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call-sign-shark · 9 months

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After the Storm, the Sun || Tommy Shelby x Reader

➢ Prompt "Don't you Dare" requested by @runnning-outof-time

Words: 1K (no proofreading)

If there was one thing you had never seen since your wedding with the infamous Thomas Shelby it was his smile. As both his wife and new secretary, you knew every feature of his face and how they contorted at his emotions’ discretion. Slightly, almost imperceptible. But day after day you ultimately learned how to read through the lines and catch those glimpses of faint emotions. For instance, you could tell he was mad by the way his sky blue eyes became blank and his brows slightly furrowed. That was when you knew someone had cross the line.

When it came to sadness, the change in his traits was even more subtile but nonetheless heartbreaking for observant eyes. He would avoid looking at you, rather focusing his attention on paperwork or something else as if a sole glance at your iris could break the fortress he had spent years building around his heart. All of these held no secret anymore for you — But regarding joy, you could not tell.

You started to wonder if Thomas was even able to feel happiness, or if the war, responsibilities and Grace’s death had definitely faded colors away from his life and turned it into a dull black and white movie whose ending would be definitely woeful.

Sometimes you would caught sight of a light, almost imperceptible smirk at the sharp edge of his lips — especially when Arthur would stumble on his own feet. It also happened that one time John almost choked with his toothpick after laughing too much at Finn’s clumsiness. But these short moments of innocence usually disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as if they had never really existed. Thomas’ genuine smile was a mirage and you, the thirsty and exhausted wanderer lost in the desert of his heart. At first his lack of positive emotions was mere detail, an interrogation born out of curiosity. Yet, the idea of making him smile soon became a bit too obsessive to admit. That was how you came to the decision to do everything in your power to snatch a sincere smirk off your morose husband — a silly mission John, Arthur and his young wife Heaven agreed to join in.

He did not smile when John stole clothes from Polly and made his best imitation of their Aunt, even though it was hilarious when he fell on the floor because he did not know how to walk with heels.

He did not smile when Arthur, wasted with whiskey, cut half of his mustache when he was shaving. The unfortunate event led him to shave it off and wait for it to grow back. Half of Small Heath could not recognized him for days. Let’s not be afraid to state that he cried a little.

Nor did he smile when Heaven’s gargantuan watchdog, Kaiser, jumped on her small frame, happy to see her, and shoved her right in a puddle of mud, ruining both her white hair and her expensive new coat. The expression on her face had been priceless. As well as Arthur’s silly way to run to her.

You laughed each time, almost straining your ribs, but your husband did not even smirk.

As days passed your hopes crumbled bit by bit, until you gave up on the idea. A sigh escaped your lips as you watered the roses of the mansion’s garden, for when Tommy’s darkness started to infect your mood the only place you would find peace was that place in which hundreds of wonderful flowers blossomed. Lost in an ocean of colorful petals, you did not notice the threatening black clouds that were coming your way, with an urging desire to rain down on you. When the first lightning bolt striated the sky, its roaring thunder making you jump like a scared cat, it was already too late.

You ran to the mansion, shutting the door close behind you. It was at that same moment, when you were looking down at your soaked up body with a look of pure despair on your beautiful face, that Thomas came out of the living room. His piercing blue eyes, whose quiet oceans had been darkened with memories of war, fell upon your frame. And then it happened. A little sparkle lit up in his irises at the sight of you, his wife, caught in the rain. Your entangled wet hair, your new dress sticking to your skin, your runny make up…

“The fuck are you looking at Thomas Shelby?!!”

Tommy took off his little glasses and, all of sudden, burst into laughter. The melody of joy, long forgotten, washed away the dust of his tired soul and boomed in the hallway. Laughing was so unusual for him that the corner of his mouth felt numb after a few seconds, but Tommy got the giggles and could not stop. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him it was not fun, but the beautiful symphony of his laugh awoke the flame of your love. It was the very same laugh he had before the war. Before Kimber. Before Campbell and all the other bastards… Scared of moving by fear of disrupting such a rare vision, you remained still. It was Tommy who broke down the distance between you and wrapped your hips with his strong arms, not minding to ruin his own expensive suit.

“I love your laugh. I wish I’d hear it more often.” You said with a little smile, your fingers gently caressing one of his hollow cheeks. He has been so stressed out he had barely eaten in a week.

“Well, you should get caught in the rain more.” He replied, raising an eyebrow, “You look like a wet cat.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language, Mrs. Shelby.” He leaned forward to kiss you but you denied him. Surprised, Tommy frowned and looked at you in hope of getting a reason behind your refusal, "Come on, kiss me."

“No.” You taunted him, freeing yourself from his embrace and taking a few steps back toward the closed door of the mansion.

"Don't you dare, Y/N." He warned you, for the cunning gleam in your eyes foreshadowed what you were about to do.

"Catch me, Tom!" You suddenly said, before rushing outside and running under the batting but warm summer rain. In truth, you were convinced he would not follow you.

How wrong you were.

“You bet I will.” He muttered to himself, putting his glasses on the nearest furniture before joining you in the chase.

The rain was pouring in Arrow House, but for the first time in years, sun shone bright in Thomas’ heart.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivated me, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Arthur's wife is Reader in the ongoing series Heaven in Your Eyes.

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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smolvenger · 3 months

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The Child Called Sharpe (Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Blurb)

Summary: You and Thomas Sharpe welcome your first baby and his second, as Thomas himself faces his own demons regarding his past.

Word Count: 1K (er...blurb or short oneshot, whatever)

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy and childbirth, but nothing graphic. In this version, though I try to have a more nuanced take on Lucille, In this fic I choose to portray the Lucille/Thomas relationship as nonconsensual, pedophilic, and abusive so if you don't like that don't read this, so mentions of sexual abuse, death, illness, blood with some of the canon events of Crimson Peak. But it becomes a lot of tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: I can't please everyone with Crimson Peak on the is Lucille good or bad vrs. is Thomas good or bad discourse, so why bother trying anymore. I just wanna write my stuff. From @holdmytesseract's request!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

Love for him meant creation. It brought out Thomas’s gift of invention tenfold- for love itself was creation. For the first time in his life, an act of love brought out the child’s creation. So it was natural for Thomas to spend hours inventing more for this little child on their way.

That is, his second child. For he had a child, once, and lost that child, once.

Yes, it was a child conceived from control rather than consent…but it was still a child in need of care. A hungry baby- a human life crying for milk, and burning with fever. A child “born wrong.” A child Enola swore to fight to keep alive.

And a child that despite everything died anyway. As did Enola.

Despite Lucille’s cruelty, he did pity her grief for that child- For it was his grief as well.

Lucille caught ill and died not long after. He at least made sure she died comfortably. Warm beneath blankets on a soft bed. Assured her she was loved and kissed her cheek as she took her last breath.

It was complicated, his feelings about his late sister. He never could decide one thing about her. For everything was true- there was both in her. Lucille, both cruel and misunderstood, powerful and pitiful, villain and victim.

Though he never once forced himself on anyone or took advantage of a child as she did to him…

And yet…

He was still guilty of scheming, of blood, of darkness as she was. Of the invention that he wanted to be funded, that he bought at the price of three women’s lives…

But… assaulting him when he was little? Using his innocence until when he was grown he knew no other but her? You would tell him that even if the murders were understandable, she did cross a line in that regard.

He still didn’t know if the woman who at once was his partner, his equal, his sister as well as his jailer, his predator, his molester was deserving of it.

Or not.

Or both.

Yet, all of that darkness and blood was now in the past. Here you were his current wife. A wife who would never take advantage of him. A wife who listened and respected when he said “no.” A wife who wouldn’t push him. Wouldn’t manipulate him. Wouldn’t control him. A wife who forgave him and saw he was now trying to do right with his life, and his choices and would be there to support him.

Your pregnancy was poignant. A reminder that he had a new life now- and a life that was about to expand as your stomach did each month. A new life was about to come forth literally and figuratively for him.

In the corner of his workshop in a special box were toys he made once. Toys were made for the first child who died.

He never prayed, but he did now to whoever listened. For once, those toys would know being loved, being played, and for a baby’s laughter and delight and adoration. They wouldn’t rust from age, but with use. To be worn not with dust, but with love.

He brought out the box one morning and set it in the nursery of his new house. A simpler house compared to Allerdale Hall’s Majesty. Smaller and brighter, made of cherrywood and over earth rather than clay. But cheerful, the warmth bursting in every room.

The toys were cleaned and set ready in that nursery corner. You squeezed his hand after he did so.

When making sure you were comfortable, or when you slept or napped, away he would be in his workshop. He had a special toy shop now next to the house. So in his downtime, he would be found creating little toys that a child of any sex would love. A little teddy bear that twirled on top of a drum. A little cat that lifted to lick its little paw next to a puppy that wagged its tail.

But…what else would a baby need!? His mind was reeling. It had been too long…

Of course! A place to sleep! You had insisted the old wooden rocker would work…but he still had that itching, the gears in his mind whirring faster than any clay mine.

He took a few weeks to study the designs and then set right to work. He stayed up late, rolling up his sleeves. Working on one where if you pressed a small pedal, it would rock gently, oh so gently, as to not stir a baby to more wailing, but only to sleep.

So when he discovered that Lady Sharpe’s water broke, he insisted on staying by you.

“Thomas! But…husbands don’t..don’t usually stay!” you cried. You clutched his hand as he led you to the bed.

Lucille would urge him to leave when it was time to put a cleaver into one of the wives.

For once, he would look at the blood and the bodily innards spilling from his wife and not turn away.

He shook his head, though his hand was still in yours.

“No- My dear, all of my life, I closed my eyes and ran away. I didn’t look when things happened. Not this time- after I get the midwife, I am staying with you. I will not run away for once. I’m going to stay with my wife and keep my eyes open, no matter what I see. I love you- and for once, I am not leaving.” I will not leave you alone to deal with it now.

You grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Then he ran and fetched the midwife. He held to his word and stayed.

Labor is always long. Labor is always primal. But he waited there. Squeezing your hand, cooling your head for every painful cry and push.

Then, after the long hours, though he was a man used to blood he turned pale… Then at last there was a cry.

The midwives smiled, bringing out a little baby in their blaket. Declaring, “It’s a girl!”

You let out a smile and then a laugh of relief. Thomas kissed your hand, then looked at her. His blue eyes brimmed with tears, but for once in his life they were happy ones.

The little girl was brought out in her blanket, needing her mother’s touch- being so new to this cold world and wanting the soft embrace of knowing she was loved now that she was here.

“Look at her…look at her- our baby! Our daughter! Oh!” you cried, a mess of crying, swear, and relief—the pain of the last several hours was forgotten for the tiny baby.

“I never could imagine it,” he agreed, he pecked her tiny forehead.

Once she had settled down, you handed her over to Thomas. The warm, living bundle in his arms. Yes, her cry was loud and bright…but it only signaled that she was alive.. He had never known such joy without confinement, without limits.

The midwives and nurses were paid and thanked. They left, but though it was a long day his Daedelian mind was eager to share his gift.

As you sat in the bed after a while, Thomas got up.

“I have a gift now. For her,” he announced.

Setting you in the wheelchair for rest, he led you to the nursery. The little girl in your arms. Inside the little pastel room there was something in the middle that was tall beneath a blanket.

Thomas walked forward and slipped the blanket off. You let out a gasp.

Beneath was the cradle Thomas made. It was stunningly beautiful- a little pedal that when he stepped on it, would make it rock. Over the bed was a music box on the side that trinkled a lullabye. Stars and a crescent moon dangled were placed to spin over the babies head where she would be placed.

You gasped, seeing how ornate it was. Every bit made with love. As you got up and placed her inside, she opened her little eyes and cooed. You made a little gasp as she took in the sight- her parents and her special gift. Music, rocking, and the stars and moon to dance above her.

To think, after all he had seen, experienced, and done…that he would come to know this moment. Here it was…and he didn’t feel worthy of it.

What when she was older? His own father was a monster. And for a while, fatherhood was linked to such things…

“I only hope I shall be a good father for that little girl…” Thomas wondered..

“You already are,” you assured him. You wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek.

That night, you were set to sleep after the exhaustion of delivery and elation of the baby. Thomas offered to be there in the nursery. For she was crying through that night, as any baby. Not that she was hungry, as he found out, she just needed warmth.

He got her out of the lovely cradle and went to the rocking chair. He wanted to hold her, feel her close. Her warmth and beating heart and life.

His most precious creation of all…and the one that would survive. He knew she would.

“I promise you, my little love…” Thomas told the baby. “You will not know of attics. Of cold and punishments. Of plotting and murders. Of blood and cruelty…”

He kissed the top of her head.

“No- you will be Protected. Wanted…and loved.”

He would do everything so that his daughter would never have to suffer as he did.

#thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x female reader #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak fanfiction #sir thomas sharpe #sir thomas sharpe x reader #sir thomas sharpe x y/n #sir thomas sharpe x fem! y/n #tom hiddleston characters #angst with a happy ending #crimson peak #crimson peak fanfics #fanfiction #tom hiddleston

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padfootdaredmetoo · 3 months

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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.

#tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders request #peaky blinders fic

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muddyorbsblr · 5 months

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the final Lady Sharpe part 4: something to look forward to

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: You and Edith make significant progress on your mission to put Lucille behind bars; Thomas makes a confession before you go to sleep

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: ghosts; a lil bit of steam [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Reader & Thomas are married; more pining; simp Thomas

The ink had dried enough on the final document you were working on duplicating for tonight that you could group them together and place the original papers back in Lucille's hiding place. Tomorrow morning if ever she were to check on them, she would be none the wiser of what had been transpiring over the last two weeks. You repeatedly clenched and unclenched your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them after writing with barely a pause for break over the last few hours.

"Tomorrow we'll be done with all the documents," you whispered into the silence, feeling Edith's presence nearby as you made your way to Thomas' workshop. "I'll need you to show me where the phonograph cylinders are hidden, and if you know which one has Lucille's demented confession…"

"I'll show you the way," she confirmed. "And I'll make sure that none of the more…how do I put this…bloodthirsty spirits don't touch you. They tend to be a bit overly protective of their turf."

"The what?" You froze in place at her mention of bloodthirsty spirits. You had enough of a fright when you'd first "met" her and Enola, you might not survive encountering their less agreeable companions. The feel of someone nudging you from behind had you moving down the corridor again.

"Don't you worry about them, Y/N. I'll do my part to keep them away, explain to them that you're our friend, and you'll put an end to Lucille's lifelong murder spree. It might take time for them to fully understand, but they will."

Once you crossed the threshold to Thomas' workshop, you heard the exaggerated groan that belonged to your fleeting husband. Checking the candle in your hand, there was only about a thumb's worth left.

"Right on schedule," Edith remarked before you felt a nudging sensation on your shoulder. "You know he must really care for you if he's willing to endure being with her for the sake of your safety. Before she made him go back out into the city to find a new wife--well, a new victim, he looked gaunt. Almost like he found his life grotesque. Then he came back here with you and…there was color in his face again. Like he's allowed himself to live while he wooed and married you. There's a happiness in him when he's with you that I only ever saw glimpses of back when I was--"

Her words fell dead, but you had a feeling you knew what the sentiment was. Back when I was alive. Back when I was his wife.

"Why Miss Edith Cushing, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were playing matchmaker with your ex-husband and his current charlatan of a wife," you mumbled, trying not to look to deeply into her words, her testimony of Thomas' time before you. You were already having enough trouble keeping your affections for him at bay whenever he engaged in your routine of a kiss to cap off the night, marking yet another rung on the progression ladder. Lucille's incarceration becoming ever closer.

You decided to hide the duplicated papers in between the pages of his sketchbook, thinking the chances were slim that Lucille would look into them since he only kept concept art of the toys he wished to work on within it. Flipping through the pages to evenly distribute the additional papers, you found a set of sketches that had absolutely nothing to do with toy designs.

The last few pages that he'd worked on in the journal were filled with sketches of you. Some depicted you asleep, others as if the image he had in mind was of you next to him at the dining table. And a full page that showed the bedroom you shared with the baronet, you perched on the edge, a light wash of orange painted on the page, like the scene was illuminated by firelight.

That was the day you arrived at Allerdale Hall. The fleeting moments of desirous bliss you had before reality came crashing down on you.

"You say this marriage is all an act for you both now, but it doesn't look that way. Not from where I'm standing…well, floating." Both of you shared a chuckle before she posed a question at you. "Y/N something I noticed at night when he makes his way back to you…there's an excitement in him, as if he can't move fast enough."

"I--I didn't know about that part," you answered her in hushed tones as you made your way to your shared bedroom, maneuvering the barely moonlit halls with what little candlelight remained. "I usually try not to look at him before we sleep. I fail, of course, but I make the effort. Granting his request for a kiss after he washes the night off of him was already a miscalculation on my part--"

"Completely understandable miscalculation," she quipped, managing to quietly open the bedroom door wide open. "Far too handsome for me to even think of knowing any better back then."

"My thoughts exactly," you mumbled, stepping into the bedroom and disposing of the used candlewax before stretching and allowing yourself to relax from the night's clandestine activities. "Goodnight, Edith."

"I'll talk to the spirits inhabiting the corridor where the cylinders are hidden," she offered, a faint whispering joining her once again before you heard her echoing chuckle. "It seems your husband's rushing to make his way to you. You still have quite the night ahead. Goodnight, my friend."

You could feel the fatigue setting in as you let the tub fill for Thomas' bath before putting away your tools and your blades, mentally preparing yourself for another night of insufficient sleep. Just as you had for the better part of the last two weeks.

Right as you made your way back to your side of the bed and shook your hair loose from your bun, Thomas walked through the open door. You gave him a small smile. "I should be done with the documents tomorrow, Edith and I will work on transcribing the recording cylinders that can lead the case more to Lucille than you two days from now at the latest."

"That's wonderful news, darling," he beamed at you, running his gaze over you briefly before walking toward the bathroom. "I shall see you in a few moments," he told you, his voice echoing across the tiles. A few seconds later the sound of the water sloshing and a sinfully satisfied groan filled the room as he sat into the tub. "You truly are a godsend, my wife. Thank you."

You did your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach hearing him call you that. You wouldn't hear it for much longer with the progress you were making. "You're welcome," you answered back, fighting back your own sounds of relief once your back hit the bed and you allowed yourself to finally relax for the night.

The cumulative efforts of the last dozen or so days seem to have finally taken its toll on you, your eyes fluttering shut as soon as your head hit the pillow. You hadn't been able to hear the sound of Thomas padding his feet on the floor and back to you, or his little gasp as he saw you in your slumbering state.

"No…" he sighed, climbing into bed with you. "Y/N, darling, please tell me you haven't completely fallen asleep yet," he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face.

