These Devilish Intentions

These Devilish Intentions

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Main Masterlist

Peaky Blinders Fanfiction Masterlist

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: They strike a deal on a bridge in the dead of night. It is sealed. It is done. It is everlasting. It is the beginning of something neither of them ever expected to find.

Moodboard

Word Count: 33,255

Notes: Chapters containing explicit smut are marked with ✽

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Masterlist: Reckless

Emmett AQP2 x Holly Matthews OC

Summary

Over a year into the invasion of the creatures, Holly Matthews has abandoned the city for the comparative safety of a small town. Living each day like it might be her last creates friction with risk averse local, Emmett, who just can’t seem to avoid her. The difficulty is, he just can’t seem to stop fucking her either. Somewhere between desire and mutual loathing, unexpected visitors mean the pair find themselves caught up in wider events that will change their relationship. But will it be for the better..? Only time will tell.

Warnings

🔞 All chapters will have their own warnings section so please do check those before you dive in. However this is an unashamedly smutty fic so, respectfully, minors DNI.

Just FYI, tumblr has been super glitchy with this story and there are a number of chapters where it simply won’t let me edit them after posting, so I haven’t been able to add a ‘next chapter’ link at the end or fix any minor errors. Please do check this masterlist to make sure you’re not missing a new chapter.

Story

Part 1: Peaches 🔞

Part 2: Belonging(s) 🔞

Part 3: Bear Trap 🔞

Part 4: Pack 🔞

Part 5: Wreckage

Part 6: The Exchange

Part 7: Retribution

Part 8: Separation

Part 9: coming soon!

Moodboards & One Shots

Holly x Zach moodboard

Holly’s tattoos moodboard

‘You took everything from me’ moodboard

Baby on Board - Holly & Bea one shot

Faceclaims

Holly - Alycia Debnam-Carey

I’ve never seen Fear The Walking Dead, I just found her on Pinterest and was like, oh there she is 😂

Zach - Peter Gadiot

Hunter - Josh Holloway

Bea - Jerrika Hinton

Credits

Story dividers made by @saradika

Check her out, she makes pretty things!

Some aspects of this story are based off scenes in the film and so all credits and rites for those, and the canon characters, obviously go to the creators. Everything else is my own and I do not give permission for it to be copied, transposed or reposted.

Recently, I've seen a few blogs I love get hostile anonymous asks, some of them ridiculous and childish, others purely hateful.

I've seen writers and artists get disheartened by lack of engagement and interest. I've seen people treat fan art and fan fiction as a product to consume, review and then throw away.

Fanfiction is becoming social media and I hate it. That's not what it is.

Fanfiction used to be like a digital book club. Just writers and readers bonding over a fictional universe, supporting one another.

Now it's a product for people to consume, for some people to like while they scroll mindlessly and then send a spiteful anon ask when the writer doesn't meet their standards.

Now creators are leaving, creating less, crumbling under the hate of entitled people who hide behind anon asks.

I created this blog because I wanted to share my writing with people, and I am immeasurably grateful to all those who follow it. I love you and appreciate you all ♡

I would like to say to each and every person who has ever sent a spiteful or hateful anon ask that you are destroying fandom. You are responsible for creators getting discouraged and/or leaving.

Sure, you've spoken your mind and you've felt powerful, hurting someone's feelings. It made you feel like you had the moral high ground.

Well, I bet that ground will feel very lonely when next to no more fanfic is being written and next to no more fan art is being created.

It's up to you to decide what is more important, feeling like you are right and have the upper hand for a fleeting moment, or having fan creations to enjoy for years to come.

