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red-riding-wood · 4 months

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Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

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

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

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

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

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

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

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

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

Until he came along and ruined everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined.

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

“But a king nonetheless.”

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

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

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

“I’m under contract.”

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

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

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

You hated them. You hated them all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

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

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

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

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392 notes · View notes

red-write-hand · 6 months

Text

"As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.”

pairing -> thomas shelby x f!oc

trope -> hurt/comfort, argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband

warning -> argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband, fluffy ending (i promise)

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He sat back in his plush chair. Today wasn't a good day in general. Between his brothers pissing him off and a couple business deals going south, it seemed like he couldn’t catch a break. He tilted his head back while his eyelids fluttered close. All he needed was time. All he needed was peace and quiet. He knew he was forgetting something but he couldn’t tell what he was forgetting. Like something was supposed to happen but nothing happened. He shook his head and started to pour another glass of whiskey. Another storm was brewing on the horizon. He hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. The great big door swung closed. The house had grown darker than it usually was, the dark oak everywhere kept it ambient but now, with the threat of something coming, it seemed even darker. Someone hung up their coat. Then it dawned on Tommy who had just arrived. His wife. His wife who had tear stained cheeks and wet hair. She didn’t look at him as she kicked off her shoes. His thoughts started to quicken as he tried to figure out what he had forgotten. Turns out, she was going to answer that for him.

“For a man who projects the idea that he is on top of everything, you seem to forget what you say is most important to you.” She silently walked up to their shared room, quietly shutting the door behind her. He could hear her faint tears through the door. What had he forgotten? He sat back down in his office. He took a long drag of his cigarette. What was happening today? What was so special about today? What exactly had he forgotten? Upstairs, she slumped against the door. Her cheeks felt hot tears slide down them as she cried for a husband that took her for granted. She knew this was not true all the time, not the nights where he kissed the length of her body and made up for all the long nights and forgotten promises, not the days that he took off work and spent the day in bed with her, not the times where he noticed that she was uncomfortable and he slipped his hand in hers to reassure her that he was there, not the times where he let her cry in his lap until she fell asleep. Then again, this was a rather important thing to forget. Today was special. Today had been the happiest day of her life a year ago. She didn’t know, she couldn't fathom how he could forget a day like today. So she cried. She cried with her back against the door of the bedroom that they used to sleep in every night, the bedroom where they had planned on trying for children, the bedroom where they both forgot about the world and just focused on each other. She could hear footsteps outside the door. She reached a shaky hand up and locked it from the inside. She would rather cry herself to sleep against the cold, hard floor than face her husband who had forgotten her once again. She heard Frances, Thomas’ maid, from the other side of the door.

“Mrs. Shelby, Mrs. Thorne wanted to give you these–” Tony cracked the door open slightly to look at the small parcel Ada had left her. It had a small note attached to it. She thanked Frances and took the package inside, then relocked the door. She carefully pulled the brown paper off for it to reveal a small box of chocolates. The note had fallen to the floor, which Tony now started to notice. The note read, ‘Just in case you needed it. Remember that he does love you, even though he does get wrapped up in himself. Happy Anniversary to my favorite sister in law. Yours truly, Ada Thorne.’ Tony smiled and tucked the note under the box of chocolate. She heard a different set of footsteps come up to the other side of the locked door. It was much heavier and sounded much more familiar. She took a deep breath. She heard something hit the floor. A few curse words in a Birmingham accent floated in through the crack in the floor. She didn’t know what exactly she should say. Yes, she was angry, so she should chew him out? Then again, she was sad, should she guilt trip him? Make him feel all the feelings she was feeling? Another emotion surfaced, fear. The fear of abandonment. The fear that one day, he would leave her. The fear that she was slowly getting taken for granted by the man she loved most in the world. Again, she started to cry, then she felt something soft hit the hand she had been leaning on. It was a napkin from the dining room of the Arrow House. She smiled through her building sadness. This was how they had communicated the day of their wedding. They had passed notes on several stacks of napkins since it was customary for the groom to not see his bride. They had both thought this rule was silly and a little outdated but you don’t argue with Aunt Polly. The notes on their wedding day had been words full of adoration and love. Now the napkin that had been riddled with tear stains had two simple words on it.

‘I’m Sorry.’ She blinked a few times but this just made the napkin more and more wet. The handwriting was his. This was the handwriting that had moved millions of dollars. This was the handwriting that had written letters full to the brim of teasing words and innuendos while he was in London and she was in Ireland. This was the handwriting of the man she loved more than anything in this world. This was the handwriting of her husband. This was the handwriting of the man who had forgotten his own wedding anniversary. She gulped down another wave of tears and mustered up enough resolve to finally get words out.

“But are you though?” She could hear the breath being released from the other side of the door. She could almost hear the wheels in his head turning, trying to solve this problem quickly, but there is no quick solution to this. She was not the kind of girl who would say that a couple of kisses and a night of sweet love making would be a sufficient apology. She needed something much more substantial. She could hear him trying to think of the right words, the right phrasing, the best way of regaining the love of his wife back.

“You have all the right in the world to be angry at me. You have all the right in the world to walk out on me. That is, as of right now, what I deserve. I have taken you for granted and forgotten many things I shouldn’t have. Yell at me if you have to. I will leave you alone if you need space to cry. My only request is that we figure this out together. This day, last year, we were married and you told me something that has stuck with me every single day–” He paused, trying to remember what she had said exactly to make sure he got his point across perfectly.

“As long as I have love in my heart for you, my eyes will stay a pale gray. No matter what happens. No matter what I have to go through. As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.” He finished her quote with a long silence.

“When you walked in from the rain, your eyes were darker than I’ve ever seen them. I wish there was a quick and easy way of fixing this so that I can have my Tony back to the way she was before I started to fuck up this entire thing…but there is no easy way. There never has been. You do things methodically, I do things sporadically, sometimes with a plan, sometimes spontaneously. Our love exists in the balance between erratic and consistent. If there is any way I can reclaim your love, I will go to any lengths for it. I know you might not believe me but your love, Anthony Bentini Shelby, is the thing nearest and dearest to my heart. Your love that is fleeting than trying to cup water in your hands, your love that makes a man fall to his knees at the sight of it, your love that is only shown to the most worthy of souls. You have changed the course of my life with your love. You have changed my soul with your love. If there is any way, if there is even a possibility of your forgiveness, I will wait weeks, months, years, sitting against this door, until you come to your verdict…and if you so choose to walk out, I will not stop you, just know that you have changed every single member of the Shelby family.” She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know if she should say anything after that. Thomas hadn’t spoken that much in weeks. He had let out a few sentences at most to her but nothing this long. Nothing this…important. She pulled a pen out of her jacket pocket and wrote carefully on the napkin before sending it back under the door. She simply wrote, ‘I forgive you.’ She cracked the door again to let her hand through to the other side. He laced his fingers between hers. She could hear his breath evening out. She could feel her own slowing down and she could feel her tears drying. She silently giggled when she felt him drawing small designs with his thumb into the back of her hand. She could hear his voice, now cracked and choked up.

“Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Shelby.” She could feel him plant a small, gentle kiss to the back of her hand. He was never gentle about anything. The trademark of his love was that he tried to be more gentle with her.

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. Shelby.”

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outoftheseine · 8 months

Text

- THOMAS SHELBY FIC RECS PART 2 -

alexa, play jealous girl by lana del rey | note: some fics are 18+ so minors DNI. be aware of canon trigger warnings (blood, violence, death, guns, etc)

main masterlist | part one

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the royal wedding of small heath • thomas shelby x fem!reader part 2

↳ by @sneakyblinders (fluff, slightly explicit)

protection • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @writers-hes (angst, death, mentions of abuse)

romantic escape | romantic capture • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @anonymooseforever007 (fluff, slight angst, overprotective!thomas)

immune to his charms • thomas shelby x american!reader

↳ by @readyouforfilth (love their banter so far, can't wait for updates)

happy birthday, my love • dad!thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @teenwolf-theoriginals (so so so fluffy)

safe with me • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kgficz

a man with a reputation • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kadwrites (arranged marriage trope)

your house | our home • thomas shelby x wife!reader

↳ by @vintunnavaa (angst, fluff, mentions of infidelity, looved it)

the cigarette girl • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @huntingingoodwill (very angsty, thomas is mean)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S

i got you • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @madame-wilsonn (panic attacks, hurt/comfort, mentions of a loved one's death, fluff)

gentle love • thomas shelby x wife!reader

by @vintunnavaa (fluff)

what could've been • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @toms-cherry-trees (angst)

love is sweeter than vengeance • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @pherelesytsia (angst, blood, death)

the secret garden • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @celticmelody (very angsty, domestic violence, blood)

the layers of thomas shelby • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @theonewiththefanfics (angst, mild fluff)

november • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @moral-terpitude (fluff, a little angst)

you reap what you sow • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @springsteens (mentions of abortion, angst, fluff)

ain't she sweet • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @look-at-the-soul (angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries)

love will keep you up all night • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @look-at-the-soul (very fluffy)

girl dad • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @runnning-outof-time (fluff, fluff, fluff)

men with blue eyes and dark hair • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @dandelionprints (angst, blood, name calling, fluff)

little you's and i's • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @multific (fluff)

a small mishap • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @gypsy-girl-08 (mention of violence, injuries, fluff)

thomas shelby as a father • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @fanficwrit3r (very fluffy)

wailing teapots • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @oddaodd (angst but happy ending, mentions of abuse)

as if you are still here • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @speckledemerald (so. much. angst)

do you get déjà vu • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @calummss (fluff and humour)

venus rising • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @ay0nha (angst, this one is 🤌)

the sapphire ring • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kitixie (angst, but fluff)

the brother that always wins • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @runnning-outof-time (fluff)

business and dates • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @princessofmarvel (fluff and slight angst)

#thomas shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x imagine #thomas shelby x fem!reader #thomas shelby x wife!reader #dad!thomas shelby #thomas shekby angst #thomas shelby fluff #fic recommendation #fic rec #cillian murphy

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queenshelby · 8 months

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Auctioned (P. 1)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

The rain fell relentlessly, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Y/N's heart as she walked down the dimly lit streets of Small Heath.

It was a neighbourhood perpetually caught in the grip of shadows, where whispers of danger cascaded through the air like an ominous secret.

Clutching her coat tighter around her trembling form, Y/N navigated the labyrinthine alleyways towards her destination. The wind howled, carrying with it a sense of desperation that seemed to echo her own.

After mere minutes of walking down the street, the brothel she had worked at as a waitress for the past two years stood ominously before her, its ornate facade a stark contrast to the gritty reality of its surroundings.

It was a daunting place she had visited many times before. Both of her sisters worked there, and it was Y/N's eldest sister who had orchestrated tonight’s ordeal.

When Y/N was only sixteen years old, her eldest sister told her not to give away her innocence lightly as, according to her, a woman’s virginity was a commodity these days. Men were willing to pay much money for it, and six months after Y/N turned eighteen, she decided to partake in one of the brothel’s first-ever auctions.

��There are many men here tonight and you are the only virgin” Y/N's sister told her, causing Y/N to cringe but remain silent. “In three months’ time Em, we will be debt-free” her sister then reassured her as rumors of illicit dealings and forbidden desires swirled around the brothel’s walls, warning Y/N and the two other girls partaking in tonight’s events to tread with caution.

Y/N's determination propelled her forward though nonetheless, into the grand hall of the establishment and, albeit with trepidation lingering in every step, she pushed through her anxiety. The weight of her decision bore down on her shoulders now, the knowledge that she had offered her innocence for sale causing a knot of guilt to form in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, the creaking sound reverberated through the room, capturing the attention of its mysterious clientele, including men that were twice and three times Y/N's age.

Seeing them, gave Y/N second thoughts. She disappeared again into the back of the room, telling her sister that she was unsure as to whether she could go through with this and, once again, her sister reminded her of what was to come if she did not.

“Trust me Em, it is better to fuck one guy for a few months than a ton of them for years. You will have money once your time is up. It will be worth it” her sister told Y/N, who reluctantly nodded.

The deal was to give up her virginity and three months of her life to the highest bidder and in the brothel’s owner’s opinion, such offering was going to attract a bid of at least one-thousand pounds.

One thousand pounds was more than Y/N could make in five years, thus she agreed, setting herself up for a good life of her own.

***

Glancing through one of the open doors again, Y/N saw that the auction room was illuminated by dim candlelight, casting elongated shadows across the velvety red curtains that framed the stage.

Many men were still arriving, taking their seats and talking with each other. Y/N could count at least fifteen thus far and were astonished by the fact that all these wealthy men were prepared to pay for her inexperience.

Then, a hushed silence fell over the crowd as another man walked in and it was your sister who peaked through the crack in the door with you now, trying to ascertain what was happened.