"Hmm?" You leaned in to his touch, feeling a strange sense of comfort when your cheek rubbed against his slightly calloused hand. "'M awake…" you mumbled, slowly opening your eyes. He gave you a tender smile when your eyes met his, and you couldn't help but return it.

It was only in these moments just before you both went to sleep, your parts in this perilous operation done for the night, that you could allow yourself to almost feel as if you were a normal married couple. Just laying in bed together before going to sleep, sharing a quick goodnight kiss before he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

Perhaps even indulge yourself, even for a moment, in the dangerous truth that once this was all over, you would miss these fleeting moments of peace with him. You'd miss how he held you through the night and how you'd wake up wrapped in his arms. How in the last few days he would greet you in the morning with a soft kiss to your nose before you both made your way out of bed and stepped out of your room.

You would miss him when all this was over. When you'd both signed the divorce papers and went on your separate ways, and you were back in your apartment in the city, going to bed alone, you would miss him.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a small sound coming from the back of his throat as he sighed into the kiss, almost as if he was relieved. "This is the only thing getting me through the nights," he said solemnly, settling more comfortably into the bed as he kept kissing you. "Knowing that this was what awaited me when I get back."

Instead of your usual night routine of a few kisses and he would pull you into his arms, both of you falling asleep to the sound of the other's breath evening out, he moved his body closer, kissing his way to your neck, his hand traveling down the side of your body until it settled at your waist. His lips began to trace along the neckline of your nightgown, the contented hums against your skin combined with the feel of his lips on you had you struggling for breath. "Thomas--"

"It should be you," he whimpered, his exhales warming your skin. "I should be spending my night with you. Laying with you." He kept on kissing along your neckline, his other hand pulling along the string that exposed your décolletage and he immediately pressed his lips to your chest, above your heart. "You're my wife, I should be with you."

He kissed his way back to your lips, your shock from his confession letting his tongue slip past your lips and tangle with your own. It was like flames licked all along your body at the contact, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as your fingers weaved into his onyx curls.

"Thomas, wait--" you tried to say, placing your hands on his chest in a paltry attempt to get him to pause for a moment, failing to fight against your eyes fluttering closed and your entire body melting under him the moment his tongue delicately ran along the roof of your mouth.

"I want to lay with you," he said once he pulled away, looking at you with those wide pleading eyes that likened him to a pup asking for a treat. "May I?"

For the love of all things good in this world say yes, you hissed at yourself. You struggled to breathe properly, fighting against every instinct to give in as he repeatedly whispered "please" into your skin. Trying to not let the curiosity and desire consume you and see how far your husband was willing to go.

This was the fantasy you wanted to lose yourself in, where by some miracle when all this was over and you both made it out alive, that you'd found something with each other that neither of you wanted to lose. That after all this perhaps you could have a life together, preferably far away from Allerdale Hall and the figurative and literal ghosts that roam the corridors.

The fantasy that perhaps when you were both safe from Lucille and she was serving her time behind bars, locked away where she couldn't harm anyone anymore, that Thomas might not want to sign the divorce papers. Because maybe he was falling in love, too.

"We've come so far already, we can't afford to lose focus now," you answered him, your voice coming out so small it was like the words all but refused to get through the lump in your throat. "Once all this is done, and we're free of her, you'll be free to do whatever you please…with whomever you please."

The last part left a bitter taste in your mouth, like it physically pained you to say the words.

"You're right," he sighed, leaning away enough so that he could look at you. The expression on his face was akin to that of a wounded pup, making the guilt and regret from your decision overwhelm your system. "Of course." He moved over to his side of the bed, taking a breath before hesitantly touching his fingers to yours. "May I still hold you?"

You didn't think twice, moving over to him and settling into his arms. "Yes, of course." The words refused to be spoken, but you'd found a strange comfort in his embrace. That despite the very real danger you both found yourselves in, and the looming dire consequences of Lucille and the business end of her cleaver if you made so much as one misstep on this perilous endeavor of yours, you felt almost a safety in his warm embrace.

And while no one would ever be able to get you to admit it, it made getting up out of bed in the mornings near impossible. You didn't want to leave him. You wanted him all to yourself.

All the more reason why you needed to be done with this and go your separate ways. You should never be so selfish as to beg him to stay with you and deny him yet another freedom. So much had already been stolen from him.

He brushed a lock of your hair away from your face before asking softly, "How long do you reckon before Scotland Yard comes here after you send the papers?"

"Not long," you answered him, your words full of confidence in your peers. "I'll include a summary of my findings to help them through the papers I've sent them, process them faster. I'll also try and emphasize the urgency of our situation, that we're currently living in a manor with a woman that has the intention and means, not to mention the stomach, to kill me. That we have very good reason to believe our lives are in imminent danger. Should get them moving pretty quick."

"And what are we to do until they arrive?" You could feel him tensing as he anticipated your response.

Bile flooded your stomach from what you had to tell him. "We keep routine." His beautiful face looked so pained as you said the words. "She has to believe that there's nothing wrong, that everything's going to plan. If she gets even the slightest whiff that we're up to something and she kills me. Maybe even you if she finds out that you helped."

He took a shuddering breath, pulling you closer against him so he could press a kiss to your forehead. "Let's hope they move quickly then," he mumbled against you, pressing more kisses on the same spot as he took calming breaths. "I can barely stomach any more of it." His breath hitched at his words, his tone rife with shame.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, placing your hand on his chest, feeling his pulse sprinting like a madman. "This burden shouldn't be on you. Never should have been. She's stolen so much from you…" Your sentiment caught in the back of your throat as you did your damnedest to fight back tears. "I'll do my best to make sure she doesn't steal any more of your life away."

"What if she figures out what we've been up to? Or if she gets impatient and realizes there's no money coming after all this time?"

It took you a moment before you could answer, the implication hanging over you both now like the Sword of Damocles. "Then Scotland Yard will arrive here to a corpse. Either mine or hers."

Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled you closer, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I won't let her hurt you, I swear it." He stole a few more kisses from you before he cradled your head against his chest. "You should sleep, I can feel how tired you are."

"Exhausted," you confessed, settling into his embrace, the comfort from his hold blanketing over you as your cheek rubbed against the soft hairs on his chest. "Goodnight, husband."

You couldn't resist calling him that. In a few short weeks you'd never be able to again.

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, stroking your hair before he whispered, "Goodnight, my darling wife."

As the minutes passed, and the only sounds that filled the bedroom were your breathing and the crackling of the fireplace, Thomas found himself unable to succumb to sleep just yet. He was still riddled with so many questions that he couldn't bring himself to ask you quite yet.

What if by some freak accident of a chance, Lucille comes across one of your colleagues when she runs her errands in the city and they were to mention who you were, and what you did before you married him? What if now that she was armed with this new information, she deemed you too much of a threat and decided to do away with you like she'd done with so many other innocent women?

What if she decided to make it even worse, and ordered him to kill you instead? Spout some nonsensical notion that he needed to get his hands dirty this time around so she could see if he still had the stomach for it?

He knew he wouldn't be able to hurt you, that he would be completely unwilling to. But would he be able to protect you against Lucille?

And the question that had him looking upon the coming weeks with a mix of dread and hope, all depending on how you would react if he were to even muster up the courage to say the words: What if you stayed together after this fleeting partnership of yours? What if you were open to exploring what a life together would truly be like? Move away from Allerdale Hall and find a place in the city?

"What if I begged you not to leave me?" he whispered into the empty silence, stroking the backs of his fingers along your cheek. "What if I've fallen in love with my wife, and I want to turn our marriage into something real?"

A/N: *popping out my head from my writing hidey hole* Well hi there! Been a long while since I updated this story, but I can promise you now…I didn't abandon it 🫡 And we're picking up with our precious meow meow baronet big tiddy goth husband really showing his hand here that he's catching feelings 🥹

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

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xoxoavenger · 4 months

Text

I Can't Imagine

pairing: Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

summary: Michael and Y/N have a fight, one that seems like the most important thing until the Shelbys are served a black hand.

word count: 4549

warnings: canon typical injuries, canon typical gang violence, major character death (cannon, not michael or reader)

12 Days of Christmas main masterlist

"3-5-5 Small Heath," Y/N said into the telephone, playing with the ring on her left hand. Michael had proposed not even a week ago, she had moved in not even a week ago, and yet he had only been home when she was going to sleep about two times. It made Y/N livid, and she wasn't going to stand for it. It was almost Christmas, for Christ's sake.

"Shelby Company Limited," Michael answered, and Y/N sighed.

"Mr. Gray," Y/N spoke, listening to Michael's quick intake of breath.

"Y/N," He greeted back, his voice static over the phone. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" He asked, obviously pulling out the pocket watch and looking at the time.

"Aren't you supposed to be home?" She shot back, leaning against the desk he had at home.

"I'll be there soon. I promise." His words made Y/N want to scream, because she knew she wouldn't see him until the morning.

"Why don't you tell Tommy Shelby that your wife wants you home." She spoke angrily, closing her eyes in annoyance.

"You aren't my wife." Michael shot back quickly, making Y/N take in a sharp breath. She thought about saying something snarky back, thought about going to the office in Japanese silk - and idea she had overheard Polly and Esme talking about.

Instead she angrily hung up the phone on Michael's quick apologies.

She hadn't fallen asleep but when she heard the door downstairs shut, she closed her eyes and pretended. She heard Michael come into the bedroom, heard his sigh as he took off his jacket and shoes, the clink of metal from his cuff links, the ruffle of cotton as he took off his shirt and then pants, leaving him only in his undershirt. He walked to the bed, gently laying down on his side before he put an arm around Y/N and pulling her close. She didn't snuggle closer like she would have normally, but instead stayed rigid and faced away from him.

"I know you're awake." Michael muttered into her shoulder, kissing the bare skin her night gown provided.

"Do you not understand why I would pretend?" She whispered, trying to ignore the flutter in her heart as he moved closer to her body, the hand that was around her waist feeling around to grab her hand.

"No," Michael's voice was soft and quiet, much different than it had been over the phone.

"Liar." She let go of his hand and rolled away slightly, onto her stomach, making it harder for him to cuddle her.

"Y/N," Michael said, leaning up in bed. Y/N closed her eyes, as if she could fool him now. "Y/N, please. I don't want to go to bed while we're fighting." He reached out for her again, and she pushed him off.

"We can stop fighting when you come home at a reasonable time." She told him, still not facing him.

"I'm doing important work." Michael said as he rolled onto his back.

"For Tommy Shelby? The man who put you on a noose?" She finally moved to her side to face him, barely able to see him in the dull light.

"He's the one who got me off the noose." Michael fired back, making her roll her eyes.

"You wouldn't have been on the noose if it weren't for Tommy!" She was yelling now, and Michael sat up. They had fought before, sure, but she never brought up the time he had almost died. It seemed she was saving it for a rainy day.

"We wouldn't have met if I didn't work for him." It was true; Y/N and Lizzie had worked together, so when Thomas had brought Michael around for some fun Y/N was the one who gave it to him. Michael quickly became a regular, and soon she was payed handsomely and told that she wouldn't need to see anyone else - it wasn't long before her and Michael were official and she learned the Shelby ways.

"Well, what would I know? I'm not your wife, after all." She turned over silently, closing her eyes for the final time that night.

She woke up when Michael had gotten out of bed, kissing her forehead as he stood up and then again when he left. She wasn't going back to sleep, so after she knew he was gone she got up and got ready herself. She did a couple chores around the house that the maid didn't do, like cleaning Michael's office and their room. It had been quite awhile when she collected the mail. She went through it, not opening much because it was for Michael. She did pause on the last one, which was sent from New York. America.

"What the hell?" Y/N muttered, putting the other mail down and going into Michael's office for the letter cutter. She opened a couple drawers before she found it, rummaging around and almost cutting her finger on it. She opened the envelope to a card, the content of which was a black hand.

What was that supposed to mean?

She shoved the card back into the envelope, heart racing. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

She grabbed the telephone, pressing the small button twice before she was connected.

"3-5-5 Small Heath," Y/N waited to be connected, leaning on the desk and looking at the envelope once more. She didn't fully recognize the name, even if it did seem familiar, but she had never been to America, so she didn't know where it was anyway.

"Hello," Well that was not Michael.

"Tommy Shelby," Y/N said with malice. She hated Tommy for what he did to Michael, to his own flesh and blood. He was a slimy man, and Y/N refused to put up with him.

"Y/N," Tommy greeted her back, and Y/N just sighed.

"Where's Michael?" She asked before he could say anything else. She didn't want to listen to the leader of the Shelby clan; in fact, she would rather never think of the man again.

"He's on his way to Polly's right now. Had to give him a couple pointers on how to get her back to being Poll." Y/N sighed - she knew that Michael's mum wasn't doing well; her time in prison and in the noose had effected her badly, and Y/N and Michael went to visit her at least once a week. She was surprised that Michael went without her this time, especially because he hadn't even told her.

"Did you tell him to go see her? Because you can't fix problems on your own?" She wondered, brows furrowed and her face hurting from it's frown.

"This problem is better suited for Michael." Tommy told her, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Well, it is a problem that you created, furthering my point." Y/N shot back, trying to keep herself from crinkling the envelope in her hand.

"Did you need something?" Tommy asked through a sigh. Y/N took a deep breath - they were practically family now, and Michael respected him. Although she would never respect Thomas Shelby, she would try to act civil.

"I just got a letter in the mail. From America." The line was silent, and she thought it was disconnected for a second until she heard Thomas breathing. "It's from an Italian name. The card was just a black hand." She told him. She hadn't even finished talking before Tommy was swearing.

"Pack a bag and bring some stuff for Michael. We all need to be in Small Heath." He told her, which made her even more pissed.

"We got this house so that we wouldn't have to live in Small Heath." She hoped Tommy could hear her annoyance, could hear her wanting to punch him multiple times.

"I know, but this is the Mafia. The Changretta's are coming after us." He told her quickly, and she heard rustling paper on the other line. Y/N's eyes widened. She didn't work for the Shelby Company Limited, but Michael practically told her everything that Polly, Lizzie and Esme didn't. She knew that Arthur had killed Mr. Changretta, the name she now recognized on the envelope, and she knew that the Mafia was bad news.

"Fuck," She whispered, staring at the envelope. The envelope that was addressed to their house. "They know where we live," She thought aloud, everything coming crashing down.

"Yes, which is why we need to get to Small Heath."

"Well then," Y/N sighed, setting the envelope down. "Guess we'll all be together for Christmas after all, Tommy."

"I'll be back soon, I promise. I have to go get John." Michael told her as they put their bags into one of the upstairs rooms.

"I'm coming with you," Y/N told him. By now it was early in the morning, the sun rising on Christmas. They hadn't slept, both of them worried about the anvil that seemed to loom over the Shelbys.

"No, Y/N, you aren't. If John was served a black hand they know where he lives too, and I don't want you to get hurt." Michael told her, taking his gun out of the holster, checking it, and putting it back in.

"Well, I don't want you getting hurt." Y/N fired back, raising her chin as they stared down at each other. Michael knew he didn't have time for this, so the best he could do was hope the mafia hadn't gotten to John's yet.

"Fine. But you stay next to me at all times and do exactly as I say alright?" He agreed, opening the door of the room for her before leading her down the stairs and out of the house, right to their car.

"Of course, Michael." She smiled as he helped her in, sliding all the way to the passenger side. "I know you can protect me." She put a hand on his thigh as he started the car and watched as his face heated with blush. He turned to kiss her quickly before pulling out onto the road.

"So," Michael started as he began driving out of the small town. Y/N turned to look at him. "I didn't mean what I said on the phone the other night." Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned against her door, sighing. Part of her wanted to forget about their fight.

"I don't believe that." She said quietly, waiting for him to either shut up or lash out.

"I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't feel that way." He told her sincerely, turning out into the country roads. "I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't want you to be my wife."

"It still hurts! I was just asking for you to be home and you decided to use my feelings against me." She shot back, heart racing. She didn't like fighting with Michael, but she also didn't like when he treated her like that.

"Your feelings? I was speaking the truth." Michael told her, and she shook her head, looking out the window.

"You clearly do not understand, so let's talk about it later." She told him, effectively ending the fight. They were almost to John's house anyway. They were even on his road when a slow horse pulling hay practically stopped them.

"Come on!" Michael shouted, hitting the steering wheel. It was obvious he was stressed, and Y/N hoped she was hiding her own emotions. John had kids and a wife, he had a family. She hoped he was fine. "Move!" Michael shouted, causing her to jump slightly as he hit the horn. The man with the hay eventually did move, and Michael quickly swerved around the trailer, making his way all the way to John's.

Once they pulled in behind John's car, Y/N went to open her door. "Stay in the car." Michael told her, hopping out.

"No! I'm not leaving your side, remember," She was still pissed, so even if she had made an opposite promise she wouldn't have stayed in the car. She practically had to jog to keep up with Michael, resisting the urge to grab his arm as they walked through the driveway. The two walked around the side, going through the gate before they heard a shotgun reloading.

"Oh, fuck, it's you two." John said as he came out of his small hiding hole, putting down his gun. "Got nothing better to do on Christmas morning?" John asked, looking down at them. Michael grabbed Y/N's hand, holding it tightly. She let it happen, because she needed some strength to get back to Small Heath.

"Tommy wants everybody at Charlie's yard now. Come on," Michael dipped his head toward the cars, speaking quickly to show his urgency.

"Get in. Get in!" John yelled at the dogs, who walked back through the door right as John shut it. He jumped down from the ledge, leading Y/N and Michael to the front of the house. "Nice to see you, Y/N." John tipped his head to her as they walked, and Y/N just smiled. She hadn't seen the Shelby brothers since Thomas had sent them to the gallows, and she had to say that she regretted it. John had always been nice to her, even if they didn't talk much.

"Is Esme here?" Y/N asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Even if Esme hadn't been one of Y/N's closest friends, it was Christmas Day. Of course Esme was at home.

"Of course she is. It's fucking Christmas Day. What does Tommy want, a fucking family reunion?" John asked, turning onto the patio.

"Look, John, we don't have time for this." Michael said, clearly getting more and more stressed just by being there.

"Alright, come into the house," John spoke just as Michael was finishing, "Just come to the meeting."

"Come on, John," Y/N begged as they walked up to the door.

"Have some food." John continued to ignore them, opening the door. Just as he did, Esme came running out. Instead of going toward Y/N like they all thought she would, she walked straight up to Michael.

"Tell Tommy Shelby we can look after ourselves." She seethed, making Y/N sigh.

"Tommy says they could come for us today." Michael spoke, but Esme was taunting him before he had even finished.

"'Tommy says, Tommy says'. Are you his fucking parrot?" She yelled. Y/N grabbed her arm, turning her toward herself.

