plaster all over their website beneath unfortunate headlines about him having gone soft or getting "stuffed." It's not going to get to him on a personal level but it could be bad for business if his rivals see it.

🌿 So he takes you out of town for it, drives you to some nowhere seaside town which has one on the high street, where no one will recognise him and you'll be able to do your bear building in peace. He's really banking on British high street shopping having died out completely and luckily for him the shop is empty but for you and him... Sure he could probably have taken you to a bigger store in London after hours, let you have free reign over the shop, but this is nicer... It feels normal and Tommy revels in any opportunity he gets to feel "normal" with you.

🌿 He's thinks it's all a little bit intense, he doesn't really go for "forced happiness" himself, but Tommy is very much driven by the want to keep you happy and so he takes a breath and holds his tongue as you step inside the store together and you squeeze his hand excitedly.

🌿 You take foreverrrrr to pick out what kind of bear you're going to have, holding different skins up next to Tommy who just has to stand there and take it whilst you compare which one you think is most "him" and then when you finally do choose you gasp and say "wait no, I want you to be surprised, you can't see!"

🌿 Which is inconvenient because it means he'll have to either follow you round blindfolded or miss the rest of your bear building... In the end you send him off to choose clothes for Tommy bear... "Tommy bear?" He raised his brow at you with a smirk but when you double down he just chuckles and says "fine, as you wish love..."

🌿 So he has to wander the clothes section peering quizzically at the little outfits and well as he suspected, none of the clothes on offer really scream "feared and revered organised crime leader..." So instead he has to lean into his creative side, tries to imagine who he would be if he wasn't a violent, murderous criminal. He pictures himself sitting on the back of a vardo, stopped by a babbling brook, peace and quiet, far away from any city...

🌿 When he hears your gleeful, sweet call from across the store asking him to come back he sighs, braces himself for whatever crazy little whim has taken you now...

🌿 "Close your eyes," you instruct him when he gets closer, he was making a song and dance of not looking at your bear anyway but you want to be absolutely certain he isn't peaking. "Need you to do something for me Tommy, pretty please with cherries on top..." He knows from the sweetness of your tone you're about to ask him something he's going to want to refuse... And he knows from the sweet way you've kissed him on the cheek and said it again "really pretty please..." That there's no way he's going to be able to say no. Because you sound so happy, the hint of a giggle in your mischievous voice and there's no way Tommy would ever dream of cutting your fun short...

🌿 So when you ask him to record himself saying "I love you y/n" he just chuckles, if anything he's relieved you're not asking something more difficult for him to give you. Making a little voice recording is easy... "That all eh sweetheart? Had me worried for a second... Thought you were gonna ask me to buy you the whole store..."

🌿 He's also morbidly aware that the bear will probably outlive him... So why shouldn't you have a little voice recording just in case something ever happens...

🌿 So with one hand over his eyes he makes the voice recording, completely serious as he says the words, "I love you y/n" completely unaware of the fact that you're filming him on your phone camera as you do. Now you know you'll get into trouble for that but you also can't resist. You never thought you'd get Tommy through the door let alone this...

🌿 You're ever so sweet to him when he's done, giving him the tightest hug, leaving him with a kiss before you inform him that he's going to have to leave again now or he'll ruin the surprise. So he sighs and teases you for being so bossy, tells you to mind your manners and gives you a little pat on the cheek before he turns away and tries to find something to occupy himself with.

🌿 he sets himself down on a child-size stool and rests with his chin in his hands, gazing up at the stuffing machine. He lets out a sigh and smirks at what a strange scene it must look like for an outsider looking in. A man wanted in some places for murder, perched on a primary coloured stool, gazing up at a cartoonish machine designed for filling teddy bears.

🌿 Honestly though he's weirdly mesmerised by the fluff machine, he could stare at it going round and round all day long... In fact that's where you find him when your bear is all boxed up and waiting to be paid for. Tommy just gazing at the fluff being spun slowly round and round, his wide eyes almost holding a childish kind of innocence.

🌿 You refuse to let him see Tommy bear until you both get home, delighting in coming up with all sort of stupid excuses why you can't just show him the bear... "He's shy Tommy... You're putting too much pressure on him, he's got big shoes to fill you know, it ain't easy being the bear representative for Thomas Shelby..."

🌿 And then when you finally do show him the bear you've built for him he's a little bewildered...

🌿 "Y/n love, why am I am otter..." "I don't know... Vibes, it was a vibes based decision and I decided you give me ottery vibes, or the otter was giving me you vibes... I don't know, isn't he cute though, personally I love him!"

🌿 And he supposes that actually your choice was really rather fitting since after all he'd been sitting in that shop imagining himself by a river in the middle of the woods, enjoying the peace and tranquility of nature... So perhaps an otter really did match his vibe. "Aye love, he's great, I think I quite like him myself... You're a very clever girl."

🌿 You have many many cuddly toys but Tommy has one rule, you're only allowed one of them in the bed. It's a fair enough rule really because if you kept all of them in your bed there'd be no room for you and Tommy... But it does leave you with the really rather tricky decision of whether or not you want to evict your current favourite cuddly toy from the bed in order for Tommy Bear to move in...

