Peaky Blinders Preferences and Images

[ How he looks after you when it gets bad - Arthur ]

⚠️ Self doubt and self critical reader whose going through hard time, Arthur's mental health ⚠️

Sometimes Arthur can swear he hears eggshells cracking under his feet when he walks. His family don't see him as the Humpty Dumpty falling off the wall that he believes he is; they see a mad dog. Unstable. Erratic. Broken. They don't see the fragility of his wounds, where other so-called mad dogs have left their scars and marks. It is sore as it heals, cutting through his metal fists and molten wrath. No, no one sees Arthur Shelby as fragile. No one but you. You would hug him so tight that he swore his paper-thin skin would tear and he'd crumble in your grip. He never did. The cracks under his shoes ceased. The thorn was pricked out of the lion's paw and he could meander around Small Heath with a real sunny smile on his lips. Tommy would always grip his face, glaring into his irises to see the evidence of some chemical explanation for the newfound change in his brother. It was only when the family met you did they finally understand why Arthur finally had a spring in his step again.

Sometimes Arthur forgot you were fragile too. You always seemed so strong to him, like some reverent being caste from the metal of the anchor that kept him in this world. But anchors rust when they're underwater too long. How could he forget? The eggshells came back, crunching under his shoes as he tried to make a subtle entrance behind you. If you knew he was there, you'd put on that faux smile he knew too well and go about your day as if there wasn't a dullness in your eyes. He had to creep up behind you to study that melancholy expression you would never show him. You would try and protect him from the shadows and cobwebs from your mind, despite the war you've fought to help him find peace with his demons. There was a visible flinch as you heard the heavy step of his foot behind you, your spine slamming into the table as you made a swift turn to face your attacker. As soon as your wide eyes laid on Arthur, you relaxed slightly to your previously half-tense pose, a soft smile forming on your face.

"Arthur, I didn't see you there!" You let out a little giggle at the downward slant of his moustache, mistaking his wounded frown for guilt at surprising you. "I'm gonna have to get you a bell or else I'll have a heart attack one of these days, ey?"

You always tried to make him smile, to ease that tension in his aching heart. He had to do that to you.

"You're not doing good, are ya?" There was no point beating around the bush, trying to get you to admit it yourself. You were far too good at shaking it off and the usual excuse of 'just tired' wouldn't suffice.

It was surprise again that got you jumping. This time it was a subtle rise of your hunches and the little hilt of breath. Arthur placed a callous palm on your cheek, rubbing his thumb against you tenderly. Your eyes were stinging in tears as you finally allowed the mask to slip, the gentle look in his eyes too piercing to hide from. There was a heaviness in your throat that meant speaking would inevitably lead to crying, so a nod of your head was all you could do.

"Cumere, love." You were too tired to argue with him, and point out the washing on the table that needed sorting, or the cobwebs that loomed in the corner of your flat. There would be time for that later. Right now, you took an eager step forward as you crashed against his chest, his hands securing you to him by resting on the back of your head and the middle of your spine. The smell of cigarettes was forever etched into his clothes and his breath, but it was still as distinct as ever as you nuzzled yourself closer as you could getting. "I've got ya. Don't worry. I'm gonna look after ya, I will." That choking feeling at the back of your throat returned so you could only hope that, as your wet eyes soaked into his neat button up, he could tell that gratitude was wept along with it too. You held onto him tightly again, but for once he didn't feel like breaking. His heart was pounding against your ear, the sound of it steady and reassuring to help your own find its natural pace.

You were acutely aware that if anyone were to step in, they'd see the Peaky Blinder with the violent reputation clinging on to your shaking figure in the middle of the kitchen and think the worst. Only, as you had to remind yourself, no one else was going to step into your flat. This moment of closeness between the two of you was entirely yours. He was still holding you against him as your breathing stopped and the feeling of two bodies pressed so close was simply just a breath of fresh air (stained only slightly by the stench of cigarettes) and a soothing position for two healing hearts.

"How 'bout I get you to bed? We can keep on doing this, or...I dunno, we can talk, if you'd like?"

"No." The thoughts in your head were too many and too loud (and unable to be diluted by tears) but talking would only be harder. You wanted peace. You wanted Arthur. Just for a bit longer. "Just wanna cuddle."

"Alright then." Despite his promise to nurse you as you had nursed him, he was secretly relived. Talking had never been his strong suit, and advice was even harder for him. But the second you needed to, he knew he'd run all the way from the other side of England to sit by your side and hold you in his arms as you let yourself talk. "Why don't you get yourself into something comfy and get into bed. I'll get the kettle on."

"And you'll come and sit with me?" It sounded silly and clingy and pathetic but Arthur's eyes lit up as he gave you the most loving grin.

"All night long, if you'd like."

"Okay." You finally had to separate yourselves- a task that both of you hesitated in. The warmth you shared was left as just an imprint on your skin as Arthur lumbered over to the other side of the kitchen to fetch some cups and water. Putting the kettle on, just as he promised. Your end of the bargain may be harder to do well in, as you again caught sight of the washing you were meant to be doing.

"Leave that!" Arthur was never one to give orders, so you found yourself blinking in surprise when you heard his sharp voice. He was holding a teaspoon out to point at you like Polly would do to him and his younger siblings when they faffed about as she was brewing tea, or cooking. It looked almost comical for a minute that you had to dig your teeth into the side of your mouth as he lowered his unimpressive pointer. "I'll do it later. You just need to go and get comfy, alright, love?"

You easily stopped yourself from quirking a eyebrow at Arthur doing your laundry as your heart was filled with a tender warmth for the lanky man that was opening and closing kitchen cupboards, muttering under his breath about where the hell everything was. You heard clunks and clashes as you left to go into your bedroom, trusting Arthur (almost) completely with your pottery, and knowing he couldn't do more damage than an air raid had to your nana's chipped china. You were only led by one single thought. The hope it brought to you made your shoulders relax, and your steps lighter.

Arthur would take care of you. Always.