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jtargaryen18 · 9 days ago

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The Arrangement ~ Chapter 15

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.3k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Refernces to bloody violence, serious threats, intimidation, explicit sex, P in V, oral (m receiving)

The war with the Changrettas is on the horizon and whispers across Small Heath carry the rumor that Vicente Changretta has sent for his brutal son, Luca. As the Shelbys prepare for his arrival, Luca arrives and the first person he wants to meet is you.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. Warm rays of light filtered in through the curtains to cast a gentle haze across the edge of the bed. All the normal morning sounds were in the background. The sounds of the staff quietly going about their day, the songs of the birds outside.

You were tired this morning, your spat with your husband dragged on until the hours just before dawn. Tommy had finally apologized for using your brother as bait to kill Angel Changretta. It had been more than you expected.

What had surprised you most wasn’t his apology, it was everything he did to avoid saying it. He'd thrown up every argument as to why it had been necessary to do what they did. After you moved to Ada's room, it continued. He'd paced the hallway outside Ada’s room instead of knocking all through the night. He’d circled around the word “sorry” like it was dangerous, like something would break if he actually said it. When he finally knocked, hours later, he'd looked too tired to pretend anymore. You forgave him before he even said the words.

You loved Tommy. Even when he made it hard. In his defense, he had warned you that he wouldn't be easy to love.

Shifting slowly beneath the covers, you stretched your sore muscles, expecting to feel the his side of the bed empty. But he was there. Your husband, sleeping away, still in his clothes. You'd never seen him sleep before.

Tommy had fully surrendered to rest, his breathing deep and even. One arm curled under the pillow, the other resting lightly across the space between you. His face, usually drawn tight with calculation and restraint, looked so different in sleep. He looked softer, younger. There were still shadows beneath his eyes, beneath his long dark lashes. There were still creases at the corners of his mouth. Yet, something about the stillness made him look almost untouched. It was almost like the wars he waged both in his world and in his mind had finally gone quiet.

Would he ever look like that in his waking hours? Or would he always carry all that weight?

You watched him for long moments, trying to memorize this version of him that no one else got to see. You stayed there, wishing he could stay like that for just a few hours. Tommy's lashes fluttered, his breathing deep but uneven, like even in sleep he didn’t quite let go.

You gasped when the kick came. It was sharp and strong, just beneath your ribs. You winced, instinctively pressing a hand to your belly, smoothing the spot in slow, comforting circles. “Alright, love,” you whispered. “It’s alright…”

But he kept at it. Another kick, and another. It was almost like he somehow knew his father was there and he wanted his attention. You sighed, smiling.

Tommy's hand joined yours, warm and callused. Still half-asleep, his voice was a low rasp. “Easy, lad…” His thumb traced a slow line over the curve of your belly. “Take it easy on your mum, eh?”

You just melted. Every inch of you, tension and all, undone by those quiet words.

A war still waited outside these walls. But in that moment, you were a woman in love with the man beside you, and the child between you. Leaning in, you rested your forehead lightly against his chest. And for a heartbeat, you allowed yourself peace.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you whispered.

His hand, still warm and steady over your belly, shifted to slide around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt the soft brush of his lips against your hair.

“You didn’t,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “He did.” His other hand moved to your back, his fingertips grazing the edge of your spine in slow, grounding circles.

"We haven't even had a proper wedding night yet," he pointed out in a teasing tone. "Perhaps tonight."

When your hand slid down his body, you found him heated and hard. You carefully squeezed him through his trousers, earning you a low groan. "Why wait for tonight?"

Glancing up, your gaze met his. You didn't miss the heat in his pale blue eyes. "What did you have in mind, Mrs. Shelby?"

You smiled as you sat up, working his belt loose and unfastening his trousers. He helped you push them past his hips. You didn't waste time getting your hands on his cock, one working his shaft, the other cupping his sac, using the motions he taught you. You loved the way he watched you, the way he hardened in your grasp. It didn't take long for his hips to start moving, urging you on.

When you got your mouth on him, the low moan you drew from him made you shiver. His hands slid into your hair, not guiding your movements at first. But as you tasted him, surrounded him with your mouth, those rough fingers urged you to speed up. He started thrusting up into your face, making you gag here and there. Tommy's breath came faster as his heated gaze stayed on you.

Carefully pushing you back, his hands remained in your hair, pulling you forward to claim your mouth. He kissed you with urgency and growing need. His hands slid down your body, yanking up your nightgown with haste and ripping through your drawers. You let him position you over his cock, but you took control from there. You took your time sliding down him despite his efforts to hurry you. You loved being on top now, riding your husband at your own pace. When he let you...

Tommy gripped your hips as you started to move on him, but you weren't having it. Grabbing his hands in yours, you pressed them down on the bed on either side of his head. You both knew you couldn't hold him there, but he allowed it, his expression softening as he watched you sliding up and down on his cock. You wanted to enjoy your own pace, not race to the end as he often did. You didn't know if it was impatience or he was too worked up to go slow. But this morning, you wanted to make love like this.

Leaning down, you kissed him, keeping it soft and light. Your fingers tightened around his as your moved faster. When you leaned forward, his cock hit the perfect angle and you were quickly reaching your pleasure. Tommy knew, you saw it in his eyes. He started thrusting up into you, and you broke the kiss just so you could breathe. When you kept working him against that perfect spot, it didn't take much to push you over. The rush of pleasure exploded before running through your veins, making you tremble as you rode him.

Tommy's hands didn't release yours when he swiftly rolled you under him and took over. He held your hands to the bed tightly as he roughly ploughed into you. His dominance was everytthing you wanted in that moment, and it took over the end of your orgasm, dragging it out until your back was arching. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you held on as he moved in you, chasing his own release. When he came, he buried his face against your neck, his breath rushing with yours.

Rolling to your side, Tommy sprawled on his back, catching his breath. His eyes were closed but he smiled. "If I knew that's how you'd wake me up in the morning... I'd lie in more often."