🌿 Tommy doesn't find out about that little video you took of him in the shop for awhile, only a little later when he catches you watching it by yourself. He hears you giggling and comes to see whats so funny, when he sees himself on your screen he inwardly cringes though he can't help but chuckle at your mischief. "Tut tut y/n, that wasn't very good of you was it?" He asks and though you can tell you're in trouble you can't keep your smirk off your lips, bursting into a premature giggling before you go to make a run for it...

🌿 Tommy isn't the sort to let you pretend you're faster or stronger than him so he's going to have you trapped in his arms in an instant, only agreeing to release you if you swear on Tommy Bears life that you'll never show anyone that video.

🌿 "But it's so cute!" You try to argue. "And so is Tommy Bear y/n you wouldn't want him to lose an ear now would you?"

Alfie

🐻 "don't see why you want to build the bear yourself ziskiet, there's plenty good bears already been built what about them eh?"

🐻 You're not sure Alfie really understands the concept of Build a Bear... Alfie's pretty honest about his confusion too.

🐻 "Now let me get this straight my little ziskeit... You go into this shop yeah? And you pick the teddy bear you wanna build, and then you stuff it yourself, and you put it's little sound effects in there yourself, and then you dress it yourself?" "You give them a heart too don't forget, that's important..." "A heart? Oh yeah I suppose that is pretty important ain't it ziskeit..." "And then when you're done you give it a name and you get a little birth certificate and..."

🐻 "And then you pay them? For the privelige of having done all the work yourself? That right yeah?" You huffing and sighing and glowering up at him because the glint of amusement in his eyes has just let you know that he's been deliberately "not getting it" on purpose just to tease you.

🐻 "Pleaseeeeeeeee" you say as sweetly as you can, blinking up at him with your most adorable doe eyes. Now of course Alfie was never going to say no to his little ziskeit... He just wanted to hear you beg like that, because he finds it absolutely adorable when you beg him for anything. But this... Begging him to take you teddy bear shopping, well it's just about the cutest thing you've ever done... So of course he says yes.

🐻 He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand and strokes his thumb over your skin, still teasing when he coos at you softly before telling you that you can have anything you want, even a trip to this so called bear building factory.

🐻 "Ziskeit I'm a very wealthy old man yeah, and it was actually my intention yeah that you, my dear, would never have to work a day in your life..."

🐻 Now Alfie is a theatrical, dramatic kind of man, and he has absolutely no qualms about shutting the store down so that you can have free reign over the place. He'll take you to the biggest one in London so that you'll have lots of choices and can truly make the most of your trip.

🐻 He hires the place out for the whole evening and tells you you can spend as much money as you want. If his girls dream in life really is to go to work for one evening in a bear factory, or whatever this place is, then he's going to make sure she gets to do it right...

🐻 He wasn't expecting you to want him by your side every step of the way though... When you get there you actually get a bit overwhelmed at the fact that you've got the whole store to yourself and you can choose whatever you want. All the staff are there purely to serve you and its actually a little bit intimidating... So you snatch Alfie's hand in yours, "you have to help me!"

🐻 He doesn't chastise you for being demanding however because he can tell you've suddenly gotten a bit shy, so instead he chuckles, kisses your head and plays along, "of course ziskeit, there's a lot of big decisions to make, can't expect you to make them all by yourself..."

🐻 But he wants you to choose your bear, since you were so excited to come in the first place, so he refuses to make any decisions for you... Just keeps you tucked under his arm and meanders through all your options with you until your shyness starts to fade.

🐻 "So you like the bunnies and you also like this little fella? What is he anyway, some kinda cat?" "That's a lamb Alfie..." "A lamb, well, yeah I reckon you could make quite a cute little lamb... Then again I reckon you could make a cute little bunny too... You know precious I did say didn't I, that you could spend as much money as you liked... Technically yeah, you don't actually have to choose between the two..."

🐻 But you do have to choose because you want to make one perfect teddy bear, one that will be extra extra special and remind you of this very lovely evening forever... And when you tell Alfie that his heart swells as he is reminded once again what an absolute angel he has found in you.

🐻 Eventually you settle on the bunny and you take it to the stuffing machine which Alfie is really fascinated by, "oh well now this is impressive ain't it Ziskeit, what do they call this then eh?" You delight in telling him all about it, losing your shyness and coming out of your shell completely as you try to show him what to do and get him to help you.

🐻 Alfie definitely puts on a show of being confused and clumsy so that you'll have to keep putting your hands on his hands to help him. "Yeah that's better you help me out darlin, you've got delicate fingers yeah, you're much better at this than me..."

🐻 When you go to pick the heart out to put it inside you pause and bite your lip, really carefully considering which one to pick even though they're all the same, so Alfie gets you to close your eyes and guides your hand to delve in nice and deep, "kismet y'see little one, fate..."

🐻 Then you make him give the heart a little kiss before you tuck it inside your bear. Now he knows he looks daft as anything and soft as hell doing that for you, but you held it up to his lips so sweetly, and it gave him the chance to kiss your fingertips too... So he plays along, if not just to see you blush when he lets his kiss linger on your finger tips and scatters them across the back of your hand too.

🐻 When you tell him what you want the voice recording to be he's stunned, coughs to hide his surprise and then shakes his head. He'll do it... Because he wouldn't dare break your heart with a no, not when you've finally started really enjoying yourself without being nervous at all... But first he clears the store. Sends the staff away because he wants to have a "private moment with my girl if you don't mind yeah... An anyone I catch eavesdropping yeah..." He doesn't really need to make a threat, they all know who he is, they wouldn't dream of disobeying him.

