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[loverhymeswith]

hello🙈 i’ve been thinking about a mini story based on “exile” by taylor swift with one tommy shelby… former lovers. shelby sees her at a party with a new beau and gets jealous (“i can see you starin honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me”) it’s a back and forth dialogue type song IDK i think it would be slay

Exile

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: A familiar figure stirs up feelings you'd rather not face

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mention of drugs.

A/N: Thank you Anon! I love this song and it fits Tommy SO well. Also, I wrote this on a beach. No idea how the setting ended up being NYE. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta read and the ending ❤️

I've added my existing taglist but please note this is not part of the Let’s Be Alone Together universe.

Him

It's fast approaching midnight at The Savoy Hotel. The dawning of the new year is almost within reach. Tommy Shelby drains his glass of champagne, wishing for whiskey instead as he slowly scans the room.

Tickets for the party tonight had been akin to gold dust, a chance to rub shoulders with the upper echelons of London's elite. But Tommy would rather be anywhere else in the world. 

Preferably, Birmingham.

He'd take a bottle of homemade gin, tucked away in the quiet familiarity of Charlie's yard in a heartbeat over this stuffy champagne-fueled ballroom. But no one ever said success was easy.

Tommy had come here tonight for one reason and one reason alone. If his plans to move into the world of politics had any chance of coming to fruition, he would need to mingle with the privileged crowd. To learn their weakness. Their darkest secrets. To take advantage of the liquor loosening their lips.

He's managed to withstand maybe a handful of hours at best before growing tired of all the posturing and arrogance, the not-so-subtle self-aggrandising and the congratulatory back slaps.

Looking for a way out but willing to settle for a distraction, his gaze continues to drift along the sea of tuxedos and expensive dresses.

Unexpectedly, he falters.

These days, it takes a lot to catch Tommy Shelby off guard - between France and his more recent ventures, it would be fair to assume he had developed nerves of steel - but off guard is exactly how he feels when his attention lands on the beautiful woman standing by the bar.

He'd recognise her anywhere. Sometimes, he thinks he searches for her in his dreams. 

Tommy feels the muscles in his jaw clench before he's able to compose himself. A foolish sign of weakness that he can’t afford to display. Not here. 

But it's difficult. A test of his usually unwavering resolve. Because she's not alone. 

There's a man. Younger than Tommy; tall, dark-haired, and slim, the old-money practically oozing off him. Any closer and Tommy would be able to smell it.

Tommy grabs another glass of too-sweet champagne from a passing waiter. Something to occupy his hands, and just in time. Old-Money's arms are wrapped around the woman's body, a possessive gesture and one he recognises well.

Once upon a time, she spent her nights in Tommy’s arms.

Five whole years might have passed - evidently long enough for her tastes to change - but it feels more like five minutes since she walked out of Small Heath and out of his life, a hastily scrawled note declaring she'd had enough.

Three simple sentences. One for each year they had been together. At the time, Tommy had replayed the words over and over until they no longer held any meaning, but liquor and bloodshed had long since turned those memories to slush.

It all boiled down to his plans for the future. Her fear of the potential enemies and danger which those plans might beget.

Whoever said that love would conquer all?

Tommy doesn't taste the sparkling wine as he tips the glass back, draining it in one mouthful. 

The champagne just won't do. He needs something stronger to take the edge off, but his path to the bar is blocked.

Biding his time, Tommy watches the couple. In fact, despite the sourness growing in the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to look away.

Old-Money leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispers something that even Tommy’s lip-reading skills cannot decipher. 

What is plain to see, however, is her lack of amusement. She tenses, discomfort evident in the clench of her jaw and the tightness of her shoulders. Her laughter, when it comes, is forced, never reaching her eyes.

A lightning bolt of unfiltered rage burns through Tommy’s veins, dulling his remaining senses like Arthur’s cocaine, but he quickly tempers it down. It’s not his problem. She's not his problem. 

She's not his to defend.

Not anymore.

Her

It's almost midnight. Ever since your arrival at The Savoy, your attention has been drifting to the clock on the wall. Waiting for the bells to chime and free you from this misery.

The party had been his idea, your date for the evening clearly operating under the assumption that money makes a man more attractive. An assumption which couldn't be further removed from the truth.

Though The Savoy might be the hottest ticket in town, everything about tonight makes you miss Birmingham - Small Heath, to be precise. New Year's Eve at The Garrison. The excitement. The unpredictability. 

The Peaky Blinders.

Your stomach involuntarily flips at the intrusive thought. You've come too far now to be thinking about the Shelby brothers. All memories pertaining to your former life belong firmly in the past.

Ignoring another pompous comment from your date, you glance up from your drink, desperate for an escape. Perhaps you can slip away in time to avoid the awkward but obligatory midnight kiss.

That's when you see him. 

A ghost - a demon - from your past, seemingly conjured into existence by the power of your thoughts alone.

The very same piercing blue eyes that have long haunted your dreams now stare you down, unblinking, from across the room. His full lips are drawn into a hard line.

Thomas Shelby.

Despite your brain knowing far better, your traitorous heart still flutters.

He looks good. Too good. 

Unfairly good.

The expensive dark suit is sinfully cut to his powerful body and his once-severe haircut has been allowed to somewhat grow out. 

Clearly, he's come a long way since the days of bruised and bloody knuckles. In the presence of polite society, he looks like he belongs.

The last five years may have been kind to your former fiancé, but with a start, the realisation dawns that the same can't be said of you.

Because five years later you still haven't recovered from the incurable affliction of loving Tommy Shelby.

Despite what some might say, you hadn't walked into the relationship blind. You'd known the head of the Shelby family for long enough to accept that a life together would be full of surprises, and not all of them good. But for love, you'd given him half a dozen chances.

Honesty. 

That's all you'd ever wanted. To be treated as his equal. His partner. To not be kept in the dark about decisions which could potentially put you both in harm's way.

Yet still he'd schemed and plotted. Twisted and manipulated. Deceived. He had told you it wasn't lying. That for your own safety, he was simply withholding the truth. As if that somehow made it ok.

Inevitably, after three years together, your patience reached its limit. Making good on a promise to yourself, you'd left, starting a new life for yourself in the capital, far away from the demons of Watery Lane. 

But you'd been foolish to believe that any amount of miles could repair the damage done to your heart. Arguably, damage of your own making.

His name has followed you like an ever-present shadow. His handsome picture staring back at you from newspaper articles. Even in black and white, those beautiful eyes just added insult to injury.

And now he's here in the flesh.

Tommy's stare is unwavering, but he makes no move to come over. Still, it's only a matter of time before he seeks you out. After your cowardly way of leaving, it's easy to imagine he has some choice words for you, but you’re not ready to speak to him. Not here, where manners and decorum are all the rage.

Willing yourself to break eye contact, you notice a side door to your left. Relief washes over you. Freedom or at least a small reprieve. Anything is preferable to this form of slow torture.

Him

Tommy watches her leave - a recurring theme, it would seem - her hurried exit presumably on account of his unexpected presence here tonight. She definitely spotted him amidst the crowd and she did not look pleased.

He should let her go. She's not his problem. She's in his past.

Isn't she?

A minute passes before, not entirely of his own accord, Tommy finds himself following in her footsteps. He's always been inexplicably drawn to her. Apparently, even heartbreak isn't enough to change that.

When he finds her in the lobby, her back is turned but she whips around as he murmurs her name.

"Tommy."

The earlier surprise he saw flash across her delicate features has been replaced by a  carefully rehearsed indifference. One he recognises all too well. 

She's at pains to pretend his presence isn't affecting her. A feeling to which he can certainly relate.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight," she adds when he doesn't immediately respond. "I didn't think this kind of thing was your scene."

He doesn't miss the accusation in her tone. 

What she really means is why are you here?

Slowly, Tommy inclines his head, lest she notice the falter in his gaze. Impossibly, she's even more beautiful than he remembers. It's surely a cruel twist of fate that brings her here tonight. Just when things were looking up for him. Just when he thought he'd put the past to rest.

"Likewise," he agrees. 

"Business or pleasure?" She wonders aloud before scanning the lobby, keenly on the lookout for another escape route.

The words, driven by a lingering hurt, fly from his lips before he can check himself, his attention not so subtly shifting to the blonde woman entering the lobby. "There's no reason it can't be both."