"It's the Mafia, Esme! The New York fucking Mafia!" She watched Esme just shake her head, and Y/N's heart sunk. She had to get through to them.

"And we're the Peaky fucking Blinders." John said, gun still slung over his shoulder.

"No, we're not, John. We're not the Peaky fucking Blinders unless we're together." Michael told them, obviously losing his patience.

"You were together on the gallows, with one man missing." Esme turned back to Michael, getting into his face in rage.

"Esme, I know you're upset because trust me, I am too. But in the city we have more protection, more people. We can't risk death just because of a stupid man like Tommy." Y/N tried, but Esme wasn't listening. "Just come to the meeting, at least. Think about the kids." Y/N took her hand from Michael and put it on Esme's shoulder now, and everyone turned slightly at a slight noiseto see the hay horse that Michael had passed on the way passing by the house.

"If you want to leave after, that's fine. Just come with us." Michael begged, and Esme turned her head back.

"No. It's Christmas Day. We're the family now. We're staying at home." She got closer to Michael and Y/N pushed her back slightly, not wanting a fight to break out.

"Get in the fucking house!" John shouted as he loaded his gun. Y/N looked over to see men jumping out of the hay, guns firing. Esme began to run, grabbing Y/N and forcing her to follow into the house. She heard the deafening gunshots, and her heart began to pump faster.

"Michael!" She yelled, reaching out for him. He pushed her away, and Y/N stumbled as Esme dragged her. She couldn't catch herself in time, her knees hitting the concrete just before her her head smacked. She hit hard, jarring her. She could hear the guns and screaming and she knew Esme was now yelling at her, pulling her further toward the house by her under arms. She blinked quickly, trying to regain her senses. Her jaw, cheekbone and eye socket screamed in pain, and she groaned as Esme let her fall. She turned to sit up, head rolling as she took in the scene in front of her. Esme was screaming, holding John close to her. She felt her heart race as she realized there was blood staining John's white shirt. She looked over to see Michael, on the ground.

Y/N's heart plummeted.

"Michael," She groaned, pushing herself to stand. Esme's screams were piercing, and Y/N could barely focus. Everything was blurry, and she wasn't sure if it was because of her head or the fact that she was sobbing uncontrollably. She could barely see as she stumbled around, falling to her knees when she was close enough to Michael. The pain shot all the way up her legs and down to her toes, and she felt bile rise in her throat as a surge of pain when through her head.

"Call someone! John!" Esme screamed as Y/N reached for Michael. She used her might to pull him over, trying to figure out how much he was shot.

"Oh God," Y/N retched, turning her head to throw up. Blackness was consuming her, and her head become fuzzy as she fell right next to Michael, still trying to grab him. He shakily grabbed her hand as she dropped her head to his shoulder, feeling him move around in pain.

"Y/N," He groaned. She lifted her head, realizing her face was now wet from tears.

"Michael, oh my," Y/N's throat was tight, her breath was heaving in and out. More bile was rising to her throat from the pain and the horror of seeing the Shelbys being shot. She turned again, letting go of his hand and throwing up. It felt like her heart had just stopped beating, that her insides had knotted together and her throat was swelling. The right side of her face throbbed, and she just wanted to go home.

One of the kids must have heard Esme, because soon enough an ambulance was pulling into the front yard.

"Help!" Esme screamed, and Y/N turned her head to see four men get out of the ambulance. Two went to John, and two came to Michael.

"Please move so we can help him, miss." A man said, gently pushing her back. When she looked up at him, his eyes widened. Y/N wasn't sure why he was looking at her like that, so she moved back to Michael's side. He was breathing still, but it was pained and his eyes were closed.

"He's gone," Another man said as he came up to Y/N and Michael. Esme's screams were louder, and Y/N felt her heart sink; John was dead.

"We need to get these two to a hospital." The first man said, nodding toward the car. The two men who had been looking at John first left, and Y/N turned to see them going to the car to grab out a stretcher.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Y/N asked, tears in her eyes. She didn't want to lose Michael. She didn't want to be left alone.

Oh God, and they had just fought, too.

"We'll try our best." The man nodded. Y/N tried to calm her breathing, because it was hurting her face, but she couldn't.

The men came out with a stretcher, helping Michael onto it. He groaned out, and Y/N winced they picked him up and took him into the car.

"Why don't you come with us, miss? We need to check out your head." A man held his arm out to her. Y/N looked over to see the other man talking to Esme, who was still screaming and crying.

"My head?" She asked as she grabbed the man's arm. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion - she could only see flashes, like one second she was on the patio and the next she was in the front of the ambulance. The man was asking questions, but Y/N wasn't answering. She could barely hear his words. When she went to lay against the door, her head so fuzzy her eyes were closing, she was instantly brought back to the present. Pain surged all the way across her face, practically rattling her teeth. She jarred awake, blinking quickly.

"Are you alright?" The man driving asked, and Y/N sat up, looking around. They were at the hospital in Small Heath, and she jumped out when they stopped. She stumbled, however, falling to the ground and scraping her hands, her knees crying out. She let out a gasp in pain, about to get up when someone grabbed her and helped her up.

Thomas Shelby.

"You," Y/N seethed, seeing red as he looked at her.

"Y/N, what happened?" Tommy asked. This was one of the only times Y/N had ever seen Tommy afraid, and it made her even more mad.

"What happened?" She repeated, grabbing his biceps as he pulled her up. "What happened was you, Thomas Shelby! What happened was you can never inflate your own ego enough!" She screamed, tears falling out of her eyes as she hit him. She clawed at his face, smacking his chest with open hands and fists. She was angry and upset and tired and hurt and she was taking it all out on him.

"Y/N, please," He begged, grabbing her arms. They were locked like that when the men pulled Michael out, who was groaning in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"Michael," Y/N muttered going to her fiancé. Tommy grabbed her however, which caused her to hit his arm in an attempt to make him let go. His grip was unwavering, and when he pulled her into him she realized she was screaming, face pressed against his suit. When she finally stopped screaming, her head pressed against Tommy's chest as he cradled her head, she heard Esme's horrified cries.

"No," Tommy said, his grip tightening on Y/N as he realized why Esme was screaming. "No, please," He was begging, and all Y/N could do was cry and lash out.

"He's dead!" She cried as she pushed Tommy away, her head spinning as he let go of her, numb. "And now Michael," Her voice was breathy and she was stumbling, not able to hold herself up.

"They're going to take care of Michael," Tommy promised, shooting a hand out to steady her as she began to fall to the ground. "Are you alright?" He asked, but then she began to lose her balance even more, bringing him down on the muddy ground with her.

"I need to see Michael." She said her breathing getting more labored. Tommy helped her lean against him so her head didn't hit the mud, using the opportunity to examine her bruise.

"He's going to be okay. We need to get you in, your face," He trailed off, not sure how to describe it. Her jaw and cheekbone were swollen, and although she probably hadn't noticed her eye was also almost swollen shut.

"Michael," She breathed, and Tommy's thoughts jumped to the fact that if he were to marry again, this would be the kind of girl he didn't want; one who didn't even care that half her face was smashed in because he was shot.

"Y/N, come on," Tommy tried to pull her up, but she was practically dead weight.

"Fuck you, Tommy." She muttered out, grabbing his jacket. She was shaking, and Tommy was worried about her. "Fuck you." Her eyes were closing, her grip loosening.

"I need help!" Tommy yelled, watching a couple men come out of the building.

"I hate you, Thomas!" Her voice croaked. It wasn't louder than her breathing, and her voice was cracking.

"How did you hit your head?" He asked, moving her hair out of her face and using the hand on the back of her neck to move her head and see the extent of her bruise.

"Get the fuck off me!" She hit him, but it was more of a tap. "Let go of me," She rolled over and onto the mud, coughing as if she were going to throw up. It took Tommy a couple seconds too long to realize she really was dry heaving. The two men had come over to her, grabbing her arms and picking her up to take her into the hospital.

"Make sure she gets the bed next to Michael Gray." Tommy said as he got up, pretending like he hadn't noticed the mud caked into his pants.

"Thomas Shelby is a coward!" Y/N yelled weakly as she was carried in. "He's a coward and he will do anything for his own gain. Even kill his own family!" And he hated to admit to himself that it was true.

"Why aren't you laying with me?" Y/N woke up to Michael's voice behind her. She had been laying towards the wall, because she didn't like sleeping on her back and she couldn't put pressure on the right side of her face. She sat up to turn, and she knew when Michael as realized the bruise. She realized belatedly that she couldn't open her eye all the way, and that her head was throbbing in pain.

"You were shot," She muttered, sitting up all the way and pushing off her bed. Her dressing gown fell short, much before her knees, her feet completely bare. Her cheeks heated as she realized someone would have had to undress her, and she hoped it was Ada or - more likely - Polly.

"Yes," His voice was gravelly, but he seemed awake, and she wondered how long he had been awake. "My mum came by, she said to tell you she was the one who undressed you. That she fought with physicians to get them away from you." Michael was reaching for her now, and she moved to grab his hand, letting him pull her close and arrange her so that they could lay together.

"When I saw you on the ground - oh God, Michael." Her breaths were short, and although his eyes were closed he was rubbing her back. "I was so afraid you were dead. Before we even got married." He let out a small breath of laughter, still not opening his eyes.

"I can't imagine how Esme feels." He muttered, making Y/N's heart drop.

"I'm sure Tommy is getting a good picture." She said, thinking back to when she had gone crazy as Michael was taken into the hospital.

"He told me about your episode." Michael said softly, and she just closed her eyes. It was embarrassing to think about the way she had screamed at him the way she had thrown a fit outside the hospital and completely collapsed.

"I thought you were dead." She whispered, eyes closed for fear of what he would say.

"If I were you, I probably would have given Tommy a new scar." Michael rubbed her back a couple more times before they settled into bed to sleep.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler

#michael gray #michael gray x reader #michael gray imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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five-miles-over · 6 months

Text

The Phantom of Asgard - Part Two (Thor: The Dark World!Loki x Reader)

(Thank you @michelleleewise for this artwork)

Summary: It has been three days since you or anyone else in Asgard has seen a sign from the Phantom. Meanwhile, your friend tries to use a book from Midgard to convince you that ghosts exist.

Warnings: dark!Loki ,hypnotism, mentions of the plot of "Crimson Peak"

You closed the door behind you. "What are we doing here? I thought you were too scared of the Phantom to venture in the palace after dark."

"This library is different from that one. We're safe." Revna sat down on one of the comfy armchairs, leaning back. Ingrid, on the other hand, immediately searched through several books within a section of the library labeled as "Midgardian literature" as soon as she finished lighting a few candles. She pulled out a dark red hardcover book with a black stripe on the binding. "This is where Prince Thor kept his special books from Midgard. I heard from one of the Warriors Five who heard it from the All-Father himself that these books were brought from another library found in a place called New York."

"As in…New York where Thor fought alongside a bunch of so-called heroes?" You raised an eyebrow.

Ingrid placed the book in a table in front of Revna. "I thought I would show you this book since you still don;'t believe in the existence of the Phantom of Asgard."

"Actually…" Revna adjusted her position on the couch, "you never told us what happened two nights ago when we went to investigate the Phantom. We heard you screaming…and then nothing."

You ran your fingers through your hair and knelt beside her. "I told you what happened. Nothing," you lied.

"I'm not buying it."

"Well, I'm not selling." You quipped. "Crimson Peak?" You turned your attention to the hardcover, stroking the leather cover and eyeing the gold lettering.

"Crimson Peak, written by Edith Sharpe." Ingrid opened to the first page, which contained a dedication to the author's father and to her childhood friend Alan McMichael. "It's a book about this woman who married a dark, handsome man whose family home is filled with ghosts hiding in red clay!" Ingrid moved a candle closer to the book. "Maybe Lady Sharpe will change your mind about phantoms."

For the next hour, Ingrid took it upon herself to play narrator, putting on a dreamier-than-usual voice to reenact Edith's thoughts when she encountered the Sharpe siblings for the first time.

As for Revna, she quickly became invested in the story. All she needed was the writer description of Edith's first kiss with her husband Baronet Thomas Sharpe in his workshop - the way he lifted her skirt and pinned her against the window, his passion overtaking him in the moment as he crashed his lips onto hers. "That's it." Revna declared with a loud sigh. "I want a Thomas Sharpe of my own."

"Well, why don't you ask Prince Thor to bring you one when he visits Midgard again?" You teased her.

Ingrid tutted. "Don't be hasty, ladies…"

"Please, I would bet that he could out-dance all of the men of Asgard." Revna leaned back again, crossing one leg over the other.

"That's because no one here knows how to waltz." Ingrid turned the page and continued to read.

With every detail about Lady Edith's experience as the wife of Thomas Sharpe, encountering ghosts in 'Crimson Peak" that warned her of Thomas's previous marriages, you begin to picture eery, faceless monsters - no, walking skeletons - covered in red liquid that dripped with every movement. It was a far cry from the Phantom you encountered, who was truly just the God of Mischief in hiding.

But just as things started to sound too grim, the story would mention some intimate detail about Thomas, like the part of how surprisingly strong his arms were underneath the loose white shirts he wrote. And those were most entertaining to listen to, not because of how perfectly Edith expressed her love for her husband in a nuanced manner, but because of how they made Revna close her eyes and sigh, almost as if she were the one in Edith's place. You and Ingrid - how on earth was she still able to maintain a good narrative pace? - couldn't hold back peels of laughter.

"Ingrid…" Revna moaned softly, throwing her head back, which was starting to bead with sweat. "I want him."

"Even after he murdered his father-in-law, and his ex-wives?"

"He's a human and we're from Asgard" Revna countered. "I'll deal with his sister before the wedding. I'll set her up with someone."

You snickered. "Oh, so we're talking about a wedding?"

"Yeah, why not? I'll have him stay in Asgard with us."

"Let's hope the Phantom doesn't get to him," Ingrid reminded you both, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Still scared?" Revna rested her chin on her palm.

Ingrid closed the book. "No one has seen him or heard from him in the past three days." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "What if he's planning a murder? Or worse…?"

"Then we'll just have Thomas's sister deal with him."

"You're insane," you interjected under your breath and hugged your knees underneath your gown while your thoughts wandered to the Phantom. Maybe no one has heard from him because he's left Asgard. He was, after all, the God of Mischief. It would be easier to search Midgard for a Thomas Sharpe doppelgänger than to attempt to completely understand Loki's psyche. And whatever he did, or wherever he went, you were bound to find out about it at some point.

Still…there was one thing you hadn't managed to understand about your encounter with the Phantom: why you? Or rather, what did he want with you? Before going into hiding as the phantom, the god of mischief was known for his silver tongue, begrudgingly praised by Asgardians. He always knew how to get what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted it, one way or another. So there must have been an ulterior motive behind him showing you his magic. Some twisted, dark reason for him holding you close, touching you so intimately while he confessed the truth behind the Phantom of Asgard.

And what of the lilly he left behind when he disappeared into the night? You could still picture its pristine white petals and perfectly-cut stem, which was decorated by a green silk ribbon whose hue resembled the cape worm by the younger prince in formal events. Perhaps if you'd encountered two or more other maidens with similar 'presents' from the Phantom of Asgard, you’d have suspected that the God of Mischief had adopted a philandering persona. Though between the two princes of Asgard, it was Thor who cavorted with noble girls and laid with whomever caught his eye. Loki, on the other hand, struck you as the more romantic one, the kind of prince described in tales whispered among girls as they brushed each others’ hair. The type of prince who would never think to look at anyone else with desire after he lost his heart to someone.

“Hey?” Revna snapped her fingers in front of you, amidst Ingrid giggling. “Hello? You alright?

You blinked, accidentally saved from your own wandering mind. “We should probably head to bed…I’m fine, just tired.”

"You’re bluffing.” Revna crossed her arms. “Seriously, what happened that night? You refuse to tell us anything, and clearly you are off.”

“Look, the phantom just…” You swallowed and stood up reluctantly, wrapping your finger around the edge of another sofa. “He…he didn’t do anything. I couldn’t see him but I…I felt something hold me.” You increased your pitch to sound more nonchalant. “And then he sent me on my way.”

“So he hugged you?” Ingrid stepped closer after she returned the book.

You confirmed her words. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s weird.” Revna made her way to the door and Ingrid extinguished most of the candles in the library fro the night. “Well, try to get some sleep. Who knows, maybe it was a one-time thing. At least he was nice…”

You mumbled a ‘yes’, and Revna decided that all three of you ought to head to your bedroom now. She descended down the steps of the library with Ingrid following suit.

But before you could blow out the last candle in the library, the doors swung shut with a booming thud. Holding the flickering candle by your side, you strode towards the entrance of the library only to be stopped by a harsh whisper.

“No.”

You turned around to find none other than the beautiful Phantom of Asgard standing behind you with his silk gloves, tailored black waistcoat and signature emerald mask. His raven curls and pale, square-like forehead not obscured by the mask glowed in the faint candlelight.

Your fingers pressed further into the candlestick, not caring if they left an imprint in the wax. “You…you’re not supposed to be in this part of the library.” You muttered, inching your other hand towards the doorknob and twisting it.

“And why not? Because I’m a phantom, doomed to haunt only the darkest hall, past the throne room?” He darkly chuckled, taking a step forward. With a simple flick of the wrist, the doorknob you held instantly went stiff. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the truth.”He delicately clasped your chin. “Tell me who I am.”

“You’re the God of Mischief.”

He wrapped his gloved fingers around your cheek and leaned in even closer. “Say my name.”

Heat rose in your cheeks and between your thighs. You closed your eyes, struggling to believe just how easily he could make you flushed with just a single touch. “You’re Prince Loki.”

The God of Mischief answered you by pressing his forehead against yours, while his other hand held your shoulder.

“My prince….” You felt his lips against the tip of your nose. “Don’t tease.”

“And what should I do instead?” He taunted, whispering against the side of your face. “This?” He lightly kissed your neck, and smirked when you let out a sigh. “If only you knew how much I have missed your warmth. Have you been thinking of me, sweet one?”

“How did you know?” You tried to look down only for the God of Mischief to force your eyes to meet his. “Forget I ask,” you faltered. “You’re the God of Mischief.”

“Exactly.” Loki walked backward, leading you to a couch. “Honestly, must you ladies always be in packs like she-wolves?” He remarked in a playful tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone in this palace once.”

You chose to remain silent as Loki’s hand rested on your waist, and you sensed him reappear behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “It pains me to be away from you, sweet one.”

Your hand slid down across your body, towards his. “My prince…”

“Loki.”You glanced over your shoulder. “You say that I am the only one who knows the truth…”

“Yes?” He goaded with a light kiss behind your ear.

"Then why…” You began, wondering how best to pose your question to the god of Mischief. It certainly didn’t help that his other hand inched towards your rib, lingering just below your breast. “Why? Why are you….touching me?”