🐻 So when everyone else has gone, he pulls you in very close to him, his hand resting on your lower back, and then he asks you again what it is you'd like him to say... "I love you!" You grin up at him and he can't resist the opportunity to make the obvious joke, "I love you too my dear but what exactly is it you'd like me to put in this message specifically?"

🐻 By the time he actually makes the recording you're blushing furiously from all his terrible teasing and your pink cheeks look utterly adorable. And of course Alfie being Alfie he can't stick to such a simple script, he has to add some embellishments here and there. "I love you little ziskeit, all the way to the moon and sun and stars..."

🐻 If there's a time out on that recording it's probably going to cut him off mid sentence.

🐻 When it's time to stitch your bear up he stands over you at the table admiring the nimble way you move your delicate fingers. It reminds him of all the times you've wound up stitching him up after a meeting with a rival gang has turned sour. Softens him up a bit and makes him feel very grateful to have you for his own.

🐻 You spend a really really really long time looking at all the cute little outfits you could buy for your bunny, you keep hovering in front of fairy dresses and cute little t-shirts, your wide eyes blinking up at the different options, totally overwhelmed and spoilt for choice... And Alfie's there reminding you once again that you don't have to choose just one thing, you can buy as much as you like...

🐻 But in the end the only thing you choose is two pink ribbons for her little ears. Alfie is a bit puzzled by her apparent lack of clothing but you absolutely insist that she's perfect just the way she is and he knows better than to argue with you once you get the stubborn voice out.

Arthur

🍂 No one has ever looked more unnatural in a Build A Bear Workshop than Arthur Shelby... he looks totally out of place. With his frown etched deeply into his face and his low grumbling gruff old voice. The way he stands there looking at the place with this creeped out kind of uncertainty in his expression... he knows he shouldn't be there and he knows everyone else knows he shouldn't be there....

🍂 But then he looks at you and he sees just how happy to be there you are, and he knows he's going to have to go through with this... Because apart from anything else you look like exactly the sort of person who should be in this shop, in fact you look like build a bear was designed specifically for you.

🍂 Makes you laugh when you ask him what's wrong and he tries to pretend that everything's fine, "Arthur you look like you've stepped into a horror movie" you tease him but his answer just makes you laugh, how he blushes when he says it, "Well it's just... Everyone seems so happy and uh... Nah it's just that actually... Just feels weird..." He admits realising how daft he sounds as he says it, making you laugh more when he trails off and gives in.

🍂 You're determined that he's going to get involved and help you make your bear because you know that secretly he's going to end up enjoying it, you just need to prove that to him before he'll admit it.

🍂 And he does enjoy it... After he's moved past how unnerving he finds the boxes full of empty bear skins. You think it's funny how he doesn't really want to even go up to them to have a look, how he's trying to hide that he obviously finds them a bit creepy, because he doesn't want to reveal himself as being scared of a toy shop...

🍂 So you end up picking out which kind of bear he's going to make with you. He swears too much for a build a bear work shop and you have to keep reminding him to mind his language because although you've picked a relatively quiet time to come to the store there's still some little kids about.

🍂 Still, when he sees the fluffer machine he stops dead in his tracks and breaths out the phrase "what the fuck is that..."

🍂 I think you'd spend most of this trip with Arthur giggling at him and his dramatic reactions to everything. The way he genuinely seems disbelieving when you tell him it's a machine for helping you fill the bears. You can tell he's kind of intrigued and on the verge of begging you for a turn, the way he watches you filling your bear up slowly... He's watching you and the machine so carefully his eyes full of fascination but when you turn and offer him a go he's hesitant.

🍂 "I don't know love I wouldn't wanna ruin your bear like..." "Don't be silly Arthur, if you help me it'll be ten times better..." Now he has to try and hide the fact that he's gotten strangely emotional about you wanting him to make your bear with you... He covers it up by teasing you and grumbling about "well alright love anything for you eh... Don't say I didn't warn you though lass..."

🍂 But obviously Arthur does a wonderful job because the whole process is designed do that basically anyone can do it, "see easier than it looks isn't it..." You tease him. But he's too focused on what he's doing to be bothered by your teasing.

🍂 He actually finds the stuffing part pretty therapeutic. You can see him get quite absorbed in the process, trying his best to get it just right. He's really concentrating.

🍂 I think he'd be quietly quite into giving the little bear a heart, I'm thinking like Tin Man complex here.

🍂 When it comes to doing the stitches he gets a bit frustrated because it's more fiddly and he's not exactly the most nimble man...

🍂 Now, he definitely blushes when you ask him to do the voice recording... He sort of gets a stutter on him like he wasn't expecting you to ask him that, and also isn't sure why you want his gruff grumpy voice to come out of such a cute bear... Definitely says something along those lines to you...

🍂 "What do you want me to do that for love?" "Well I'm not gonna ask the bloody shop assistant to do it for me am i..."

🍂 He will do it, but he is going to be a little bit embarrassed about it. Not just because he's supposed to be a tough and scary gangster with a tough and scary reputation to uphold but also because it seems like a very soft and very gooey romantic thing to do and not only does he not view himself as someone capable of being soft and romantic (even though he wishes he could be that way) (and even though you do see the ways in which he can be that way sometimes) but he also knows for a fact that other people don't see him as being capable of those things...