Look at the soul (series) -Master List

Cillian Murphy x OC

In this story, each part will have a “soundtrack” a song I think fits the main idea, so feel free to play it, to get in “the mood” 🥰 (I’m always open to suggestions)

Behind the scenes

Prologue -Show me the meaning of being lonely

Part 1 -Chances

Part 2 -Ocean eyes

Part 3 -It’s my life

Part 4 -Changes

Part 5 - I run to you

Part 6- Couldn’t be better

Part 7- Lady in red

Part 8- Count on me

Part 9- I won’t let go

Part 10- There you’ll be

✨ Please remember this is pure fiction! I have zero intentions of disrespecting CM. I don’t allow my work to be posted somewhere else, edited, copied, translated, etc.

💠 Your feedback it’s what keeps me going, I’d love to hear your thoughts on each part ❣️

Tip Jar

Commissions Open!

Daryl Dixon x Reader-

Series

Mini-Series

One-Shots

-

Other-

Marvel

Outer Banks

Peaky Blinders

Stranger Things

Supernatural

Teen Wolf

The Last of Us / Pedro Pascal

The Walking Dead 

The Witcher

-

AO3

Wattpad

There’s A Woman…

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader (sort of), Arthur Shelby x Reader (sort of)

Warning: Mentions of loss and abuse

See below for additional chapters

Gif Credit: @peakypeaky & @kendaspntwd Thank you for letting me use your beautiful gifs for my crazy stories.

Note: Please Read – As some of you know I had a bout of insomnia last night and this is what I wrote at 4am. I debated not posting it at all. It’s just a one-shot, Imagine style. I’m not sure what this is. It’s probably garbage, but this is what happens when you can’t sleep… Just the deranged ramblings of an exhausted mind. 

I have no idea if any of this is factually accurate for the time period. Again, written in the haze of no sleep. I tried to verify my assumptions of girls getting married in their teens to avoid going into the system, I’ve heard of it happening in the US, but I couldn’t verify it for 1920′s UK. Oh and I feel like the reader is young in this, somewhere like 19-20.

If you enjoy it, like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciate.

Wrapped in your quiet cocoon, the fabric’s soft like a distant memory of better days as it envelopes you. The heat of your body held tight beneath the blanket, warming your skin from the inside out. The room is cold, the air around your face frigid as you burrow your nose deeper against the blanket. The sound of rain on the window lulls your mind as you dose in and out, unsure if it’s sleep or the whiskey that keeps pulling your under.

With a shift and creak, the heat changes around you, filling on one side, escaping from another. The chill from the wall reaches out for you back, poking and prodding at your spine as you reach for the warmth in front of you, seeking it out unconsciously. It’s warm and toasty, soft to the touch as you nuzzle your nose against it. The musky scent of whiskey and gun power winds tendrils up your nose as your lips part and you breathe it in.

“Vera,” The sound of your name fills the room, off a breath that’s low and gritty and muffled from sleep.

But you recognize it even in the haze of your own mind as the softness bleeds to subtle as he turns in towards you.

Your eyes flutter open and meet the most startling blue eyes you’ve ever gazed upon lying beside you. Even now, after years of seeing them, sometimes they can be so enchanting, so bewitching, they leave you frozen under their spell as you gaze into their mighty grip. He stares back you, barely blinking as if you’re all he can see in the dark.

“I did it again?” You whisper softly to him. No need for volume when he’s lying this close.

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to remember how you got here as Tommy’s heavy breath fills the air around you once again, only further away this time as he turns from you.

“Yeah, ya did.” He states flatly. You’re eyes shoot back open as you hear a knock on the wall above your head.

You stare at the sharp line of his jaw as Tommy stares up at the ceiling lying beside you, thinking the line of it looks as dangerous as the razors on his cap.

“Found her, Arthur!” Tommy hollers to the room over as he gives the wall one more steady knock, the sound echoing against your face as you cringe from the sheer volume of it.

Resigned to leaving your warm safe place, you kick back the blankets as the feel of cold frigid air assaults you on contact, sending gooseflesh forming against your skin, hair standing on end, your breasts tingling against the chill as a shiver runs down your spine. Your night gown offering little in the form of resistance against the brutal winter nights.