He froze. “You don’t like it?” In that moment ,Loki’s voice dropped to a scared murmur, a voice so innocent and fearful that it could’ve been mistaken for a boy’s.

“No…I do like it but…” You took a deep breath. “You could have any woman in this palace, in any of the Nine Realms. Why me?”

“Because you are the only one who sees me as I am, and yet chooses my company.” Loki pushed a few locks of your hair aside. “I do not want you solely for your beauty, sweet one. I also want you for your heart.” He nuzzled against your hair. “Were someone to take you away from this place, I swear that I would burn this palace to the ground…”

“Loki.” You swallowed. Did he just say that he wanted your heart? That he would set Asgard on fire at a moment’s notice?

“Stay by my side, even if it’s only for a few moments,” he pleaded, caressing your hair. “Turn your face away from this garish light of day,…and simply take delight in this darkness, with each of its sensations.” Loki wrapped his long fingers around your neck. His intoxicating whisper drove away any defensive part of you that wanted to flee.

“As you wish,” was all that left your lips.

He rested on the couch, with you in his arms. “Someday, I’ll show you the stories in this library I enjoy the most. But tonight, all I ask is that you relieve me from my solitude.” Loki kept his fingers entangled in your hair, with the other hand resting on your own arm. He whispered, for your ears only,

“I ditt smil mitt hjerte finner ro,

I dine øyne, kjærlighet jeg for alltid skal tro."

(In your smile, my heart finds peace,

In your eyes, love I shall forever believe.)

He repeated the couplet two more times, and a strange calm fell over you. Your eyelids started to grow heavy, and your limbs became numb, like you were melting into a puddle. In a matter of moments, you fell fast asleep, a peaceful smile on your face.

“My beauty…” Loki whispered. For a brief moment, Loki lifted his mask and leaned down to kiss your eyelid. He slid the mask back on and simply held you for a few moments. While you slept in his embrace, Loki pondered to himself about the future of Asgard. He contemplated about how or if he would ever convey the news of him “not quite dying” to Thor.

How would he explain the disappearance of the All-father from Asgard? Would his punishment be worsened? No, that wouldn’t be possible, given that his original sentence was to spend the rest of his godly not-terribly-signifiant life in the dungeons.

“In due time,” Loki uttered to no one in particular. With those words, the God of Mischief lifted you in his arms in a bridal carry, and opened the library doors with a silent spell.

Once he brought you to his chambers, the God of Mischief placed you on a round bed adorned with ivory white satin bedsheets and gold pillows. He gently positioned you so that you lay on your side, and pushed the strands of hair obscuring your face. Then he conjured an emerald green cape and draped it over your body.

Would that he could, he would join you in his bed and hold you close as your heartbeat lulled him to sleep. But it would leave him far too vulnerable. What if you tried to remove his mask while he slept, lest you became repulsed by his looks, leaving him in the early hours of daylight? Alone in his bed, surrounded with his own demons and his own battles to fight? It was better that he suppress his own desires, at least for now. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from your perfection, the God of Mischief closed the door of his own chamber and disappeared into the night.

Tagging: @icytrickster17 @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl , @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines , @lokiismineforever @smolvenger @winterfrostlovetriangle , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness @cakesandtom ,@sallymagnoliaposts @leahs-reading-nook @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen @aesonmae @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @fruityfucker @el-zef @huntress-artemiss @evelyn-rathmore @lovingchoices14

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #mcu loki #Loki x female reader #loki of asgard #marvel loki #loki x reader fic

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kentoberry · 2 years

Text

BITTERSWEET — kamisato ayato.

pairings ⭒ crime boss ! ayato x f reader.

about ⭒ your husband, leader of the shuumatsuban crime syndicate, may be good at his job, but he’s been neglecting his poor wife.

content ⭒ [ 18+ ; minors do not interact ] ⭒ established relationship ⭒ very mild angst ⭒ mentions of violence (including vague allusions to murder) ⭒ light brat taming ⭒ pet names ⭒ dubcon in parts ⭒ gunplay ⭒ threats ⭒ degradation ⭒ name calling ⭒ p-ssy spanking ⭒ mentions of a mindbreak ⭒ dumbification ⭒ c-rvix kissing ⭒ creampie.

your husband always seemed to prioritize work over your relationship. take the untouched home-cooked meals that you had prepared for him, for example, now forming a small village of stacked tupperware boxes in the refrigerator. you would sit and look pretty during meetings with subordinates, like his perfect lap dog. the business bored you, yet you had picked up a couple of tricks here and there.

tuning back into the conversation midway, the topic concerning some issues with the transportations of unlawful goods. thoma, your husband’s right-hand man, made a point of how they should go about it, one that seemed fair. ayato must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, for he was in disagreement.

“but sir, i’m sure you understand why we can’t just-” thoma rambled in attempt to reason with the boss.

“you can, and you will.” ayato’s tone remained calm and collected, sharp gaze enough to strike fear into the hearts of everyone in the room. well, almost everyone - you were unfazed. though his hand rest on his signature white revolver on the table, you saw a perfect opportunity to gain the full attention of your lover.

“thoma is right, darling.”

his head snapped around to face you, indigo irises narrowing as he shot you a warning glare. you continued nonetheless: “don’t make a stupid decision.”

the room was silent enough that you could hear a pin drop. thoma was silently pleading with you to shut up, but you knew ayato would never do anything to actually harm you. plus, from the parts of the conversation that you had heard, your husband did seem to be acting rather rash. not even the clicking of his gun was enough to stop you from your last blow to his ego.

“you’re better than this.”

ayato saw red. he’d never expecting his darling to talk back to him in such manner, humiliating him in front of his people.

“fine.” he kept it short and snappy, his piercing stare remaining trained on you. “thoma can handle it. everyone out.”

the shufflings of papers and rustling of bodies exiting the room couldn’t even distract him from you. your expression remained as aloof as ever, as if you were challenging the man, trying to coax a reaction from him (the latter of which was most definitely true).

once the last person had exited and closed the door behind them, ayato chose to speak.

“i knew it was only a matter of time before you forgot your place,” venom laced his words, making you feel like the leader of a rival syndicate rather than his devoted wife. he let out an exasperated sigh, indicating that he lacked the time for your bullshit. “being quiet never was your strong suit, was it?”

“aya-”

“no. i don’t care. whatever stupid reason you had, i’m sure i can make you forget it.”

ayato picked up his piece, as if measuring its weight in his large hand. the golden decals shone in the faint light, highlighting how pristine the white shade remained despite having been used on some… messy occasions.

“strip.”

your eyes widened. his lackeys had only just left, surely they would overhear! there was no way you were going to be put in such a compromising, risky situation. your apparent ineptitude prompted ayato to grip a handful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. “you heard me. if you want to act like a brat, i’ll treat you like one.”

“i’m not going to-”

instead of using his words, ayato only used his free hand to direct the barrel of his gun into your mouth. just as intended, it indeed shut you up. he chuckled as drool began to pool in your mouth, only for him to force the weapon further back in your throat. “cat got your tongue?”

instead of taking his time to undress you, ayato settled for tearing on the neckline of your shirt until it split in two. he slipped you out of your bra with a single hand, the other keeping his gun in place. the man relented for a mere moment before clambering to get you sat on the table.

“suck.” he commanded, returning the revolver to your lips. he was only met with your pleading eyes, imploring him not to do this. you were beginning to regret speaking up, but the slight glint in his eyes told you that you were in for a good time either way.

ayato kept the barrel of his gun touching your lips as he collected a glob of spit together in his mouth. his height allowed for him to tower over you, giving him the perfect angle to carry out his next action. before you could so much as blink, ayato spat directly into your mouth. whether out of shock or anticipation, you made no move to swallow, instead awaiting instructions that never came. ayato forced his weapon back into your throat, its muzzle causing you to gag. you were filled with the fear that he could pull the trigger at any time, even though you knew he would never go that far. one quick “click!” and you’d be covering the table.

“i said, suck.”

you did precisely as he bid, tongue swirling around the cool metal barrel and tracing over the decals. you looked up at your husband with wide eyes, as if begging for some degree of mercy.

he watched your helpless maneuvers for but a moment before growing bored. ayato flipped the skirt you were wearing up, lithe fingers caressing your already prevalent arousal.

“all this, just for me? hmm? does my nasty girl get off from having a loaded gun pointed at her?”

of course, you couldn’t respond. you could only whine, but even then the revolver muffled your sounds. ayato only continued to mock you, bullying you for being so wet when he hadn’t shown you so little as an ounce of kindness. he forced you to continue sucking on the metal whilst he stroked your drooling cunt over the fabric, barely offering any friction.

the pathetic noises that crawled out of your throat made you sound stupid. ayato didn’t have time for your sounds as he became increasingly desperate to break you enough and put you back into your place. surely a slap or two would help silence his mutt. his palm came into contact with lacey barrier keeping you from him, aim as perfect as ever. you let out a little shriek, not expecting the action. still, you could feel yourself growing both dumber and needier with each smack. your cunt throbbed, aching for more attention.

you were relieved at the unobstructed breath you took once ayato finally relented, barely noticing the saliva that spilled onto your chest.

ayato dropped the gun back to the table. even if the thought crossed your mind to grab it and usurp your husband, he didn’t give you the time. whilst you were recovering from having your throat invaded with his weapon, ayato peeled your panties to the side. he cared not to undress himself, simply freeing his stiff cock from its confines. the man teased your puckering hole with the flushed tip of his length, eliciting a couple of wanton moans as your cunt made futile attempts to pull him in.

“you might want to stay quiet, princess. i’m sure my men are still within close proximity to the room.”

and with that statement, he sunk himself into your sloppy heat. he bottomed out in a single thrust, not giving you a moment to adjust. your husband knew your body well enough to elicit the most sinful of sounds as he thrust into you, bulbous tip kissing your cervix. ayato brought himself closer to your ear just to whisper: “wouldn’t want someone to overhear now, would we? or do i need to put a gun to your head just to keep you quiet?”

already feeling a little dumb on his cock, even you didn’t anticipate the pretty little mewl that dripped from your lips at the threat. with a little “disgusting slut,” and a quick flick of his wrist, you found the cool barrel of his gun against your temple. ayato used the weapon to shift your hair out of the way, the metal contrasting the warmth of your skin.

“’m sorry,” you whined, never breaking eye contact with the man. possessiveness coursed through his veins, proud that he could treat you so poorly yet you would still come running back to him, weak and docile.

you chewed on your bottom lip in attempt to restrain your lewd moans, simply taking what ayato gave you at this point. he continued to plunge into your sloppy cunt, molding and stretching your cushiony walls into the perfect shape for him. you could feel every bump and curve of his cock, just as he could of your insides. ayato hit your sweet spots without fail, his length already twitching due to how well you sucked him in.

“such a fucking whore, getting fucked like this,” ayato’s sentences grew less and less put together, hinting that he was nearing his peak. “want me to get thoma back in here, hmm? let my men watch you go dumb on my dick?” he punctuated each question with a tap to your cervix, forcibly enough that you were sure it’d bruise. “my pathetic slut, going to cum for me, bitch?"

gentle nods were your only response, feeling the heat in your stomach building up rapidly. once again, he let a glob of spit fall onto you, this time directed to your cunt. ayato’s free hand snaked between your legs to toy with your swollen clit, massaging tight circles around the puffy nub. his ministrations furious enough to make you clench yet skilled enough to not cause any overwhelming pain. it was becoming increasingly difficult to support yourself, leaning slightly into the muzzle of the gun pressed against you for aid.

”be a good fucking girl and cum for me.“

the sparse hints of praise were a welcomed change, tipping you over the edge as ayato fucked you through your high. you tried your best to stay quiet, like he had asked, although a few gorgeous whines escaped their restraints.

the feeling of your heavenly cunt contracting around his cock was enough to push ayato to release too, shooting strings of his milky seed inside of you. heavy breaths filled the room for a moment, with him remaining sheathed inside of your heat. the man finally put down his gun, opting for pulling you closer to him.

the tender kiss he placed to your forehead communicated all that you needed to know: despite tonight’s events, he still loved and cared for you, and he appreciated how you allowed him to be rough with you, to use your body as a stress relief from the hectic life that he’d been born into. it acted as a reminder of every promise he’d ever made you, to protect you with his life no matter what.

your husband let you collapse into him, cock keeping your creamy cunt plugged with his cum whilst you calmed down. one hand interlaced his fingers with your own, large digits fiddling with the ring that he’d given to you all those years ago. he pledge to himself to be around you more, for he’d missed soft moments like this. you were his oasis amongst a life of unsteadiness and uncertainty, the only place where he could let his guard down. he whispered a gentle ”i love you,“ into your hair, walls collapsing as he held you tightly. he never failed to be amazed when you whispered a little ”love you too“ in response.

#kentoberryposts #kamisato ayato smut #ayato x you #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #ayato smut #kamisato ayato #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

Text

Who did this to you...? 2

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, angst, violence

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Silver brightened the sinister sky, breaking the dense blanket of clouds, yet did not clash like a ripple of hundreds of poisoned arrows down on the wicked foes. The rain pattered heartlessly, bouncing off the dark blue umbrella. Smoke emerged out of the exhaust pipe, soared upwards, and then faded away. The branches of the lonely trees swayed back and forth in the wind, howling like a wolf summoning the gleaming moon shrouded by travelling clouds.

Light streamed mutedly through the wide and narrow windows and barely touched the paved path leading to the front door flanked by two pots sheltering flowers, tulips. Clenching her hands into fists, Peggy braced herself to face the very worst. Wet spots sprawled on the long coat reaching her knees. The curls had lost shape and although she did not wear lipstick, her lips were red as oozing crimson. No weapon was at her side, hidden well from curious gazes, and no guilt welled within her soul. A low prayer escaped her lips, was certain no harm could come to Y/N, sure no one would attempt to force their way into the house she called her home, had locked the door and drawn the curtains. No love dominated her gaze, felt nothing except utter hatred, and it deepened with every step.

The majestic estate seemed lonely and deserted. Peggy laughed low. Peals of laughter punctured the silence and informed Peggy, standing in the shelter of the umbrella, that many people were beyond the thick walls with eyes capable of seeing the unseen and ears able to perceive that a voice was absent.

The hatred seething in her heart dispelled the cold breaking through the cloak. Fearless, Peggy faced the den of the dragon, had heard countless of stories about the Shelby family, the one sounding absurd and ridiculous yet the desire to know the truth was too great, ignored the wisdom, all she had heard about the dreaded family.

Stopping Peggy´s right hand reached for the wood but she hesitated for a moment as words resounded and she listened carefully but the sounds made absolutely no sense and as laughter silenced the guests, Peggy knew they were all delighted and untroubled. Winter ruled in her gaze. She knocked on the door, loud enough to know everyone in the house must have heard her, even those at the other end, behind thick doors and heavy blankets. Fear didn't flood her eyes, didn’t regret the journey across the town and heard the heavy steps drawing near the door. Focusing her gaze over her shoulder, Peggy witnessed the deepening dusk entering the yard in front of the mansion, but she did not turn and stayed motionless in the pouring rain.

Peggy believed in the good in people, even if it was a Shelby, couldn't imagine sitting at the table and not noticing that someone was missing, that Thomas didn't notice that his wife wasn't seated by his side, not holding her hand and telling her how beautiful and lovely she is. Hatred welled and clouded her mind, unable to understand how someone could be so ignorant, how someone could forget the existence of a woman so loving and kind, but Peggy knew Y/N was right, that she was not exaggerating, telling a story, a wicked tale to receive attention.

The light was blinding, but she saw clearly, sharp as a polished dagger, knew exactly what she had to do, what had to be done. Bracing herself Peggy prepared herself for everything, for shame and screams, guns and pain, accusations, beatings, everything once escaping the throat of fearful humans. She forced a weak smile, and the voices grew clearer. The smell of alcohol lingered in the air. Greeting, Peggy repositioned the umbrella and faced the man framed by vibrant yellowish light.

"Good evening." the voice was cold as the night but did not send a shiver down her spine.

Narrowing her eyes Peggy recognised the man two steps away. Peering into the house, Peggy looked past the man taller than her by a few inches and witnessed children in the ranks of adults and she smiled at the boy in a greyish suit who had come to a halt with a smile on his sharp yet gentle features.

John cleared his throat but Peggy was unimpressed, had hoped to face Thomas Shelby.

"Good evening, I suppose Thomas Shelby is here?", "You should make an appointment. You can call in the morning, the secretary will give you an appointment as soon as possible." spoke the blond man Peggy had seen a few times around town.

Flashing a smile Peggy realised John wanted to close the door, that he wanted to send her away, but she refused to be shaken off and stepped fearlessly closer to the young man.

"No, it's of huge important, I need to speak to him." Peggy spoke sternly.

John heard the urgency in the young woman's voice. Laughing low, he leaned against the frame of the wooden door, settled his hand on the doorknob and half-heartedly listened to the words his brothers were uttering, the jokes mingling with roaring laughter.

"I hear they're having a party, a very lavish one." she broke the silence.

Peggy didn't know where to begin, what to tell him, but she had already heard everything she needed to hear.

“Yes, the family is celebrating.” John responded.

Again, Peggy laughed, clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the stabbing sensation spreading through her chest as she remembered Y/N sleeping in the tattered dress on her sofa and refusing to take it off, and Peggy could only guess what the beaten woman was trying to hide. Peggy wrinkled her nose in disgust. A wave of hot air hit her like skimming waves colliding with the emotionless face of the rocks piercing the ruthless ocean. The stench of smoke and alcohol was prominent in the air, but it did not dull her senses.

"Are you missing anybody in your ranks?" Peggy probed, losing patience.

John grinned and shook his head in response.

"Not that I know of, but if you'd like, I could check? Are you looking for your husband? I can guarantee that he is definitely not present, it's a family gathering." responded John, guessing what might be the cause of the lady's arrival, not seeming she had come to murder the family.

Nodding, Peggy tried to calm her mind. Moistening her lip with the tip of her tongue, she absently nodded and glanced into distance and noticed a girl had joined the young boy. Firmly, she bit down on her tongue. She wished to curse and scream like a banshee, to invade the building like an army of millions of soldiers and inform them all of what terrible creatures they were. Peggy had hoped to encounter sallow faced people who had sent everyone and everything out on the streets of the town to find the missing woman, but they were feasting, drowning in a sea of whiskey and rum, in old stories. Soundlessly, Peggy chuckled and backed away.

"If you believe no one is missing, then I shall be on my way. Have a lovely day, Mr Shelby. I'm dreadfully sorry to have bothered you and your family. I bid you farewell." Peggy said goodbye.

She tried to stay strong, remembered what Y/N had said, that she shouldn't be surprised if no one noticed, if no one was looking for her and fearing for her safety.