🍂 So he feels ridiculous, like everyone's secretly thinking "what the fucks he doing making a fool of himself, who's he trying to kid we all know he's a monster..."

🍂 That's the real reason he double checks to make sure no one is around that might be listening in, he's so paranoid that other people in the shop are going to laugh at him for even trying to be soft and romantic with you.

🍂 Anyway he does it and he goes bright red like a tomato and you think he looks so so so adorable, and when you say this to him he goes even more red and you can't help but kiss him on the cheek and thank him a million times.

🍂 You want to call the bear Arthur and he's like "but that's my name" and your only argument is "well surely you don't want another man to be telling me he loves me..." Which he can't argue with, even though he knows it's a ridiculous argument that doesn't make any sense.

🍂 Will tell you he's never setting foot in that shop ever again... Will obviously immediately capitulate the next time you ask.

John

🌼 Laughs when you ask him to come with you... He thinks you're joking at first and then when he realises you're being serious he chuckles almost nervously and asks "What really? What do you want me to come with you for, you know you can just take my credit card whenever you want flower..."

🌼 "Well yeah, and I would but... I have an important job for you..." "Oh aye?" He grins. He agrees to come, he loves spending time with you and getting to spoil you, and honestly he thinks this will be a right laugh.

🌼 He will not take it seriously at all, even when you tell him how very serious it is... In fact the more stroppy you get with him about how serious it is, the more funny he's finding it... he does want you to have a good time though so he's not too much of a windup merchant with you.

🌼 It's just that he can't help but giggle when you step inside the shop and it's full of kids and you're there taking it more seriously than the 7 year old whose been dreaming of a build a bear for years.

🌼 When you're struggling to choose which bear you want he keeps reminding you that it's going on his credit card anyway and you don't even have to choose, you can have the whole store if you want... "John!” you whining to him, "be serious!" "Flower I don't joke about Build a Bear, this stuff is serious..." "John! Stop taking the piss out of me..." "Eh don't swear flower, there's kids around!" He really loves hearing you whine his name so this could repeat and repeat for hours...

🌼 Every time you do come close to making a choice he spots a different type of bear that you haven't noticed yet and his "what about this one flower?" Makes you have to start reconsidering your choice all over again.

🌼 He doesn't have the cocentration/patience to do any of the little bear building steps, he's too easily distracted pointing out different things, asking what "this thing" does and pointing at some random part of the shop. "What's that for? Eh give us a go..."

🌼 You have to put the heart in and he's giggling about it and you're like "John come on..." Whining at him to be real for a second, which he thinks is extremely cute but that makes him chuckle more. You kiss the heart before putting it in which he thinks is insane but also extremely cute and of course he teases you for it. "Aw flower ain't you a little sweetheart..." Pinching your cheek and fluffing your hair...

🌼 Definitely not afraid to do the voice recording, isn't sure why you want him to do it but will do it simply because you've asked him to.

🌼"So this is the important job is it flower?" He chuckles when you tell him what you need him to do. "Whats the matter girl I not tell you enough? Feeling neglected or somet? You gonna use him to make me jealous?" He is only teasing of course, just trying to make you blush in the middle of the shop to distract from the fact that he's about to make a voice recording of himself being a soppy git.

🌼 But you said it was an important job so he puts his whole chest into his performance. Makes a show of preparing himself for the moment, really playing up his deep breath, closing his eyes and theatrically crossing his hand slowly down his face to prepare for his line... anything to make you giggle.

🌼 Then he holds eye contact the whole time he's doing the voice recording, deadly serious, actually gives you butterflies for a second there... but the second the recording is off he cracks a laugh and starts pissing himself, making you giggle too because his laughter is very contagious and you do also feel a little silly after watching his oscar winning performance.

🌼 Is absolutely going to be a nightmare when it comes to dressing your bear... Will be making the most ridiculous suggestions, just picking up the funniest items he can find or suggesting the wildest fashion moments for your bear... "What about this, for if he ever fancies attending the met gala... Or this for when he's feelin like Sid vicious... Or what about this for when he's uh... Feeling like a princess?"

🌼 Your head will be spinning with all the suggestions he's making and actually you won't be able to pick just one set of clothes, your bear is going to be coming home with a whole wardrobe.

🌼 He's definitely picking the bear up and like holding it up to his face, putting on a squeaky voice and shaking the bear to make him talk to you... "please y/n I've always wanted to be a pro footballer... And a fire fighter... And a sugar plum fairy and a..."

🌼 You will probably need to lie down in a dark room with some peace and quiet after this experience, you'll definitely question whether you ask him to come too next time... He actually brings up next time, "next time you should go in blindfolded and let me make all the choices... It'll all be a surprise..."

🌼 This is the bear I think you'd end up picking with John, cute and eclectic, she ain't no average bear she's literally an elephant... You let him pick the shoes.

Bonnie

🍀Will have a moment where he questions whether its really a good idea for him to risk being photographed in build a bear workshop... he's a semi famous boxer with a cute little face so the paps do try to follow him sometimes, especially when he's out with you because then there's the added gossip of him having a girlfriend... still, he figures that as long as he stays by your side the whole time so that they can't possibly get a shot of him where it looks like he's there alone... then it will surely be fine.

🍀He definitely feels a little silly but goes along with it to make you happy because you're his girl and he's smitten with you... It's not like the bears for him... Then again I do feel like out of all the guys bonnie is the most likely to engage with his softer side, or his inner child... He's not going to feel imasculated by a teddy bear.