“Oh shit” she said as she looked at the man who just walked in. His sharp features were framed by a weave of dark hair, blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room with a predatory intensity. This was Thomas Shelby - a figure whispered about in hushed tones, notorious for his criminal empire, and feared even by those who claimed to know him.

“Who is he?” Y/N asked nonetheless, curious about this handsome but intimidating-looking stranger.

“His name is Thomas Shelby. You would have heard of him?” Y/N's sister said, causing Y/N's chin to drop as, just like everyone else, she had indeed heard of him. He was often referred to as the king of Birmingham, a man whose name had become entwined with notions of danger and darkness. He had blood on his hands and was a career

Criminal who was so powerful that even the police did not stand in his way.

“It is time, come on” the owner of the establishment then said and, with trembling legs, Y/N walked into the room, accompanied by her sister.

All heads turned as Y/N's presence filled the room, but she did not take notice of anyone but him, secretly hoping for this stranger to make a bid.

Y/N's breath hitched as, within seconds, her eyes locked with those of this dangerous man, his icy blue orbs penetrating through her like a shard of glass. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see every secret she held close to her chest, every fear she carried.

Thomas smirked at her, his lips curling with a dangerous mixture of arrogance and charm. He adjusted his tailored suit with the precision of a man who commanded respect, his piercing gaze locked upon the platform where the auctioneer eventually prepared to begin, with you by his side,

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, shattering the silence like a crack of thunder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we present to you a rare opportunity. Up for sale to the highest bidder is this young woman's innocence and her services for three months, at a location of your choosing” the man announced and, immediately, whispers raced through the air, mingling with the pounding of hearts.

Eyes flickered from Y/N to Thomas and back again, playing a silent game of anticipation and curiosity. Y/N's cheeks burned with a mix of nervousness and defiance. This was her choice, her chance to take control of her own destiny and yet she hoped that, at least, someone she could be attracted to would become her bidder.

As such, Thomas Shelby was clearly the most attractive and intriguing man in the room and, whilst Y/N had heard tales of Thomas Shelby, the man who straddled the line between the law and the underworld, she was not afraid.

Thomas Shelby’s notoriety preceded him like a shadowy myth and, again, his lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk, his features a carefully crafted mask of unreadable intent. The flicker of amusement in his eyes danced with a darkness that weakened Y/N's knees.

Was here to bid, she wondered? Or was he for the show and the sheer absurdity of it all?

"Let us not waste any time," the auctioneer then continued, his voice dripping with a blend of excitement and intrigue.

"Bidding for Miss Y/N begins at five hundred pounds" the actioneer then announced and the crowd stirred, pockets of murmurs rising like a symphony of anticipation. The forbidden allure of Y/N's offer had captivated them all, and now they were hungry for the chase.

Thomas Shelby remained a silent observer, however. His eyes locked onto Y/N's form with an intensity that made her feel exposed. A shiver of uncertainty crawled up her spine, but she refused to falter. She had made her decision, and she would see it through to the end.

Then, the first bid pierced the air, followed swiftly by another and another. The numbers climbed higher, the desperation of the bidders mirrored in their furious gestures and sharp intakes of breath. From her vantage point on the stage, Y/N watched the faces blur together, a sea of greedy desire stretching out before her like a treacherous ocean.

Among the throng of potential purchasers, only one stood out to her still and this was Thomas Shelby. His eyes were unwavering and fixed upon her. Bids soared into the thousands, the clambering voices echoing through the rafters. In this room of twisted desires and hidden intentions, Y/N's worth was being calculated, her innocence commodified.

A sense of nausea swirled within Y/N's gut, the weight of what she was about to lose hitting her like a sucker punch. She knew the money would bring temporary relief, but the cost of her first time being handed over so coldly – it was a sacrifice she could never fully comprehend.

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N steadied herself, her gaze finding solace in the not-so-innocent eyes of Thomas Shelby across the room. She had set this chain of events in motion, and she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. At last, the bidding war reached its peak, the crowd growing restless, each participant desperate to claim the illustrious prize. The air crackled with anticipation, a storm waiting to unleash its fury.

The auctioneer, sensing the crescendo, roared, "Going once, going twice..." The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, every person holding their breath, their gaze transfixed on the stage. And then, in an instant, Thomas Shelby's voice, low and commanding, cut through the silence like a knife.

"Ten thousand pounds" he said and the room gasped, a collective intake of breath that snaked its way through the assembled throng.

Thomas's bid was a declaration, a statement that he alone was the one who would possess her at a price that was much higher than any other bid before.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse reverberating in her temples. She locked eyes with Thomas, her voice trembling as she promised herself that she would not crumble beneath his intimidating presence even though he wanted her to, by simply looking at her.

"Sold to Thomas Shelby for ten thousand pounds!" the auctioneer's proclamation hung in the air, sealing Y/N's fate like a binding contract.

A mixture of relief and trepidation surged through her veins, her steps faltering as she descended from the stage, her composure teetering on the edge. Thomas approached her with a measured stride, his every move calculated and deliberate. He extended a gloved hand towards her, a pale contrast against the darkness that seemed to radiate from him.

"Y/N, is it?" he asked, his voice a low timbre that held a hidden power, causing in Y/N to nod silently.

"It appears you now belong to me" he then asserted and Y/N paused for a moment, feeling herself teetering on the precipice between freedom and captivity.

“It seems so” Y/N responded as she chose to swallow her fear and accepted his hand, their fingers intertwining in a pact that neither of them fully comprehended.

“Very well then” Thomas responded before he pulled her closer and Y/N felt the weight of his reputation settle upon her shoulders. The echoes of his criminal empire whispered around her, the unknown dangers lurking beneath the surface of this enigmatic man.

With every guiding step, Thomas led her out of the brothel and into the night, the rain washing away the remnants of her former life. The world around her seemed to fade into insignificance, her focus solely on the ruthless man who had claimed her as his own.

***

Eventually, they emerged onto the dark streets of Small Heath, the rain obscuring their silhouettes as they walked side by side. Y/N's nerves danced with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, her mind frantically searching for answers to the questions that suddenly enveloped her.

"You've heard of me, eh. So you know what I do?" Thomas stated, his voice cutting through the raindrops like a razor and Y/N hesitated to answer for a moment, her words momentarily catching in her throat.

"Yes. I have heard that you are dangerous," she finally admitted, the honesty laced with a touch of fear. A hint of a smile danced across Thomas's lips, his eyes narrowing with a blend of amusement and something darker.

"Dangerous, eh?” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is not entirely wrong. Although, one might argue that danger can be seductive” Thomas then asserted and Y/N absorbed his words, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards this enigmatic criminal, as if some inexplicable force drew them together despite the odds stacked against them.

"Why me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breathy plea. The question hung in the air, mingling with the quiet patter of raindrops on the pavement. Thomas stopped abruptly, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. His gaze bore into her, stripping away any pretence that either of them wore.

"Because I saw something in you that intrigued me. Despite, what kind of criminal would not want someone as innocent as you to corrupt, eh?" Thomas joked as the rain continued its relentless assault, washing away the remnants of Y/N's innocence and revealing a strength that had long lain dormant within her.

This journey was not just about the loss of her virginity – it was an awakening, a test of her own resilience. The intoxicating mix of danger, attraction, and the unknown propelled Y/N forward, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild creature. She had embarked on a journey into darkness, and she was determined to emerge on the other side, transformed.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas and friends #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc

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shelby-fangirl00 · 1 year

Text

An Unexpected Client-One Shot

Summary: Reader is a prostitute working at a party when she meets Thomas Shelby.

Warnings: Little plot, smut, prostitution (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 2524

Let me know what you guys think of this one! Trying to get better at the spicy stuff lol

You plopped down on an empty red couch near a darker corner of the dimly lit room. You and a hand full of other women had been hired by a wealthy Russian family to work a party tonight. Your wages were paid upfront for an entire night of service to any and all men at this party. Since you’ve been doing this for a few months now, you had seen a lot already, but the money was better than any other job you had before, so you did it. Most of the men you serviced now were regulars and didn’t give you much hassle, but every now and then, you had to work at parties like this. It wasn’t something you looked forward to doing, as it was a bit abrasive and taxing on you, but it paid better than usual nights. Usually, the men would tip on top of what you were paid upfront.

You looked around the room, seeing several naked Cossack men bending the working women over tables and couches, pounding aggressively into them. Loud music attempted to drown out the insistent moans and grunts coming from every inch of the massive room. Nobody had noticed your entry into the room yet, which you were relieved by. You wanted to be aware of your surroundings before you were put into action.

Usually, at these types of events, it was custom for you to wear nothing but dark lingerie. By the time you were needed here, formalities had been stripped away hours ago, so there was no need to be modest now. So, you threw on a size too small bra, panties and stockings. Your hair and bright red heels making you stand out.

‘Care for a drink?’ Said a deep voice.

The man was standing in front of you, holding out a glass for you to take. He stood out from the rest of the men here, he wasn’t Cossack. You could tell by his clothes and his exposed gun holsters that he was wealthy, so you perked up.

‘Thank you, sir’ You smiled at him as you took the glass, straightening your back and crossing your legs suggestively. He leaned into the couch, opposite of you, eyes devouring the sight of your exposed body.

He was very handsome. It wasn’t every day that you were able to entertain someone like him. Most of the men you saw were older businessmen and factory workers. You were very attracted to him, but you tried to push your nervousness and feelings aside, as this was a job for you.

‘Tell me your name, love.’ He commanded softly as his eyes finally found their way back to your face.

‘My names y/n, sir.’ You cooed out. You paused, hoping he’d tell you his name too.

‘Tommy Shelby. Tell me, why is it that you’re the only girl in here who hasn’t been claimed by any of these men?’ He asked genuinely.

‘Your guess is as good as mine… I think I look the part, no? you giggled out, trying to seem more charming and less nervous.

He chuckled at this. ‘That you do, love…’ He said while placing a firm hand to softly grip your thigh. It was as if to tell you that he was in fact, the man that would be claiming you tonight.

Excitement flooded your body, your stomach turning in knots. You couldn’t help how your body was reacting to Tommy. There was just something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he talked and looked at you …it all caused a thumping in your chest and a wetness to form in your panties.

You placed your hand on top of his. Guiding his hand up your thigh to cup your mound, you showed him the wetness that was seeping through your thin panties.

‘Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Shelby?’ You uttered out, inhaling deeply as he began to rub against the wetness through your panties.

His eyes sparkled with pure desire as he looked into yours. A devilish grin covered his face.

‘I do, very much.’ His thick accent rolling off his tongue.

As he pulled his hand out from in between your thighs, you took the chance to drop to your knees in front of him.

‘Not here, love. We’ll go to my room, yeh?’ He stated as he helped you up from the floor. People were fucking all around us. I didn’t see why he was being so modest. Maybe he didn’t like all the eyes in the room.

You let him lead you into an attached bedroom that he must’ve been staying in tonight. You felt like you’d struck gold getting to be with the most attractive man here, and in private. He had you all to himself now.

He locked the door behind him before walking towards you with stride, examining every inch of your body. Goosebumps covered your arms as he did so.

You waited for him to instruct you.

He pulled you into him, laying hungry kisses and soft bites onto your neck, a small moan escaped you. You threw up your hands to rest on the back of his neck. You suddenly realized you were enjoying this far too much.

You pulled away and dropped to your knees in front of him. His eyes watched your every move and yours never left his.

You slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting his anticipation build.

His cock sprung from his pants, already hard. You smirked at his eagerness, wrapping your hand at the base. You looked up at him needily, swirling your tongue around the round head of his cock before pushing your lips past it.

Tommy let out a low groan as he pushed his hand into your hair. His eyes were heavy with nothing but desire and need.

He pushed softly into your mouth, filling you more and more, almost reaching the back of your throat. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to relaxed your throat, allowing him to easily push in and out of your mouth.

‘Fuuuck yes, love…you’re doing so good for me.’ He moaned out while tossing your hair to one side, gripping it. He used his other hand to caress your cheek, reveling in the sight of you wrapped around his cock.

You moaned into him as a response to his words. It felt so good to make him feel good. You wanted more.

As you pulled back, you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, pressing your tongue against the underside of his cock. Your hands wandered up his tight stomach, balancing yourself against him.

Without warning, he dragged himself slowly out of your mouth with a soft pop. You looked up at him, a bit confused.

‘Lay down, on the bed.’ He commanded you, a darkness casting over his eyes. You did as you were told, sliding your soaked panties off as you did so.

He stood in between your spread legs, marveling at the sight of you.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ He panted out as he pushed his holster off his shoulders and onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. You sat up to unbutton his shirt quickly. You pushed the shirt down and off his broad shoulders, exposing his muscular chest.

He pushed you back down forcefully onto the bed, leaning over you as you wrapped your thighs around his waist.