Bewildered, John, dressed in a greyish suit, stared after Peggy following the long path, walked directly towards the vehicle parked far away from the others belonging to the members of the family.

Slowly, Peggy mingled with the darkness of the deep night.

Questions rested on his lips, understood nothing, and the words the stranger had spoken resounded in his mind. The door creaked, sang out loud, and John shook his head in confusion and brushed through his damp hair, walking deeper into the house without noticing. The laughter turned louder and John smiled at the children, exchanging questioning glances.

“Everything is okay, go upstairs and play.” Johns assured and the children listened.

Facing his brothers on the sofas bearing the same joyful expression, sipping on the glasses and talking in delight, the worries faded for a brief moment into oblivion.

Thomas laughed and Arthur patted his brother's right shoulder and agreed. No one asked questions, failing to notice how John slowed to a standstill with his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers in the midst of the room. The light of the chandelier touched the faces. John let his eyes slide from one person to the other, from Ada to Arthur, and turned to the others. The strangers' words echoed in his head, chased him like a loyal hound.

His thoughts raced like a racehorse trotting in great haste across fields and meadows. The sound of the gramophone was driving him mad, tried to understand, to make sense of it all, but nothing made sense anymore, nothing, and John was convinced no one was missing.

Glasses bearing whiskey and rum rose to the sky. The brothers laughed and Arthur rose and stood by the rising flames of the fireplace with his arms folded in front of his chest, dressed in a dark suit, and Ada was close by his side. Polly poured herself a glass of wine and listened to the words the brothers exchanged.

The children were safe, John kept counting all of them, but no relief filled his heart and soul, feeling in every fibre of his body that something was wrong, but he found no flaw nor mistake. For a split moment John wondered if the lady had merely arrived to distract the family, if she was searching for her husband, but then John remembered the expression adorning the woman's face and it caused his heart to ache. Deep in thoughts John strolled to his family.

Pairs of eyes harbouring questions settled on John but not uttering a word. His eyes widened and looked at the ticking clock and realised how late it was. The frown on his smooth features deepened. His skin paled, turned almost sickly, and noticed shocked Y/N was missing. Swiftly, John turned and ran back to the door. Fear clouded his mind. Harshly the stiff wind collided with his flesh, tore it open. John whispered a prayer. He hoped the woman was still there, that she was in the vehicle or standing in front of the door, but a faint travelling light was drawing close to the town. John swept the wetness from his skin and felt the cold rain soaking through his suit. An icy shiver roamed across his whole body. He turned around, still hopeful, but the last spark of optimism was smothered. He swore, not able to accept the situation.

There was a commotion. Questions escaped, demanding answers, needing to know what had occurred, who had knocked on the door. The door slammed shut, John stormed into the building, wheezing. He spoke in the tongue of sailors, thought where the young woman could be, where Y/N was, who had taken her, feared for his brother's wife and turned wide-eyed to them, trying to figure out what had occurred.

"John?!" someone shrieked, a woman.

John did not answer, couldn’t. His shaking hands ran though his unmade hair, failing to grasp what had happened and realising that Y/N was not present, that she was not playing in the shelter of the warming flames with the children, that she was not seated on the sofa and realising she was not sitting at the generously set table at dinner. There was ice between Y/N and all of them, but John liked her, found it adorable how she played with the children, and even though it didn't seem so at first glance, he enjoyed her presence.

"Where is Y/N/N?" John asked.

The faces drained of colour. The silence was horrible. Tumult arose and children whispered. All at once they glanced around, noted Y/N was absent, and suddenly discovered she hadn't arrived from work. A glass shattered into thousands of pieces. Eyes settled on Thomas, gazing speechlessly into the distance. The smooth golden ring burned into his flesh. Hastily, Thomas stood up. His legs threatened to give up under the heaviness, under the weight of the world. He cursed.

Lips no longer touched, and nearly asked who was supposed to pick up his dear wife, wanted murder the person but, horrified, Thomas realised it was him who had to pick her up from work, remembered the promise he had made to wait at sharp five in front of the factory.

Thoughtlessly, Thomas advanced, feeling the burden grow beyond measure. Tears blurred his vision. Gulping, he stared at the bouquet of beautiful flowers in a light blueish vase on the coffee table, her favourites, had purchased them in the early hours of the day. Thomas Shelby uttered a prayer as a wrenching pain settled in his chest, had broken the promise he had given his wife on the wedding day.

TagList:

witchymoonbabe secretdreamlandmentality mysticalpandora kittiowolf210 muhahaha303 dreamy-caramel elinalfrida violet-19999 niyah834 watersquirtpewpewboomm piceous21 elliaze heidimoreton literishdegree99 globetrotter28 thecrazytealady regulusblacksimpsblog torresbarnes nightgirl250 sweet-angely05

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queenshelby · 1 year

Text

Forbidden Desire (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Warning: Symptoms of PTSD, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Self-Harm, Prostitution, Violence, Fluff, Mild Smut, Drug & Alcohol Abuse

Warning for later parts: Smut, Incest

Words: 4,894

Summary:

This plays after Grace’s death but before Tommy becomes a politician. Lizzie is pregnant with Tommy’s child, so it is somewhere around season four.

In this fic, Tommy suffers from episodes of PTSD and so does the reader, resulting from trauma and abuse. They will help and save each other without realising that their connection is much stronger than they could have anticipated.

There will be love, fluff and smut as well as a highly taboo relationship.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

His Pain: Tommy’s POV

“If only you could change” were the words engraved in his thoughts until the cold finally woke him. Not the frigid-temperature kind, but the kind of cold that sends shivers down one’s spine, rattling their bones and it is this kind of cold that is embedded in his very being.

It is a cruel kind of cold, the lonely kind and it has gotten worse over the past two years, ever since his wife was shot and died in his arms. She was a beautiful woman who he had loved with all of his heart and, now that she was gone, his pain had returned.

It felt like the sharp pressing of metal against one’s flesh, burying deeper and deeper and it felt different and yet the same every night.

Night? No, it did not just happen at night now anymore. It happened during the day too. Almost every day and every time that business was not on his mind. Business was what kept him going but, often, it was not enough.

There was not enough to do these days now that Tommy had built his empire and wealth and the wealth of his family. He no longer had a mission or purpose to fulfill and this was exactly what made his episodes and hallucinations so much worse.

Sometimes he imagined the shovels in France scarping away the wall paper inside his bedroom or bombs going off by his side whereas, at other times, he saw her. His late wife, Grace, with a bullet lodged in her chest, bleeding to death as he held on to her.

She even spoke to him these days, blaming him for her death and begging him to join her in the afterlife. But he did not. For Tommy, there was not yet a way out. He had a son to worry about and, just recently, Lizzie informed him that, soon, he would become a father yet again, for the second time around.

Tommy often remembered the times when, once, he had it all. He had both, love and wealth. But now that love was gone, life seemed more meaningless to him and it was the drugs and alcohol which helped him forget his pain and grief and now and then. Occasionally, whores helped him too but sex wasn’t quite enough either without love. It was more like a sport for him now, one he soon grew tired of.

Tommy had not slept dreamlessly, without fear and without waking to fresh pains, in years and this is exactly what happened tonight when the clock struck ten.

Following some booze and a few drops of opium, he went to sleep early, around five o’clock in the afternoon after having arrived back home from America where, as usual, Tommy had business matters to attend to.

He was jetlagged and hungover, killing his intrusive thoughts with whiskey yet again. Coupled with drugs, it usually helped but it never lasted long until agony returned in it’s fullest form, betraying him and his sense of security.

Attempts to slow his now laboured breathing, to still the small tremors of fear racking his aching body, were futile now again and it is then, by means of his shivering, that Tommy noticed the borderline painful press of sharp metal against his tongue.

It was just a feeling of course. There was nothing there and he knew as much, but yet, he could not control it. The feeling itself was restricting his movement and whilst he tried very hard to be quiet in his paralysed state, this time, he could not.

His lips burned and there was an unforgettable biting pain shooting through his face, all the way to the top of the head. All he could think about then was the pain, misery and coldness in his body and he though ‘please make it stop’.

He pleaded then, even speaking the words ‘stop’ but it did not, until, finally Frances had taken notice and came to his aid.

Sweat was running down his body, covering him almost completely and when Frances took his hand, he gasped.

‘Mr Shelby. I think you should see a doctor’ she told him again as he sat up and reached for the half empty glass of whiskey by his side.

‘No Frances. I know what this is. No man can cure it. It is a curse’ he told her and she nodded shyly, not wanting to argue with her superior.

‘Shall I run you a bath sir?’ she asked, knowing that this was often what he would do after one of these episodes.

‘No, I will take a shower and head out for the night. Please ensure that Charlie gets up before eight. He has piano lessons in the morning’ Tommy then said before jumping off the sofa which is where he had fallen asleep earlier that evening.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ Frances confirmed while looking at the half empty bottle of opium before, finally, intending to give him some privacy. But, before she left, she said something which took Tommy by surprise.

‘Something must change sir. Or, perhaps, you must change. You cannot go on like this. Not with a young child in the house and another on the way’ Frances told him.

‘If only I could change, eh? That is what everyone tells me Frances. But the truth is, I can’t. I can’t fucking change’ Tommy sighed in response.

He knew that had to change his ways as his opium and alcohol intake increased with every day but no one had a cure for this disease and, thus, Tommy kept on going the way he did until, one day, he would meet a woman again and this woman was going to give him purpose once more.

There was a cure and the cure was her. A woman who did not want nor need him to change. But she, too, needed saving from herself.

The Woman: Your POV

‘Why could some people be themselves without consequences?’ was the question you asked yourself every day since you were able to comprehend what your life would be all about. A turmoil of pain, hurt and suffering.

For years you had suffered and for years you believed that it was you who was at fault of your own suffering as you were reminded of the burden you had placed upon your mother since you were born.

‘In to the closet, you bastard child’ was what you had heard your stepfather yell at you every time he came home drunk and, just after he yelled at you, he locked you in to the cabinet so that he could beat up your mother. Sometimes, he did even more than that, forcing himself upon her and you watched from the far, feeling helpless and ashamed.

Was this how women should be treated, you wondered? Was it normal for a man to behave like this? Was it really because of you? Because you were born?

According to your stepfather, he drank because of you. Because you were a burden to him, he had t numb himself simply so that he could deal with your presence. The fact that he had to look after you, the offspring of another man, disgusted him and the worst of it all was that your mother was unable to bare children again following your birth. This, too, was your fault and he reminded you of this every day.

Once, he pulled your hair so hard that it came out of your skin before throwing you into the closet again, which is where you stayed for two days without any food or water.

This is when you finally had enough and told the police about the assaults but, since your stepfather was a well-known business man, they did not believe you. No one did. Not even your teacher or the girls you called friends.

For years, you had unimaginable pain on the inside that would ache worse than a broken bone and this was because of what he did to you when you were a child.

You felt crushed by a torrent of pain as well as loneliness as you were prohibited from socialising with others. But, even if you had socialised with others, you would never have fitted in. Others always judged you for who you were, dressed in old clothes and broken shoes while living in a wealthy London suburb.

You often had no food as your stepfather drank away the money and, eventually, the house. So, you began to steal and, oh boy, you learned that quickly. You had a natural talent for stealing things but that, too, landed you in trouble and when you were eventually found out, your stepfather belted you fairly hard.

In the end, following so much violence, you became violent yourself. You became angry and volatile towards others and you indiscriminately hated and resented everyone, the entire world.

Later though, the anger would turn into sadness and the waterworks would turn on by themselves no matter how hard you fought them, and you would weep in the middle of the night, thinking that no one should see you like this.

Finally, there were times you seemed so numb that you did not feel anything at all and this is when it happened. You inflicted pain upon yourself so that you could feel at least something. You wanted to feel alive and pain was all you knew, which, absurdly, to you was better than feeling nothing at all.

Eventually though, during the last few years before your stepfather went into hiding for reasons unknown to you and your mother moved to the slums, it became just about surviving for you. You knew that you had to claw your way through this time until you could leave the hell hole in which you were living in.

You began to lose sight of who you were and what your purpose was. Purpose, as well as your hopes and dreams, seemed impossible. Finding someone to love was far too risky and dangerous to you. You did not trust anyone and the concept of love was rather foreign to you.

So, you became afraid to believe in anything, including love, and you developed a hunger deep inside of you that would not go away. The hunger to run away. Far far away.

In the end, you chose a place where you knew you would be able to find work easily and this place was called Birmingham. It was the workers and labourers capital of the UK and you took up a lodging in Small Heath much to the dismay of your mother who grew up in this very same area.

‘Birmingham is dangerous’ she told you, causing you to laugh.

‘You made me live with a man who is dangerous mother!’ you reminded her but she defended your stepfather nonetheless.

‘You can stay with me. He is gone now’ she offered, but you shook your head.

‘He is gone and see where you are? In the slums of Camden Town, working in a god damn liquor factory’ you told her, reminding her that, following your stepfather’s departure, the house you were living in got foreclosed and she had to return to work.

‘But what matters is that he is gone, right’ she told you again, not wanting you to go, but you had already made up your mind.

‘That should have mattered to you when I was young and defenceless. He left when I was merely seventeen and had he not disappeared so abruptly already, I would have gone somewhere else myself’ you said with a stern voice before correcting yourself.

‘Actually, no, I would not have gone anywhere until I killed him after he tried to rape me’ you pointed out and, again, your mother defended his actions.

‘He was intoxicated’ she argued but you chuckled.

‘He was, but I wish that I had killed when I had the chance’ you told her.

‘He is blind in one eye because of you’ your mother reminded you.

‘He deserves that’ you spat. ‘Should I not have defended myself?’ you then asked.

‘You are like your father and this worries me. He was a bad man’ your mother lectured and she did this every time you did something wrong.

‘You said that before and, yet, you told me that he died in France, for his fucking country, all while made me live with a man who was a monster’ you told her but she wanted to abandon this discission all together as it soon was time for you to leave.

‘Just promise me that you will stay away from the factories in Small Heath. Don’t work there. Please’ she begged and you nodded before giving her a hug.

‘I have experience in waitressing so that is what I intend to do mum’ you told her without telling her that, in truth, you already had a job lined up, in a brothel south of Small Heath.

This particular establishment was frequented by the rich and wealthy men, even politicians and sergeants on occasion, and you had a plan on how to make more money quickly.

The Brothel: Two Month Later

Thomas Shelby has not frequented this establishment for a while despite owning it but, tonight, following his episode, he required some distraction.

Usually, he would see one of the regular girls, like Laura or Clara but, tonight, he was in the mood for someone else, someone new, and when he walked into his establishment, you immediately caught his attention.

Dressed in a dark green satin dress and silver coloured heels, you stood there, serving some other customers their drinks. Your hair was long and wavy and you wore the perfect amount of make-up, not too much but noticeable.

You looked classy, not cheap. But you also did not look like a whore and the men in this establishment were at your feet. Most of them wanted to sample you but you were not interested in this line of work. You only served drinks and refused to take money for sex.

‘Is she new?’ Tommy asked the manager of his establishment as he came to greet him. He pointed over to you and this, in itself, caught your attention. a

‘Yes sir, but she is not one of our working girls. She works here as a waitress’ the manager said as he showed Tommy to his table which is where he would usually drink a cocktail first before indulging on one of the working girls.

‘Is she inclined to negotiate her terms of employment?’ Tommy then asked, wanting you to service him. There was something about you that intrigued him and he recalled the first time when he laid eyes on his late wife, Grace. It was a similar kind of feeling, but stronger. There was an instant desire and lust which he now had the urge to satisfy.

‘You could ask sir. But, from what I have heard, Mr Artens already offered her a substantial amount of money last night and she declined’ the manager then said before suggesting that he would send you over to him to take his drink order.

***

Seeing the men looking at you and talking with each other, you realised what it was that they were discussing. The same thing had happened several times over the past few weeks and, whilst unlike Mr Artens, you could see yourself sleeping with a man as attractive as the one speaking to the manager right now, taking money for sex was not an option for you.

Not only did you have no experience when it came to sex as, after what had happened to you in the past, you have not been with a man before, but also did payment for sex contradict your morals.

Several customers who you knew about were abusing the working girls and this, soon, became of great concern to you. This was exactly why you despised this line of work and those who enabled it.

‘You caught his attention’ Martha, a fellow waitress eventually said and you already knew who she was talking about.

‘Who is he?’ you asked her, realising that he appeared important.

‘Thomas Shelby. He owns most properties and businesses in town, including this one. You must be careful’ Martha warned you and you immediately became concerned after having spiked the drinks of three men that night.

‘Fuck’ you gasped before hiding the small bottle of sleeping drops in the empty gun holster beneath your dress.

‘Who did you give the drops to?’ Martha panicked and you pointed to a group of policemen in the corner.

‘Them, over there. They are trouble. They have been here before and gave Louisa a bloody nose’ you explained and since the three men were already becoming rather tired, Martha panicked as well.

‘He might notice’ she said but, just as she did, the manager came over and approached you, directing you to take Thomas Shelby’s order.

***

Of course, you complied with the manager’s request and walked over towards the handsome stranger with a smile.

‘Good Evening, Sir’ you greeted him professionally and he smiled, which was a smile that almost knocked you off your feet. He sure was handsome, you thought and, what you did not know at the time was that he was also one of the most feared gangsters in all of Birmingham and surround.

‘What can I get for you?’ you then asked, waiting for him to make you an offer so that you could decline it.

‘That depends’ he said sharply while offering you seat and a cigarette.

‘I am working’ you told him, declining both.

‘You are and, since I own this establishment, I would like you to sit down and talk to me’ he then said abruptly and, after considering your options, you complied with his request and accepted the cigarette.

‘You are new’ he observed and you nodded shyly while he lid the cigarette for you.

‘I am new, yes’ you told him.

‘Where are you from?’ he then asked and, again, you only gave him a short answer.

‘London’ you told him.

‘And what brings a woman like you to a place like Birmingham?’ he then asked smugly before calling another waitress over in order to get a drink.

‘Opportunities’ you told him and he smiled again, this time more sarcastically.

‘Opportunities, eh?’ he chuckled before making an observation.

‘That’s funny’ he said before carrying on. ‘My late wife used to own this very same dress. I paid for it and it was rather expensive, so I thought that, either you are rich and bored or a thief and opportunist. You just confirmed the latter’ he then told you, causing you to gasp in shock. He saw right through you, although you did not know how this was possible.

‘I am not a thief’ you began to stammer and he quickly leaned closer towards you.

‘Don’t worry Love. I do not care if the dress is stolen nor do I care if you are a thief so long as you do not steal from me’ he interrupted you and you swallowed harshly without saying a word.