Her

Of course, he followed you. It's a problem you could really do without. You're walking a thin line just by talking to him. Experience tells you there's only two ways this will play out. 

Wondering whether there's any possibility of getting away unscathed, you offer him a polite smile and gesture towards the blonde woman now loitering in the corner. "Well, I'll leave you to your… pleasure."

He studies you carefully, his sharp features set into a cool mask of apathy, but you recognise the hurt hidden behind his icy eyes. 

The hurt which you caused.

"I'd tell you the same, except I doubt your friend knows how to pleasure a woman. You looked miserable back there." 

Despite the sentiment, there's no trace of concern in his cruel words.

"My choice of date for the evening isn't up for debate, Thomas," you tell him curtly, despite silently agreeing with his observation.

"Nothing ever is with you, is it?" he muses, his lips slightly pursing.

And there it is. 

Clearly, he's not going to let you get away until he has aired his grievances. 

Perhaps you owe him that courtesy at the very least.

Dropping your own mask of indifference, you take a step towards him and take his warm hand. To your surprise, he doesn't resist.

"I had to leave, Tommy. You were never going to turn things around. You were never going to change. But for what it's worth, I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I should have been better. I should have been braver."

Tommy shakes his head, keeping his tightly guarded emotions at bay. "You left without warning. You never even heard me out."

"Without warning? God, Tommy. How can you stand there and say that? How could you possibly have missed it? I left you so many signs."

Tommy looks away, his eyes rapidly searching for something just out of sight. The only indication he's feeling anything at all. "I guess I never learnt to read your mind."

"You never learnt to listen," you fire back. "Or communicate at all for that matter. Would it have killed you to be honest with me? To tell me what you had planned?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "I was trying to keep you safe."

The realisation that he's never going to change his tune stings more than it should. You drop his hand. "I wish I could believe that." 

The truth, in your eyes, is that he never trusted you. He's never trusted anyone. How could you be expected to give your heart over to a man who would never let you into his own?

There's a beat of silence. Enough time for you to regret letting this conversation play out for so long. Nothing good can come from digging up the past. You should go your separate ways before any further irreparable damage is done.

"Was it worth it?" Tommy asks finally, a bite of frustration slipping through his calm facade. "Leaving everything behind for this?" He gestures around. "Are you happier now?"

"Yes," you lie, but your resolve is rapidly weakening under the intensity of his blue gaze.

The door to the ballroom swings open and a small gathering of revellers spills into the lobby, saving you from admitting the very thing you've been afraid of. 

That leaving Birmingham had been a mistake. 

Tommy reaches for your arm, tugging you away from the crowd and into a recess by the cloakroom. As a result, the two of you have infinitely closed the distance.

His chest, broad and still so inviting, is now inches from your own; his calloused hand is still wrapped firmly around your wrist, his thumb pressed against your pulse point.

Can he feel how fast your heart races?

"For all your talk of honesty, you won't face the truth yourself, will you?" He sighs lightly, something like disappointment coating his words.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoff, feigning ignorance as a last resort.

Before he can respond, a loud cheer erupts from within the ballroom, saving you once again.

"That's midnight," you murmur just as Tommy glances down at his elegant gold pocket watch.

"Midnight," he agrees, his eyes flicking back up to your own. "Happy New Year."

You stare at him for a long moment, taking stock of his defining features. Long, dark eyelashes, the kind that would ordinarily be wasted on a man - but not Tommy; razor sharp cheekbones and a jawline to match. Crystalline blue eyes you could so easily drown in.

Almost imperceptibly, he shifts closer, large hands finding your waist with ease.

"Do you still believe in tradition?" He wonders, but it's a rhetorical question. You both know he doesn't need an answer.

Your last sensible thought before he leans in to kiss you: God damn Tommy Shelby and those ocean eyes.

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy

[outdoorcleaningservices]

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[yakodev4]

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Meta Description:

In need of an emergency plumber in Birmingham? Summit Plumbing & Heating has the experience and expertise to handle any plumbing issue promptly and efficiently. Contact us today for reliable service! Remember, when it comes to plumbing emergencies, time is of the essence. Trust the experts at Summit Plumbing & Heating to provide you with the top-notch service you deserve. Contact us now for all your plumbing needs in Birmingham and let us take care of the rest!

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[peakyimagines1919]

You Knew What You Were Getting Into

Chapter three- Fear Takes Over Sometimes

warning; derogatory language and usual ‘Peaky’ stuff

(GIFS not mine)

The drive was quiet with the odd stretch from the brakes. Your long skirt now suddenly seemed too short. Your ankles showing as you tried to tug at your clothing to cover them. The weather was miserable. The usual Birmingham fog making it somewhat hard to see.

Back at the Betting Shop, Arthur and John were sitting with Polly letting her know that you’d agreed to stay with Ada for a few days. Polly was ecstatic, she always was fond of you. You somehow grounded Tommy. He was cold and cruel and she truly believed you made him a better person. When he was with you, she saw a glimpse of who he was before the war. The fact he threw all that away for someone that worked for him was beyond her.

“Afternoon.”

Tommy strolled in looking worse for wear, but still somehow smart. Glasses on as he poured himself a whiskey. It was a staple in his diet of the best of times, but now? People hardly saw him with an empty glass.

“What are you lot talking about in here? Business?”

He took a large swig from his glass as he leant against the counter. The Shelby’s around the table stayed quiet.

“I thought as much.”

Tommy mumbled into his glass as he finished the contents, picking up his suit jacket, shrugging into it.

John was about to speak up until an unknown face stood by the entrance of the kitchen. A worried, young man, no older than seventeen, holding his flat cap tightly against his side as he heaved. It sounded like he’d been running a marathon. Ada followed after, making sure the Shelby’s didn’t think it was some imposter.

“This young lad saw Y/N get into the car of Billy Kimber.” 

Ada’s facial expression told them all they needed to know.

The teen stood forward, anyone would think he was about to be murdered in cold blood with how scared he looked.

“She didn’t want to. She was forced. Someone…”

He stood intimidated, trying to get his breath back,

“Someone was holding a gun on her.”

“Where?”

Anyone that was looking in Tommy’s direction would have seen the colour drain from him. It looked as though an unknown illness had taken over him instantly as he gripped hold of a kitchen chair for balance.

“Where.”

Tommy was losing his patience, his usual demeanour taking over. It was as though he could block all emotions with a click of his fingers.

“It took me half hour to run here Mr. Shelby. I saw your brothers there a couple hours before out of me bedroom window."

The poor boy choked out, still catching his breath. Tommy gave his brothers a glare as they all stood up.

Ada gave the boy a cup of water and sent him on his way with his pockets feeling a little heavier.

“She was at her house.”

Arthur spoke up.

“She was probably about to leave for Ada’s.”

Tommy knew everyone still spoke to Y/N. Even though she was ignoring him. Who could blame her? She was the love of his life and he was really kicking himself now. Not only had he betrayed her trust in the worst way possible as a husband, but he had also put his wife in danger by doing so. If anything was to happen to her. He would never forgive himself. * The warehouse was cold and damp. The harsh temperature clinging to your body as the men around you kept their beady eyes your way. The rope around your wrists and ankles cutting into your flesh every time you moved.

“Not much longer now.”

Billy Kimber was smug, he probably liked the fact you were trying not to shiver. You didn’t wasn’t to show weakness, but in the eyes of him, you were just another female, a lady of the night for all he cared. A silly girl in a skirt.

“He knows where to come. The question is.”

He cocked his gun and pointed it at you. Mocking you.

“Will he come? Or will he be screwing that pretty barmaid.”

He stepped around you keeping his gun close,

 “What’s her name? Is it… Grace?”

That made you wince. You’d rather the barrel of his gun in your mouth than be forced to think of Tommy fucking someone else.

“How did you find out? Did you catch them at it… on your bed? The bed you share with him?”

The torment and mockery off Billy Kimber was unhinged, he was enjoying this, he loved to see someone that loved Tommy as much as you did hurt.

“Shut the fuck up!”

He smirked,

“Hit a nerve did I princess? That’s no way to speak to a superior now is it? I think that deserves some punishment.”

 Before you even knew what was happening the handle of Billy’s gun collided with your cheek. Your teeth cutting through the flesh of your gums. Leaving you spiting blood. He was about to do the other side when a blood curdling, ‘stop’, echoed against the walls of the open warehouse.

