#peaky Blinders request

[wonderlanddreamer]

Lean On Me.

[Tommy Shelby × Reader]

Summary - A cute little hurt/comfort one-shot based on this request. When you're hurt during an incident at the Garrison, it's Tommy who notices and takes care of you.

The Garrison was alive with the usual sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversation. It was a typical evening, and you moved behind the bar with ease, offering your gentle smile and kind eyes to each patron who approached. Your sweet demeanor had made you a favorite among the regulars, and your presence was often a calming influence in the boisterous atmosphere.

As you refilled a customer's drink, you noticed the door swing open with a force that made it bang against the wall, causing a few heads to turn sharply. A group of men entered, their loud voices and aggressive postures immediately altering the mood of the room. You recognized a few of them as troublemakers who had been thrown out before. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach, but you continued your work, hoping they would leave without causing any trouble.

Unfortunately, it was not going to be one of those nights. The arguments started almost immediately, escalating quickly into shouts and threats. One of the men grabbed a patron by the collar, slamming him against the bar and causing his drink to spill everywhere. A furious brawl erupted, with fists flying and chairs being overturned. Glasses shattered as they were knocked off tables, and the sound of breaking wood filled the air as a table was flipped over.

You moved behind the bar, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to stay out of the fray. The scene was a blur of violent motion: a man was thrown to the ground, another's face was bloodied by a brutal punch, and someone else wielded a broken bottle like a weapon. The shouts and grunts of pain were deafening, and the air was thick with tension and fear.

Then, you heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. The noise cut through the chaos like a knife, silencing the room for a brief, heart-stopping moment. 

A searing pain shot through your side, causing you to gasp. You pressed a hand against the pain, feeling the warmth of blood seep through your fingers. Panic surged through you, but you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry. You couldn't afford to let anyone see you falter, not when the pub was in such disarray. You told yourself it was just a graze, nothing serious. You didn't need to cause a fuss.

The tension in the room was palpable when, suddenly, the door to the side room burst open. Tommy Shelby, flanked by his brothers John and Arthur, strode in with an air of authority that immediately commanded attention. Tommy’s sharp blue eyes scanned the chaos, missing nothing. In his hand, he held a revolver, its presence a chilling promise of violence. John, with a snarl on his lips, grabbed one of the troublemakers and threw him against the wall with a force that made the entire room shake. Arthur, always the most volatile, swung a chair with a roar, smashing it over another man's back. The Peaky Blinders moved with the precision and efficiency of a well-oiled machine, their brutal swiftness clearing out the troublemakers in a matter of moments.

Tommy fired a shot into the ceiling, the deafening crack silencing any remaining resistance. The troublemakers froze, their eyes wide with fear. "Out," Tommy growled, his voice low and deadly. "And if I see any of you in here again, you'll regret it." The men scrambled for the door, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

The Garrison was left in shambles, but the immediate threat was gone. Tommy turned to survey the room, his gaze hard and calculating. He didn’t notice as you quickly tied a makeshift bandage around your waist, gritting your teeth against the pain, and continued your work.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as you cleaned up the broken glass and righted the overturned furniture. Your vision wavered, and a cold sweat broke out on your forehead. You pressed your hand to your side again, feeling the blood still seeping through the fabric of your makeshift bandage. Each movement was agony, but you forced yourself to keep going, telling yourself it would all be okay once your shift was over and you could go home. You swept the shattered remnants of glasses into a dustpan, the sound of the shards tinkling like a cruel reminder of the night's violence.

Eventually, you faltered faster than you could catch yourself, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain your balance. A strong hand caught your arm, steadying you. You looked up to see Tommy Shelby's piercing blue eyes staring at you, concern etched into his usually stoic features.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, the edge of authority unmistakable.

"I-It's nothing, Mr. Shelby," you stammered, trying to muster a reassuring smile but failing. "Just a scratch."

Tommy's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you with a penetrating gaze. Before you could protest, he had pulled your hand away from your side, revealing the blood-soaked bandage. His expression darkened, a storm of anger and worry playing across his features.

"You're bleeding and you didn't think to say anything?" he growled, though there was a softness in his eyes that belied his harsh tone. "Come with me."

He led you to a side room of the Garrison, his grip firm but gentle, ensuring you didn't stumble. The room was small and dimly lit, filled with the scent of whiskey and old wood, a hidden sanctuary from the chaos outside. You winced as he helped you sit down, the pain now impossible to ignore.

Tommy worked quickly, his hands surprisingly deft as he removed your makeshift bandage and examined the wound. His fingers were steady, the touch surprisingly tender for someone known for his ruthlessness. 

"This is more than a scratch," Tommy muttered, his jaw tight with restrained anger. "God damn it, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to be a bother."

Tommy's expression softened, his steely exterior cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of concern. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You're lucky I pay attention."

He set to work with surprising tenderness, carefully cleaning the wound. The sting of the antiseptic made you flinch, but Tommy's steady presence was oddly comforting. His fingers traced the edges of the wound, ensuring it was free of debris before wrapping a proper bandage around your waist. Despite the sharp focus in his eyes, you could see the undercurrent of tension, the worry he tried to mask behind his composed demeanour.

The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the dim light casting a warm glow over Tommy's concentrated face. His hands moved with practised ease, but the care in his touch spoke volumes. It was a side of him rarely seen, hidden beneath layers of calculated ruthlessness and unyielding authority.

"There," he said softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He met your gaze with those piercing blue eyes, now softened with concern. "You'll be alright. But next time, you come straight to me. Understood?"

You nodded, managing a weak smile. "Thank you, Mr. Shelby."

He tilted your chin up with a gentle hand, his thumb brushing away your tears. "Call me Tommy," he corrected, his voice tender. "And promise me, no more heroics, eh? Leave that to me."

"I promise, Tommy," you replied, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something you didn't dare to name. The pain in your side seemed to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. 

Tommy helped you to your feet, his arm steady around your waist, providing support as you swayed slightly. Each step sent a jolt of pain through your body, but with his strong presence beside you, it felt a little more bearable. His grip was firm yet gentle, a silent promise of protection that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

As you walked back into the main room of the Garrison, the remnants of the earlier brawl were still visible. Broken glass glinted on the floor, and overturned chairs lay scattered about. The other Peaky Blinders were busy restoring order, their expressions a mix of annoyance and grim determination. 

Tommy guided you to a quieter corner, easing you into a chair before resting against the table beside you. He reached for a glass of water, handing it to you with a gentleness that seemed almost out of character for the hardened leader of the Peaky Blinders.

"Drink this," he instructed, his voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed out by genuine concern. "It'll help."

You took the glass, your hands trembling slightly as you sipped the cool water. The liquid soothed your parched throat, and you felt a bit of strength return to your limbs. 

"Why didn't you say anything when it happened?" Tommy asked after a moment, genuine curiosity and concern lacing his words. He leaned in slightly, eyes searching yours for an answer, his brow furrowed with worry.

You looked down at your hands, the glass of water clutched between them. "I didn't want to cause more trouble," you admitted quietly. "I thought it was just a graze, and everyone already had so much to deal with."

Tommy's expression softened, his stern demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. He sighed, shaking his head gently. "You're anything but trouble, sweetheart," he told you, his tone firm yet kind.

Your eyes widened at his words, your heart skipping a beat. You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was merely being kind, but all you saw was sincerity. 

"Thank you, Tommy," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage in the moment.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, not from fear but from a profound sense of connection. "Don’t scare me like that again, alright?" he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that intimate moment. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you craved. Tommy's touch was tender, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. You leaned into his hand, finding solace in the simple, yet profound gesture.

"Rest here for a bit," he said after a moment, his hand reluctantly pulling away, though his eyes remained fixed on yours. "I'll have someone take you home when you're ready."

He stood up, but not before softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His presence was a shield, a promise that he would protect you no matter what. 

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Tell Me Lies

Tommy Shelby X Wife Reader

Request for @luvlesavyy

Request: What if Thomas found himself in a sticky situation? What if he had to be compelled to pretend that he had betrayed his beloved wife, whom he holds dearly in love with, in order to protect her and their child? What if Tommy received life threatening letters from his gems? He lies to his wife, tells her he cheated on her, all this to keep them away from the harm he can bring to their lives... How would this story end? Would she forgive him after he found the letters, threatening her and her firstborn's lives, in Tommy's office drawer?

(They spent a week apart, and she had constant back pain, Polly said she was pregnant. Now what? Pregnant, with the love of her life, who "cheated" on her. Wonder what she's going to do about it? Will you tell Tommy when you discover the letters?).

Hey love,

Sorry this took so long but I didn't forget about you. I've never been the kind for the silent anger type of thing. Changed a few of the details around but I hope you enjoy this <3 Thanks for being so wonderful!

Warnings: pregnancy, cheating, screaming, passing out, hitting, biting, extreme anger & the usual peaky themes

Tommy was used to the bitter taste of whiskey doing absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. He stares at the telephone wishing that he had just imagined the phone call he had received. He pulled a red package of documents out of the top drawer of his dresser. He had finally been advised to open it. Now that he knows what is being asked of him he wants nothing more than to throw it in the fireplace. 

For the first time, he really felt that he was flying too close to the sun. Everything he had started was for his siblings and aunt, now every day was for his wife and child. 

How could he turn his back on all of them, on you, even for a second? What could he say to you that would keep you away? If he told you the truth, then Polly and Esme would be dragged into it and all of a sudden it would be a family trip to Austria. His stomach gave a lurch and he put his head in his hands. 

He had to lie to you. 

He would have to tell you something horrible so you would let go of him for the week-long mission. Then he could come crawling back with the papers as evidence. Sure, he would spend the rest of his life on the couch in his study, but at least you would be safe, at least you would still be his. 

He could try to refuse. 

How many wives and children would die if he did? Would you want to be married to that man? Looking at the papers in the file it was his own family on the chopping block if he refused.

“Fuck” He swore slamming his hands against his desk. 

______________________________________________________________

“What’s wrong.” You said looking at him with sharp eyes. You could tell just by the way he held himself that he had gone and done something stupid. 

“I have to go away for a bit.” His eyes were focused on you in a way that made it hard to look away. 

“Why?” 

“I can’t tell you.” He said firmly and you could tell your husband wanted you to accept this answer. 

“I’m your wife. Spit it out, Tommy.” You said crossing your arms. You hadn't been in this position since you were dating. Once married in you were at every meeting, involved in every dollar, and every conflict. Okay, you weren't directly involved in every conflict but you helped out in areas that weren't covered with gunfire. 

“Look, something's come up and I need to see to it, I really don't want to -” 

“I don’t care what you want Thomas. Do what’s right and tell me.” The anxiety was starting to bubble up and turn into rage the way it always did. You hated when people lied to you. 

“I got a phone call last night. Someone I may have had an entanglement with has had a child. She’s saying it’s mine.” The words fell between you and you knew something was off. You assumed he was just hiding the juicy details of his affair. Now a child is out there. Whose child would he father? His wife’s or his mistress? 

You stood there feeling a familiar hysteria build up inside you. This time you didn't have to push it down. Charlie was with Esme and the cousins for the night. You could make him pay. 

The feeling started to radiate into your limbs and you were freed from your initial shock. You picked up the crystal vase on the side table beside the couch. You threw it at him. 

Head on where he was sitting at his desk.  He narrowly missed it. His eyes flared with shock. You picked up every single thing you could reach and threw it at him. He stood up and charged towards you and you welcomed it. 

You wanted him to hit you first. You wanted blood. It was your turn to cause trouble. He tried to grab your arms and you smacked his chest as hard as you could. He got his arms around you and you bit into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Hope his mistress likes that scar. 

You screamed at him. You told him every single bad thing you could think of. You told him he was the reason the family was cursed. That his mother killed herself to get away from him. You screamed your own curse on his life. 

You screamed and screamed until you cried. A deep sob that unraveled years of strength. Everything you had done for this family, just to be replaced as Lizzie once said you would be. 

This was beyond anger and betrayal. This was beyond human. You felt your mind become otherworldly and your vision narrowed in. The blackened edges of your vision collided and you weren't screaming anymore. You had dissolved into nothingness and it was blissful. 

______________________________________________

You woke up and he was gone. The family was in complete chaos over the news. Arthur was actually crying on and off, apologizing for his stupid little brother. He and John held the business together under Polly’s direction. 

Polly eventually sat you down and told you the news once everyone had come to say they were sorry and how they would be helping. It was like being a widow at a funeral. 

A pregnant widow. 

“You're joking.” You took in a sharp breath. “And that is not very funny at a time like this.” Your voice was high and she grabbed your face with two hands. 

“It’s not a joke. You’ll be fine.” Her eyes were so intense it put you at ease. 

Esme reassured you and decided to stay with you at Arrow House for a while. The kids were used to being lumped together and they had no problem looking after themselves for the most part. Charlie was 6 so he didn't have a hard time keeping up with his cousins. 

The two of you rot in bed and she did what she could to keep your blood pressure from rising. You could see it in her eyes though, she was pissed as hell and you were sure she would make Tommy feel it too when the time came. 

If he ever came back. Your heart gave a painful clench and while you were alone in the bath there was no one to judge you for crying. It was a soft moment you allowed yourself. It felt shameful, it felt like letting him win. It was stupid but you felt like you were just a girl getting your heart broken again. This time it felt final. Your heart would not survive this. 

But your family loved you. That was obvious from the cooked meals and even Arthur was around helping with the kids at bedtime. You could hear him and John reenacting all the monsters they fought when they had lived on the boat as kids. You even caught yourself laughing a few times at the wild stories.