🍀 Especially not when the bear in question is a frog!! He definitely sees the frog in the window and gets genuinely boyishly excited. "You didn't tell me there were frogs y/n! Oh my god look at him! He's class, that's class!"

🍀 He doesn't tell you you have to get the frog, but he also won't stop gazing at it lovingly and so you know you have got to get the frog... And he'll be so happy that you're getting the frog.

🍀 Will make little jokes about his bosses to you, pointing at one bear and saying "here, this one looks like Tommy..." Both of you laughing quietly with eachother, coming up with stupid scenarios about which bear Tommy or Arthur would pick and how they'd dress it.

🍀Definitely secretly a bit of a nerd and kind of loves the fact they do Pokémon build a bear... "Y/N can we get this?" He asks stood next to a giant charizard...

🍀When you ask him to help you he doesn't complain, he rolls his eyes at you and tells you you don't really need his help, but he kisses your cheek and helps you anyway. He's pretty good at the stuffing and stitching but he pretends its much harder than it looks and jokes that you're making him do unpaid labour.

🍀 Definitely blushes a bit when you tell him what you want the voice recording to be. Tries to tease you to play down the fact that it's made him self conscious, "I don't know little dove, I don't speak frog y'see so it won't be Attenborough Documentary standard..."

🍀Is too awkward to ask the shop assistant to leave you be for a bit so he ends up having to do the recording in front of them!! Which he is shy about because what do you mean this random stranger is watching him do this...

🍀 A bit like John when it comes to picking the clothes out, very kid in a candy store just flitting from thought to thought at a million miles an hour, a bit over stimulated... Thinks the shoes are class but also... "He's a frog what does he need shoes for, won't that hinder the jumping?" "To protect his feet from all the shit you leave lying around Bon..."

🍀He also picks the frog up and makes him speak, makes him say really stupid stuff to you about how he's a free frog and he doesn't want to be confined by human standards of decency, "Let me be a frog y/n, let me be free" but in the end you settle on a cute little tshirt.

🍀When you get the frog home Bonnie has more fun with him than you do... He'll leave these frogs around the house set up in different poses doing different activities for you to find each day. Sometimes mirroring whatever he knows you've got to do that day. If you've got a long day of studying or working on your laptop you find your frog sitting using the laptop... usually watching David Attenborough documentaries or weird videos about frogs. You inadvertently learn so much about frogs...

🍀 if Bonnie ever gets you a gift he usually sets it up so it looks like the frog is giving you the gifts... Sometimes this is very cute and sometimes it looks incredibly funny... Like sometimes Frog is sitting on the table with a little box from your local bakery, and then sometimes Frog looks like he's about to down a bottle of red wine indie sleaze style... Depends what kind of week you're having.

🍀You start doing this too, leaving little gifts for bonnie with Frog, sometimes you leave eachother little messages and Frog becomes like this daft little way for you to communicate.

🍀Then one day you find Frog waiting for you with a little jewellery box and a note attached that just reads, "will you marry me?"

🍀Now obviously your heart soars and you can't stop smiling, but you can't put bonnie out of his misery straight away...

🍀"So am I marrying you or the frog?"

Isaiah

🐁If he didn't already know you better he'd be surprised at you asking him this... you don't come across as the kind of girl who should want to go on a Build a Bear date... but he does know you so really hes been bracing himself for the day you ask him this...

🐁 He isn't going to go quietly and he's definitely going to grumble about it a bit. "You do know who you're man is don't you love?" He's going to roll his eyes and be so sulky... "What're you willing to do to make it up to me?" But he's only really teasing, putting on a show of being extra grumpy to preserve his "dangerous gangster" persona.

🐁He knew before you asked him that he'd go to the "hellhole" with you one day.

🐁"Didn't realise you were such a softy babe..." And it's a fair point he's making because you do not give off the vibe that you'd be crazy for cuddly toys... You're a woman who matches Isaiah's sulky and arrogant nature, you give major Scorpio/Capricorn vibes, dark makeup, sharp eyeliner, always dressed to seduce and kill... He thinks that as a couple you're going to look very out of place...

🐁But then he's surprised because you really don't look out of place... You light up the second you're in there, sure you seem to have that effortlessly cool poker face on you as you peruse the rails of bear skins, and you definitely don't meet the high as a kite happy the shop assistants bring to the room... but you do soften up in there, especially once you've chosen your bear...

🐁You look so quietly pleased with yourself when you hold it up to show him which one you're getting and he grins... He's surprised actually, he thought you might go for the little mouse... Afterall, you're still his Little Mouse even if you are a femme fatal...

🐁But he loves this choice too, it's very you... "You are fuckin trouble to be fair love..."

🐁He humours you when you ask if he wants a go, it's not that you need his help you just don't want him to be bored and he's looking around that store with a look of bewilderment on his face so you think perhaps he needs some guidance...

🐁So he has a go on the stuffing machine but only for a moment, "Don't wanna ruin your fun mousy, this is your day like..." You know he just doesn't want to run the risk of looking like he's actually into it and enjoying himself.