Tommy stood alone, worry plastered over his face as your eyes locked with his, He looked bad, it was obvious he wasn’t sleeping, probably drinking far too much alcohol, but still Tommy. Your Tommy.

“You got what you wanted. I’m here. Let Y/N go.”

Tommy edged forward slowly, with both hands up, clearly unarmed. You had no idea what was happening or what he was doing, Tommy always had a plan. This time, it looked like he didn’t.

“Oh but I’m having so much fun taunting this pretty little lamb over here, you really do know how to keep the right company, I mean look at her. Innocent.”

Billy spoke about you, but didn’t let his eyes off Tommy, even though he was unarmed, be was obviously still aware of what he was capable of.

“You fucked me over. So now you have my undivided attention.”

He inched closer to you keeping the gun locked on you.

 “You fixed the race. You fucking Gypsy scum. I run the races. I’m Billy Kimber and I’m going to have your wife, or... ex wife?"

 he sniggered,

"Shot against a post.”

Fear flashed across Tommy's face, something you never saw. You squeezed your eyes closed praying that Tommy wouldn’t anger him more. You didn’t know the ins and outs of what Tommy got up to, but you did know that he angered a whole range of different people.

You were struggling to keep your breathing under control, one of the things Polly taught you to do was never panic in situations like these. It fuels the attacker and that’s something you didn’t want to do. You watched Tommy as he put his hand in his pocket, scared he was going to pull out a gun.

“Look at this,”

 He threw something small and shiny towards Billy as he picked it up from the floor. A bullet.

“That is my name. It’s from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees family, Mr. Kimber, am I right? They’re attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can’t control them. You need help.”

It was Tommy’s turn to inch forward as Billy listened to what he had to say, the grip on his gun against your head loosening a little.

“They’re saying the racetracks are easy meat,”

Tommy continued, 

“The police are busy with strikes. Now… we have connections. We know how they operate. Together we can beat them. Divided, maybe not.” 

Tommy pulled out a cigarette rubbing it against his lips before striking a match.

 “I admire you Mr. Kimber.”

He took a drag of his cigarette letting it sit deep in his lungs before exhaling. You knew what he was doing. He was feeding his ego, every man loved an ego boost, especially from someone like Thomas Shelby,

 “You started with nothing and built a legitimate business. It would be an honour to work with you, Mr. Kimber.”

Billy put his gun away and adjusted himself, shuffled his shoulders and stood proud,

 “Nobody works ‘with’ me. People work ‘for’ me.” 

He dropped the bullet in front of your feet as he walked off.

 “Pick it up, pikey. Get out of this warehouse and take your whore with you. I will be in touch.”

Tommy ran over to you before Billy had even left the warehouse, quickly picking up the bullet and untying you from the dirty chair being careful of your wrists and ankles, not wanting to cause anymore damage, your poor skin visibly torn,

“Y/N I’m so sorry.”

His clear blue eyes seemed genuine. You stayed quiet as Tommy lifted his hand to your cheek, stroking gently with his thumb, over the bruise that was already forming as you pulled away, your eyes glassed with tears.

“Let’s get you out of here and warmed up.”

He helped you off the chair and gave you his coat as he placed his hand on your lower back. You didn’t know what to say to him. He had hurt you more than ever, but you still felt so safe next to him. You wanted to cling to him for dear life, forgive him for everything he’d done, but you held off. You loved him so much, but you couldn’t help but think about him and Grace. Together. You gripped his coat that was around your person as you made your way outside, gathering yourself for the most uncomfortable family meeting yet.

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 5 of ?)

gif by my literal angel @michaelgreys who keeps blessing us like holy fuck

a/n: all i can say is that this is the hottest one yet. as always, my girl @stxdyblr-2k did an amazing job so i hope you all enjoy :) and i'm still working on requests, tysm for all of them!!

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland

prompt: john just can't help himself when he sees you with someone else.

warnings: nsfw!!! smut, fluff, angst, light praise kink, john fucking adores you and spends a good amount of time with his head between your legs (yes i know!!!!!)

John had spotted you from across the London nightclub, his table tucked into the balcony area, perfectly positioned to survey the entire club. It'd been over a month since he laid eyes on you last. Sometimes, he wondered if it was possible for you to only get more beautiful every time he saw you. He wasn't surprised, as he'd been warned of your presence by Tommy, but he was unable to stop himself from staring at you, hair neatly styled, scarlet velvet dress clinging to every curve, red lipstick emphasizing your lips, a light haze of pink pressed into your cheekbones, lash-line expertly darkened with kohl. You were dancing with one of Isaiah's friends; the young man was tall and muscular -- a blinder foot soldier, John concluded, draining his glass of whiskey, flagging the waiter down for another.

The young lad was smiling down at you. John took a swig from his drink bitterly, the man obviously head over heels, his eyes bright, excitedly glancing from your lips to your figure. John could feel himself cringe; the younger man had all the subtlety and strategy of a malnourished dog. Then again, who could blame the lad? You were an absolute vision, twirling and giggling, off your face on something Michael had brought. John couldn't help but watch, wishing it was him who had caught your attention tonight, wanting to feel your breath fan across his neck, pulling away while you giggled at his blushing arousal; him whisking you to dark corners to steal a moment of quiet.

He'd tried to get over you but he couldn't. He'd been travelling a lot lately, business in Liverpool, Edinburgh and Belfast; yet in every woman who smiled at him, he found himself searching for you in their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. They were all gorgeous, but his heart simply wasn't in it.

Tonight had started off alright, normal Peaky activity. They'd seized the club only a few hours ago, gaining vital territory in London, bagging their place in the opiate trade and a successful business prospect in one fell swoop. By all accounts, John should’ve been happy, but he'd been too lost in his own mind lately to properly take in the consequences of those sleepless nights with the accounting books, all the hours practicing shooting and boxing, all the endless driving, the meetings, the lingering stench of death which clung to his family. Try as he might, he couldn't enjoy himself. His night got worse the second he spotted you; a yearning for you suddenly flooding his veins. It was easy to get on with life when you were hundreds of miles from him, but when you were a flight of stairs away? He knew the club had countless dark passages to hide away with you, multiple cloak rooms with thick brick walls to take you against: he had to stop his mind running wild. He couldn't. That had to be the last time. You were in his past, you had to stay there. But as he watched you dance with the blinder, he could feel the familiar burn of jealousy swell deep within him. The lad was far too close to you for his comfort, practically grazing his hips to yours. John roughly rubbed his jaw at the sight, silently seething to himself in the shadows.

Thomas studied his brother's body language, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, not understanding the fuss around you. Sure, you were pretty enough; you were bright, apparently funny, but you had never caught his attention really. He observed how John's eyes followed your every move, every sway of your hips closely watched as he held his breath, losing himself to you. He was glad he'd prompted Michael to invite you; this was the most attentive he'd seen John in a month. It was no coincidence that he'd dragged you away from Birmingham, from the watching eyes of the city locals, the wagging tongues in the assembly lines, far from Ada. Michael had admitted to Thomas that it was easy to persuade you, promising you a lift in his new car and a night out as Ada had plans with a gentleman. A night of dancing with your favourite lads and an all expenses paid trip to London? You couldn't resist.

John's jaw had tensed and squared, the man murmuring something against your neck causing you to giggle and grasp his collar. Thomas could tell his brother was practically bristling with jealousy. If looks could kill, the young man clinging to your hips would be long dead from the glare unleashed on him by the tallest Shelby brother.

"You gonna sit there useless or are you gonna fucking do something about it, eh?" Tommy inquired, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can't."

"No one will know." Thomas pointed out, raising a brow, "The Blinders will say fuck all if they see owt. They keep quiet when it's about us Shelby brothers, yeah?"

John glanced at him, eyes slightly widened, confusion furrowing his brows. "You've changed your fuckin' tune."

"Sometimes, it's good to have secrets. What Ada doesn't know about the events of tonight won't hurt her."

"We don't do secrets. We're meant to trust each other." John objected. "We're a family."

"Nothing will change, John. I'll fix it for you, yeah? You've had a rough few weeks, you should reward yourself."

"She's not a fuckin’ prize, Tom."