It was almost a week since that night and you were starting to feel just as betrayed but you had your head back on your shoulders. In the middle of the night, you decided to see if this woman had written him any letters. You weren't sure why but you were obsessed with finding out who this woman was. Why could she steal him away from you so easily when you had done nothing but give him everything?

You went into his study and shut and locked the door. While you turned the latch you wondered where they had sex? Was it here? The office? The backseat of his car? The rage started to bubble up again and a hand went to your stomach. You took some deep breaths thinking about what a divorce would mean. 

His - scratch that, your family would still love you. You would get to pick a new house and decorate it however you wanted. Fill it full of books and do nothing other than look after Charlie and read. You took another big breath and moved over to his desk. 

You pulled open the drawers in his desk and started to pick through everything. You knocked on the bottom of the first drawer when you saw that the woodwork didn't quite line up. You remembered from all your spy novels that it could have a false bottom. You grabbed a letter opener and started to pry it open. 

It came loose with a pop and you pulled out lots of extra copies of passports and documentation for your family. A cold shudder ran through you. You picked up your fake passport to see that he had named you, Arbella Shelby, maiden name Sutherland. You let out a snort as that was a character in a Highlander romance novel you adored. Why would he remember something so stupid when he was plowing another woman the whole time.

You reached into the hidden compartment a little further and pulled out a red envelope. It was made with very expensive card stock. You opened it and read through the document carefully. 

He had been sent away to aid in the assassination of an English spy hiding in Austria.

Your brain hurt and you took another few breaths and kept reading. 

It only got worse. Any outside interference would result in death. Failure to complete the mission would result in his death. Failure to accept the assignment and the government will move forward with prosecuting the remaining members of the Shelby family for acts against the crown. You read down the list of names and ran a finger over your name, following it was the rest of the family. You also noticed that Esme and John’s older kids were on the list. 

He needed to leave without us going to find him. 

He lied to protect you. 

It got hard to breathe and you had to try and remain calm. You let out a weird sort of choking sound then threw up into a plant pot. Polly found you moments later. 

“Breathe.” You let her grip your shoulders and tried to follow her breathing but your vision went dark again and you were out. 

_______________________________________________

When you woke up Polly was pacing the room and shouting at someone in a hushed voice. 

“You should have told us.” She hissed. “What if something had happened to you.” 

“Churchill would have sent the news. Then she would know what had happened.” Tommy answered in a low and steady voice. He sounded exhausted. 

“What if you had failed! They would have shipped us off to jail again.” She snapped. “She almost lost the baby over this mess Thomas.” 

“Only if I had refused the job,” Tommy answered and he sounded so tired. You opened your eyes and watched them stare each other down. 

“Promise me it won't happen again.” You mumbled. 

“I wish I could.” He closed his eyes and looked positively exhausted. 

“Let me talk to Churchill.” Your whisper still conveying your anger. Tommy gave you a big smile. You finally registered how battered his face was. 

“I have papers saying you lot won't be used as collateral again.” He held his whiskey glass up to his cheek. 

“Tommy, if i thought that the family and our children would get killed I would manage to stay away.” You said knowing that tears were starting to spill down your cheeks. Polly took in a breath and you knew she was going to lay into him properly now that you were awake. 

“I’m sorry.” He said simply. His eyes opened and locked on yours. You knew he meant it. Shock crossed Polly’s face.

“I didn't think you knew those words.” She said waving her hand in the air. 

“Okay.” You said not wanting to be apart for a moment longer. There was ringing in your ears and you knew he was sorry. You knew he wouldn't do it again. Tommy was a lot of things, but he never hurt you the same way twice. He always learned from his mistakes. 

You started taking some deep breaths trying to get your head to stop throbbing. Esme came through with a mug of tea and Tommy put his drink down to help you into an upright position. 

“Tea will help with the headache.” She said her eyes darting to Tommy. 

“Esme?” He said calmly.

“What.” She answered looking skeptical. 

“Thanks for looking after her.” He held her gaze and she nodded at him. The rest of the family piled in and discussed the events of the past week. The tea brought the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in your head down to a normal level. 

Charlie came through and climbed up on his father's lap. Tommy’s arm fit around him and he continued talking about what needed to happen moving forward when dealing with Mosley. 

You had hope for his cause. You rested in his arms and found your way back to him out of the darkness that had been threatening to swallow you.

[peakyltd]

Requests

Hii everyone! 

I decided to take requests from people who are interested to do so. I think it will improve my writing and it will keep my creativity going. You can choose a drabble/one shot or a moodboard but in order to do so please read the following: 

Fic (Drabble/One Shot)

You can send in a Peaky character with a prompt or a gif (You could even choose to do both if you think they fit well together), let me know if you want it to be angst/fluff/etc. If you have an other idea for something or even a very detailed request you can send it in as well. Please keep in mind that:

I only write for Tommy, John & Arthur at the moment. Michael can be an exception on this one, depends on the request because I never wrote him before.

I don’t write the same prompts twice.

I can’t guarantee a specific amount of words to any of the requests. It depends on wherever my mind takes me. So that means your fic can be shorter/longer than any other I’ve written. 

Moodboard

Send in a character with a prompt, a word or whatever inspired you. I will add a little blurb to each moodboard. Please keep in mind that:

I only do these for Peaky Blinders characters.

Please add for which one you are requesting! Ex. “I’d like a moodboard with…” or “I’d like a fic with…”

Prompts:

Lists of prompts that could help you out. Of course you can come up with your own prompts! 

Angsty Prompts by writtenonreceipts

Angsty Question Prompts by creativepromptsforwriting

Betrayal Liners by delilahfairchild

Fluffy Prompts by nightprompts

Fluffy Prompts by creativepromptsforwriting

Mix of all kind of Prompts  by make-me-imagine

[amazingmaeve]

Ok so request are only open for COBRA KAI and PEAKY BLINDERS. So if you have any request send them in!

[shelbydelrey]

Hey dear! do you still write and accept requests?

Hey anon 🤗 Thank you so much for showing interest in my stories! Unfortunately i'm not taking requests at the moment but i'm still open if to discuss any scenarios you have or just talk about Peaky and life in general 😉

[warnersister]

Peaky blinders headcannon ->

“the boys finding out the reader is a virgin”

Find the request here

Tommy🪖

🪖Tommy had been courting you for a good few months now; much longer than he would any other woman. But he quite liked you so he was more than willing to make an exception for the lovely young lady that had just moved to the area.

🪖You’d moved for a fresh start, away from your past and to Birmingham. You’d packed your bags and left home and got on the train - taking it as far as it would go and got out when the conductor pleaded with you to disembark as they’d start the journey back to your beginnings.

🪖You’d accepted the job at The Garrison, noting the sign in the window as you aimlessly wandered the streets, mindlessly questioning your intentions. The sign in the window was almost a call from God and you hurried inside, being greeted by the bar man and a few raised eyebrows at the young girl with her life in a suitcase and hair all tangled. “Y’alright love? Look like you need a drink.” You shook your head. “A job is what I need. Still hiring?” You asked and he looked you over once. “When can you start?”

🪖So eleven months deep with a flat and a job you were quite happy in Birmingham. Your specialty straying away from being a barmaid and more towards being a hostess and front of house staff. You’d seat people and prepare the hotel lodgings upstairs, and arrange rooms and port for pesky business when it came down to it. And in the process you’d captured the attention of a certain blinder who believed he had no business interfering with the life of a young maiden just getting back on her feet, but you entertained him so who was he to be so austere and deny himself such pleasures?

🪖You were shutting shop on a Saturday night, footfall substantial and you’d finally managed to kick all drunkards out of the pub after much struggle and a bit of help from John Shelby, who’d tipped his hat and went on his merry way. You’d grabbed your coat of the hanger, hearing the door bell chime behind you “we’re closed” you announced, pivoting on your heel “I know.” That all familiar voice sounded and you peeked your head. “Alright, Tommy?” You ask, getting your bag and fastening your coat; preparing for a cold winter night in Birmingham.

🪖He stepped closer and you, in turn, stepped backwards until you were trapped against the bar. “This has gone on for long enough,” he says gruffly, staring deep into your eyes and studying your face. You’d raised your brows “what has, Tom?” He shook his head and chuckled slightly. “You and I; ‘m so sick of seeing you and not being able to have you for myself.” He tells you, right arm wrapping around your waist and head dipping slightly.

🪖Your hand came up to hold him where he was and he stopped, in question. “Not like this Tommy.” You say, looking away but he grasps your chin gently to pull you back to face him. “Not like this?” He hums “Thomas, I’ve never..” you lead off hoping he’d understand what you were implying. He thought for a moment before it clicked. “Never?” You shook your head “never.” His Adams Apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump in his throat “never.” He mumbled. “And how should I go about this the right way?” He asked, settling his hands on your hips and smiling slightly.

🪖“Dinner and a nice walk.” You say and he nods with a hum. “How’s tomorrow?” You shake your head “not leaving Harry to deal with your lot on a Sunday.” “When you next off?” He asks “Friday.” “Then we’ll go out on Friday.” You nod and smile, but point a judging finger at him. “No guns” he smiles “yes sweetheart, no guns.” “And no peaky business” he shakes his head “no business.” “No fighting either, at all” you warn and he chuckles “I promise” you lean your hand up to caress his face and he leans into your touch. “Take that bloody razor blade out of your cap too.” He raises a brow “how do you know about that?” “You underestimate the amount of times I’ve carried Arthur out of this bar and nearly sliced my hand on that thing.”

🪖“I want to see Thomas. No Shelby.” You say and he blinks. “Then Thomas you shall have.” “May I walk you home?” He asks and you smile up at him “you may” and he offers an arm to walk you to your house, looking forward to taking the last of your innocence the following Friday.

Alfie🧸

🧸Alfie recently started attending his local synagogue, at first yes: to reconnect with his faith, but now it was to see the young woman who attended every day, volunteering as your father was the rabbi. Albeit that sounding wrong, Alfie thought the rabbi was bordering on ancient and you were younger than him, but you were nearly twenty six so that wasn’t too bad.. right?

🧸“Ah Mr Solomons, back again I see” the rabbi commented, noted the recent inclination of Alfie’s presence at the house of God. “Well, been trying to reconnect.” He told his superior. “With God or with my daughter?” The rabbi asked and Alfie’s brows rose. “E-excuse me?” He choked on his words. The rabbi smirked with a slight twinkle in his eye “I’m not stupid” “no, of course you’re not-” “I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing her.” Alfie quietened for a moment. “Well, y’see she’s a lovely young lady” “I agree, that’s how I raised her.” “And I’d like to ask her for dinner, with your blessing, f’course.” Alfie began to ramble but his elder cut him off.

🧸“Not with the business you’re in, Alfred.” And his mouth ran dry. “For her I’d get out of it, move to Morecambe, open a bakery, marry, have kids, y’know I’d raise them proper.” Rabbi Kaplan again hummed “but that sort of business isn’t the kind you can get out of, is it?” “You did, Abe.” Alfie corrects him and there’s a moment of contemplative silence. “You’re right I did. But no one hurts a rabbi.” “Then I’ll get ordained.” Alfie shrugged. Abraham looked at the man before him. “Gods punished me enough. He knows how much physical pain I’m in. And ‘m not gettin’ any younger. Neither’s she. ‘nd I never wanna be in this business anymore. Wanna settle down, dogs, kids, grandkids, the works.” Alfie says and Abe’s tongue protrudes from his lips to lick his dry lips as he thinks.

🧸“If I allow this, he’s watching.” The man looks up “I know.” “And if I allow this, she calls all the shots.” Alfie nods “wouldn’t have it any other way” “as in she says no, means no. She wants to go for a walk at two in the morning, you take her. She wants to come here, you bring her. She wants to get married, you wed her.” The man took two steps closer so him and Alfie were closer than any Rabbit should be with his child “she tells you to jump of the docks, you jump.” Alfie’s eyes don’t falter. “Done.” Abraham closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face “alright, you have my blessing.” Alfie nods, trying to suppress his glee, shaking the rabbi’s hand and walking towards the front of the synagogue where you were sat counting donations.

🧸“Excuse me missus” Alfie clears his throat and you look up at him, swallowing with a lump in his throat “yes?” “I was wondering if you’d like to go for an eat to bite, I mean a bite to eat, I mean-” you giggle at him “yes Alfie I’d love to go out with you.” Alfie sighed in relief and smiled down at you noting how the rabbi had wandered off elsewhere. You sealed and locked the cash box, storing it where I belonged and Alfie held his arm out for you to take “shall we?” You grin back at him “we shall”

🧸You’d been seeing Alfie for going on several months, and today he’d arranged for a restaurant to be shut down in order for the two of you to enjoy some peace and quiet together. You’d enjoyed a lovely romantic meal, accompanied by a bouquet of white tulips and a sneaky kiss to Alfie’s cheek, which he was grateful that they were covered by a large beard - disguising his beat-red features.

🧸Alfie was walking you back to his house, as you’d both previously agreed that you’d stay for the night and head towards Morecambe Bay the following day: to pick out a cottage on the seafront.

🧸You had some clothes at Alfie’s house, for events such as this where you’d decided to stay or go elsewhere the following day without needing to drop back home for anything. You were uncoiling your hair, and your gentle giant came around to hug you from behind, kissing up your neck until you giggled from being tickled, turning to kiss his lips.

