#employer tommy save me

[dilf-issues]

Your Eyes Tell: 2 | T.S

Synopsis: Tommy could never accept a whore to love. But he did anyways, however his ego and pride might be the death of him.

Chapter Summary: Brief glimpse of how they first met. Y/N woke up.

Warnings: Angst, grief, childloss.

A/N: I choose bear. I also plan to make this into a series.

PART 1 | PART 3

.

4 YEARS AGO

The streets of Birmingham were dark and cold. It was late at night and Tommy felt like he wanted to get some fresh air while driving around Small Heath. He found himself driving through the city, lost in thought. As he rounded a corner, he noticed a group of men surrounding a young woman, pushing her against a wall. Tommy’s first instinct was to keep driving, he didn’t care what the fuck would happen to anyone other than his family but when he realized the men were being more violent than he would expect, he pulled his car to the side of the road and stepped out, his presence immediately commanding attention. The men turned to see who had interrupted them, and their faces pales when they saw The Thomas Shelby approaching.

He truly wanted to drive away and leave her alone but the men were starting to rip her clothes apart, as she screamed for help.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing?” It’s like all three of the men had caught in a headlight, they immediately went speechless as their throats became dry at the sight of Tommy standing before them. One of the men let the girl go as he tried to sprint away. However, Tommy quickly took out his gun and shot just a few centimeters away from his feet. He trembled, holding his arms in the air as he turned around. His eyes were filled with tears and it seemed like he might have just wee his pants.

Tommy gestured the man to come back with his gun as he ran towards his friends in fear.

The woman who was lightly bruised, her clothes torn, was confused however she could be nothing more than glad that someone had saved her. She had no idea who he was but it seemed to her that the men feared her saviour.

“Now, answer my fucking question” Tommy paused taking turns to look at all three of them, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, eh?”

“Mr. Shelby we were just fooling around! She’s a whore, she’s not worth your time, Sir!” The other exclaimed as if it had made the situation better.

Tommy glanced at the woman who silently sobbed, it seemed like she was cold but Tommy thought of how him saving her was already enough of being a good samaritan for a day.

“She’s screaming and I took it you didn’t pay her. If you want to be a fucking cunt at least fucking pay her” His voice was nonchalant and it was enough to keep the men trembling, “I suggest you lot fuck off and if I see you being cheap cunts again, I won’t let you go next time”

The men nodded violently as the three of them scurried off like a bunch of roaches. Once they disappeared, Tommy was about to leave her alone but was stopped when she had grabbed his forearm.

“Wait! I wanted to say thank you, Mr. Shelby?” It came out more as a question, and Tommy raised his brows.

“You don’t know who I am?” He asked as the woman shook her head. Not that he cared, it was just suprising.

The small interaction was enough for Tommy to properly take a look at her, “How old are you?”

“I-I’m 19, Mr. Shelby” His gaze was intense and it made shivers run down her spine, she looked at the ground, finding her shoes somewhat the most interesting thing in the world to look at.

Tommy furrowed his brows, “Aren’t you a little too young to be a whore?” Tommy took the time to study her, she looked... Different. In a way where she didn’t seem like she was from Birmingham. Her features were unique and she was pretty, too pretty to become something so... Dirty.

“I was fired from being a maid, and it seemed like my employer had told everybody in Small Heath not to hire me... I don’t have a choice” Tommy was now intrigued and since they were in the cold, he didn’t exactly mind but he knew she was freezing.

He hummed as he walked away from him and got inside his car. At first, the girl was evidently disappointed when Tommy left her but Tommy didn’t drive away.

“Get in. I’ll get you somewhere warm” Her eyes widened at his offer. The only thing she could think of was that Tommy probably wanted to be a customer. Despite her being happy Tommy got her off the pavement, she was disappointed at the thought that Tommy probably wanted to sleep with her. She hurriedly got in, her face full of awe as she studied the vehicle she was in. “You’ve never been in a car before?”

She shook her head in amazement. A huge smile on her face and if Tommy hadn’t been such a cold man, he would have been amused by her reaction.

“Mr. Shelby, if you desire my service I would be honored to offer you for free” She muttered, it was as if she was ashamed to say it out loud.

“I don’t want to fuck you” Thomas stated, as her eyes widened at the claim. She hadn’t had a lot of customers because she tried her best to avoid going on the streets but men rarely rejected her advances, “I’m taking you to my pub, I’ll buy you a drink”

Ever since she became a prostitute not long ago, she had never heard men approach her in a way that would be appropriate and polite. She couldn’t lie and say Mr. Shelby didn’t make her stomach flutter with butterflies when he offered her a drink. Not to mention how handsome he was and she had considered the night to be lucky, she was almost glad to be attacked.

When they arrived, the pub seemed closed but Tommy entered with ease. She was so impressed with everything about Tommy. He seemed like a kind man, he dressed well, and he also seemed important. She had wondered what he did to become so successful.

“Sit down, I’ll pour you a drink” She obliged without a question as Tommy walked behind the bar and poured her alcohol.

“Oh! Um... Can I just get orange juice? But if you don’t have that, I’ll just have water. I’m too young to drink...” Tommy almost laughed at her face but he just gave her a small smile, he couldn’t deny she was a strange girl.

“You work as a whore but won’t drink a glass of brandy?”

“I told you I had no choice, but I have a choice in this...” She muttered softly, Tommy almost felt bad for what he said.

“Orange juice it is...” He quietly poured her a glass as he slid the glass towards her, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N... What’s yours, Mr. Shelby? Your first name I mean?” Thomas still couldn’t believe she had never known everything about her.

“Thomas, but people call me Tommy”

“Thank you for saving me again, Mr. Shelby. I have no idea what would happen to me if you didn’t come”

Tommy merely hummed, her grace didn’t really mean much to him. There was nothing she could offer that would benefit him. He could fuck her, but he wasn’t an animal, she was far too young for him. However, he wouldn’t deny that she is beautiful.

“I’m intrigued” Tommy addressed, “Tell me, how did you end up in the shitty streets of Small Heath? Because you don’t look like you belong here”

Y/N took a deep breath as she started to tell him her backstory. In some ways, she was excited to talk about it despite the sadness behind it. She hadn’t had anyone to talk to in such a long time, there was no one who would entertain her in such ways.

Tommy had learned her father was a native of Birmingham while her mother was from a foreign country and how they fell in love when he traveled the world. Both of her parents opened up a small restaurant downtown and it was quite successful but Tommy was surprised he had never seen it before.

Then... France happened. Her father had to be drafted which left her and her mum to keep the shop afloat. When the war ended, they received the news that her father had died.

Her mom couldn’t bear the loss of her husband, she went mad and killed herself.

Leaving her alone, an orphan.

Y/N was naturally gifted to be a great cook, so she became a housemaid for a wealthy couple in an estate outside of town. She was doing well until the woman of the house’s husband took a liking to her and tried to approach her inappropriately. The wife caught her husband harassing the poor girl however instead of punishing him, she banished Y/N to the streets and influenced every housewife that she was whore.

And a whore she became.

“You’re a great cook?” It seemed like Tommy had ignored everything she had told him, taking an interest in her skills.

“Well, I try... My mom and dad taught me ever since I was little”

“If I ask you to cook me a meal, would you do it?” Tommy asked, and she did nothing but nod eagerly, “If I like it, you stop being a whore and you become my housemaid”

“This is easy!” She giggled softly and she stood up, patting down her torn up dress, “Where should I cook?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows in surprise, the eagerness that she had was beyond endearing.

“Settle down, now… I’ll give you a place to clean yourself up and rest. You come meet me here tomorrow at the same time, you can cook when the pub is closed”

She nodded, excitement filled through her veins as she smiled widely at Tommy.

There was a brief silence in the air and Tommy only stared at her silently with an unreadable expression on his face.

Y/N didn’t say anything as well as her smile grows softer and softer.

Both of them weren’t speaking to each other but it was as if they had communicated telepathically as Tommy nodded, acknowledging her appreciation towards her.

“Let’s get you someplace to stay, eh?”

.

PRESENT DAY.

Obviously, Y/N had passed his test. Or else, she wouldn’t have been here right now, lying in his room on the verge of death, feeling nothing but pain coursing through her whole body.

People would wonder, ‘How the hell could she endure the consequences of being around Thomas Shelby?’

It sure as hell was not the first time she had been awfully mistreated by Tommy before. But this one was sure the worst.

She remembered the time when Tommy had asked her to be a whore and lure the men who were his enemies. He had promised to save her before anything turned sour, however, something else came up and he had totally forgotten about her. John was the only one who managed to save her before she got raped by those men. That doesn’t mean she left the battle unscathed. Tommy didn’t want to how sorry he felt but instead, to make himself feel better he had killed them with his bare hands.

Nobody knew who did that, Tommy had kept it a secret.

Waking up from what she had endured had traumatized her. She was so terrified of men to the point where she couldn’t even look Tommy in the eyes, screaming in his face whenever he entered the room to check on her or give her a meal. Polly had taken over, being the one who tended to her, fed her, and cleaned her wounds.

“Pol... Don’t you think I look skinny, nowadays?” Her voice was so hoarse, she had been screaming and wailing a lot. Pol had encouraged her to drink more water, however, it seemed like it wouldn’t heal too easily.

“I think you look better than when we first found you, my love. I feed you quite well, don’t I?” Polly remarked with a small smile.

Y/N shook her head, taking off the blanket as she stood up and walked towards the standing mirror Tommy had in the corner of his room.

“Pol, don’t you think I look different?” She asked as she studied her figure, her face full of confusion.

“Well, you’ve been to war, Y/N... I’m sure you’ll look as pretty as you are when you recover, yeah? Now why don’t you lay back down, you need to take your medicine” Polly didn’t have any idea what she was going on about, so she paid her no mind, separating her medicine and arranging them in ways that it would be easier for her to take.

Y/N, still stood in front of the mirror, her brows deeply furrowed as she studied herself.

That’s when she turned to the side, looking at her growing belly and realized--

Her stomach was flat.

“P-Pol...?” Her voice broke as her hand went down to her stomach to feel it, “Where’s my b-baby, Pol?”

Polly’s heart dropped, feeling dread and the sense of impending doom coursing through her body. It was as if time had stopped for her, her face going pale as she just stared at Y/N in deep sorrow.

“S-Sweetheart... I need to tell you something, why don’t you sit down, yeah?” Polly tried her best to speak to Y/N softly, approaching her with cautious steps as her figure started to shake in front of the mirror, “Come here, darling. Just sit down, alright?”

“No! No! It can’t be, maybe it’s just hungry? R-Right, Pol? If we feed them, they’ll grow back! Right? R-Right?!” Y/N's voice starts to raise louder and louder, the evident sense of panicking etched on her face as the tears start to well up in her eyes. “Pol, please! Just make them grow back, they need to be h-healthy!”

Pol had never felt so much sympathy for a person to the point where she had felt like she wanted to cry herself, and she was. She was crying, sobbing along with the poor girl who had never deserved something like this.

“The doctor said the baby didn’t make it, my love... I’m so sorry, Y/N...”

Her grief-stricken voice echoed through the room, a primal scream that cut through the air like a knife. Every line on her face seemed etched deeper by sorrow, her eyes wide and wild, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body convulsed with each anguished cry, the sound of a mother's soul being torn apart, the loss of a child left an indelible mark on her very being.

She crumpled on the floor, her body wracked with heaving sobs, the pain too deep for words. Her fingers clenched at her chest, as if trying to grasp onto the fragment of the life that was gone. Her voice rose and fell in a desperate, mournful wail, the sheer intensity of her suffering echoing through the room, her face a contorted mask of agony and despair.

“M-My baby!” She wailed as she clutched her stomach, the screams came in ragged, labored gasps, each one a fresh wave of anguish tearing through her body. She clutched at her hair, pulling at it in a desperate attempt to find some release from the torment. Her eyes glazed over with disbelief, searching the empty air as if seeking the presence of her lost child.

Tommy, who was in his office where he had spent most of his time, sleeping, working, and everything in between. He heard the screams and wails echoing through the house as his eyes widened in panic because he recognized who’s voice it was.

He wasted no time running down the hall, storming inside the room. As Thomas entered the room, his eyes widened in shock at the sight before him. The woman he loved, the one who had carried their child within her, knelt amidst the ruined remnants of their shared hopes and dreams. The once-neat room now resembled a devastated battleground, the evidence of a storm of grief and despair laid bare in shattered glass and torn fabric. His heart ached as he gazed upon the woman, crumpled and broken, the stark reality of their loss mirrored in the shattered reflection of the broken mirror.

“Thomas, out!” When Polly noticed his presence, she quickly stormed towards him and tried to push him out of the room to leave both of them alone. Thomas didn’t budge, his strength clearly overpowering Polly as she tried her best to get the man out of Y/N’s side.

“My sweet girl...” Thomas called out softly, pushing Polly out of the way she sighed, her face full of worry. She was scared both of them might get hurt, it is not the best time for Thomas to see Y/N right now.

When Y/N had heard Tommy’s voice, she spun around to face him, her eyes filled with a searing look of fury. The sight of him, the cause of her anguish and despair, fueled the fire of her rage. With a snarl, she lunged at him, her hands lashing out in an attack fueled by a mixture of pain and anger. She scratched, clawed, and hit, every blow an outlet for the torment that consumed her. The room echoed with the sounds of their struggle, a desperate battle between love and bitterness.

Her body moved with a wild frenzy, her every move aimed to cause him harm. Each blow was a cry of anguish, a release of the pent-up pain that had consumed her. Tommy, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, stumbled backward, flinching at the unexpected attack from the woman he had loved. His own guilt and despair fought with his desire to defend himself, leaving him momentarily paralyzed by the bitter irony of their situation.

When Polly tried to pull her away from him, Tommy raised his hand at her, telling her it was okay and he... Deserved everything Y/N was doing to him.

“I’m so sorry, my love” Tommy choked out, not being able to contain his own emotions as the tears flowed out of his eyes, “It’s all my fucking fault. All my fault” Y/N paused for a brief moment as Tommy’s words pierced through her anger. The use of the term 'my love' seemed to pull at the heartstrings of her conflicted emotions. She froze for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and in that instant, the raw pain and grief that fueled her rage began to soften into a mix of hurt and vulnerability. Tommy continued, his voice choked with remorse and sorrow, "I'm so sorry, my love. Please, forgive me."

“Why didn’t you go after me...” She wasn’t hitting Tommy anymore, she wasn’t inflicting any sense of pain that she could on Tommy. However, out of all that happened, what she had just said had hurt him the most. “I t-thought you would go after me”

She sobbed into his chest, her tears staining the expensive cotton and that was the moment Tommy had embraced her figure, hugging her tightly but not enough to hurt her in any way. In his eyes now, she was his fragile love, holding his heart in a glass box. If he broke her again, he would break himself. Tommy doesn’t know what he would do to himself if something had happened to her again.

“Please... Please if you will have me again, I will spend the rest of my living days, every second... Trying to earn your forgiveness. I will show you how much I love you... Please Y/N, even if you can’t forgive me now, I hope you try. I am willing to wait for you until the end of my time”

[zablife]

You're No Good For Me

Tommy Shelby x OC Satine

Summary: When Tommy comes into possession of a new club, the Shelbys want to know more about the beautiful and seductive performer working there. What happens when Tommy confronts her about her hidden past?

Author’s Note: Requested by @goodnightkatherine who wanted to see Tommy with a jazz singer men are obsessed with.

Warnings: language, mention of drinking, violence, possessiveness, hints of dark!Tommy, PTSD, mention of a weapon

“Bloody hell, the tits on her! Didn’t I tell ya?” Arthur asked, a wicked smirk curling around the edges of his whisky glass. His eyes never left the stage where a voluptuous ginger haired beauty leaned over the crowd. As her gloved hand seductively slid along the curve of her hip, a slight shudder ran through Arthur. He shifted in his chair, adjusting his trousers just as her ruby lips parted once more and she purred the last line of a lovesick ballad into a golden microphone.

“They’ve got a little perch for her up in the rafters and she swings on it like a bird. Last night she even did an act with red silks where she tied herself-“ Finn started, excitedly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Arthur cut him off. “Shouldn’t he be working the door?” he rolled his eyes toward the table, irritation visible in his clenched fist.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, studying the effect she had on his brothers and every other man in the club. “Go on, Finn,” he ordered with a jerk of his chin.

As the number came to an end, he placed his cigarette between his lips and clapped stiffly, the deafening noise drowning out the huff of a laugh that escaped before an honest assessment. “So this is why you want to stay in London, eh?”

“S right,” Arthur affirmed eagerly as he poured another round. “You need someone to keep an eye here.”

“On the club, Arthur,” Tommy reminded his brother with a sharp note of warning.

“And she’s part of it, ain’t she?” Arthur grumbled.

Tommy shook his head warily, “Remember what dad used to say, brother. Fast women…”

“And slow horses…”, Arthur interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I know, I know, Tom!”

Tommy held Arthur’s gaze for a moment as he finished bitterly, “Will ruin your life.” He stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, glancing back toward the empty stage. “I’ve things to do first, then I’ll give you my answer,” he replied, abruptly ending their conversation.

“Go on then. Don’t let me keep ya,” Arthur bellowed with a sweep of his arm. Allowing the king to exit in grand fashion, he remained at the table unwilling to allow his baby brother to spoil his evening or his plans for the future.

———————————-

The passageways beneath the stage were dark and winding, causing Tommy’s chest to constrict unnaturally. It didn’t bother him when there was chatter from the girls, but now it had become eerily silent save for the rush of blood through his ears. Tommy made haste to the dressing rooms, forcing his boots to thud upon the concrete floor a bit harder than necessary.

Soon he came upon the room he sought, breathing a sigh of relief at the glow of pale orange light seeping from beneath the door like an outstretched hand saving him from the smothering darkness. Like a beacon it called to him and he pushed the flimsy panel open without knocking, any pretense of formality forgotten. 

“I need to speak with you,” he informed the woman sat at the vanity. The redhead looked up with a look of bored detachment, powdering her nose as she raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a foreign lilt he immediately recognized as French.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked incredulously.

“Are you an admirer?” she asked with a sly smile. Tommy cocked an eyebrow at her, but she only giggled in return. “I have many of those.”

“No, love, I’m not here to throw roses at your feet,” he confirmed. 

“That’s a pity. I like roses,” she pouted. 

“So I’ve heard from your previous employer, but there’s going to be a new arrangement. You see, as of last week, I own this club,” Tommy informed her as he clasped his hands behind his back.

She turned slowly to face him, head tilted to catch a glimpse of his shadowed face beneath his cap. “Are you here to fuck me?” she offered breathlessly.

Tommy shook his head. “No, nothing like that," he assured her, removing his cap slowly and placing it on a nearby chair.

“Then this job will be easier than I expected,” she purred, standing to her full height. She was easily a foot taller than Tommy and she carried it with a casual elegance.

“What’s your name?” he asked, fishing his cigarette case from his pocket and turning it over in his palm.

“Satine,” she replied without hesitation, a smirk playing on her lips mischievously.

Tommy laughed mirthlessly, the sharp note of annoyance clear as he rolled his eyes. He took a moment to light his cigarette, the flame of his lighter flashing in her cat like eyes. “Your real name,” he pressed in a low, dangerous voice, taking a step closer to where she now stood.

In such close proximity she was able to scan the details of his face, pale skin still youthfully freckled but the sunken cheeks and dark circles beneath his eyes bore the passage of time. She looked away before he could glimpse the recognition hidden in her gaze, but she’d already lingered a moment too long.

Tommy seized on it immediately. “You think I don’t know you behind a few rhinestones and hair lacquer,” he taunted, exhaling a large plume of smoke toward her. Leaning in to capture her face in the palm of his callused hand he hissed, “Say your fucking name.”

She tried not to recoil, but the tight lipped smile that tugged at her mouth gave away her discomfort. “Why do you need this?” she asked, jerking her chin away in defiance. 

“Cos I want you to admit what you are...what you did,” Tommy spat, hand flying to her delicate neck as he forced her against the opposite wall. 

Red nails clawing against his wrist, Satine shook her head. “I-I did nothing…” she sputtered.

“Yeah, you did nothing," Tommy nodded in agreement as he emphasized the last word. "Left me for dead," he seethed, tightening his hold until she was left gasping for air before him.

Her eyes welled with tears as they had that final night spent together, tucked away in her tiny flat making promises of a life together after the war. Back then he didn’t care that she fucked Barney first, knowing he would be her last. She’d promised him she’d be his forever. She said, "I'll wait through any storm to be by your side."

It was that thought alone that drove him to dig after the tunnel collapse, clawing his way from the depths of the blackened earth to seek her embrace. There was nothing but emptiness waiting in her flat, however, the neighbor apologizing with sorrowful eyes when forced to recount the man come to collect her. For the better part of a year, he chased a ghost before returning home to Birmingham alone.