"Keep talking that shit and people will get the wrong idea, think you love the woman or sommet." Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, while John's cheeks flared, his eyes flinching to the floor. He smirks to himself. "You going to go get your lass, then?"

John replied wordlessly, standing and downing the rest of his drink, pulling on his suit jacket, straightening his collar. "I'll catch you later, Tom."

********

The lad was nice, his name had long disappeared into the fog of liquor and Tokyo. He was someone's cousin, but he was polite; charming, almost. Most importantly, he wasn't related to your best friend. Not quite a Casanova type like John, but you two were a good match, everyone thought so. You'd seen him a few times now over the past week. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was a good dancer, and sweet after a few pints.

The band started playing a slower song, Isaiah dancing chest to chest with a beautiful girl across from you. You felt your partner place his fingers on the small of your back, his fingers inching lower, pulling you in closer before the two of you were interrupted by a dark figure looming over you.

"Can I cut in, mate?" A strong Birmingham accent sliced through the air, voice low and polite enough, but with a tone that was laced with venom. "Or are you gonna be a dick about it?"

The lad glanced nervously between you two, moving his hands away from you, embarrassed to be caught by his boss in this state, John staring him down. You slowly pulled away from him, turning to face John.

"Or you could ask me to dance yourself, John?"

John silently glared back at you, his mouth tensed into a thin line. He looked momentarily embarrassed, his attention switching back to your dance partner, the rest of lads silently watching, breaths baited, ready to jump in on the action if the moment required it.

"I'm heading off mate, reckon she's a cocktease." Your partner comments, attempting to diffuse the tension, stepping away, not wanting a fight or to piss off his boss. His path was quickly blocked by another blinder. You shot him an apologetic look and took the large hand John was offering you.

"Or, she's just not interested in you," John quipped, smirking, locking his fingers through yours. "You gonna go get your coat while I finish up with your best mate?"

"Thought we were dancing?"

"You can dance as much as you like in the suite, yeah? Proper gramophone. You coming?"

"You just want me on my own."

"Just tired of the distractions." He told you pointedly, skimming his glare over the group of men, standing with baited breath, preparing for it to kick off.

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hands, slowly heading to the cloakroom, chatting with the attendant as you watched John confront the lad, keeping your distance. His arms were clutching the lad's lapels, snarling in his face before pushing him back. Michael watched from a few steps away, smoking absentmindedly, spine pressed to a pillar, leaving his cousin to sort out whatever offense he believed the man had caused.

You bundled yourself up in your thin coat, a gift from one of the girls you hung around with as she had recently married a blinder and was being spoiled rotten. The coat's flimsy material was going to be useless against the London night. At least you could count on John to keep you warm on the walk back to the hotel. You headed towards the side door, John's hand quickly finding your lower back protectively as he fell into step beside you. He opened the heavy wooden doors for you, the cold air an instant relief from the heat of the nightclub. You turned back as the door closed, catching a glimpse of the boys closing in on the lad, their eyes gleaming with a violent hunger for action.

"He'll be alright. Daft prick just getting put in his place." John said flatly. He seemed bored but watched you anxiously, begging you with his eyes to drop the subject.

"Is the hotel close by?" You asked casually, as the frigid air swirled around your calves, instantly causing you to shiver.

"I'll get us a cab, love, can't have you in those heels trekking halfway across London town." He stepped fearlessly into the road, unbothered about any potential danger or just forgetful from the whiskey. Quickly, a dark cab pulled up to the cobblestone pavement and John helped you in, taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing in after you.

As the engine started and the car made its way through London's dimly lit streets to Camden, John's hand found its way to your thigh. You glanced at him, his eyes looking away but his thumb angled against his teeth. He was nervous, having not touched you in a month. You crossed your legs, angling them towards him, his hand shifting higher up your thighs, taking a deep sigh of relief. Your hands found his chin in the gloom of the back of the car, only the occasional bright lights from a nightlife hub or the demure lights of a residential illuminating his face, the angles changing as the cab drove on. It was too much. You'd been needing this for the past month, needing him. Your hands laced around the back of his head and you pressed your lips to his for a brief moment, allowing John to pull you deeper into the kiss. It awoke something familiar inside you, something comforting. Kissing John erased all your homesickness. Christ, you had to stop thinking like this.

"You've not been about for a bit, sweetheart. I know we said never again, but I was hoping you'd come by," John muttered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours as he spoke.

"I almost did. The amount of times I nearly visited your office.. I just couldn't do that to you or Ada. Besides, last I heard, you were on tour." You admitted, keeping your voice down to save the cab driver the embarrassment. John caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, tracing the corner of your mouth, prompting a grin from you.

"Last place on earth I'd expected to see you next, it's been hectic my end," He sighed. His eyes were outlined with deep purple smudges of exhaustion, yet he was still devastatingly beautiful even after all the sleepless nights. "It's been too long."

"Not my fault you've been hiding yourself away. You should've called."

"Blame Tommy for that. His solution seems to be sending me on business trips. Trying to make me too tired to handle you." A nervous lick of his lips revealed John’s response to the suggestion that he call you. He wanted to say he would ring next time, but there couldn't be a next time.

"You can barely handle me on a good day, Mr. Shelby."

"Can't blame me. You seen yourself? On the brink as soon as I see you, lass." He teased, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder as you quickly pressed a kiss underneath his chin. You wanted to bring up Thomas' threat, but you bit your tongue, nudging his shin with the toe of your heel in the back of the cab. He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrists lightly. "Behave yourself in front of the nice cabbie, sweetheart."

You soften at his touch, unable to resist reaching to interlock your fingers, squeezing his hands in yours affectionately. The spirits your table had been bringing you all night definitely boosted your confidence, any hesitancy due to potential rejection drowned out. John pressed his lips to your knuckles in response. He seemed different tonight, far more protective and serious than usual. He was so quiet it was strange, usually yapping your ear off, desperate for you to react, treating him to a giggle, a middle finger or a cutting response. You'd also never witnessed him spark off due to someone's interaction with you. Finn had mentioned a week or so back that John had a shouting match with Thomas and in the moment, your name got thrown up in the conversation, resulting in John taking a swing at his big brother out of frustration. It was confusing. He was willing to start fights over you, punch his brother, yet when you two were alone he was uncomfortably quiet, studying you, lost in his thoughts. His silence only made your body long for him, his fingers tracing patterns in your inner thigh. You let out a small whimper into the crook of his neck, as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The car pulled up outside the hotel, your pulse racing, the anticipation already threatening to make you give in completely to his wishes tonight. You waited as he turned up his collar against the rain, clambering out of the car to open your door, creatively arranging the coat to hover just above both your heads protecting you from the miserable weather. Although John had referred to the building as a hotel, you could instantly tell the manor was some aristocrat's third or fourth home, obviously being rented out or gifted to business partners for trips. It was an imposing grey stone building, exquisitely carved, although not a country estate, the house was just as large. Was John used to this? It hit you all of a sudden that you'd never set foot inside John's home. You'd heard from Ada that it was overrun with hoards of screaming children. She often joked with the children at the Shelby Institute that if they hung around long enough at John's, he'd assume they were one of his offspring. You'd only ever fucked him in a guest bed. The shame made your stomach churn.

You needed to remind yourself of this when your late night thoughts ran rampant. John could say what he liked, but he'd never actually allow you to get overly personal with him. Whatever confusing mess was winding around your skull regarding him was useless; it was best not to think about it. You went to him every time, yet he would've picked another lass tonight, it was just that you were there. He probably had a string of gorgeous women, older, more accomplished, more experienced, more elegant. He could tell you he missed you, but you could never take for granted that he told you this for any other reason than as a prelude to get you in bed with him. You were his gorgeous mess, but only for the night. It was best to remind yourself to care less than he did. It was the easiest solution in the long term; this way, the downfall would be less brutal.

"You alright, love?" He asked suddenly, breaking your train of thought.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work."

He lived around his brothers for long enough, he could smell bullshit. He decided to let it go. It was best to not push it tonight. Just keep it light hearted, easy, like it was always meant to be.

"If your boss keeps being a prick, you tell Ada. She'll sort him out."

"Don't I know it? He can barely open the door before she starts on about workplace ethics." You joked, earning a small smile instead of his usual bright chuckle. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well I'm about to take you upstairs and sort you out, yeah? You gonna let me look after you?" He asked, stopping you in your tracks by turning you into him, grabbing your wrist.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know. But can we leave it tonight? Can we just have fun?" He questioned, lips ghosting over yours, fixing you with an intense stare.