As his pretty face hovered over yours, he pressed his lips onto yours. The kiss sent sparks to your head. He tasted like whiskey and smelt of cigarettes. You flicked your tongue into his mouth, causing him to let out a small groan as he pushed into your lips.

As he kissed you, he lined himself up with your dripping entrance, letting the tip glide against your slick folds, collecting the wetness. He teased your entrance, popping the head of his cock in and out of you slowly. He was driving you crazy.

‘Please Tommy, I need you inside of me.’ You panted out, not being able to wait any longer.

Tommy chuckled and smiled softly. All at once, he pushed into you forcefully. You gasped, breath getting stuck in your chest as you adjusted to his size.

‘You’re so fucking tight around my cock, aren’t you? Such a good little whore for me.’ He said lowly into your ear as he fucked into you fast and hard.

You could barely make out any words. You felt so full with him inside you. You hadn’t felt this good during sex in a very long time. Sex wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable for working girls like you. You were supposed to service this man, but it felt like he was servicing you.

As your body adjusted to him, you quickly threw off your thin bra, exposing your hard nipples.

Tommy dipped his face down into your chest, cupping your tits as he swirled his tongue around your nipples, sucking lightly on them before coming back to your face.

He continued to fuck into you, lifting your ass slighting off the mattress in order for him to push even deeper into you. You clung to both of his biceps tightly, trying to keep yourself from moving around too much.

Before you could comprehend what was happening, he pulled out of you and stood up.

‘On your knees, now.’ He growled at you, panting as he did so.

You happily moved to your hands and knees, your bare ass on display for Tommy.

He came up behind you, letting his hands brush down your spine and the curve of your ass, landing in between your legs. He slowly started to rub circles onto your swollen clit. You jolted slightly under his touch. No client had ever tried to pleasure you. You felt like you were doing something wrong.

‘Tommy, please. I’m here for you, not myself. Let me help you feel good.’ You said seductively, pushing your ass into his groin.

‘This makes me feel good, so shall I continue or should I stop?’ He whispered again, sending a chill down your spine. You couldn’t argue with this, though. His whispers were impossible to deny.

You nodded your head silently, causing him to continue rubbing against your sensitive nub, more forcefully. His two finger drew circles, making you even more wet than before.

‘Fuck Tommy…please don’t stop.’ You moaned loudly, still on your hands and knees.

Then, he shoved his cock into you, picking up the pace quickly. You gasped loudly as he thrusted into you while rubbing your clit menacingly. All of it was too much to hold onto, you needed to cum. His hands, roaming your body, rubbing you, fucking you, his whispers…he was sending you over the edge.

‘Tommy..oh god, I’m gonna cum Tommy, don’t stop!’ You yelled out as he fucked you even more forcefully than before, resting his chest on your back and his face nuzzled into your neck as he worked to make you cum. The sounds of skin slapping together echoed through the large room.

A wave of warmness ran through you before you let out a strange moan, not being able to control yourself. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, molding them together. You came harder than you ever had, around him. He held you up by your waist as your legs shook from on your knees. Tommy didn’t stop fucking you though, he was chasing his own high now, which you could tell was close.

‘You sound so fucking pretty when you cum.’ He said roughly as he pounded sloppily into you. You lifted yourself from your hands, pushing your back against his chest as he fucked you. He grabbed and squeezed your tits, craning your neck around to meet his freckled lips. He kissed you sloppily, his tongue invading your mouth and refusing to leave. He hooked is hands into your arms, keeping you in place.

‘Are you going to cum, Mr. Shelby? Cum all over my face?’ You asked him greedily, but also asking him to not cum inside of you.

‘Is that what my little whore wants? You want that pretty face covered in me cum?’ He said more loudly. You could feel him getting so close. His strokes were becoming more and more sloppy.

‘Yes, please, yes! Come on my face Tommy! Please!’ You yelled out, wanting to be covered in his warm liquids so badly. You wanted to taste him.

Suddenly, he pulled out. As he did so, you quickly swung around to lay on your back as he hovered over your face, stroking out his own orgasm. You opened your mouth, stuck out your tongue and closed your eyes. Ropes of warm cum splattered across your face and onto your tongue. He whimpered as he finished himself off, watching you greedily lick the cum off of your face.

As he emptied himself completely, he approached you, taking his thumb and collecting some of the leftover cum on your face, and shoving it into your mouth.

You sucked every bit of liquid on his thumb, staring back up at him as you did so.

You both stood there, naked and panting, trying to understand what had just happened.

‘You’re good at what you do, woman.’ He said quietly as he tenderly cupped your face and kissed you softly. You lightly squeezed his waist.

‘Thank you, Tommy, that was fucking amazing, I have to say.’ You said sweetly to him as you went to stand up and put back on the little clothing you had before.

‘The fuck are you doing?’ he asked, still standing where you left him, naked.

‘I…have to keep working tonight Mr. Shelby.’ You said as you tied your bra in the back.

‘I’ll pay ya whatever the Romanov’s did for the night, you’re not seeing anyone else but me, here. You’re mine for the night, alright?’ He said sternly, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You were shocked but also very excited that he had enjoyed being with you, so much so that he would double your wages just to stay with him.

‘You’re being serious? I chuckled out, hoping to God he was.

‘Come on love, lie down with me.’ He gestured to you to follow him under the silky sheets of his bed. You smiled as you giggled over to him, snuggling your face onto is chest. His body was so warm and inviting. He rested his arm on your back, stroking the exposed skin with his rough fingers. You had never felt so protected and wanted by a client. You definitely weren’t supposed to be doing something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. It just felt so right being around him and he seemed to enjoy your company, so what was the harm?

You both said nothing or did anything else for the rest of the night. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms, without any interruptions, feeling extra lucky that you decided to work this party after all.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby one shot #thomas shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader

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thepeakygurl · 2 years

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Hiiiii, can I please req a fluff fic where tommy’s s/o is pinching his cheeks in a very cute manner skskskka( I read that idea in my tl and I can’t stop thinking abt it lmao) The context behind it is up to you:))It’s okay if you won’t do it but can I just say your fics are FUCKING AMAZING!!!!! Reading your works really made me feel 🥰🥰 I hope you are safe and well<33

Intoxicated Love

This come a year and a half later, but here it is! I really hope you enjoy it despite being very short and concise🥺

Ps: Safe to say my love for Tommy Shelby has never left my heart, soul and brain

Requested Scenario by anon

Thomas Shelby x you/reader

Prompt: Y/N comes home drunk and start to playfully pinch Tommy’s cheeks

Fluff

Tommy never truly thought of home as four walls and a roof over your head, his home was where his family belonged, and most recently wherever you were.

He sat down on the couch after giving his jacket to the governess, he lit up a cigarette and let it burn slowly within his lips. He let a small breath out of his mouth, while he looked his blue eyes at the ceiling wondering where you might be, usually the governess would be home already and it would be you welcoming him at the door.

And just as the thought of leaving the house and come looking for you invaded his mind, he heard the governess welcoming you back home, as well as your harmonious laugh, sounding now a little higher than usual. Tommy faced now the door waiting for you arrival “You’re home sweetheart!” you squealed at him, quickly taking your gloves off and almost falling on the ground in the process.

“Sweetheart?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow at you and how clumsily drunk you were, he turn off his cigarette reaching then towards you, grabbed your arm and made you sit on his lap “How much did you drink, mh?” he asked in a whisper while stroking your head and running his fingers through your hair.

You lost your self in his gaze for a split of a second, you imperceptibly shook your head and said “John challenged him, it isn’t about how much I drank, it is about proving a point!”

Despite not making much of a sense in that moment, Tommy smiled and nodded at you “Why were you with John?” was his only question now.

“Are you jealous Mr Shelby?” you asked showing him one of your best smile and he caved him, reciprocating it.

He was not jealous, well he was, but not of John. Though that cheeky smile you were giving him made him flustered and he was not about to turn your confident self down “So what if I am love?” he whispered getting slightly closer at your, shamingly looking at those lips of yours.

You felt your heart dropping straight to your stomach and intoxicated as you were you couldn’t help but let out a giggle, reaching to his cheeks and started to jokingly pinching them, soft and rosy “You are so sweet!”

Tommy closed his eyes, certainly this was not where he saw the situation moving forward to, but he slowly reached to your hands and moved them away from his cheeks, kissing both of them “I think it’s time for you to go to sleep love”

“Will you sleep with me?” you bluntly asked.

“Where else would I sleep Y/N?”

“Can I play with your cheeks?”

At that request, Tommy looked annoyed, but quickly looked away and said “Only if I can play with yours”

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fluff #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby scenario #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby scenario #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby

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evita-shelby · 8 months

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Hi, hello

This is my first request ever, please ignore my spelling mistakes if there's any, I'm French so...

So how abt the femreader /OC (as you want) has an illness and is destined to die but Tommy pursue her and falls in love with her anyway and then she dies and we see how he copes. I'm a sucker for angst.

Thank youuu

You are welcome 😊

I cried so hard i ran out of tp to clean my snot.

Promise

Gif by @manie-sans-delire-x

Cw: death, illness, grief, suicidal thoughts

You hoped he’d forget about you while he was in France, but when he stepped down that platform he was as in love with you as when he had left.

You had broken things off with him before he even left and yet he returned to you as if nothing changed.

No matter how much you tried, Tommy never left your side.

Eventually you had to tell him the truth.

You were dying.

You had a year at most, the tumor was not operable, and it wouldn’t be long before you were dead.

“I can’t leave you, love, not when you need me most.” He had said as he held your face in his hands.

And he hadn’t.

Not when the barmaid showed up and made it clear to all that she wanted him, not when he provoked Kimber and certainly not when Campbell threatened to have the hospital deny you care if he didn’t give him the guns.

Campbell hadn’t expected you to laugh and spit at his face, “Do it, do your fucking worst, Inspector. I am dead anyways.”

You were dying, but you were never going to let Tommy and his dreams die with you.

You had a year.

And you had decided that your last wish was to see Tommy get the hell out of here and be the great man you know he is.

This you tell him as the two of you stand as witnesses for Freddie Thorne and his sister, Ada.

He couldn’t say no to you, he said so as you tied his tie for him and told him to drive you and Ada to the courthouse where Freddie was waiting with his cousins and a rabbi.

“It could be us up there,” he said quietly knowing you’d say no.

“Ask me again in a year.” You love him, and that is why you refuse to tie him to you like that.

Time passes slowly, you encourage him to pursue Grace because he needs the distraction. There was something there, on her side at least.

Not that he budged, said he didn’t need anyone else. Not when he had you.

“I’m going to marry you.” He says the words you feared the most. He did never learn to let go, even when death took those he loved most, he stood there refusing to let go.

“Tommy, I do not want to tie you to me like this. Not like this.” You plead for him to move on weeks later when he takes the barmaid to the races.

“I’m gonna marry you, when you go, I want you to go as my wife, y/n.” he vowed just as you vowed to see him succeed.

You supposed that is what had you say yes.

He wants to do things proper, keeping almost every tradition and custom in place that you find to your liking. Whatever you want for your big day, he and Polly make it happen.

Its sweet and thoughtful you think as he gets the two of you on a table at the Garrison and announced to all that the two of you will be getting married.

He had bought you a ring, a Claddagh ring like the one his mum had worn. Only difference was that the other one was lost in the Cut and yours had a red garnet heart to represent his love and devotion to you.

Tommy was a romantic, no matter what he did to hide it.

You dance in the dark of your room nights later to some old record your mama had since she settled here with your father.

“We could always elope, go somewhere just us and come back like our parents did.” He suggests and you nod.

As much as you’d like to do things properly, you’d rather get the things on your list done before you meet your maker.

Besides, that trip to Liverpool before the war had been lovely and you’d like to see the sea again before you go.

“I’d like that.” You say and that next morning the two of you set off to Liverpool like the wild teenagers the two of you used to be.

The wedding is lovely even if it happens in front of strangers, but the weekend the two of you spend as newlyweds is enough to make you forget your time is running out.

Perhaps when your health becomes worse you could return here, die somewhere beautiful away from everything.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” He admits as the two of you lie down on a blanket and enjoy the sun on your faces on your last day here.

“Once its over, we should come back here.” You say as if you knew for sure you’d be alive by then.

Zilpha Lee saw your death in the first chills of December. A black star and blood on Tommy’s heart.

It was late July now.

Only five months left in your clock. And you were going to make the most of it.

And you did, you danced at John and Esme’s wedding like there was no tomorrow. You gave the barmaid a good enough thrashing she never even got to call the police on Freddie and when little Karl was born it hurt your heart to know you would never have this with Tommy.

You wept like a baby in his arms as everyone celebrated down at the pub.

“Promise me you will love again.” You dry your tears and make him swear to live for you.

He cannot die with you, you refuse to let him.

“Don’t make me promise that, love, I’ve only ever loved you.” He shook his head, refusing to even think of a life without you in it.