🧸Your eyes surveyed one another’s for a moment, him leaning back down to kiss you in a more seriously insinuating manner - sciatica obviously not bothering him today as he managed to pick you up and lead you to his bed. “Alfie wait,” you say quickly and the man immediately stopped “what’s wrong treacle? If y’don’t want to we’ll stop here ‘nd-” “no it’s not that” your left hand fiddled with the rings on your right “what’s wrong flower?” He caressed your cheek gently. “Alfie I’ve never done anything before.” You say and his brows form a line in confusion. “Y’what?” “Alfie I’m a virgin.” You say and time almost stands still, Alfie nearly felt sick as he’d been handling you like a woman of the night and not a dignified young lady of whom was vastly inexperienced. “‘M sorry alf.” You say, looking down. Alfie grasps your chin and forces your eyes to connect with his “it’s me who should be apologising, sweetness. Your old man didn’t know. ‘V been handling y’ like ‘y know what you’re doin’.” He says gently. “And if y’ don’t want to, we don’t have to.” “No Alfie I want to.” And you could swear you could see the hearts forming in his irises, lenses constricting into something unnatural but simultaneously not animalistic. “I’ll take good care ‘f y’ love, just lay down for Alfie and let ‘im work his magic, yeah?” He says, laying you back gently on the bed, vowing to handle you like a porcelain doll in a box of feathers.

Arthur🍺

🍺You were several years younger than Arthur, he never felt like you were - he was as immature as any lad two decades his senior, but with you he never felt his age.

🍺The peaky blinders had been invited to a lavish banquet, black tie, chandeliers, live orchestra, the works. And Arthur never shied away from an opportunity to show his lover off, especially when that dress hugged you perfectly and your matching black gloves made you look so dainty and proper. He was proud to waltz into that event, feeling almost smug with ‘such a babe’ on his arm.

🍺The evening began wonderfully, three courses, all of which Arthur found laughable as he questioned the waiter why his entree was only a piece of rocket and slice of undercooked stake. Drinks were flowing and he was happy to get tipsy while to congregated with Polly and Ada, smitten to see you engaging so well with his family and them requiting his adoration for her.

🍺You’d stood at the bar, trying to gain the attention of the bartender to order yourself another rum and coke and your date an umpteenth pint. “Hiya can I just have a rum and coke and an apple juice?” You ask the man and he raises an eyebrow. “He’s so drunk I don’t think he’ll tell the difference.” He laughs and nods, heading off to get the top of shelf rum Arthur had requested he’d serve you earlier.

🍺“Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” A voice asked from beside you and you peer left, a young gentlemen with slicked back black hair asked as he knocked back the rest of the whiskey he’d been nursing for a while, requesting another as well as your drinks being on him. “Yes lovely.” You say shortly. “Well I was just thinking-” he begins smugly, before hissing and you look back at him quickly to see whatever is the matter. His finger was drawing blood as the new glass he’d been given was chipped on the end, in turn slicing the edge of his finger. “Oh dear, here let me help” you grabbed one of the inscribed handkerchiefs from the pile and applied pressure on his finger, only noticing your proximity when he chuckled. “What a first acquaintance” you laugh and agree. “You’re good at this” he hums “nurse in the war.” You say, not really wanting to reflect on the past.

🍺“May I buy you another drink for your troubles? Or possibly dinner?” He inquires with an up quirked lip. “No thank-” “I think she’s quite happy with the fella she’s got, son.” An angered voice quipped from behind you through gritted teeth, an arm snaking around your waist as the boy’s face ran pale. “Mr Shelby, sorry she didn’t say-” “she shouldn’t have too. Now fuck off before I kick the living daylights out of ya.” Arthur threatens and the previously smug man makes himself scarce.

🍺“Arthur,” “c’mon. We’re leaving.” He says, dragging you through the crowds of people and hailing a taxi, still gentlemanly opening the door for you but clambering in beside you, the smoke billowing from his ears fogging the windows. “Fucking little boy thinking he can talk to my fuckin’ woman, fuckin’ bastard” he reiteratively mumbled under his breath until he reached his house, roughly taking you from the car and throwing a wad of cash at the driver.

🍺As soon as you entered the house you were trapped against the closed door, his lips attacking yours unexpectedly as you struggled to keep up with his might. “I’ll show him who you fuckin’ belong to” “Arthur” “little boy makes up nothin’” “Arthur” “scream my name so the little bastard will fuckin’ hear me” “Arthur I’m a virgin” the man stopped immediately, expression stopping form angered to a more gentle one. “Y’what love?” He asks quietly, tight grip on your trapped wrists loosening “I’ve never had sex before Arth, sorry for not telling you.” You could see him visibly sobering up. “Oh my darlin’ m’sorry I didn’t know.”

🍺This was the only time you’d made Arthur feel his age, his lover a virgin. “I’ll take good care of you sweetheart, if y’let me.” “Show y’ what you’ve missed out on” he chuckles and you laugh, allowing him to pick you up to carry you up the stairs and into the bedroom.

John🥃

🥃Waking up this morning and getting married to a stranger wasn’t on your bingo card. But here you are. Kneeled at the alter beside a smirking young lad who was in a similar situation. “By the power invested in me, I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The stranger smiled and you and kissed your lips sweetly.

🥃The reception was just as hazy. Drinks were flowing and laughter was heard. Your father and Thomas Shelby seemed at peace for once and all was right with the world. When slow dancing, John had held you close and embraced you like you were young lovers wed, not total strangers at the chapel. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear and smiled as you giggled back at his remarks, fighting with icing on the cake and having an overly fun time with one another’s families after the initial shock from the morning. After all, he was incredibly charming and you couldn’t get out of a gypsy marriage that easily. Not in post-war Britain.

🥃You headed back to the Shelby Manor in a car strung with cans, attached by young children earlier in the day. You looked out the window to the vast house, feeling a hand tugging gently on your hair, the owner tucking it behind your ear as you looked at home. “Glad we’re married cause I could never pull you if I tried, gorgeous.” He comments and you laugh. “You’re joking. One drink and I’d be a gonner.” “At least we got to skip the funny business” he took your chin between your forefinger and chin “cause your all mine now, darling”

🥃He’d hurried you to your room quicker than anticipated, giggling like school children up to no good. He’d kissed you tenderly once inside, behind closed doors and away from the interference of all other prying eyes.

🥃He spun you gently, hands dropping to focus on the details of the backing of your dress; unthreading and untying the intricate lacings applied to keep the gown tight to your person. The dress fell and pooled at your ankles, him attacking the now bare skin with open-mouthed kisses and gentle pecks to the untouched skin.

🥃Coming to your front, he cornered you backwards in small steps until your legs hit the bed and you fell backwards onto it - him on top of you, kissing down your bodice animalisticly. “John?” He stopped and looked up with a hypnotic gaze in his eye “yes love?” “I’ve never had sex before.” You say shakily and he stops all movement. He falters for a moment, before climbing slightly higher in order to be face to face with you “never? You’re a virgin?” You nod back and he swallows the heavy lump in his throat as his briefs tighten.

🥃“Well then what an opportunity to consummate the marriage, aye darling?” He smirks “if you’ll let me that is” you smile and offer a kiss to his lips, him getting the green flag and go ahead to give you the absolute night of your life.

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie was an old fashioned lad. From a young age he drempt of the stereotypical traveller lifestyle - never a singular home, him the homemaker, wife on his arm and umpteen kids running wild. It sounded like heaven. And from the moment he’d set eyes on you Bonnie had decided that that was your role - destined to be by his side. You weren’t a gypsy yourself, but he was certain he could sway you but either way he was happy to compromise as long as he had you.

🥊Tonight was one of, if not the, biggest night of his life thus far. The largest and most important fight he’d ever partake in, not only against the reigning champion which would secure his fate of being the new ruler, but also performing in front of the Peaky Blinders - prove himself to the trust Tommy Shelby had bestowed upon him. And most significantly, you were watching.

🥊He was stood in his changing room, allowing you to gently wrap his hands while his father gave him a pep talk. “Five minutes son.” His dad said, patting his back and nodding at you as he left to give you a minute alone before his spotlight moment. You finished wrapping the cloth around his palms and took his face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “How we feeling champ?” You ask, trying to wake him up from his dystopian trance. “‘m scared m’love.” He mumbled as you frowned slightly. “Why’re you scared? Talk to me Bon, get it all out. You scared about the Shelby family? I’ll kick ‘em out-" “scared ‘m gonna disappoint you.” He says and you falter.

🥊“Bon you could never disappoint me, why would you think that?” He sighed, looking away before beginning to admit his desires. “Just wanna make you proud. I want to marry you and give you my children and travel as a family. But if I lose you won’t want to do that.” He grumbles. You chuckle slightly. “You’re such a dafty, Bon.” You say and his eyebrows crease. You lean into kiss him as he happily requites the gesture. “Bonnie of course I want to be with you either way. I don’t care if you loose, hell I don’t care if you don’t want to fight and walk out, I’ll walk right out with you.” You say.

🥊“I never knew you felt like that but I’d love to marry you Bon and have your children and I’d be willing to travel with you. I just need you to stop fretting and go win this. I love ya Bonnie.” You say, leaning your forehead against his. “You mean it?” He asks, giddily. You nod “I do”

🥊“God if I win this we’re gonna get started on those kids.” He says, getting riled up as the minutes tick down. You laugh at him “anything you want, Bonnie. Always wanted my first time to be with you.” You say and time stops. His father knocks on the door to hail his son out to the ring.

🥊“BONNIE!” “You’re a virgin?” “Yes” “BONNIE COME ON!” “And you want me to take your virginity?” “Yes Bonnie I trust you. Now go.” He hurries out of the door reluctantly, all riled up and heading for the ring.

🥊The knockout was inevitable, his opponent out cold in a matter of rounds, blood flowing freely from Bonnie’s nose as he celebrated by raising his hands victoriously above his head, father and Blinders crowding him to pat him on the back and exchange congratulations. But none of that mattered. It was just faint ringing in the background. All he could see was you stood a fair way back from the celebrating men climbing over the limb body on the ground no one had seemed to care too. He looked upon your innocent doe eyes and soft smile staring back at him as he blew you a kiss; and never has he been so desperate to get away from his own party.

🥊And after a good few hours and countless attempts to get you all to himself, you were back in Bonnie’s humble beginning: laid on your back as your boy thrust into you gently, trying not to hurt you while simultaneously trying to adhere to his desperation for you. “Faster Bon, please.” “Wanna give me a child? Is that it?” He asks and you nod meekly, as he quickens his pace desperate to bed his maiden in his own place called home.

Isaiah♟️

♟️Isaiah had been trying to get to you for many many years. Countless attempts proving fruitless from not only your rejections, but also your elder brother’s: Finn’s. Any time Isaiah had any suggestion on courting you he was shot down by his friend, who’d smack the back of his head and scold him for thinking such things. “I’ll cut your dick off and shove it in your ear if you keep thinking about my sister with it” he’d tell him.

♟️But tonight, oh tonight. Darling you looked ravishing. The Blinders were celebrating a grand festivity at Shelby Manor, someone was getting married.. or someone was dead, Isiah needn’t have cared less. Because when you cascaded the stairs, Mary Jane’s on foot and tight black dress clung to your bodice, Isaiah had to physically refrain himself from grabbing you from the get go.

♟️Sure, he’d mingled with others and drank freely with the brothers; but not once did he stray his eyes away from your figure, never letting you out of his sight. Not when you looked so delicious and drinkable, mouth running so dry he’d have to reiteratively lubricate it with whiskey. A bit of the good ole’ ‘Dutch-Courage’, aye?

♟️Finally noticing an opportunity when you brother wasn’t lingering over your shoulder, scolding you for wearing such a gown, Isaiah made his move. He slivered to the bar beside you, where Harry was offered a well-paying job serving for the evening and told him to get you another of whatever it is that you were drinking. “Your brother lets you wear a dress like this?” He questions, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and hailing for another.

♟️“No. But I am not Finn and he is nor I” you tell him, nursing the edge of your glass with your finger absentmindedly trailing it. He leant closer. “Tell you, if you were my woman that dress would be on the floor of my room right about now.” He promised and you shivered at the thought. “But I’m not your woman, am I Isaiah?” You rhetorically ask, sipping and please to feel the alcohol running down your throat.

♟️“Oh god if you were.” He said, trailing off. “I’d have you married, knocked up, never not pregnant. Have your last name Jesus. My dad would do the ceremony, y’know. Get you a nice little bouquet and pretty white dress I get to ravish you in afterwards.” He said “well you’ve got it all planned out, huh Mr Jesus?” You snort but you are backed against the bar, two hands either side of your waist as your belittled by the taller between you.

♟️“Believe me I’ve dreamt of the day since I first saw you, just your fucking brother wouldn’t let me.” You eye his lustful expression. “As I said, Isaiah. I am not my brother, nor is he I.” You repeat slowly, relaying that your older sibling(s) had no say in what was going on at that moment. “You’re playing with fire, little girl” he warned “then let me get burned” you say, batting your eyelashes doe-like and innocently, as you dared him to make the move your core had been dying for for decades.

♟️His nostrils flare as you wrap his tie around your hand and yank at it harshly, bringing an ear close to your lips to offer a promise never before foretold. “Isaiah I’m a virgin” you whisper, before releasing his tie and straightening his suit. He follows the lump in his throat before surveying the room once and looking down at you, grabbing your hand to drag you through the crowds of people and into the safe proximities of his bedroom for newly discovered events.

♟️The evening died down and the chatter faltered, as Thomas Shelby announced a new betrothal in the family. However he was unable to promise the two, because the bride and groom were missing.

Michael🎱

🎱Oh god I’ve been waiting for this one. Michael absolutely eats that shit up.

🎱You and Michael were first acquainted when himself, Thomas and John travelled to the Cotswolds in order to engage in some legal business with the Wentworth family - Tommy spoke business with the ceo of the family, while John entertained the mother and Michael; the daughter.

🎱Michael was an old fashioned man with old fashioned views. He liked his women obedient and untouched and willing to listen to his every word - just like they were supposed too.