You laughed. "No you wouldn't."

That had his gaze on you. "You saying my work is more important than my wife?"

You didn't miss the teasing in his tone. "No," you said, still grinning. "I'm saying you wouldn't lie in past dawn, and I'm not willing to wake up that early."

Tommy grinned. "That sounds like a challenge. Now I think I will wake you up bright and early one morning."

"As long as I can go back to sleep after." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you rose from the bed.

Stretching, you reached for your robe and tugged it over your shoulders, your steps slow but determined as you headed for the door. You were going to talk to Rory now that you and Tommy were in a good place.

Behind you, you heard the soft rustle of sheets and then his voice, still low and warm. “Take it easy on the lad.”

You paused, hand resting on the doorknob, glancing back over your shoulder. He was watching you, propped up slightly. The early light caught on the sharp angles of his face, and the faintest smirk pulled at his mouth.

You smiled, shaking your head. “No promises.”

He chuckled under his breath, sinking back into the pillows as you slipped out of the room.

The sitting room had become a kind of sanctuary. Bolts of fabric were folded neatly on the sideboard. Thread spools glinted like coins in the morning light. Irene had set up a small ironing board near the window, while Mary, glasses low on her nose, worked a needle through satin with the same precision she used to mend hearts.

The mansion had been tense since Angel’s death, but this room held something gentler. It was quiet, almost normal. You sat cross-legged on the settee beside your mother, mending the dress in your lap. Your needle traced quiet stitches through pale blue cotton. The rhythmic motion helped keep your hands steady, your mind distracted -- though nothing ever stayed quiet for long in this house.

Rory lingered nearby, one arm braced on the back of Irene’s chair. He was supposed to be resting, but he paced more than he sat, and his gaze followed Irene more than anyone. You knew he wanted to get back out there with Tommy, but you didn't think that was all he had on his mind. You knew your brother well enough to read concern on his face. You had a feeling it had to do with Irene's safety.

Irene had become part of the household rhythm quickly, showing up early with bundles of fabric, helping your mother without complaint, always kind and ready. But she still came and went each day. She didn’t live under Shelby protection at night when she returned to Small Heath. And that gnawed at Rory more and more. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched every time she mentioned walking home. The way his brow furrowed whenever the guards reported anything suspicious near the edge of the property. She wasn’t family, but to Rory, she mattered a great deal.

And maybe, just maybe, that was part of the reason he hadn’t asked Tommy to move her in. Because it wasn’t just about safety, it was about her. And Rory was smitten. He didn’t want to use that word and would probably deny it outright if you asked him. But you saw it in every glance, every excuse to stand close, every time he offered to carry something she could easily manage herself.

You’d let it slide for now. But if Rory wasn’t going to speak up for her protection, you would. Irene reminded you of yourself from not so long ago. Like you, she was pulled into a war she never asked to be part of. Like you, she was the kind of girl men overlooked until the crossfire started. Collateral damage. And you’d be damned if you let that happen again.

Polly was having tea, perched by the fireplace, cigarette half-burned in her hand, watching everything. The quiet shattered with a heavy knock at the door. Your mother looked up. Irene stopped ironing.

The guard at the door stepped in, holding a small, wrapped parcel. “Package came through addressed to the house. Screened it for wires, nothing inside but this.”

He handed it to you. It was light and square-shaped, wrapped in stiff, off-white paper, with no note on the outside.

“Give it here,” Rory said quickly, stepping forward.

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Rory--”

“Let me. Please.” Your brother didn’t wait for permission. Took it to the low table near the fireplace and peeled the paper slowly, every movement tense. The room was silent but for the soft crackle of paper folding.

Polly watched him closely. Saw it in his face before he even spoke. His fingers paused.

“Rory?” your voice was sharper now. “What is it?”

"Let me deal with it." Anger bled into his tone.

No. You were part of this family now and you'd seen enough already. You were on your feet quickly, even before Polly could stop you. When you reached him, you gazed at what had been sent.

A baby rattle. Or what had once been one. The silver was cracked and dented, like it had been smashed under a heavy boot. And splashed with something red... Thick and artificial, but the intent was unmistakable. A destroyed bloody rattle. There was a card beneath it. Three words, typed.

“Every family bleeds.”

No one moved.

Polly stood slowly, her face stone. “Get that out of her sight.”

But it was too late. You'd already seen it.

All you could do was stare at that rattle, cracked and splattered red, and something in you just... stilled. You didn't feel fear or the numbness that it often brought you. No, it just felt like a line had been drawn somewhere deep inside. You were done with messages, and reminders. Everyone hovering over you. You were absolutely done with pretending that this child inside you hadn’t already been made a target. You'd be damned if anyone would touch your son. You figured out how to use a gun once. You could do it again.

“Rory,” you said in a calm voice, meeting your brother's gaze. “Go get Tommy. Right now.”

The room was so silent in that moment you could have heard a needle drop. You glanced toward Polly, half-expecting a raised brow or a word of caution. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to the fire. She was grinning as she reached for her cigarette case.

Returning your attention back to your brother, you said, "Tell him I’m requesting his presence.”

The office was too quiet today. The usual scrape of chairs, the shuffle of papers, Arthur’s low commentary. None of it settled Tommy today. He stared at the same ledger for ten minutes without reading a single number. He didn’t like the silence anymore. It always meant something was moving in it. Arthur was by the window, muttering about stock shipments and the state of the pub, but Tommy barely registered the words.

That’s when the front door opened fast. No knock or hesitation. It was Rory, and the look on his face had Tommy straightening in his chair. His brother-in-law's expression was grim and serious. Tommy knew that look.

“What happened?”

Rory didn’t sit, just stopped in front of Tommy's desk. “A package came to the house.” His voice was steady, but clipped. “The guards checked it, then I opened it myself.”

Tommy waited.