Your head still feels foggy, swaying and shifting like a boat on rocky seas. Surely, it’s the whiskey. A Shelby now, you drink often and plenty, but tonight seemed especially plentiful. You lost track after your fifth glass of whiskey.

You’re not even sure what drew you in here this time, the urge unclear and hazy in your mind. You spot a glass of water on the table beside Tommy’s bed and think perhaps you had gotten up for it only to return to the wrong spot. Poised to move and return to your bed, you place your hands unceremoniously on Tommy’s chest to balance yourself before swinging your leg over him as he lets out a groan in protest. 

You could have climbed off at the end of the bed you suppose, but this was the fastest way out, and at this time of night and whiskey on your brain, added work just seemed unnecessary. You aim to brace your knee against the mattress on the other side of Tommy as you climb off, but the bed’s smaller than you considered and he’s lying against the edge.

You’re clumsy from sleep and had far too much whiskey, and you realize your miscalculation a little too late, as your leg falls off the side of the bed, toes landing on the icy floorboard as you sink down on top of Tommy’s waist.

“Fuck sake, Vera!” Tommy growls through clenched teeth, shooting up in bed with the feel of you on top of him, but as he rises, you slip down his body and settle across his lap. 

The sudden jerk in position throws you off balance as you try to climb off him. Too quick for the whiskey to catch up with as you sway, about to topple onto the floor in a heap before Tommy snatches your waist and you quickly clutch at his shoulders trying to steady yourself and not land face first on the frigid hardwood floor.

Your eyes meet and for a second your swallowed up by endless blue. Your hearts racing though you’re not sure if it’s from the near fall or the depths of Tommy’s eyes staring into your soul. A shiver runs down your spine, but you can’t be sure whether it stirs from the chill in the air or your precarious position. 

Hands clutching at his shoulders as his arms wrap around your waist, breasts pressed against the heat of his chest, your night gown pooled high around your thighs as you teeter straddled across his lap. Stuck between the chill of the room and the heat between your bodies, holding you captive with the grip of his eyes as the steady rhythm of his breath against your lips calms your rattle.

You search his eyes boldly in the near darkness. Searching for the young man he had been before. Always laughing about something, talking on about his dream to race horses, and always getting into mischief of one kind or another. But you can’t find that young man in the eyes staring back at you, not anymore. Sliced open and bleeding after Greta, all traces ripped clean from his bones after the war. He looks at you in a way that’s hard to read. 

So guarded and trained in neutrality, he’s hard to define. But you see something in his eyes that reminds you of yourself. Of loss, anger, and transformation, from the girl before her mother passed to the one you are today. You swear you see a piece of yourself in him, like looking in a mirror. Everyone’s intimidated by Tommy these days, but not you – you know what real monsters look like. He’s like a riddle waiting to be solved, though you’re quite certain it’s not yours to unravel. And for all his sharp edges and unpredictable moods, you still trust him, even now.

The sound of a throat clearing catches both your attention as your gaze shoots to the sound, you find Arthur leaning against the doorframe watching you and Tommy silently. There’s something in his eyes, something you almost never see and it’s not aimed at you, it’s aimed squarely at Tommy, but you recognize it just the same, tangled up as you are… Men and their cocks never cease to amaze you.

“Don’ be fuckin’ ridiculous,” you scoff, pushing off Tommy to swing your other leg over and climb off him. You know what it looks like, you’re not a fucking fool, but the idea it could be anything other than a misunderstanding was absurd to you.

“Get your wife, Arthur.” Tommy insists as he practically lifts you off him. Unable to get rid of you fast enough as you nearly trip again from the momentum and whiskey, falling against Arthur’s waiting arms.

Wife – the word is always jarring when you hear it. No one in the Shelby home calls you that, but Thomas and you still haven’t figure out why. Arthur’s wife, but only in name. Anyone sensible knows that. He married you at fifteen in a hasty ceremony done only to save your life. Arthur is many things to you - hero, protector, confidant, friend, but husband still isn’t one that fits, and luckily for you, he doesn’t expect it to.