🎱They were welcomed into the home by several butlers, two to open the grand doors - three to take their caps and the others to lead the family to their guests. “Thomas Shelby.” They heard, and a dignified gentleman descended the stairs, an unnecessary cain in one hand, the other wrapped around his wife as they descended the central staircase to the visitors, a young lady trailing behind.

🎱“Archibald Wentworth.” Thomas smiled at the man and nodded out of respect. The man walked up to him and shook each of their hands firmly. “How longs it been old chap?” He asked Thomas. “Too long, old friend.” Thomas replied, and they engaged in friendly conversation as neither had seen each other since their fathers dealt with similar business in their own youth. The elder woman approached John who kissed the back of her hand and she curtsied, him remaining respectful as their shared introductions. You however, approached Michael who looked back at you fondly. You curtsied to him and he bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure Mr Gray.” You say, voice soft and unbroken. He took your hand and kissed the back of it gently. “All mine, Miss Wentworth.”

🎱“And please, do call me Michael.” He told you, smiling gently. “Well in that case you’re compelled to call me Yn.” Michael studied your face; never in his twenty one years of existence had he seen such beauty before. Your skin was fair and undamaged - soft to the touch. Your nails were clean and manicured with a neutral colour. Your hair was cascading down by your ears, as if instructed to sit perfectly, framing your face. You eyes were innocent yet appeared all-knowing - your mouth formed into a graceful smile. And you carried yourself with such proper dignity; it was admirable.

🎱“Yn my darling?” Your father spoke from beside him and you turned to face him on command - trained to do this. “Yes father?” “Please will you accompany Mister Gray into the living area? I’m sure you’ll both be quite comfortable in there.” You nodded once at the man. “Certainly, father.” “It was a pleasure to meet you gentleman, and see you again Mister Shelby.” You say to the other two, before leading Michael into the living area - which was nothing short of double the size of his childhood home.

🎱“May i offer you some tea?” You ask, as you settle in the room. “That’d be lovely, thank you.” You nod as the maid by the for stepped out to grab tea. “Normally I’d make it myself, however it is improper to leave your company unaccompanied.” You joke and he laughs in response. Soon, the tea arrived and you served it for Michael, who took the cup and saucer thoughtfully and nodded in thanks.

🎱“It’s a lovely home you have.” You smile up at him. “Thank you, I’m sure my father works tirelessly to afford it.” “You’ve no job?” He asked, awaiting the words that he was utterly and totally in love with you. “No, I’m trained in etiquette - to be polite, to cook and to clean.” Michael listened to you thoughtfully. “So you’re kept awfully busy then?” You nod. “Busy however I don’t mind it, I get to live in this glorious building with a loving family and life skills. What more could a girl want?” You confirm and he was sure his eyes were forming hearts.

🎱“And I’m sure you have quite the line of suitors with your beauty.” You giggled but tried to compose yourself. “No sir.” His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Surely you’re already married, how has a man not captivated a lady such as yourself. I’d do it myself if it wasn’t for the line of men ahead of me.” You looked down, blushing, before looking back up at Michael. “There is no line and there are no suitors. It is simply me, myself and I.” You tell him.

🎱“And you Michael? Have you a wife?” You asked, batting your eyelids. “No, in your words it is simply… ‘me, myself and I’.” “And what business do you do yourself, Mr Gray?” You ask. “That is not the sort of information for a lady’s ears. It is not good business.” He almost scolds and you nod. “Oh I understand, my father is not too dissimilar. Staying safe in your business, I hope?” He basked in the way you simply understood, didn’t pry. “Not quite.” He said, raising an eyebrow. He rolled up his left sleeve slightly and you gasped. “Oh you poor man,” you say. “You must treat these with oil, that way they shall heal better.” You scold, touching his skin gently. “Well if you were my wife you could sort it out for me.” “Oh certainly Michael, I wouldn’t allow you to come home damaged as such without properly patching you up.” You say, seriousness written all over your facial features.

🎱“And what do you do with the rest of your time, this afternoon per se?” He ponders, sipping his tea. “Well as you said yourself I’m quite a busy person regardless of what I occupy my time with.” You peer down at the dainty wristwatch wrapped around your wrist, Michael estimated the small device at a hefty sum. “At two o’clock I have etiquette lessons.” You say “and at three?” “At three I read in my library” “how about four?” “At four I have a date.” His face dropped. “A date? With who?” “William Wordsworth.” You giggled at his expression which sighed a breath of relief. “Oh I see, she lives the poems she could not write.” He says, quoting the famed poet. “More like she writes the poems she could not live.” You reply, and Michael notices a longing stare as you probably imagine the life you would have, if not the heir to an infamous delegate.

🎱“And no man has yet compared me to a summers day.” You admit. “You have not yet met your Shakespeare.” You smile, enjoying how he understood your references. “Nor my Victor Hugo” “ah but you have not yet died so nobody may quote ‘Demain, dès l’aube’.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “For I am always the poet, never the poem.” You speak; in words of your own. And Michael cannot stop himself from reaching up with his free hand to caress the soft skin of your cheek gently. “It is impossible. How can a man write anything short of a novel about a maiden so fair?” He question, and you find yourself absentmindedly leaning into his light touch.

🎱“You’re a charmer, Mr Gray” you speak, voice barely above whisper “I’m no charmer, just a man who knows what he wants” he leans to whisper in your ear “is it working?” He meets your eyes with a cheeky grin on his face. “Certainly.” You both finished your tea and the trolley was taken away, miscellaneous chatter arising from each of your lips.

🎱“Madam?” A voice squeaked from the door behind you both. You spun on a pivot to look at the young maid by the entrance. “Yes Beth?” “Mister Wentworth has requested you and Mister Gray return to the foyer” she said, avoiding your stare. “Thank you Beth, we shall be there shortly.” The woman nodded before clicking the door shut behind you to allow you to make your own way there along with the company. Michael’s face contorted: annoyed, but relaxed it when you faced back to him.

🎱“I believe it is time for us to depart.” You tell him. “When may I see you again?” He asks, holding your hands in his own. “Whenever you wish, Mister Gray; should my father allow.” You tell him, before slowly leading him back to where you originally met. There, the rest of the men along with your parents stood as you’d left them - engaged in unwavering chatter. “Ah, Mister Gray - treated well I hope?” Your father asks and Michael nods at the man. “Certainly.”

🎱After some goodbyes and a hug for your father’s old friend Thomas, Michael smirked at you and kissed the back of your hand and whispered promises that you shall meet again.

🎱The men walked back to the car in silence, Thomas lighting a cigarette once inside. “How’d you like her?” He asked, eyeing Michael before nicotine smoke billowed from his lips. “She’s a lovely young lady.” Michael tore his eyes away from his cousin and back to the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you as you drove away; but to no avail.

🎱“She’s a gentle lass. Innocent and proper.” Thomas continued and Michael squinted at him, wondering what the man was getting at. “Doesn’t need corrupting.” “I know that Tommy, what you on about?” “We’ve come to a business agreement with Archibald Wentworth. They in exchange for protection and a good deal of Shelby business, his daughter would marry a gentleman.” Thomas stubbed the last bud out on the leather of the car. “I trust you can fit that role?”

🎱Before either of you really knew it the two were being wed on the great estate of the Wentworth Mansion, both smiling at each other at the end of the aisle like giddy school children with a secret. Within the hour you were husband and wife and Michael had the life and wife he had so hoped and dreamed for.

🎱The reception was a glamorous event; dancing and drinking and the celebration of you being safe, and the Shelby name moving up in the social hierarchy of local reputation. Yourself and Michael had snuck off for a moment alone with one another, to discuss the whirlwind of a day and plans moving forwards together. “May I say my darling you look absolutely divine.” He comments, taking your hand to make you do a full 360 turn to display your attire to him. He swore the dress was adorned entirely in Tiffany crystals. “Thank you, you are too kind.” He tuts “I can never be too kind to my wife.” He smiles.

🎱“And may I be so reckless to say I cannot wait to get this dress of you either” he smirked and you raised your brows as your cheeks reddened. “If that is no problem of course, my lady?” He confirms and you nod. “I apologise for my experience, for I have never before been with a man.” You admit, bashfully and his mouth ran dry. “Never?” You shook your head in confirmation. “Never, Michael.” You say and he gleefully picks you up to spin you around as you laugh at his response. “Well my darling, I hope you know I am prepared to take more than good care of you this evening. And of course continue the family name.”

Finn🎞️

🎞️You were the first girl Finn really cared about. Sure, he’d been on dates and hired whores to satisfy his desires. But he’d never really given much thought into actually taking his time with a girl. Until he saw you working at the bookshop two streets in the wrong direction from the Garrison.

🎞️Him, Isaiah and Bonnie were basically being little shits on the streets of Birmingham when he’d saw you organising shelves through the window, brow furrowed and tongue slightly protruding from your lips as you struggled to place an old hardback on the top shelf. The other two lads had carried on walking whereas Finn had stopped, the other two halting a few ways down to road to figure out where their third had gone, turning to see him awestruck at the bookshop window.

🎞️They hurried back, laughing at the boy who was notably illiterate. Finn could not read, nor write but was staring into the bookshop. “What y’ doing Finn? No picture books in there!” Isaiah joked, straining to see what Finn was so intently staring at. “Ah the girl” Bonnie elbowed him. “She won’t want you mate.” Isaiah informed him “she’s got Shakespeare and Wordsworth. You don’t even know who I’m on about.” And Isaiah was right. You did look dignified and well read because you were. And he was just Finn.

🎞️But he found himself two street in the wrong direction every day nearly, at least when he could find time to slip away. And Isaiah and Bonnie were sick of their lovesick friend ditching them to stare at a stranger awkwardly through a window. Then one day, when the three were repeating their galavant from the first time they saw you, Isaiah shoved him in the door.

🎞️The bell chimed and you turned from your stepladder “just a minute!” You climbed down and approached the disheveled boy at the door. “Can I help you?” You ask “book” he says and you crease your brows “…book?” Isaiah chimed in behind him “he wants to buy a book” he confirms as he smacks Finn around the back of the head. “Any book in particular?” “My first alphabet!” Bonnie exclaims, and the two boys begin cackling loudly and Finn grits his teeth and pushes the two out of the door.

🎞️“Eh what do you recommend?” He asked, scratching the back of his head and his eyes wander on all the paved backs of untouched literature. “What do you like? Fiction? Non-fiction?” Finn looks at you gone out. You look around for a simple poetry book you know is easy to understand “here, try this it’s one of my favourites” Finn nods and turns the book over in his hands and has a quick flick through. “How much do I owe you?” He asks, pushing his hand into his pocket. You shake your head “just come back and exchange it once you’re done.” Finn nods. He could do that. He thanks you and begrudgingly heads out the door to his friends who were still hounding him for the situation and he just smiles at you through the window.

🎞️Finn was getting ribbed week in and week out by both his friends and older brothers, Arthur drunkenly questioning in front of everyone why he hadn’t hired any whores recently and why books were appearing by his bed when he couldn’t read. The family laughed as his face reddened, Isaiah explaining that the lovely young lady down the bookshop had his interest peaked.

🎞️“Y’got her in bed yet?” John asked with a smirk and the younger boy elbowed him sharply. “No.” He mumbled. “No? Ol’ ‘just want a shag’ here hasn’t gotten a lady in bed?” His brother joked. “No she’s not the kind of lass I want to put off.” “Ah” Tommy ruffled his hair. “She’s the real deal then?” He smiled while lighting up another cigarette. Finn thought for a moment before nodding. Yeah, you were the real deal.

🎞️“Date” Finn said as he crashed through the door of your bookshop. You raised a brow at him. “Date with me, please.” He says, panting. “Finn are you alright?” You ask, placing a hand on his back. Me nods, heaving and placing his hands on his knees. He’d just ran here from being with his family. “Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked when he’d finally gotten his wind back. You smiled and nodded. “Yes I would Finn, when?” “Now.” You raise your brows. “Right now?” “Yeah. If you’d like.” You look down at the dainty wristwatch you were wearing and decided it was wishful thinking if you thought that you were going to get any more footfall in the next hour before you closed. You hummed and nodded. “Sure, let’s go.”

🎞️Finn took you to one of the nicest restaurants in Birmingham in walking distance, waiter seating you quickly after he noticed who Finn was, handing the two of you two open menus. You looked over the options, but was soon distracted by Finn’s conflicted face. “You alright, Finn?” He nods. “What’s up?” He ponders for a minute before mumbling something. “Sorry?” “I can’t read and this has no pictures.” He admits sheepishly, averting his eyes from yours.

🎞️“You can’t read?” You ask, mulling over the past several weeks where you’d be too-ing and fro-ing with Finn with your book recommendations. “But you’ve been borrowing books for months-” “just to see you.” He says, looking down as a smile began to grew on your lips. “I understand if you want to leave. You’re smart and pretty and I’m just an illiterate gangsta.” He says, mentally readying himself for your leave. You placed your hand on top of his where it was laid on the table. “Finn that’s so sweet.” His brows shot up. “You did that for me?” You ask, biting your lips as he affirms your question. You place a chaste kiss to his cheek as you realise just how much the blinder truly cared about you.

🎞️“Let’s get out of here.” You say, breaking the silence. “Seriously?” He asks, moving closer for a more private conversation. “I’m serious. Let’s go.” You say, “really? We don’t have too if you don’t want too-” “Finn Shelby. Let’s go.” And you didn’t have to tell him again, running back home like two giddy school children, hiding away in his room for the rest of the evening, ended by you laying on his bare chest while he drew shapes into your relaxed shoulder.