🐁"You have to give it a heart?" Him raising his eyebrow when you ask if it should be red or pink, "Do they have any black ones?" "Saiah! What are you trying to say about me?" "Oh don't act innocent mousy you're the coldest woman I know!" He's joking with you, he has this running joke that the first time he offered to buy you a drink you said no... That you're really hard to impress and that you did not make it easy for him to get you... But he loves all that about you... He secretly loves how hard you made him work...

🐁Anyway this triggers you having to explain this whole story to the shop assistant who is honestly just baffled to have a peaky blinder in the shop let alone to be hearing about their love life...

🐁 Definitely protests when you tell him about the voice recording... You spring it on him in the shop so that he doesn't have time to think of a good reason to back out. You've been a little calculated and you can see that he is livid you've managed to trick him again!! You always manage to trick him!

🐁But all it takes from you is one little pout and an "I'll make it worth your while" before he is stepping up to the recorder ready to give the performance of a life time.

🐁Teases you and stalls the recording making out like he's about to and then recording some stupid message instead that has to be erased. Messages like "I do not contain contraband goods" "I have the right to remain silent..." "Y/N made me do it..."

🐁But eventually he records the real message and it's lovely, personalised too because he says "I love you little mouse"

🐁 "Don't be too good with them stitches love, never know when we'll have to undo em..." He whispers to you and you bloody well hope he is joking. "Isaiah!" You hiss back, "my teddy bear is NOT going to be involved in any criminal activity..."

🐁Isaiah is the one who picks out the Too Hot To Handle t-shirt. At first he makes out like he's joking but when you hmm and say "Yes, I see the vision, I love it..." He tries to pretend he was being serious all along.

🐁Obviously makes some sly little comment about you being too hot to handle...

🐁 One day you go to give your bear a little cwtch and you think he feels kind of lumpy and kind of sharp in places... So you investigate the stitches on the back and oh my god you're going to KILL Isaiah.

🐁 You open the bear up to find diamonds though so maybe this is a secret you can keep... For now.

Michael

☘️ "you're fuckin kidding me..."

☘️ Out of all the blinders Michael has the biggest chip on his shoulder when it comes to masculinity... He really frets and worries about his image as a violent, dark and mean criminal. He likes to come off as slick and professional, an elite... But also as cold and dangerous, not to be messed with. Wants to command everyone's respect at all times...

☘️ "How the fuck am I meant to come across as respectable buying teddy bears y/n"

☘️ You just pout back at him all, "I don't know, hire the place out, show everyone how minted you are..." You shrug your shoulders and then refuse to look at him or speak to him until he caves... And if there's another thing that bothers him deeply it's the thought of not being man enough for his girl... So he has to cave... He can't have toxic masculinity literally be the thing making him seem like "less of a man"

☘️ You weren't actually expecting him to hire the store but he does, he shuts the whole place down for one night, makes them open for you when the rest of the mall is closed for the evening so that it's just the two of you in the whole building... That makes you feel extra special and also guarantees that he's safe from the eyes of anyone who might use this to ridicule him.

☘️ And because the place is shut down and because he's given very clear instructions that the staff are to leave you alone until you're ready to leave he is safe in the knowledge that if he wants to be soft and cute to you he can be... So he is... Of course he's still Michael, he's still a little brooding and serious... Still wants to have authority and control... But he shows that authority by being extra generous and spoiling you rotten in there...

☘️ You get to make multiple bears for sure, every time you say you can't choose you just have to turn and pout at him and be a little bit cutesy and he caves and gives you exactly what you want, and it comes with little kisses on the forehead or cheek. Holding your hand or walking round the store with his arms around you.

☘️He helps you with the stuffing but mostly because if he doesn't you'll be there all bloody night, you've got way too many bears to make all by yourself. So you put him on stuffing duty and you get to work putting their little hearts in and stitching them up.

☘️"Wouldn't have brought you here if I'd known how much work we'd have to do love, y'know I was hoping to be in bed before 5am..." He's only teasing you and really deep down he does love to see you so happy. And you are so happy, you're so sweet and content stitching up your little bears...

☘️ Which is funny because you're usually quite a feisty, hard to please woman, you come off as so chic and badass, he definitely isn't used to seeing you so calm and soft... But he likes this look on you and definitely decides he wants to try and bring it out of you more often...

☘️ Now, whilst Michael was busy concentrating on his task, you made sure to hide your favourite bear, which has gone unstitched because you have big plans for it... And big plans for Michael too.

☘️ Which of course absolutely floor him when you reveal them to him. "You want me to what..." He looks at you so deadpan you almost question whether he's going to give you what you want.

☘️ And he definitely puts up the biggest fight... "Fuckin no y/n... I'm not doing that... Imagine if that gets into the hands of my fuckin cousin eh... Family meetings will be unbearable!" He doesn't hear the pun until you start to giggle and he is so unamused by your laughing at him. But you can't help it.

☘️ "come on Michael please" you pout at him, giving him your best puppy eyes... He isn't budging though and you know you may have to go to an extreme... You drop to your knees, wrapping your arms around his legs, nuzzling into his trousers, then you look up at him again and it your darkest, sweetest voice you ask him again, "pretty please Michael..."

☘️ Makes you stay down there begging a little while because he enjoys hearing your voice when you get a little whiny, and he enjoys looking down on you from that angle...

☘️ but he does cave and he does do the recording, "I love you y/n..." He sounds a little grumpy but he does do it and you are happy. You reward him with a big kiss and promises to thank him properly later.