Rory looked him in the eye. “It was for you. But she saw it.” A pause. “She asked me to come get you.”

His wife didn’t send a note or ask a maid. She sent Rory.

Arthur turned from the window, sensing the shift. “What kind of message?”

Rory hesitated. "One directed at her and the baby."

Tommy was already rising from his chair, grabbing his coat from the back. But even as his hand moved for the buttons, his asked, “Is she alright?”

Rory nodded. “She seems to be.”

Tommy’s brow twitched. Seemed to be? Something had concerned her. Enough to send her brother in person.

Arthur was watching now, arms crossed, all the chatter drained from him. Then he followed them.

She sent Rory for him. That was what stayed with him as he shrugged into his coat, lit a cigarette with an unsteady hand, and snapped the lighter shut.

“Get the car.”

The drive back was short, and Tommy said nothing. Rory sat beside him, still holding tension in his shoulders as they drew close to the mansion. Arthur drove fast, silent. By the time the mansion came into view, Tommy had already lit his second cigarette. The guards at the gate snapped to attention. One of them started to open his mouth, but Polly was already at the door before they’d parked, calm as ever. Tommy stepped out and flicked the cigarette onto the gravel.

“Where is she?” he asked.

Polly didn’t make him ask twice. “In your study.”

That caught him off guard. His study. Not the sitting room or upstairs where it was quiet and safe.

Polly opened the door for him, motioning Rory and Arthur to follow. Tommy held back just a moment, the entire situation making him feel unsettled.

His gaze found Polly’s, searching. “Is she alright?”

Polly gave the smallest nod. “She’s fine,” she said.

He followed her without another word, across the foyer and toward the closed study door. He opened it without knocking, Polly, Arthur, and Rory following him in.

And there she was standing near the desk, her back to him. One hand on the edge of the polished wood like she needed something solid to anchor herself. At the center of his desk sat the parcel. Wrapped, rewrapped maybe. The contents weren’t visible, but the weight of it was everywhere.

Her gaze locked with Tommy's as they joined her. “I thought we should all see it,” she said, her voice calm. “Together.”

Polly closed the door gently, then took her place near the fireplace. Arthur leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. Rory lingered just behind Tommy.

No one sat or spoke, and the silence thickened.

Tommy looked at the parcel again. His voice low. “Who delivered it?”

“One of your guards,” his wife explained. “He screened it, Rory opened it.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked. He looked to Rory. “And?”

Rory nodded grimly. “See for yourself.” His hand brushed over his ribs out of habit.

The last package had looked harmless too.

Tommy stepped toward the desk. His eyes dropped to the parcel. Her gaze was on him, heavy with expectation. There was something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since the day she shot a man to save her brother. Resolve. That quiet, unshakable clarity that made men with guns hesitate.

He reached out and peeled the top of the paper back slowly, and no one moved. Arthur stepped closer, his usual swagger stripped down to something leaner. He hadn’t seen it yet either. The paper rustled. And inside, it was exactly as he’d imagined and still worse somehow. A small silver rattle, cracked at the base, and meared with something thick and red. And beneath it, a single slip of card.

“Every family bleeds.”

Tommy stared at it, before letting the paper fall back over the contents like closing a coffin. It was a threat to his wife, and his son inside her. They didn't threaten his business or his men. They threatened her.

He drew in a breath through his nose, long and slow, then turned toward the others. “I need a moment with my wife.”

Arthur gave a short nod and headed for the door, already chewing on whatever plans would come next. Rory lingered, hesitation written across his face, but Polly reached out and touched his arm lightly, and he followed her. She looked back before closing the door behind them, her expression unreadable.

And then it was just the two of them.

Tommy stood for a moment in silence, listening to the fire crackle behind him. Finally, he looked at her.

His wife hadn’t moved. She still stood on the other side of the desk. Steady and too calm.

“I expected to come back to panic,” he said carefully. “Or tears.” Tommy took a step closer, watching her closely in the flicker of firelight. “But you’re not angry or afraid. I need to know why.”

She watched him with steady eyes. And when she finally spoke, it wasn’t with heat or blame. “I realize that message was sent to you,” she said quietly. Her hand drifted, instinctively, to her belly. "But it was meant for me too. For him.”

Tommy’s gaze followed her movement, listened to her words. That soft, protective gesture shook him more than any scream could have.

“I’m part of this family now, Tommy. That’s what our wedding meant.” She crossed the space between them, not quickly, but with purpose. “I shot a man at our wedding reception,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I saw him bleed all over the floor. I can't unsee it."

Tommy just listened.

“I know what kind of world this is now," she went on. "It's the world our son will be born into. My mother had to accept that Rory chose this life. One day, I'll have to do the same.” She paused, holding his gaze. “But what I won’t do, what I can’t do, is be shut out again. Not like when you all went after Angel. Every part of this war touches me just as much as it touches you.”

Her words landed, steady and impossible to argue with. And in that moment, Tommy didn’t just see the woman he’d married. He saw a mother stepping into the fire to protect their son. Standing her ground, right beside him. And for a man who’d spent a lifetime building walls, that kind of loyalty felt like something dangerously close to faith.

She took one more step and placed her hand on his chest, just over the buttons of his waistcoat. “If I’m strong enough to carry your son into this life, I’m strong enough to know what’s coming.”

Tommy looked at her. Really looked at her, the ghost of exhaustion clinging to her face. Beneath it all, she was steady and focused. His wife was young, beautiful. That had been the first thing that pulled him in, the reason he’d stolen her like a man stealing fire. But what he was seeing now… It was that strength he’d told her he’d seen in her, back when she didn’t believe it yet herself. And now, he was watching it bloom in front of him.

His fingers tightened slightly over hers, still resting on his chest. He leaned forward just enough to press his brow to hers, his eyes sliding closed.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We deal with this. Together.”

The curtains were drawn tight. Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling, heavy and unmoving. The door closed behind Polly, and for a moment, the only sound was the fire snapping in the hearth.