"It's fun anymore." Your voice cracked, the liquor in your system making it impossible to control your tone or your facial expressions. "It's fucking with my head, John."

"It's just.. fucking difficult. It's fucking difficult because of who we are." He replied firmly but dropped his makeshift coat shelter around your shoulders, freeing his hands to grab your face pulling it to his, the alcohol making him far needier than he usually appeared. "You, my beautiful Y/N, are a fucking losing game. It's not as easy for me, I can't just dance with a woman and get a leg over-"

"I never said you couldn't."

"I know, I.." He gestured vaguely, lifting one of his hands off your cheeks, and you can feel your head nodding in understanding. "You know, I thought I was going to manage it this time. That I wouldn't be a total fuck up, but then you and that lad-"

"Catch you getting jealous over me."

"Fuck off." He let go of you for a split second but you reeled him back in, resting your palms on the chest of his shirt, the soaked material sticking to his skin. You'd struck a nerve. You decided to push him further.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Mr. Shelby, disappearing across the country for weeks then coming back and telling me you want me all to yourself?" You played with his collar, tugging his face to yours before pulling back at the last possible second, causing him to let out a frustrated groan, hands itching to feel you underneath them.

"Don't fucking wind me up," He snapped, the intensity between you rekindled momentarily.

"It's worked wonders in the past," You replied, barely able to finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, kissing you properly. Although you'd kissed so many times prior, this one felt so genuine, as though unleashed from its restraints deep within John. You'd never kissed anyone in the rain before in the middle of the night, and it felt magical. You were shivering but hot all over, burning for John to do something, anything. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard against you, prompting you to moan into his mouth.

"Fuck’s sake, Y/N," John grunted into your ear, his hands grabbing at your arse. "You're fuckin’ killing me here. I need you, yeah?"

"Tell me how badly." You responded coyly, linking your arms around his neck, ignoring the late night drizzle.

"I'd rather show you. M’gonna take care of you tonight, make up for the month I've been gone."

"Who's saying I've not been taking care of myself?'

He bit his lip in frustration, trying to stop his mind running wild with the image of you in bed, fingers between your thighs, breasts moving as you arched your back, hips lifting off the mattress, moaning as you called his name -- his jaw clenched. "I know what you're doing. You coming up before you catch a chill?"

You shifted your weight away from him, as if considering your options. He knew your answer; you both knew in a few minutes you'd be upstairs practically tearing his shirt off, needing his skin against yours, begging for him. John pulled away from you, dragging you up the winding path to the front door of the manor, opening the door for you, arm wrapping around your waist. His lips met yours, then your collarbones and neck, prompting a breathy giggle and whine as you wound yourself back around him, craving the contact. The manor was plunged in darkness, staff somewhere in the gloom. Your arrival had definitely been noted, but as with everyone who worked for the Shelbys, they just left you to it. It was easier to not get involved, to keep their heads down and not mention the midnight trysts the brothers got up to.

John knew his path, he'd stayed here before. Even in the dark you could tell the house was decorated to spare no expense, the gaudy paintings and sculptures casting strange shadows. He led you up the grand flight of stairs, then another.

"Worse than Thomas' estate, this place." You murmured quietly, unsure of other guests within earshot.

"I could never live like this. I'd never see my brood again. Getting them ready for bed would be one hell of a nightmare." He whispered back, halting your stride by pulling your hips to his, unable to wait any longer.

"John, what if we get caught?" You asked, pressing your hand against his chest with your palm flat.

"Never bothered you before. Thought you liked the fact that anyone could just walk in and see what a pretty little mess you’ve made for me."

You couldn’t help yourself from pressing an affectionate kiss to his mouth, letting him lay you down and pin you to the stairs, the luxuriously thick carpets scraping into your flesh. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you underneath him, pushing your dress up your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his neck, pressing a kiss to your flimsy underwear, glancing up to drink you in. The most beautiful woman in his city, begging for him, figure swamped by his coat, rain soaked and shivering, his mouth between her thighs. He ran his tongue slowly across your clothed core, your pleading moans music to his ears, loving how your thighs tightened around his neck. His tongue traced circles over your clit and labia, the friction generated by the lace of your panties pushing you further, your hands knotting into his hair, spine arching against his mouth.

"No one been looking after you while I was gone. eh?" He asked, pressing kisses to your inner thigh, tugging your panties to the side. "What about your dancing pal?"

"Fuck’s sake, I barely know him, John." You snapped back, teetering on the edge between lust and frustration from his relentless teasing.

"Keep it that way. You don't need ‘im, lass, not while I'm about." He replies before lapping at your slit, interpreting your moans as approval as your head slumped back and you released a low groan. "Y/N, watch me, yeah?"

You pull yourself weakly upwards, propping yourself up in your elbows to be able to look down the staircase at John between your legs in the dark. The view was thrilling, moonlight shining in through the rain on the window, illuminating his face, hair messy and tongue flickering across your clit while he stared up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. You couldn't help but pant, knowing you'd be returning to this moment alone at night, when it was your fingers instead of John's tongue pushing you towards the edge.

"So fuckin' wet and ready for me, aren’t you?" He crooned, sliding his fingers into you, sucking at your clit between flicks of his tongue.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, whimpers leaving your mouth instead, your hips lifting beneath his palms, chest heaving.

"Go on, use your words, clever lass."

"John, fuck.. don't stop," You manage to string together, thoughts too muddled by alcohol and arousal to play hard to get any longer.

"I won't ‘til you cum in my mouth. Need to taste you again, beautiful."

Your head jerked back suddenly as John curled his fingers inside you, pushing up against the spot that made you lose your mind, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, all he could hear except from his blood rushing in his head. Your desperate cries for relief caused his cock to strain against his dress pants, fighting the urge to sort himself out, needing to finish you off. John needed to prove that he could fuck you better than anyone else. He knew he was pushing you to the edge, but he wasn't going to deny you your orgasm. He wanted to make a point with this. His fingers worked faster, his mouth hungry for you, lips moving against your core at a harsh pace.

You groaned loudly, hips bucking involuntarily just to be forced back against the carpet of the staircase. Your breaths grew heavier, warning him how close you were to your peak. John refused to let up, pushing you closer every second, lips latched to your core firmly, lapping up the wetness he'd produced.

"I want to watch you finish." He commanded, you completely at his will now that you'd lost control, lifting your head upwards with the little strength you had left to be able to stare down at his dilated blue eyes. "Good girl. You gonna show me how good I make you feel? You gonna cum for me, doll?"

You couldn't respond, unable to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as you felt yourself suddenly release, John’s name escaping from between your lips, legs shuddering around his neck. He let you ride it out on his tongue, tasting you desperately, watching your expression slowly relax.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, unwrapping your legs from his neck. He grabbed your wrist, not letting you retrieve your panties, stuffing them into his trouser pocket. He returned his attention to tracing your slit with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, as he pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"I love how you taste," He murmured against your lips, causing you to flush slightly. John noticed, pressing kisses to your jawbone. "Don't get shy on me now. I've barely started with you. Not even got you to the suite and you've already cum."

He looked so proud of himself, it suddenly clicked for you. He was trying to prove himself to you, for some unknown reason. You know he was protective and quite obviously jealous tonight, but you couldn't believe that John Shelby felt the need to prove that he knew what he was doing, as though you weren't aware. You weren't trekking to his office for mediocre sex. Tonight he let you finish first, no teasing, no denial, no fucking about. Just putting his ability fully on show, so when your mind went drifting it'd go back to him, not some young lad who barely knew what he was doing. His cocky attitude and smug acceptance of his sexual prowess would've been off-putting if it was anyone else, but John, but with his bright smile and constant humour, pulled it off. It was enticing, making your core pool with wetness when he crossed your mind.

"A month is far too long, Mr. Shelby."