Your father died in a factory accident when you were ten. Your mother was a good friend of Polly’s, you grew about around the Shelby’s. After she passed of consumption, Polly took you under her wing. Until the parish authorities came calling shortly after the funeral, taking to you stay with the fathers until they could locate your next of kin. 

You lasted a month there, before you managed to run away. Returning to the only place you felt safe anymore. You had been frantic and desperate, you couldn’t go back. They would come for you, Polly knew they would as they had her own children, but she had no legal claim to you. So she devised the only plan she could muster on such little time, in the whirlwind of your desperation… Marriage.

If you were married they’d have no way to take you. You’d be property of your husband. While John was the closest in age, he was already married to Martha. Tommy was out of the question as he languished at Greta dying bedside. That left only Arthur. A man thirteen years your senior, he refused at first, but when confronted with what they had done, what they would continue to do, and Polly’s word they’d figure something out later, he agreed. You weren’t easily convinced either, but Polly told you it was the only way and you couldn’t go back there.

You got lucky with Arthur. He let you know right away he had no desire for you and after leaving the care of the father’s, you needed to hear that. He said he’d appreciate if you helped Polly out around the house, but he no expectation of you ever entering his bed. You never even shared a room before he left for the war, bunking with Ada instead. 

That’s how you ended up falling in love with Tommy’s bed. Having free reign of the rooms once the men left, you and Ada tried them all, and Tommy’s fit just right. It had this little divot in the old tick mattress that fit you just right. You could wrap the blankets around yourself and curl into it like a swaddled baby. You felt safe and warm there. You freely relinquished it when the men came home, but it still calls to you from time to time.

When the men came back from war, you were a woman - a young woman, but a woman just the same. And things felt different between you and the Shelby brothers. Different then the way they saw and treated the scared girl left behind. Still Arthur never pressed you, keeping his word. It was unspoken he could get his needs met anywhere he pleased as long he kept you safe and taken care of. After the war, you shared a bed, but he never touched you unless you reached for him first. 

And nearly five years married, home from the war almost six months, you had never consummated the vow. Arthur Shelby was many things to you, but husband never quite seemed like one of them. But you did love him. You loved them all, even Tommy and his unpredictable moods and antagonistic jabs. So when Arthur offered to let you go, you declined. This was your family, where you wanted to be. You think maybe one day you’d like to give him a baby. You know he wants one and he certainly deserves it, but you don’t desire any of that now. Not sure you ever will. You still feel like damaged goods. You don’t know what the future holds, but you feel certain this is where you belong.

“Easy there, I got ‘cha.” Arthur tells you, slipping an arm under your legs to scoop you up like a bride.

“I got lost. Think I had too much whiskey.” You explain to him, leaning into the warmth of his chest, your face burrowing into the curve of his neck.

“That’s a’right. Let’s get ya back to bed, little lady.” Arthur tells you, holding you close with care. That’s what he calls you, not wife, sometimes Vera, but mostly ‘little lady’, has since you were small.

“Gotta stop doin this, Vera.” Tommy’s calls with impatience as Arthur carries you back to your bed.

“Night Tommy.” You answer, already half lost to the throws of sleep.

Once you’re gone, Tommy turns to his dresser to retrieve his pipe, unrolling it carefully. He plucks a bit of tar between his fingers, rolling and pinching until he has it just right. He burns just the outer edge of it, the sweet medicine crackling lightly under the flame, before he places it at the edge of his pipe. Drawing his lips to one end, he brings the other to the flame, letting it crackle and burn as he breathes in relief. 

Just enough to quiet the nerves and endlessness of his mind. Placing the pipe down carefully on the desk beside his bed, Tommy rolls against the mattress, his body seeking out the heated spot you left under the blanket. His face burying against the pillow that had rested beneath your head as he breathes you in deeply, letting images of you mix and dance with the opium as he closes his eyes to drift away.

Part 2 part 5