Tommy stood behind his desk, not sitting. Not for this.

Arthur leaned against the mantle. John dropped into the nearest chair with his usual swagger, but even he looked more tense than usual. Rory sat quietly, the faintest grimace whenever he shifted in the chair. He wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, but no one could convince him to stay there.

And then there was her. Seated just to the right of the desk, calm and patient. She hadn’t said a word since walking in, but her presence shifted the energy in the room.

Tommy lit a cigarette, the flick of the match sharp in the silence.

“The Changrettas want our fear,” he said. Then, without another word, he reached to the edge of the desk and lifted the small object wrapped in tissue, peeled it back slowly and held it up between two fingers. A delicate, silver baby cracked and smeared in fake blood.

John stiffened, the look on his face pure indignation since he was a father himself. “What the fuck?”

Tommy didn’t even look at him, setting it back down like a loaded weapon. “They didn’t hit a pub, or torch a car. They didn’t take out one of our men. They sent that to this house.”

No one spoke.

Tommy took a drag, exhaled smoke slow and deliberate. “That was a message.”

Polly nodded once. “It’s personal now. Not just about Angel.”

“Which brings us to Luca Changretta,” Arthur added grimly. “Every whisper from Camden to the Cut says Vicente’s sent for him.”

Tommy nodded. “He's coming from America. He doesn’t ask questions or make demands. Anyone who ever hurt his family, he finds them. Then he finds the people they love. Luca doesn’t come to negotiate, he ends things.”

Glancing toward his wife, he said. “Vicente wants revenge. Luca wants extinction.”

Arthur added grimly, “He’s the kind of man who sends flowers to your widow before the blood dries.”

He saw it then, the flicker of fear in her eyes. Good. She needed to understand what they were facing. But after a moment, she lifted her chin and held steady. A quiet, defiant answer without saying a single word.

Tommy looked away before the fire in his chest could show on his face. She wasn’t the girl he stole anymore. Every day, she grew stronger. Just like Rory had.

John muttered, “Let him come. I’ll shoot the slick bastard myself.”

Tommy gave him a look. “That’s how they expect us to play this, bloody and loud.”

He looked at the woman beside him. “She’s the reason we're not rushing this. They see her as a weakness. My weakness.” He paused. “But they’re wrong.”

Polly looked to her, approving, something proud in her gaze.

Tommy continued. “We wait, and we prepare. We push out quiet rumors that the family’s divided. That we’re afraid. We give them rope.”

Arthur leaned forward. “And when Luca arrives?”

Tommy’s gaze sharpened. "We hang them with it.”

Silence followed but it didn't last long.

“I want back in.” All eyes turned to Rory. His voice was steady despite the fact that it was obvious that he wasn't fully recovered. “I can handle it.”

Tommy stared at his brother-in-law for a long moment, then said flatly, “You’re already in.”

Rory hadn't expected that answer.

“You’re here,” Tommy went on. “In this room, trusted and needed. You’re protecting our family, Rory. What more important task could I give you?”

There was something in his tone, not patronizing, but pointed. Final. But Rory didn’t push again, giving a sharp nod and sitting back, visibly biting back his frustration.

She saw that look on her brother, like she understood something he didn't know.

“Irene should to stay here until this is over,” his wife said, her voice clear. “The Changrettas will just use her against us if they can get their hands on her.”

Tommy looked at her, then looked back at Rory. While his wife wasn't wrong, he quickly picked up on the other need that decision would address.

“Done,” he said, nodding to Arthur. “Bring her in tonight.”

Arthur gave a short nod, already moving to make it happen.

Tommy caught the quick exhale from Rory. He sat up straighter, his fingers finally relaxing on the arm of the chair. It was about more than duty or strategy. Tommy saw it clear as day. The lad was gone for Irene. For his sake, Tommy sincerely hoped the girl was gone for him too.

And with that, the meeting closed with quiet unity.

War was on the horizon.

You stretched your arms behind your back, working out the stiffness from hours spent hunched over linen seams and tiny buttons. Your mother and Irene were still at the table, laughing over something quietly as they worked, and for a fleeting second, things felt almost normal. Almost peaceful.

Your hand drifted to your middle as your son gave a soft nudge beneath your ribs like he knew it was time. The garden.

It had become your one small slice of calm, twenty minutes a day, no more, always supervised. You were lucky to get it at all. Guards shifted their rotations to cover your path. Polly had insisted on it, and Tommy hadn’t argued.

It wasn’t just about fresh air and your well-being. You needed this. It was the only moment of the day that still felt like yours. No whispers, no gunfire. No locked doors or cautious glances. Just earth, sky, and space to breathe. You nodded to your mother, and stepped outside.

The air was warm, edged with the heat of summer. You loved this space. Out here, among trimmed hedges and winding vines, you could pretend, for just a heartbeat, that your life hadn’t been swallowed whole by violence. That your son might be born into something softer and kinder.

But you weren’t naïve. You knew the truth now about what kind of world this was. What kind of family you’d married into. But you refused to let fear define even a single minute more of your time.

So you began your walk, coming to a stop when you spotted the man standing just beyond the arbor. He wasn't a guard, nor staff. You'd never seen the stranger before.

He was motionless as he stood watching you. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets like he'd been waiting for you. The man's suit, the elegant fedora on his head, was expensive. Too expensive. His eyes were dark and curious beneath a low brow. The crucifix inked on his neck stood out against the white of his collar.

Your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew who he was. A physical resemblance to Angel was there in the set of his mouth. The posture was similar. But this man's gaze held more calculation than heat.

Luca Changretta.

Every instinct you had told you to run. But what good would it do? You couldn't outrun him and the guards couldn't afford to fire at him, not with you standing there.

Straightening your spine, you kept walking in his direction. Your movements were slow and deliberate.

Don’t be the damsel in distress he expects. Be strong.