"I know, you're practically drooling over me." He teased. He seems a lot more himself than before. He’d been too caught up in his head, too focused on getting you off to enjoy the flirting and teasing. John loved how light-hearted he could be with you. Despite the mess you were both in, it was making you laugh or roll your eyes that soothed his mind. Honestly, if it was just sex he'd have cut you off instantly; he wouldn't have even gone there out of loyalty to Ada. Admittedly, it was your company and presence that had him absolutely on his knees for you, the way he felt understood, less alone in his brother's bullshit, less trapped by his criminal career because you understood. You always had a cutting line, a bright smile just for him, an eye roll at his brothers' daft plans, a choice curse word for Thomas. He didn't even want to consider what would happen after the night ended. He stood, pressing another kiss to your lips as he helped you to your feet, fixing his coat which hung off your shoulders.

"You ready for rounds two through to six?"

"John, you know you won't get through three with me."

"You’re right, you're just too pretty when you’re riding my cock." He teased, the vulgar material of his jibe earning him a joking shove before you curl into his side, letting him escort you up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind you, scooping you up in his arms, causing you to let out a laugh as he practically tossed you onto the king sized bed, eyes shining with adoration as he looked down at you grinning back up at him.

“You’re something else, John Shelby.”

[rightintheguts]

The Witch of Birmingham

Chapter Two, below the cut.

“Huh, Monaghan Boy won.” Ruth commented offhandedly, casually flipping to the next section of the morning paper. Bianca paused in her idle stirring, gaze sharpening as she paused in her people watching, and took in the woman across from her.

“What, really?” Ruth nodded, before returning to her previous page, and folding the paper back so Bianca could read it. After scanning the bold print of the headline before her, a smug grin broke out across Bianca’s painted lips, causing the other woman to dramatically roll her eyes and groan, as the topic at hand fully hit her.

“Well, I guess you have two choices: pay for lunch, or pay the five shillings you owe me.”

“I still have no idea how you knew--were you tipped off?” Bianca smiled enigmatically, shrugging a single shoulder.

“Call it a gut feeling, more like.”

Her friend shot out an indelicate snort, “That’s some ‘gut feeling’, you got there.”

Looking out towards the canal, Ruth took upon a look of consideration, before cutting her dark eyes back to Bianca, who decided to finally finish off her tea. “Who’d you think will win the next one?”

Bianca smiled over the rim of her cup, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’ll only tell you, once you pay for lunch, and give me the five shillings.” Jaw-slacked, Ruth balked at her friend’s audacious demand.

“You’ve got to be joking!” When Bianca continued to grin--she threw in a brief brow wiggle for the hell of it--Ruth forced her mouth shut with a snap, then sighed in resignation; already twisting towards her purse.“You’re a bloody menace.” she growled.

“I know, that’s what makes me so endearing!”

Snorting once again, Ruth valiantly tried repressing a smile. Waving down the waiter, she paid for the pair’s lunch; afterwards slipped the betted money to her friend as they were leaving the cafe. Bianca obnoxiously counted the money aloud, knowing it would immediately irritate her friend, then she unceremoniously stuffed her winnings down her shirt. Ruth shook her head at the woman’s actions; looking at her expectantly, she pulled out a pack of Camels, plucking one out for herself, before offering one to Bianca, whose face scrunched up in distaste.

“I don’t know how you can smoke that rubbish.”

“Like this.” Placing the pack away, she pulled out her box of matches and lit the stick, inhaling a long drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. Bianca rolled her eyes, pulling out her own pack.

“Sweet Aftons, or nothin’--you’re goin’ to smoke, do it right.”

They then spent the rest of their lunch period walking through town, doing a bit of window shopping, and gossiping about their colleagues at work. Bianca listened as Ruth began to prattle on about her neighbor, who couldn’t take a hint.

“I finally informed David that I wouldn’t go out with him, even if he was the last bloke on this God-given Earth!” she rolled her eyes towards the heavens. “Which went completely over his fat-head; he asked me out thrice more, before I had to lie and say I had to go visit my sick mother.”

“Your mother passed when you were ten; God rest her soul.” Bianca crossed herself, while her friend gave her a flat look.

“I know.”

Laughing at her friend’s tale, her mind went to her own neighbors, the Hughes. Among the many changes her life had undertaken, since that day three weeks ago, the married pair was one of them: instead of being woken by a pair of screeching Banshees, she was now woken by the furious banging of the Hughes’ headboard. Bianca had to admit, she was impressed; though the couple were far from teenagers--they sure did fuck like ones. Well, good on them.

“So? Who's going to win, eh?” Ruth’s question, broke Bianca from her thoughts. Blinking, she hummed, tapping a finger to her chin. She began a mental conversation with herself, her expressions morphing too fast for Ruth to decipher, before settling on a look of agreement; a resolute nod soon following.

“Bet on Monaghan Boy, he’ll win again.” Ruth raised a brow.

“That sure are you?”

“Whose the one short of five shillings? Oh, plus the ten you paid for our lunch?” she smiled impishly at Ruth, who grumbled and stomped out her cigarette butt.

“Touche.”

__________________________

The very moment she punched out her time card, Ruth was on her. Intertwining their arms, the other woman barely gave Bianca time to place her card in it’s slot, before she was practically dragging her out the office doors, and onto the cobbled street. Shooting a bewildered look towards her friend, who looked as if the Devil himself possessed her--God protect her--she inquired as to why Ruth was in such a hurry, to which the woman rolled her eyes.

“We’ve got to get to the betting shop--before they stop taking bets!” Finally understanding, Bianca picked up her pace, soon matching Ruth’s hurried strides.

They swiftly weaved through the influx of people, and practically ran across the bridge, entering Small Heath with barely a breath in their bodies. Ruth took the lead soon after, having made the trip to the betting hall several times, and Bianca tried her best to keep up with the woman’s long strides.

Once the pair reached the building, which was fit to bursting with eager men waiting to bet their money away, Ruth finally paused in her hellish pursuit, allowing Bianca to finally regain her breath.

“All right, here it is: how much should I bet?” Ruth asked, releasing Bianca’s arm while she began rifling through her hand-bag.

“Have you already paid rent?” She asked. Her friend looked up with a quirked brow, before nodding. “Then all you have on you.”

Dark eyes widening, Ruth held the Bianca’s stare; about to ask if she was serious, but decided against it. Mouth snapping closed, she grabbed her friend's hand, and the pair began to push their way to the front of the crowd. Both women ignored the curses, and disgruntled looks thrown their way. One man had went so far as to block their way, but with a swift kick to the shin (courtesy of Bianca), and a rough push (courtesy of Ruth), the man was swiftly dealt with.

Reaching the book keeper, who only spared them a raised brow, he gruffly asked them who they were betting on. Ruth released Bianca’s hands, and reached for her purse; and much to the surprise of everyone around them, she unceremoniously dumped the entirety of the contents of her bag, onto the table. Shillings and pennies fell upon the table, some rolling off the worn table, but Bianca was quick to snatch them up and placed them in the pile of currency.

Some cosmetics also fell from Ruth’s bag, but once again her friend was there to collect them and get them out of the way, a lipstick almost making a successful escape attempt, but Bianca had managed to stop it’s pursuit.

A few notes also joined the pile, before Ruth pushed all the money towards the now slack-jawed book-keeper.

“Monaghan Boy.” she proclaimed, attention turning towards Bianca, who had taken it upon herself to return her friend’s things back into her bag. The man set about counting Ruth’s money, also shooting an expectant look towards Bianca’s idle form. Catching both looks, Bianca sighed good-naturally, and reached down her shirt. “Oh, what the hell--Monaghan Boy for me as well.”

Slapping down the five shillings she had won onto the table, the man was quick to collect the coins, plus the single note she hastily decided add; writing down both amounts down in his thick, leather-bound book, before asking their names to attach to their bets. Ruth gave hers, and Bianca followed suit.

The most curious thing happened as soon as she did; immediately, she felt a set of eyes fall onto her, causing her body to unconsciously straighten, becoming tense and alert. With practiced subtlety, she casually cast her gaze around the shop; blue eyes bouncing from man to man, before they were caught by a set of glacial orbs.

She froze for a moment, her mind processing, before it finally registered on who the person--man --was. Thomas Shelby, I’ll be damned; wonders never cease.

He stood between a pair of Blinders--one of which looked as if he lost a fight with a bear. Both hat and jacket absent from his person, quietly conversing with the duo, but his sharp gaze was locked solely on her. Though wariness had initially welled up at the sight of him, she couldn’t help but smile at him, the memory of that day swallowing up her caution, and replacing it with giddy amusement. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as she caught that ghost of a smirk make a brief appearance, before it vanished as quickly as it came.