As the memories washed over him in quick succession, Tommy allowed the rage to consume him. He watched her head loll and her eyes roll back in the moment before losing consciousness. A low whimper from her pulled him out of himself, the intoxicating sound of her causing his hands to shake uncontrollably. With that, he released his grasp and backed away to the center of the room as nausea gripped him.

Satine fell forward clutching her chest, a coughing fit descending upon her as she struggled for breath. “T-tommy,” her desperate voice called out. The sound echoed around him like the beating of the shovels inside his skull and he turned away clutching his head. 

“You’re no good for me,” he reminded himself as he screwed his eyes shut. But I want you still, his tortured mind replied, fingers fumbling beneath his jacket for the cold comfort of his revolver...a decision to be made.

-----------------------

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[rebouks]

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Transcript:

Rhys: I wanna do this kinda shit full time after uni so it’s good practice, y’know? Tommy: It ain’t work yet though, don’t get carried away n’ forget to have fun. Rhys: This is fun.

Ivan: Oscar ain’t no employer, do whatever y’want; take a million n’ get a portfolio goin’, or sit n’ eat cake all day. Oscar: [laughs] As long as we get one or two photos we can stick up; it doesn’t really matter-.. just save some cake for me. Rhys: I’m more of a savoury kinda guy, don’t worry.

Bruno: Aren’t you nervous? Oscar: [scoffs] No way. Ivan: I reckon I would be.

Oscar: Pfft, of all the shit we’ve been through recently, getting married is like.. the least worrisome thing ever. Ivan: Holy shit! I ain’t thought about it like that. Oscar: Right?! This is a piece of piss in comparison.

Ivan: [laughs] Christ-.. we fuckin’ did it, bud! Oscar: Fuck yeah, we did! Ivan: And t’think I almost left…

Oscar: I’m glad you didn’t. Ivan: Ahh, I love y’too much. Bruno: Maybe you two should get married.

Ivan: Awh, but then I couldn’t marry you! Oscar: Are you jealous? Do you want a bear hug too? Bruno: [chuckles] Save it for later, I think everyone’s ready.

…

Ella: I swear, if anything goes missing… Norma: Don’t be daft. Ella: Well, you were investigating these lot not long ago.

Norma: [snorts] You never listen, it wasn’t-.. I suppose it’s complicated, but they’re fine! Ella: Hm. Norma: Come on! The grass is dry, the pond is a little less stinky, they cleaned the barn up for us-.. it’s cute.

[DISTANT HOLLERING] Norma: We ought to tell them to leave it all up, renew our vows. Ella: Pfft.. if we’re doing that, I want to be somewhere hot with a cocktail in my hand.

Norma: [laughs] Deal. Ivan: Dude! You good t’go?! Norma: Are you ready, Bernie?

Bernard: Always! Ella: Don’t forget what to say this time. Bernard: Good lord, that was over twenty years ago-.. give me a break!

[peachetteprice]

27 Hawthorn Court | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Chapter 1 - Butterfly Wings

Chapter Summary:

Ruth is dragged into the case.

It isn't to prove her merit; she has no merit to prove for them, not after eleven years of employment, complacent in her value with the GMP. It isn't for ego, intel, or even to further the investigation - they don't care for that.

It's to save face, for whatever their dying face is worth.

2.6K Words

Click here for story summary

Truth be told, it was a dull day in early September; globules of rain clung to the air and the last place Ruth Wyatt wanted to be was at the station in Newton Heath, conducting a sensitive investigation into the (recently executed) family of the man behind a crude skull mask that he'd pinched from the Halloween aisle of Sainsbury's.

"Damage control?" Were her first set of words, mumbled partially to herself as she took the seat furthest from him. He was a hulking man, possessing the sort of colonising shadow that could block the sun until early spring; it was a facet of his unique stature that wasn't entirely inviting.

Hence, she wished to be as far away from it as possible.

That, and he was the GMPs prime suspect in a four-victim serial murder within urban Greater Manchester; the city that never slept - unfortunately not in the romantic sense - especially not from incessant crime. It was a city of lowlife beggars and grime; streets ran rife with druggies, knife assault and underage sex. It wasn't by any stretch if the imagination that Ruth thought the man might have leapt across the table and strangled her with his bare hands - they were gloved, actually, after further inspection.

Sure, it was a desecrating evaluation of a stranger and the city they called home, but that was her opinion of it, honest as it was, from a PC with more than a decade of experience. It was difficult not to become tainted by a lack of faith, even if the residents of Manchester shouldn't have been faulted for their propriety.

"Scuse me?" He spoke, swiftly calling back to her opening remark.

She hardly remembered that she'd said anything at all, through the mind fog, until he'd piped up. His mask didn't budge with a single word, leading Ruth to believe that it had been spoken from beyond the grave, how fitting for his persona.

"The mask." She noted, splaying a dozen files across the table, some of them non-descript retributions of the crime scene. He could have taken a look if he wanted to, and she mightn't have stopped him. From his file, it seemed he'd seen enough violence for the world's population twice over. "I saw it at the shops a few weeks ago... just wondered why you'd wear it if--" well, she thought she'd continue; he looked like a man who could take it, "--if your family is dead already. Why hide your face now and not before? Unless it's for damage control, which I'd argue is a bit moot now."

"Is that a serious fuckin' question?" He gruffed, finally allowing for a sliver of fabric accommodate for his pointed diction. Okay, so, not from beyond the grave, she'd cleverly sussed.

"Maybe." She shrugged, pulling one of the files from the array. "I don't know. Just... airing my thoughts."

Ruth wasn't lucid. Thirteen hours straight on the job without a lick of scran would have done it, easy. The call came in at seven - four victims shot dead in a council flat, a possible civilian terrorist attack, her chief thought; one of them was a four-year old boy with his eyes hanging thread-like from their sockets due to the sheer force of the bullet - and she'd been pulled directly from patrol, motored by a Lucozade and a couple of polo mints: a less-than-ideal start to a multi-hour interrogation.

"This is an interrogation, innit?"

Maybe he could read minds. She'd just thought that; yes.

"Right." A clear cough set her back on track. "Your mother, Sarah Riley, your younger brother Tommy Riley, your sister-in-law Beth Riley, and your nephew Joseph Riley were all found dead upon arrival at 27 Hawthorn Court in Rochdale."

"Ah," a deep, guttural sigh left his throat, "I see why they put you in charge, now. Real detective work, Ruth. Even figured out their first names. Anythin' else strike you as interestin' from those files, or are they just for show?"

Christ, he wasn't to be thrown around.

Sure, Ruth had met more than her fair share of violent people, particularly on her weekly patrol in the gay village, whenever an inter-sexuality brawl kicked off - usually some rowdy butch lesbians spitting vitriol at each other over a particularly gorgeous woman, that was how it went over there - but this man was nothing of the sort. He wasn't aggressive, nor verbally abusive, nor particularly scathing in tone or language, but the atmosphere that surrounded him was uniquely suffocating.

It put her on edge.

It unnerved her.

He unnerved her.

"You've been speaking with the room guard, have ya?" Her head tilted, if only to distort those piercing eyes of his, so that they might not be so... forward. "You know my name. Ruth."

"You know mine. S'only fair, innit?"

She sniffled, palm sliding up and down her face; she didn't care how uncivilised she looked rubbing her nostrils against her hand like a toddler, because, God, that Lucozade and those polo mints were not sitting right; perhaps they'd mingled to induce some sort of rising chemical foam in her stomach like Pepsi and Mentos. "Simon... 'Ghost ' Riley, is that right? There's no--" She flipped the file over.

Redacted information, on top of redacted information, plus no bloody photo. The information she had been given, a date of birth and a name, were entirely useless. Perhaps, if she'd had one look at his file before walking into the interrogation room, it mightn't have been such a revelation that she had nothing to work with. She might have even asked her chief for the un-redacted versions of them all, who - being a rather burly, pig-faced, heavier-set woman with a penchant for becoming easily vexed, not unlike burly, pig-faced, heavier-set women - would have imploded with rage at even the whiff of her insolent suggestion.

But one could hardly be expected to work like that.

On paper, he was a stranger. In person, rightly so, a ghost.

"--There's no picture--"

"--Never." He noted plainly, as if the very fact wasn't bulbous tears to spilled milk for a detective (that is to say, something to cry over), though, on second thought - coming from a man with a fabric skull on his face - it might not have been.

"It says here that you're... a Lieutenant with the SAS. Mind tellin' me a bit about that?"

"Classified, pretty much." He sighed, fingertips drumming restlessly on the table.

Great; she'd even bored the life out of the dead, now. Was there anything she couldn't do?

"Is there anythin' you can tell me that isn't redacted in these files? Help me, Simon, 'cause I'm fuckin' lost." A disgruntled laugh left her throat, pervasively exhausted from the day's trials.

"Help you?" A dry laugh left his throat, this time, and she could've sworn she'd seen something like the current moment in her nightmares the previous day, unless she'd dozed off watching Scream again, "bloody useless, y' are."

"Yeah." It should have been unlike her to agree, but she couldn't help it. Thirteen hours of no rest, minimal food - again, Lucozade and polo mints - and no hope did that, easy. "Yeah- I am bloody useless. I'm working with nearly entirely blacked-out files, a case with such gruesome details I haven't seen the likes of since... fuckin'... I don't even know when, and I'm seriously considerin' handing my two weeks in, because this bloody city is driving me insane." She drove the heel of her palms into her eye sockets, trying to gouge the image of that little boy's dead gaze from her brain. The mother, the son, the son's wife; as macabre as it felt and sounded, as the only rational thought in her brain, they were nothing compared to that boy.

He'd reminded her of her own boy, in fact.

Ruth's own boy - George; shorter-than-average and babblingly talkative at the worst of times - rest assured, was probably busy wiling his time away with a crayon tucked in his palm, apple carton in tow as he put pencil to paper, scribbling to pass the time until mummy picked him up from the childminder's house. The childminder, on the other hand, was likely pacing up and down the kitchen in her modest pajamas, wondering when Ruth would arrive to collect the boy who thought her as more motherly than she'd ever been. 

But, here she was, son-less at eight in the evening, thinking of someone else's son in an interrogation room, miles away from her own, sincerely detached from the attention that called upon her judicious mind.

"What..." She huffed, attempting to claw back some of her waning professionalism, for the sake - if only - of that little boy. "What did you think when you saw the case photos? Have you seen them at all, Lieutenant - Ghost - Simon? What the fuck d'you wanna be called?"

"Ghost'll do."

"Ghost." She nodded. "Thoughts?"

"Bigger than I remember." He shrugged; it was odd shrug. Entirely lopsided, it preferred his left shoulder, and at the same time it occurred, his left eyelid squinted. It was sort of stroke-like in appearance. Jilted, she thought it. Entirely peculiar.

"What was?"

"Nephew." His gaze fell upon the door. He was already facing that way, anyway, parallel to the length of the table, keeled away from the conversation entirely. Perhaps it was his version of remorse. Maybe he did it, then. Shot them. Hung the youngest from the extractor fan for the sheer stun of it all. Blew his eyes out of his sockets. "Saw him as a baby. Little thing..."

"Not one for full sentences, Ghost?" She'd muttered - rather absent-mindedly - again, partially to herself, though (admittedly) partially to him this time.

"Shut ya' fuckin' mouth, respectively, detective." He spat. "Do your job, I beg ya."

"Temperament, much..." She whispered, levying a heavy sigh, before her attention dipped back to the case files. "Odd that you happened to come back from... redacted... of-fuckin-course... the day prior to four members of your close family bein' brutally murdered."

"Oh, now we're gettin' somewhere." He mused. "Might actually be decent at your job. Shock o' my fuckin' life."

"Thanks." Ruth took the sentiment, however sarcastic, because she needed the bloody sentiment. If it wasn't coming from herself, or her burly, pig-faced, heavier-set boss, or her colleagues, or that bastard of a man at home who didn't have the decency to show up on a Thursday for his own son (despite the numerous reminders she'd pinned to the fridge and sent to his phone the Wednesday beforehand) she might as well have taken it from a snarky mask-wearing prick with little self-awareness of how idiotic he truly looked.

If only she'd said the quiet part aloud.

"Mind if I have a smoke?" The man snuggled his hand in his pocket for, what Ruth thought, a lighter. He brought out a matchbox and a cigarette, and Ruth, rightfully so, thought it unusual. With a swift strike of the match-head against the corrugated side, though - the cigarette now cautiously perched between his lips through the pinched fabric of the mask - he let the two meet, then snuffed the matchstick with his fingertips.

"I didn't say you could have a smoke." Ruth frowned.

"Well, you took your fuckin' time, love. Too late." He took a long drag, 'willing the way', so to speak, ensuring that enough smoke permeated through the mask to be brought into his lungs and expelled back out again, in a plume of whispering ash that Ruth could only think was half as comfortable as shoving one's head into a tanker of ice-cold water.

"There are fire alarms in here." She noted, though she more cared for the latter. "And those should have been taken away from you before this interrogation began."

"It'll dissipate." The man sniffled, wafting his hand dismissively at the smoke, which only spread it further around the room. Ruth could smell it, now, sinking into every fabric of her being, replacing the damp smell from the mould on the windowsills that had been activated by the day's rain.

"Can I ask what you were doin' the day that you arrived back in England?"

"Havin' a pint and a glass o' Whiskey," he gruffed, chest heaving with every breath that wasn't spent sucking the life from his cigarette. "Playing darts in a Wetherspoons."

"Which Wetherspoons?"

"Dingy one in Manchester, innit..."

Ruth grimaced. "Which dingy one in Manchester-"

"Can't fuckin' look at a map, can ya? The one in Chorlton-cum-Hardy. Sedge somethin', or whatever the fuck it's called."

"The Sedge Lynn." She hushed the headache slowly creeping behind her eyes in the hopes that she could stave it until the end of the interrogation, like a stalking tiger she could turn her back away from until it lost the courage to pounce. "There's an awful lot of foot traffic there. A man like you would stand out, wearing that... thing."

"Wasn't wearin' it then." He seethed another few breaths through the cigarette through the mask. "Didn't need to."

"Thought the crowds would give you cover?"

"Fuckin' naturally," he hissed. "Turned out great, dinn'it?"

A brief pause in conversation allowed Ruth to thumb over the files once more. There was no purpose to it, of course, because there was nothing more within them that she could gleam, that she couldn't also ask from the man himself. "And where did you go after the Wetherspoons?"

"Home." He growled, having exhausted the finer part of his cigarette that, now, he stretched for another one.

Only, Ruth stopped him this time, warning him again about the fire alarms in the far right corner near the peeling wallpaper (it was really a shoddy butterscotch, once white, sort of crumbling wallpaper that they had installed only because of the sheer number of suspects they'd caught smoking in the first place) - and, after some consideration, which she wasn't sure happened because of her demand at all - he begrudgingly shoved the box (both, of the cigarettes and the matchsticks) back into his cocooning jean pocket.

It was a hotel, it turned out. What he had deemed 'home' was really some bland, vaguely bed-bug ridden Premier Inn close enough to the Wetherspoons to be considered 'walkable' from every pub within a three-to-five mile radius. No taxi, he'd explained, he had fucking legs. Sure enough, when she'd checked up on it after the fact - not about whether his legs were capable - he'd checked in at eleven-thirty and left at five-in-the-morning the following day. And, after some meandering conversation - making do with the meagre, though immediate, information at her fingertips - they closed in on the end of their mutual interrogation.

But something still wasn't right.

It wouldn't have been, not with that tank of a man, asking more questions than a suspect really should be at liberty to ask, staring her down like she were a piece of meat he needed to pick from between his teeth.

Ruth thought it pessimistic, to consider such a well-decorated lieutenant the culprit of a whole-family murder. His own family, no doubt. His own blood. But she'd seen it before, it was the most common career change for a battered and bruised mercenary of war - the nightmares made it impossible to escape, even during the closest state to death, in the safety of their own homes, and there was nowhere else it could ferment but in their brutish hands after one too many pints and a serious flashback - and she couldn't shake the feeling that his finger was in the pot; stirring, melting, confiding in the lenient bounds of an overworked police station and a dozen higher ups begging for his immediate release. That she was somehow a chess piece in his game, and not him in hers, as she'd suspected.

By the end of the interrogation, she was desperate. Desperate enough to snatch one of the files and hold the black ink towards the dim light. It had been manually redacted, she'd noticed after a dribble of his water - water that he'd requested but didn't drink a sip of regardless - had sloshed and bled the corner as she passed it to him. The light was only revealing what was once there, available for an inquisitive eye; it was something akin to a garbled mess of letters (surely in the English alphabet and not some court typographer's hieroglyphics, Ruth prayed) but otherwise unintelligible without further inspection.

Ghost had let it go on for too long by the time he'd thought to say anything about it.

"Oi. That's a federal crime, detective."

"There was some dust on the page," she gave it a flap, settling it back with the pile with a dissuaded smile, "just gettin' it off..."

"Are we done, then?" The man leant back into the chair, legs spread Eagle to accommodate for the expanse of artillery around his thighs and chest. At that angle, he resembled more of a juggernaut than a man.

So, it still unnerved her - more than the baritone gravel at the base of his throat, and certainly more than that childish mask covering the upper half of his face (though not so childish, was his gaze beneath it) - the sheer size of him.

"We're done, for now," she said with a grovelling cough, eyes squarely inspecting the bulk of fabric that had collected at his crotch (now, understanding her own infallibility from curiosity like any other woman, without great shame), mumbling, "the station might call you back in any number of days-"

"Fuckin' great," he growled as he lifted himself from the seat. It had been aching his bum like a touch-starved man in a prison cell.

Masterlist | Next Chapter

There was nothing more the Lieutenant craved than a tight stretch - shoulders crackling and flexing from the agony of being sat in a chair that was too slight for his oversized person - a smoke and a heavy glass of Whiskey; Scotch, preferably, though by the end of the interrogation, he would have even settled for Bourbon just for the sting of something, anything, to quench the sound of her tinny voice squeaking detail after detail he didn't care to hear.

[evita-shelby]

A different sort of man

part ii

Gif by @nofckingfighting

The witch scours through every book on magic she owns, and Thomas spends the time trying to see how different this Tommy’s life is from his.

The tattoo on his hand is different.

Instead of TGC, he sees an entwined E and T. Same monogram on the linens, tiles on the floors and carved on his own desk.

“You got it done on our first anniversary in 1921, we didn’t have Charlie yet.” The witch answers as she tossed another book into the stack and leafed through the next one. “Charlie was born in 1922, September to be exact. We eloped on June 1920 and a month ago we had a church wedding to cover up the Russian business and because our families ---mainly Polly and my aunts--- demanded we pretend to be good catholic people despite us being atheists.”

“How do you know about the Russians?” he tensed.

He didn’t confide in anyone save Polly, he couldn’t trust Grace even after three years. Too many lies, too many things ruined by her presence alone.

Even his family was distancing themselves from him because they can’t stand her.

“Because you tell me things, we are not just husband and wife, we are also business partners, have been since I told you Grace was the rat and told Campbell about Black Star Day.” She answered before muttering a curse, tossed the book and began searching through the couch cushions.

Lucky, lucky Thomas Shelby, this Tommy has a wife he can trust, with a good head on her shoulders and a spark of gypsy magic.

Something gnaws at him because he knows he cannot even begin to comprehend why he even sought Grace out in London in the first place.

“Should your stay last longer than it should, I am perfectly equipped to handle everything the other you has left pending. I act as your proxy when you aren’t available, if I do need you to make an appearance, I will brief you on it.” The witch runs a tight ship it seems.

“Mrs. Shelby, Mrs. Gray is here.” Mary, the same housekeeper he employes said with a little more warmth than her counterpart.

“Thank you, Mary. Please send her in, I am afraid it is rather urgent.” She thanked the housekeeper with a smile.

Grace was not an easy woman to please, demanded perfection, demanded that everyone knew their place and would never have even acknowledged Mary with a smile.

Where had this woman been all these years, he found himself asking.

“71 Watery Lane, with my daj, Ethel Smith.” She answered his unspoken question to his horror.

“You aren’t you.” Polly cuts to the chase as they meet in his office.

“No. Believe it or not, when I went to sleep my wife’s name was Eva, my son Charlie was five months older and I would have never sought out Grace Burgess for what she did to us six years ago.” Tommy explained to Polly, she was closer to the original one, but there was a coldness to their interactions.

He couldn’t blame her, Eva had told him that Grace believed Pol to have incestuous feelings toward him and assumed it was jealousy and not disgust because she saw her for who she was.

“If only that version of you had your sensibility, boy.” His aunt said with pity aimed at the man whose body he occupied.

This Thomas had a similar tattoo on his hand, except for the monogram Eva has on tiles and linens, there is a G for Grace, a C for Charles and a T for Thomas.

This man’s feelings were not strong enough to keep it just their initials, he had to add the baby that turned a fuck up into his life.