It becomes the first of October that night.

You can’t hide your illness no matter what you do. A girl from the neighborhood is hired to help you and from your bed you play cupid between the sweet but never spineless Linda and the most unlikely dashing knight, Arthur.

When they finally go out ---with Finn to keep things proper--- it is late November.

And as if by magic, you are bursting with energy enough to leave your bed and make sure there is no loose string left by December 1st.

You are laughing with Polly over something when you see it in Tommy’s carefully annotated diary.

A black star on December 3rd.

He plans on having everything done by then, to deal with Kimber and Campbell that same day and spend the rest of your time on earth in a cottage by the sea.

It was supposed to be a surprise until you answered a call back from the woman renting it.

If only you could live long enough to get there.

But you won’t.

Zilpha had said on the day of the Black Star.

On December 3rd your time was up.

And you had fulfilled your mission, on that day Tommy would have reached the first step towards getting the hell away from here.

Only Polly knows what transpired during that meeting with Zilpha Lee and she holds you as your heart breaks all over again.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.” You ask her as she holds you tight enough to put you back together again.

“Of course I will, sweetheart. Just like I told Martha Strong I’d take care of her boys and John’s Martha as well.” The older woman promised you as she gave you her Black Madonna.

Its is December 3rd when Tommy leaves the house as giddy as a boy on boxing day.

“After this it will be just us in that little cottage by the sea, love.” He had promised kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

And there wouldn’t be.

The moment the bullet strikes his chest, you collapse at his desk and never rise again.

By the time Jeremiah lets him go, you are gone.

That night, after the undertaker has taken you away to prepare you for burial, he takes your ring, a bottle of whiskey and his gun.

When he pulls the trigger, there are no bullets and he curses you for leaving and refusing to let him leave with you.

He wakes up in Charlie’s Yard, with his aunt and uncle wearing black for mourning.

“I promised her I’d take care of you, don’t make break that promise, boy.” Polly said as she helped him back on his feet.

After your funeral he leaves for the seaside, hoping to have the peace and quiet to finish what he started and yet as he sits there in ghe sand looking at the ring he gave you, he remembers your voice making him swear to live for you.

And he does.

On December 3rd 1922, he returns to the beach with May Carlton now wearing your ring on her finger.

“Thank you.” He whispers to the wind.

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader

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captain-fantasy · 11 months

Note

cillian murphy! peaky blinders setting x reader.

could you do a fic where Thomas Shelby and the reader meet at a pub after Grace dies (cuz thomas is high key sad and wants to drink) and some heavy smut happens between both of them.

-🦆anon

Unveiled Hearts - Thomas Shelby x f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, alcohol, smut

Grace's death had shaken Thomas Shelby unlike anything had before. He lost his beloved wife, the mother of his child, and the only person he felt would ever truly understand him.

Thomas had retreated into himself, shutting out the world and drowning himself in whatever alcohol would provide momentary comfort. His family had tried to console him, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Instead, he was consumed by his grief, anger, and regret.

One late night, as Thomas sat alone in his study, he heard a knock at the door. He didn't bother getting up to answer it, barely moving his eyes to look at it. He knew it was probably just one of his brothers or Aunt Polly, but when the door opened, and you walked in, he felt something profound within his heart begin to light, something he hadn't felt since he was with Grace.

You were one of the few people he trusted, a confidante who had always been there for him no matter what, even when you were kids. But you took one look at him and knew that something was wrong. His eyes were sunken and heavy, his hair was disheveled, and his clothes were in front of you. The stoic man you once knew was fading right in front of you.

"Tommy," you said softly, closing the door behind you. "What's happened?"

Thomas didn't answer, staring at the floor as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. You walked over and sat beside him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Talk to me, Tommy," you said. "Let me help you."

Thomas looked up at you, the gorgeous blue eyes you loved now filled with pain, his voice full of desperation. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I don't know how to live without her."

You didn't try to offer false comforts; you knew that wouldn't be helpful. So instead, you just sat there with him, holding him close and letting him cry.

You sat there with Thomas for hours, listening to him talk about Grace. He spoke of their love, their plans for the future, and their shared dreams. As the night wore on, Thomas' tears began to dry up, and he fell into a deep sleep. You stayed with him, watching over him as he slept and promising to be there for him no matter what.

You watched him until you saw the sun begin to rise, not even noticing how much time had passed since you saw him fall asleep. Then, finally, he began to stir, brows furrowing as small whines escaped his lips. You quickly got up, placing your hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake and bring him out of his nightmare.

Thomas slowly opened his eyes, confused and disoriented. When he realized where he was, he sat abruptly, looking around the room.

"You stayed with me all night?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, smiling softly at him. "I wasn't going to leave you alone, Tommy."

Thomas looked at you for a long moment, his eyes less bloodshot and tired, now filled with gratitude and admiration. "Thank you," he said finally.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Of course, Tommy. You needed a friend."

Your own words stung you a little. You always loved Thomas, but you knew it was wise to just stay friends. Clearly, his way of life was far too dangerous for him to let anyone else in. What happened to Grace just made that even more evident.

As one of the only people he trusted enough to let you see him like this, you knew it must have taken a lot from him to let his guard down, allowing you to see him at his worst. But then, when he stood up, you saw the effects of his work on his body. His arms and torso were littered with scars and healing cuts, and blue, black, and purple bruises mottled across his chest, almost covering his tattoo.

Your mind came back down when he finally stood up, the hardwood floor creaking underneath him. Your eyes followed him as he dressed, watching as he carefully picked everything out, as if putting on a costume that would present himself to the world, covering up the wounds he tried so hard to hide.

It was a while before either of you spoke.

"Listen, I know it's early, but would you like to come back here for dinner tonight? I want to thank you properly for being here for me."

You smiled, looking down for a moment before you nodded, "I'd love to, Tommy. I'll see you tonight."

As you left Thomas's house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. You knew it was wrong to hold on to these feelings so soon after his wife died, but you also knew that it would be good for Thomas to get out of his hole and start moving on.

You returned to his house adorably prompt, deciding whether to knock or just walk in. You have been to his house countless times, and you were basically considered family, but because of this event, you were unsure if you should–

"How long were you standing there?" Thomas asked, pulling the door open.

"Not too long."

Even though you'd been there before, the atmosphere had undoubtedly changed. Candles were lit, and the room smelled like the dish Tommy had spent all day trying to make. He was never a good cook, but the sentiment was there.

You could tell that he had put a lot of effort into making this dinner special, and it was clear that he wanted to show his appreciation for everything you had done for him.

As you sat down at the table, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness. You knew that Thomas was still grieving, and you didn't want to do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. But as the night went on, the conversation flowed easily between you. You talked about everything and anything, from the secrets of your past to the hopes of the future. You were one of the only people he allowed to know his past.

When you finished your meal and started to clear the table, Thomas reached out and took your hand.

"I have to tell you something," he said softly, his eyes locked onto yours.

You felt your heart racing as you waited for him to continue speaking.

"I know this might not be the right time, and I know that people will talk shit about us, but I can't keep it inside anymore," he started. He had a lot to drink during your dinner, and you heard his words slur when he walked closer to you. The smell of whiskey on his breath burned your nose.

"You're drunk, Tommy. We shouldn't–"

"Stop, just stop," he spoke, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling you closer, forcing you to listen to him.

"You've been the only constant in my life since we were kids, y/n. I was an idiot to not see it before." His hand moved from your wrist to wrap around your waist. "All I've been thinking about for weeks was you."

Your eyes never left him. You were looking for any sign of a lie, but he was serious as far as you could tell.

"I've felt so guilty, but I can't be without you anymore." he finished, waiting for you to respond.

You felt the wetness between your legs growing, and you pressed your legs together to try and relieve the ache that had been there since you walked into the house.

"Kiss me, Tommy."

He didn't wait any longer, pulling you close for a deep kiss. The way his body pressed against you took all the air from your lungs, and for the first time in months, he could forget and lose himself in your touch. You moaned into his mouth, tasting the liquor he was drinking just a few moments ago. His hands traveled down your body, resting underneath the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful as he pressed you against the table.

This kiss turned more aggressive before he turned you around and bent you over the table, reaching over to push the dishes he'd been working on all day off of the table. He pulled your bottoms down in seconds, looking at your dripping folds in the candlelight.

"Already this wet?" he teased, "I've barely touched you."

His voice was low in a way you hadn't heard before. His index finger gathered some of the wetness that hat started to drip down your legs, sliding effortlessly through your folds and making you desperate for more of him.

"Please, Tommy, please." You've never sounded so pathetic.

"Easy, sweetheart, I'll give you what you want." His voice got breathier. When you looked behind you, you saw that he had taken his aching cock out of his pants, giving it a few tugs, and lining against your entrance. You whined in anticipation, arching your back and pushing your ass out to touch him.

With one quick push, his entire length was inside of you. The air left your body again, and you relished the breathy moans you heard from Tommy's lips.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you were sure that you'd be sore for days when you were done. Tommy pounded into you, almost entirely dragging his entire length out before slamming into you again, the feeling almost too much for you to handle as you felt your orgasm approaching.

This was not making love; it was purely physical. You knew that, and yet, you couldn't help yourself from imagining what it would be like to wake up with Thomas in the morning with his arms around you, hands traveling across his chest as you stared into his eyes while you made slow, passionate love. Not caring about what was happening outside your bedroom.

In another life, you suppose.

You were brought out of your daydream when your orgasm hit you. Your vision turned white, and the fire in your stomach spread throughout your entire body. Tommy finished right after you, the feeling of fucking you through your orgasm too much for him to continue.

As his hips stilled, your heavy breathing became the only thing he heard. Tommy gently turned you around to face him, and for the first time, you found it difficult to look him in the eyes. His hand moved under your chin, carefully cradling your face to have you look at him.

A soft warmth spread through your body as his fingers brushed against your skin. You finally met his intense gaze, and within those piercing eyes, you saw a vulnerability you had never witnessed before. The smell of sex and the weight of unspoken words were heavy between you.

Tommy broke the silence with a trembling voice, "I've been fighting it, but I can't hide it any longer. I love you. I have since we were kids and every day since that."

His confession left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Emotions swirled within you, a mixture of joy and fear. You had longed to hear him say those words, but now that they were out, a world of uncertainties lay before you.

Tommy continued, his voice filled with sincerity, "I understand if you don't feel the same or if this complicates our relationship, but I couldn't bear another day without telling you the truth. If you have me, I want to be by your side. I'd do anything for you. "

Gathering your courage, you touched his cheek, your thumb drawing tiny circles on his soft skin.

"I love you, Tommy. With everything I have, I'm completely and hopelessly in love with you."

As the weight of unspoken feelings was finally lifted, you found solace in his embrace. The world around you faded away at that moment, leaving only the two of you.

buy me a ko-fi?

#oh well im back #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian smut #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader

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all-mirth-no-matter · 2 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You meet the new Inspector and have a heart to heart with Tommy.

Warning: language

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 17: Change on the Rise

What good’s a man, who’s lost his soul? Can’t take a stand, mmm when his flame’s gone cold. Mmm fend off the enemy, sing out the jubilee. WIth all the fire we can breathe, we’re singing all day, and you can’t tame it. — Change on the Rise, Avi Kaplan

There were a few things you were still getting used to about the 1910s. The smell. The smoke. The actual shit on the ground. The misogyny. The cold water. The lack of knowledge of what was toxic for your body and what wasn’t.

You thought about the last one every morning as you got ready for work, trying to stay away from any unsafe words you knew, but slightly frightful of a lot of the stuff you didn’t recognize.

Typically, you tried to remain as natural as you could. And if you were honest with yourself, you only really wore make-up or did a double check on your hair when you knew you’d be seeing Tommy — it was only slightly pathetic, you tried to convince yourself when you realized what you were doing.

What was mostly pathetic was recently, when you noticed you started putting in more effort after Grace began working in the pub full time. The woman looked like a movie star from your time, and you hated how insecure it made you feel about your own appearance.

And then there was the singing.

There was a moment, the night of her first shift, when she’d begun to sing in an attempt to distract a fight breaking out. She stood on the table and began to sing something you definitely didn’t recognize, though the rest of the room obviously did. The whole pub had joined in by the time she was nearing the end of her third song (that you still didn’t know), when the first of the Peaky boys entered the pub.

You hated yourself for how envious of Grace’s ability you were in that moment. Just a month ago, you and Tommy had been in this spot, alone, you singing him a song from your own time. It’d been your thing, it felt. And now, he was captivated along with the rest of the bar with Grace’s siren voice. Soon though, everyone finally noticed his entrance and slowly lowered their voices, save for Grace who ended the verse properly despite her confusion of the sudden end. When Harry approached him to comment on how there hadn’t been any singing in the pub since before the war, Tommy met your eyes. For a moment, you thought he was going to tell them to stop — but instead, he said a soft “carry on” before moving into the snug and shutting the door.