You stopped just a few feet away from him, where you could hear the fountain trickle behind you. Where you could still see the guards in the distance, though they hadn’t noticed him yet.

Your hand moved to cover your tummy, your son. That's when he smiled. He eyed you like he’d just spotted a myth come to life.

And then, softly, almost warmly, he said, “Mrs. Shelby.”

Tommy sat behind his desk in the study with his sleeves rolled up, his shirt open at the collar. The rattle still sat in the drawer beneath his hand. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to put it away yet.

He’s received warnings before, lost men. He’d been shot, betrayed, and nearly broken. But he’s survived all of it.

The rattle? That was different. It hasn't been aimed at him. No, it was about her and his son. It was a threat to what he valued most. Keeping that message in the drawer wasn’t just morbid symbolism, it was strategic. Every time he opened that drawer, he saw it. Every time he sat down to think, to plan, to counterstrike, he was reminded of exactly what’s at stake.

The day had been too quiet. His pen scratched once across the ledger before the door burst open without warning.

“Tommy.”

It was Mary, breathless and alarmed, clutching the edge of her apron.

Tommy stood immediately. “What is it?”

Her eyes were wide, panicked. “Rory said he’s in the garden. With her.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. But her tone registered. And the chill that shot down Tommy’s spine told him what she couldn’t say fast enough. He was already moving.

“Where’s Rory?” he asked, grabbing the revolver from his drawer, jamming it into the holster at his back.

“He went back out there,” Mary told him. “He sent me to find you, said to tell you it’s him."

Tommy’s blood turned cold. Jesus Christ.

"Keep everyone else in the house," he bid her, storming past her, down the hallway and toward the rear of the house. Every step felt like thunder cracking through his ribs. The last time someone slipped past his perimeter, there’d been blood on her blue dress.

He was grateful for Rory. The lad had quick eyes, thought fast on his feet. He hadn’t gone in guns blazing or shouted for backup like a reckless man trying to prove something. He’d seen the threat and tipped off the guards quietly, because he knew exactly what was at stake.

It was moments like this that reminded Tommy why Rory belonged with them as a Blinder.

And now, he would handle the rest.

Luca Changretta stood just beneath the arbor, half-shadowed by curling vines and gold-dusted leaves. His expression was pleasant, curious, even.

“Mrs. Shelby,” he said=. His accent was smoother than Angel’s had been. He sounded more American, less Italian. “You’re even more beautiful than they said. Like Helen of Troy.”

You took a deep, steadying breath. Otherwise, you fought to keep from reacting to anything he said.

“The face that launched a thousand deaths,” he added with quiet admiration. “I see now. I understand.”

You lifted your chin. “We got your message a few days ago. The rattle.”

Luca’s smile faded. He gave a slow shake of his head. “Oh, that wasn’t from me. That was my father.”

Was that supposed to make it better? You said nothing, letting the silence draw it out.

“He’s old school,” Luca added. “He likes symbols. Drama. It makes him feel in control.”

You sighed, taking a step back. “Drama, yes... Like the exploding flowers that were delivered to me.”

Luca said nothing.

“He also sent a man to my wedding," you continued. "My brother was shot in front of me.”

Some emotion flashed in Luca's eyes, a breath of recognition. Maybe even disappointment.

“My apologies,” he said finally. “But, I’m not my father.”

“No,” you said. “I think you’re worse.”

His smile returned, like he found you more interesting than he'd expected.

"And you, as I understand it, shot my father's man yourself," Luca said, his gaze locking with yours. “That’s the part I liked most in the story. The bride holding the gun. The assassin dead at your feet. The women in my family are brave too, but... You, Mrs. Shelby, you didn’t hesitate.”

Your heart pounded, but you didn’t back away.

Luca glanced toward your belly. “Most women, standing where you are now, would be crying or begging. But not you,” he said again, almost reverent. He blew out a sigh. “I’ve been wondering. How exactly did a girl like you end up here at the center of all this violence? I've heard stories.”

Luca stepped closer. You didn’t move.

“Is it true what they say?” he asked. “That Tommy Shelby got you in a coin toss? That he just picked the most beautiful flower out of this coal-dusted garden for himself?”

Your fingers flexed over your tummy. How quickly his charm had given way to mental games. You focused on staying calm. The longer you talked, the better your chances of someone coming to help you.

“Did you agree to marry him?” His voice dipped, each word silk and venom. “Was it love? Or did he just load a baby into you and call that a wedding?”

Now, he was baiting you, but you weren't going to give him the reaction he wanted.

You looked him in the eye. “I chose to marry him.” Your kept your voice even. “I chose him knowing exactly who he was.”

Luca’s smile twitched at the edge, but he said nothing.

“I love him,” you said. "Isn't that what you want to hear? Does that add to your enjoyment?"

His smile returned.

“I’ve been through quite a bit because of the differences between our two families,” you said. “But none of that scared me as much as the idea that something might happen to the people I love. But you know that. That's why you're saying these things.”

He held your gaze. You didn't think the man had even blinked.

“I know what you've come here to do," you told him. "But whoever you think I am, Mr. Changretta, know this. I won’t let you use me to hurt him.”

Luca’s eyes stayed on you for a long moment. His smile faded and he looked almost sorrowful.

“I believe you,” he said. The quiet honesty of his tone made your stomach turn. "I believe you love him. And I believe you’d do anything to protect that child.”

He blew out an exhale. A breeze rustled through the arbor. Still, you didn’t move.

“That’s what makes this so hard. I am going to hurt the people you love, Mrs. Shelby,” he said softly, like he was offering condolences. “That’s what a vendetta is. It’s not about business or deals. It’s blood for blood. And where I’m from, it doesn’t end until every name is crossed out.” He let that hang over you. “Including yours."

You tried to force a laugh but it came out more like a scoff.

"You're going to kill me because your brother wanted a woman who wasn't his?" You hated the sincerity in your voice as you asked that question.

Luca’s smile didn’t move, but his eyes darkened slightly. “He's still my brother.”