🎞️“That was better than I expected for my first time.” You admit, staring at the ceiling. It takes a few minutes for Finn to clock onto what you’d just said. He looks down at you, movement of his thumb faltering. “You were a virgin?” He asks, lump in his throat growing as he forced himself to swallow it. “Yeah.” He smirks.

🎞️“Nice.”

[fandom-puff]

Smutty blurb idea:

You’ve been begging for attention all day and Tommy finally gives it to you with facesitting and overstim 🥺

🫡🫡🫡 haven’t written for Tommy in AGES!! Enjoy x this turned into a bit more than a blurb lol

Attention

Warnings: contains overstimulation, light sim/sub dynamics, facesitting, oral sex,fem!reader

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

You had read the same paragraph of your novel about six times now, and ‘read’ was being generous; rather, you had skimmed over the print, the words blurring and muddling as your eyes drifted to your husband, Tommy.

It really wasn’t fair, the way he sat at his desk, shirtless, smoking and sipping his whisky as he scanned over his paperwork.

Watching the way his muscles twitched as he moved, you let out a longing sigh, but Tommy had made it quite clear that he had to sort through his paperwork before giving you any form of attention- and he had warned you not to be a brat. Brats don’t get any attention at all.

As the clock crawled forward another half hour, you closed your book, setting it aside as you admired your husband.

“What?” He said, feeling your gaze burn through him.

“Oh nothing,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Just admiring my husband, and willing him to hurry up so he can ravish me,”

Tommy cracked a small smirk. “I’m almost done, love,” he said gently, knowing how work often got in the way of pleasure.

**

True to his word, Tommy was pulling you upstairs ten minutes later, and you couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

Entering the bedroom, you made to get on the bed, but tommy grabbed your wrist. “Get undressed,” he told you, his hands already coming to the buttons of your blouse as he pressed kisses to your neck.

Your blouse fluttered to the floor, soon followed by your skirt, stockings, bra, and finally, underwear. “There she is,” Tommy hummed, his knuckle tracing the outline of your body. Goosebumps sprung under his touch, and you leaned into the hot firmness of his chest.

“How do you want me?” You breathed, not caring if he wanted you from the front of from behind, so long as he just took you.

“On top,” Tommy smirked, shucking down to his boxers and laying down, head propped against the plump pillows. You nodded, waiting for him to lay down, before moving to straddle his hips. “Not like that, love,” he said, and you cocked your head to the side. You had tried reverse cowgirl a handful of times, but it wasn’t your go to: Tommy liked to grasp and slap and suck at your tits, and you liked to bury your head into his neck as he lifted your hips up and down. But still, reverse cowgirl gave him the opportunity to pay attention to your arse, slapping and grabbing it. You began turning around, but tommy grabbed onto your hip. “No… up here, YN,” he said, and he grinned at your confusion. “Come sit on my face,”

Your face went from confusion to shock, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape. Of course, Tommy had licked you out countless times before, and you had sat on his face a few times- but they were mostly so that you could suck his cock at the same time. It had been ages since he had you ride his face.

“Come on, love… thought you’ve been waiting for some attention all day,” you bit your lip for a moment, before shuffling up towards his face, straddling his head.

Tommy groaned lowly at the sight of your cunt, just hovering above his face. Despite your hesitation, it was clear to him that you were desperate for his attention, in more ways than one. Fed up with your hesitation, he grasped your thighs, fingers squeezing at your arse, and pulled you towards his mouth.

As his tongue darted out to lick and suck at your clit, trailing up your slit as he lapped at your wetness. Your hands flew to the headboard as your hips bucked, rutting against his face. Shyness dissipated as hot, addictive pleasure flooded your being, and your cries of pleasure muddled with the lewd slurping between your legs, filling the room as Tommy brought you over the edge.

Your hips jolted and shuddered in his hands as you rode out your high, grinding against his tongue. But Tommy did not relent, and as you began shaking and whimpering and squirming away from him, he grasped your thighs tighter, holding you firmly to his face. He was openly moaning into your cunt now, his nose nudging your oversensitive clit as his tongue prodded into your cunt, drinking in your release like it was his lifeline.

“Tom,” you gasped, “Thomas!” One hand grasped at his hair, your nails scratching into his scalp. “‘S too much,” you moaned, but your body betrayed you, hips continuing to circle against his mouth. “Gonna- tommy-fuck! Gonna come again,” you cried, and tommy moved to suck firmly on your clit, pushing you screaming over the edge once more.

Tommy drew one more orgasm out of your overworked cunt, and if your head wasn’t addled with pleasure, you’d have been embarrassed with how quickly you came. Slowly, almost unwillingly, tommy moved you up from his face, helping you lay down as he moved on top of you. “You okay?” He asked, and you stared up at him, smiling dumbly as you nodded. “Good,” tommy smirked, his hand trailing between your legs, making you squirm. “Because I’m not done yet,”

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Omg pleeeease I need a dark/angsty Tommy fic where he ends up hurting the reader? Like an argument gets too heated and he ends up slapping her or something. Like maybe she was flirting and dancing a bit too much with someone at a party they’re hosting and he gets jealous and drags her to their room, then they start arguing and he gets so enraged that he basically sees red and absolutely slaps the hell out of her (some non con/dub con smut after as well???). Just need some heavy, dark, possessive, violent, scary/mean Tommy Shelby 😫 The darker the better lol

Warnings: noncon, p in v + anal, physical abuse, degradation, threats with a gun, some blood play, misogyny, name calling

Hope you enjoy! Thank you!

Tommy watched from afar, seeing you and Ada drunk, giggling like a bunch of school girls at a table filled with men. He may not be able to control his sister but his wife was another subject. People were beginning to stare, especially the men Tommy needed on his good side for now. The dress you were wearing was skin tight, your panties just barely showing through the thin black fabric. 

Tonight was a prestige dinner with delegates that Shelby Limited was in talks for business deals. The plan was too conversate, find weak spots, understand the patterns of movements, but the only thing Tommy was focused on was you, a long with every other man.

Even Arthur made a remark, a statement that angered Tommy even more. “Y/N’s quite the appeal tonight isn’t she?” Arthur chuckled, taking someone’s glass of whiskey and finishing it himself.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at her, need to cherish her better brother before another man makes a move.” That was it, that was enough. When Tommy slammed his glass down and started to walk away Arthur pulled him back, pleading and convincing Tommy to just allow you to have fun for a night but he wouldn’t listen. Frowning, Arthur returned to the table, grabbing another drink whilst Tommy tried to keep his compusure. Greeting and checking in with the guests before approaching your flailing, inebriated body.

Three tradesman of London were in attendance, the blatant look of disgust from where they stood at the bookcase, giving your husband a look of disapproval before carrying on in conversation.

“Tommy! My husband, come here!” When you attempted to pull him down by the sleeve of his expensive suit, he pulled back, tucking his hands in his pockets, giving you a stern expression that told you to follow him.

Pouting, you crossed your arms, rolling your eyes annoyed, picking up a bottle of champagne before walking away with him, making flirtatious remarks to random men as you wobbled away until you were in the master bedroom.

Closing the door, you fell onto the floor laughing in a disarray of emotions, your vision blurry and your eyes dilated. Tommy pulled the nearly empty bottle from your hands, tossing it into the corner of the room before grabbing your wrist forcing you up onto your feet.

“What the fuck are you doing, eh? Are you stupid, is that it? You know how important tonight is and you go and fucking wreck it, bidding yourself off to other men when you are a married, taken woman.”

“Relax Tommy, we’re just having fun. What the boys can do whatever they damn well please but because of what’s between my legs I’m expected to just be formal, elegant?” Tommy looked at you with expecting eyes, not understanding where the confusion is. There were important men here tonight and seeing you galavanting around like some whore and being incoherently drunk made his blood boil. 

Biting dowm on his tongue and locking his jaw, he pointed with dictation, sapphire eyes raging with fire as he seethed out the following words.

“Yes. It’s that fucking simple. You can’t even fucking stand up straight.” Scoffing, you tiptoed around the room, holding onto the dresser to keep your warm, sweating body from falling. The room was spinning but that didn’t change the anger from the double standard that was always set against you. You hadn’t thought before speaking, the words simply sputtering out what you’ve held in.

“You should be thanking me for flirting with them, without me you’d have nothing. I’m simply the means to an end to the shit deals you can’t make on your own.”

Tommy cut you off with the back of his hand slapping across your cheek ferociously, silencing you for good. Grabbing for the bruising skin, you looked back at your husband in shock and fear. He’s never, ever layed a hand on you.

When you ran for the door, he was faster, shoving the wooden object closed with his hand and yanking you back by the strands of your hair, pushing you carelessly onto the bed.

His hands tightened around your wrists as he shoved his hardened member upward against your mound.

“I’d have nothing eh? I’ll show you what it’s like to be treated like you’re nothing.” 

Screaming hysterically, you wept as Tommy ripped the expensive gown, exposing the bare, delicate skin of your thighs. Hitting and fighting against his chest to push him away, he simply lifted his hand, slapping you harshly once more to stop the whining. 

You pressed your hand gently against your temple, a headache forming in the core of your mind from the impactful blow. 

Hearing the buckle of his belt, you panicked but were too weak to defend yourself from the man who claimed to be your husband.

“Maybe if you had just listened and weren’t a fucking whore tonight we wouldn’t be in this postion. Someone’s forgotten their place eh?” Pushing the thin laced fabric of your panties aside, he thrusted upward, letting his thick length penetrate you without any lube. Writhing and seething in pain below him, tears prickled at your eyes, not recognizing who was staring at you anymore.

Spitting at his face, he smiled slyly, a dark twisted grin bellowing at what you had done.

Returning the favor he spat back, hitting you once more with a forceful, strong slap that echoed through the room and knocked out your hearing in one ear.

“Don’t forget sweetheart. I own you, you’re my property.” Wrapping his hands around your throat, you struggled for air as he drilled into your dry cunt, shredding open the sensitive skin like a grater would cheese. Blood slowly leaked out from your pussy, the ability to scream non existent as your airway was constricted, bruising as his nails dug into your skin.

When your hands reached up to try to push him away from your neck, desperate for air, he shed himself of his tie, wrapping the fabric around your wrists tightly to the headboard and shoved his underwear in your mouth. 

Slapping your cunt repeatedly, he mocked your whimpers, feeling your walls slowly start to produce your sweet syrup against your will.

“How pathetic, is this what you wanted? Someone likes me cock, who knew my wife was a little fucking whore.” Screeching beneath the makeshift gag, your skin seethed in pain, wanting nothing more for this to be over.

His hands grasped at your breasts, tugging and pulling at your nipples, smitten by how easily your body gave in to him. 

Flipping you over onto your stomach, he spread your ass cheeks, pulling the fatty skin apart finding that tight, untouched hole you’d been denying him for so many years, now he was going to take it for himself.

There was nowhere for you to go, your eyes searched, panicked looking for anything to get you out of these bindings, but there was nothing. 

Aligning himself with your taint, you could feel the rounded head of his shaft resting at your virgin entrance. Every bone and muscle in your violated body tensed when his head pushed through your strained, congested walls. You screamed in agony as he wasted no time burying himself balls deep in your taint.

“Oh fuck…Didn’t know you could feel this good love. My little slave, that ass devouring me cock. About time I reminded you of your place. Nothing but a slut, a mere stupid little bitch.” He moaned in between thrusts as he fucked your anus, pounding your ass up and down on his shaft while holding the cheeks of your ass roughly. The sporadic pain was different than your pussy, far more intensified. It didn’t feel like stinging anymore, the size of his penis sent flames of fire through your hole.  

When he buried his neck into the crook of your neck while he continued to pump relentlessly into you. You fumbled with the bindings while he wasn’t paying attention. 

Realessing a choked sob, you were on the verge of being free, fidgeting with the tight knot with a tremendous effort, working over the fabric through the tears and painful agony, but you weren’t as smooth as you thought. Tommy’s hand shot up, slamming down on yours and pulled you arms behind your back, causing the gag to fall out in the process.

“Help! Help! Ah-“ Striking you in the back of your waeay head, he shoved his fingers between your lips, invading your mouth and pulling at the sides of your lips.

“Shut the fuck up. Listen to me, are you listening sweetheart?” You whimpered through his fingers, nodding your head, squeezing your eyes closed in a pained expression when he thrusted his cock violently with a force of strength and dominance.

“No one is coming to your rescue, you belong to me, and I have the right to use and abuse my property all I want and you will listen, or suffer the consequences as you are right now. Get up.” Tommy pulled you onto his lap, reinserting his lengthy shaft into your soaking wet walls. You mewled from the discomfort, struggling to make eye contact with Tommy. 

His lips connected to your hardened nipples, biting down on the flesh harshly, aiming to draw blood. Slapping you across the face once again, your head whipped to the other side fiercly.

“Ride me. Go on, you claim to be so great in bed to those men out there. Can’t treat your husband the same?” Another backhand, before his hand gripped the fat of your ass cheeks, slamming you up and down on his cock, an immense joy curdling within him from seeing your pathetic tears.

Then an idea struck you, if you’r just get him off surely he’d let you go. A satisfied grin spread across his face when you began to rotate your hips, staring slowly at first before picking up speeding. 

“Ah, fuck, that’s it love. Show me what that worthless cunt can do.” You continued to whine and whimper as you rode his cock, your ass landing on his thighs with each powerful bounce, your breasts flying up and down for his amusement.

You could feel him begin to pulsate, he was close, very close.

Arching your back, Tommy focused in on your pussy devouring his lengthy member with each pivotal motion of your hips. Your walls tightened, constricting his length, and within seconds his seed was filling your tortured void, flooding into your ovaries.