“Yeah, if only.” He found himself agreeing as he tossed the photograph of Grace into a drawer.

This house was a dark and gaudy shrine to her and him, he had not been surprised to know she had not curtailed his less than fashionable décor. Worse, Grace Burgess had enabled him.

Grace’s tastes seemed to exist within the confinements of her wardrobe and even that was questionable.

If Eva were here she would have burned the garish purple wedding dress with unabashed gusto, along with every portrait he commissioned.

He missed her, not even three hours apart from her and he wants to return to her and his much, much happier life.

“What do we know about Eva Smith, granddaughter of Ethel Smith at 71 Watery Lane?” he doesn’t hear the quiet gasp until Polly’s dark eyes zero in at the woman spying on them.

Fuck.

Fuck him, fuck her, fuck them all.

If Grace was just as he remembered, she will be calling the All Saints’ Hospital to throw him in there before the sun sets today.

As if he didn’t already have the Russians to deal with too.

[sadattemptofawriter]

Dual nature (Thomas Shelby x female! OC)

Dual nature 4 – A bed and a hard spot

Summery: Life in Birmingham is hard for every unfortunate soul that lives in it, but it is especially difficult for women. And if that woman has noan of her own and no family to call her own than life is difficult in even more convoluted ways. If that woman is fair of face than she has little choice to become a whore. Minerva knows this and tired of constant unwanted attentions she, hatches a plan. A plan that if done right will ensure her an honorable job with decent wages and if undone will most likely get her killed. But she is willing to try anything to avoid prostitution.

One day, Minerva Griffin made a point to show herself leaving her home, moving out and leaving it for someone else. So that her brother, Byron Griffin can come and stay. Byron Griffin who is a scrawny lad, but eager to work with a funny girlish way about him.

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. mild descriptions of exual encounted. Your media consumption is your own responsibility

“I beg your pardon?” I gasp and throw the wet rag on my shoulder.

“You are pardoned, no need to beg.” Smirks John as he yet again, puts a tooth pick in his mouth to chew.

“I said we are getting you laid.” Arthur announced proudly. His scruffy face lit up with such a childish joy that rivaled a child on Christmas Eve. He really was a master of ridiculous pranks and jokes. God save the subject of his torments whenever he got bored enough to come up with elaborate games to entertain himself.

God save me. I am now his favorite subject to tease.

“No, thank you. I have work to do.” I tried my best to courtly refuse. There was no way of tiptoeing around this one.

“No, you don’t.” john snickered. The devil, he was. “You always act busy and refuse to drink with us. I know Tommy said it. But come on…you’re a man now. You need to get laid.”

“John Shelby, don’t you have anything better to do than think about all the holes I put my cock into?” thanks to all the time I spend with these men and all the other men, I have officially grown a mouth that would give any woman a heart attack. Good. One more step away from being recognized.

Becoming foul-mouthed wasn’t as bad as I thought. Or rather, it wasn’t bad because I was now a man. When I was a young girl, I once yelled ‘shit’ after I fell off a 3-year-old filly. My mother proceeded to give me a beating with her fan. That night, I was sent to my room without dinner and was told to think about my actions. Now, dressed as Byron, not only no one bat an eye at my foul mouth, they all laughed and encouraged it. As if it all was a game.

“Do you stick your cock in anything?” he laughed.

“It better not be the horses.” John quipped, his grin hidden behind a flask.

“It is, isn’t it?” John howled with laughter this time, his followed by the laughter of all others. “You fuck the mares?”

“What’s going on in here?” came the icy cold voice of my icy cold savior. My employer. Thomas Shelby stood a few yards away from us next to Charlie Strong with eyes that could kill the devil, fuck holy Marie and challenge God. It was his neutral look, I’ve learned. That man lives in the extremities.

“Hello mister Shelby.” I bow my head.

“Tommy!” Arthur yells in delight, bringing his younger brother in on the circle and patting him on the shoulder.

He still stood cold and collected, waiting for an answer. I wanted to tell him that his dumb brothers had the idiotic idea to get me laid. They wanted to convince me to sleep with a prostitute because they believed I have been working so much that it bored them. I couldn’t do that since I don’t have the right equipment. Why, you ask mister Shelby? Because I was a woman. That would be a deadly conversation. I would take a cap to the throat. Damn it.

I remained silent.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Tommy, give Byron tomorrow afternoon off. No, this afternoon. Give him a day off.” John said, his toothpick bouncing between his lips with each word.

Tommy’s eyes turned to me, like icicles in my soul. “Why?”

“I don’t need or want a day off, sir. I will be working.” I assured him, which resulted in a perfectly arched brow.

“Is that so? Then what is John saying?” I don’t know if he knew what the boys had suggested and was merely trying to embarrass me, or he was genuinely curious.

“We want to get him laid.” Arthur said happily. This made Tommy to turn to me with an inquisitive brow raised and a humorous half smirk.

“Get him laid. Eh?”

“No need, mister Shelby, I have work.” I try even harder to get out of this situation without raising too many suspicions. The problem was I couldn’t refuse too much. Not just because they were the peaky devils and no one got to refuse the devils and live a scar free life – if they get to live at all – but also what man would go so long without a good lay? That was the problem, and I didn’t know the answer. How far do I go with my refusal? Has it already been weird? I am not actually a man; I have no desire of sex, the way men usually have. And even if I have no way out of it, and have no choice but to… do as they want me. What am I even supposed to do? I lack the right thing… I don’t thing even I can fake that. And I can’t tell them I am not interested in women… men with such perverse fancies don’t usually last long. And what would I do with the…woman? Do I tell her? No. I can’t risk it at all. Do I do things? What things? How? And can I bring myself to do so?

The sounds of cheering snap me from my thoughts and I look at John confused.

“Congratulations Byron. You're going to get laid tonight.” He whistled happily, and I turned to look at Tommy Shelby, who was already walking away with Arthur as if he had not just given my life away to be toyed with.

I consider my life as Byron, under the employment of Thomas Shelby, possibly the only good thing that has happened to me since before the war. But right now, at this moment? I wanted to pull out a gun and shoot Thomas Shelby right in the head.

The rest of the day I did my best to look for things to do, things that would take long very long to accomplish. No such luck. I had kept the stables in tip-top shape. By the time the sun began to set and the long pale shadows of the Shelby men were cast on the entryway, I had pathetically surrendered myself to a fate possibly worse than death.

They came to me, jolly and drunk. Grabbed me by the scruff of my neck like I was some young pup with pig paws they wanted to show off and dragged me all the way across small heath. They continued to tease me with their crude jokes and promises of a ‘skilled woman’. I couldn’t care less.

My mind was frozen in fear. I couldn’t keep up with the banter, I could barely focus on their jokes to begin with. I suppose I understood then why they called them the peaky devils. It didn’t have anything to do with violence. It was just that they tormented people for their own amusement.

Cruel monsters.

“Here we are, Lad. This is Sophia’s place. She’s good. She’s been waiting for ye.” John laughed. I sighed and Arthur pushed me towards the door.

I had to think quick. I had to make a decision. Was I ready to commit to whatever fate befell me beyond that door? Was I ready to do whatever it takes to survive as Byron? Or was my resolve going to break here and now.

Minerva is dead.

I am Byron.

And by God I will live as Byron.

The door opens and I am pushed inside. “Have fun mate.” I hear them laugh.

And I stand inside the small, dimly lit apartment in front of another woman who was already halfway out of her clothes. “You are Sophia.” I try my best to keep a blank face.

She nodded and a curtain of soft reddish-brown hair fell over her shoulders, I gave her a once over, this was the woman they expected me to lay with under whatever misguided kindness those two devils had. She was pretty, I’ll give her that. Her hair was down to her voluptuous hips and her hazel eyes sparkled as if she was still some innocent girl. Her lips red with a curve so teasing I could not help but think that she was some minx. Furthermore, her skin unmarred with a pink flush of spring petals.

I was no man, but in that short moment, I could admit I knew why men marveled at the soft pale flesh of women. In that small moment I knew what Adam saw in Eve to eat that apple, what Hades saw in Persephone and what Romeo saw in Juliet. I was no man, but I didn’t need to be. to marvel at beauty, one doesn’t need to have a cock to pulse.

I would not mind laying my lips on her skin, I thought to myself.  I didn’t know what to make of my thoughts. I never considered myself a woman of perverse needs, but then again, I never knew I was a woman who could so easily live as a man shoveling shit for a job.

“The Shelby’s said I am yours for the afternoon.” She sounded nervous. “They paid me good to make sure you had your fill.”

“Of course, they did.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm lacing my tongue. “Their idea of a dumb gift.” I take a hand and run it across my face.

She frowned, then her face crumbled in worry. “You don’t like me? They said you would. If I am not... if you want someone else…” she looked a lot more worried than she should have about a man not wanting to sleep with her. “I don’t want the misters, Shelby cross, with me.”

Ah. There it was. The misters Shelby. I suppose I am not the only one they torment with their mere existence. She is a whore, and they bring a customer, and yet they bring about such worry that they make sex for a seasoned whore difficult. I pity her. I sympathized with her. Most importantly, I felt the need to do something.

Something that will forever close the gates of heaven for me.

“You are lovely.” I reassured and looked at her figure. Yes, truly, she was very beautiful, even a woman would admit that unless she was blind.  A thought dared to bloom in my head, like a snake rearing its head from between rocks, or the shining eyes of a black cat in a dark alley. Sin bloomed in my mind.

Jesus, marry and Joseph, I entertained the thought. God save my soul, I did not shy away from it. Save my soul, I liked the idea. I was a woman. It was a fact I could hide under Byron, but I can never erase. I, more than any man she has ever had in her bed, knew about women and their pleasures.

I will confess at the church later but for now, I will indulge myself. I am in a trap, between a rock and a hard place. Between the wrath of the peaky devils and the wrath of God, I knew I should fear the later more, but I was not foolish enough to think I could withstand the former. If I was going to die and burn in hell, I might as well spare myself the pain brought about by the Peaky Blinders.

I stake a step forward and bring my hand to her hair, caressing her locks and down to her neck and shoulders. Her lips parted, so did mine.

I brought my lips to hers and enjoyed the taste of Irish whiskey.  she closed her eyes and melted into me with practiced motions. her hands going towards my body, trying to strip me and please me as she has done to so many men. I hold her wrists in my hand and pull them away. “shouldn’t we be doing what I want?” I ask. 

she blinks a few times in confusion as if to say what man doesn’t want this but finally settles into my whim. and by God how much it truly was a whim. I take a lungful of her scent and willingly let the reins of my intrusive thoughts go, allowing my whims to set me ablaze by the fires of hell. I make quick work of her dress, as thin as it was, it didn’t take much to tear it away then I pushed her back onto the bed and stood over her to watch the scene before me. her hair tussled and a mess around her like flames a striking contrast to her pale flesh; her body was soft and full, the kind you would want to lay your head on for days. Her breasts large and soft, they had become flushed against the open air and to my perverse eyes they begged to be held, to be kissed and bitten. The thought had come to me like a warhorse stallion, the devils’ chants in my ear. Bite her. Bite her and mark her pale moonlight skin with red bites. Bite all of her. From those pouted lips, shapely neck, her shoulders, her breasts then all the way down to her soft belly and even lower.

Curles of ginger. Same shade of red but thicker curls. That’s what covered her sweet cunt. I was surprised by my own thoughts and by the way my brain filled and described the scene before me. never in my life had I thought about other women in this way and never had I thought what I would feel about it. hers was the only other woman’s bare body I had seen and it had me salivating like a starved man at a king’s feast. It was good that I had lost the rains of my actions, because my brain could not make sense of myself. Luckily, my body had a mind of its own and pure instincts drove me to things I didn’t even knew was possible.

She moaned and sighed at every bite and my blood boiled with the realization that her moans are music to my ears and I would never want them to stop. At times he tried to stop me, take my attention to other things, try to please me in ways other men would prefer but my mind was set on its ways.

The chant in my mind getting louder and louder. Bite her. Bite her. Kiss her. Taste her skin. Taste her scent. Lap at the sweetness she hides under those ginger curls. And by god’s grace how sweet she was. I understood then, why men where the way they were. I was no longer repulsed by their needy lust; not now that I had tasted the fountain source of all their desire. Why had it not occurred to me before? Why had I not seen it before? That once you taste of this sweetness, engulfed in lovely soft thighs and mesmerized by moans then you will never want for anything else. It seemed in her taste I could find the reason for all creation and in her sound, I could find the secrets of nature.

It became abundantly clear to me why men go to war over women, why they sing songs of sweet flesh or go mad over the love of a woman or why they spend their entire lives looking for a cunt to fuck. The only thing that confused me was why men of God vow chastity and call believers towards it since it is in her sweet cunt that I found the grace of God. Knuckles deep in her, I could feel life. All of it. perhaps because it would be impossible to sway anyone with heaven if they knew it is so easily attainable. Or maybe that was just me and my perverted mind. I was already dressed as a man living in some form of sin. Might as well go all the way.

Hours had passed by the time we finished or rather by the time he was too tiered to go on and I had taken my fill of pleasure. She had remained on the bed panting and whimpering in the sweetest voice.

“you’re going to tempt me again with all those pretty noises.” I teased. Somehow my exhausted brain could form sentences still.

“Please, anymore and I might die.” She hid herself under the covers. She was really cute. Especially now with all the pretty delicious markings I left on her skin.

I laughed as I straightened my clothes in front of her mirror and fixed my hair to appear somewhat respectable and decent. Since God knows nothing else of mine was decent at all. Definitely not my mouth. “I am leaving now. You tell misters Shelby while I didn’t ask for this, I am….” How was I going to finish this sentence? I am what? I am glad? Happy? Pleased? Hoping to do it again? I am surprised by the fact that I did all that I did in the past couple of hours? “Tell them I admit I needed the break. But please don’t do it again.”

“So, you are pleased?” she asks poking her head from under her covers.

“Yes. Very much.” I say in all the honesty I could muster after that deeply illuminating experience,

“Are you sure? You didn’t fuck me.”

“Girly, you were a mess with just a few fingers and my tongue. I don’t think you can handle an actual fucking.” I bragged in the way sexually confident men do. I hopped she believed my brag and took my teasing as it was and didn’t push the matter.

She grumbled under her breath something about men and their cocks and I was grateful I was in that category now. “You better be pleased because in not than the Shelby’s are going to have my head.”

“Relax. They don’t care. They just set me up to tease me anyways.” I laughed. This time genuinely. Now that I had tasted heaven, I wasn’t so mad about the teasing anymore. Maybe a bit stressed but right then and there I was buzzed to much on sin and heresy to care. “But if it really matters to you then, yes. I did enjoy myself. Very much so.”

I left her house and began my long walk in the dark and dim streets of small heath. Hoping to get a glass of Irish whiskey before the garrison closes, I made a turn to an alleyway I knew as a shortcut.

“Fuck.” I freely said into the cold air. “Fuck.” I said it again and felt for the first time a sense of freedom I had never even thought possible.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

oh my god just had the coolest idea.

c!tommy as a pheonix. so when he dies he comes back to life, but the catch is he always goes back to being an egg and has to slowly age back into adulthood (which he rarely reaches being so reckless).

c!dream kills him in the final control room and takes egg!tommy hostage and he’s what gives him the initial idea to study revival. so when c!tommy hatches he’s had all these tests run on him before even being “born” and he grows up with an endless battery of tests as he grows to figure out how to harness and use his own form of immortality. this doesn’t involve the revive book even after c!dream gets it he’s not involving that until he’s documented everything to do with c!tommy naturally. he uses boomerville for that.

the thing is, c!tommy keeps his memories and personality, but his maturity resets when he dies, because that’s physically part of the brain. he’s wise, he knows a ton of shit bc he’s like really a million years old or whatever but bc he’s a very small child now he’s got the maturity and trust of a small child. so c!dream raises him into seeing him as a guardian and mentor and the often painful and damaging experiments he goes under as him being brave and helping save the world.

and obviously since he’s basically single handedly raising a toddler c!dream grows incredibly attached right? like he’s an abusive pos to c!tommy physically and mentally to keep him in line and forces him into invasive and difficult tests that most adults wouldn’t do constantly, don’t get me wrong, but he genuinely sees c!tommy as his little brother (he’s not mature enough to be a father figure alas). and like this isn’t like in canon where he blatantly wants c!tommy as part of his friend group but has very complicated feelings he’s just very much a proud big brother here just in as messed up and possessive a way his friendship with c!tommy was in canon.

initially things go a lot more peacefully than in canon for quite a while! c!tommy grows up in relative freedom for the first few years of his life, actually. he’s allowed in l’manberg under supervision, he’s generally allowed as much free range of the greater smp as you’d let a young child in a death world, he lives a pretty normal life. but instead of the plots c!dream does in canon he’s solely focused on research to the point of neglecting politics and his big happy family goal (bc he has a family just not a big one lol) and he starts withdrawing and isolating himself out of paranoia too and this effects c!tommy as well. it’s gradual, but by the time c!tommy’s around 7-8 he’s basically imprisoned in a gilded cage as far away from everyone as possible for “his own safety”, with c!punz’s occasional visits his only source of knowledge on the outside world.

and c!dream grows crueller, too. without the overlooking eyes of l’manberg, he no longer has any sort of ethics in his experimentation. he’s vicious with both mind games and physical harm whenever he’s convinced c!tommy’s trying to escape- which due to his ever growing paranoia is often. he forces c!tommy to participate in the other revival experiments- not as a subject, obviously, but to help him with the subjects. he’s still trying to be a good brother, but that mostly leads to him alternating between extreme lovebombing and extreme abuse.

and while c!tommy’s very knowledgeable he’s still mentally a child so he inherently trusts the person raising him, so even though he’s deeply traumatised and mentally scarred by the whole thing he adores his big brother. but he wants to leave. and c!punz sorta pities him, y’know? when your rare contact with your employer and his kid brother very obviously has that kid brother showing signs of abuse you wanna help. so c!tommy has c!Punz subtly ferry info back to the smp and l’manberg, so they can find and rescue him.

idk where tid go from there. that was kinda when the pain kicked in an I couldn’t think much anymore :(

[angelmartinez2022]

What they mean to me..

I like rainbow high dolls. i have a lot.. This will update with time..  Violet Willow This pretty lil lady was my first rainbow high doll. The one that, with that pretty purple hair and sweet face broke through the, I refuse to buy these dolls wall. The moment I took her out of that box i realized how much i was gonna love these dolls. Her hair was amazing, her out fit so detailed. She reminded me why i loved dolls so much in the first place. She brought back that connection to my Gramma, as I sat there and thought about what Gram Mavis would have done if she could have had one of these dolls. I was HOPELESSLY HELPLESSLY hooked. Ruby Anderson She was the second doll to catch my fancy. I have always loved red, and shades of red. That pretty red hair of hers was what drew me in. Finding her on sale on amazon was a bonus. It made me want her that much more when i saw she was on sale. Contrary to popular belief in my family, No one GIVES me the money for these things. I get out there and bust my butt, working even when i am sick sometimes, when i should be home in bed to  make the ends meet. When those ends do meet and i have a lil left over, its nice to indulge in something sweet and innocent as these lil dolls. That’s what ruby means to me when i look at her, I made the ends meet for another week and she was my lil reward. Poppy Rowan She was the one i waffled on, i stared at the screen and tried to convince my self is it ok to get her? Will i be able to afford her? She is the one i held off on the longest, saving money  lil bit here, and there to make sure I had enough that Buying at 25+ dollar doll was not gonna  put a dent in my finances. It made me happy when i added that last five bucks to my amazon gift account and ordered her. Like ruby pop’s is a doll that shows not only can i make the ends meet but that I know how to scrimp and save to get what I want with out hurting my self, or anyone else.

 Sunny Madison Yah this chickie was a real wild card, yet again a purchase on the ama of zons because i saw her on sale. I dont care if the box has a scuff. It was 10.00 off. I really didnt care much for her until i got her into my hands. OOOOOO BOY… never get them into your hands if you are waffling . That is the most sure fire way to loose the battle. The moment i looked into those sweet lil eyes of hers, I knew i was lost. I had to keep her and i loved her. She’s the one that I didnt expect to love but wound up cherishing. 

Jade Hunter Well folks.. This lil  lady was the one that I DIDNT want.. I have never been much a fan of green. (Unless your tommy oliver..back off man hes awesome) It’s one of those colors that i can take or leave. So i was on the fence about her for a long time. Eventually i had a lil extra cash.. And she was the last one i needed in the group. Much like sunny, once i had miss jade in my hands she stole my heart. There is something so sweet about her face. I’m not sure what it is, maybe its just her personality from the show as well. This is why i HAD to have winter break jade too!

Skyler Bradshaw Well this lil lady is a fun case. I have been at my current place of employment for a while. About three years. On regular basis they like to hand out 100.00 gift cards for I dunno reasons?  Well i had one that I had used for some groceries, but i had about 40.00 left on. Skyler and one of the hair mazing prom perfect dolls became my purchases with that left over fourty. She is just such a gentle soul when i look at her. I love the colors of her hair and the look of her clothing. And Everytime i look at her i will remember that silly gift card and how she was a reward from work. 