But your insecurities with Grace were your problem, and you tried to keep it from affecting you in any significant way, especially in how you treated her. You’d worked in bars long enough to push down the green monster that came with the territory sometimes, which luckily got easier the more you spent time with her. Grace continued to be nice and polite, but she was soft spoken and sort of skittish, innocent almost – something you warned her wouldn’t mix well with the company they maintained at the Garrison. Finally though, you seemed to manage to break her reserve and loosen up during the slower periods of the day, and she was quite funny when she wanted to be.

But still, no matter how well you seemed to get along, you just couldn’t shake the weird feeling you got from her. There was something in the way she over explained herself, like she was trying to convince the room of her place in it. It was an unease you saw in yourself, but mirrored – you often felt like you under-explained, or kept quiet, in an attempt to blend in with your surroundings.

Despite your own reservations of the girl, there was one thing you knew for certain. She definitely lied about her previous experience. She was clumsy with the bottles, needed remindings on drink orders, and thought far too hard on her pours. It made training much more taxing than you’d originally anticipated.

The good news was that she was smart – smart enough to handle money and inventory, at least – which was an area you thought you’d have to overcompensate for.

Still, due to the amount of time you’d been spending training Grace, you started coming into the pub early on the mornings you didn’t have to be at the Shelby’s to catch up on the books.

You heard a loud crash and some shouting outside, causing you to jump up from your seat in the back room of the pub. You rushed to the main room to find a tall man standing in the doorway, a bowler hat on his head. He was significantly taller than you, his long jacket giving him a looming presence as he took up the majority of the entryway.

“Morning,” he greeted in a heavy Irish accent. “We haven’t had the pleasure.”

You crossed your arms, “We’re closed–”

“I’m not here for drinks.”

Behind him, through the closed doors, you heard more shouting. The man noticed your eyes drift around him, and smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry. My Specials have been told not to touch the Garrison. You’re safe,” his eyes giving you a once over, “for now.”

Specials, you thought, looking at him more closely. “You’re the Inspector from Belfast.”

His right cheek pulled up into a smirk. “You’ve heard of me?”

You gestured around the room, trying to convey an air of indifference. “I work in a pub. Your presence has been a big topic lately.” A loud crash came from outside followed by more shouting. “What are they doing out there?”

“Routine inspection,” he shrugged. “I’m here to clean up this town.”

“And that includes ransacking innocent families?” you asked, your face doing nothing to hide your disapproval.

He chuckled. “Innocent. As if you can’t see the degradation and sin that lies beyond these walls.”

Your mouth snapped shut at that. He wasn’t exactly wrong. You’d noticed a drastic change over the last couple months in the town. The high of the war's end was beginning to wane – and the streets of Small Heath were slowly eating away at itself. Veterans were scrounging for jobs, widows were desperate for stability, and children ran wild throughout the city. Brawls broke out in the middle of the streets at least once a night, crowds of men betting on outcomes. Men had women pressed against the walls, not even bothering to make into the alleyways. When you saw some girls who couldn’t even be in their teens, you felt your chest clinch even tighter, the dread and disgust building higher for this place. Every day you felt even more hardened by the harsh realities of the world and your place in it.

Despite this, you’d come to know a good majority of the families who lived on Watery Lane, and regardless of the badness out there, you knew there was good that didn’t deserve whatever was happening just outside of your establishment.

“What do you want, Inspector?” you said, your voice stronger. You gestured around you, “If you’re here to inspect, feel free. You’ll find nothing here but alcohol and cigarettes.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” he took another step toward you, tilting his head as he rose his brow, the sly smirk still tight at his cheek. “You’ve heard of me, well, I’ve heard of you as well. Though oddly enough, no papers on ya.”

Your back straightened at that and he continued his walk closer. You tried not to let it show, but truthfully, that’d been a fear of yours after you’d come to terms with your new timeline. You didn’t have any identification or historical papers, nor did you have any bank accounts (not that you would have been able to have one of your own anyhow, since you were unmarried and essentially orphaned). You’d even masterminded a big story about there being deaths and a fire that burnt whatever record you would have had that said you were a citizen. But after a while of no one asking or no one caring, you let the story fade and your fear along with it. Now, you were wondering how much trouble exactly you would get in, and if there was a way you could acquire some new papers.

Seemingly happy with the threat settling in, the Inspector shrugged. “Lucky for you, I don’t have time to worry about runaways or travelers at the moment. What I am interested in is the company you keep. As I understand it, you’re quite close with the Shelbys, are you not?”

“My friendship with Ada is no secret–”

“And what of the brothers?

You shrugged, “What of them?”

“Are you friendly with them as well?” he rose a brow suggestively, your own furrowing at the implication. Ignoring your reaction, he continued, “If so, you should know that Arthur agreed his people would help us.”

You thought about Arthur’s face, how this man in front of you had beaten a man then asked for his cooperation. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he wouldn’t do the same to you if you were to give off any hint of what you knew. Knowing this, you kept your composure. “As I said, Inspector. I can help you with a drink or a smoke. But if you’re not here for either, then I’m afraid there’s nothing else here I can offer you.”

He hummed amused, finally stopping a hair closer than socially appropriate in what you interpreted as an act of intimidation. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? You will cooperate, one way or another.”

Throwing a coin on the bar counter, he turned and left the pub.

When the doors shut fully, you ran toward them and latched the locks. Despite the Inspector’s promise that his men wouldn’t be coming into the Garrison, you knew you needed to take whatever precautions you could to keep yourself safe. You moved to the snug and peeked through the window, seeing the streets covered with men in uniforms and people pushed and beaten against the side of the building.

After some time, when the final copper rode off, you joined the people outside and began to help tidy the streets. Harry showed up soon to help you open the pub, many of the patrons coming in gripling about the incident.

“They let em do it!” one of the men slurred. “The fuckin’ Shelbys! Copper told me ‘imself. Why do you ‘hink this is the only pub not knackered?”

You and Harry shared a confused look, not sure yourselves why the Specials had hit the other local pubs, but not the Garrison.You suspected it was a power play, intent on this very reaction from the townspeople, since this pub was the favorite amongst the brothers. The fact that the Inspector had paid you a visit was something you kept to yourself, even from Harry. You didn’t say a word about it until you arrived at the Shelbys.

“Jeremiah said he saw the Inspector walk out of the Garrison when the lane was getting turned over,” Polly had said immediately when you walked into the house after your shift. “What’d he say to ya?”

You shrugged off your jacket and took a seat at the table, recollecting your conversation. “That’s not true, right?” you asked when you got to him saying Arthur had agreed to helping.

“‘Course not,” Polly blew out some smoke from her cigarette. “But that copper wants to turn the town against us. The boys are out now paying off the landlords and cleaning up. Showing their faces, and all that. Well, except Tommy. He’s preoccupied with the bloody horse he won against the Lees this morning.”

You weren’t surprised, having been privy to his goal of starting a fight with the Lees. You’d asked him the day before if he really thought it was smart to continue with his Kimber plan now that he had the guns to deal with. Tommy had been adamant that this would only further benefit his efforts, and concluded that not taking advantage would be a waste of an opportunity. You’d given up any argument, mostly because deep down you knew he was right.

But now, after seeing the extent this Investigator would go to, you worried that Tommy may be in over his head.

“Best to stay in tonight,” Polly said, interrupting your thoughts. “Tommy has a plan to push back, get the people back on our side.”

That night, you did as Polly instructed. Close to midnight, you saw the flames through your apartment window. In the street, a bonfire was lit, with what looked like portraits being thrown in. In the middle of the crowd stood Tommy, his face illuminated by the flames as he smoked his cigarette and talked to the men around him.

After finally making out the subject of the paintings, you chuckled. “God, the balls on this guy.”

That was on Sunday. On Monday, Ada had determined she was pregnant. On Tuesday, Tommy confronted her and found out it was Freddie’s, who’d disappeared during the copper raid. On Wednesday, your Monaghan Boy finally lost his first race, earning the gambling den more money than you’d ever seen. On Thursday, Polly tried to convince Ada to terminate the pregnancy.

It was now Friday night. You were walking out of the pub, leaving Grace to her first closing shift, when you ran into a rain soaked Tommy.

“Y/N,” he greeted you, though you could tell there wasn’t something right. “Going home?”

“Yeah,” you answered cautiously, turning back to the locked door. “Did you want to go in?”

“S’it empty?” You shook your head no. “Do you have whiskey at your place?”

Still confused, you nodded, “Um, yeah. I snagged a bottle last week after the raid.”

“Then no,” he confirmed, walking instead toward your flat.

You stood there for a moment, before he turned back around and asked if you were coming.

By the time he settled into one of your dining chairs, you handed him a double shot, grabbing the bottle and another glass before joining him in the second chair.

He threw back the drink, poured himself another finger, then threw that one back as well. “The Lee bastards cursed my horse.”

It was the first words uttered by either of you since you’d left the Garrison, so his choice of conversation starter was a surprise. “Wha– How do you know?”

“‘Cause I started a war, and this bullet with my name on it wasn’t enough,” he pulled out said bullet and set it on the table. As he poured another drink, you lifted it up carefully, running your thumb against the scratched letters, the meaning behind the literal token causing your chest to tighten. “She wouldn’t have been able to stand by sunrise.”

Wouldn’t have, you caught the past tense of his phrase and knew the beautiful white horse you’d met just a few days ago was not alive anymore. “Poor girl,” you said softly as you watched Tommy wipe his hand across his face.

“You know, in France…” his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, instead staring off to the side. “In France, I got used to seeing men die. Never got used to seeing the horses die. They die badly.”

He blinked, shaking his head as he reached into his jacket and pulled out the cigarette case. He ran his thumb across the silver casing for a moment, before opening and pulling out a stick.

“You knew about Freddie, didn’t ya?”

Ada had sought you out after her confrontation with Tommy in the movie theater and told you everything. You’d been both surprised and not surprised by her news, knowing that she’d been sneaking away to be with him any chance she got, and guessing that the birth control of the time was lacking. She was determined that Freddie would return for her, that the Inspector couldn’t keep him hiding away forever.

“Yes,” you answered.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“No.”

He sighed, “Why not?”

Your brow furrowed genuinely surprised. “You of all people should appreciate my aptitude for secrecy.”

“Aye. It’s the secrets you hide from me that I don’t appreciate.”

You let out a breath, feeling the hint of passive aggression in his statement. “It wasn’t my information to share, Tommy. It’s as simple as that.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette. “Fine.”

Guilt began to creep in as your eyes moved to the dresser drawer where the box Madam Desponia still lived. The leaves and vial were gone, but you kept the box as a token. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t told Tommy yet that you’d dranken the tea. Part of you wanted to keep the experience a secret for personal reasons — it was your dead mother, after all. The other part of you was still insecure about Tommy finding the whole thing crazy. You were finally beginning to gain his acceptance with his surlier world, you hadn’t wanted to push it by throwing in talking to dead people.

“I met with the Inspector today,” he finally said, breaking the silence and pulling you out of your own thoughts. “I told him I had the guns.”

Your mouth dropped in surprise. “Tommy—”

“I struck a deal. No interfering with my business, or future business with Kimber.”

Your mouth hardened into a tight line. “And you think he’ll hold up his end of the deal?”

“I warned him of what will happen if I’m taken into custody. The last thing that man wants is for these guns to land into the hands of the IRA back in Belfast, undoing all his hard work.” He took another long drag of his cigarette. “Campbell didn’t serve; reserved occupation. I anticipate he would do anything to keep his reputation among Mr. Churchill. As long as he doesn’t find out where the guns are hidden, my plan with Kimber remains.”

Happily, you didn’t know where the guns had been moved to after Curly and Charlie lifted them from the stables. And you didn’t want to know who knew either — hell, you weren’t even sure yet if his own brothers knew Tommy even had the guns in the first place. The less you knew the better, in your opinion. You anticipated that your meeting with the Inspector wouldn’t be your last, especially now that he knew Tommy definitely had the guns. You wondered if he’d approach you again, or instead have you watched.

“Just in time for Cheltenham,” he continued. “Which reminds me, you’ll need to pick out a nice dress.”

Your brow creased. “Another race?”

“Not just another race. It’s where we’ll show our strength against the Lees, convince Kimber of our partnership. Monaghan Boy’s win finally caught his attention — I’m told he’ll be paying us a visit soon.”

He poured himself another glass, then yours.

“I didn’t mean to attack you,” he said after taking a deep breath. “The weeks just been—”

“I understand,” you reassured, meaning it. You couldn’t imagine the mental hoops he must be going through trying to juggle everything he had going on.

You shared another glass of whiskey before he ran his hand across his face.

“I don’t know what to do about Ada and Freddie. She has no life with a man on the run.”

You licked your lips, resisting weighing in. Instead, you took a sip of your drink.