‘Now, as to your question about what you could get for me…’ he then began to say while the waitress brought over his drink and placed it on to the table, right in front of him. It was whiskey, on the rocks and this, too, did not surprise you.

Eventually then, after taking a sip, he continued the sentence with ‘…that depends entirely on what you are willing to offer’ and you realised where this was going.

‘I am not for sale Mr Shelby’ you thus quickly said to end the conversation right then and there but, again, he smiled smugly.

‘You haven’t even heard my offer yet’ he thus responded bluntly.

‘There is no need to hear it. I do not take money for sex’ you then told him and he quickly backed off, accepting your morals. He knew that, if he wanted you, he needed to work for it and just as he considered his options again, one of the three men you drugged walked over towards you both.

It was obvious to you that he was angry. You had drugged him and stolen from him twice by now and, just as he began to yell abusive words, you jumped up from your seat and tried to run away.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Thomas Shelby had acquaintances in unusual places and, just as you tried to leave the establishment abruptly via the fire exit, you were held back by a much younger man.

He took a hold of you and, just as he did, the man you had just met followed and grabbed your wrist.

‘You are thief after all, eh’ Thomas Shelby said while pushing you against the wall and it was at this point that you panicked.

‘Let go of me’ you said almost hysterically even though he was not really hurting you. He used force, but not enough to even leave a mark. ‘You are hurting me’ you then yelled again, kicked and screamed and, whilst Thomas was unsure about your overwhelming and aggressive reaction and where this might lead, he loosened his grip.

‘You are hurting my business by stealing from my customers’ he then told you and you kicked him, hard, right into the left side of the stomach.

‘Don’t touch me’ you spat, tears running down your face.

‘Calm down woman’ the other man told you while Tommy gasped for breath momentarily while never letting go of you.

‘If I let go of you, will you talk to me?’ he then asked. ‘You won’t run away, eh?’ he even clarified and you nodded, in tears.

‘Yes. Just let go of me. Please. I am begging you’ you breathed as another panic attack was near.

‘Very well then’ Tommy thus said as he dropped his hands, letting go of your wrists.

‘Those men are evil. Do you even know what they do to these girls?’ you then said through laboured breathing before reaching for your gun holster and, just as you did, both men pulled their guns at you.

‘I am not armed. I just…I…I have this…’ you stammered before retrieving the small bottle of sleeping drops you had tucked away and handing it to Thomas Shelby.

‘You drugged my customers?’ he ought to clarify and you nodded reluctantly.

“Like I said, these men are evil. They are much less of a problem if they are not fully conscious” you pointed out and, while Tommy took the bottle from you and guided you back to where you were sitting, the manager argued with the three somewhat sleepy gentlemen.

‘So, you drug them and then you steal from them?’ he clarified once more and you nodded again.

‘I only drug the men who are known to be violent’ you explained.

‘There have not been any reports of violence towards…’ Tommy began to say, but you interrupted him.

‘Because they pay off your managers so that they would keep their mouths shut! Are you that fucking blind?’ you asked while taking his glass of whiskey from his hands and sculling the lot.

Then, for a moment, he was quiet and just listened.

‘The man over there, he belted one of your women and then paid off the mistress who used to work here so that she would keep her mouth shut’ you said and Tommy looked at the man who, in turn, demanded him to take action.

And this was exactly what Tommy did. He took action, by walking over towards him and punching him in the face. His nose broke and a loud scream escaped him.

Tommy then held onto the man, fisting his shirt and whispering something into his ear. It must have been something of significance as the man began to tremble in fear, which is when, finally, Tommy let go off him.

‘If you disrespect any of my employees again, I will do more than just break your fucking nose, eh! Now get the fuck out of my establishment!’ Tommy yelled before briefing the other customers, informing them that abuse towards the women who work in his brothel, was not acceptable.

His demur and attitude surprised you and, when he was done and snapped out of his antic, he sat back down and cleaned off his fist.

‘Now that this issue has been addressed for now, I want to know what really brought you here, to this establishment’ Tommy said and you nodded again before explaining yourself.

‘I needed a job and no one else would take me’ you admitted, seeing that you had next to no credentials.

‘So you came here, eh?’ he asked and, once more, you nodded shyly.

‘Yes, but working here, just as a waitress, does not even cover my bills. I needed more money, so I started stealing from the people who come here’ you admitted and, by this point, his acquaintance had already handed him your employment contract.

‘I see you live in Jacqueline O’Conner’s old lodging. Did you know her?’ Tommy then asked and you confirmed that you did.

‘She is my grandmother, but I never met her. I took on the house after she died. The rent is cheap’ you explained and this made sense to him.

‘Jacqueline O’Conner is your grandmother, eh?’ he asked. ‘She used to work in one of my factories. She was a good woman’ he then told you before asking about your mother.

‘So, your mother is Josephine O’Connor then?’ Tommy asked and you were surprised.

‘How did you know?’ you wondered but the answer was obvious.

‘She was Jacqueline’s only child’ Tommy explained and you realised that this was true.

‘So, you know my mother?’ you queried.

‘I used to. She was a good woman’ Tommy said and this was something which made you chuckle.

‘Yeah. A good woman’ you laughed, seeing how she had failed to protect you from your stepfather, Steward.

‘How would you like to come and work for me and make some more money?’ was the next question Tommy asked, catching you by surprise.

‘You are offering me a job?’ you clarified and he confirmed that this was indeed what he was doing.

‘Yes Y/N O’Connor. I am offering you a job. At my offices. It is legitimate work and I will pay ten shillings per week’ he said, catching even his acquaintance by surprise. This was a lot of money these days, especially for office work.

‘That it is four times as much as I get paid here. Why are you offering me that much money?’ you wondered, being slightly suspicious as well as cautious.

‘Perhaps I just believe in your abilities’ he mused. ‘So, do you accept?’ he wanted to know and you knew that you were lacking options.

‘Yes. I accept’ you confirmed which, again, made Tommy smile.

‘Good’ he said. ‘Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock at this address. Don’t be fucking late’ he told you before handing you his business card. Thomas Shelby, Director of Shelby Company Limited, it read and his offices were located right within one of the large factory buildings in Small Heath.

The Aftermath: Michael’s POV

‘She steals from us and you offer her a job?’ Michael asked after listening in on the conversation.

‘Yeah’ Tommy said bluntly and Michael wanted to know his reasons.

‘Why?’ he thus asked, causing Tommy to smirk.

‘My reasons are two-fold’ Tommy explained, causing Michael to chuckle.

‘You want to fuck her, now that is obvious. That is reason one…But what is the other reason?’ Michael asked with great curiosity.

‘Her mother, Josephine O’Connor, was once married to a man by the name of Steward Callum. He went to school with me and Arthur and Arthur almost killed him with his bare fucking hands because of a bet which, ironically, involved a date with Josephine herself’ Tommy chuckled, remembering the grief caused by Josephine’s actions at the time.

‘Arthur was in love with this woman’s mother?’ Michael ought to clarify.

‘Yes, but Arthur never stood a chance with her. She told him to go to hell when he first asked her out and Steward O’Conner married her a year later, leaving Arthur’s heartbroken’ Tommy told him but this still did not explain Tommy’s need to employ you.

‘And?’ he thus asked. ‘This is no reason to employ her daughter’ he pointed out.

‘Steward Callum owes us a significant amount of money. He has a gambling debt and vanished without repaying it’ Tommy explained.

‘How much money does he owe?’ Michael wondered.

‘Twenty thousand pounds’ Tommy said, almost angrily.

‘Twenty thousand fucking pounds?’ Michael was shocked. ‘What are you going to tell Arthur?’ he then asked but Tommy did not intend to tell him anything.

‘Nothing! This needs to stay between us, for now’ he thus instructed, causing Michael to nod.

‘Now, call Pol and tell her to gather Abrahama’s men. I want two stationed at each of our brothels for the next two weeks. If there is any truth to what our new friend is saying, then we must put a stop to it’ Tommy then ordered.

‘Alright. I will get right to it boss’ Michael mused before wanting to head off with one of the working girls.

‘And Michael…’ Tommy called after him as Clara took hold of Michael’s hand. He had booked her for the next hour and wanted to make the most of it whereas Tommy was no longer in the mood for any such thing.

‘Yes Tommy?’ Michael asked quickly.

‘Y/N O’Connor is off limits for you and everyone else. Make sure you communicate that, eh’ Tommy said, marking his territory.

‘Yes Tommy. She is all yours. Clearly, you enjoy the challenging ones’ Michael mused, seeing that you would be rather difficult to deal with.

‘Well Michael, what would life be without a challenge, eh?’ Tommy responded before deciding to call it a night. If he could not have you, he did not want anyone at all.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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night-daily · 9 months

Text

Angeleyes pt 2 | Thomas Shelby x fem!reader

summary: It's Thomas turn to suffer.

warnings: none I guess?

a/n: I really hope you like this 2nd part, let me know what you think!:)

pt 1

It's been almost two years since the last time Thomas saw you and the last time he was sober, everyday was harder. Everyone can see how miserable was the leader of the Peaky Blinders, the one-time intimidating leader was now a living dead with black circles under his eyes but still the people were afraid of him, what is it more dangerous than a man with a broken heart who doesn't have nothing to lose?

Of course, that's how the people saw him but his family was something else. He almost doubted if still they were his family, all of them were on your side since they heard about what he did to you, every time he showed at Polly's house whoever was there would say something hurtful to him.

The day after Thomas cheated on you, after he didn't come after you, you were supposed to go together to a family reunion at The Garrison, now he was going alone even if he misses the touch of your hand on his but he'll never admit not even to himself.

As soon as he entered The Garrison he saw all the Shelby family, Polly, Ada, Arthur, and John were there. He didn't have the chance to sit in his place when Ada spoke out loud.

“I heard a rumor from the streets Tommy, and It better not be true” Ada's voice was sharp. Thomas lights up a cigarette acting indifferent. “But seeing your wife isn't here I assume it's true,” she paused giving him time to cut her off but he remain silent “you cheated on her!” she exclaimed slamming her hands on the table but Thomas didn't flinch. “Why no one says anything?” She was frustrated, Ada have loved you since the first time she met you, you were a great friend and a kind person so of course she was furious.

“Ada, I'm mad but honestly? It isn't a surprise, Thomas always liked to screw the pretty things it was just a matter of time.” Disappointment could be read on Polly's face.

“Why are you siding with her anyways? She's not family. Not anymore.” Thomas scoffed, breaking his silence.

“Because you fucked up, Thomas! Don't you get it? She was the most incredible thing it would ever happen to you and you fucked up.” Ada snapped back to him and stormed out of The Garrison and Polly was behind her.

Now he was alone with his brothers, he was sure they'll support him.

“At least now I can be with any women without sneaking around” But Thomas wasn't sure he wanted to be with another women now that you aren't there, he knew it was hypocrite but like people say ''you never know what you've got till it's gone''

John wasn't sure what to say or do, you were his partner in crime. Did he wanted to mess with someone? He'll go to find you and do crazy shit together but not anymore. “Sure Tommy” He muttered not making eye contact with him.

“But no one will be like her” Arthur said and he wasn't wrong, you changed everything around you, everything was better with you.

“Fuck off, Arthur”

Thomas never had the guts to visit your house after you leave him, it was too painful to remember you. Now he was standing in front of the door part of him waiting for you to welcome him home but now there was just an empty entry. He opened the door stepping into the house, everything was in his place, the chairs, the little table and, your paintings, everything was there except for you.

He begin walking upstairs to your room, he was nervous, what would he find in there? When you leave him he sent his people to look for you but none of them or him had find you, after all, you watched carefully how Thomas ran his business so you learned how to hide from him even when you never thought you will have to do it.

He drank from the alcohol he has with him all the time, when your ghost threat to appears to make him suffer. But this time it wasn't working, he could smell your favorite perfume through the door, excitedly he entered the room and you were there. How's that possible? He couldn't care less, he missed you, he wanted to hold you and kiss you and beg for your forgiveness. He stepped closer to you, lifting his hand to touch but then you turned your face to look at him “ You’re the last person I thought would hurt me” your voice made him hard swallow. “You never came after me Thomas, why?” Your eyes were filled up with tears. “I was about to-” You cut him off laughing dryly. “Don’t you think it’s about time you drop the act?” He avoided your eyes. “You know I'll wait all the time of the world and I did it but you never came.” “ Tell me what I can do to make you forgive me. I need to know how I can fix this!” His lip begins to tremble slightly. His hand went to his jacket, grabbing his pistol “Oh no, Tommy, dead is an easy way for you.” “But I don’t like feeling whatever the hell this is!” He was screaming exasperated on his knees “It's called heartbreak Thomas, bear it” You whispered to his ear “and it's just the beginning.” He ran away from you heading to the bathroom, and then he saw your wedding ring, he still wear it but you don't, did you stopped loving him since that day? He couldn't blame you. He hated himself too. Maybe more than you do.

And you were right, this was a big house but when he was with you, it felt it too small for your hearts and your future together.

tag: @budugu , @minaxcarter

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x fem! reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n

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corpsekiller · 1 year

Text

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧) — 𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. thomas shelby x fem!reader (maid!reader)

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. angst, seemingly unrequited love, pining, mentions of blood and weapons

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. you should have been more careful when you started working as a maid for thomas shelby, but how could you know that you'll fall for someone you can never have?

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.355 words

MASTERLIST PART 2

“Mr. Shelby, can I assist you with anything?” You quip cheerfully, setting down the silver tray loaded with tea and pastries on his desk. He didn’t ask for a glass of whiskey, but you brought one anyway and carefully push it into his direction — it’s been a stressful day and he seems rather grateful when he takes the drink with trembling hands and takes a tentative sip before he shakes his head, offering you a half-hearted smile instead.

It doesn’t quite reach his eyes and seems forced, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Such an act of courtesy may be simple, perhaps even meaningless to him, but after working under his name for nearly half a year, you’ve learned to treasure the rare occurrence of a faint smile, especially directed at you. A man like him certainly doesn’t need to approach people below his position with any kind of respect, yet he still shows efforts to treat you well, even if it’s just a twitch of his lips that hints at his gratitude.

You suppose his compassion comes from old memories of his childhood — you’ve heard the older maids tell stories about his earlier life, about his father and his deceased mother, about a young man who went to war and worked himself to the bone after he returned, all for the company. Everything he owns comes from dirt and blood beneath his fingernails and the callouses on each knuckle prove that he truly earned it.

Because he knows what it means to have nothing and that makes him kind.

You’ve always admired him for this, that tender spot in his heart that remained despite the blood he has spilled, despite the men he has slaughtered without hesitation, and the sins he committed for the sake of his family. No, he’s certainly not a good man, but he isn’t bad either. Many might disagree, but you couldn’t care less. Most of them don’t get close enough to see him, really see him as he is, and not what he pretends to be.

Not even you did, but there were moments when you caught a glimpse of what lies behind the facade of arrogance and violence he carries, those silent minutes when you brought him tea in the middle of the night, caught him staring blankly into space, too deep in thought to notice your presence until you dared to knock on the door or spent a peaceful moment together at dawn when he smoked by the window to watch the sun rise and allowed you to stay in his study after you served him breakfast.

It isn’t enough.

Your longing for him can’t be satiated and you doubt it ever will because you’ll never get close enough — Thomas Shelby is impossible to love and impossible to reach, yet you still yearn to be close to him and so, you choose to be content with watching him from afar, even if it hurts. You wonder if his dead wife felt the same. Sometimes, when you pass her portrait hanging above the staircase, you feel her deprecating stare burning in the back of your neck and you can’t help but whisper a guilty apology, hoping that she’ll forgive you and your desire for her husband.

“I’m in no place to ask this kind of question, but are you certain about attending dinner with your family this evening? You seem tense.” Your eyes trail over his features, the dark shadows beneath his lashes and the sharp curve of his cheekbones until they find his lips. They’re pale, bitten bloody in concentration and you’d love nothing more than to sweep your thumb over the abused skin and remind him that he doesn’t have to do this on his own, that he could find comfort in you and-

“It’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Thomas sighs warily and gently presses his fingers against his temple to ease the pounding headache that has been plaguing him since this morning. His patience runs especially thin today, you can see it in the restless fiddling of his fingers as if he’s toeing the line between his usually calm resolve and the anger he keeps locked in his chest, growing over weeks of tiring work and sleepless nights like a deadly tumor that slowly eats away at his sanity. It’s only a matter of time until he breaks and still, he doesn’t stop.

You asked Frances once, shortly after you moved into the country house to take on your new job as a maid, why he’s working himself to death like a madman, even though he has enough money to pay others to get their hands dirty for him. She had looked at you with a glint of fear in his eyes and pressed a wrinkly finger to her thin lips, quickly glanced over her shoulder as if she’d expected Mr. Shelby himself to stand behind her before yanking you closer.

'Don’t ask any questions about his work,' she had whispered. 'And stay away from him, dear child. The devil is a charming man and he’ll ruin you if you aren’t careful.'

She meant well, but she didn’t know that he already had you wrapped around his finger. Even before he first touched your hand and asked for your name, repeating it back to you and forming each syllable with his tongue, you belonged to him — all he had to do was look at you.

Perhaps that’s why you began to do more work than your job requires. Such a dutiful maid, staying up all night to be of service to him, although he never asks for more than a single glass of whiskey. In fact, he made it clear to his employees that their schedules only include keeping the house clean and presentable to unexpected visitors as well as preparing meals for him and his family, yet you still dare to step out of line to take care of him and his personal needs.

A pathetic attempt to catch his attention, though you know it’s in vain.

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” you nod timidly, struggling to remember what he said before you got lost in your own thoughts. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you. You can go and freshen up for this evening, love. I need you to be with me later,” he mutters and takes a plate of biscuits out of your hands, brushing over your knuckles in the process. Your heart pounds in your chest and your cheeks flush in embarrassment, betraying your true emotions in a matter of seconds and when he looks up, you recognize some sort of amusement in the endless blue of his eyes.

“Oh.”

Just like that, he knocks the wind out of your lungs. You think he has that effect on everyone he meets, pulls the words out of their mouths with his cold gaze and sharp tongue, but this time is different — his voice isn’t as keen as the razorblade sown into the rim of his flat cap, no, it’s gentle and warm, almost pleading if you listen close and your foolish heart slams against your ribs as a spark of hope ignites.

“Oh,” you repeat, a little breathless. Your mind reels for a response, something, anything, but every thought seems to slip out of your grasp and the words that tumble out of your mouth are barely distinguishable. “Thank you, Mr. Shelby. I promise... I promise I’ll be there.”

Your cheeks burn when you turn around on your heels and rush out of his study. Blood roars in your ears and your hands tremble, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, bunching the fabric and smoothing it back out until your knees give out and you find yourself hunched over on the bottom of the stairs. I need you to be with me plays in your head like a broken record and no matter how many times you try to tell yourself that it’s a lost cause, that there is no deeper meaning, you can’t stop yourself from hoping for more.

#thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders x y/n

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muddyorbsblr · 1 year

Text

the final Lady Sharpe part 1: across the threshold

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: To say your first day in Allerdale Hall with your new husband Sir Thomas Sharpe was "eventful" would be a gross understatement. Downright absurd would be a better descriptor.

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Warnings: ghosts; Lucille; murder attempt via poisoning; mentions of the "relationship" between Lucille & Thomas; steamy moment between the newlyweds

Things to be aware of: Reader & Thomas are newlyweds

"Save yourself."

You stiffened in Thomas' arms as the soft spoken tone reached your ears, eyeing your new husband with rapidly increasing worry. "Did you hear that?"

His eyes held a touch of concern, the smile he gave you -- while breathtaking as it always was -- not quite reaching his eyes as he gave you words of reassurance. "Must simply be the wind, darling. At times it blows so harshly through the piping of the house that it feels as if the halls themselves are whispering to you. It's ghastly, I know, but it's home."

The words sounded perfectly crafted, as if practiced and corrected many times before, doing nothing to ease the tension that had spread throughout your body as he carried you across the threshold. You made a show of giving him a reassured smile, consciously widening your eyes in an attempt to convince him that you doubted no portion of his answer. "Just the wind," you said softly when he set you back down on your feet.

"Just the wind," he echoed, placing his hat down on a nearby table before framing your face in large gloved hands and touching the tip of his cold nose to your own, the chill making you break out into a fit of giggles. "There's that sound I absolutely adore from you, my dear wife." Your giggles melded into a weakened sigh once he leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"Ah. There you are," a stern voice spoke from the other side of the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls as footsteps struck against tile then hardwood, the figure of Lucille Sharpe, your new sister-in-law, striding towards you. "You're finally home."

"Lucille," your husband breathed out, walking towards her and meeting his sister halfway and pulling her into a tight embrace.

Something in the sight immediately put you off, as if you sensed an intimacy between them that crossed the lines of familial love. Namely the way that she wrapped long fingers around his upper arm and leaned against his shoulder with her eyes closed, as if she was pressing a kiss on the spot.

"Welcome, Y/N," she finally spoke to you. "How have you been faring with the cold thus far?"

"Quite different from what I'm accustomed to but I can get used to just about anything," you answered her with a warm smile, subtly tilting your head at how she'd shaped her fingers like claws and dug the tips into Thomas' arm before releasing him from her hold.

"You're not imagining it. She abuses him. Makes him sleep with her," the same voice from earlier spoke. "Every night. He won't be laying with you later."

"Well you cannot possibly have adjusted so quickly. Why don't I fix us all some tea and, Thomas you can draw your bride a bath and start a fire? Give her a semblance of home to help her adjust a touch quicker?" The words seemed welcoming enough; her smile, however, made you wish to go back out into the biting winter cold instead. You might fare better against nature than against Lucille.

"Truly, Lucille? Tea this early? We'd just gotten home, we've not had the chance to even begin to unpack our belongings." You began to eye your husband with the same suspicion now, narrowing your eyes at his question that seemed as if they were speaking of more than just 'tea'.

"It will help warm her up," she insisted. "All of us, really."

His sharp exhale filled the room, his arm reaching out towards you when you began to walk further into the house and wrapping around your shoulders. "Very well then." His tone towards her had grown more formal, dismissive even. "Shall I show you to our room, Lady Sharpe?" He gave you a warm smile, this time the kind that reached his eyes as you nodded your assent.

A mixture of your giggles and his filled the house as he scooped you up into his arms once more and carried you up the stairs.

You tried to suppress your blush as you were treated to the view of your husband busying himself in your bedroom, insisting you 'sit back and not worry a single hair on that pretty head' while he prepped the fireplace. Of course, who were you to refuse a comfortable room with a view, especially when said view came in the form of Thomas Sharpe, coats shrugged off and sleeves rolled up to his elbows starting a fire to keep you warm?

The orange light of the kindling fire began to wash over the room, already making you feel as if you could breathe easier as your husband gave you an adorably triumphant smile. "Oh my word," he breathed out, rising to his feet and slowly making his way to you.

"What is it?" A warmth bloomed inside you, his fingertips lightly tracing your features with one hand while the other began to undo the bun in your hair. If only that warmth wasn't accompanied by the pit forming in your stomach as you remembered what that voice whispered in your ear downstairs.

"You are breathtaking in this light, darling." He ran his fingers through your hair, touching your chin with his free hand and tilting your head upward as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. The feel of him groaning against your skin sent your heart into a frenzy and your stomach fluttering like a dozen butterflies had just taken residence inside.

Every touch of your lips seemed more frantic than the last, feeling yourself getting more and more lost in him. Almost to the point that you forgot where you were. In a gloomy creepy near-derelict mansion that was potentially filled with ghosts that were talking to you confirming your intuition about Lucille and your husband having a debauched relationship in a secret held within the decaying walls. And so far away from the city where if you were to meet an untimely demise it would take days, maybe even weeks, before anyone at home was informed of your passing.

All of that seemed to fade away while you stayed in his arms.

"What if I drew us both a bath?" he murmured against your lips, giving you one more lingering kiss before pulling away, his expression darkened with such explicit lust that it had you struggling to breathe.

"How scandalous," you teased, your breath hitching in the back of your throat when you felt his fingers playing with the buttons securing the collar of your dress behind your neck.

The corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk once he worked the buttons undone and his fingertips met the skin of your neck, a whimper slipping from your lips as he slipped the piece of fabric off of you. "My darling, we are husband and wife." You bit your lips to muffle a moan when he leaned in to press a kiss to the newly exposed skin. "There is nothingscandalous about us sharing a bath, if you're willing."

He continued to press kiss after kiss along the column of your neck, and you suddenly felt a heat spreading throughout your body that had nothing to do with the fire steadily crackling on a few feet away from you. "Well in that case, dear husband, I think that's a wonderful--"

The sharp sound of knuckles rapping on the door broke the heady spell you were under, both of you suddenly standing upright, Thomas' arm now wrapped around you with his hand splayed on the side of your waist as he pulled you to his side. "Is everyone decent?" you heard Lucille's voice clear and piercing through the door.

"Decent enough," your husband called out, chuckling as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Thomas what on Earth could you possibly mean by--Oh…" The look on her face may as well have dropped to the ground when her eyes befell the sight before her. Your now exposed neck, hair flowing down your back, Thomas' own overcoat and waistcoat draped haphazardly over the tall armchair, shirt wrinkled from where your hands clutched at him from moments earlier, the first few buttons undone and exposing his defined chest. "Seems I interrupted a private moment."

"Oh it's no trouble really--" you started just as Thomas said, "Yes, you did."

You did what you could to stifle your smile, giving way to him continuing his sentiment instead. "I was just about to draw a bath for my wife. And myself." Once more you fought to keep your expression unchanged as her neck so visibly twitched at the lurid implications of his words.

The voice from earlier was back. But she wasn't talking to you, rather she was talking to…another voice. You could barely make out names in the conversation. Edith. Enola. Talking about how Thomas was different with you, how he seemed to be protecting you almost.

"I'm sure the bath can wait, dear husband," you said, plastering on a warm smile you strived to reach your eyes.

"But I'm not quite sure that I can," he shot back with a chuckle, pulling you closer to him.

"Come on, sweetheart, Lucille made us tea. It'd be a shame for it to go cold." You looked to him with wide eyes, seeing how his jaw clenched for a moment before he briefly narrowed his eyes at his sister. And she was looking to you with a conspiratorial smirk, as if she felt the satisfaction of finding in you some ally. But you knew that look for what it really was; you'd seen it enough times throughout your ventures in London.

It was the look of an assumed mastermind pleased to see that a pawn was carrying out a leg of a plan on their own volition. And thus playing into their own trap. Run, little mouse, run, her eyes seemed to say. Right into my snare.

"You have your sensibilities about you, Y/N. I like you already."

"I've been around London enough times to know how you get with your tea," you joked, your cheeks aching from the smile you were trying to keep up. It seemed worth the dull ache, though, with the single nod she gave you as she poured out the hot beverage in two of the cups on the tray. The third one, however, had already been filled. And that was the cup she held out to you.

"I wasn't sure how you preferred it, so I took a guess on somewhere between lukewarm and fresh off the kettle. I hope it is to your liking, my new sister."

"You're very kind, Lucille. Thank you." You brought the cup up to your nose, taking in the aroma. "This…smells quite different from the teas I've had in London. What is it?"

"Firethorn berries," your husband answered. "Lucille picks them out in the garden and crushes them herself."

So cyanide, you thought to yourself, wondering if Thomas' omission of whether the crushed berries had been washed was intentional or simply an oversight on his part. They're trying to kill me.

You could feel your heart sinking from the realization that you'd married in such a rush and now you were to face the consequences. Your rational mind screaming obscenities at you for being so foolish to fall for the words of an angelic face and a devilish voice, and another voice trying to scream louder that you had to think of something quick lest one of them shove the drink down your throat and start the poisonous process.

"Don't drink it! The poison is in the tea!" one of the voices screamed.

"She has to. Lucille will kill her if she doesn't," the first voice, the guiding voice, answered her.

You took a breath, mustering all your confidence as you hoped that the wayward idea that flew through your mind in the last few moments would work convincingly enough. Raising the cup to your lips, the moderately hot liquid slipped past your lips, and you let it stay there a second before breaking out into a fit of coughs and spitting out majority of the drink, blindly looking for a place to set down the cup and doubling over and arching your back with each cough.

"Y/N!" The cup was taken out of your hand, Thomas pulling you close to him, moving your hair out of your face and running his hand up and down your back, trying to calm the fit. "Darling what happened?"

"I'm not quite sure," you answered through heaving breaths, both of you having sunk to the floor on your knees in the midst of your show. You fought against your instinct to stiffen in his hold as he pulled you to him, cradling you against his chest. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think firethorn berries was an exception to my allergies."

"Allergies?!" Lucille snapped. "Thomas, you never mentioned anything about your new wife's allergies when you wrote to me about her."

"It's my fault," you answered her. "Honestly it was such a whirlwind romance and the wedding happened so fast there was so much we didn't get to know about each other." You gave a regretful look to your husband. "I'm sorry."

He gave you this sorrowful look, complete with teary eyes, furrowed upturned brows, and quivering lip, before pulling you closer again and resting your head on his shoulder. "This isn't your fault, darling. None of this is your fault. I'm just glad you're alright." You kept at it with your heaving breaths, gradually easing yourself back to a regular rhythm. "How about I fix us something to eat after we freshen up?"

You gave him a weak nod, inwardly hissing that you'd rather starve than let them have another attempt at your life like that. Letting out a few more weak coughs and making sure to cover your mouth lest Lucille or Thomas know what an allergic reaction ideally looked like and realize that you'd been putting on a show, you turned your gaze to Lucille. "I'm so sorry you went through all this trouble--"

"It's no trouble at all, dear sister," she cut you off, the icy rage poorly veiled in her eyes despite the smile she was clearly straining to give you. "As Thomas said, what matters is that you're alright." Her eyes flickered to her brother one last time before she turned and left your bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Let me go get you some water, darling." Thomas held your hands as you both stood, holding you close to him again when you were both up on your feet. "I could have sworn I felt my heart drop to the ground when you seemed about to hack out your lung from those heaves."

He'd led you to the ensuite and turned on the tap. Once the water began to run you straightened your stance and stepped out of his hold, your coughs suddenly -- suspiciously -- a thing of the past. "It's so sweet of you to be so concerned, Thomas." The furrow between his brows deepened, the water overflowing from the glass and onto his hand. "Now tell me. Whose idea was it to poison me, dear husband?" You sneered the words now, as if they themselves were poison to even utter. "Was it yours? Or your sister's?"

A/N: Welcome to…the series that I didn't actually intend to be a series 😅 When I was planning out this request I only intended for it to be 3 parts, and then I started writing it 2 days ago I realized that I'd be cramming way too much into one part if I wrote it the way I first planned, so it became 4 parts…and then 5…and now it's 8.

But I honestly look forward to diving into this story and sharing it with you all, and I just hope y'all like it, too 💖💛

‘everything’ taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina

#thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x female reader #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak fanfiction #the final lady sharpe #muddyorbs writes #fic requests #500 follower celebration

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zablife · 1 year

Text

Keep Us Safe (Part 2)

Tommy Shelby x wife reader

Summary: Family history repeats itself when your daughter is taken by parish authorities. This time Tommy won't let them get away with it.

Author’s Note: I have rearranged certain events from S1-2 canon to suite my purposes. Part 2 was getting too long so I split it up. Part 3 will be the conclusion.

Warnings: language, ethnic slur, kidnapping, sexual assault (not graphic), mention of blood

Part 1

Tommy startled at the sound of the phone’s shrill ring, bringing him back to reality. “Mr. Shelby, it’s done. Stanley Chapman was picked up this morning. Inspector Campbell is questioning him now, but he appears to be who you say he is.”

“Thank you,” Tommy said, dropping the receiver and exhaling in relief. The bait he had dangled in front of Campbell had worked and he could once again concentrate on the upcoming race. He would approach Kimber there and everything had to be perfect.

“Arthur!” he yelled. “Arthur, get in here!”

Arthur peered around the frosted glass door asking, “What’s all the shouting?”

“I need you to talk to that barmaid, Arthur. And get a haircut! We’re going to the races!” he proclaimed happily.

————————————————————

Nora played quietly on the rug with her teddy bear as you kissed Tommy goodbye in the kitchen. Placing his hands at your hips to quell the nervous anticipation of the day, he said, “Kimber will accept. He won’t have any other choice.”

Unlacing your hands from his neck, you ran your fingertips over the shorn hair at the back of his head absently, biting your lip as you asked, “Are you sure about this?”

He fixed you with a reassuring gaze, promising, “Things are going to change for us after today, love. It’s all going to be different.”

You nodded, placing complete faith in him when he set his mind to something. However, you still worried for him and his brothers. “Please be careful, Tommy,” you begged, placing a tender kiss to his lips.

“Don’t worry about me. The most important thing is to look after yourself and Nora. Remember what I told you about staying inside. You’ll have men at the door-“ he said, repeating the information he’d told you the night before.

He hadn’t allowed Esme to take Nora to the park since that unsettling revelation you were being watched and he didn’t let you go anywhere unaccompanied nowadays. Your safety was his greatest concern. He knew his part of the deal with Campbell had been fulfilled, but there was something about the crooked policeman that didn’t sit well with him.

You placed a finger to his lips as you smiled. “We’ll be fine. I love you, Thomas Shelby. You keep us safe.” His heart swelled with pride as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll be back in time to put Nora to bed,” he said, turning to watch his little girl. He broke away from you to kneel down to her on the rug, kissing her curls as he patted her little head. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear. She turned from her game of make believe to hand him her teddy bear and place a kiss to his cheek. Tommy could only stare at the brilliant blue of her eyes so much like his own, yet holding an expression of love and warmth she’d clearly learned from you. The look of unconditional love for him took him aback.

He cleared his throat of the lump that had formed, handing her teddy back to her gently and standing to leave, he pulled his cap over his brow with a sharp tug. It was time to get on with the business of the day.

—————————————————————

Having tired her with games and songs after lunch, Nora collapsed onto the carpet without warning, overcome by the need for sleep. You chuckled to yourself as you remembered her last feisty words to you, “No nap, mumma!” She could be just as stubborn as Tommy at times, but how angelic she looked as she slept. You put the dishes aside, wiping your hands on your apron as you moved to collect her, but a sharp whistle broke the peaceful silence.

Before you could make your way to the window, more of the same piercing noise could be heard up and down the lane. The sounds of horses and stomping boots became louder and you swore you felt horse hooves in your chest, beating at your rib cage as the pounding at your own door began. Despite the protection of the blinders posted at your door, you ran to Nora, sweeping her up into your arms as she whimpered at the interruption of her rest. You heard the men at the door being asked to stand aside for the police and you strained to listen for their reply. The men dutifully denying the residence was occupied, saying you’d moved weeks ago.

You bowed your head to Nora's pleading, “Shhh, my darling. Please don’t make a sound. Mummy needs you to be very quiet.” However, the feeling of your racing pulse against her and the nervous tone of your voice only served to frighten her. When another round of knocking began, she let out a long wail and you held your breath as you listened to the sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the threshold. As shots rang out, you ran and ducked behind the sofa, covering Nora with your body, praying the blinders had kept you safe.

A brief silence lulled you before your front door swung open slowly, the hinges creaking as boots thudded across the floorboards. A blinder would have called out to you, making his presence known. This was an intruder and your body shook with uncontrollable tremors, knowing you were without a weapon to defend yourself and your child. You kissed her forehead as she sobbed, listening to the terrible sound echo off the walls and feeling utterly exposed.

A policeman towered over you suddenly, observing you with a sour expression. “Just here,” he said, pointing out your position to someone you couldn’t see. “You can begin,” he ordered. Two more men marched in behind him, turning the house upside down with violent force, smashing dishes and overturning chairs.

You were hauled to your feet, still clutching Nora to your chest, as you asked, “What’s happening?”

No one answered you, but a fourth man joined the fray soon after. He was much older with graying whiskers and a bowler hat which he removed as though conducting civilized business as his men continued vandalizing your home. “Mrs. Shelby, are you aware of the criminal empire your husband is running right here in this city of hardworking, decent people?” he asked, softy at first, but his voice growing in anger and insistence. You stood motionless, tracking his movements with your eyes as he continued his tirade. You rubbed Nora's back to soothe her and she sucked her thumb against you, letting out hiccuped sobs.

“My name is Inspector Chester Campbell and it’s my job to see that men like Thomas Shelby don’t upset the rule of law. I’m sorry to say that he has and for that he will have to be punished,” he said with a stern look. You gulped, fearing the worst for your husband’s well being, but you stayed strong. Adjusting Nora on your hip, you stood tall, head held high.

“My husband has done nothing wrong,” you said, finding your voice in defense of Tommy. “He’s a respectable business man who only wishes for a peaceful city in which his business can thrive.”

Campbell laughed at the notion. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to stay with a cutthroat mongrel gangster, but understand there will be consequences.” As the hateful vitriol spewed from his lips, his men approached with various items including guns, blades and opium. Campbell scowled at you, shaking his head as he scoffed loudly, “I wouldn’t call this respectable. In fact, Mrs. Shelby, in my professional opinion, I would say this home is clearly unfit for children.”

Your stomach dropped and you knees went weak as he motioned to one of his men uttering an emotionless order, “Take the child.” On instinct, you backed away from the man who came toward you, begging him, “No, please. She’s just a baby. You can’t take my child from me. This isn’t right!” The more you talked, the more desperate you became, kicking at his shins.

