Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 40

Tommy's POV

Tommy tugs his shorts on and cleans you off, gently wiping the towel between your legs, and then he stills.

Realising.

Your eyes lock onto his in the same moment.

"Have Polly make you a tea," he says quietly.

But your shoulders tense with fury. "You can leave condoms beside my bed every fucking morning, but you can't remember to even put one on?"

"I'm sure we discussed this," he says. He wraps a blanket around your shoulders. "Lapses in memory and judgement."

How the fuck had he forgotten? He wonders. He knows this is no life to bring a child into, and he'd never wish to subject you to that.

But the sight of you before him, the feeling of his lips on yours, had consumed him entirely. It's no excuse — and he won't do it again. He sets his jaw as you both take cover in the tent and listen to the rain patter across the fabric.

He lights a cigarette absent-mindedly, the sound of rain filling his head as he thinks. He'd forgotten himself. For the first time in a long time, he'd been so immersed in someone that his usual capabilities had fallen to the wayside. It's both exhilarating and terrifying — the way you occupy his every waking thought, drowned out only by his own strict discipline when working or under pressure.

Finally, he has someone to share with. Someone he doesn't need to protect from the dangers of his work as much as he wants to. You're just as intertwined in it all as he is — even more so. It's a fate as inescapable for you as it's always been for him. And you've already proven yourself capable. Unflinching in the face of danger. And you understand him intellectually: when the men from the Irish gang had accosted you both, you hadn't even hesitated in playing along with his ruse. There'd been no outrage or blame when he'd pretended to be willing to hand you over. It's like you were on the same page as fast as he was, if not faster.

And he'd become vulnerable with you. Without even realising it, each layer of him had slowly opened like a blooming lilly in a pond, making perfect sense in every moment and only seeming nonsensical now in hindsight.

You were on his team, on his side. You were bound by nothing but a piece of paper that would get laughed out of a court, if it even made it there due to it's illegal nature. And still, you stayed.

Still, you endured him, and everything that came with it. You could have chosen to be with Arthur or with John, or even Michael, and yet you're here with him.

He glances at you, suddenly realising you've been silent the whole time as he smoked his cigarette to the last quarter. You're wrapped in a blanket, head on your knees, so silent and so still. There's a dropping sensation in his chest.

"Polly can sort it out," he affirms once more, hoping to quell whatever's concerning you.

But you look up at him, and though your throat bobs as you swallow, you're blazing in the absence of any shame as you speak. "Are you regretting it?" You ask.

He takes a moment to respond, blinking in surprise. "Why would I?"

"Because the only thing you've been able to say is that I need to sort out your mistake. Other than that, you've completely ignored me. I know you've been with a lot of women." You pause. "I know men get heated in the moment, and say things, and then..."

He softens, wondering how he could ever explain, could ever make you realise the depth of what he feels for you. "Come here," he says.

You hesitate, he presumes, trying to decide just how cross you are with him. Rather than push you too far, he moves closer to you, wrapping you in his arms. Instantly, it's like he's at home. The comfort in holding and being held, in having someone's heart beating against his own, is unmatched. He never thought he'd feel peace like this again, not after the war.

"The only thing I regret," he tells you quietly, "is causing you to feel like this. Because I certainly don't." He caresses your face as you look at him. He needs to say this, needs you to understand. "Listen to me. I haven't found rest since the moment I found you beneath that willow tree in London. You have tormented my every moment since. Even when I didn't particularly like you, I would have burnt down the entire world for you. When I lie awake at night, it's not because of the war. It's because I cannot rest unless you are here with me like this. And it infuriates me as much as it excites me, to know that I need you. I crave you. It tore me apart every hour, every minute, knowing that you were with my brothers. Not because I wanted to deny your happiness, but because I was not the one giving it to you. You are the most maddening and most heavenly thing I have ever had the fortune to love."

He wipes away the tears that brim in your eyes, refusing to let them fall. His fingers trail down your jaw, then trace the scar still raised on your throat. "I'm going to hunt down every man who's ever hurt you," he vows in the darkness, "and every man who ever tries to. And when I'm finished with them, I'm going to build you a castle of your very own, even if my knuckles are grazed to the bone in doing it. I'm going to love you until your hair turns grey. Until our bones are so old we can do no more than hold hands together." He links his fingers through yours. "I'm going to love you in every lifetime."

You take his head in your hands, and your eyes search his. For the first time in a very, very long time, he has nothing to hide.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby," you say quietly. Your hand runs down his throat, to lay your palm against his chest. "Enough to take a bloody tea Polly makes, if you promise never to forget again."

"I brought a dozen of the fucking things with me," he tells you. He kisses you, and the sweet taste is dizzying to him as always. "I can prove it, if you like."

"I do believe you promised to read my future first," you say.

He presses his palm to yours, lining up your hands and bending his fingers over yours at the top knuckle. "We'd have to read them together now."

"I don't know how to," you say.

He rolls his eyes, though he feels like he's floating. "Didn't learn any of the important life skills, did you?" He says. "Can't read the stars or palms. Couldn't build a bloody campfire."

He's never smiled so widely as when you scowl at him in return.