Tommy rolled his eyes, but his smirk remained. “That was an invitation. You should know better by now.”

Your cheek flinched at the comment, but you sobered it to match your response.

“I think she’d follow him wherever he goes,” you said plainly, shrugging your shoulders. “Your sister and Freddie seem to have real, deep feelings for each other. He may be gone for now, but I do believe he’ll be back for her.”

He let out a breath, “I think you’re right. Why’d he have to turn into such a fuckin’ menace.”

Your cheek flinched again, knowing he was referring to his communist strikes. “He deserves to know about Ada. Give him the chance to do the right thing.”

“You sound like Pol.” He took another sip of his drink. “Fine. I’ll get him a message. Maybe he’ll actually bloody listen to me and stay gone.”

On Saturday, Billy Kimber and his men paid a visit to the Garrison, just as Tommy had predicted.

“You’re what?” your voice giving away more than you intended.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “It’ll be an advantage.”

“Yeah, but–”

“But what?” Tommy asked, rising his brow. “It’s a good plan. Kimber took a liking to her, I saw it on his face. I can use her to sweeten the deal.”

Apparently it’d all gone according to plan. It’d been your night off, just Harry and Grace tending to the packed pub, when Kimber’s car arrived.

He’d come to punish them for fixing races without his permission, but began to sway when Tommy proposed an alliance in exchange for help combatting the Lees. Tommy mentioned that Kimber’s accountant and advisor seemed to be the brains of the operation, and felt like he was already warming up to him. They left the pub with a promise to speak again at the races.

What Tommy hadn’t expected was Kimber’s lustful intrigue with Grace.

“Do you trust her?”

You met his eyes. Your default was to be nice, give her the benefit of the doubt. But you wouldn’t lie to Tommy. “No.”

“I looked into her–”

“You did? Why?” you asked, quicker than you wished you had. Tommy didn’t need to know of your insecurity.

“I look into all of the branches of my business associates. I had someone ask around about the pub she used to work at. No one’s heard of her. She lied.” You must have shown a knowing look on your face, because he chuckled sardonically. “But you knew that too, didn’t you?”

“I guessed, but I didn’t know for certain,” you answered honestly. “I just knew she wasn’t as experienced as she’d claimed to be. At least not with the bartending side of things. I didn’t think she was a threat, just a little green, I guess.”

He hummed, “I’d agree. And it seems the town likes her songs.”

You waited a beat, conflicted with the topic opportunity dangling in front of you. But you’d spent too much of your life not saying something or asking questions because of some arbitrary anxiety. Since you’d met Tommy, you’d adopted a certain ‘fuck it’ bravado when it came to awkward conversations.

“You know, for a second, I thought you were going to tell them all to stop singing.”

He took a puff of his cigarette. “I was.”

Your brow creased, “What changed your mind?”

“You,” he answered simply, his eyes meeting yours again. For the first time that night, his gaze began to soften. “How can I disallow what I’d specifically asked from you in that very pub?” After a moment, his brow creased. “Why don’t you ever sing?”

“I can’t sing to crowds,” you said with an embarrassed shake of your head at the mere thought. “I don’t have near the range that Grace does, or half the confidence. I love music — me singing is just my way of hearing the songs I miss.”

“Good.” You rose your brow at his response. He offered you a rise of the corner of his mouth, “I enjoy being one of few who get to hear you sing.”

You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks. God, you were so far gone.

“Well,” you deflected, “since you have Grace, I guess you won’t need me at Cheltenham as well.”

He chuckled softly, “On the contrary. I have a job for you. One week, and we’re off to the races.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #time after time #mine #fanfic #fanfiction

153 notes · View notes

red-write-hand · 6 months

Text

“Get back down here, we’re not done yet.”

pairing -> dom!thomas shelby x f!oc

trope -> smut (hard smut, have fun y'all)

warning -> orgasm denial, fingering, overstimulation?, praise (uses of "good girl", "Mr. Shelby", "Sir"), tommy being a little mean

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Laying in a Shelby boy’s bed wasn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be. As the technical wife of a Shelby boy, this is where she liked to be best. She enjoyed the love she got here. She enjoyed loving her husband in his big plush white bed with his thick soft white comforter and the Egyptian sheets she had told him not to buy but after a very long, slow, tender distraction, he had bought them. Just made the whole experience better. She sat up on her thighs and smiled at him. He ran a hand through her hair and pulled her in close. She instinctively braced her knees on the outside of his hips, effectively straddling him. He hummed into the kiss, one of his hands coming around the small of her back, pushing her closer. They were now flush against each other. The blonde front part of her hair fell while his hand was still holding the dark brown curls. He always held her hair while she made him feel good, he adored when she came up after taking it so well, she would always give him those eyes that said ‘I love you more than you’ll ever know’. She moaned softly into the kiss as her hips slowly started to move against his. He chuckled very lowly as he let go of her hair to be able to hold her hips to make sure she wasn’t moving too fast. He kissed down his neck, nipping at certain places to elicit those pretty noises that he got a high from. She tilted her head back to expose her neck more and to make it easier for him. She had her hand on his back, her nails scratching, knowing that it made him feel good. She knew that when they woke the next morning, she would be able to feel the lines she had created. She smiled as another sweet sound escaped from her. He had one hand on the lowest point of her back, slowly, teasingly moving it down. His free hand came up to slowly grope her chest. Her moans were broken and appreciative.

“Oh f-fuck…you’re cheating…” Her usually aggressive Irish accent that could make kings and powerful men and women alike cower at her feet was now broken and soft. It was loving and compliant. It was the voice that she had grown to have around him. The opposite to his, deep, tender, with that perfect edge of dominance to it. The voice that wrapped her up in his arms and told her to be a good girl. The voice that kissed down her torso and had its finger inside her. The voice that had married her on a whim and made sure she knew that he truly loved her. The voice that pulled her into his lap when he was tired and needed physical touch. The voice that connected with those eyes. Oh those eyes. Those eyes that didn’t look like they could hurt a soul even though they had seen so many die by his hand. Those eyes that could still look innocent even after loving her so roughly and ruthlessly that she couldn’t stand the next day. Those eyes that could make her drop to her knees no matter where she was or who she was with. Between his voice and his eyes, she knew that he was hers, and she was his.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who likes it.” His voice was perfect. She adored everything about it. Everything about every inflection that came with the Birmingham accent. That gritty edge to it. She laughed slightly. He let go of her hips and she started to get up, under the assumption that they were done for the night.

“Get back down here, we’re not done yet.” He flipped her so she was under him. He bit slightly harder on her neck. She groaned softly.

“Maybe warn a girl next time…could’a given me a heart attack.” He hummed and kissed her gently. She had just registered that his knee was gently brushing against her panties. She squeezed her eyes shut to see if she could block him out. He laughed. She could feel his kisses going lower. She could feel his breath on her stomach. She tried to squirm to create more friction but his hands that had she adored so much, those hands that had held her comfortingly on their wedding day, those hands that had cut men’s throats open, held her fast against the bed. She whined and pleaded for him to do something, anything, but no. He chided lovingly.

“Oh no, only good girl’s who don’t stay up, waiting for me to get my work done. Now maybe if you’re good for me and take your punishment, then I might consider fucking you so hard that you’ll have to skip work and then you’ll have to spend the day with me instead.” She thought this over in her mind. Go to work and effectively melt her brain away or stay with her gorgeous husband and have nice, tender, love-filled morning sex? How had he given her such an easy choice?

“I’ll be good. I promise.” Of course she was lying through her teeth, but everyone trusts a pretty face like her, anyone who didn’t have some sort of common sense. Not that Tommy didn’t have common sense, he had much more than an average person in Birmingham. He just sometimes thought with his heart. She could feel his breath on her thighs. Right at the apex of her thighs. She let out a soft moan as she felt his hot breath. His hands snaked around the back of her thighs and held them firmly, but not too hard, just to make sure she didn’t snap her legs shut when she got flustered. She could feel him trying to decide something.

“Will you get on with it? Here I thought you were going to be this amazing husband who makes his wife feel good–” She felt her hands get slammed into the bed. He had a strong grip on her crossed wrists. His voice came out through his trademark smirk. The smirk that had brought down duchesses and queens, princesses and wives. The smirk that could make anyone do anything. The smirk that every Shelby had. That was, frankly, one of the reasons that she loved him. Between his smirk and his eyes, she had fallen hard. She whimpered and struggled against his grip but then a searing kiss was placed on her soft lips. A searing kiss that branded her with a teasing love. The type of love that was mean but in a caring way. The type of love that slapped you in the face and kissed away your tears. The type of love that made fun of you and put you on a pedestal. It was all of that wrapped up in cornflower blue eyes. Those eyes could kill anyone if they wanted to, even her, she’d gladly die in those eyes.

“And here I thought you said you were going to be good. Being patient falls under being good, love.” She squirmed when the kiss went away. She wanted another, then another, then another. She wanted every kiss he was able to give her. He chuckled and gently nipped her inner thighs. When she finally registered that a small mark had formed, she moaned. She needed more, finally, he gave her more, she felt his other hand slither out from under her thigh and she knew what was about to happen. She felt her black panties slide off her effortlessly without it even dawning it on her that she had moved. She could hear his voice, but it seemed muffled to her brain.

“Now remember, be a good girl and I’ll give you more than my fingers, beautiful.” She moaned in response. She gasped when two of his fingers entered her. She had spent restless nights fantasizing about his fingers. The fingers that she had seen hold cigarettes gently, fingers that had pulled triggered and killed so many, fingers that had been inside her so many times before this. Her filthy moans filled the bedroom as he pumped his fingers repeatedly. This was her punishment, the punishment that she would enjoy. That was, until her actual punishment arrived. Her face was flushed and her breath was ragged. Her hair was spread out on the pillow below her, it was a huge curly mess, it was big and hard to take care of to begin with but now? So close to a release that she desperately needed? It just got worse. It was a frizzy and uncontrollable mess. Before, he was holding it together so at least it looked more together but currently, it was all spread out, a brown puddle of curls on the white pillow. She really had to cut it much shorter, to her jaw was bad enough, next time it would be to her ears. She had been so close to a release, the release she had been waiting for all night, but no. She was so close, so incredibly close. She had even felt the hot pit in her stomach but then— but nothing. Tommy had pulled his fingers out and sighed. He gave her a look that said it all, ‘That was your real punishment, darling.’

“You look so pretty when you’re about to get that sweet release. The thing is, it wouldn't be much of a punishment if I just let you feel that ecstasy, would it?” She didn’t answer, she was annoyed but she was also still in the headspace of having his fingers drawing her so close to the edge. She felt his fingers inside her again just for a minute, but this time it was more than two, it was three. She let out a languid sound and fell back against the bed. She wanted it to go on forever, that glorious burn that she craved so much. That burn that came from the most loving of flames. That burn that she would die a fiery death in if she was asked to. That burn that was so perfect that it– but no. It stopped. She had been brought to the edge again but no. No release. No nothing. She groaned in protest but all she got back was his laugh. His laugh that she only heard when she was getting denied something that she had already staked a claim to. The laugh that truly added insult to injury. This time, she hadn’t even noticed she had even made a mistake. He leaned close to her ear. His voice was unsettlingly smooth and deep. Not that it wasn’t normal for his voice to be this deep and smooth, just unsettling that it had chosen to come out at this minute.

“You didn’t answer. Now that just isn’t polite, is it?” She dropped her head against the pillow, her curls cushioning her drop even more. She knew she had to respond, or her punishment would get much worse.

“Yes, Sir.” She added the ‘Sir’ right at the end to see if he would be gracious and let her have that release that she wanted so badly. It was a long shot but she would do anything for that release only he could give her.

“Oh, you’re calling me Sir? Sounds strange coming out of your mouth. Mr. Shelby just sounds so much coming out of that pretty mouth of yours.” She smiled weakly. It had been a thing with them for a while; calling him Mr. Shelby had been their code that she wanted him, usually very badly, when he was in meetings. She kissed his jaw and he chuckled. She could feel something very hard digging into her thigh and smiled mischievously. She flipped the two of them over and straddled his hips. She ran her newly freed hands down his chest. She nipped at his neck a good couple times, just high enough that he couldn’t cover them with his collar. She felt his hands at her hips, holding her in place. She smirked triumphantly, tonight was going to be, hopefully, a long one. Most nights were long but she had a feeling that tonight was going to be a much longer one. One of those nights where they passionately loved each other until the sun finally rose and both of them got dressed for work, trying to keep their hands off each other. She teasingly kissed him again.

“Alright then, Mr. Shelby.”

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y'all. pls tell me if i forgot anything in the warnings. pls and thank u!

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x f!oc #top!thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x f!oc #top!tommy shelby #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x y/n #tommy shelby #thomas shelby

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creativepawsworld · 4 months

Text

Silence - Chapter 54

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = Ana is in labour. Will Tommy return in time for the birth of his child? Will John have to step up and deliver his future niece or nephew?