Amaya Raine I got the second version of this lovely girl first. I actually wound up with two of her because I wanted one for her cheer out fit and one for her every day look. Also she was ten bucks on amazon, so i found the second one just irresistible. She is indeed as lovely in person as she is in the cartoon. I love her sweet personality and demeanor, she is a lil cringy and awkward but i love her none the less. She reminds me of my self a lot. I was the awkward lil kid in high school and so i can totally feel that. Plus the rainbow thing, any other meanings aside i have always loved rainbows. They were always a symbol of hope to me, and looking at her just makes me feel hopeful ya know?

Ok whos next??? Ooooo… Bella Parker This lil lady was the one that I had a tiff over with a mom in the local target. I rare day that I was working first shift, and I got off early enough to go get her. Besides being one of the only ones i paid full price for, yah i wanted her THAT badly. I LOVE PINK. She was the one of the two that got a mom pissed off at me.  I went over to the home of  yea old bullseye and pulled this lovely lil lady off the shelf. Turned and found a woman with a “karen” hair cut glaring down her nose at me. I Looked at her, blinked and then asked her what her fucking problem was. Yah sorry lady, not on the clock, NOT being paid 14.00 and hour to be nice to you. I’m gonna swear at you if you piss me off. She went on a tirade about how awful it was for a grown woman to be getting dolls, and it was just shameful. I told her to go fuck her self and breezed past her and went to pay for my lil pink beauty.

[runnning-outof-time]

The Beauty that Saved the Beast | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: All (Y/N) was trying to do in taking over as the chef's assistant at Arrow House was get her father out of his absurd contract. She wasn't aiming to thaw out the heart of the man who owned the sprawling estate, but that's exactly what she ended up doing.

Warnings: smoking, drinking

Word Count: 5058

A/N: I got a bit carried away on this one haha...there was no logical place to split it though. If you couldn’t tell by the title, this is based loosely off of the story ‘The Beauty and the Beast’. The request (which was fun to write) asked me to use my favorite Disney story. I’ll admit that I’m not into Disney so it was a bit tough for me to think of one. I like ‘Moana’ but I didn’t think that it would lend well to the Peaky Blinders universe haha, and @padfootdaredmetoo already wrote a beautiful rendition of ‘Tangled’ so I went went this tale. I hope it makes sense. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR THOUGHTS & COMMENTS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

A letter was sitting in (Y/N)'s postal box at the end of her street. She studied it the second she got it out, her eyebrows furrowing at the lack of return address. So she went about opening it. Her eyes widened when she started to read what was written.

(Y/N),

I'm writing to let you know that my state of health is decreasing rather quickly.

Unfortunately, my employer is not letting me leave his estate, as it would break the rules of the contract I have signed.

I cannot physically go on with working here. So I have spoken to my boss in hopes that he might spare me despite what the contract says.

Please do not worry for me. I will be alright.

All my love,

Father

Her heart dropped at the contents of the letter. Her father had been employed by Thomas Shelby, a rather ruthless businessman who had his companies based mostly out of Small Heath, but called an estate in Warwickshire home. He had been working as his assistant chef for almost a year now, and had no complaints with it. Until just a few months ago.

There supposedly was a rift within his family, and Mr. Shelby no longer trusted anyone. So he drafted up a new contract which stated that his employees had to live on the property and could not get out of the contract once it was signed. (Y/N)'s father had no choice but to sign it. They had very little money, and Mr. Shelby paid well. But now that his health had taken a turn for the worse, (Y/N) was afraid that she wouldn't be able to see him again.

(Y/N) had to think of something to do in order to get out of the position he was in. There had to be some way that she could have his boss change the contract. Mr. Shelby wouldn't let an innocent man die under his watch, would he?

The first thing that struck (Y/N) as she was driven up to the house of her father's employer was the sheer enormity of the structure. It looked as if it could reach the sky, and stood with a foreboding nature before her.

She thanked and paid the driver as she exited the car before walking up the few steps that the front door had. She then knocked on the large, wooden door before stepping back slightly and hoping that someone would answer.

Moments later, an older woman was opening the door. "Can I help you, ma'am?" she asked, confusion filling her features as she looked on at the unexpected visitor.

"I'd like to talk to Mr. Shelby, please," (Y/N) responded, trying to keep her voice level although she was feeling her nerves rise with each passing second.

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"No," (Y/N) shook her head. Nobody told her that she needed an appointment. "But my father works for Mr. Shelby. He's the assistant chef: Mr. (Y/L/N). I wanted to see if I could talk to Mr. Shelby about his contract," she explained anyway, hoping that she'd still be able to get some time with her father's boss.

"I'm not sure, ma'am. Mr. Shelby is a busy man. I can check for you though. Please, come in and wait in the foyer," the woman said as she opened the door further to let (Y/N) walk inside. The entry room was just as grand as the rest of the house, and (Y/N) took in all of its details as she watched the older woman walk up the steps and disappear down a hallway.

She stood for about ten minutes before the woman returned, beckoning her to follow her up the steps and down the hallway. "Mr. Shelby...Miss (Y/L/N)," she announced as both of the women entered the room that looked to be an office.

(Y/N) looked across the room to watch the man she was to meet stand from his chair. Her first impression of him was not what she'd expected. He looked young and in shape. She had a picture of a grumpy, portly old man in her mind when her father had written to her. She wasn't wrong about him being grumpy though. He had an expression on his face that was intimidating (Y/N) from the second she laid her eyes on him.

"Mr. Shelby, thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I am here about my..."

"I know why you're here," he cut her off in an abrupt manner before he waved her over to sit. Once they were sitting across from each other, he continued speaking, "now why is it that you think I'd make a change to your father's contract?" he looked over at her with raised eyebrows.

"Because my father is sick, sir," (Y/N) answered, trying to put up a confident front. "His health is quickly deteriorating and his contract is not due to be finished for at least another year. He will surely die while working here," she tried to plead to his emotions, although as she was observing him, she wasn't sure that he had any.

"Are you aware of the specifications of the contract that your father signed?" he asked, going about lighting a cigarette then.

"I am," she nodded, dropping her gaze slightly.

"Then why would you think that I'd go ahead with changing those specifications when I so clearly laid them out?"

"He's ill, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) pleaded.

"He signed a contract," he insisted.

"I will take his place," she blurted out then, her words coming out before she had much time to think them over.

The man sitting across from her looked rather shocked at her sudden proposal. "You'll what?" he asked her to repeat what she'd just said, wanting to see if he heard her right.

"I want to take his place. He's taught me the finer parts of working in a kitchen. I'll take over his contract so that he can spend his final days at home, in peace," she explained her sudden idea, trying to ignore the sinking feeling she was getting in her stomach.

"You are aware that you would have to live here...and that you would not be able to see your father," Tommy laid out some of the stipulations of the idea that she was proposing.

"I'd be fine with that. Anything so that he doesn't have to suffer anymore," she hastily agreed.

"Fair enough. I will have it so that you are switched with your father. Your contract of employment will pick up where his left off and you will begin work tomorrow," Mr. Shelby made his decision, writing something down on a piece of paper as he spoke.

(Y/N) was relieved to hear this. Her father would be free now. "Oh thank you, Mr. Shelby," she expressed her gratitude to him, a smile on her face.

"I wouldn't thank me so soon," he responded, shaking his head as he looked over at her with a stony expression.

In her few weeks of working for Thomas Shelby, (Y/N) found that his employees were actually able to leave the estate. On the days she was off, she frequently traveled into the city with Elle, a maid she'd found a friend in. When the ladies went into the city, they'd be accompanied by someone, usually a younger man, who would follow them wherever they went. So they could leave the house, but they could never really get away from Thomas Shelby.

On the days that she worked, which outnumbered the days that she didn't by many, she found that she was really only assisting in making food for Charles Shelby, Mr. Shelby's three year old son, and the other members of the staff. Mr. Shelby himself never seemed to be around to eat. In fact, he never seemed to be around at all.

Which confused (Y/N) when she was told by Frances, whom she learned was the head maid of the house, that Mr. Shelby had wanted to see her in his office. She was apprehensive about the situation, but she still followed the older woman out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her boss' office.

"Mr. Shelby...Miss (Y/L/N)," Frances announced, motioning for (Y/N) to walk into the office before she exited and closed the door to the room.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Shelby?" (Y/N) asked, feeling slightly uneasy at the moment. She had also learned in her time here that being called into the boss' office was never a good thing. She just hoped that she was putting up a good front; that he couldn't see her nerves.

"Yes. Come. Sit," he directed her, motioning to the chairs that were positioned to face his desk. (Y/N) nodded her head before she moved over and took a seat. Tommy sat as she did, the two of them now sitting at the same level directly across from each other.

"Did I do something wrong, sir?" she decided to ask, hoping that he wouldn't rip into her for speaking out of turn. The anticipation of finding out the reason behind her being in his office was eating her alive at the moment. She desperately needed to find out why he'd called her in.

"No," Tommy shook his head, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray on the desk so that he could take a drag from it. "It's quite the opposite actually," he informed her then.

(Y/N)'s eyebrows furrowed at his statement, "what do you mean?" she asked for more information.

"I was wondering if you'd want to sit with me at dinner tonight?" he asked, clearing his throat before he continued, "you've been doing fairly well at your job. I've noticed."

(Y/N) was surprised by his words for a few different reasons. For starters, she was shocked that he was inviting her to dinner, of all things, because the man did not eat. Secondly, she was surprised because it was highly unusual for a boss to be inviting an employee to eat with him. With those thoughts in her head, she made her decision. "That's very nice of you, Mr. Shelby, but I cannot accept your invitation," she told him, looking down at her legs then so that she wouldn't see his initial reaction.

"Why not? I wanted to thank you for all of the hard work you've been putting in," he didn't accept her decision and tried another angle.

"I believe that it is frowned upon for employees to sit at the same table as their bosses," (Y/N) told him, "and besides, you don't need to thank me. I'm doing the job that I signed the contract to do."

"So you're not accepting it?" he checked with her. It was almost as if he hadn't heard what she'd just said. Like he wanted a concrete 'yes' or 'no' answer.

"No, Mr. Shelby, I am not," (Y/N) gave a definitive answer, finding the courage to look him in the eyes. His icy glare just about made her confidence crumble, but she held her ground.

"Fine," Tommy nodded, being the first to break the stare as he looked off to the far corner of the room, "fair enough. That is all," he told her, waving his hand that held the half-burned cigarette to the door as a visual cue for her to leave.

(Y/N) stood from her chair but did not leave straight away. She clutched her hands together in front of her and took a deep breath, feeling an intense need to make things right. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shelby, I would love to join you, but I..."

"I said that is all, (Y/N)!" Tommy cut her off in an abrupt manner, his voice raising to show that he wasn't at all happy with her decision. (Y/N) jumped at his yelling, and he noticed this, so he took a deep breath and composed himself before continuing, "please, leave my office," he said the rest of his statement in a cold manner, his harsh stare focused on her. "Now," he added for extra measure when she didn't move. It was only then that (Y/N) sucked in another breath and tried hard to hold back her tears before nodding and turning to exit the room.

She made sure the door to his office was shut before she let her tears fall. The worst part about it was that she didn't even know why she was crying. She knew that Thomas Shelby was by no means a nice person. She knew that he ran things around the house with an iron fist. But why did he ask her to sit with him at dinner? Why did he compliment her work around the house just to cut her off coldly and practically force her out of his office? She had no clue. So she wiped her tears and headed back down to the kitchen. She had work to do, and she couldn't let a silly conversation with her boss get in her way from getting it done.

(Y/N) was exhausted from the day she'd had. Between the meeting between her and Mr. Shelby, and all of the pointless drama that was going on amongst the rest of the kitchen staff, she was very ready to go to bed for the night.

She was just finishing taking off her shoes while sitting at the side of her bed when her roommate, Elle, entered the room. (Y/N) was ready to greet her happily, but when she saw her tear-stained cheeks, she knew that something had to be wrong. "What's the matter?" she asked, deciding to voice her concern.

"It's nothing, (Y/N), really," Elle brushed her off, shaking her head as she trudged over to her closet to grab her nightgown.

"It doesn't look like nothing," she gently pried, pointing out the obvious.

"I just got yelled at by Mr. Shelby," Elle divulged then, speaking in a hushed voice as if their boss had been able to hear their conversation.

"He yelled at you?" (Y/N)'s eyes widened in shock, "why? What did you do?" she needed to know more.

"The papers on his desk were misplaced. I swore that I did not touch them, but because I was the maid in charge of straightening up his office today, he placed blame on me," she explained what had happened, making (Y/N)'s jaw drop slightly. "He completely freaked out on me and I don't even know why. Some of the other workers were saying that he'd been brash with them earlier, but I never expected him to be like that with me."

"That's surprising," was the best that (Y/N) could think of. "He called me into his office earlier this morning to invite me to sit with him at dinner tonight. I turned him down," she then told her friend about her run in with their boss that occurred earlier.

Now it was Elle's turn to wear the shocked expression, "you turned him down?" she just about gasped at what she heard. "(Y/N), you never turn the boss down when he asks something of you."

"I didn't know, ok?!" (Y/N) defended herself before letting out a sigh, "I just thought it would have been inappropriate to accept it," she explained the thought process that she had.

"From now on, don't do that. Whatever the boss says, you need to agree to," Elle told her, "he can be a bit of a beast at times, but living here will be much easier if you take on the mentality that you must do whatever you need to to keep Mr. Shelby happy," she gave some advice then.

"I’ll remember that. Thank you, Elle," (Y/N) nodded her head, committing what was just said into memory.

"You're welcome," Elle smiled before she turned off the bedside lamp, making the room go dark. (Y/N) laid in bed that night with those new instructions going through her head. From now on, she wouldn't protest or question anything that her boss said. Instead, she'd agree to whatever it is right away.

(Y/N) decided to stay on the grounds of Arrow House on her day off. She was too tired to go into the city. Mr. Shelby had been making things around the house tough for the last few weeks. (Y/N) had a feeling it was because of her response to his offer. She wanted to go make things right with him, but Elle advised her against it. She'd just have to wait out the storm and hope that better days were coming.

It was a rare, beautiful spring day in Warwickshire, and (Y/N) was eager to take advantage of it. She got herself dressed early in the morning and had breakfast before going back up to grab the book that she'd been reading. She found herself a bench outside and sat on it, opening up her book and getting sucked into the fictional world that it created.

The book got boring after not too long, and (Y/N) found herself more interested in the swaying of the trees than the words on the page. So she sat the book down on the bench and decided that she'd go on a walk. One of the things she loved about Mr. Shelby's property was the vastness of it. She could go for many walks and not take the same route twice. Today, she decided that she'd venture over towards the stables and see if any of the horses were out.

As she approached it, she saw that at least one was out in the large field. That horse happened to have someone on its back. In fact, as she got closer, she realized that there were two people on its back. Mr. Shelby had Charlie in front of him and it seemed as though it was the small child who was controlling the beast. (Y/N) hung back by the bushes as she watched them gallop around the enclosure. From where she was, she was able to hear her boss giving his son instructions and encouragement, and she was rather surprised to see the smile on his face. He looked like a completely different person. Just seeing them made (Y/N) smile.

After watching for quite a few minutes, (Y/N) decided to continue on with her walk past the fences. She didn't anticipate her boss and his son coming up along that fence while she was walking, but she simply couldn't stop herself from letting the boy know how good he was doing. "You're controlling that horse really well, Charlie!" she called as she smiled up at the boy. At this point, the horse's gallop had slowed so that it was now standing where (Y/N) had stopped alongside the fence.

"Thank you, Miss (Y/N)!" the boy said back, a toothy grin forming on his face.

"He's a natural, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) then dared to look over to her boss, the man she'd been trying to avoid since the meeting in his office.

"He is. Gets it from his father, I think," he responded, a smile playing on his lips. (Y/N) was shocked by how different this interaction with him had been. She'd never think that she'd see Mr. Shelby smile. "You like horses?" he asked her then, his chin raised slightly to show his intrigue.

"I do. We used to own one...before the war," (Y/N) answered, glancing down slightly as she tried to keep the memories that acted as landslides into the darker ones at bay. Her family had sold everything they owned during the war just to make ends meet. The beloved horse was one of the first things to go.

"You're able to ride, if you'd like. Whenever you're free," he told her then, noticing the change that his question had brought on.

"Oh thank you, Mr. Shelby but I really shouldn't..." she cut herself off as Elle's advice rang in her head, "I'd like that. Thank you," she changed her tune and put a smile on her face.

Tommy looked pleased at her answer. "Good. Just tell the stablehands that I've ok'd it when you do," he told her then.

"Let's go, daddy!" Charlie exclaimed from in front of him, clearly becoming impatient with the waiting.

"Alright, son," Tommy said as he smiled at the child.

"I'll let you two go. Thanks again, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) smiled up at them again as she prepared to continue on her walk.

"Don't mention it," Tommy responded before he clicked his tongue, signalling the horse to continue on. (Y/N) smiled as she watched them go, happy that she was able to experience this side of her boss. Maybe he wasn't a complete beast after all.

(Y/N) was wiping her hands off by the sink when she heard her name being called from the entrance to the kitchen. She looked to her right to see her boss standing up against the archway. "Mr. Shelby," she gasped, her feet taking her in his direction, "why are you down in the kitchen, sir?" she asked as she stopped in front of him.

"I wanted to check on how my staff was doing," he answered before nodding his head towards the corridor he came down. (Y/N) nodded and followed him, stopping when he did about halfway in the hall. "And I wanted to extend an invite for you to have dinner with me this evening," he said as he turned to look at her again.

"Mr. Shelby..." (Y/N) trailed off, shocked by his sudden offer. But Elle's words were dancing through her mind within a second. "I'd like to join you," she answered him, a polite smile on her face. It still didn't feel right for her to agree, but she ultimately did it for the good of everyone else in the house. She remembered the tirade he went on the last time. And she was secretly hoping that she might get to see more of the other side of Tommy Shelby at this dinner. The caring side that he presented while out with his son.

"Good," was all he said in response, though (Y/N) swore that she saw the start of a smile forming on his lips.

"Is that all, Mr. Shelby?" she asked then.

"That is all," he nodded, "you may return to work." The two went their separate ways then; Tommy back down the corridor, and (Y/N) back into the kitchen. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel excited for later on. It's not everyday that you get invited to eat dinner with your boss...and she’d been offered it twice now.

The dinner that (Y/N) shared with Mr. Shelby was thoroughly enjoyable, although it was rather weird for her not to be assembling it. Conversation, surprisingly, flowed very easily between the two of them. (Y/N) learned more about who he was as a person. That his wife had died just a year earlier, and he wasn't really speaking to his family at the moment. He also told her about the business that he ran, but she could tell that he was just barely scratching the surface of it with the information he gave her. It gave her an insight into why he held himself the way he did.

In return, she told him more about who she was. And to her surprise, he listened intently to what she had to say. Almost too intently for her liking...she had to stop herself multiple times from getting lost in his eyes and remind herself to keep talking.

Soon enough, their plates had been cleared and they were left sitting at an empty table. (Y/N) started to feel sad. She didn't want the dinner to come to a close. Luckily, Tommy had something else in mind. "Would you like to dance?" he asked her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he took one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray that sat next to his glass of whiskey.

(Y/N) couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering around her stomach at his request, "I'd like to, Mr. Shelby," she nodded her head. This time, she accepted his offer because she wanted to rather than because it was the right thing to do.

Tommy stood up from his chair and walked over to the gramophone sitting in the corner. After dropping the needle and starting the song, he waved (Y/N) over to where he was standing. She stood from her chair then and made sure to walk over slowly so that she didn't show how eager she was at the moment. "You can call me Tommy, love," he told her as he took her hand into his and settled his other against her waist. (Y/N) simply nodded as she rested her free hand on his shoulder.

They swayed slowly to the classical piece that was now filling the room. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel lost at the moment. She couldn't take her eyes away from his captivating blue ones no matter how hard she tried.

"I have something to tell you, (Y/N)," Tommy started after they'd been swaying for a few minutes.

"What's that?" (Y/N) asked as she waited intently for what he had to say.

"I've been interested in you since you came to meet with me about taking your father's position. There's something about you that intrigued me, and that motivated me to ask you to dinner. I shouldn't be feeling this, and I know that you think that it's wrong, but I cannot stop myself," he confessed to her. (Y/N) had to stop her jaw from dropping.

"Oh, wow, Mr. Shelby...er, Tommy, I..." she didn't quite know what to say.

"I understand if you do not feel the same, and I will allow it if you'd like to end your contract after this. I had to let my feelings for you be known," he told her, his head hanging slightly as he took her stammering for rejection.