“Your brother didn’t get his way," you went on. "Not with Lizzie, and not with me.”

His silence felt heavy. Almost respectful.

“And for that,” you went on, “your father sent a man to my wedding. To kill my husband. To kill me and my baby too? Does that seem reasonable to you?"

“Reason,” Luca said quietly, “has nothing to do with it. This isn’t about fairness. It’s about blood. About pride.” His dark-eyed gaze moved over you. “My father saw your husband take something he believed belonged to us. He sent a message.” Another step. His voice dipped lower. “And when Angel died… you became the reason. But you… you make it harder than it should be.”

The admiration in his voice, in his gaze stopped you for a moment. “So it doesn't matter what he did.”

He gave a slow nod. “That’s the difference between us, Mrs. Shelby,” he said. “You think this is about right and wrong. About what a man deserves. I think it’s about family. And I won’t stop until every last one of yours is buried.”

You felt your baby move under your hand, and you were grateful in that moment for that reminder of what was important.

Luca looked at you like he was seeing something tragic while you were still reeling from the threat of his words. “A shame,” he murmured. “Really.”

You just listened, hoping he didn't notice you'd started shaking.

“You know, I understand now,” Luca went on. “How a man like Tommy Shelby fell under your spell. Why Angel wanted you as much as he did. You're more than a pretty face. In another life…” His gaze drifted lower, lingered too long. "I would’ve torn the world apart for a woman like you.”

Your skin prickled, and you stepped back instinctively. That small shift, that unspoken refusal, made his eyes darken.

Luca moved, slowly. Enough to tell you what he might do next. His hand halfway raised, his head slightly tilted as he leaned in.

Was he trying to kiss you?

“I wouldn’t." Tommy's voice was low, deadly.

Luca didn't seem surprised.

Your heart stuttered, then surged with sudden relief as Tommy stepped from the shadows. You body reacted, feet pounding the stone path. You ran straight for him. He caught you without hesitation, arms locking around you like steel and warmth all at once.

Behind you, Luca hadn’t moved.

But Tommy’s hold was all tension now, alive with rage barely leashed beneath his calm. You looked up at him, and he gave you a subtle nod. I’ve got you.

He let go only long enough to ease you behind him.

She was safe. It was the only reason Luca Changretta was still breathing.

Tommy stared him down across the garden path, pulling his gun and drawing on the man.

Luca adjusted the cuffs of his coat, unmoved. “I had to see what all the fuss was about.”

Tommy didn’t answer.

Luca glanced toward her. Tommy’s hand tightened around the weapon in his hand.

“She’s… remarkable,” Luca said. “You do have an eye for beautiful things, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy’s voice came low and flat. “Your business is with me.”

A beat passed. The wind rustled the hedges like an exhale.

“I think it’s time we spoke properly,” Luca said.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

“Someplace neutral,” Luca continued. “You and me. No wives. No brothers. No guns.” His smile returned, slow and venomous. “Not until after we talk.”

Tommy didn’t move. “Name the place.”

Luca reached into his coat slowly, pulling out a card. He handed it to one of the guards who emerged nearby, never taking his eyes off Tommy.

“Noon. Tomorrow.”

Tommy didn’t take his eyes off Luca until he was gone.

Only then did he turn around. She was still standing exactly where he’d left her. Tommy couldn’t kill him there and the bastard knew it. She'd been standing there. One misstep, one snap of his fingers, and garden would’ve become a war zone, with her and his child caught in the middle.

Fury still boiled under his skin. The bastard had been about to touch her.

But pride crept in too, stronger than his rage. Tommy had watched her handle herself with Luca Changretta, a man who made most gangsters sweat just by walking into a room. Her voice hadn’t wavered. His wife hadn’t just survived that conversation. She defied it. And now, she stood there, guarded but not broken.

Tommy pulled her into his arms, felt her entire body trembling against him. He pressed a kiss into her hair, trying to calm himself as much as he was trying to calm her.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Rory stepped into the path ahead, blocking their way back to the house. Her brother's eyes lit up in anger as he held up the card Changretta handed him. Tommy recognized his-brother-in-law's restraint, and it was hanging by a thread.

Four guards flanked him, looking uncertain and waiting for a signal.

Rory’s gaze dropped to his sister. “Are you alright?” Tommy didn’t miss the way his hand curled into a fist at his side.

She looked at her brother and gave a single nod. Only then did Rory step back, clearing the path. Tommy guided her forward.

“Come on,” he said again, lower this time. “Let’s get you inside.”

On the inside, Tommy was burning. He’d heard every word, every threat and every truth. And he couldn’t shake Luca Changretta's words to his wife.

In another life... I would’ve torn the world apart for a woman like you.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, his grip on her tightening just slightly as he led her into the house.

No. Not in another life. Not in any life. She wasn’t Luca Changretta’s fantasy. She was his world. Tommy didn’t need another life to tear the world apart for her.

He was already doing it.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless @wantedby-larry @mariaenchanted @moonbeamott @thetamtam9 @ayeeeitsmiracle @atlas-of-a-human-soul

#The Arrangement #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Arthur Shelby #Polly Gray #Ada Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby smut #Cillian Murphy

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brightdrawings · 3 years ago

Text

Krakens are Hard to Hear Underwater

This is my follow up for my previous entry for @stanuary after seeing a comment on my 3D work by @eregyrn-falls so i hope you guys enjoy it, because I enjoyed writing this. A big thank you to @bluestuffeh for beta reading this for me!

(also on ao3!)

The ocean was quiet, the water was placid. The waves hardly rocked a small row boat that sat alone in the middle of the clear water. It’s bright white paint job made it stand out easily amongst the bright blue of the water around it. It oars stood in their holders, untouched for multiple hours. A fishing rod lay in the boat, it’s hook still in the water, the red and white bobber riding the gentle waves as they came and went. A pair of tan fishing hats, with names lovingly stitched into them lay unworn in the boat.