In a flurry of movement, you were restrained and Nora was ripped from your arms, screaming for you with deafening cries. “Mumma! Mumma!” she shrieked, face contorting in agony. You reached out for her, thrashing against the men who held you, cursing at them and finally spitting at one in an attempt to break free. In a fit of anger, one of them grabbed your throat, slamming you against the opposite wall. The back of your skull connected with a sickening thud, vision going fuzzy as you watched Nora being carried away and you willed yourself to stay awake.

Campbell’s dark form came back into your line of sight and he dismissed the policeman holding you, watching you tilt forward and heave for breath with an unsettling hunger in his gaze. You bit back tears to prove he had not broken you, trying to hold your composure as best you could. Nora was just beyond the door and though he stood between you, you still held out hope you could get to her.

Bringing your attention back to him, the inspector cruelly taunted, “Not going to cry?”

“You’ll be the one crying when Tommy finds out what you’ve done, you pathetic old man,” you spat at him.

He slapped you across the face hard enough to turn your head, his ring splitting your lip open in the process. Distracted by the taste of blood in your mouth, you inhaled sharply at the sudden, rough drag of his stubble against your cheek as he hissed in your ear, “And you’re nothing but a gypsy fenian slut.”

He grabbed your chin to force you to look at him as he ran a hand up your skirt. He noticed the tears welling in your eyes, giving you a sickening smile. “I have to admit, I do have a great curiosity though. Like a magpie who sees something shining in the mud,” he said, moving his hand up your thigh toward your apex. “He has no need for the silver, but he takes it anyway.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Campbell caught it, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

He shook his head as he replied with condescension dripping from his voice, “I’m not the one responsible for this unfortunate chain of events. No, my dear. It would be best to remember that your husband did this to you.”

—————————————————-

John and Arthur badly wanted a drink after the long day at Tommy’s side, but they had promised to look in on Y/n on their way to the Garrison as Tommy took the important papers and earnings to the safe. Trudging along Watery Lane, they indulged in a quick drink, swigging from Arthur’s hip flask as they recounted the day’s events, laughing and boasting to one another. However, they both stopped short when they came to Tommy’s house, a peculiar sight catching their eye. A pair of boots stuck out at an odd angle from the alley and as Arthur went to investigate, John heard him mutter, “No, no, no…” John rounded the corner to find a blinder dead of a gunshot wound, one of the same men tasked with protecting Y/n and Nora.

John’s feet fell fast along the cobblestones as he rushed to push open the front door of the house. Once inside, he found it shrouded in darkness. He lit the lamp on the kitchen table as he called out for you and Nora, but received no response. Arthur quickly followed and ran his hands through his hair in distress as he took note of the wrecked house, John still searching for any sign of you. Then as he came to the foot of the stairs, he heard an unsettling sound, quiet whining like the sound of a wounded animal. He gulped as he turned to find you, huddled in the corner clutching a knife.

“Y/n, oh, my God,” John said, kneeling to where you sat, staring ahead of you. He raised the lamp to your face and was horrified to find you beaten and bleeding, the state of you worse as he lowered the light. He took in the sight of your torn dress and stockings, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his reaction. Then he quickly got hold of himself reassuring you, “You’re going to be alright. Tommy’s on his way,” but you didn’t seem to hear any of it. He wrenched the knife from your hands, as Arthur came to stand over you both.

Although he was afraid of the answer, Arthur asked, “Where’s Nora, love?” At the mention of your daughter’s name, you came back to reality for a moment, breathing sharp ragged breaths to push the words out, “Gone…she’s gone. They took her,” you said as you began to shake.

John removed his jacket and placed it around you carefully. “Can you tell us who it was?” he prodded gently.

Before you could answer, Tommy was storming through the open door, looking about wildly at the destruction of his home and possessions. Arthur held him back suggesting, “Tommy, it’s bad. We should get Pol.” Then Tommy heard John talking to someone and his head snapped toward the sound. You were here and alive!

Tommy shoved his brother aside without thought, needing to be with you and Nora. However, he was immediately confused. Someone was crying, but it wasn’t his daughter's tiny whimpers. Had she gone to sleep, he wondered? He was supposed to put her to bed tonight, he remembered suddenly and a tidal wave of dread washed over him. He followed the dim light slowly then, crossing the floor as though weights had been tied to his feet. He realized he didn’t want to know the truth.

And then he was upon you, the light not strong enough to illuminate all of you at once and yet, allowing him to see far more than he could bear. With your arms wrapped tightly across your body you whispered, “Campbell,” into the silent room.

“What did she say?” Tommy asked, throat suddenly too dry to swallow.

John looked up at his brother with hesitancy, then explained, “I asked who did this to her. Who took Nora.” That’s when Tommy’s heart caved in.

——————————————————-

Tommy placed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets, attempting to ease the exhaustion he felt behind his eyes. In the two months since the attack, he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. When he wasn’t working to find Nora, he was watching over you, trying to get you to eat or sleep. It wasn’t easy because you’d withdrawn into yourself, sick with grief and the lingering effects of your trauma. Your wounds had healed, but now headaches and nausea incapacitated you. You no longer ventured outside the house and Polly was doing most of the shopping. She also took it upon herself to look in on you both again in the evenings for added measure.

“Pol, she can’t go on like this,” Tommy said one night after begging you to rest.

Polly pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it, turning away from him.

“Polly, I said Y/n is sick. Something has to be done or I’m going to lose my wife,” Tommy said with greater insistence as he made a desperate plea to the one person he thought might be able to help.

Tapping her fingers against the table for a moment, Polly thought about whether she could betray your confidence. As she stole a glance at her nephew, she braced herself for a difficult conversation. Taking his hand in hers, she confided, “She’s pregnant, Tommy.”

Cont reading Part 3

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

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader

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saintmuses · 4 months

Text

❝𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙤❞

Pairing:

Thomas Shelby x “Dead” Wife!Reader

Summary:

Thomas’ wife died in his arms that fateful night, so how was she standing in front of him years later? Too much time and space led them to having a conversation that was long overdue.

Warning(s): Both POVs. Angst. Jealousy. Emotional infidelity. Mutual pining. Fluff. Undefined ending (ambiguous?). Minors, dni! Note: I was listening to Dolly Parton’s I Will Always Love You when I wrote this!

Word Count: 2.9k

October 1931

“Thomas.” A whisper.

His crystal blue eyes stared blankly at the woman in front of him. She looked…different as if she was living within time and not the other way around. Not as a ghost.

The last time he had seen her was seven years ago. One moment she was looking at him with soft twinkles in her depths, with a smile that felt like warm spring and the next her eyes were empty, lifeless with blood smeared across her chest as she died in his arms. Or so he had thought. She was dead, right? The doctor who was tending to her that night had informed him that she lost too much blood which was the reason why she did not make it. Even went far as to tell him the time of death.

She may have been declared dead in the hospital, but she had died in his arms.

He inhaled slowly, as he sought for her scent as he looked at her tentatively. Not believing she was standing in front of him all this time.

“Y/N?”

A few hours later she was standing by the bookshelves at the Arrow House as her sharp eyes took in the scene before her. The Shelby family were scattered across the room of Thomas’ office. They were all clamoring to each other, arguing in hushed voices as they try to figure out how to place her in a society that lived on. Seven years was a long time and much had changed in terms of trying to integrate within society.

The only people missing were John and Esme including their children. John Shelby had been dead for a few years now, and his wife had left with children because why else would she want to stay with a family who brought nothing but death due ambition they had not yet found the limit to, and enemies that was made in the process of climbing their way to the top of the world?

She also made a mental note of new additions that weren’t in the room with them. Arthur and Linda’s child, along with Thomas’ daughter and wife, Lizzie. Imagine her surprise before she was released from the hellhole she had been suffering in she was told stories upon stories about the Shelby family that was once hers.

She was unfazed by the sight in front of her, but it still did not take away the searing pain that rushed through her when she saw the family lived those seven years that she couldn’t.

She decided to end the argument with a simple statement. “I would just say I’m her twin,” she said wryly. They all stared at her with apprehension in their eyes as if this plan was going to fail before it ever got the chance to begin.

January 1932

A brimming fire that was lit every night in his office, and a glass of Irish whiskey didn't prevent the loneliness that he was very familiar with for years now especially after when he thought Y/N died. It had only worsened when she left despite not being that far away from him.

When he was in London to deal with the parliamentary hearings back in December, he found out she had found herself a shelter at Ada’s house. He would not call it a home for her because her home was here at the Arrow House. Not anywhere else.

He had fell into an indescribable rage when he came home to find her and her belongings -she had chosen for herself after settling back into society- gone without any trace. The staff had to clean the pile of broken crystal tumblers by the fireplace the next day.

He was forced to let her go when she was dead, and now he couldn’t have her back when she was alive.

When she was living at the Arrow House, they would just walked past each other in hallways with stilted conversations that ended after three sentences. It hurt him to look at her and not being able to kiss her with everything he had and hold her in his arms. He wanted to do that despite being married to someone else. If he was a better man, he would’ve done the right thing and divorce Lizzie to end her and his suffering, but he knew Y/N wouldn’t want him to do that just because she was a ghost that came back to the land of living, figuratively and he has his children to think about despite wanting to be selfish. If he was a better man, he would’ve not done things like he had in the last seven years. He would’ve done better.

Polly came by earlier and accidentally dropped a hint with an undefined twinkle in her eyes that Y/N was enjoying a night out at the Garrison. The implications were there, he was sure of it.

The logical thing to do was to let her be, she could rebuild her life at the shelter she decided to run away to hide in and find herself a gentleman who could make her happy again after these years that was taken from her. Unfortunately for someone like Thomas Shelby, he would never let logic dictate him when he was filled with fire ashes and brimstone.

If he was a better man, he would’ve done the right thing and let her go.

It was lively inside of the building once he entered the pub. It was a world difference inside than it was outside with the street resembling the dead quiet of a night.

His eyes scanned the bustling crowd, eyes twitching at the sounds of laughter scattered across the room, and his jaw clenched slightly when his eyes found the target.

She was sitting in the booth at the corner of the pub, laughing at the unknown man’s jokes. He was fairly certain that the jokes the stranger was telling weren’t funny at all.

Or perhaps he wasn’t a funny man because he rarely found anything funny anymore. Thomas thought to himself.

“Everyone, get out now!” His shout in the shape of a command pierced through the lively crowd, cutting the atmosphere into cold and deadly quiet except for the gramophone that was spouting out some sort of music.

She turned her head toward the right to see Thomas giving the man she was on a date with a cold set of icy eyes as they walked past each other. She internally sighed, knowing he was a time ticking bomb waiting to be triggered.

She played with the glass in her hand as he removed his overcoat, placing it on padding of the booth.

“Why are you here, Thomas?” She asked, with tiredness in her eyes as she looked at the man sitting across from her.

Obviously, he was not going to answer her question with the way he was giving her a silent treatment despite the fact he was looking at her with indescribable look on his handsome face albeit haunted by the past. Her.

She stared at him momentarily before scoffing. “You’re wasting your time coming all the way out here. Go back to your office, and drink whatever the fuck you drink nowadays and smoke until there’s nothing left to smoke since that’s all you’re good at. The way I live my life now is not your problem anymore.”

His stoic stance weakened after she spat out the words at him. “You think you’re not…” he trailed off, before narrowing his gaze at her. “You think you’re not my problem anymore?” Sounding nearly incredulous at her flippant attitude.

“Aren’t you? Seven years had been gone and this is what you do now as if I’m not your problem.”

“‘Course you’re my fucking problem. I’m fucking hurting inside,” he snapped, icy eyes blazing with frustration. “That’s why I’m always holed up in the office because I don’t know how to deal with someone who was supposed to be dead, supposed to be a ghost in the paintings. I’m dealing with it by drinking whatever the fuck I’m drinking nowadays, and smoking ‘til there’s nothing left to smoke.” He used her words in a slight twisted way, almost mockingly. “Let get this one thing straight, you are my fucking problem, but you always will be because we both know the truth.” He wanted to say you’re my problem because I still fucking love you as if those years hadn’t passed, and you know that too. However, he didn’t. “I sit in there all the time with fire as my companion, especially now when you’re avoiding the house and you’re avoiding me as well.” He growled at her, but his tone twinged with anguish at the truth despite the fact he couldn’t handle her being around, he wanted her to stay. If he was a good man, he wouldn’t want to make her his problem ever so willingly.

The brown liquid sloshed on the sides heavily before it spilled over the glass as she slammed it down on top of the table in front of her. “It’s hard for me to be in that house with everything that I…” don’t even have anymore, she thought to herself. “Bless Lizzie. She is Charlie’s mum despite the fact I was the one who gave birth to him because she is the one he knows…but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less because he can’t even look at me.” She chuckled as bitterness rolled through her veins. Her eyes landed on the patterns of the wood in the table because she refused to look at Thomas as she continued. “And I have to watch you be someone else’s husband, and it hurts because you’re not mine. Not anymore.” She shook her head, biting down her bottom lip. “You may have married to her on a piece of paper, but you aren’t even remotely loyal to her because you whored yourself around to the point where I’m fucking surprised you didn’t even get a case of goddamn syphilis, and I know you stopped doing that the moment you found out I was alive.”

“You have any idea how much it hurts to know all this shit you’ve been doing for years? You were self-destructing then, and you are still doing it now!” She snapped; her eyes landed on Thomas’ unrelenting gaze which made her a bit nervous because it meant he was on autopilot. Inner turmoil rolling through him, of that she was sure of. “You also refused to remove the portraits after I was gone, and now they just remind me of memories that don’t belong in this time, the things I don’t have anymore.” She exhaled before lifting the glass to her lips, tilting the crystal object to feel the burn of the liquid that spilled into her mouth before placing the glass back on the surface.

“I may be alive, but I did die in your arms that night, and seven years went by because I never had a choice. I haven’t lived my life either in those years I was gone. Life goes on, and I know that. You’re living your life and I have to start mine in a different time and different place.” Resentment rolled through her veins as anger crashed in waves inside of her mind as she thought back to the moment when she found out she had been a ghost for almost a decade. She couldn’t count the days that had been gone where she was holed up at.

“I have to move on, Thomas. You can’t be angry at me for that,” she whispered, swallowing thickly as she hated those words that came out of her mouth.

Fuck. He seethed internally, inhaling sharply to remind himself to settle down. He understood why she had to move on, although he wished she wasn’t trying to. Despite the fact he was married to Lizzie, he could barely move on these days when he thought Y/N died in his arms. However, it became much more harder nowadays because she was sitting in front of him, and she was not a ghost anymore who haunted him from his past. Instead, she was a living breathing person who was trying to move on because she felt she had to. Fuck.

And here they were. Suffering because she was alive in front of him and he had a life without her, the one he had because life went on, it never stopped.

He was married to Lizzie for his daughter’s sake, due to his position in Parliament. If he hadn’t gotten her impregnated then…or if he had noticed something was different that night when Y/N fell into his arms…“I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at myself.”

“Why?” She was perplexed despite knowing him well enough that his anger was rarely directed at her.

“If I had known there was something amiss…”

She interrupted him softly, “how would you? You thought I died in your arms. There was nothing to be amiss. It was the end.” She pointed out nearly casually as if she was quoting the Bible.

He slammed his fist onto the table, the crystal tumblers that was on the furniture rattled violently in response to the force of his hand. “It shouldn’t have to be!” He roared as his eyes darkened. His brummie accent thundering in the emptiness of the pub. “I didn’t have a choice, Y/N. We both didn’t. That bastard took you away from me, from Charlie…took time from us. He took everything from us. From me!” He was nearly frothing at the mouth with spittle flying everywhere due to how angry he was.

So close.

“Thomas,” she paused after observing his facial expression abridged in anger and anguish. “We have…time.” It was a statement she thought she would never get to say. “Obviously we have a lot to talk about. Even the things we don’t want to, but we have to.” She murmured, reaching to trace her finger onto the rim of her glass. “For now, we just pretend that the world is not all fucked up. The moment the time strikes eleven in the morning, that is when we will talk about the last seven years with transparency. Can we do that?”

Thomas stared at her, unblinkingly as the anger receded before nodding slightly in acknowledgment. It was agreeable considering he had a perchance of needing to know what happened to her.

After all it was one of the rotating questions that ran through his mind whenever he looked at her. What had happened to you while you were away? What happened to you that I couldn’t protect you from? What happened?

Soft notes of the music wafted through the quiet air of Garrison.

“We’re in a different time,” he murmured, gazing down at her with softened eyes. “And many things have changed,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “But…not this.”

He pushed the chair away from the table before standing up, walking around it to stand by her presence, then held his hand out towards her.

"May I have this dance?"

She looked up curiously, to see his hand in front of her albeit trembling slightly. She wanted to frown because that wasn’t like Thomas, but perhaps things changed for him inside too. She blinked at him, then she slowly smiled at him after evaluating his expectant expression. At least that part hadn’t changed.

She got up from the table, pink tainting her cheeks as she blushed deeply, gripping his fingers as she laid her hand onto his, and gave him a smile that outshined the ceiling light bulbs in the pub. It made his heart flutter, of course it didn’t do it without anguish either. He loved her and yet she was too far away for him to have her back where she belonged.

He led her to the middle of the room where they had room to dance.

She curled her palm onto his left hand, her index and thumb are hairsbreadth away from each other just like their bodies as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Gripping his hand as she reached for his shoulder with her other hand.

He gazed down at her intensely as they began their first step, and she stared at his face, caressing the back of his shoulder with her hand, eyes flickering to his briefly before turning her head away slightly.

They were dancing like they had been when she was Lady Sarah of Connemara at the races. They were dancing like they had been in the quiet room in her old flat as they were hiding from the coppers. They were dancing like they had been the night they got married.

Back then when their world wasn’t so fucked up the way it was now.

Everything had changed, and yet it felt like nothing had shifted along with time when she was in his arms.

He seemed to agree with her silent musings when he pulled her closer to his frame than she had thought possible. Her fingers gripped his shoulder slightly in response when he traced his fingers across her back.

He turned his head slowly, and she could see slight tendons in his neck as he swallowed. “We…we’ll figure it out. Okay, Y/N?” He murmured into her ear, his voice was low and comforting.

She nodded.

As they swayed to the soft notes of the song, she laid her chin on his shoulder to savor the feeling of his presence. Her eyes began to well up with tears that never fell.

As the song came to a slow end, their eyes met as she moved her head away from his shoulder. Ending the moment when she had to let go of his hand, taking a step back reluctantly as she continued to stare at his face. Neither were willing to break the connection as his gaze made her burn like it had been in the past.

So fucking close.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine

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