"No, Tommy, I...I'm just surprised is all," she finally was able to make a coherent sentence. Her words and slight laugh made him raise his head slightly to the point where he was looking at her through his eyelashes.

"Surprised? A good surprised?" he wondered, hating how she was making him act like a schoolboy.

"I'd say so, yeah," she smiled as she spoke. A smile formed on Tommy's face as he glanced down at her lips before he leaned in slightly so that his were just brushing against hers. The breath got caught in (Y/N)'s throat as she stood centimeters away from him, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. But he didn't kiss her right away. It was like he was waiting for her signal. So she gave him one, "kiss me, please, Tommy," she breathed against his lips, her hands reaching up for the lapels of his suit jacket as their lips met.

They continued to sway as they kissed, and (Y/N) was happy that both of his hands had moved to her waist because otherwise, she'd been a puddle on the floor. Tommy was the first to pull away, but he didn't move far. He rested his forehead against hers as they continued to sway to the music. Neither said a word for the remainder of their time together, all that needed to be said was exchanged through the kiss they shared.

"Have you heard, (Y/N)?! Mr. Shelby has ended the contracts!" Elle exclaimed as she entered their shared room. "We're free to go!"

(Y/N) could practically feel the excitement radiating off of the other woman. "He did?" she questioned. Despite the amount of time that she and Tommy Shelby were spending together since the dance they shared, she hadn't heard about the end in the contracts.

"He did. I'm going to be leaving this afternoon!" Elle beamed as she grabbed her suitcase from underneath her bed. "Will you stay or go?" she asked then.

"I'm not sure," (Y/N) responded, an unknown feeling rising inside of her. "I'm going to see if I can speak to Mr. Shelby about my contract," she said, standing from the bed so that she could exit the room.

"The contracts are finished?" was the first thing she asked Tommy as she entered his office. Tommy glanced up from his work, to see who had spoken before he stood from his chair to meet her halfway.

"They are," he nodded as he reached out to run his hands up and down her forearms. "Will you be leaving?" he dared to ask her then.

"I'm not sure. If I stay, will there be a new contract to sign?" she asked, wanting to know all of the details behind this sudden shift.

"If you stay, you will not be held under the terms of a contract," he told her, his eyes matching hers as he spoke, "because it was you, love, who made me decide that these contracts are not needed."

A slight amount of shock filled (Y/N)'s features as she heard what he had to say. "Really?" she asked him even though he'd just told her so moments ago.

"Yes, really," he affirmed, a smile on his face, "you've changed me for the better, (Y/N)," he told her before he leaned in and kissed her lips.

They shared a few kisses before pulling away with smiles gracing both of their faces. "Then I will stay with you," she gave him her answer, her words only making him pull her into another kiss that she couldn't refuse.

From that day on, Tommy Shelby changed how he treated the staff at his house. (Y/N) stayed by his side, and she watched as he slowly went from being a ruthless, emotionless 'beast' to a man who minded others' thoughts and valued the work that they did.

The End.

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite

MASTERLIST

[maximillion]

Tense

A/N: There is a huge chance you’ve come across this fic before posted on @maxislvt. That account is owned by me but unfortunely has gone a little screwy so I am in the process of moving the few fics I have already posted there over here. Even if you have read this before I would still appericate the likes and reblogs :)

Warnings: MILF!Wanda, inappropriate use of magic, age gap (reader is in college but not age specific), glass s*x toys, teasing, dumbification, slight pet play, magical bondage

Summary: You’d been working for Wanda for a long time. She helped you stay on your feet during breaks and you helped keep up with all the house chores. It was a caring friendship despite the age gap. However, that friendship turns into something much more.

Of all the odd jobs you'd picked up your first year back in Westview, babysitting for the head of your old elementary school's PTA was by far the oddest.It wasn't the kids that made it odd. Billy and Tommy were strange boys, but they were sweet. It wasn't the tasks you had to do while caring for them either. It pained you to think they were spending some much time alone before you showed more than it bothered you to wait in line to pick them up every day. It was their mother.

Mrs.Maximoff didn't annoy you the way the other parents did. If anything, she was your saving grace most days. Between Mrs.Romanoff near inappropriate advances and Mr.Stark's endless rambling about the money he put in at the school, it was a blessing when Mrs.Maximoff would pull you off to side so you could get a breath of fresh air, even if for just a few seconds. Your mother wasn't leaving out to the wolves, but as the principal she had her hands full at these meetings.

Things honestly didn't get weird until you started to know her as "Wanda" instead of her last name.

It was around the time the ongoing custody battle between Vision and Wanda had come to a close. Despite her best efforts, the boys were ordered to live with Vision. You were needed less and when you were it was only for a few short hours. It didn't pay as much but seeing the boys again made it worthwhile. Fortunately for you, Wanda still found a need for your presence.

Losing custody was tough on her and she just didn't have the will to do some of the housework anymore. If something needed fixing or the grass needed to be cut, she'd call you up. Manual labor wasn't your strong suit but being strapped for cash and enjoying your employer's company meant no complaints from you.

Despite that, you remember feeling a shift in the relationship you two had one day.

It was a particularly hot day. The sun was shining as bright as it could and Wanda's backyard seemed never ending. You'd barely gotten halfway through the front yard before you found yourself slumped against the cool concrete that was covered by the overhang on the front door. You'd laid there peacefully before the door opened and hit you in the shoulder blade.

"Oh, Y/N! I didn't see you there. I'm so sorry!"

Between the blistering heat and the sharp pain, you'd just barely processed what she said. You flinched as you tried to sit up. "Oh, it's fine ma'am! I shouldn't have been slacking off." One hand messaged your shoulder while the other one reached out blindly to find something to push up on. You whined again as a pair of gentle hands slowly guided you up.

"That just won't do. Why don't you come inside and cool off for now? The lawn can wait for another day," Wanda said softly. Despite the gentleness of her tone, she gave no room for disagreement as she ushered you inside the house. She shook her head as she laid you down on the couch. "I wish I'd known it was so hot out, I would've never let you suffer out there without at least a glass of water."

You weren't sure if the burn in your face was from the heat or being fawned over but you elected to ignore it. "Mrs.Maximoff, it's fine really. I'll just wipe off the sweat and go back." You turned to look at her only to find she'd run off. You attempted to turn further only for another sharp pain to roll over your body. "At least let me finish the front yard today."

Wanda pouted softly. "I told you to call me Wanda. You can barely do a full turn without being in pain and you're sweating buckets." She continued to fawn over you, leaving no room for objection. "Let's get you cleaned up and then I'll take you home, okay?"

You swallowed a lump in your throat and nodded slowly. Wanda had always been kind to you, but today felt different. You blamed it on the heat. "Thank you, Wanda." Your hands shook as you took a sip of the water. You sighed relief and leaned back as Wanda stoked the back of your neck. A new form of affection between you two, but one you were grateful for considering how sweaty you were.

"I'll make you an ice pack and get you some dry clothes, just relax."

You nodded again as Wanda ran off to do as she promised. Without thinking, you stripped yourself of your shirt and laid flat on your stomach. The couch did nothing to soothe your warmth but it felt amazing to finally have a break. You dug your face into the cushion and took Wanda's words to heart.

Just as you were about to drift off into dreamland, there was a small tap on your back.

"I told you to stop wearing that thing when it's hot out, you're gonna have a stroke and break a rib." Wanda wasn't a nagger, but she was becoming increasingly concerned about your state. She slowly placed the ice pack on your shoulder blade and sat down on the little space left on the couch. Wanda was entirely accepting of your identity. Never pushed you for details or mocked your choices, but she had a never-ending battle with your binding habits.

You nodded again, too tired to form an actual response. Your head snuggled into the side of Wanda's thigh. Just like that, you'd fallen asleep.

You're not sure what exactly caused the change that day, but something sure did.

After that, Wanda had started calling you names no one had ever referred to you as before. Hun, love, baby, and a few Russian ones you couldn't exactly wrap your head around. Even the way Wanda would touch you was different. Gentle hands would snake around your body, pulling you closer to her, or just stroking your back. They made you feel warm inside. You felt like you were on cloud nine when you and Wanda were alone. Yet, it felt wrong. Wanda was much older than you. Not only that, she was technically your boss.

The second thing was infinitely less important than the first, but it still wiggled into your head from time to time. Wanda was nothing but kind to you and you could think about having her do whatever unspeakable act your brain had conjured at the moment.

Fortunately, Wanda had been praying for your internal conflict.

Maybe it was a bit perverted to want someone as young as you at her age. She couldn't help it. Seeing the wonderful images you'd make in your head or seeing you struggle to keep still when she'd stand behind you as you bent over. You were just too cute for your own good. She'd have to lay claim to you sooner or later.

"I'm so glad you agreed to spend the night," Wanda said casually as she stirred the pot of soup. "You've been so helpful to me these past few months, I just don't think money is enough at this point." It was a tad desperate to invite you over for dinner. That, she'd admit,but between her needing you to do just about everything and just finishing your college exams, you needed a break you definitely weren't gonna give yourself.

You nodded slowly. You'd patiently sat at the table as she prepared dinner. You'd been so busy that you had nearly forgotten how to relax. The second you step foot in the house, you search endlessly for something to fix. Laundry to refold, a room to sweep, something to keep your brain busy. You'd only sat down because Wanda had told you the shuffling was starting to become a distraction. "I really should be thanking you," you said shly. "I guess I didn't realize how much I'd stressed myself out."

Wanda fondly shook her head as she exited the kitchen with two bowls of suit. She sat one down In front of you before she sat down next to you. "Nonsense! You've worked yourself to bone, just let me take care of you for the night."

Most people would've been embarrassed by the dotting tone she used with you. Not you, though. For a few brief moments, you were in heaven. The only thing pulling you back was the gentle hand that placed itself on your upper thigh. It did nothing at first, besides remind you that you were on Earth.

As you two continued to chat, it slowly crept its way higher. Toying with the hem of your shorts for a moment before slipping underneath them. You struggled to focus on eating. Not sure if you should say something or let her keep going. You were sure she was just being kind and meant no harm, but you couldn't take it.

Okay, no more shorts at Mrs.Maximoff's house.

"Don't say that, hun. You look so cute with your legs out," Wanda said sweetly as she squeezed your thigh. She watched as you struggled to form a response. "I thought you would've figured that. You never told me what size you wore, did you think I just knew?" Her grip on your thigh tightened as you attempted to move away. "I try not to be invasive, but your thoughts are just so loud."

Your blood ran cold. You could always find a new job, but no one could replace Wanda. "I..I'm so sorry! I know it's not right to think about you like that! I-I don't know how it happened—"

Wanda's hand pushed further up until she reached the hem of your underwear. "Aw, don't feel bad, sweetheart." She leaned in closer. Wanda didn't miss the shaky and drawn out inhale from you. "You just wanna be taken care of and I'm more than happy to be the one to do it."

A small whimper tumbled out of your mouth. Her finger tips messaging an area no one had ever touched before. Her scent, her touch, her voice — it was all intoxicating. It was near impossible to think. All you needed was a few seconds to get your head together. You'd never deny Wanda, but going in blind was too risky. You didn't have enough time to lean before Wanda's arm snaked around your neck and pulled you in for a kiss.

It overwhelmed you. The invasive warmth of Wanda's tongue exploring your mouth was more than enough to cause a throb between your legs. Breathing quickly became a secondary priority for you. Wanda wanted you just as much as you wanted her and the kiss was more than enough to price it. She bit your lip just hard enough to get another whimper from you just as she pulled away.

Wanda slowly pulled away and held your chin. "I won't force you, but if you want me to keep going I'm gonna need to hear you say it." She watched as your eyes hopelessly looked back at her. The pout on your slightly swollen lips tugged at her heart strings. It was a look she'd gotten to know all too well. It was usually when you wanted an extra cookie or insisted on finishing a task. Wanda never expected to see it because you wanted her to fuck you. "Puppy dog eyes aren't gonna cut it, sweetie." She could help but grin at the needy whine you let out.

"Miss- Wanda, please." You nervously squeezed your fingertips, unsure of how to keep the mood going. You would've gotten completely lost in your thoughts had Wanda not stood up and dragged you upstairs. It had happened so fast you didn't even realize where you were going. Your body weight slowly sunk into the mattress beneath. You could feel the plush blankets beneath your bare thigh. It looked expensive and the thought of what you were about to do on top of it caused a conflicting stir in your stomach. "This looks expensive," You confessed nervously, "is it gonna be okay if we…y'know..on top of it?"

Wanda hummed softly, pretending to actually consider your worries. "Don't worry about it, I love messy things." She crawled forward on the mattress and watched as you instinctively backed away until you were trapped between her and the stack of pillows at the top of the bed. "If you keep running from me, I might just have to tie you up."

Your teeth were quick to clamp down on your bottom lip. The pain wasn't enough to deter your body from shivering underneath Wanda's warm hand. "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never been in this kinda position." Your breathing faltered as Wanda's fingernails lightly dragged themselves up your stomach and stopped just below your binder.

Wanda tilted her head to the side and smirked. "What, you've never had sex or you've never been with an older woman?" She playfully scratched at the skin just underneath the bottom of the fabric and watched you squirm. Wanda didn't bother waiting for an answer and immediately started attacking your neck with open mouth kisses. She went lower and stopped just above the collar of your shirt. "I'd like to take everything off, if that's okay with you."

You looked back at her. Your mind was already fuzzy from the kissing. Her being so close didn't help either. "Wha…oh, yea!" You snapped out of your dazed state and scrambled to get your shirt off. You looked down at your bare chest and then back up at Wanda.

"I'll wash it for you later, don't worry your sweet little head," She cooed and threw the binder off to the side. Wanda continued her assault on your neck and worked down to your chest. Soft kisses and devilish nips at the underside of your breast was more than enough to break you out of your shell.

Your hands instinctively gripped her shirt, unsure of what else to do. "Wanda, please, I can't take anymore of this," You whined. The wetness between your thighs was becoming unbearable. You resorted to humping against her thigh to ease the need growing in your stomach, but your relief was short lived.

Wanda moved her leg away and shook her head. "You're worse than I thought," She whispered sweetly. Her fingers quickly unbuttoned your shorts. She wasted no time teasing your slit through your underwear. "Oh, these things are basically soaked through," She said with mock pity. "You want me to make it feel better? Make it so you don't have to think about anything anymore?"

You nodded quickly, hoping she'd be swayed by your desperation. "Please, I've never felt this way before." You weren't a virgin, but no one had ever taken the time to work you up this way. Everything was hot and sticky. It felt like you were going to melt right through the bed. Your head leaned back and let out a soft moan feeling Wanda kiss the newly exposed skin of your hip . Her kisses trailed all the way down to your knee before finally discarding your underwear.

Wanda's fingers slowly teased your slit. The sound of the wetness and your whimpering was music to her ears. Two of her fingers pushed into your hole. "Shh, remember what I told you,"She said, pushing your hips back down on the bed. "You're gonna be good for your mommy, hm?" She looked down at you with a knowing smirk.

You shuddered and thrusted your hips forward, desperate to feel her deeper inside. Knowing she was so willing to invade your mind and use whatever she found against you was oddly arousing. You nodded frantically, eager to please. "Please, I'll be so good for you just let me cum, please!"

Wanda curled her fingers inside you and pushed them deeper. "Oh my, you're such a greedy puppy. I don't think this will be enough for you." A third finger entered your hole with ease. "You need mommy to fill you up?"

"Yes, mommy, please." You could barely recognize the house of your own voice. It embarrassed you. Not only the desperation in your voice, but being bare in front of Wanda while she still had all her clothes on was humiliating. Just as you were about to close your legs, dark red tendrils appeared. They forced your calves to the back of your thighs and kept your legs spread. You watched as the dark red reappeared in her eyes and magic swirled around her waist. "Is that supposed to go inside me," You asked nervously.

Wanda couldn't help but laugh at your innocence. She slid the tip of the glass dildo down your slit. "Of course it is, puppy! You're gonna take it so we'll," She cooed and slowly pushed the toy inside you. "See, it fills you up just right!"

Another moan ripped through your throat as Wanda bottomed out with ease. Wanda had stretched you out so well there was hardly a need to adjust. The pace Wanda set was painfully slow and calculated. Your hands scrambled for something to do. Fisting the sheets or grabbing your hair — you even started biting your fingers to keep quiet.

Wanda tsked and shook her head. "I guess even the cutest puppies still need training," She said, voice filled with false disappointment. Wanda pulled your hands away from your mouth and kissed the bite marks on your fingers. "I'll be nice to you this time, but we're really gonna have to work on your ability to follow instructions." Wanda used her free hand to rub soft circles on your clit.

"Ah, 'm sorry," You slurred out as your back arched off the bed. Your arms couldn't help but jerk and twist Wanda's grasp. You opened your mouth to voice your concerns about the hot feeling in your stomach. It was an orgasm, but there was something more. "Please, slow down," You begged.

"Shh, don't fight it, just let it happen." Wanda watched happily as your orgasms wrecked through your body. "There we go. Look at you, making such a big mess for mommy." Her thumb continued teasing your clit as you came.

Your hips continued to twitch from the stimulation. You frantically shook your head hoping Wanda would stop. "Ngh, too much," You grumbled and attempted to push Wanda away from you. The defiant act only resulted in Wanda pulling you further into her lap. Another orgasm ripped through you. The liquid ripped through you in small bursts.

Wanda finally pulled out of you. The magic disappeared and Wanda was quick to message your thighs. "You just wait here and I'll get you a bath ready." She tapped your thigh before climbing out the bed.

You turned your head and looked at the clock. It was only 5pm. You let out a defeated sigh and laid your heads back down.

This woman was going to be the death of you.

[americancowgirl19]

Suspiciously Cheerful

Summary: Tommy falls for Charlie’s tutor/nanny

Warnings: angst, fluff, violence, Polly being protective yet difficult,

Reader: Male Reader

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Male Reader

Word Count: 4730

A/n: A THOUSAND APOLOGIES!! IT HAS TAKEN ME FOREVER TO GET THIS REQUEST DONE AND I’M SO SORRY!! I really hope you enjoy it! @marilynmonroefanfics​

Masterlist

"You're doing very well, Charlie," You praised the young boy as he repeated the Latin phrase back to you.

"Are we done? We've been at it for hours!" Charlie shouts dramatically. You couldn't help but to laugh at him. You had a few more things to do but with the nice weather and his puppy dog eyes you decided to leave the rest of the work for another day.

"Yes, we're done," You tell him. He shoot out of his seat, gives you a big hug before darting out of the room. You watch him run outside with a fond smile before cleaning the area up.

You've been Charlie's tutor for a few months now. The boy was shy for a few days but then really started to open up. You enjoyed working with him. You've worked with a lot of kids but Charlie was quickly becoming your favorite.

You almost had all your materials gathered when you noticed someone standing in the doorway. Your head snapped over and saw one of Charlie's relatives, Polly.

"Evening, Ms. Gray," You greeted, nodding your head politely. She simply stares at you casually smoking her cigarette. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Since Charlie's father, Tommy, hired you to help his son with his studies you've been getting to know the rest of the family. You got along with John and Ada the most. Tommy was your boss, you had a professional relationship with him that sometimes felt like something more. Polly and Arthur on the other hand were weary of you.

It was mainly Polly. You doubted there was a bone in her body that trusted you. Arthur was the only one to listen to her suspicious ramblings. John saw you as a good chap, a little strange, but refused to believe that you were dangerous.

Ada, however, saw you for exactly who you were. She hardly knew you yet she could read you so well that it intimidated you. She was kind but very observant.

You were relieved that Tommy didn't listen to Polly's rants. If he did then you were positive that you would have been out on the street months ago.

Polly's suspicion didn't really set in until Tommy gave you a room in his home so that you could help Charlie full time. Once you moved in you became a sort of nanny to the boy as well as a teacher.

You took the job because you were desperate for money and you enjoyed working with children. You took the room because you were one month away from getting kicked out of your apartment and being forced to live on the streets. Those were the true reasons behind why you did what you did but Polly thought there were deeper motives.

She thought you were bad news. She believed you were going to try to steal from the family whether that was stealing their secrets or their money. You didn't care about their secrets and only wanted enough money to have a comfortable living, which you earned looking after Charlie.

You weren't stupid. You knew exactly who your employer was and what kind of business his family ran. However, that's where your knowledge ended. You didn't know the specifics of anything and you didn't care to know. You were just fine with the way things were.

"Is there something I can do for you, ma'am?" You further questioned when she refused to talk. You shifted uncomfortably as she continued to stare at you.

"I know who you are, Y/n Y/l/n," Polly stated. "You come from a good family, a wealthy family," She says. "Yet you don't talk to them and you were practically living on the streets when Tommy decided to take you in,"

"Yes," You said, unsure on where she was going with this.

"Someone who has no money and is about to lose their apartment isn't as cheerful as you," Polly states.