At that moment you moved as fast as lightning, taking the lamp and smashing it over his head to try to escape his bitter soul. Rushing to put clothes on, you ran to the door, thinking that someone would help you but Tommy wasn’t weak and you were nowhere nearly as strong as him. He was quick to recover, but not as quick as you. Throwing on a nightshirt and slipping on the closest thing to work as underwear, you opened the door just nearly out when Tommy pulled on his pants, rolling over the bed and running, rushing toward you, slamming the door closed once again. 

You punched the door in defeat, frightened to turn around until he forced you to, pulling out something you’d never thought he’d use as a threat to you.

“If you think I am playing some sort of sick game, you are sadly mistaken sweetheart. Now get back on the fucking bed, you’ve done enough tonight.” Removing the safety, he pointed the gun directly on the middle of your forehead, the cool metal barrel sending chills down your spine. Is this what your marriage had come to? How were you supposed to move forward from this catastrophic night? Surely people would notice the bruises but then again, no one ever questioned Tommy Shelby, not anyone that gave a shit about their life.

Surrendering you rose your arms, the shaking of your trembling hands visible. The man facing you, you no longer recognized. There was no guilt, or shame, or any type of love present in those venomous, frigid eyes, he really wasn’t joking. Making your way back to the bed, you tucked your head onto the pillow, weeping relentlessly into the case of the feathered object. Tommy layed the gun down on the table, taking a seat beside you. You flinched away from his cold, heartless touch, terrified of what was to come next.

“I need to go back and entertain our guests. You stay here and be good. Can you do that?” He twisted your labia, pinching the sensitive skin, causing you a tremendous amount of pain, reminding you what could happen if you don’t listen.

Nodding with fearful, tired eyes, you watched as Tommy dressed himself, and stayed in your fragile position on the soiled sheets, eventually crying yourself to sleep in the dark room.

[novashelby]

His Beautiful~A Tommy Shelby Smut: 18+ only.

Pairing: TommyxFem!Reader

Prompt: They didn't send one, but I did use #59 from this list.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Some dub-con, rough smut, degrading language, spit, spanking. Maybe gaslighting?

Summary: Tommy and his new wife spend some special time together during their honeymoon. Tommy's the little bossy pants he usually is. Request by @elenavampire21.

A/N: Please, please for the love of it...please reblog and/comment. Like are so sweet and I am happy you are reading my stuff. But reblogs and comments help writers out.

He loved her. He had to have loved her, right? That’s the only reason he waited until marriage like she wanted. It was hard. A whole six months of watching her body sway as she walked. Each day he had been more and more eager, and his left hand was not cutting it. Of course, a visit to a whore house would have been satisfactory enough, but he promised her. Fucking promises! And since he loved her, right? He had to stay honest. Something Tommy Shelby struggled a bit with. 

The previous night had been their wedding. Just a small thing. It was his third after all and the older he got, the less he gave any care to frills and luxury. They were married in a small church and then after, joined their family for a meal and dance. Both were too tired to fuck after. But the next day was their honeymoon. He decided to take her to the countryside far from the city grit and pollution. She was a city girl, though, and when she hopped from the caravan, looking around the empty greenery, she cocked her head. Turning to him, she winced. “Oh, it’s….lovely?”

Tommy snorted, wiping his greasy hands with a dirty white cloth. They popped a wheel and he’d been fixing it the whole time she finished a nap. “You’re awake. We’ve been here for a couple of hours. I figure we can relax out here for a few days before heading back-”

“This is our honeymoon?” she asked, wanting clarification.

Tommy could read people very well, and she was no different. Stress lines tainted her beautiful face. A city girl like herself hardly could consider this a honeymoon, and he understood that. But he needed to get away, and as his wife, she should have understood his needs. “I can tell you are not happy,” he commented. “But this is where we are staying. The fresh air will do you good.” He walked over to her, softening his face a bit. Gently, he rubbed her cheek. “Besides, you know we are all alone out here?”

She gave him an unamused look, arms crossed. “Thomas-”

“Just you and I, me and you,” he whispered, leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead. She whined as he did so, turning her head. Sighing, he commented, “you’re a fucking brat. This is our first day as husband and wife, why the theatrics, hm?” 

“Because, Thomas! This is not a honeymoon,” she explained, motioning to the nothingness around her. To her, she was being completely reasonably annoying. But to him, she was being a selfish little brat. “This is a-”

“Shhh,” he said, wanting her to calm herself. He smiled, dragging his fingers down to her hips before bringing her in. “Don’t you understand, hm? You and I are alone out here, sweetheart. Just you and I.” 

“I know,” she pressed, still not pleased. But she was not getting his hints. 

“You are so innocent,” he teased, kissing her cheek, lingering there for a quick moment before dragging his lips up to her ear. He grinned, taking her lobe between his teeth, tugging teasingly. Appalled, she crouched her neck, wincing just a tad. 

“Thomas!” What he did next took her for a loop. His other hand found its way to her neck. Her instinct was to scream and gasp for all the air her lungs could suck in. Stuck in a mode of panic, she hardly realized he wasn’t choking her. His fingers only pressed lightly against her pulse. Her hand rested over his. Breath rapid, she asked, “what are you doing?” 

While preoccupied with the hold against her throat, he dragged his other hand between her legs. With no patience for anything getting in his way, he quickly bunched up her skirts and shoved his hand between her thighs, pressing up against her silk panties. Resting his forehead against hers, he peered down. Quietly with a sharp edge, he said, “trying to see. Does my little wife have any edge to her? Or is she always just going to be so…good.”

“Thomas!” she hissed, trying to pull his hand off of her crotch. “Thomas, we are outside. We can’t do this outside. What if someone sees?” 

“Who?” he chuckled. “The birds? Have you not been listening, it’s just you and I out here.” His fingers pressed a bit harder against her neck when she opened her mouth to protest. Her string of words came out as a pile of whimpers. Perhaps he was a bit selfish in what he wanted. A highly sexed man having to wait six months, that hardly equals patience. Of course, he pictured swooning her and spoiling her in the mix of the bedsheets. Making sure to kiss every aspect of her body, making sure she felt loved and adored. But in that moment, he just wanted to fuck. Any inkling of intimacy slipped away and the thought of making love seemed tedious. A little sliver of him felt guilty that her first time would be getting railed raw over rock. But maybe seeing as how much of a pain in the ass she has been, maybe it was her thing. A little pain and roughness. “Come on, beautiful,” he cooed, eying the lump of rocks just off to the side. “You are so beautiful…my beautiful wife.” She resisted against him, attempting to dig her heels into the wet ground.

“Outside?” she protested. “Please, Thomas…let’s go inside and do it.”

“Oh, but we will,” he chuckled, picking her up. She yelped loud enough to move the mountains in the far off distance. “Shh, shhh,” he told her, accompanied with a light smack to her behind. Despite her hesitations, he brought her to the rocks and sat her down. “Love, I want you to feel comfortable with me-”

“Thomas,” she warned, jaw tight, clearly not pleased with her new husband. “I’ve ruined my skirts! And look at my boots-”

“You married a Gypsy,” he pointed out. “The fuck I care about your skirts and boots. Now, we are on our honeymoon.” He slid from his suspender straps before his fingers started to work at his belt clasp. “And from what I recall, our honeymoon is to celebrate our marriage.” She looked up at him from her new seat, a mix of annoyance and admiration. 

“We have a mattress in the caravan, for fucks sake, Thomas,” she complained, but before she could get another word out, he picked her up and placed belly flat over the rock. She was slowly giving in as her walls broke down. “Mattress would have been better, but….” She sighed and positioned herself for him; ass arched and legs spread just enough. “I know you aren’t about to fuck me without any forepay-”

“Sweety,” he said, in a mocking tone as he bunched her skirt up over ass and gave it a love tap. “You’re a virgin. What do you know of foreplay? Hmm? Maybe you don’t get foreplay because you’re acting like a whiny little brat. Maybe I just want to use you.” He was teasing her of course, but his poor little wife had not an idea of his antics. Pouting, she looked back at him pathetically. Winking, his finger pulled down her panties while his other hand lazily stroked at his cock.

“That’s mean,” she accused, wiggling her behind a bit, feeling a pool of desperation build. Tommy glanced down at her arched ass, grinning to himself as he positioned his cock. “Warm me up, Tommy, please?” The tip of cock pressed against her entrance. 

“No,” he said, leaving it at that as he rested his chest against her back as he leaned over her. He watched as her fingers clung to anything she could, white knuckling. It was as if she was preparing for something painful. The tip pushed in and he rested there for a moment, gasping as her virgin walls broke around him. She sucked in her lips, muffling whatever moans wanted to come through. Reading her eyes, she was aroused. He could tell. His beautiful wife always loved his upper hand. He was sure she found it thrilling to fight against him. Pushing in further, he let out a long, deep throated groan. To steady himself, he slipped one hand under her, resting his palm against her left breast. His other found its home around her neck. “Good girl. You feel so good wrapped around me. I think you were made specially for me, you know that?” he breathed in her ear, ending his sentence with a teasing kiss. 

She whined, trying to inch forward to release the tension pain burning her lower half. It would have been nice if he prepped her. But that would require Tommy Shelby to be nice. To be nice and put his needs last. Unfortunately, if she wanted that, she married the wrong Shelby. “It hurts,” she told him.

“You’re fine,” he replied, in an attempt to dismiss her concerns. “It feels exactly how it should feel. It doesn’t hurt.” He left a trail of kisses along her jaw before meeting her lips. “Give me a kiss.” He was pleasantly surprised she didn’t fight him, reaching up a bit to place a soft peck to his lips. “Good girl. My beautiful wife. Look at me…I want to see your face.`` Their eyes connected. Teasingly, his index finger ran circles over her nipples. The sensation started off small until it crept up on her. He watched as her eyes became heavy and hooded. Just a simple touch like that had her clenching herself around him, sucking him in. “You like this.” 

“Thomas,” she gasped out, her hips slowly pulling away only to push up against him. In the midst of pleasure was still a little bit of pain, making her hiss through clench teeth. He started to slowly move with her, wondering if he’d even last long enough as it’d been too long since he had pussy. Especially a pussy as pretty and perfect as hers.

“What if,” he started, a chuckle mixed with a desperate, feral grunt, lacing his words. “What if your’re just a fucking hole, hm?” His words were like a poisonous berry; sweet, but deadly to her emotions. Just a hole? Her eyes rolled back before she even could comprehend how much she liked it. He picked up the speed, his balls lightly bouncing off her puffy clit. “Only a fucking hole.” His index and ring finger slipped between her lips, needy to hear those choking and gurgling noises. Muffled, she tried to tell him something, but he didn’t care. “Shut up,” he told her, closing his eyes, lost in his thrusts that became increasingly fast. “Just a hole…that’s all you are to me. A hole I can breed and own.” He pulled back and paused before slammed himself against her, letting out a loud moan. “Fuck! Yeah? You like that! Nod for me….” She nodded, whimpering. Her face was getting beat red with insults and abuse, but it wasn’t a complete lie. She did like it. She liked how feral he was in wanting to fuck her. 

His pace became fast and steady, as his pleasure built up. The air mixed with their moans and spewed, incomprehensible words. “My pleasure is your fucking pleasure,” he continued. “You like this…you like being a…fuck…ah! You like being a filthy wife for me.” He continued to drill the thought process into her as his thrusts become uneven and ragged. “Take it…fucking take me!” His hands scratched down her sides before gripping her hips, fingers digging into her sensitive flesh. 

“Tommy!” she groaned out, trying to meet his pace by slamming back her hips. She threw back her head, eyes rolling back. “Shit! More-I want more…rub my clit.” She pleaded for him to pleasure her. It was a need. But he refused.

“No,” he forced out, breaths hitched and uneven. “Fuck…fuck, baby. My wife, such a perfect cunt.” With one last slam, he held himself there, feeling his orgasm take over him. Panting, he laid over her, running kisses on her clothed shoulder. “My beautiful wife,” he got out one last time before sliding off. “Come on,” he cooed, pulling at her legs. She was so limp and weak, legs shaking. “Turn over, baby.” She was too faded to argue, simply going limp for him to turn her over. “Let me look,” he whispered, kneeling down to study between her legs. It was beautiful; red and fucked with a line of of cum seeping out. Without warning, he got in close and stuck out his tongue, pressing it against her pussy, tasting their mixed cum. She was anticipating something erotic, feeling at her breasts and getting into the rhythm of rolling her hips against his tongue. Unfortunately for her, he stopped as soon as he started. It wasn’t meant to pleasure her, but to get her right on the edge. To be at his mercy. He mounted over her and gripped her, pushing her mouth open before spitting in her mouth. “Good girl, my beautiful wife,” he said, watching it pool. She swallowed it, wincing. Sweetly, he kissed her lips with a smile. “My beautiful wife, I love you…and thank you for humoring my needs. Tonight, it will be your turn and I will make you very, very happy.”

She whacked him playfully with a pout. “You better. You just spit in my fucking mouth!”

He laughed and pinched her chin. “I’ll do it again, y’know? If you don’t watch yours!”

[wonderlanddreamer]

i please want a hurt/comfort where mr t. shelby gets buried alive and y/n comes to the rescue plz

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Buried beneath the earth, Tommy's only hope lies in your relentless determination as you push beyond all limits to bring him back.

Warnings: Threats, Violence, Emotional Distress.

Tommy Shelby awoke to a suffocating darkness. His first instinct was to move, but the moment he tried, he felt the crushing weight of the earth pressing down on him from all sides. Panic surged through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He forced himself to take shallow breaths, trying to conserve the limited air and stave off the rising tide of claustrophobia.

Buried alive.