Had it not been for the hats, anyone passing by would assume that the boat had been abandoned or was lost. However, the truth, as it often is, was much stranger than fiction. No matter how obvious that fiction ended up being.

Several thousand feet below the calm surface, an epic battle was taking place between two old men and a rather vicious kraken. It had many long dark and thick tentacles that swung through the water with little difficulty. It had eyes the size of wrecking balls, its mantle was as tall as an aerial tower; and the beak that lay between its many highway-length tentacles was the size of the very rowboat that floated so far above it.

Comparatively, the old men that were desperately fighting against it were no larger than the typical human. Perhaps a little rounder in some areas than most. However, in their current situations, Stanley and Stanford Pines felt like ants that had wandered into a pesticide enthusiast’s picnic.

The pair of old men wore underwater breathing masks, as they had somehow found the normally rare occurrence of sea monster attacks to be surprisingly common. However this statistic might have been influenced by Stanford’s life long desire to head towards any sea creature, monster or otherwise, that made a blip on his anomaly radar.

If Stanley had the breath, he would currently be threatening to smack some sense into his twin. Unfortunately, he was currently holding on for dear life to one of the savage beast’s tentacles as it waved around angrily, trying to squish him as though he were the world’s smuggest fly. Seeing that the tentacle was headed towards some jagged rocks, Stanley released his hold, letting the tentacle launch him several feet in the water.

Stanley quickly swam towards his brother, who had taken refuge in a nearby cave. He was busy fiddling away with a pistol. The many brightly coloured discs and parts to the weapon made Stanley think his twin had finally lost his marbles and was playing with a children’s toy. There were a couple of sparks as Stanford pulled at multiple wires and to Stanley’s surprise soldered some control panels together. Despite traveling together on the seas for multiple years, Stanley was still finding many different tricks that Stanford had picked up from his travels in the multiverse.

The ground, or rather the cave around them, began to rumble as many tentacles began to slam against the rock face. Despite the limited visibility provided by an underwater cave, Stanley was able to spot multiple cracks appearing on the ceiling above them. He grabbed his brother and kicked off against the ground. Stanford wriggled against his hold, but Stanley tightened his grasp, swimming his way out of the cave just as the roof began to collapse. Seeing how close to being crushed he was, Stanford stopped fighting his brother’s hold and helped him swim the pair of them to relative safety.

Stanford worked quickly, poking multiple parts of his pistol with the soldering iron. Sending small sparks in the water. Stanley tried his best to weave through the tentacles as he dragged Stanford to safety. He silently prayed that the monster would not notice him swimming out of the cave. A tentacle slammed behind him, narrowly missing Stanford. Another slammed right in front of Stanley, trapping the pair in place. “If you have a gizmo to save us now would be the time!” Stanley said. Unfortunately, due to his mask his twin could not hear him.

With a finishing jab Stanford cocked his space gun and pointed it at the rock wall beside them and pulled the trigger. Instantly the pair were rocketed away from the wall and out of the creature’s clutches. Just in time as the cave seemed to completely collapse from the wrath of the monster’s tentacles. Stanley felt his clothes pulling back from their weight as he was rocketed forward. Soon they were in the open sea and safe from the creature, for now.

Looking down Stanley could see that his brother had propelled them a good hundred or so feet above the creature. Stanley finally released his grasp on his twin, who wore a smug grin. Stanley rolled his eyes as Stanford threw him the pistol. He raised his eyebrow, looking between the pistol and his brother.

Stanford tugged on his gloves, lighting up the six fingertips on them. He then punched the palm of his hand before pointing at his own eyes and then the creature. As the realization dawned upon Stanley, a wicked smile spread across his wrinkled cheeks. Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he quickly equipped his left hand with his trusted knuckle dusters.

Nodding towards one another, the twins swam apart. Stanley used the pistol to propel himself through the water, weaving between the monster’s tentacles. Meanwhile Stanford stealthy swam towards the monster’s mantle, his gloves glowing with a faint cyan light. He watched his brother avoid the tentacles like a fly avoiding the hands of a family trying to enjoy their picnic. He could only imagine how happy his brother was to be in his element, being as annoying as possible.

The moment Stanford saw that Stanley was in a good position, he clasped both gloved hands into the beast’s mantle, shocking it’s soft body. Seeing how the tentacles had grown slack, Stanley took his chance and turned the pistol behind him and rocketed towards the Monster’s eye, his fist outstretched like the nose of the world’s smuggest rocket.

Stanley was inches from the monster’s giant yellow eye, he could feel the thrum of the pistol in his hand as he grew closer. ‘Any second now and you’ll be sorry you ever messed with the Pines’ he thought. But the eye did not grow any closer. It took a moment but Stanley felt something wrap tightly around his waist and drag him away. He blinked and beside him was his brother, also wrapped in a thick tentacle.

The creature let out a scream from its beak that shook the ground beneath it. Stanley could feel it’s cry in his bones. It pulled them towards its beak. Thinking back, he did not expect himself to meet his end in the beak of some oversized sea creature. But if he was going down he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He struggled against the tentacle that bound him. He could see his brother doing the same, struggling to release his hands to shock the beast once more. But it was all pointless as it tightened its grip on the twins. Closing his eyes Stanley braced for the worst.

“Bruno. Stop this at once!” Commanded a voice with a heavy spanish accent.

The twins, realizing that they were not in fact torn to pieces by a monster’s giant beak; opened their eyes and slowly turned towards the origin of the voice.

They were met with the sight of a young Merman. He looked no older than the 16 year old great niblings that were waiting for the old men to return home. He had long flowing hair that reached past his waist and flowed behind him like a dark brown cape. His tail shimmered a bright green like the emerald sea; and he wore a red shell on a string around his neck. A gold crown sat upon his head.

He swam down past the twins and looked the monster in the eye.