"Well, I've been saving the money Tommy gives me and I have a roof over my head," You remind her. "I have every reason to be happy-"

"Yes, well you've been like this since before Tommy brought you in," Polly says. "You know who you work for, the people you willingly surround yourself with,"

"Yes," You tell her. "As you said, I had no money and was about to be homeless. I was desperate. I don't care about your business or Tommy's business. I just care about taking care of Charlie and making sure he gets an education. He's a bright boy,"

"It's Mr. Shelby to you," Polly states. "Thomas is your employer not your friend. Be sure to remember that," She says before leaving.

"Yes, ma'am," You mutter to yourself.

You understood Polly being cautious around you but you didn't know how to prove to her that you weren't an enemy. You didn't have ulterior motives. You just wanted to look after Charlie and have a bed to sleep on.

****

"Charlie get back here!" You shouted running after him. The young boy giggles and continues to evade you. You normally enjoyed these little games but not when it's well past Charlie's bedtime and Tommy is having a family meeting downstairs... Which just so happens to be where Charlie is headed for. "No, Charlie!" You whisper shouted but the little shit didn't listen.

You curse when Charlie barges right into the room Tommy specifically told you to keep Charlie away from. You followed after the boy but came to a quick stop at the door. Charlie was giggling madly while you were frozen under the eyes of the Shelby family.

"I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion," You blurt out awkwardly. "Charlie, it's time for bed," You tell him sternly with a forced smile. You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at Charlie trying to avoid anyone else's eyes.

John was laughing and spewing jests while Ada looked thoroughly amused. Arthur looked annoyed while Polly, as usual, looked at you unimpressed and dubious. Tommy was a little harder to read which just made you fidget more under his stare.

"Charlie," You said again, your voice slightly higher. John laughed and continued with the 'quiet' teasing.

"Will you sing to me?" Charlie asked. The room went silent and you blushed even more profusely.

"If you come with me now, yes," You agreed. Charlie grinned and ran out of the room. "I'm so sorry for the interruption, won't happen again," You said quickly before backing out. "Damn you Charlie," I whisper walking up to his room.

When you find him he's already under the covers waiting for you to sing him a song. You smile softly, your annoyance melting away as you sit on the bed by his feet.

"You can't go running into that room, Charlie," You lightly scold him.

"I'm sorry," He whispers. You smile knowing full well that he'd be doing the exact same thing within the next few weeks. You just hoped that you'd be able to catch up to him next time.

"It's alright," You assure him. "Are you comfortable?" You ask. He nods, snuggling down in his bed more. You smile but begin to sing without asking for a request. He's been wanting the same song for the past few weeks.

Before you're done with 'I'm nobody's baby' Charlie is fast asleep. You tuck the covers around him more before kissing his forehead. You turn to leave but freeze upon seeing Tommy standing in the doorway.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Shelby for not keeping Charlie away," You whisper. Your hand nervously slides through your hair.

"I didn't know you could sing," Tommy states, ignoring your unneeded apology. Tommy wasn't angry with Charlie nor you for what had happened. in fact, Tommy was finding it increasingly hard to get upset with you. Not that you did anything to upset him.

Inviting you to live in his home turned out to be a bigger blessing than he had imagined. He knew Charlie liked you but since moving in he saw his son become more lively. He was becoming the little boy he had been before losing his mother.

You brought a certain amount of lightness wherever you went. Whoever was around you felt like nothing bad could happen. It's like the worlds problems went away when you smiled. When you sang... the world stopped completely.

"I used to sing a lot," You told him, stepping out of the room. Tommy shuffled away as you shut the door. "One night Charlie was struggling to sleep. I started to sing and he settled down," You explained following him back to the main floor.

"Why did you stop?" He asked, leading you into his study. You hesitate but follow him.

You don't answer his question. It wasn't a simple answer.

"Polly's been talking about you again," Tommy brought up, sparing you from having to answer the question. "She insists there's something more to you,"

"There's always something more to everyone," You answer. "But that doesn't have to mean that something more is bad," You further explain. Tommy turns his gaze from the alcohol to you. "What do you think?"

"I think a man without a dark side isn't to be trusted," Tommy says.

"So, you believe her," You say. "You think I'm hiding something,"

"Yes," Tommy says. "Doesn't mean that something is bad," He says, shrugging. Relief fills you and your shoulders relax. "Drink?" He asks. You nod.

****

"You're gay," Ada states the instant she enters your room. She closes the door to your room and stands there with her arms crossed.

"Yes," You says, frowning your eyebrows. "You already knew that though," You remind her.

"Yes, well the rest of my family is painfully oblivious. Specifically Tommy," She sighs, falling onto your bed. You look at her from your writing desk.

"And why do you care if Tommy knows or not?"

"Because you're in love with each other, that's why," Ada says obviously.

You don't say anything. Ada knew you were gay. She lived with a gay man, of course she knew you were gay as well. How she knew you liked Tommy, you didn't know.

"Oh, please, don't look so surprised," Ada rolls her eyes. "You've been infatuated with him since the moment he hired you,"

"I have not," You said. She gives you a look.

"Oh, so you bringing Tommy lunch at least three times a week then staying long enough to ensure he eats it is just you being a good friend? What about the times Tommy stays a little late at the Garrison and you go get him to make sure he makes it home safe?" Ada asks, raising her eyebrows.

"How do you know about that?" You ask her.

"John's been my informant," Ada tells her.

"You've been spying on me?" You ask, laughing.

"Well, of course," She says obviously. "I have to make sure you're not hiding something horrible. How dreadfully boring it was to find out you're just gay and have the hots for my brother," She rolls her eyes.

"I'm sorry I'm not living up to your expectations," You tease, rolling your eyes.

"You're forgiven," She smiles broadly. "Now, onto more important matters like you and my brother,"

"Nothing will happen, Ada," You tell her. For once you become serious. "Ada, he still grieves for his wife. He puts all his effort into his business and what little time he has left is solely to his son. I'm perfectly happy with how things are right now," You explain.

"Well, I'm not," She shakes her head. You roll your eyes at her. "You're too sweet and respectful to chase after what you want. Well, let me tell you my brother needs you. He actually smiles when you're around. This little flirty friendship you two have isn't enough," She says standing up. "And if you two aren't doing anything about it then I will," She states leaving the room.

"Good lord," You mutter, curious about what's going on through her mind.

****

You were helping the maids clean up and prepare for a family dinner. All the Shelby's had already arrived. Little children were running all over the place. You were happy Charlie had some kids to play with.

"Y/n," Ada smiles coming up to you.

"You look suspicious," You state, eyeing her. "You have a look in your eye,"

"A look? Whatever do you mean?" She asks, mischievously. She winks before walking away.

"This family will be the death of me," You muttered.

You looked around to make sure everyone was having a good time and everything was in place. You avoided Polly's harsh gaze but not Tommy's lingering look.

Once your eyes connected with his it was hard to look away. Ada had been right. You were in love with your employer but you weren't going to do anything about it. You meant what you said to Ada. You didn't believe Tommy was ready for a relationship. Especially with another man. You didn't even know if he were gay or not.

But the reality didn't stop your imagination. You dreamed about having Tommy. You wanted him. You wanted to keep him company, to be with him intimately. You especially wanted to stay with Charlie, the boy you were growing to love. You wanted to be family.

Polly was right. You didn't talk to your family. Not since they found out you were gay. You were caught with a man who worked for your family. Your father almost killed you. You were sixteen and forced to live on the streets.

You did what you had to do. Whether that was to sell yourself or your voice to earn a few coins. It was one of the reasons why you stopped singing. You associated singing with the dirty things you did just to survive. But Charlie was helping you love it again.

Tommy was the one to look away first. A maid had caught his attention. She had a large envelope in her hands. Tommy tried to grab it but she held it away and walked towards you. She handed it to you before leaving.

The envelope said nothing other than your name. Hesitantly, you opened it. Inside is a beautiful yet simple ring along with a letter. You hold the ring in one hand and the letter in the other.

You could feel your face beating red the more you read the letter. It was the sweetest yet filthiest thing you've ever read. At the bottom it was signed by Ada's roommate.

Not even three seconds after you realized what was happening the letter was snatched from your hand. You looked up startled. Your eyes widened as you watched Tommy read through the letter.

"Tommy," You whisper but he hands you the paper and walks away. Your eyes find Ada's. She smirking victoriously. You give her a look before following Tommy. "Tommy wait,"

"I didn't know you were involved with anybody," Tommy stated casually but you could hear the anger in his voice.

"I'm not," You insist. He hums. "It was Ada's idea," You tell him. "She thinks you're..." Your voice fades. "It was just a stupid prank, nothing more," You promise him. "I've never even met him. He's probably just playing along with your sister,"

Tommy glances at you. You're desperate to hear something from him, anything. But he stays silent.

"I should check on Charlie," You mutter, tossing the letter into the fire to prove that it meant nothing to you.

****

"You didn't bring me lunch," Tommy mutters.

You were enjoying your book and a cup of tea in the kitchen. Charlie had been asleep for a while but you didn't want to retire to your room just yet. You hadn't even heard Tommy come home.

"I didn't think you wanted me too," You tell him. "I thought you were angry with me,"

Ever since Ada had the 'brilliant' idea to get Tommy jealous with the letter Tommy's avoided you. You respected his need for space thus avoided him as well. You didn't go to the betting shop to make sure he ate, you didn't go to the Garrison when you suspected he drank too much and you didn't stay up late when he struggled to sleep.

Wordlessly, Tommy walks to the table and sets a small box in front of you. His fingers brush over yours, his eyes linger on you. After a tense moment he walks away.

It took you a few seconds to remember how to breathe. When you look at the box you felt silly for forgetting he had set it down. When you looked into his eyes he was the only person in the world, nothing else mattered in that moment.

You took the box in your hand. You hand your thumb over the fabric covering it before you opened it. A small smile came onto your lips as you saw a simple but elegant ring. It was far more beautiful than the one your 'admirer' had given you.

A soft blush came to your lips as you slipped the ring on.

****

The presents didn't stop with the ring. Tommy would gift you with books, clothes, jewelry, and extra money in your paycheck.

You also found yourself hanging around the family more. Tommy would take you to fights or have you come to the betting shop when he needed help with something. Before you knew it you were becoming his secretary, which you didn't mind.

It was difficult but you were balancing your time between Charlie and Tommy. You were relieved to find Charlie unbothered by your divided attention.

The more time you spent with the family the more you felt like family. Even Arthur was coming around. You, Arthur and John were often the most enthusiastic when it came to fights. You could drink them both under the table which gained you respect with the eldest Shelby.

No matter what you did you could not win any points with Polly Gray. She would glare and turn her nose up at you. You tried to ignore her but she was such an important member of the family you couldn't avoid her.

Although, you supposed you had to be thankful she wasn't interrogating you or trying to convince the others to turn you away anymore.

****

"Tommy," You whisper, leaning against the door in his study. He slouching on the couch, head in one hand with a glass of alcohol in the other. "It's late, you should get some sleep," You insisted.

"Did you fight in the war?" Tommy ask. You press your lips together.

"Everyone fought in the war," You tell him. Tommy looks at you. You can see the past haunting him. "You haven't slept in days," You whisper.

You find your courage and walk up to him. You take the glass from his grip and replace it with your hand. Gently, you pull him off the couch. You stand chest to chest, your noses less than an inch away.

You tug on his hand and lead him up to his room. When you're both inside his grip around your hand tightens. You don't have to talk and neither does he. You close the door and face him.

You're already in comfortable clothes but he's not. You press your free hand on his chest. You don't push him away, you just leave it there. A second later he leans into it.

His eyes close and his head rest against yours. You pull your hand from his. You unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. He steps out of his shoes and you bend to take his socks off. Lastly he takes off his trousers before you gently push him onto the bed.

You lay beside him. The moonlight shines through the window giving you both just enough light to see each other. Your arms wrap around him. You pull him to your chest. You hope that you can shield him from the horrors of the war, even if it's just for tonight.

Tonight you'll take the brunt force of the past and let him get peaceful sleep. You'll gladly carry the world as long as you can hold him in your arms.

You risk a kiss atop his head. He sleepily moves closer to you. You smile and cherish the moment hoping it won't be the last.

****

After that night you and Tommy seemed closer to those around you. The two of you were always together. You both found comfort in the other.

Ada could only watch happily from afar. She hoped the two of you could figure things out from here on but wasn't afraid to step in gain if you needed another nudge.

Despite the fact that you shared each others beds more often you had yet to share a kiss. You never fucked, you never did anything other than seek refuge in each others arms.

You found yourself wanting more. You've always wanted more but now what you had wasn't enough. You needed more. But you didn't want to pressure Tommy. It would just be nice if you knew there was a future. If there's hope for a future then you knew the wait would be well worth it. However, you didn't think you could last with having almost everything.

You were walking to go talk to Tommy. You wanted to talk to him about things. You didn't know where he stood but you wanted him to know what you were thinking. You were beyond nervous but you tried to push the nerves away.

You never made it to Tommy. A few Peaky Blinders pulled you into an alley and shoved you around. They had put together that you were gay. All the slurs were thrown at you. They got rougher saying that they'd make sure you left their boss alone. If only they knew what bed their boss slept in at night.

As cheerful and kind as everyone saw you to be, Tommy was right. Everyone had a dark side. You just hated feeding yours.

You lived on the streets for years then volunteered for that bloody war. Of course you had a dark side.

A fight broke out between you and the other men. You put up a hell of a fight. You knocked a few out but ultimately got the shit kicked out of you.

It's Birmingham. Nobody bats an eye at some beat up bodies laying in an alley. You're not sure how long it took for you to come too but when you woke it was daytime.

You forced yourself to stand up. Everything hurt but you continued to stumble back to Tommy. You found him in the betting shop. You got looks, John tried to approach you, but you ignored them all and stormed into Tommy's office.

"What are we?" You ask, closing the door behind you.

"Y/n," Tommy's eyes widen at your appearance. Your right eye is swollen shut, your lip is fat, your ribs are bruised enough to make it hard to breathe, and you have a limp. You don't blame him for staring.

"What are we, Thomas?" You ask him. "You flirt, we share a bed, I help with your work and I look after Charlie. I put up with your insufferable aunt, your brothers are always in my business and don't get me started on how nosy Ada can be. But I put up with all of it, for over a year because I love you. I love you and I want to be with you but I know you need time. If you're not ready for more now then let me know and I'll leave. But if there's some hope for the future, if you think that you'll have me at some point then I'll stay. But if it's useless to wait don't make me suffer,"

Tommy was stunned into silence. From your appearance to your confession he was struggling to find the words.

"Say something!" You shouted. "Please," You begged quieter.

Tommy stood from his desk and moved toward you. He stopped a few inches from you and looked you over.

"I want you," He whispers. He raises his hand and gently grips your chin. "I wouldn't have kept you close if I didn't," Relief filled your body. "I want you to sit down. I'll get you something to drink and some medicine," You nodded and with his help you sat on the couch.

Tommy stared at you before slipping out of his office. First he went to John.

"I want those men found and I want them gone," Tommy tells him.

"Arthur and Finn are already looking for em," John promised. "We'll take care of it," He promises.

"Good,"

Despite the pain you were in you were all smiles and laughter a few hours later. You refused to let this ruin your day. You didn't want to focus on the scum that hurt you but the man you loved. You cherished the tender caring he gave you and looked forward to the bright future.

****

Tommy was out of town. You missed him terribly but had plenty to do to keep yourself busy. You were spending the day at the house to look after Charlie.

You were surprised to see Polly walking up to the house. You and Tommy have been together for months. You knew Polly knew that Tommy was out of town which meant she was here for you. That made you very nervous.

"Tea?" You asked when she let herself into your home. Polly nodded and walked with you to the kitchen.

"I knew Tommy was interested in more than just women when he was young," Polly said. "I didn't understand it but I would never allow anyone to hurt him simply because of his preferences,"

"Good," You said. "There should be more of you in the world,"

Polly smiled. The shock nearly knocked you off your feet.

"I thought you would wish for me to just disappear,"

"No," You shake your head. "You're far too important to this family for you to disappear," You said.

"How long were you hospitalized when your father found out about you?" She asks. You tensed and crossed your arms over your chest.

"A month," You told her. "You once asked me why someone who's been through what I have is so happy and cheerful," Polly nodded.

"A few years into the war me and my men were marching into a city in France. These people had literally lost everything. Mothers lost their children, sisters lost brothers, children lost parents, and every had lost their homes. They had nothing to their name. Nothing but the clothes on their backs but they were all happy. They were all crying tears of joy. They were celebrating and singing and dancing just because we were there," You recalled the memory. "At that moment everything I had gone through seemed so small compared to what they had. So, from then on I tried to push away the darkness and that anger and I just tried to be happy because if they could then why couldn't I?"

Polly smiles again.

"That's noble of you," She tells you. You smile and shrug.

"I don't have any ulterior motives, Ms. Gray. I love Tommy and Charlie. I want to be apart of this family,"

"Tommy loves you more," Polly says, standing up. "His world revolve around you and that child," You blush. "We don't deserve you, Y/n, but I'm glad we have you," Polly kisses your cheek. "Call me Aunt Pol," She lightly taps your cheek before walking away.

****

"I heard Polly came while I was gone," Tommy says, changing his clothes. You laid on the bed, a hand under your head and watched him undress.

"She did," You nodded. "I think I'm finally winning her over," You muttered.

"Only took two years," Tommy teased. You grin.

"At least I'm persistent," You shrugged. He gave you a small smile before climbing over you. His hands rested on either side of your head while yours rubbed his bare side.

"I love you," He whispers, kissing your nose. You pull his body down atop of yours welcoming the weight.

"I love you, too, Tommy," You whisper back before kissing him.

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part One

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Attempted Suicide and Abuse

Notes: The fic plays a year after Grace’s death. It will be quite dark as Tommy still struggles with PTSD and Grace’s death and the Reader has struggles of her own.

London, 1 August 1924

For the past three years, it has only been you and your father, living in London in a small suburban house.

Whilst you were in your early twenties, your father was very protective of you. You were his only child and you couldn’t stay out of trouble.

You had moved out of his house momentarily when your mother had passed away but soon had no choice but to return when the relationship you had formed with a young man at the time had turned bad.

Ever since your experience with that man, you lost faith and you lost trust. A year of abuse had gone unnoticed until the day your life had changed forever.

It was 1 August 1922 and you remembered that day, every day and every night. The nightmare you had to endure that day would stay with you forever. Every time you glanced into the mirror and saw this big scar across your stomach, you saw a stark reminder of that day. Every night you went to sleep, you were woken up by a nightmare, reliving exactly what happened to you to that day.

The worst of it all was that the man who did this to you and the men who watched walked free. He was the son of a judge who helped to cover it up. The abuse, the shooting, everything.

You were left with the burden of it all and, at one point several months ago, you even considered to leave this world behind, to join your mother wherever she was.

But your father, he saved you that day you tried to take your life and ever since then, he had his eyes on you, ensuring your safety.

Ironically, it was on 1 August 2024 that he made you a promise. A new life and a new home, in Birmingham.

‘Why Birmingham. It’s an industrial town. There is nothing there’ you wondered.

‘I have been assigned a new job, investigating a criminal syndicate in the area. I cannot tell you anything else about it. Its for your safety. But I have requested a house in the outskirts for us to stay at and security. It will be safe’ your father explained and you knew that he was probably right as, currently, he was investigating several killings in London and certainly had become a target.

Birmingham, 1 September 1924

Over the past two weeks, you made your new house a home.

Your father didn’t lie when he said that your new house was in the outskirts of the city. The nearest factory was a twenty-minute drive away and your property was surrounded by fields and bushland.

For days, you had been exploring the area, spent time at the nearby river, hunted and gathered.

‘I sometimes wish that your mother wouldn’t have taught you her customs’ your father chuckled when he finally found you.

You stood in front of him, your boots covered in dirt, leaves stuck in your hair while you prepared dinner outside over the campfire near the river.

‘Bi kashtesko merel i yag’ you said, pointing to the pile of wood besides him. But you knew that he had never learned your mother’s language.

‘You know, we do have an oven my love’ he laughed.

‘Doesn’t taste the same coming out of the oven’ you smiled, offering him a seat on the blanket besides the fire as you did.

‘I suppose you are right’ he said, taking some of the meat and vegetables.

‘When I was walking today, I came across an orphanage. It is on the hill a few miles from here. I was wondering if, perhaps, I could seek employment there’ you suggested to your father and, to your surprise, he was in agreement.

Birmingham, 5 September 1924

Your employment was approved within no time and, whilst the position didn’t pay well, it was satisfying to you to work with children in need.

The orphanage was established through the Grace Shelby Institute and housed over thirty children.

To your surprise, unlike there is with most orphanages you had visited and volunteered at, there was no involvement from the church.

It was well furnished, featured a large library and the children were well dressed.

There were two young children in particular who caught your interest. Their names were Adam and Lenny, two brothers who just loved to explore.