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. His hands trembled as he felt the smooth, wooden walls of his coffin, the grain of the timber cold and unyielding under his fingertips.

Tommy's mind raced, a torrent of thoughts and emotions swirling in the darkness. Fear, anger, and despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he clung to a single, stubborn thread of hope. He was Tommy Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders. He had survived worse than this—war, betrayal, the constant dance with death. This was just another battle.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to think logically. He needed to find a way out. His fingers traced the edges of the coffin, searching for any weakness, any sign of escape. The wood was solid and unyielding, the nails driven in with cruel precision, but Tommy refused to give up.

As he struggled, he began to pound on the lid of the coffin, the sound of his fists striking the wood echoing back at him in the confined space. He hoped against hope that someone would hear him. His knuckles split and ached, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

The rhythmic pounding became a metronome of desperation. Each impact sent jolts of pain through his arms, but he welcomed it. Pain meant he was still alive, still fighting. And Tommy Shelby was nothing if not a fighter.

Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination as you stepped into the dimly lit alleyway, clutching Tommy's revolver with a steady hand. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced eerily around you. The air was thick with the scent of damp brick and refuse, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Tommy had told you everything you needed to know—who he was meeting, when he'd be home, and what to do if he didn't return. You'd gone straight to Arthur and John, but waiting around helplessly was never an option.

You were going to find him.

Your normally soft and calm demeanour had been replaced by a fierce resolve. The adrenaline coursing through your veins sharpened your senses, and your eyes scanned every corner of the alley with heightened awareness. You'd tracked down the weakest link among the men who had taken Tommy, a low-level thug named Billy, known for his cowardice. He was the kind who folded under pressure, and tonight, he would break.

Billy was leaning against a brick wall, nervously lighting a cigarette. The flickering flame briefly illuminated his anxious face. He barely had time to react before you grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, the cold barrel of the revolver pressing into his temple with unyielding force.

"Where is he?" you demanded, your voice low but deadly serious, each word laced with an icy resolve that sent shivers down Billy’s spine.

Billy's eyes widened in terror, and the cigarette slipped from his lips, landing in a puddle with a faint hiss. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice quivering, betraying his fear.

You pressed the gun harder against his head, your anger flaring like a wildfire. "Don't lie to me. Tommy Shelby. Where is he?"

Billy's resolve crumbled visibly, but he still hesitated, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out. That hesitation earned him a swift, hard punch to the gut. He doubled over, gasping for air, his wheeze echoing in the confined space of the alley.

"Talk!" you barked, your voice reverberating off the alley walls, amplifying your fury. "Or the next one won't be so kind."

Billy wheezed, his face contorted in pain, each breath a struggle. "I-I swear, I don't know!"

You didn't have time for this. You grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees. The rough pavement scraped against his skin as he fell. "Wrong answer," you growled, pressing the revolver against the back of his head, the metal cold and unforgiving. "You have one last chance before I paint this fucking alley with your blood."

Billy's resolve shattered completely, his voice a desperate plea. "Alright, alright! They buried him! Out in the old graveyard, near the edge of town. Please, don't shoot! That's all I know, I swear!"

You released him with a shove, and he crumpled to the ground, whimpering. Stepping back, you kept the gun trained on him, your eyes blazing with a mix of fury and determination, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your shoulders.

"If you're lying, I'll find you again," you said coldly, your voice a promise of retribution. "And you won't get a second chance."

Billy nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face, mingling with the dirt and grime. "I'm not lying, I swear!"

You turned on your heel, your mind focused on only one thing: saving Tommy. With every step you took towards the graveyard, the weight of the revolver in your hand reminded you of who you were fighting for.

Your breath came in rapid bursts as you sprinted towards the old graveyard, each exhale forming a cloud of vapour in the cold night air. The revolver was clutched tightly in your trembling hand, the metal cold and unforgiving. You had sent a frantic message to John and Arthur, but waiting for them was not an option. Every second counted, and Tommy's life hung precariously in the balance.

The graveyard loomed ahead, shrouded in an eerie silence that was broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind. The moonlight cast long, ghostly shadows over the tombstones, giving the place an otherworldly feel. As you approached, the silhouette of a man standing over a freshly dug grave came into view. Your heart lurched with a mix of fear and steely determination. Tommy was down there, buried.

You moved closer, trying to stay hidden in the shadows cast by the ancient, crooked trees. The man, however, was vigilant. His eyes caught a glimpse of movement, and without warning, he fired his gun. You ducked instinctively, the bullet whizzing past your ear and embedding itself in a nearby tree trunk. Adrenaline surged through you, and you charged forward, driven by the desperate need to save Tommy.

The man met you head-on, and the two of you clashed violently. You swung the revolver at him, but he dodged with practised ease and landed a punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of you. You stumbled back, gasping for air, but your resolve remained unbroken. You lunged at him again, grappling and struggling with every ounce of strength you had. The sound of your scuffle echoed through the graveyard, a cacophony of grunts, curses, and the dull thud of fists meeting flesh.

Below you, in the suffocating darkness of the coffin, Tommy could hear the muffled sounds of the struggle above. His consciousness was slipping, each shallow breath a battle against the crushing weight of the earth. The faint sounds gave him a glimmer of hope, yet a surge of helplessness washed over him. He wanted to fight, to protect you, but he was trapped, barely able to move, let alone breathe.

"Get the fuck away from her," he thought desperately, his fists weakly pounding against the coffin lid. The fear of losing you gnawed at him, making his already limited air supply feel even thinner, his vision blurring as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.

The fight above was brutal. The man managed to get the upper hand, pinning you to the ground with his weight pressing down on your chest. His breath was hot and rancid against your face as he reached for his gun. Panic flared in your chest, but you fought back with all your might, clawing and kicking, refusing to give in.

Just as the man raised his gun to finish you off, a gunshot rang out, and he staggered back, clutching his shoulder. You looked up to see John and Arthur rushing towards you, their faces grim with determination and their guns drawn. They fired again, and the man crumpled to the ground, his threat neutralised.

John and Arthur rushed to your side, pulling you to your feet with a mix of concern and urgency. "Are you alright?" John asked, his voice tight with worry.

You nodded, your breaths coming in gasps, each one a struggle against the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Tommy...he's down there," you managed to say, pointing to the freshly dug grave.

Without wasting another second, you dropped to your knees beside the grave and began to dig frantically with your bare hands. The dirt was heavy and unyielding, caking under your fingernails and turning your hands raw and bloody, but you didn't care. You had to reach him.

"Hold on, Tommy!" you called out, your voice shaking with emotion. "We're coming! Just hold on!"

With John and Arthur's help, the hole grew deeper. The three of you worked in a desperate frenzy, scooping away the earth that entombed Tommy. Finally, your fingers brushed against the rough wood of the coffin lid. Your hands were raw and bleeding, but you didn't stop. With a surge of strength fueled by sheer willpower, you pried open the lid, revealing Tommy's pale, dirt-streaked face.

"Tommy!" you cried, reaching in to pull him out. His eyes fluttered open, and he took a gasping breath of fresh air, each inhalation a victory over the suffocating darkness that had threatened to consume him.

"We've got you," Arthur said, his voice choked with relief as he helped lift Tommy out of the coffin. "You're safe now."

Tommy's eyes, though glassy and unfocused at first, gradually locked onto yours. Despite his weakened state, the fierce protectiveness in his gaze was unmistakable. "You shouldn't have come alone," he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper, worry mingling with gratitude in his tone.

"I had to," you whispered back, tears streaming down your face as you helped him out of the grave. "I couldn't lose you."

John and Arthur worked quickly, their hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. They supported Tommy on either side, helping him to stand. His legs were unsteady, and he leaned heavily on them. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his warmth and the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Relief flooded through you, mingling with the lingering fear and adrenaline.

"We need to get him out of here," John said urgently, his eyes scanning the graveyard for any signs of additional threats. "There could be more of them."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "Let's move. Our car's not far."

You helped them guide Tommy towards the exit of the graveyard, moving as quickly as his condition allowed. Each step felt like progress, a step away from the brink of disaster and towards safety. The cold night air was a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the grave, a reminder that you were alive, that Tommy was alive.

As you reached the car, John opened the back door, and you carefully helped Tommy inside. He winced in pain, his body protesting the movement, but he managed a weak smile in your direction. "You really are something else, darlin’," he said, his voice raspy but filled with admiration.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his face, your fingers lingering on his cheek."I told you, Tommy. I'm not losing you."

Tommy managed a faint smile, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "I know, love. I know."

You could feel the weight of the night's events pressing down on you, but there was a sense of peace now that Tommy was safe. You gently cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the dirt and grime. His eyes closed briefly, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from it.

"You're my everything," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Tommy's hand reached up to cover yours, his grip weak but full of warmth. "You saved me," he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. "You always do."

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, bound by a love that had proven unbreakable, even in the face of death.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby," you said softly, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss.

He kissed you back, his lips warm and reassuring. "And I love you, more than anything," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You held him close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own.

As the car sped through the quiet streets, you held Tommy close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting fleeting shadows across his face. In the cocoon of the car, with the world outside rushing by, you found solace in each other's arms, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey, could you maybe write something with Tommy where the girl he likes is a bit of a party girl? How would be react to her wild behaviour? 🥂

Hey Anon,

I LOVE this idea! Thank you for sending it in! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: heavy drinking, fluff, murder, all the good stuff

He sat there watching her dance recounting all the times he’d been black-out drunk. None of them resulted in him dancing like a whore in public. Or laughing so loud it carried over the music. 

He didn't understand how the same woman that had single-handedly got him out of a bind with not only another crime family but also the police, was the same woman here dancing on a table. 

Just hours previous to the celebration she had shot a man and now she was here dancing like she always did. 

The club was dark but the pink dress she wore would glow even with the lights out. Her hair was messed up and somehow looked even better that way. 

When she got like this he wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she was worth pursuing. Parties were her thing. He’d met her as an event coordinator and while she complained about how boring his events were they had got along very well. 

Too well. 

She was always bombarded with men offering her drinks, expensive trips, and houses in tropical lands, and yet she always came back to him. She wanted to be by his side even in the cold British rain. 

She danced until the song stopped then let out a loud squeal when Esme poured more champagne into her mouth. 

“WE WONNNNN” She called out with her bejeweled fist in the air. Everyone erupted into loud cheers around her. 

Getting into clubs to celebrate wasn't an issue for a Shelby, but she had an even easier time. She once got dared to leap off a loft railing onto a chandelier. Not only was it official lore woven into the fabric of London, the owner just shook his head and laughed when she did it. 

She was a friend, valuable business partner, excellent lover, but could she be a wife? His stomach twisted at the thought of being with someone else, that was a feeling he hadn’t felt since Greta. A frown fell on his face. 

Would that be something she wanted? He looked for her again dancing and singing her heart out. Would she feel trapped? 

The night wrapped up and she crawled across the backseat of the cab. She slumped against him and smiled up at him brightly. 

“I saved you today.” She slurred happily.

“Yes, you did.” He answered with the slightest bit of a smile on his lips. 

“You owe me.” She said bringing a well-manicured finger up to push his nose.

“Is that so” He grabbed her jaw gently keeping her face tilted up towards him. Her eyes flared and he didn't know what he would do without her. Even if she wasn't incredible at her job, and networking, even if she was just a party girl, he wouldn't want to be with anyone else. “How can I make it up to you?” 

“Stay with me?” There was a deep sadness in her eyes that took Tommy by surprise. 

“That’s the plan.” He whispered.

“Stay with me forever?” She clarified and he smiled. 

“Forever.” He kissed the top of her head and handed her the box that had been on fire since he started carrying it weeks ago. He felt like he shouldn't give it to her when she was drunk. It should be some grand gesture, a proper event with people around. That’s what she would want, but he felt like it was the moment. 

Her eyes went wide. 

“SHUT UP” She took the box and gave him one last look before opening it. 

“Would you -” 

“YES -” She let out another squeal waving her hands animatedly. After lots of hugging and screaming she rolled down the window to shout at the people on the street.

“I”M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!” She pointed to her finger and laughed as random people waved and cheered for her. 

Tommy just leaned back into his seat and enjoyed the pure joy that radiated off of his soon-to-be wife. After shouting at a few more people when stopped at red lights she rolled the window up and climbed onto his lap. 

She pressed her lips onto his and they enjoyed the rest of the ride back to their London apartment.

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

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[amazingmaeve]

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[hottpinkpenguin]

Hey 😊 if your still taking requests for the peakys. Could I please ask for Alfie Solomons with A "ask me to stay" and D "dark secret" female reader. Thanks 💗💗

A/n: that's a wrap on Peaky Blinders requests from June!!! thx to all the lovelies who participated <3

The Wall Between Them - Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2362 Content warnings: Domestic violence, reader murders the abuser, abuse, violence, blood/gore, protective Alfie, can't-be-vulnerable Alfie, trying-his-best Alfie, hints of soft!Alfie?

Her hands shook so violently it was a wonder she didn’t drop the pistol. If anyone had been watching the scene before them, they would have credited a guardian angel for guiding the bullet straight to his chest despite the treacherous wobble of the gun. Her eyes were closed when she pulled the trigger, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood from her mouth. 

He fell like a sack of bricks. One minute he was lunging towards her, eyes trained on the pistol. A cold fear seized his heart as he saw the terror in her gaze melt away to black rage. All those whiskey beatings, harsh words and hateful years had backfired on him. Then, in the next instant, he died to the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot. 

The silence that followed was so loud she swore it would crush her. The walls around her seemed to be holding their breath. Was he really dead? Did she really pull the trigger? 