“El hecho de que estés molesto no te da derecho a lastimar a extraños. Eso es muy grosero de tu parte.” He said quickly. He shook his head in disappointment.

The merman pointed at Stanley and Stanford. “Suéltalos Bruno, ya has causado suficientes problemas.”

The monster gave a sad squeak.

“I will not repeat myself.” The merman crossed his arms.

The monster released the men and turned away, tucking its tentacles beneath itself. It looked like it was sulking.

The merman swam over to the two men. He reached for his necklace with one hand, and opened his other, pointing his palm at the twins. He muttered quietly before a pair of bubbles wrapped around Stanley and Stanford’s heads. Their breathing masks beeped, indicating the presence of oxygen gas. Gazing carefully at the merman, Stanford reached into his bubble and removed his mask. Breathing freely for the first time in multiple hours.

Stanley followed suit, enjoying the ability to breath without the uncomfortable mask covering his nose. He turned to face his savior with a suspicious eye.

“Greetings humans, my name is Mermando.” The merman gave a small bow. “The Prince of the merpeople.”

“Stan Pines.” Stanley said.

“Stanford Pines.” Stanford added.

“Pines? You would not be related to that angel who walks on land Mabel Pines would you?” Mermando asked, a spark of joy entering his eyes.

“Yes, she’s our niece.” Stanford nodded.

Mermando turned back to the monster and gave it a disappointed look. “To think my beloved Mabel’s family almost met such a terrible fate.” Mermando clasped his hands together. “Please, accept my most humble apologies.”

“No need for apologies” Stanford waved a hand.

“What exactly was that ‘terrible fate’.” Stan pointed his chin towards the monster that was still sulking.

“That is Bruno, he is the pet of my manatee princess bride. However he has a habit of escaping whenever he is bored. Which, unfortunately, due to our many duties as royalty is very often.” Mermando said, hanging his head.

“All of that was playing?” Stanley asked in disbelief. “He kidnapped us from our boat and almost crushed us!”

“Yes, my bride’s family have been known to partake in rough play.” Memrando said.

“Well, since all of that’s out of the way, can we get back to the surface? I was trying to catch some dinner before Mr. Tall, ugly and grabby dragged us down.” Stanley pointed his thumb at Bruno, who sulked more at each word.

“Stanley, wait, I want to find out more about-” Stanford was interrupted by Mermando taking a firm hold of each twin’s wrists, before swimming towards the ocean surface.

There was a sense of urgency in his tail’s fast movements. The dark ocean water around them slowly began to lighten as the trio neared the higher areas of the sea where the sun’s light could reach. The light grew lighter still, however visibility was not the only lightness forming around them, as the water pressure around them began to lessen, the bubbles on Stanley and Stanford’s heads began to expand. As the bottom of their boat grew into view, both bubbles burst, leaving both twins vulnerable to the cold water as it rushed into the empty space that once protected their heads.

Luckily, before they could drown, Mermando breached the water’s surface, jumping over the boat. He released the older men, letting them fall into the boat. He landed not far, and quickly swam over, fear washing over his face as he stared at the unmoving bodies of Stanley and Stanford. His frown of fear quickly turned into a sigh of relief when both men started to cough up the water that had gone up their noses when their bubble helmets burst.

“Thank Goodness, you are not harmed.” Mermando said.

“That's a matter of perspective.” Stanford said upside down. He had been unlucky enough to fall on his head.

“Speak for yourself,” Stanley said. He stood up and knocked out some water from his ear. “Gonna be hearing bubbles for a month.”

“I’ll make sure that Bruno is properly disciplined for his misbehavior,” Mermando promised.

“Since we have you here, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about Bruno?” Stanford said, withdrawing a notebook from his coat-pocket.

“Unfortunately, I am urgently needed back home. I cannot talk about Bruno.” Memrnado said.

“May I ask one question then? Why did he attack our little rowboat?” Stanford asked.

“Oh! That is simple. It looks like one of the toy boats he plays with.”

“Oh.” Stanford took note.

Bubbles erupted from the water next to Mermando. Both twins jumped back, rocking their boat in the process.

Memrando ducked his head under the water. Stanley and Stanford could faintly hear him yell “Silencio Bruno!”

Mermando resurfaced and hung his head. “It is sad that I must part with you two so soon, however, now that I know of you, it shall be easier to send letters to my dearest Mabel. Farewell.”

The pair watched as Mermando waved them goodbye before delving into the depths of the ocean. There was a beat as both twins enjoyed the cool air, the calm of the waves felt refreshing after the exhilaration of what they both just endured. It was several minutes before Stanley noticed the sun starting its slow descent over the horizon that he began to swear like the sailor he was.

“What’s the matter?” Stanford asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Look around Sixer, do you notice something missing?” Stanley waved his arms.

“There’s nothing around but open oc…ean.” Stanford said slowly. “We’re lost.”

“That stupid Bruno pulled us away from our ship! Now who knows how long we’ve got to row to get back.” Stanley stamped his foot.

“Not to worry. I put a tracking device into the ship for such an occasion.” Stanford fiddled with his watch.

“And how did this dingy keep up with us anyway?” Stanley asked.

“I input a small motor that would have it follow us if we left the boat for any reason. That way it would always be nearby in case of an emergency.” Stanford said. His chest puffing out with pride about his invention.

“Right, so how far are we?”

Stanford’s watch beeped. “5 miles.”

“Ugh, the least that prince could do was give us a ride.”

“Come on,” Stanford reached for an oar. “We have a long row ahead of us.”

“If we ever see that prince or Bruno I’m giving them a piece of my mind.” Stanley said. “I'll turn that oversized squid into calamari.”

Stanford hummed. “If we get back quickly, we might be able to sail to shore and find ourselves a seafood place.”

“After today we deserve it.” Stanley groaned, reaching for the other oar.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #Mermando #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #stan pines #stanuary #Fic #gravity falls fanfiction #Ford Pines #Encanto references #Luca refernce #My writing

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