It was on your first day that they had, again, disappeared from the orphanage much to the disapproval of the educators, which the children called ‘aunts’

‘The twins are lost again’ one of the aunts said quickly just as she heard a car pull up in front of the orphanage.

‘They aren’t lost, they are exploring’ you said calmly, but the aunts weren’t calm at all as they watched a well dressed and very handsome man and a very attractive brunette woman step out of their grey Bentley.

‘Listen, I know where they might be. Let me fetch them, alright?’ you offered and the eldest aunt nodded quickly in approval before greeting the two well-dressed strangers.

‘Mr Shelby, Mrs Grey, please common with us’ the woman said and, just as she did, the man’s eyes locked with yours for a moment as he walked past. You couldn’t recall having ever seen eyes that intensively blue before. They were almost hypnotising.

After quickly collecting your thoughts, you made your way to the nearby forest and, just as you had expected, the twins were by the river.

You spent ten minutes with them, exploring and preparing them for the aunts’ disapproval for their behaviour, before winding them up and making them follow you back to the orphanage.

‘Next time, sneak out a little more carefully’ you said to them with gypsy tongue before giving them a wink and shewing them back inside, not expecting to be understood by the handsome stranger smoking besides the door.

‘They need to learn how to cover their tracks, eh?’ the man said in gypsy tongue and you swallowed harshly, embarrassed and concerned for your employment at the same time.

‘I am sorry, they just want to be outside, not cooped up in here. But I shouldn’t have suggested…’ you went on to say, but the stranger interrupted you.

‘There is no need to apologise Love. I am gypsy too, I understand’ the man said with a smile before introducing himself to you.

‘I don’t think we have met. My name is Thomas Shelby’ he said, shaking your hand.

‘Y/N YL/N’ you responded shyly before noticing the familiar surname. ‘Are you involved with the Grace Shelby Institute?’ you asked, looking at the sign displayed behind you.

‘Grace Shelby was my wife. Me and my family established the charity following her death’ the man explained.

‘I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such an intrusive question’ you murmured, but the man assured you that your question wasn’t intrusive at all.

You talked with the handsome stranger for quite some time before, eventually, the dark-haired woman came out of the building, ready to leave.

‘May I see you again Miss YL/N?’ the man then asked shamelessly, causing the woman, known by the name of Polly Grey, roll her eyes.

‘Yes, where?’ you said somewhat nervously. You were surprised when these words left your lips all so eagerly as, until now, you hadn’t built up the courage again to even consider involving yourself with a man.

‘I will find you’ the man said, winking at you as he did, before saying goodbye to you in gypsy tongue.

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[habeascorpseus]

I think I realized why purpled responding to eret's "you're a hero," with "...I try to be." stuck with me so much!

it's because, like punz's own betrayal of dream, it reflects a line in the sand, and a desire to be good for those who deserve it. because punz isn't a hero. punz is a mercenary who's moral compass is dictated by the flow of cash info his enderchest. those who pay him enough he will fight for, those who his employers want killed, he will kill.

but tommy didn't pay him enough.

hell, tommy didn't even ASK him for as much as he did. but clearly, punz saw a scared and hurting child and said, "no. no amount of pay is worth this," and turned against his own employer. punz isn't a hero, but he TRIED, just this once, for tommy.

and so did purpled.

because, despite what eret said to him, purpled isn't a hero. he's a landlord and a immoral mercenary who will kill anyone for pay, who cares more for property than the people who reside within it, who comes in to help the bad guy and skedaddle the fuck off once he gets paid.

and YET.

he saved all these people. for money, sure, but the price can always be raised to compete for his skills. there is always more to gain from those who are desperate. if purpled cared so much about money, he would have had bad bid against quackity until one or the other came out with the best price. instead, he took whatever quackity decided to give him, and followed along, proving that purpled might care about money, yes, but a part of him also wanted to help quackity. like punz, he sees the gratitude in the eyes of those he saved.

try to be a hero, indeed.

[blinder-secrets]

False Employment

tommy shelby x maid!reader, 5,900 words

warnings: power play, dominance, nsfw

ao3 link

a/n: this is essentially the second piece in a maid series i’ve accidentally started, read michael’s here <3

When you were eight, you’d told your mother that you were going to be a dancer. Then a dressmaker, a poet, a horse-groomer. As a teen, you’d decided that you’d be a wife, just a wife, who’d raise the kids while your husband was away making fortunes, no doubt. Your mother had been happy enough with that idea, but it had soured on you. After all, you thought, why spend your time looking after others and not yourself?

In the end, though, you’d found work as a maid. A house-servant in black and white, cursed to parole the hallways of an estate that’d never feel homely, or private. The irony of it was not lost on you. Employed to look after people that weren’t even yours to look after, half the reasoning but triple the pay. At least this way, the work you did was profitable, and the money you made was saved in your own name. The catch, however, was that you hated it. And you hated it because you were frustratingly terrible at it. No matter how many times Frances taught you to fold the sheets, you got it wrong. Somehow. No matter how carefully you swept, or cleaned, or shined the child’s shoes, you missed a spot. You always missed a fucking spot. It’s like you were cursed, destined to be the worst possible maid in the Midlands, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The strangest part, of course, was that you hadn’t been fired yet. You’d hardly even been chastised. The most unbecoming maid in the history of housekeeping, and you still had your job. You were still paid more than the industry standard. Despite all you knew about him, it seemed Mr. Shelby, unlike most employers, was endlessly forgiving of his staff; it was only when you started to question why, that you realised that wasn’t entirely the case.

On the Friday, you’d been called to bring tea to the front sitting-room. You’d say it’s one of your least favourite tasks but, honestly, they all sit equally on the list of things that you hate to do. The dishes always clatter on the tray, rattling wildly as you take the stairs from the kitchen. The china is scolding to touch each time you go to pour it. The spout is short, the saucers fragile and ill-fitting. Really, there’s a lot less grace in serving tea, than there is in drinking it, and that day was no different.

‘Your tea, Mr. Shelby,’ you announced, once you’d wobbled through the doorway. The milk had spilt onto the metal, but the cups and teapot had stayed strong, thank God. ‘Where would you like it?’

He wasn’t alone, the aunt and his cousin were waiting with him, but only your cold-faced boss had acknowledged the arrival. He was stood by the window, picking a cigarette from his case, and had paused to give instruction that no-one else would offer. His gaze flicked to you briefly, then over to the low coffee table in the centre. ‘There.’

You obliged with a nod, before crossing the room to set the tray and its precarious contents down. ‘Should I pour you some, sir?’ you asked the cousin, hoping he’d say no, hoping he’d let you return to some other, more menial job. One that at least let you work without an audience. Instead, he nodded, and leant forward to hold one of the tea-cups up. Why he couldn’t just leave it there, on the flat surface, where no spills could do any damage, you didn’t know. He probably thought he was being helpful; tragically, he failed to take into account that you were the clumsiest tea-maid in the house.

The handle stung, as expected, the moment you took hold of it, but you were interrupted before you could even begin to pour.

‘Shouldn’t milk go first?’ he asked, continuing once you looked at him like he was wild. ‘In china, to stop it from cracking?’

‘Oh.’ You stuttered, straightening from your bend with the burning teapot in your hand still. ‘Of course,’ you answered. Of course there was some rule you had forgotten, some high-class superstition about breaking the bone china they could replace so easily. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you smiled, and set the tea down again. ‘Sorry, sir.’

When his cup was filled with an inch of the obviously critically important milk, you tried again to pour his tea. The aunt and Mr. Shelby were talking around you, but you were so focused on the act that their words fell away into rubble, just birds chattering between the trees. You lifted the pot again and poured as steadily as your arm would allow.

From the sudden hiss of breath between his teeth, it hadn’t been steady at all. You’d poured scolding tea onto the rim, the saucer, and finally, unfortunately, onto the pinstripe-stretch of his knee.

‘Fuck,’ you burst, ‘sorry.’ The pot went back to the tray quickly, your hands into the pocket of your apron. You hadn’t realised you’d sworn until it was too late to correct it. Another X against your name, surely. ‘Forgive me,’ you told him, pulling a cloth free to offer it, ‘it’s clean.’ At least, for your sake, you’d remembered that dabbing the stain yourself would be inexcusable.

He took it, sighing, and his mother rolled her eyes so plainly that you couldn’t have ignored it if you tried. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though his scowl didn’t agree. ‘That’s enough anyway.’

You nodded, leaving him to pat awkwardly at the stain, balancing the cup and saucer in his free hand. What Mr. Shelby thought of the ordeal, you didn’t know. He was behind you, quiet, and impossible to see without turning entirely. The embarrassed heat that lingered in your ears was enough to keep you from trying. The last thing you needed, was another unimpressed look sent your way; you got enough of them from Frances.

When you shifted to face the aunt, she spoke before you could, insisting, ‘I can pour my own.’

You smiled before she’d even finished. ‘Course, ma’am,’ you offered with a shallow curtsey. Anything to get out sooner was welcome, even if it was a dig at your serving expertise.

Straightening fully, you smoothed the back of your dress and spun, facing the windows and the silhouette before them. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ you asked as you met his gaze —which had already been there, waiting. Taking account. He’d been watching you fuck up, yet again, probably wondering how you got the job in the first place. You chewed your lip as he deliberated.  

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, speaking through the cloud of his cigarette, ‘that’ll be all.’

Why you got off so lightly, made no fucking sense, but you weren’t about to stand there and argue with him. Instead, you dipped your knees again and left. It had felt like he’d watched you until you’d gone out of sight, through the doorway, but that was more likely to be a symptom of your over-thinking. Just jumping to paranoid conclusions like you always did, assuming his eyes had clung to your back until the door had shut them away.

By the next week, you were starting to think you weren’t paranoid at all.

Frances had caught you in the hallway between your room and her own, just as you were heading down for something to eat. ‘Mr. Shelby will be home soon,’ she said, stopping in front of you with a sure knot between her brows.

You watched her undo the tie of her pinafore. ‘Okay?’

‘He’ll need his coat taking, and offer him a drink, not supper.’

You balked. Why was she telling you this? ‘Isn’t that your job?’ you asked, feeling dread settle into your stomach. She was top of the hierarchy, the one he trusted most, you were a scullery maid at best. It’d make more sense for his boy to greet him, over you.

She sighed like you were at fault, and folded the pinafore over her arm. ‘He’s asked for you.’

‘He has?’

‘And don’t speak more than you should,’ she continued, ignoring your obvious alarm. ‘Just, just do as I would.’

But you didn’t know what she did. You never paid attention to what she did. ‘Do you think he wants to speak to me?’ you asked, following as she started towards her room. ‘Am I in trouble?’ Was it finally the chopping block for you?

She turned sharply, causing you to stumble to a halt. ‘I think,’ she stressed, ‘that he wants his coat taking.’ Then her door opened and she shut herself inside, leaving you to stand aimlessly in the hallway.

With little else to do, you made your way downstairs to wait within hearing distance of the front door. It didn’t take Mr. Shelby long to require your services, but it did take just long enough for you to think yourself into a panic. No, not a panic, it was more of a steady confidence. A certainty that he had asked for you, specifically, so that he could tell you to work harder. Better. So that he could get you alone, and threaten a cut to your wages if you didn’t stop pouring tea onto his guest’s laps. It was the only plausible reasoning you could settle on.

When he stepped into the entry-way, your heart was beating hard enough to trick your mind into labelling it as excitement. A twisted bout of adrenaline at the thought of being fired. You’d have laughed if you weren’t trying so hard to be professional, instead, you kept your face serious. ‘Good evening, Mr. Shelby,’ you started, moving from your post to meet him. ‘Can I take your coat?’

You thought you saw his lip twitch upwards, but it was redirected into a short nod. ‘Frances changed the rota,’ he said, though it was obvious. He turned, showing you his back, and you pulled the collar from his shoulders before you could overthink the motion.

‘She did, sir,’ you agreed. Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too much. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ you asked, unable to stop once you’d noticed the close shave at the back of his head.

He faced you again, letting the coat peel from his arms until he was separate, and you were left to wrangle the heavy fabric alone. To no surprise, he didn’t answer your question. He didn’t even remove his cap. Instead, he stared, squinting slightly, then held the briefcase out for you to take.

You were running out of hands to be useful with. The folded coat was thick enough to render one arm useless, and now his case occupied the other. ‘Would you like something to eat, sir?’

‘No,’ he answered, too quick to have really considered it. Then he looked down, eyes on the leather gloves he was removing, and asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘[Y/n], sir.’

He repeated it once. Rolled it over his tongue and out again like he was testing for its flavour. Analysing its worth, though he had surely heard it a hundred times before.

Your adrenaline had finally been replaced by fragile nerves. The silence felt like an open invite for critique, and you’d rather have it filled with the forbidden small talk than let it begin. ‘Would you like me to fetch Char—‘

‘Have you lit the fire in my office?’ he asked blankly, interrupting you as he lifted his eyes to yours. The blue alone was enough to quiet you. His stare was more intimidating than luxurious; if he had been watching you as you thought he had, you weren’t sure that was a good thing anymore.

‘No,’ you stammered. ‘Should I have?’ It was dark already, but you hadn’t noticed the cold yourself. ‘Should I do it now, Mr. Shelby?’ you corrected, playing catch up on your responsibilities. ‘I’ll put these down.’

He shook his head and put the gloves, together, on top of his coat. Piled it all on you like you were a walking hat-stand. ‘Make sure you have next time,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry.’

It didn’t look like the apology meant anything to him, probably because you had rushed it out nervously, rather than sincerely. You didn’t often know what you were apologising for after all, just that you should be, and that you were normally at fault in the first place. So you said sorry quickly, before he could leave. And then, once he had done, turning from you after a final clinging-look, you said sorry again into the absent space he had left behind. Sorry, Mr. Shelby, don’t fire me, Mr. Shelby. I know I’m a terrible fucking servant, Mr. Shelby. He didn’t look back, nor did he ask for you again that evening. From your perspective, that was a win. It meant he hadn’t planned to stage an intervention, or to tell you off like a scorned school master. He had simply wanted you to do your job, well, Frances’ job, and somehow, you hadn’t massively disappointed. A few mis-placed questions hadn’t caused your downfall, and you found yourself hanging his coat with an easy smile. Perhaps you were valuable to him then, or at least acceptable. Perhaps you were employed for a reason.

When he next went away, you made sure to light the fire before he returned. Clever, you thought, well remembered indeed. What you failed to do, however, was time it well enough that it would be lit, burning strong and heating the room, before you had to meet him at the door. You were still knelt by the hearth when he arrived.

He cleared his throat once, from the doorway, and the noise was loud enough to startle you over the snaps of the fire. You sprang from the floor in one panicked burst of energy, turning in almost the same motion, moving faster than you felt you ever had.

‘Oh, Mr. Shelby,’ you panted. ‘Sorry, sorry, I was just finishing the fire.’

He was fully dressed still. Obviously, because you hadn’t been there to pull the outer layers from him as you should have. It wasn’t even a difficult task and you’d seemingly failed on your second try.

‘Have you been there long?’ you asked, hoping that if you kept him talking, and kept his eyes on yours, he would fail to notice the ash on your knees. The grey powdering of your tights and the hem of your dress, dirtied from kneeling too close to the bricks. It could be brushed away easily, but you hardly wanted more attention drawn to it. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

He shrugged, not bothering with a real answer. The nonchalance made you nervous. He could’ve been standing there for seconds, or he could’ve been there for minutes, watching you bent in half, folded in front of the fire as you worked. Whether someone could even be judged on their fire-making skills, you didn’t know. But he seemed the type to be able to judge anyone for anything.

‘Sorry, I should take your coat,’ you started, crossing the room with your hands out.

‘It’s alright.’ He walked past you before you could even reach him, moulding into the study like he was a part of it. ‘I have to go out again, anyway.’

You nodded. He didn’t offer any other instruction, so you just stood there, dirty like a chimney-sweep, gormless like a fucking goose in the river. ‘Should I go, sir?’ you asked.

His case went on top of the desk, his body dropped into the seat behind it. He didn’t look at you, or answer you, he just pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it. You watched him inhale and exhale once before growing tired.

‘There are things I should be doing, sir,’ you said, hoping to sound more apologetic than rude. In truth, you were just bored. Uncomfortable. You couldn’t stop thinking about the ash on your knees.

It definitely wasn’t paranoia that time. His eyes finally found you, in the middle of the room, and drank you in like you were one of his racehorses. The flashy ones that he bought for the sake of money and money alone. You fidgeted under the weight of them, knowing the crystal irises were skimming every part of you that should’ve been ignored. Especially for a maid, for one of his house-servants. Your body should’ve been nothing beneath the rigidity of your uniform, and yet he scooped it out from between the seams, looked at the curves that you were sure had been hidden.

‘Do you live at the house,’ he started, voice low and catching, ‘or at home?’

‘The house, sir.’ You threaded your fingers together, kept them clutched over your pinafore. ‘I share the room next to Frances.’

The smoke pooled from his lips again, trailing after him as he leant back into his seat. He was looking at you down his nose, through his lashes, holding the silence just long enough for it become taut. Sharp enough to make your cheeks warm.

‘And when she hears the bell at night, do you hear it too?’

You frowned, but nodded. The service bells were mounted on the wall between the doors.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘next time it goes, I want you to see to it.’

His gaze was unmoving. Yours had been charmed into the same fate, unable to pull away from him. ‘Sir?’ you said, understanding his meaning, but not believing it in the slightest. There was no innocent reason for him to switch orders like that. The older woman had always covered the night work, as infrequent as it was.

He cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes in one quick pulse of intent. ‘Let Frances have her rest, eh?’

It was either a promotion, or a proposition. You had neither the gall or the desire to ask which. ‘Of course, Mr. Shelby.’

After that, your encounters with him had remained short and indifferent. You took his coat, brought him tea, whiskey, followed orders when he gave them. You’d watched him, watching you, every time, and thought nothing more of it. Or at least tried not to. You never saw him interact with other staff, so you couldn’t dispel the idea that he treated you any different from them; he could’ve held all of his employees under the same searing gaze and you wouldn’t have known. Frances had commented on his favouring of you, claiming ‘he’d ask for you over anyone else’, but she had seemed relieved all the same. She liked her work, but she liked free time just as much. His request to switch you to the night-calls, however, had been a dormant one, an almost pointless one, because he’d never rang. Never asked anything of you once he’d taken supper.

At least, he hadn’t before now, right now. This very moment. You’d been dragged from your sleep by the dull clanging of the service bell, and now you’re hot-footing down the stairs with your pinafore barely fastened. What the allowed time for dressing is, you have no idea. You’re trying to rush, but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been, or how presentable you are. The only comfort is that he’s yet to ring the bell again, so you obviously haven’t been long enough to make him impatient.

The door to his study is shut, but there’s nowhere else he’d be, so you knock once you’re stood in front of it. You hear him cough from the other side, before saying, ‘Come in.’

Right then. Here you go. You take a few steps into the room, just enough to be present, but not intrusive, and force a quiet breath before speaking. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ you ask, starting as he shows no sign of doing it on your behalf. He hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge you.

He’s leaning on the end of his desk, staring into the embers of the once lit fire, with a half-filled tumbler in his hand. His jacket’s off, shirt sleeves rolled and shoved to sit above the elbow. If it weren’t for the waistcoat, still fastened and adorned with the chain of his pocket-watch, he’d look almost scruffy. Off-guard. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you heard the bell, then.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you don’t mind the disturbance?’

‘No.’ Though, if he’d brought you down just to test the mechanism, you would hardly be happy about it. ‘Is that all, sir?’

He snorts, following it with a sip of whiskey. The motion causes the gold band around his bicep to catch in the lamplight, glinting at you. A lighthouse through the dark. ‘You don’t get bored of saying sir?’ he asks, finally flicking his eyes in your direction. ‘You say it more than the others.’

Your brows sink together, frowning before you can help it. You weren’t aware there was any other thing to call him, or that sir had a quota, one that you were seemingly well over. ‘Am I wrong to address you as that, Mr. Shelby?’

Quietly, he stands from his lean and tips his head back to finish the final portion of his drink. You watch his neck against the light, follow the whiskey as it travels down his throat. Once it’s empty, he turns to face you with his arm limp by his side, glass dangling in his palm. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head half-way, ‘call me what you like.’

You catch a whim in the dim-setting, a spark of courage from the fireplace. It’s like the quiet of the house, the certainty of your solitude together, is daring you to test the bounds of your employee-boss relationship. His lingering pause gives the same effect, his blank stare waits to be challenged.

‘Not Tommy, though, sir?’ you ask, wanting to smirk with it, but missing the moment. Or rather, losing the courage as soon as the name’s left your lips.

His chin lifts a fraction. ‘No, not that.’

Tommy is too personal, too close to him. The faint hope you had, that he’d allow you to say it, is squashed into the rug beneath his feet. Without asking, he holds the glass up, arm straight and pointed toward you. You understand his meaning well enough and cross the room to take it from him.