Warnings = Language...Grammar...Virginity losing mentioned...Alcohol consumption... Prostitution mentioned...Child Birth...

Word Count = 1,874

Note = I know it's dragging and I am so sorry. Hoping to get back in the swing now. Guess am nervous to write after leaving it so long. I liked this chapter as it shows the relationship between John and Ana and I think that's adorable personally. I'm also a C-Section mum who never experienced labour pains so I tried!

“That’s impossible it’s too early John,” I hissed hearing the words he said to Arthur who was still sitting on top of the table confused, by the request. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and, a glass in the other.

“I’ve seen the signs, Ana, I am a father myself. Arthur go now and find Esme too” John demands getting up and walking towards me. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, rubbing it softly in support. “How are you feeling? Is it like a tightening?” He asked softly, a gentle look on his face.

“More like a pressure” I exhale slowly, trying to stand up straight. I was getting nervous, and scared. Not only was it too early but Tommy was nowhere to be found and there was no way I was having this baby unless I knew where Tommy was. I heard a rustling, noticing Arthur's back as he left through the green doors in search of the women of the Shelby family.

“Do you feel like you have to push?” John asked rubbing my shoulders, his voice easy and kind. I knew it was to help me relax but that wasn’t happening right now. I was in no way ready to relax or to have this baby.

“I…I don’t know” I whispered, my hand resting just on the under part of my bump. "I mean maybe, the pressure is all pushing down on me"

“Alright, come on into the house, we need a bed for this” John nodded ushering me back towards the green double doors Arthur had just left through and into the Shelby dining room. But we didn’t stop there. He walked slowly with me through the house, speaking calmly as we made our way up the stairs and into Tommy’s old bedroom.

The green wallpaper and single bed caused memories of the night I lost my virginity to the man I had fallen head over heels in love with in this bedroom to enter my mind. The memory brought a happy, calming feeling to take over but it only lasted a few moments before another contraction hit.

“Now I’ll be honest Ana I haven’t a clue what I am to do now” John chuckled unsure, scratching the back of his head, a nervous look on his face. “But just lay back on the bed, breathe and try to relax”

“I can’t relax, Tommy is missing. How can I relax?” I asked glaring at him as I rubbed my bump. I sat down on the bed, ignoring his advice to lie down. “Where is he, John? The mission was a success. Campbell is dead, no one could have possibly told on him. Where is he? Where did he go?”

“I wish I knew Ana. But we have men out looking for him, I promise we will find him and he will be back in time to meet this new little Shelby” John tried to assure me with a nervous smile on his face.

“And if he is not?”

“We are not going to think of that now, are we? No” John raised an eyebrow looking around Tommy’s old bedroom. It was clear he was uncomfortable being in this situation but he knew he couldn’t leave. If he was right and I was in labour, I couldn’t be left alone. Not when I was this vulnerable.

“John, I’m scared” I confessed my true feelings as I rubbed my stomach, grimacing at the tightening feeling I had every so often.

“Nothing to be scared of, this is exciting. We were successful at the Derby and now we have a new family member to welcome. It's a good day for the Shelby family,” John tried to put a positive spin on the situation, sitting next to me and taking my hand into his. “I know it's hard, but I remember Polly telling me how dangerous stress is to a baby so please Ana, for my little niece or nephew…”

“I know, I know” I nodded squeezing his hand as I tried to relax.

“You know, I almost married Lizzie” John chuckled looking over at me with his blue eyes. They were not as blue as Tommy’s but they were still pretty. Full of life. Full of mischief.

“Lizzie Stark?” I asked furrowing my eyebrows and looking over at him.

“Yeah, Lizzie Stark. Asked her and she accepted and all” John nodded “I wanted a mother for my kids. They were running rings around me. Out in the street without shoes, chasing off nanny after nanny. I couldn’t keep up. I believed a mother would see them right,”

“What happened?”

“Well as you know she was a woman of a particular career choice. She serviced shall I say Tommy and myself. I thought she would do, she was a woman, she gave me bloody good orgasms and she said yes” John chuckled. I couldn’t help but grimace as he mentioned the pleasure he received from her.

“I told the family and they fucking laughed at me. Belly laughs but ultimately they were right” John sighed “Tommy did a test with her. She promised to change her ways but she lied. She was willing to service Tommy one more time even though she said yes to me… She also had other men she was keeping on, I felt like a fool” John looked over at me, squeezing my hand. “You weren’t an option at this point by the way. I don’t think you were anyway. Tommy hadn’t got his claws into you yet”

John’s words made me laugh, his story keeping me occupied as I listened to his words carefully. I didn’t know John was once engaged to Lizzie, I knew she had serviced both brothers but I didn't know she almost married one, that was new.

“I sat on this bed with our Tommy after finding out the truth. Realising Lizzie wouldn’t change,” John chuckled pointing at the chest of drawers near the bed. “He had a pipe there and I got so fucking high to deal with the pain. Not because of Lizzie’s betrayal, I suppose part of me expected that but for the loss of my wife. For the fact my kids were growing up without a mother and I had no control”

“Oh John,” I whispered squeezing his hand. My grip getting tighter as a contradiction rippled through my abdomen.

“Tommy was such a hard ass as you know, he came in gun drawn thinking I was some fucking, some fucking nobody I don’t know. He sat next to me, like I am with you now and we talked about our younger selves. Making jokes, connecting like we used to. He talked about our grandfather, now our grandfather was a right ole stingy git, worked every day of his life but not for honest money. He swindled and stole, apples don’t fall far from a tree you know. Tommy put on the voice he did when we were kids, imitating him, our grandfather,”

“But the reality was we weren’t kids anymore. Not anymore. And that hit hard that night. But that night he promised, our Tommy promised that we’d always look after each other, no matter what. And I want to make that promise with you to Ana” John turned looking at me directly in my eyes, holding my hand “No matter what happens, we have your back, you hear me?”

John’s words had me feeling emotional as I nodded looking at him. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had lost James but had gained a brother with John and Arthur. A sister with Ada. I had lost my best friend but appeared to have gained three more.

“I know your memories of this bedroom are much, much different than mine” John nudged trying to lighten the conversation once he noticed I was getting emotional. “Eh, eh” He teased playfully causing me to blush. He wanted me to be laughing and smiling, not upset or stressed.

******

John and I remained in the room for the next hour, Arthur had yet to return with either Polly or Esme. I could tell John was beginning to panic at the idea of having to deliver the baby himself, he even considered taking me to the hospital which I refused. I wanted to be here in case Tommy returned. This is where he would go I just knew it.

The contractions were coming thick and they were coming fast. I was in a lot of pain, sweat had covered my forehead. John tried to cool me down with a wet cloth dabbing it along my head, face and neck as he told me stories from his childhood in hopes of distracting me and making me feel better. But the reality was quicker starting to set in. If Polly didn't arrive soon, John would be delivering this baby.

The contractions were coming quicker, almost every few minutes. I could see by John's reaction he was about to pass out. But he held his nerve well. Feeling the need to push, I knew I had to remove my underwear, John closed his eyes as I lay back legs spread, he was preparing himself to look when Polly came rushing through the door.

“GET OUT” She yelled, John not having to be told twice fled from the room no doubt going to sink an entire bottle of the finest whiskey. I believe that may have been the longest hour and a half of his life. “You okay love? How fast are they coming?”

“Too fast Polly, god it hurts” I groaned, Polly removed my underwear. Checking between my legs to get a good look at whether or not the baby was ready to be delivered. As she was checking, the door opened once again and Esme walked in with a small smile.

“A new baby eh?” She smiled coming over to hold my hand.

“Esme I need towels and boiling water now” Polly demanded rubbing my legs. Esme nodded leaving the room to get everything that was needed to deliver the newest member of her family.

“Tommy? Is Tommy here?” I asked breathing heavily, glancing down at Polly who made eye contact between my legs.

“Don’t be worrying about that right now you need to be worried about welcoming the newest Shelby” Polly smiled continuing to rub my legs. “You're very close my dear, very close indeed”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Polly was between my legs, and Esme was at my head coaxing me through it. The breathing, my screaming, the pain, both women were honestly a godsend. After what felt like an eternity, a baby’s cry was heard echoing off the walls of the room.

I had tears of joy and relief spilling from my eyes as I tried to sit up and take a peek. I didn’t have to wait long as Polly brought a baby wrapped in a towel towards me, resting the newborn on my chest. Looking down I noticed a tiny little head, with a mop of dark hair and bright blue watery eyes as they cried softly, looking for food.

“Congratulations Mama, it’s a beautiful baby girl”

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#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #silence #oc

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justimagineitblog · 9 months

Text

KEEPER OF MY HEART - TOMMY SHELBY

KEEPER OF MY HEART - CHAPTER ONE

I take a deep breath, clutching the job advertisement in my hands.

INNKEEPER NEEDED.

ENQUIRE WITH SHELBY LIMITED.

I’m new to Small Heath, Birmingham. I’ve only been here a week and I’m desperate for a job. Although I have years of experience keeping my families Pub, I know not many establishments wants a woman as the face of their business.

I roll my shoulders back, straightening my posture to stand as tall as I possibly can at a mere 5 ft 3. Trying to assert myself in a display of confidence. God knows I’m going to need it.

I force myself forward, pushing the heavy doors open, entering into the Garrison.

The smell hits me straight away. Cigarette smoke and whiskey.

It’s weirdly familiar and comforting.

There is no one at the bar, just a group of men sitting in the middle around a table. Laughing, drinking and smoking.

These must be the Shelby brothers.

I waits for them to turn to look at me, to address my entrance into the room. To begin the interview. But they don’t.

That is until one of the younger men notices me, and nudges the tall and slim man next to him.

And just like that, all of the men slowly turn their attention towards me.

I try to ignore their unimpressed gazes. Their eyes looking me up and down judgementally. I give a tight lipped smile, feeling as though a theatre spotlight has just been shone on me. Now is not the time to back down.

“I’m here for the job interview”

By the look on their faces, you would have sworn I had spoken in a foreign language.

Confusion, amusement, prejudice.

The tall, slim member of the Shelby family speaks first, after what felt like hours of painful silence.

“I think you’re in the wrong building sweetheart” he says, trying to be nice but unsuccessfully hiding a smirk.

I knew to expect this.

I pause before speaking, as I catch the eyes of one of the Shelby’s sitting at the back of the group. He puffs on his cigarette, smoke shrouding his sharp features. Our eyes lock in on one another. How could they not. They’re piercing through the dimly lit building. It takes a lot to make me feel small, but his gaze alone makes me want to shrink.

I try to offer him a smile, but he doesn’t return it. He just grazes his eyes over me, thinking god knows what.

I try to shake off the interaction, turning back to the brother at the front.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m in the right building, Mr Shelby”

“Well unless you’re… Z Jones…” he says, referring back to the list of applicants on the table beside him, then looking back up to me doubtfully.

“Yes, thats me”

“You’re Z Jones?”

“Yes, Zoe Jones”

“Well fuck me” he laughs, entertained and dumbfounded “Z for Zoe Jones”

I feel a sense of relief. He hasn’t completely kicked me out of the building. And my tactic of not revealing my full name on the application worked. Now I at least have my foot in the door.

I tempt a quick look at the brother in the back, and he still sits unwavering. Not amused in the slightest like the other men. He hasn’t so much as moved or said a word. He just studies me.

“And you are aware of the job you have applied for?” The tall brother questions, his amusement morphing into concern.

“Innkeeper, Matron of the bar, Bartender” I list of all the names that this job falls under “I am well aware of the role I will be taking on”

“How old are you sweetheart?” He questions. I knew my age would be in question. But I already have years of experience.

“Old enough to pour a beer” I retort, smirking. There’s not one question they can throw at me that I haven’t heard before.

One of the younger brothers smiles, beaming up at me. “I like her Arthur” He tells the eldest brother. So that’s Arthur. The eldest Shelby brother.

“Shut up John” The older brother nudges his younger brother, who I now know as John.

But his smile doesn’t fade, in fact, he gives me an encouraging nod. Like he’s rooting for me.

“Alright I’ll level with you, darling. The kind of crowd we get here is not… they’re not just your usual crowd of singing drunks. We need someone that can handle the money, as well as the fellas that come in here. I don’t doubt that you can pour a beer, but they’re going to take one look at you and chew you up. We need someone that folks will take seriously”

I just smile back politely. Nodding at his speech. I feel my hopefulness start to falter, but I won’t show them. If I don’t get this job, I will have no where to go with no way to pay my rent. I need this, and they need me.