☘️ Michael literally locks this bear in a safe inside a cupboard whenever family visit, there is no way he's ever having one of his cousins find that by accident. "You're so dramatic Michael it's just a teddy bear..." "Y/N I would sooner lock myself in a burning building and slow roast myself than have Tommy find that fuckin bear..."

☘️ And that's good to know because it means you've got an excellent bargaining chip now for future arguments. One little video of that bear and Michael's little message, it would take seconds to post it in the family WhatsApp and he'd just have to deal with the consequences... Now obviously this is not why you made the bear... Definitely not.

Luca

🪽 I shouldn't but I picture modern day Luca as being Sopranos esque... Not like Tony's family but the actual New York mafia and how they're portrayed in the show.

🪽 And whilst I think the peaky blinders would be on like the New Jersey mob tier, Luca is above all that... he has so much power and such a serious reputation that he actually does not need to worry about being seen in a build a bear with his wife...

🪽 No one is going to say anything about him, not without literally losing their balls or something. People are very careful with what they say about Luca Changretta and his wife.

🪽 So when you ask he just smirks affectionaly, beckons you over to him, holds your cheeks in his hands and places a lingering kiss on your lips. "anything for you my little lamb..."

🪽 He has a flare for romance and he's a passionate man so he's going to turn the whole trip into an occasion. He will close the shop down but not so that no one sees him going into build a bear... people are going to know he did it... it's just so you can have free reign and take your time without feeling rushed... he knows if he took you there during opening hours you'd just keep letting little kids skip past you in the line and then you'd be there all day..

🪽 And he wants you to feel like your trip is all about you, no one else... so you get the store to yourself and he reminds you that money is no object... "But space is Piccolina... We don't want to have to build an extension just for your teddy bears..." He's teasing you of course... he probably would do that if he needed to.

🪽 He's very cool about being there, browsing slowly, though he's watching you the whole time rather than paying much attention to the bears, admiring you from every angle as you concentrate on your choices. Every time you turn to ask his advice he simply tells you "Whatever you think is right Angioletto, you know best..."

🪽 And then to your surprise he sends you off on your own for a little while, and whilst you're busy wrapped up in your little tasks, stuffing your bears just right and putting their little hearts in, he's picking a surprise out for you... a teddy you completely missed!

🪽 When he comes to join you at the heart station he's hiding something behind his back... and when he presents it to you you gasp and clap your hands together so touched by it.

🪽 "A little lamb for my little lamb..." he says it very suavely and you can't help but blush and get butterflies. "Now why don't you show me what to do next?" So you tell him about the little hearts and how you have to give the teddy a voice and how you can do the little recordings... you don't outright tell him you want him to record something for you but he knows you well enough to know that you'd just love it if he did...

🪽 So he takes the heart from your hand and holds it to his lips, eyes locked with yours ever the romantic... and then when he does the recording he thinks carefully about what he's going to say...

🪽 "luce dei miei occhi, amore della mia vita, finché morte non ci separi..." (light of my eyes, love of my life, til death do us part)

🪽 And of course he's holding your cheek in his hand as he says it and of course he kisses you passionately the moment he's finished up... and of course he can't keep his hands off you holding you by the waist... almost getting carried away... and youve melted like butter at his beautiful words.

🪽 Honestly for awhile there you probably get a little distracted from the task at hand (shopping for bears) and spend a little too much time being desperately in love with your husband...

🪽 Your little lamb bear does not look like something that should belong to a mob wife... She's so cute, and Luca finds this a little amusing... That his wife, who is always so chic and styles, so...well... Mob wife... Has gone and made herself the most adorable, very pink, little teddy bear...

🪽 When you get to the checkout you have quite the little hall, the bears you made yourself all in a little basket, and your new favourite little lamb clutched tightly in your arms. You've already decided this little lamb is your most treasured possession...

🪽 At home you hardly let it out of your sight, you're so proud of it, and you can't stop listening to Luca's confession of love, he keeps warning you to be careful not to wear the batteries out but you're too giddy and in love to listen...

🪽 Luca doesn't tend to travel anywhere without you, but on the odd occasion that you have to be parted you like to listen to his little recording before you go to sleep, it makes you feel safe and loved.

Aberama

🦔 I guess there's a bit of an age gap here and Aberama is getting pretty used to hearing you say things he doesn't really understand...

🦔 For example when you ask to go on a trip to build a bear workshop, he really thinks you mean a literal bear building factory... He's a bit confused as to why you'd want to visit a production line... And when he asks and you giggle he quickly realises that this is one of those things he's misunderstood...

🦔 But he's willing to learn he supposes, even if the idea sounds a little mad to him...

🦔 And Aberama is too old to be worried about looking too soft, he doesn't care one bit what anybody else thinks of him, he only cares that his girl is happy and getting all the love and little treats she deserves...

🦔 Will do some research as to which is the best build a bear store in the country and plan it into the route you're travelling... He won't tell you that's what he's doing, so by the time he surprises you with the little day trip you will have forgotten that you'd asked him about it...

🦔 Your reaction when you see where he's taking you is so sweet, how at first he can tell you're a little uncertain, that you have your suspicions but clearly don't want to get your hopes up too much... But then you're sure that he's taking you there because you're standing right outside the shop and he's waiting for the penny to drop and you turn to him with these wide sparkling eyes...

🦔 "This is what you meant isn't it sweetheart?" He asks with a chuckle when you nod your head and squeak with excitement ever so adorably...