Before she could decide if she should approach him or not, the choice was made for her, when Ruth suddenly linked their arms once again, and maneuvered them out and away from the betting hall: she couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or not.

“Well, I guess drinks are on you then!” she shot Ruth a questioning look, who was quick to inform her that they were going out tonight; that Bianca was going to go home with a nice bloke, and have raunchy sex till dawn. Said woman blew out a scoff, shaking her blonde head.

Ever since she revealed that she hadn’t had sex in two years, her friend--among many of her female colleagues--made it their personal mission to get Bianca laid: much to said woman’s annoyance.

“After all: you’re a young, beautiful woman who deserves to have a plethora of suitors at her beck-and-call.” Bianca disagreed; she didn’t need a man in her life.

“It’s not about needing a man, love: it’s about going two years without sex!” She threw Bianca a look of incredulity. “What’re you, a nun? Next you’re going to tell me you adopted a stray cat: the damnation of any single woman--might as well join a convent!”

Bianca was about to laugh at Ruth’s proclamation, but the sound died in her throat, her face drained of color. She stopped in the middle of the street, forcing Ruth to jerk to a stop and stumble in her heels. Before the woman could ask, Bianca swore; revelation crossing her pale face.

“Dear, God: I need to get laid.” Her friend looked at her accusingly, mouth flopping open in horror.

“You adopted a fucking cat.”

“I’ve been contemplating, whether or not I should adopt a cat; there’s a difference!” With a harsh proclamation of ‘Just barely!’, Ruth once again began their trek to the nearest pub, only this time, Bianca didn’t trudge along, she matched her friend step for step.

[hughiecampbelle]

Baby Teeth (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,321

Inspired By: kind of based off this imagine

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87

A/N: Just a lil something that's been collecting dust in my writers block folder for a while. I am so sorry about the lack of posts my loves, things will go back to normal very soon. Thank you for your patience and understanding 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @nofckingfighting :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

Burned out. Burned up. Your entire body turned to ash, bits and pieces of charcoal cracked off in your bed, dust coating the cheeks of your children, the remains of your lips burned into his cheeks. A crushing weight on the bones of a ruin, your cracked foundation threatening to cave in. Too strong a wind would have collapsed every strength you had just to pull yourself together, to get out of bed every morning and face the day. Fragile. Exhausted. The circles under your eyes threatening rain, staring back at him from across the table. Prominent. Resembling bruises. He couldn't remember the last time you'd slept through the night, the last time you truly relaxed. You were the result of a house fire, a burning building, a candle left unwatched. You were the stresses of the day, the what if's at night, every terrible thing that could ever happen to you, your family, him. You watched the ghosts so no one else had to.

You could only describe it as drowning. Wasting in the bath, your skin pruned, unable to breathe, choking, your head above water. Your heart racing, rejecting the very body it slept in, pounding, screaming, clawing it's way out. Your breathing labored, conscious, too loud to be your own. The air stung. Tiny hands patting the door, giggles erupting from the other side, a whine escaping one of them. They shouldn't be up this late. Past bedtime. How long had you been sitting here? Pull yourself together. Pick yourself up, one step at a time, one breath in, the next out. Sloppy buttons, wet hair, hands shaking, steadying with the doorknob. A second thought, a want to go back, to scald your own skin in the tub until it was floating in soggy chunks and pieces, too big to be washed down the drain. Maybe that would lessen the weight, the pressure, the tension. Maybe it wouldn't. You were always too forgiving with your chances.

Tossing, turning beside him, startled by the dreams. Even in sleep, these things were inescapable. A terrible feeling left you raw, scared of the dark, checking under the bed, in the closet for things made of shadows. He'd caught you, only once. Frantic, searching for relief, for a pairs of eyes to look back at you. Looking for something you knew wasn't really there. If you didn't check, something bad would happen. It would show up. Exhausted, in a yawn he beckoned you back to bed, holding you close. If you got up again, he would know. Didn't matter. No eyes. Not under the bed, not in the closet, not waiting the corner for you to turn your back. Another night safe. Another night awake. Too late to check the soil, to press your palm to the soft wet grass the way you used to. No use, though. Six feet under. There wouldn't be a heartbeat anyways.

The doors, the windows, every lock you could remember checked twice. Sometimes, when the dark was too quiet, too still, you'd carry them one by one to your bed, needing them to be close, to be safe. Apologize for waking them, stirring them from their sweetest dreams, tucking them in with a kiss and a promise of everlasting love. One in your arms, another in his, the rest lay where they fall. Objects of comfort, stuffed animals and pacifiers, baby dolls and cloths littered the bed like landmines. Little hands and feet ice cold pressed against you, a welcomed discomfort. He didn't flinch as he was pulled at, tugged on, all of it a reflex now. Hush them, rock them, will them to sleep again. Without the cap, the coat, those starry night eyes of his closed, he almost looked human.

Baby drool dried in the pillows, tiny snores filling between you, but the distance was an ocean wide. Call it what he may, he knew you were right. Burning greater in these moments. The only one awake, aware, left to brew in your own worries. Regret spilling over your insides, erroding you, your belly full of every bad decision. This life took its toll. The threats. The violence. The way he almost smirked when the blood of others finally washed out of his collar. A second death. The moment that ring slipped around your finger the Grimm Reaper started stepping on your heels. You'd done enough. Faced enough. Scars across your mind, body, and soul the result of the Blinders and their drama. Recovery never easy, the aches and pains living even after the scars have faded, that shop becoming a constant reminder. You put up with it though, because you loved him, and because saying yes was your decision.

But it was not theirs.

A big family, that's what you always wanted. A home full of warmth, of love, of enough mouths to feed to start an army. Hesitant, he was, but not for the reasons you should have been. The world wasn't so scary for a man who saw war. When he walked, others moved. When he spoke, they quited. His presence demanded everyone's attention. He never realized though, he brought that war home, back to Birmingham, to your bed, in his blood. He was only scared of the father he'd be. But you? You knew how easy soft skin caught on the sharpest edges of this life. Every scrape, bump, bruise, cry, it only made the dangers that much more prominent, that much more deadly.

First smiles, first laughs, first words and steps. He promised he'd be there for it all, each of them. Sometimes he was, sometimes he wasn't, but he tried. He loved it, celebrated every milestone no matter how small. You were more careful, more cautious. The first day of school, first tooth, first crush, and every broken heart after that, all of it meant they were hurling towards adulthood, towards their own freedom. For a Shelby, the likelihood of seeing another day dwindled as the candles on the cake grew. Tommy assured you, over each crib and sleeping infant, he would do what it took to protect them, no one would ever hurt a hair on your child's head. Talk was so easy, though, so cheap. He promised the same the night of your wedding, and at your bedside every time after that when he failed. You couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself in them. If it was between you and them, you made him promise, cross his heart and hope to die, stick a needle in his eye, he would save them.

Always.

He knew. You didn't tell him, but he knew. They all did. They could read in the ways you dug at your skin just to calm down, the ways you paced back and forth, how attentive you were to every coo or gurgle, the glaze over your eyes when they spoke of anything yellowed by the past, brightened by the future. This moment was the only place your thoughts could live. Life was too heavy right now. It wasn't just you and him anymore. It wasn't only your broken bones, or the ringing in your ears, or the paralyzing fear when anything resembling a gunshot pops. It was theirs now and you knew no matter how easy it was to put the blame in his hands, it was your fault, too. It was a decision you both made, a step you took together. Your children were your world, a slice of your own personal heaven, proof there was someone looking out for you after all. They were your pride and joy, the only happiness you found when the thought of a smile was impossible. They were also your greatest weakness, a vulnerability like no other. If anyone ever wanted to get through you, hollow you out, they would use your children against you.

No one knew that better than this family.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​

[urimaginespimp]

Michael Gray: Better Man pt 3

Hi all! This is a Michael Gray fic I originially posted on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to also share it now on Tumblr just in case anything would happen to my wattpad account, and to also share it with those who don’t use wattpad. I’ve been on this platform for years but have never made a post of my own so please bear with me. Enjoy!

Pairing: Michael Gray x Olivia Peterson

Two years ago:

Olivia was walking down the streets of Birmingham on her way to Michael's office. Today she just woke up extra determined to finally give Michael a piece of her mind.

