Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 21

I quickly learn that Thomas Shelby rides horses like a madman.

The moment we reach the moors, nothing but checkered English countryside stretching out before us, he kicks the horse to a mad gallop. I lurch in the back of the saddle as we take off. My hands, which have been firmly clinging to the seat beneath me, suddenly reach out of their own accord and my arms wrap around Tommy, clinging tightly so I don't fall off. I hear him chuckle, but with my face pressed tightly into his back, can't see if his cheeks are raised.

"Grew up on a horse, did you, Bancroft?" He asks mockingly, voice raised to be heard over the wind whipping past us.

"I haven't ridden without stirrups in over ten years," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Always so fancy. Never needing to load your own bullets. Always a polished saddle with stirrups at the ready."

I lift my chin, but can't see more than the back of his coat as my cheek rubs against it. "Actually, I was never allowed to buy a horse, or equipment. My first pony was an unbroken beast. I had to break her in myself, borrowing the gear from a friend."

Tommy doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's surprised. A drizzle of rain sprays my face, but despite the grey clouds in the sky, doesn't grow any heavier.

"This isn't the way to Small Heath," I say after ten minutes or so.

"There's something I want to show you."

He takes us across a set of grounds, finally coming to a stop beside a lake. He glances back at me, and my hands end up holding onto his thighs as I dismount.

I shake my wrists, taking in the view around us. There's a large hill on the eastern side, behind the lake, and a willow tree shortly ahead. With a jolt, I realise it reminds me of the tree at home. Of the spot where we'd first met.

"Looks alike, doesn't it?" He says, reading my thoughts. He stands beside me, glancing out across the lake. "I used to come here as a lad."

I walk to the willow tree, pushing aside the leaves and escaping beneath the canopy. The trunk is so wide, so old looking, I can't help but run my hand across the bark.

"What was it called?" Tommy asks, coming to join me. "Your horse?"

I swallow, too mesmerised by the ethereal beauty of this place to remember how much I dislike this man, how reluctant I am to engage in any form of pleasant conversation with him. "Clover," I reply. "Unimaginative, I know."

He pauses. "Clover's a fine name. Are you fond of the plant?"

"I prefer flowers."

"What kind?"

I meet his blue eyes as they pierce through me. "Buttercups."

He raises his eyebrows.

"They're everywhere," I continue. "Why pick a flower that's hard to find? Happiness shouldn't be difficult to obtain."

He doesn't say anything. Just watches me, curiously.

"What? Am I a disappointment to this spoiled-princess image you've built up?" I ask. "I've told you. My childhood wasn't like that."

"You shouldn't have to apologise even if it was," he says. He glances at the ground and lights a cigarette.

"Then what do you want from me, Tommy?" I ask, weeks of frustration reaching a tipping point.

"I want to know you'll be okay when you leave us."

"Why does it matter?" I ask. "If I get shot and die, well then, I'm dead. Case closed."

"There are worse fates than dying," he says.

"I disagree," I say.

"Alright then. Jump in the lake."

I stare at him. "What?"

"Go on," he says. "What are you afraid of, if not death?"

My hands clench into fists at my sides. Of course I don't want to jump in the fucking lake. But I can see the smirk brewing, some new comment about me being spoiled or rude or whatever the next thing is. Fuck you, Thomas Shelby. I'll show him.

I pull my jumper over my head. The cold air is harsh against my bare skin, and I'm silently thankful I picked matching underwear today as I slip out of my skirt and socks.

Tommy's completely silent, cigarette burning forgotten in his fingers. I step out from the willow tree and down the bank, right up to the lake's edge. I glance down into the water.

"Is it deep?" I ask Tommy.

"Very," he says beside me, startling me. He's looking out over the lake, then fixes his  attention on me.

I swallow, nerves suddenly building in my stomach. Maybe this is a really, really stupid idea.

"You apologised for last night," I tell him. "For trying to dictate who I can speak to."

His voice is curt. "I did."

"I don't think that was good enough," I say.

I fling my arms around him and launch us both into the water.

It slaps against my bare skin, and it's so fucking cold I want to scream. My instinct is to control my breathing, but of course I'm beneath water, and so I swallow a gulpful.

Tommy's own arms wrap around me, and he kicks us up to the surface. We emerge and separate, both gasping, me spluttering. He's drenched, cap floating in the water beside us, wiping water from his face. His expression would be thunderous, would be terrifying — if he wasn't completely soaked.

I try not to smile, but I can't help it. I collapse into laughter, blaming the adrenaline of the cold water, blaming my chest for having coughed so much it turns to a laugh.

And to my absolute astonishment, his face softens. He can't help but smile. He looks away, shaking his head, but his shoulders move and I can see he's laughing too, trying to be silent.

"Well, those are fucked," he sighs, flinging a soggy bit of cardboard that was his packet of cigarettes just minutes ago.

"Good," I say. "You smoke too much."

"Fucking hell," he mutters. He fixes his gaze on me again, as we both tread water. "I pity the man who underestimates you, Bancroft."

"And I pity the next man who tells me what to do," I say pointedly.

But he doesn't bite back. He just looks at me, glancing from my eyes to my bare shoulders, collarbones, finally settling on my lips. I don't know how it happens, but we move closer to each other.

"You'll catch your death out here," he says softly.

"You'll be riding home in your boxer shorts," I say.

He holds me by the waist and pulls me closer to him. I forget how to breathe. I can see every droplet on his face, every one of his dark eyelashes framing his eyes. Desire floods me, but this time it's different — it's deeper. More primal, more intense. Like he's oxygen, and it's no longer a question of if, but when. And for a dizzying moment, I think it might be now.

But then he frowns. "Your lips are turning blue," he says. "Time to get you out." He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and leads me to the bank.

I realise, as he pulls me out of the lake, that I've never hated the colour blue so much in all my life.