Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 36

I stumble in the kitchen, grasping at the counter so I don't fall. My touch sends a pile of cutlery clattering to the stone tiles, loud enough to wake up the entire house.

A sigh escapes my teeth. My leg has healed somewhat in the few days since I've left the hospital, and I try not to use the wheelchair unless I must. John graciously offered to swap bedrooms so I don't have to use the stairs — but I'm determined to get back up there before the week is out.

John himself comes in, wearing a white Henley shirt and trousers.

"It's you causing all this racket," he says. "Thought Arthur might be tearing the cupboards apart looking for snow."

"Sorry to disappoint." I clutch a glass more tightly than I should, slamming it down before pouring in whiskey.

"I've never been one to police a man's whiskey — or woman's," John says, "but... are you alright?"

"I don't like morphine," I tell him. I tip the alcohol down my throat. "Whiskey treats the pain just as well, and it doesn't make me feel like shit for two days afterwards."

"You'll be alright, you know," John says quietly. "It's lucky the bullet didn't hit you harder."

"So I keep getting told," I say, wiping the alcohol from my lips. "I'm very lucky."

I go to leave the room, and though my leg muscle is still weak from the wound, I don't need to clutch anything for support any more. But John presses a hand against my shoulder.

"Bancroft... are you sure you're okay?" He drops his head. "And I don't just mean the gunshot. I mean..."

My throat tightens. No, I'm not alright, I want to say. I've just found out that every gangster in England wants to make me his property, and I somehow have to rule over them all when I can't even stop a horse truck without getting shot in the leg. I'll never be able to work in bloodstock again, as it's too dangerous, and the myriad of possibilities my future once held have suddenly crumbled into nothing. The branches that could have been my life have all withered away, and I'm left climbing a dying oak tree by the trunk alone.

And, to top it all off, I find myself struggling to sleep while Tommy's out working. An annoyance I'd never accounted for, and one I don't appreciate.

Tears well in my eyes. Without us needing to speak, John wraps me in a hug. I cling to him, choking down the urge to cry, and he fills me with an emotion that feels like sunlight.

"It's alright," he finally says, pulling away. "Things always seem worse at night. You'll feel better in the morning. Yeah?"

I press my hands against his chest. "I don't want to be alone tonight," I say softly.

He wraps his fingers around my hands. "If you want me, I'll stay," he says.

I nod. His hand stays wrapped around my own as we go back to the bedroom. I take off my silk robe and hang it on the door, closing it shut until the latch clicks and I'm in silk shorts and a lace vest.

I climb into bed and John takes me in his arms. He strokes my hair, and I feel at peace — there's no fluttering in my stomach, no static electricity rising up my spine. But it's nice. I'm safe here. And as John hums a song, I recognise it as one I've been playing on the gramophone. Carried on the waves of his voice, with just the right amount of whiskey in my system, I'm lulled to sleep.

***

I wake the next morning and reach for my glass of water, eyes still half shut. An anxious knot unwinds in my stomach as I sip it back — lightly iced. That means Tommy made it home last night.

But my relief is short-lived as I place the glass back, and it scrapes across thick wads of material. I still, taking a deeper breath, before I can bear to look.

Three condoms. Three.

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth audibly grind together. John's still snoring on the bed beside me — completely innocent. Nothing happened all night, except I had some human company for a change. I snatch the condoms between my fingers.

I brush my teeth and wrap the robe around me, before storming through the house. When I reach the stairs, I don't even stop to think as I climb them. My thigh gives a meek twinge of protest, and I feel the bandage begin to slip, but I am fuelled by anger stronger than any gunshot wound.

Thankfully, Tommy's door is not locked as I slam it open. If it were, I probably would have injured myself further hammering it down.

Tommy's awake in his bed. He's sat upright, wearing round glasses and reading a leather-bound book. Infuriatingly, he doesn't even look at me as I enter. Betrays no signs of surprise at my presence.

Though, to be fair, there was nothing inconspicuous about my movements through the house.

"Morning, Bancroft," he says lightly, folding down the corner of his page. "Sleep well?"

I throw the condoms onto the bed. "Why," I seethe, "have you left three Trojan condoms beside my bed?"

He puts the book down and removes his glasses. "To remind you to be safe," he says, as though it ought to be obvious.

"You think I need fucking reminders?"

"You can never be too careful. Things can get heated in the moment, memories slip. I know that as well as anyone."

"Nothing happened with me and John," I say.

His eyebrows raise. "I'll take your word for it."

I'm so angry I begin to trip over my words, and they come out an incoherent jumble. "So—so, no, no fucking third condom. No. Not that it's any of your business in the first place. Thats—you should be ashamed of yourself. And—and I..."

I trail off, but my body's still fired up. I begin to pace the width of the room.

He sighs. "Would you please sit down?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" I run my hand across my face. "You... you weren't here."

Comprehension dawns across his face, at the exact same moment it begins to spread through my mind. Oh no. Oh no. That's what this is really about.

"I had to work," he says quietly. "It's the last night job I'll have for a while."

I nod, suddenly feeling very, very awkward. "Right," I finally manage to say, as I fold my arms across my chest.

"I'll stop with the Trojans, if they bother you," he says. "I didn't mean to upset you."

He stands up out of bed. He's shirtless, in just his boxer shorts, and a sudden heat rises through me that has nothing to do with my anger. I quickly blink and look away, staring at the floor.

"I won't stop you fucking my brothers," he says. "Not if that's what you want. But I will ask you not to get pregnant."

Blood pools to my cheeks. "You don't need to worry about that," I say.

"Good. Now, are we done here, or are you going to stay and watch as I get dressed for the day?"

My cheeks stay resolutely warm. But in my defiance, I can look at him again. "I'm not finished," I say.

"Then you'll be glad to hear I've arranged for us to have a picnic lunch," he says. "You can shout at me all you like, in the middle of a field where you don't risk waking up the rest of my family."

I try to scramble for an angry retort, but maddeningly, my fury is barely half of what it was. I simply nod, and leave the room, not bothering to even close the door behind me.

My leg hurts a lot worse taking the stairs this time round.