She didn’t let herself exhale until she saw a pool of blood - darker than she’d imagined it would be - staining the floorboards underneath him. She dropped the pistol; it landed with a heavy thud at her feet moments before her knees folded on themselves as if made of twigs. She pitched sideways, letting the hallway wall brace her fall as she deflated under the weight of realization. She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how many times he’d hit her. The ghastly bruises and scars he’d left etched in her skin, the nights her mind had divorced itself from her battered body and wandered the halls like a ghost, the mangled monster he’d grown into… none of it mattered. All that others would see was a dead husband and a living wife with motive, means, and a guilty conscience. Even dead, that horrid man was imprisoning her.

She knew there was only one person who could get her out of this. And so, she wiped the blood from her rapidly swelling lip, picked up the pistol and slipped it into the deep pocket of her apron, and tied up the escaped strands of hair. It had been almost seven years since she’d seen Alfie Solomons, but she still knew exactly where to find him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.” 

Alfie barely heard Jack’s murmured comment above the jeer of the crowd. The Irishman was swaying unsteadily on his feet in the pen after taking a nasty round of hits to his right ear. Alfie could see his ear filling with blood. A busted eardrum, likely. Circling opposite him, the burly Hungarian Alfie knew as The Red Devil was snarling proudly as he surveyed his quarry. 

“Fuckin’ finish him!” Alfie called out, lifting a wad of bills in the air like a signal fire. The fight was fixed of course, and Alfie had fixed it. The Red Devil was turning into quite a lucrative investment, but his penchant for theatrics was tiring to Alfie. He preferred a quick win, efficient and clean. 

“Boss?” Jack edged slightly closer, waiting for Alfie’s orders.

“Hm?”

“A lady, boss. There’s a lady here to see you. Asked for you by name.”

“Didn’t book a whore tonight,” Alfie replied simply, waving Jack off as The Red Devil moved in on the Irishman, holding the dazed man’s head as he drove his knee up into the exposed forehead until the bell rang to signal the end of the fight. The crowd erupted into a mix of appreciative cheers, boos, and cries to settle up or place new bets as another pair of fighters moved to the edge of the pen. 

“Don’t think she’s a whore, boss. Looks like a respectable lady. Bit beat up though.” 

Alfie fixed Jack with an incredulous stare. He wasn’t accustomed to his men pressing him on trivial issues like this. Especially not on a fight night. Jack flinched imperceptibly; he was well-acquainted with Alfie’s anger and bore a nasty half-moon scar the framed his left eye from being pistol-whipped after pressing Alfie’s limits. Alfie almost moved to strike him, until something about Jack’s words and the odd look in his eyes plucked at something. 

“She give a name?”

Jack shook his head, eyes glued to the ground. “No. All she said was you were ol’ friends. Childhood friends, I think she said.”

It couldn’t be. Alfie shook his head as if trying to shake out the thought. But, then again, there was only one person he’d ever met who’d claim him as a friend. 

“Beat up, you say?”

Jack nodded. “Lip’s split and she got a shiner.”

A memory flickered across Alfie’s mind. He hadn’t seen her in years, but the last time he had, she’d had a ring of purple and green bruises around her neck. She’d tried to hide it under a high collar dress, but Alfie had her pressed up against the wall of his office, their lips devouring each other, and he hadn’t missed the way she winced when he let his hand slide down the side of her neck on its way to undo the line of buttons at the front of her dress. He knew who’d done it and didn’t need her to say a damn thing. If she hadn’t begged him on her knees - her goddamn knees - to spare that pathetic man’s life, Alfie Solomons would have gutted him nice and slow. 

He hadn’t seen her since. She’d stopped writing, stopped answering her own front door, stopped going to the butcher shop below where Alfie kept a small apartment. He’d had her on every surface of that apartment, rabid with hunger for anything she’d give him. Then she’d just vanished. Told him she was due to be married, couldn’t carry on with him anymore. Alfie knew there’d been a silent request buried in her words. He’d heard her ask it with her eyes. Ask me to marry you, and I’ll leave him. Alfie cursed himself every day for letting that moment slip by like water on rocks. He wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to love someone now then he was back then, but in his quiet moments he wondered if maybe he could have figured it out with her, if only he’d been willing to take that chance.

“Boss? Boss, what do you want me to tell ‘er?” 

The sound of the bell announcing the start of another match jarred Alfie loose from his reminiscences. 

“Nothin’. I’ll talk to ‘er.”

Jack eyed him with surprise, but quickly smoothed the spark of interest out of his features rather than risk another scar from his mercurial boss. He’d never known Alfie Solomons to pause his dealings for a woman. Something about her must have been special. Jack followed his boss out of the smoky, cacophonous warehouse and towards the back of the building where Alfie kept his offices. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alfie felt his fingers dig into the wood of his desk as she stepped out of the shadowy corner of his office and into the soft halo glow of his desk lamp. Her lip was split, blood dried on her chin, and one of her luminous eyes was swollen shut. Murder ripped through Alfie’s blood at the sight of her. 

“Before you say anything, Alfie, he’s dead.”

Her voice sounded different, thin and strained, like someone had scooped out her soul leaving nothing but an echo behind.

“He sure fuckin’ is.” Alfie was shaking he was so bloodthirsty. He couldn’t look at her and risk losing himself. How could it still be so fresh, he wondered, after seven long years?

“No, that’s not what I meant… Alfie, I-, I killed him. I shot him.”

A different man might have been horrified, or maybe even a little impressed. Alfie was none of that. Instead, he felt himself pitch forward over the lip of a hole of despair. 

His voice cracked when he ordered Jack and the rest of the boys out of the office. Once the door closed behind them, she sank down into one of the leather-backed chairs across the desk from him. Desperate to be close to her lest she splinter to pieces, Alfie rounded the desk to perch against its edge, stretching his long legs away from her in an attempt to give her space. She hardly looked up at him. 

“What did he fuckin’ do to you?” Barely more than a whisper. Alfie was glad the light was too dim for her to see that he was treacherously close to tears.

She looked up at him, shocked. Her one good eye gleamed at him. 

“Alfie, did you hear me? I killed him.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. Alfie was full of tender urges and gentle feelings, but his mouth couldn’t seem to give them words or noise. All he knew was harshness and violence. It was the same wall that had kept him from reaching out for her hand and telling her all the things he felt the last night he’d seen her. Here he was, so close he could smell her lavender soap but his affection locked away so tightly and deeply that he couldn’t force himself to touch it even if he tried.

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he grunted brusquely after a few moments. He dropped his gaze, unable to tolerate the sight of her face bruised and misshapen. He noticed her hands were trembling in her lap. “What do you need, darlin’?”

She stifled a small sob at the sound of the pet name he’d reserved for her. 

“He’s still-... the body, I- I don’t know… I guess-”

“It’s done. Write down your address.” Alfie handed her a pen and paper, watched as she struggled to mark the street name and number legibly. Her knuckles were bruised, he noted with a twisted pang of pride and pain. She’d been fighting back, he realized. All alone these last seven years. And he’d let her. He’d stopped fighting to get to her. Let her close herself off to him. Let himself close off to her. And now, it wasn’t until she’d been pushed to the brink - maybe past it - that she’d come to him, and only because she knew that when violence and darkness was needed, Alfie could do it. But he couldn’t do the other things, the harder things. Like love her, protect her, tirelessly fight for her. 

She tore off the page and handed it to Alfie. He took it without looking at the writing, strode over the door and excused himself from the office. He thrust the paper into Jack’s hands. 

“Take care of it, Jackie. No loose ends, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ rip you limb from limb if it ain’t done right.” 

He didn’t give Jack or the others time to argue or ask questions before he slammed the door as a dismissal and strode back to her. He reached for her, needing to feel her warmth under his fingertips just to prove she was here. She flinched instinctively, sending Alfie deeper into self-loathing.

“Do they know-”

“It’s done, darlin’. It’s taken care of.” 

Alfie poured himself a glass of whiskey, drunk it down in one gulp, and poured another. 

“Alfie…” 

Her voice was so soft and yearning it broke Alfie in two. He turned to face her. Gods she looked perfect. 

“It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ again.” The most solemn promise he’d ever made. 

She recoiled from him as if slapped. It took him a half moment to process why. 

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt you. Ever again, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ burn the world and every hateful man with it, it don’t matter.” It was all Alfie could find the words to say. 

Finally understanding his meaning, he watched her relax in the chair. She eyed him without saying a thing, a strange expression on her face. 

“I don’t want that, Alfie,” she replied softly. “I don’t want any more death. I don’t want to see someone hurt ever again. I just… I just want…” 

Her words trailed off into the quiet. Neither of them knew where the end of that sentence would lead. The space between them stretched and morphed until it felt like an ocean separating them. Strange, that two people who both wanted so desperately to be with each other could feel so far away.

“Don’t set any fires on my account, Alfie.” She rose from her chair and walked towards him, taking the glass out of Alfie’s hand and downing the whiskey with a wince. “Just ask me to stay.” 

Alfie felt his heart run headlong into that same old wall that always kept them apart. Here she was, the only woman who’d ever mattered, literally giving him the words she wanted to hear. And all that Alfie’s tongue wanted to say was more promises of vengeance, of violence in her name, of destruction. 

She watched him struggle, her gaze even but tired. 

“Ask me to stay, Alfie. That’s all I need.”

The openness those words threatened to expose in Alfie Solomons felt like a lit bomb nestled in the cage of his ribs. He choked on the air in his lungs. Come on, you fucker, he thought viciously as he struggled to press back on the urge to run. 

She watched and waited. Each moment, her shoulders sagged a bit more.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, and Alfie spat the word out as if it had poison between its letters. But was it close enough? 

Her heart thought so. She felt a softness take root there, a shred of hope. 

Yes, it was enough. 

She gave Alfie Solomons a soft smile. The way he crumbled at the sight told her enough about his feelings for her. Even if he couldn’t put them into words, she could see the love that she was so desperate to excavate from wherever he stored away the fragile parts of himself.

“That’s enough,” she told him sweetly, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. For the first time in seven years, she let herself relax into a man’s touch as Alfie’s fingers found hers…

[warnersister]

“The silent treatment” Alfie Solomons x Reader

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

You can’t stay mad and quiet at him forever, at least not if he can help it.

You looked Alfie in the eyes before you shook your head and turned around, walking away from your husband. “Where are you going?” You stayed silent, walking up the stairs to get yourself ready for bed. He creased his brows and followed closely behind you. “You can’t just stop an argument by not talking.” You didn’t even acknowledge him, just undoing the back to your dress and allowing it to fall to the floor; unclipping your hair from your updo and letting it fall.

Alfie felt offended: that was his job; you always let him take down your hair.

“Ziskeit, the silent treatment isn’t the way to go about this.” He told you, but you just wandered off to put your slip dress and slide into bed. Alfie was still stood in the doorway in disbelief, watching as you went on about your day as if you didn’t live with your husband of three years.

“Poppet-” click the lamp beside your bed turned off and Alfie’s jaw was on the floor, tutting at you. How dare you? He went about his own nightly routine, trying not to seem wounded by his lack of goodnight kisses and giggles as he’d tickle your neck with his beard. Eventually, he laid beside you and put an arm around your waist but it was shrugged off. “Look treacle I don’t care how fucked off you are with me, right. But I should be able to sleep comfortably with my wife.” He said, gruffly into your ear; moving again to replace his hand.

Again, you’d pushed it off. “Fucking unbelievable. Cant touch my own wife.” He’s grumbled, turning over and crossing his arms to try to force himself to sleep angrily when all he really wanted was your embrace on a cold night.

The next morning, he’d woken up to you doing your hair at the vanity he’d bought you for your last birthday. He’d walked over and pecked your cheek. “Morning ziskeit” he said and you said nothing, didn’t even look at him. He sighed exasperatedly. “Still doing that are we.”

He put his hands on the back of your chair and leant down to look at you in the mirror. “Real mature of you this, poppet.” He told you, taking the hair in the pony tail and wrapping it around his hand. “Knew I’d married a younger woman when we said our vows but didn’t realise I’d married a little girl.” He tugged the hair sharply. “Perhaps you need daddy to reeducate you, hmm?” You looked back at him in the mirror and shivered, and for a moment he’d thought he’d won. You just picked up the nice little expensive perfume bottle he’d bought you and sprayed it twice on your neck, getting him straight in the face. He just huffed and let you be. You couldn’t continue this forever.

He trudged down the stairs and went to make you both some breakfast, simultaneously tightening jars and putting cans higher than he knew you could reach, placing a plate in front of you when you’d arrived downstairs. But before you could even look at it, Alfie had wagged his finger at you. “Only girls who use their manners get fed.” He said and you narrowed your eyes. He took your chin in a hand and hummed at you as though speaking with a disobedient child. “Hmm? So? You going to ask politely, ziskeit?” You clenched your jaw and swatted the hand away once more, standing to go feed Cyril.

It went on similarly for the rest of the day, you trying to open things, to no avail - just for your husband to swoop in like some saviour and offer to do it “if you just say please” to which you’d throw the jar in the bin. Or when you’d stretch go grab something high up, even trying to climb on the counter, feeling hands on your waist “I’ll give you a hand, just have to ask, treacle.” And you’d jump down.

And it was like Groundhog Day as he found himself in the same position he was in yesterday. “Please loves, just need to hear your voice I’m sorry.” He’d pleaded, watching you undress ready for bed. “Right-” he’d grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, barely any garments covering your dignity. He gently dropped you on the bed and settled himself between your legs, ripping your undergarments off as he looked up at you “let’s see how long you can stay fucking quiet”

[alicent-targaryen]

TOMMY & ALFIE ▸ Peaky Blinders, 4.4

requested by @raincoffeeandfandoms