Even though they shared an office together as Tommy's accountants, They haven't had any real alone time together in months. It was always either he went home later than her and she was already asleep, he'd wake up too early and not wait for her to go with him to the office, he got deadlines and couldn't take her out for a quick date, or that he was simply too tired and just wanted to sleep.

And it wasn't just the lack of time that she had problems with, it was also how Michael would address her - like someone he'd rather not be bothered with. He'd cut her off when she wants to talk to him, dismiss her advances when she wants to get close or intimate, and leave her alone in family dinners or celebrations.

She tried to understand him at first. Maybe because of how the family business was expanding, and he was getting too stressed out. But his actions also caused her to question her worth - am I not attractive anymore? Did his feelings change? Am I just too needy?

This had indeed taken a toll on her. Not just emotionally. The rest of the Shelby clan kept mum about it but they could see that she's gotten thinner, and her eyes just don't hold the same glow that they had before.

Tommy gave Michael some nights off in hopes that he'd go spend it with his girlfriend, Polly together with Esme took Olivia out for some girl time together to help her relax, and even John and Arthur would invite them both together out for some drinks so they could spend some time maybe not alone, but together. But to no avail, Michael would just spend those nights at the Garrison and not bother inviting her at all.

Last night before sleeping alone again, she thought that maybe he was just simply unaware of what his actions has been doing to their relationship. And so she decided that she'd talk to him about it, and they'd discuss everything, he'll apologize, and then they could start working on being better this time.

Walking into the Shelby home, she was welcomed by John and Esme, having a small breakfast on the dining table.

"Hello you two." She greeted. "Is Michael in our office?"

"You didn't see him this morning?" John asked.

"I might have had a deep sleep to even notice that he left early." She answered. Though come to think of it, she wasn't sure if he even went home at all.

"Well, you look like you did have a good morning, love. Yeah he's in there." Esme answered, taking a bite of her food.

Smiling to the couple, she excused herself to their office.

As usual he was deep into work. Not even looking up to see who entered his office.

"Michael?" She called him after setting her bag down on her own desk. "I was wondering if we could talk for a while."

"I have a lot of work to finish today, Olivia. Can't it wait for some other time?" He still wasn't looking up from what he was reading. This irked her.

"That's the thing. You don't have 'another time' when it comes to us."

He was scribbling something down when she said that, making him stop all of a sudden and finally look at her with an annoyed look on his face.

"Can't your whining wait? All I've been doing is so that we won't fuck this business up, and so that all of you can live your lavish lifestyle." He snapped at her.

Shaking off her hurt feelings, she answered. "Have you forgotten, Michael? That I work the same job as you?" She was trying not to raise her voice.

"Well clearly it's obvious who works harder than both of us." He muttered.

"What, you're saying I don't work hard enough?!" She exclaimed in a harsh whisper. She was also working her ass of on the business, get to finish deadlines, and make Tommy satisfied with her work.

"Now she can't even comprehend simple statements well." He muttered, looking down again to what he was reading.

"You know what, Michael? I'm starting to think that this has nothing to do with work anymore. You just don't want to spend any of your precious time with me. If you want to end this, just say so! I've had a lot of courtships, and marriage offers turned down because I love you. And I'm sorry to tell you this, but I learned from the best. Your mother taught me from a young age to walk away when I'm not valued and respected. But it's fucking ironic, that it's her own son I couldn't walk away from all this time!" She was shaking and on the brink of tears.

This got his attention.

Sighing, he looked up to face her.

"If you want to be a distraction to some other men, then be my guest." He answered her coldly.

Feeling the tears about to fall, she shook them off. "That's not how you talk to someone you love, Michael."

"You should listen to yourself then, Olivia. Get a grip."

"You're getting too big in the head." She answered.

This was too much for her. To be dismissed just like that! She gathered her purse from her desk and got out of the office.

Esme, having heard what transpired, got up from her seat and immediately went to her aid.

John looked sorry for her. "I'll talk some sense into him." He told her quietly.

She gave him a small nod, and asked to be alone for a while.

She was now at the backroom of the Garrison, having a drink when Tommy walked in.

She expected him to get mad at her for skipping work, but instead he sat beside her and offered a hug. One she fell into without hesitation. And she finally let the tears drop.

Later that night, she went home just a little bit tipsy. She decided that she was going to have one final talk with him tomorrow. One that hopefully not end up like this morning.

Tommy had told her that he let him go home early and take a day off the following day.

Seeing that he didn't come home to their shared apartment, he might have spent it in Polly's home to give her time to cool off. --- The next morning she woke up feeling a bit better. Her eyes were swollen still, but she got ready to face him and patch things up.

Walking to Polly's house, she ran into Finn on the street.

"Hey sweetheart, I was just on my way to the bakery. Would you want something to eat?" The boy asked her, beaming.

"Uh sure, Finn. Can you drop it off at Polly's?"

"Anything for you, Livy. I won't be long." He tipped his hat on her, acting like a gentleman which made her laugh, and went on his way.

Stepping in Polly's house, their help Mary welcomed her in, but she looked nervous and uneasy.

"Is everything alright, Mary? Is Polly home?"

"N-no miss Olivia. She's out of town until tomorrow." The help answered her. She couldn't put a finger on it but something didn't feel right.

"Well I'm heading up to Michael's room, okay? Finn will be dropping by later." She was already heading up the stairs when the woman called her out again.

"Miss Olivia, please I want to warn you first." She looked like she was about to cry.

"Okay? What is it, Mary?" She asked her, now walking back down to the woman.

"I- he- Mr. Gray. Every time his mother is out of town, h-he spends the night here." The woman was shaking. It looked like her job was on the line for opening her mouth.

"Yeah, I can see that... is that all, Mary?" She offered a small squeeze at the shaking woman's hand.

The help took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. "He doesn't spend it alone, Miss."

The color drained from Olivia's face.

"Nor is it with the same woman every time."

Though terrified that it might be true, she slowly went up the stairs again. This time, Mary was right behind her.

Taking one last look at the woman, she slowly opened the door to  Michael's room.

And sure enough, Michael was sleeping in bed, draped in another woman's arms.

She took a quiet step back, and closed the door.

"I'm really sorry, Miss." The woman pleaded.

"Does Polly know?"

"He made me swear not to tell."

That's all she needed to know. She would have been completely destroyed if it turned out that her mother figure had also betrayed her.

The woman, Mary, was scared of Olivia's current state. She looks like she's out of it. She didn't cry, didn't go back up to lash out on Michael. She just looked like she was tired. Completely void of emotions.

The door opened and Finn went in with a big smile on his face. "Hey I got you your favorite!" He exclaimed. But one look at his childhood friend and he knew something was wrong.

"Finn, please take me home." She said weakly, looking down.

Not wanting to upset her further, he nodded and put his arm around her to guide her back home. ---

Thanking her friend, she asked him to not tell anyone just yet about what happened, and to meet her at the docks in three hours.

Closing the door behind her, she looked around the apartment. So many memories were made by them together there. The kisses, conversations they had, unspeakable blissful actions, and plans for their future were now all ghosts in the room. And it was haunting her.

Shaking her head. She whispered to herself. "The crying can wait. Get out now while you still have the strength to do so." Hearing her own voice so full of defeat was enough to fuel her.

And so she packed whatever she could fit, including her money in a small suitcase. In less than three hours, she was done and heading out for the door. No looking back inside. She might change her mind.

She was only two blocks away and was about to turn to a corner when she slowed down for a second to maybe just take a quick glance back.

Michael with his hat on, looking down, was heading to their apartment, completely oblivious that she had packed and ran off.

Sighing, she muttered "Goodbye Michael Gray" and turned to the corner.

There at the docks Finn was already waiting, talking with the men working there.

"Where are you going, Livy?" It didn't even sound like he was going to stop her. He knew well enough of how his friend and cousin's relationship has been going. He just wanted to know.

"Somewhere away from here, Finn. And that's all I can give you." She said in a strained voice.

Nodding in understanding, Finn embraced her in a long, final hug.

"I won't tell anyone about this. I can promise you that."

"Just let them know I was okay."

And board on the boat she went.

When it started to leave the port, she asked the sailor to take her to America, and gave the man extra to swear into secrecy.

A new life was awaiting.