“If I could level with you…” I begin, taking a breath before I continue “I’ve worked my fathers pub since I was 14. When he died I took over. Business died off, so I had to sell. I think I’m more than capable. And I say let them underestimate me. With all due respect, sir, letting them underestimate me has been my greatest strength. I can run the money. I can pour beer. I might not be able to fight with my fists, but I’ve never had to. The mind is where half the battle is. I was smart enough to put my name down as Z because I knew if I put my full name down I wouldn’t even get a foot in the door. And I’m not sure what kind of business you’re running here at Shelby Limited, but I know a lot of places deal in secrets. And you’ll be surprised what people will talk about around a woman. What they say when they think you’re not listening because they think you wouldn’t understand. Let them underestimate me. So… if you could just give me one night?”

The men stare up at me. If they kick me out, at least I stood my ground. They all look around at each other, trying to come up with an answer.

“Tommy?” Arthur asks, turning to the Shelby who has been sitting stone faced the entire time.

Thomas Shelby.

I had done some asking around before I applied for the job. Everyone had a lot to say about the Shelby brothers. But not many could say anything about Thomas. He was the mysterious brother. The silent assassin. Not the oldest, but the leader of the family. What was said about Thomas was much of the same. He’s deadly. He’s a killer. He’s the puppet master of the entire company.

I straighten my back, trying not to falter or waver underneath his unforgiving gaze. If there’s anyone I need to convince, it’s him.

He stands, taking a swig of the drink in his glass before he begins to stalk his way towards me.

His eyes wander all over me, scaling me up and down. Sizing me up.

The room has fallen silent. Their eyes darting between Thomas and I.

“Zoe Jones” he repeats my name, inching closer to me.

“Thomas Shelby” I address him back, unsure of where the courage to do so came from.

“If anything goes wrong, you’ll pay the price” His voice is husky as he threatens me. This is what I can only assume everyone in town was talking about when I asked about The Shelby Brothers.

I swallow, trying to find the right words.

“Good. I like a challenge. But that won’t be necessary”

I raise my chin, tilting my head upwards to meet his stern gaze. I won’t back down. It’s not even about the job anymore in this moment. I won’t be made to feel small. I know my worth.

For the entire 10 minutes that I have known Thomas Shelby, he hasn’t shown one ounce of expression on his face, besides slight disapproval at my presence. But for a second, I swear I can see a hint of interest in his eyes when I spoke back. He didn’t expect me to push back when he descended on me with his intense, heaviness.

“One night” he says finally “Tonight”

I nod, smiling up at him.

That’s all I need.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #peakyblinders #peakyblindersimagine #oppenheimer #cillianmurphy #cillian #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #lily collins #faceclaim #lilycollinsimagine #thomasshelbysmut #tommy #shelby #peaky blinders smut

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clacefe · 10 months

Text

Secrets whispered at dawn

Thomas M. Shelby x OC (hinted at)

Summary: Tommy reflects on how he probably shouldn't be thinking about another woman so soon after Grace's death.

Warnings: Depression, angst, pining

Word count: 544 (she's a short one)

A/N: I've returned from the land of the dead to bring you this angsty piece about one of the many characters that'll make me voluntarily go down on my knees.

Thomas Michael Shelby watched the sun rise through the net curtains hanging from the impossibly large window in his home office.

The sun got caught in the sliver of smoke that rose from the cigarette in his right hand, a china cup of Earl Grey brought in by a maid whose name he didn’t bother to learn remained untouched in front of him.

He absentmindedly thought he should remind the maids that he didn’t need anything in the morning. Other than a cigarette, or three.

These days he didn’t need much to function, really. Just a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey and perhaps some brown opium; to keep him calm.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Tommy knew that the random gaps in his memory was the consequence of his continued sleep-deprivation and general amount of stress. But he didn’t care. Or rather, he couldn’t afford to care about that at the moment.

His wife had died in his arms not even three weeks ago and here he was in his ostentatious leather chair, already thinking about another woman. Even in a gangster’s book it was considered immoral. He felt like he was metaphorically spitting on Grace’s flower-adorned grave.

And he had loved Grace. Once. Back when he still lived in Watery Lane in a house that was never silent, unlike Arrow House. It was there in that cramped bedroom that he found love after France.

But after she came back from the Americas something had changed between them. They still made love, acted like husband and wife, but deep down he knew he didn’t love her. Not anymore. He’d kept Grace around of course; she was a good companion and the mother of his child. He’d rather have eaten a bullet than let his son grow up without his mother.

Turns out he didn’t need to take that bullet, considering someone else did it for him, namely his former wife.

It made him think he was too dangerous for anyone to love. Anyone who dared get close to him either ran for the hills after seeing the danger or ended up in a casket buried 4 feet deep.

It was why he pushed everyone away, kin included.

And yet, she didn’t care one bit. She still waved at him with a merry hello each time he passed her, a great contrast with the dreary Small Heath. It baffled Tommy to this day how a serious man like Henry Briggs could have such a ray of sunshine as a daughter.

It’d always been that way, even before he got sent to France to fight in the mud. And secretly, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself, it made his day just that bit better. It made him think of something else than just business, or men fighting for their lives in the trenches.

Each time she opened that lovely mouth to speak to him, his hands balled up into fists with his nails leaving crescent marks in his palms, just so he didn’t touch her. Or take the basket filled with fruits and vegetables he’d seen her carry sometimes.

She made him feel like a sliver of the old Tommy, from before the war. And it scared him.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc

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sneakyblinders · 1 year

Text

All His

A/N: another installment of the tommy x bee series aka Tommy and his darling wife!au <3 inspired by a lovely anon and @skydisneylover's asks for something with jealous tommy & how they said i love you <3 warnings: sexual themes, 18+ only, minors DNI. Alluding to smut, but no smut. Tommy being jealous/possessive, language. I take no credit for the gif! 1.5k words.

Tommy and Bee had been courting for two months. He felt like he was floating. In a dream. Having an out of body experience. This cannot be my life, he constantly thought to himself about this woman, this angel who graced his life with her time and attention.

He began to bring her down to Birmingham on the weekends, sending a car for her up to London and having her brought to the Midland. He wanted her all to himself. Wanted to pleasure her, hold her, let her make all the noise she could manage without fear of his family overhearing and giving them both grief for it over breakfast. Wanted no one but himself to hear her mewls, her groans, whines, moans. The way she fucking moans makes him fall apart in her hands.

She was everything he was not. Kind, charming, elegant, classy. She matched him in intelligence and wit. He had not seen her get angry with anyone besides him but once–she was calm–always soothing.

In the back of his mind he knew she was too good for him. Out of his league. He knew she would one day discover his darkness, the depths of hell he had been through, and would deem him unredeemable. He was preparing for the day when his heart would be shattered, and his world would go from vibrant color back to shades of gray.

But he loved her. He knew he loved her from the first few times they had really spent time together. Knew he loved her definitely from the first time they’d made love. How nervous she was to tell him she’d never done anything like this with a man before. His heart ached to tell her that he loved her. That he desperately loved her–that she was all he thought of day and night. He couldn’t bear to be apart from her any longer. Needed her, wanted her in Birmingham, sharing his bed, his home, his life. But he was terrified of her rejection, or worse, of her acceptance, and later, her rejection and abandonment.

So in the meantime, he showered her with gifts. Perfumes, dresses, lingerie, flowers. He bought her a mother of pearl watch with a gold band after they had been courting for a month. The next week he made love to her for the first time and bought her a delicate diamond anklet, clasping it on, her legs still thrown over his shoulders, still shaking from the pleasure he had brought her to seconds before. He’d recently discovered an emerald baguette necklace and instantly thought it needed to adorn her neck.

He was walking faster than normal through Birmingham to get to the Midland, anxious to see her. Feel her. Touch her. Hear her voice. He walked through the doors and heard her giggle. Brow furrowed, he walked into the lounge, where she sat across from a young man who was flirting, telling her some ridiculous story.

“Oh, there he is,” she said, looking at Tommy, breathless from laughing. Jealousy pooled in Tommy’s gut, knowing the day of her finding a better man was approaching soon. “It was lovely to talk to you, Sam,” she said, standing up to walk towards Tommy. “Hello, handsome,” she said, reaching up to kiss him on the lips.

Far too distracted in his thoughts, he didn’t lean into her like he normally did, causing her to pull away far earlier than she would like. “Hello, darling,” he rasped, a hand on the small of her back. “Go on up to the room, I’m going to get some whiskey and I’ll be up, hm?” he said. She nodded before disappearing up the stairs to their room.

He thoughtlessly retrieved a bottle of Irish whiskey from the bar before slowly walking up to the room. He groaned when he pushed the door open and saw her lying in the middle of the giant bed in nothing but a baby pink silk babydoll slip he’d bought for her.

“Are you alright?” she asked as he kicked the door closed behind him and turned the lock.

“Just tired, Darling. S’all,” he mumbled, walking to the window and closing the curtains.

He set the bottle of whiskey down on the nightstand closest to the door–the side of the bed he always deemed as his. “Are you certain?” she asked as he loosened his tie and removed his jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Been a long week and I’ve been looking forward to this since we left last time,” he said, unclasping his cufflinks as she rubbed her thighs together, dying from the anticipation, growing needy at this show of undressing he was making.

“But,” she began as he removed his sleeve garters and braces from his shoulders. “You didn’t kiss me like you normally do,” she said, widening her eyes and batting her eyelashes at him as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Mm,” he threw his shirt and undershirt in the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. “And how do I normally kiss you, hm?” he asked, crawling on top of her on the bed.

“Like a starved man,” she said, legs wrapping around his waist.

“Mm, I see,” he kissed her neck. “If I am a starved man, then you are the meal I’ve waited my whole life for, eh?” he pressed his hips into hers, causing a whimper to leave her lips. Her hands moved down to unfasten his trousers and push them down his legs, along with his undershorts, leaving him bare atop her. His hand moved up to grip her jaw, causing her to gasp, eyes flying open. “Who was that man?” he asked, jaw clenched.

“What man?” she asked, eyes wide in fear.

“The man in the lounge,” he said, anger pouring from his words.

“I don’t know, some man who wanted to ask if I knew of any good pubs,” she swallowed. “I told him the Garrison,” she said, flinching at his grip. “Thomas, please, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered.

He loosened his grip immediately, breathing heavily. “If you want to run off with another man, just say it, Bee,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his bottle of whiskey, taking a long swig straight from the bottle.

She sat up, hurt and confusion running through her mind. “Thomas, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, fighting back tears.

He took another long pull on the bottle before setting it down with a thud and crawling back on top of her, laying her flat on her back. “Say it again,” he demanded, clasping her jaw in his hand again.

“What?” she asked.

“Say it again,” he demanded, pressing his hips into hers.

“I’m not going anywhere, Thomas,” she repeated.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he told her, dipping down to nip at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck that drove her wild.

“I’m all yours, Thomas,” she told him breathlessly, legs wrapping around his hips again.

“Again,” he breathed, slinking down her body.

“All yours!” she cried breathlessly.

By midnight he was drunk. He didn’t make a habit of being drunk, and he actually couldn’t remember the last time he was properly drunk. But between the pleasure high he was riding and being thoroughly intoxicated with this woman, he had lost track of how much he had drunk until the bottle was nearly half empty.

“Got something for ‘ya,” he said, walking over to his discarded jacket and fishing out the necklace he had bought her.

“Thomas,” she scolded as he held it out, clasping it for her around her neck. “It’s beautiful, thank you,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

They fell back onto the bed together, legs intertwined, her fingers drawing shapes on his chest while he lit a cigarette. “I don’t think I could deny you anything y’know?” he said.

“Why’s that?” she giggled.

“Those eyes,” he said, shaking his head. “Those fucking eyes could get me to do anything, I swear,” he said and she continued to giggle.

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have something else to tell ‘ya, but I know you don’t feel the same fuckin’ way so don’t laugh at me, eh?” he said.

“Oh, Thomas, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What is it?” she asked, a hand over his heart.

“I love you, Bee,” he said gently, all the tenderness in his mind, heart, body poured into those words. “I have from the moment I saw ya, I think,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “There ya have it. Tommy Shelby–in love.”

She looked at him with an awestruck expression, all words escaping her. “Thomas,” she breathed.

“Ya don’t have to say it back, I know someone like you could never love someone like me,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his whiskey again.

“Thomas,” she said again as he tipped his head back, taking a long drink.

“Hm?”

She took his bottle and put it on her nightstand, before taking his head in her hands. “I love you too, Thomas,” a smile appeared on his face. “I didn’t think you were the kind of man to say I love you, that’s why I didn’t say it sooner,” she confessed.

“I’m not the kind of man to say it,” he admitted. “But if you want to hear it, I’ll say it every day for the rest of my life,” he told her, happiness overwhelming him.

“Are you happy, Thomas?” she asked.

“So fucking happy, Darling.” he breathed, kissing her. “All mine?” he asked, pulling away from her to look at her fully.

“All yours,” she said, smiling as he kissed her again.

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