‘Do you often wake a maid, just to pour your whiskey?’ you ask from beside the drinks cabinet. The decanter is there, ready, un-topped and waiting. You fill his glass a quarter, and then a quarter more after a pause of consideration. It doesn’t seem like an evening for single measures.

He doesn’t answer until you’re back in front of him. ‘No,’ he admits shamelessly, leaving you yet another silence to fill.

‘Just me then, sir?’

He nods. ‘Yep, just you.’

He takes the glass and lifts it for a drink. By the time he’s swallowed, and set it down again, you’re two steps back, waiting in the middle of the rug. Anxious for the next order. You’d hoped that the late hour would’ve made him more accessible, more willing to drop the formalities and pretence of your relationship. Instead, it’s made you all the more aware of them. All the more sensitive to the ladder of power between the two of you, and the way he manoeuvres it. He seems so easy, so comfortable, unapologetic of his status and the benefits that it gives him. He can walk the line without risk of misstepping, because he’s the one who sets it.

‘Do you like your job, [y/n]?’ he asks, sounding as if he knows the answer already.

You chew the reply over in your head. As lucky as you’ve been so far, the outright truth might finally throw you into the cold. ‘I like the company,’ you answer, ‘the people.’

He pushes a laugh through his nose, amused but barely smiling still. ‘Didn’t ask you that.’

No, but you won’t lie to him. ‘I’m terrible at my job, sir,’ you say. He surely knows that as well as you do, maybe that’s the reason for him calling on you. It’s time for the meeting you’ve been dreading. The conversation was here at last. ‘In all honesty,’ you tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’ve kept me on.’

Sighing, he half-sits on the desk again, arms folding across his chest. ‘You think you’re that bad?’

‘Awful, sir.’ The added responsibilities have done nothing to improve your prowess. His extra requests have just given you more things to misplace, more damages to cause. ‘Why have you never said anything?’ you ask, adding a ‘sir’ at the raise of his brow. ‘Most people would’ve docked my wages by now.’

He blinks once. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’

The heat it sends up your neck is scorching, embarrassing. For a moment, you forget that he could mean it plainly, that he could speak as an employer and an employer alone. If he had any other expression, you’d be able to validate that, but he’s stoney as ever, waiting for a response like he’d simply asked for the time. ‘No, sir,’ you manage. ‘I just wondered why.’

He takes a sip before answering, hissing the whiskey between the set of his teeth. ‘You know why,’ he says, watching his hands for once, giving you respite from his stare. ‘You look at me just the same.’

‘I do?’

You don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re already in agreement. The self-indulgent glances you’ve taken of him were for the exact same reason you had hoped he looked at you. It wasn’t judgement, but hunger. You had thought it silly to imagine he felt that way too. Maybe men were men after all, easy to read regardless of status, free to want as they liked, but not without the worry of consequence.

‘I don’t want to misunderstand you, Mr. Shelby,’ you say carefully, speaking slow enough to set your thoughts straight. ‘Why do you employ me still?’

You’d expected bravado in reply, but his eyes are on the glass and his voice is taut. ‘I can’t,’ he states. He knows the reasons as well as you do. The chains that bind him, the ones that keep both of your roles in place. There are rules in this house, things that can’t be changed for desire’s sake and he’s counting on you to respect them; the sheer fact that you’re here, alone with him in the middle of the night, proves that his willpower is faltering. He expects you to make up for what he lacks.

The irony, of course, is that you’ve never been any good at meeting expectations. You feel your heartbeat in your skull, right behind your ears, as you take a step forward. ‘Can’t say,’ you challenge, ‘or can’t act on it?’

Another step and you’re an arm’s length away from him.

He puts the glass down and faces you steadily, like he’s flicked the switch back into place, like he’s got cold, iced water in his veins again. ‘You’ll tempt me in my own house, eh?’ he chides, pushing it through a smirk. ‘So quick to be a whore.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ you answer, ‘I’m a maid.’ You chance it and put a hand to his waistcoat, pinching the edge of it between your fingers. He doesn’t stop you. You’re invincible then, you could do anything in the world, and he still wouldn’t think it reason enough to fire you. ‘You don’t seem like a man to ignore his wants, Mr. Shelby.’ Indulge while you can, taste what you’ve been thinking about for so long. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ you purr, ‘then it’s surely my job to do it.’

He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he’s ran out of words. Maybe they’d just take him further from what it is that he wants. Now that you both know it, there’s no reason to discuss. You may be terrible at housework, but men have never been a challenge, you could never fail at something you enjoyed so thoroughly.

Standing, he takes you by the wrist and pulls your fingers free of the waistcoat. He holds your hand in front of your face like you’re a caught criminal. ‘Go back to bed,’ he says, bluntly enough that you almost turn and run. But you were so close to the impossible, so close to tipping over the line, that adrenaline catches you instead.

‘Why?’ Your brows pinch, your manners forget themselves in the disappointment. ‘You suddenly have morals?’ you ask, teetering on laughter. ‘Shame?’ He could kill a man, but fucking his maid is where his ethics hardened. Where they steeled to a stop.  

His jaw sets. For someone so familiar with staff, and giving orders, he’s struggling to put you in your place. You know it’s coming though, you can see the threat behind his eyes.

‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ you taunt. ‘Worried we’ll be found out?’

It was a risk, but it paid off, and he switches the play so easily into his favour, that the wind is knocked out of you before you can piece together what’s happened. He’d pulled you forward, then past him, so that your thighs are against the edge of the desk and his chest is pressed along the length of your back. His arms are either side of you, palms flat on the wooden top. ‘Is that how you want it?’ he bites, putting the question to your neck. Down the collar of your uniform. ‘Ay? Against the boss’s desk?’

‘If that’s what suits you.’

He puts a knee between yours, pushing your legs just far enough apart to feel like he’s predator and you’re prey. Like your body is his to bend, to set in place and enjoy. ‘What?’ he asks, breath hot and liquored by your ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

You clear your throat, willing your voice to strengthen. This was what you’d initiated, after all. This is the side you’d asked to see. ‘If that’s what suits, sir,’ you say again, stressing the ‘sir’ like it’s the key to it all, the fuel under the fire. By the way his breath shudders against you, you’re starting to think it is.

He exhales again. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He’s quiet with it, like the thought had escaped without him realising.

‘I want to,’ you insist. You lean forwards slightly, curving your lower back upwards and into him. ‘You want to, sir.’ It was obvious enough. The extra work, the lingering stares, the hardness growing against the back of your thigh —it all lead to one thing, to wanting, lusting. To favouring desire over anything else.

His hands lift from the desk-top to your waist. Taking the bait, then, making it his.

You turn between them, not caring that the motion has skewed your uniform, twisting the skirt beneath his hands until it’s sat, bunched, at your hips. It would have to be moved eventually, taken off entirely if he had the time. ‘If you take any longer,’ you say, ‘the house’ll wake up, Mr. Shelby.’

‘Yeah?’ He lifts you as he answers, putting you onto the desk, and himself between the spread of your legs. ‘And you’ll have duties to attend,’ he says, looking over you, rather than at you. His gaze is foggy from the need. You hum in agreement, playing the game, following his lead as you’re paid to. When his nose finds the space beneath your earlobe, his lips ghosting the edge of your jaw, you melt. You pour into him like scorching gold. ‘I’ll have to have you now,’ he decides, ‘while you’re off the clock.’ The words rumble out of him, low and careless, shouldered by a kiss.

You close your eyes, holding his biceps to keep you upright. ‘If I’m off duty, should I call you sir, or Tommy?’ you ask, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

His mouth opens against your neck, hot and possessive. His lips drag down to the base of your throat before he replies. ‘Are you a maid,’ he asks, panting into the skin, ‘or a whore?’

A whore, you think. He’d never kiss his wife this way, would never have relations like this with any other member of staff. You purl against him as his hand goes between your thighs. ‘Whatever, sir,’ you breathe, ‘I’m whatever you want.’ Right now, you’re a torched flame, you’re a white hot coal, split apart by the heat. His fingers move like he’s known you before. ‘There,’ you tell him, sighing as he finds that tight bundle of nerves through the cotton. ‘There, sir.’

When he kisses you on the mouth, you’re almost surprised enough to reject it. You had wrongly assumed he would avoid kissing you like a lover, but his tongue swept between your lips, pushing in to find yours, and then the thought had gone entirely. You kiss back like you’ve been starved of it, your arms around his neck to ensure that he’ll stay.

‘I imagined it like this,’ he pants, pulling back to say it into your cheek. ‘From the start.’

Really, you want to ask, right from the beginning? But instead, you moan and curl into him, spine mirroring the path his thumb had taken across your clit. ‘I didn’t,’ you breathe, humming as he repeats the motion. ‘I imagined more fucking.’

His hand pulls away fast enough that you regret saying it, but he speaks so urgently that you don’t have time to mourn the loss. ‘Take them off,’ he says, already starting on the fastening of his trousers. ‘Now.’

You do as you’re told, unclipping the garters from your tights, so that you can push your underwear down and over your knees. He’s back against you before you can shake them from your ankles.

‘It’s just a fuck,’ he says, with one hand on himself, and the other on the bare bone of your hip. ‘Alright?’

You nod, meeting his gaze with the same rushed sincerity. ‘I know.’ You hadn’t doubted that for a second. You’re after the same thing he is: relief. A purge of the tension that he had been building between you, a break from the questioning of ‘what if?’.

‘Just a fuck,’ you repeat, desperate now the heartbeat pulses from your head to your toes. Now it thumps from you, to him. You’re sure he can feel it as he presses into you.

He groans, savouring the sensation, and lets his hands stray to grip your thighs. ‘That’s what you wanted?’ he pants, rocking his hips forward again. ‘That answer your question?’

You lie back, over the newspapers and the letters. Let him fuck you like you’re just another object on the desk. ‘Yes,’ you sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, Mr. Shelby.’ It not only answered your question, but clarified another that you had yet to consider. You knew now, why he employed you still, but you’d discovered why you worked for him, too. Why you kept the job you hated, why you hadn’t quit after failing so many times. ‘It’s this,’ you tell him, ‘it’s for this.’

[flysafepapi]

siren song 8/?

masterlist

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: For a moment, just a second, it looks like the man’s eyes are black, even under the warm golden light from the ceilings, but when Tommy looks back up after glancing at the bottle of whiskey held in a surprisingly delicate looking hand, the eyes he sees looking back at him are brown. Dark, but nowhere near dark enough to be considered black by any stretch of the imagination. The man, who’s name Tommy realises he doesn’t know, doesn’t show any sort of expression on his face, but he still gets the impression he’s being laughed at somehow.

Tagging: @the-makingsofgreatness​​​​ @zablife​​​​ @lyarr24​​ (just let me know if you want to be added on or taken off)

Tobias understands, looking at the man in front of him, why August and Louise had been so adamant that Alexander falling in love with a human was far more dangerous than anything else they would ever experience. There’s less than an hour until the sun rises fully, and even then the thought of leaving this room, removing his hands, feels like it just might kill him quicker than meeting the sun would.

“I have to go. But I really, really do not want to.”

How could he, with Tommy looking like that, and at him? Bruises already forming on his hips, heartbeat still racing, the blood so close to the surface that Tobias can practically taste it. The man makes an incredibly tempting picture. Distantly, through the rumble of thunder, he can hear the sounds of the city picking up again as everyone leaves for whatever work they’ve got that day. 

“So don’t.”

“Sweetheart, if I could, I’d never let you leave this bed. Sadly, right now that’s not possible.” He wishes it was, with a desperation he’s only felt maybe a handful of times in his entire life. There’s a mark, slowly changing from red to a deeper purple, just above where he knows any collar Tommy wears will cover, and the thought of everyone who sees it knowing exactly the act that put it there is more appealing than he thought it would be. 

“You could tell me why I never see you during the day.”

That- Well, it’s not a conversation Tobias wants to have just yet. If he explains who he is, Tommy’s going to make the connection with what happened that night in the tunnels, and then he’ll have a whole slew of other questions that he won’t like the answer to. On the other hand, he knows he can’t delay the conversation forever.

“Next month. After I come back from visiting my family. I’ll explain everything then, I promise.”

“You could tell me now.”

A quick glance out the window tells him that’s not true, and the quick, disappointed look indicates that Tommy’s noticed it. 

“Go home, Tobias.”

“Yes, sir.” He doesn’t even bother to hide the grin he knows must be on his face, when he sees the way Tommy shivers at the words. When he slips out of the house, the streets are still mostly silent, save for the early morning workers heading to wherever their places of employment happen to be.

Later, he’ll blame what happens on a combined effort of the events of the night before and the fact that he hasn’t fed in over a week by now, but in the moment, there’s less than five seconds between the realisation that someone is following him and the impact of whatever hits him solidly in the side of the head, disorienting him enough to bind his hands in the silver lined cuffs that burn his skin worse than the faint rays of sunlight do.

If it had been a more fair fight, he would’ve had a better chance of fighting his way out of this, or at least taking a few of them down with him, but they’ve gotten smarter with their operations and in the few moments he has to look around before he’s shoved out of the small room and into a larger one, he can see that there’s at least sixty of them now. Not odds he’d ever chance taking.

“What is this?”

“Shut up.”

They only remove the first set of cuffs when another pair is put on him, anchoring his wrists behind his back to the surprisingly sturdy chair that’s been bolted to the floor. If this was any other situation, he’d feel impressed at how much they’ve thought ahead. Getting him right before sunrise when he’ll be the weakest, the silver, the chair. It all says that whoever’s behind this thought this out, it wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing. Whoever ordered this, it wasn’t because someone looked a little too closely and realised Tobias wasn’t as human as he appeared. 

The cuffs are tight but there’s space for him to move, just a little, enough that the battered metal leaves friction burns instead of cuts because of the sharp edges. 

“I’d stop moving if I were you, Tobias, it’ll just end even worse.”

The sound of the familiar voice makes Tobias go still.

Fuck.

Telling someone, anyone, about what exactly happened for the week or so he’s been gone, just gets less and less appealing when Tobias becomes aware of the absolute mess that’s cropped up in his absence. Arthur looks like hell, covered in blood, and it takes Tobias a minute to be able to step fully into the room. It’s been decades since he’s had to worry about his self control, but with all that blood right in front of him- well, it’s tempting even though he wouldn’t. Probably. After all the torture-

“What the hell happened here?”

“Some new Inspector, come up from Belfast because of a robbery.”

“Stop talking, Arthur, you’ll make it worse. Keep still.”

He has to bite his tongue to ask more questions, namely what robbery they were talking about. It’s none of his business, and it’s safer for himself if he doesn’t get involved. Safer for everyone, really. Tobias had noticed the tails following him on his way out of Paris, and it’d taken the better part of an hour to lose them. 

“Go home, Tobias,” Tommy says, barely throwing him a glance before he heads out the door, and that’s another thing that he doesn’t want to get into right now. The words remind him of the last time he saw Tommy, and he has to bite down on his tongue to keep from saying anything about it..

He can’t remember relationships being this difficult, or at least they weren’t back before Louise and August had found and saved him. Then again, the only relationship he’d had back then was with Marika, the farmer’s daughter, and that had only lasted for three months and a handful of awkward fumbles in the dark when no one was watching. Although to be fair, he did just seemingly disappear for no reason.

Tobias falls into step with him easily, despite the head start the other man had.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What makes you think it’s any of your business?”

Tobias can’t really dispute that. It’s none of his business, and if he was a smarter man, he would’ve already distanced himself completely before the attention of far too observant people was focused on all of them, and on him by extension. He’s never claimed to be the smartest.

“I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Don’t you? I know the look of a man that’s gotten himself into something he never intended, and it’s all over your face right now. I also happen to be excellent at knowing if people are lying to me, so I know that whatever was stolen, you had something to do with it.”

That’s an outright lie, but Tommy doesn’t have to know that. The only reason he knows that the robbery involved the man now glaring at him is because he’d have to be blind to miss the look exchanged between Tommy and Polly back in the house. He chooses not to mention all the secrets that he’s keeping; the deal with their father, the children, the war. 

“Alright, let’s make a deal. Just you and me. You answer any question I have, and I’ll answer one for you in return. But not here, anyone could be listening.”

Tobias holds his hand out, waiting, and after a few long moments of Tommy watching him to see if this is a trick, the deal is made. He gestures for Tommy to keep walking and follows a half step behind, watching the shadows and alleys around them with a strange feeling that they're both being watched. 

Neither of them speak until they’re locked inside the small room just off the entrance to the Garrison, still not alone but the volume of the other inhabitants will cover up the sound of their voices for anyone who might be listening. The new barmaid, for one, who looked entirely too happy to see Tommy for Tobias’ comfort. 

“I’ll go first,” Tommy says, once he’s got his hands on a bottle and poured them both a drink, though Tobias knows he can’t drink it, “Where did you go?”

“I went to see my family, just like I told you. What robbery?”

The still-healing souvenirs from Tobias’ time away, most definitely not spent visiting his family, send a shock of pain through him when he moves the wrong way. Just the fact that they haven’t healed yet speaks to how brutal the practices that put them there had been. They’ll never get that warehouse floor clean of his blood even if they scrubbed the concrete for a year. 

“Guns. Lots of guns. It was a mistake, but it’s one that I’m going to use. Why aren’t you drinking?”

“Of course you are, I wouldn’t expect anything less. I don’t drink because I don’t like the taste. Where are the guns?”

“Hidden away. The less people that know, the better. Tell me the truth about what’s so different about you.”

Tobias smiles, “That’s not a question.”

“Answer it anyway.”

For a second, they both seem suspended in time, neither of them moving except to blink as they watch the other. Tobias breaks the moment first and in between one blink and the next, he’s crossed the table and sitting at Tommy’s side, wrapping a hand around his neck and squeezing. Not enough to be too harmful in the long run, but enough that the threat is obvious.

“It’s convenient that you lot keep razors in your hats, you know? Makes things a lot easier for me when I don’t want to be so obvious about it. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is, or maybe you already know,” Tobias says, low, and can’t be sure if the shiver that runs through the other man is fear, or something else, “It almost looks like a work of art, when the first few drops run down the neck.”

“What are you doing?”

“You wanted the truth, didn’t you? The truth is, I could have this razor through your arteries before you even know what happened, and then I’d drink every last drop of blood in your body just because I can. I don’t need to feed so often anymore, it’s worse in the first few decades but I’m well past that. I could kill everyone in this pub and they’d never even hear me coming until I ripped their throats out with my teeth.”

“You’re-”

“Surprise, Tommy Shelby. Monsters are real, and they look just like you. I’m not actually supposed to tell humans that, ones I don’t plan on putting through the Change eventually, but I know you won’t tell a soul about it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, that’s easy. If you speak even a word about this to anyone, I’ll tell them all exactly how you sound when you were begging me.”

[randomraytrash]

Hey, I think this is your blog, hi! I’m the person who made the fanart for you on AO3 for your fic, ‘Trapped in the Pandora’s Vault Prison’. Hopefully this is the way to message people, because I don’t actually use my Tumblr 😅. I hope you like this! I accidentally flipped the canvas and realized that a bit too late.

I interrupt my usual BS for an important post.

Look at this talent artist and her amazing work! Please, if you want, shower her with love!

This is a fanart of a fanfiction I've written. Seeing this scene is even better than what I could ever imagine (my plannig for the situation was a drawing of a square divided in half with characters initials sprinkled in one or another section). Now, NOW, I'm in love. I hope it doesn't make me too much self centered, but I laughed so hard at this scenes. The context: they are al stuck inside the prison in one way or another. Techno and Dream are the original prisoners (I love blob!Dream and Techno's bell). Techno calls Skeppy, that calls BBH, then he calls Philza, that tries to save the day, but he's not very good at planning, so get stuck with Niki. Sam is stuck on the ceiling because the feeding mechanism broke and he was just trying to fix it (he's not paid nearly enough for this). Seeing him like this made me laugh a lot. Quackity and [totally human] Slime (plus poor employers Fundy and Foolish) have their little adventures inside as well (no, it doesn't end well for either as you can see from Quackity's face in this amazing art). Puffy and Eret (oh, shoot, Eret is on Tumblr, I forgot, please nobody let them see my fic) are there and get trapped, but you know what? Now nobody can escape THERAPY by Puffy. And by therapy they play strip poker feelings (TM) [DO NOT try this at home], same rules of strip poker, but instead of clothers (Quackity would have already lost) they shed feelings. And so goes on for seven days and nearly everybody gets inside (there are more: Ranboo, is one of my favorite in this drawing, he's a mood, Tubbo, who starts betting with Skeppy how many of them will survive and who will die first, Tommy, who tries really hard to be the hero of the situation and Wilbur in his Dream Number 1 Fanboy Phase) as you can see. If you like the idea, consider going to check it on AO3, I promise there is no angst, just lightheart fun.

And again check on this amazing artist!