🦔 He lets you lead the way because as we've established he's got no idea what goes on here or what the deal is at all... But he thinks it's so sweet how you explain all the steps and give him a little walking step by step tour/tutorial.

🦔 You ask him to help you pick which teddy to get because there are so many you love but you really do only want to get one and besides you both like travelling light... One of Aberama's many nicknames for you is "duckling" and so you end up getting a little duck, which you name "buttercup" another one of his nicknames for you...

🦔 You think she's perfect because she matches your woodsy little aesthetic and also she's just undeniably adorable!!

🦔 You want him to help you with each step so that he can be involved too, "Cause I've done it before but you haven't and I don't want you to miss out!" You insist, and that is partly true... But it is also partly down to the fact that you find it entertaining to watch him struggle to get his head around everything.

🦔 He's pretty good with his hands and very nimble fingered though so he'd be very good at the stuffing and stitching... When you show him the little hearts to put in the bears he can't help but chuckle... He's not exactly cynical in his old age but he definitely thinks that somewhere there's a very rich man because of this "experience" they've managed to sell to people...

🦔 But how can he fault them when you're revelling in that "experience" right before his eyes and you look so so happy...

🦔 He laughs again when you show him the bit where you do a voice recording, "God they've really thought of everything haven't they sweetheart..." He chuckles, you giggling when you scold him for spoiling your fun...

🦔 But of course he does it... I kind of imagine Aberama has quite a way with words, can create quite sentimental homely poetry off the cuff, something very short and sweet... And like honestly my apologies for not including this but my brain is not capable of writing a little poem right now

🦔 Anyway, he reads it beautifully and so calm and slow that you get a little bit worried the recorder is going to time out and he'll have to start again. But luckily the poems very short and sweet.

🦔 Thinks the birth certificate is absolutely insane and does laugh about it, humours you but you do both have a good giggle about it...

🦔 You can't find anything you want to dress your little duck in in the store because you're very fussy about your woodsy little aesthetic and you want her to dress like you dress... And Aberama can see you're a little disappointed you couldn't find anything that felt right so...

🦔 He works away in secret each night after you've gone to sleep to make a tiny replica of a Pinafore you own, one that's the perfect fit for your little duck... Each night he has to wait until you've fallen asleep, sneak out of bed, sneak your cuddly toy away from the bed too, and then work until the early hours in very dim lamplight so as not to wake you...

🦔 There's a couple times where you wake in the middle of the night and he has to be so quick to hide his work and pretend that he was simply getting a drink of water...

🦔 Then one morning you wake up to your little duck sitting by your pillow in this perfect little pinafore... Your heart absolutely bursts and you're genuinely amazed. "Oh my god... Did you do this?" You can't believe how sweet and thoughtful a gesture it is and you're also incredibly impressed by his handy work...

🦔You show her off to everyone you possibly can which does of course mean that poor Abe does in fact wind up getting the piss ripped out of him by some of his friends... And bonnie, god bonnie won't let him live it down saying things like "here the bairns need new clothes da, what're you doin making clothes for a teddy bear when your own flesh an blood are cuttin about with holes in their jackets..."

🦔 But you're so proud of your little bear and so thrilled that Aberama gave it that sweet little finishing touch, he's not bothered what anyone else has to say...

Finn

🌸 is going to say no... Definitely is bothered about looking soft, definitely will be extremely paranoid about being ripped into by his older brothers and his mates...

🌸 Already knows the things they'll say to him, all the comments about if he needs that for when he has nightmares... All the comments about how whipped he must be if he's building teddy bears with you.

🌸 But he's also definitely young enough that he will just so whatever his girl wants, he's a bit of a pushover and if you tell him you're going and he needs to go with you or he's dumped (not even really a serious threat) he will go...

🌸 But he will be massively awkward about being there, he'll be proper skulky constantly checking his periphery for anyone who might know him... Definitely puts his hood up when you're walking into the store, definitely keeps his hood up the whole time.

🌸 The whole time you're in the store he's got this semi blush on his cheeks, his freckles shaded with a slight pink glow behind them....

🌸 he finds it all a bit uncanny, thinks the bear skins are a bit "fookin weird..." But he goes along with everything because the quicker you get on with it the quicker it's over and the quicker he can get out...

🌸 You spend a lot of this trip laughing at him and taking the piss out of him because he's being a baby... "You're being daft Finn, lighten up babe... You don't gotta be so serious all the time you're Finn Shelby not Tommy..."

🌸 You try to get him to do little bits with you, he just laughs nervously when he's doing the stuffing and then gets awkward about the heart...

🌸 He definitely is a bit mortified when you ask him to do the voice recording... "Seriously babe? Do I have to?" "it's not like I'm askin you to kill someone Finn jesus..." "I'd fuckin rather you did love I'm better at that!"

🌸 he does do the recording in the end but it's quiet and muffled because he mumbles it, he's too worried about other people in the store over hearing him...

🌸 You let him dress it and it winds up looking like this...

AN // happy Valentines day my lovelies, hope this brings you some fuzzy cosy vibes this evening!! This took me like two whole weeks to write :o sorry they don't all come with a bear, there will be more bear analysis soon I think... And sorry some are shorter than others, I really only threw poor Finn in there because the thought of him sulkin in build a bear made me giggle.

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#god these are so cute!!!#peaky blinders

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