#Dark Tommy Shelby x WOC reader

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

As soon as the papers were signed for new consignment delivery and the ink was dry on the paper, Tommy decided to throw a curveball, to get to know his elusive new business partner.

“Grace is throwing a party for some charity. She asked me to invite you and your wife.” Tommy said carelessly.

“Party…?” Reuben asked in confusion, he had never mixed business with pleasure or even family.

“Don’t you Americans have over the top exuberant parties?” Tommy taunted the former soldier.

“We do, but I don’t believe in getting my family involved with the people I do my business with…” Reuben tried to reject the offer as politely as he could.

But little did he know, Thomas Shelby was not going to give it up so easily.

“It is a charity ball for orphaned kids nothing dangerous, I’m sure your Mrs can handle one night with the Shelbys” Tommy cajoled.

“Mr. Shelby, I don’t mix my work with my personal life. It is better that way and I certainly do not involve my wife in anything related to this side of my business.” Rueben tried to argue his way out this predicament.

“It is not going to be anything illegal or even borderline illegal, I have promised Grace that I will do no shady dealings at the ball.” Tommy reiterated.

“I really don’t mix my business and personal life and I would like to keep it that way.” Rueben did not budge. 

Tommy lit a cigarette, giving himself time to think of any other way of getting insight into Rueben’s life, any pressure point that can be exploited if needed. Tommy’s other attempts had been in vain; soldiers in Rueben’s rank had been tight-lipped about everything, something he admired about Rueben and his tightly reigned empire.

Tommy took out the invite from his drawer and handed it to Rueben as a last resort.

“Take this, will you, I don’t want Grace finding it here. I will tell her you are busy” Tommy added defeatedly.

Rueben pocketed the invite not wanting to further prolong the conversation with the king of Birmingham.

Ruben got up and held out his hand to shake Tommy’s to read his temperament. Tommy shook Rueben’s hand with mild annoyance, annoyance that he hadn’t been able to pierce the armor around Fitch and his gang.

Rueben gave Tommy his charming smile, he was relieved that Tommy dropped the subject.  He was never going to let his two worlds mix. You were too precious for him to be tainted with what his not-so-legal life is filled with, the grotesque violence, the depravity, the drugs among other things.

Tommy decided that he needed to find another way to find any weak spot in Rueben’s Gang.

What he did not expect was for Grace to get Rueben to the ball.

When he saw Rueben at the ball, he was astonished…Apparently, Grace had run into the loving couple at the marketplace and somehow convinced Rueben’s wife to come to the ball. Tommy could not describe the feeling when he saw you for the first time…There you were looking glorious and innocent like a princess in a purple dress. He gulped visibly, he now understood why Rueben kept you away.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Legitimate

Chapter 3

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Tommy’s thirst for power leads him overseas to the States, where he's after more than just business. What starts as a strategic move soon becomes something far more complex.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Dark Slow Burn

Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader

🚬

You straighten your portfolio folders for the tenth time, aligning them beside the charcuterie board—a meticulous arrangement of fine cheeses, smoked meats, and glistening slices of ripe fruit, each piece placed with almost obsessive care. The faint aroma of freshly baked cookies drifts from the kitchen, weaving through the clean, crisp scent of furniture polish. Golden light filters through sheer curtains, softening the sharp edges of the room and glinting off the polished glass coffee table.

You pause for a moment, glancing over the living area and wonder if anyone ever truly notices these small touches—the invisible effort that turns a house into a dream.

A faint knock pulls your attention to the entryway, the sound reverberating through the stillness. You glance at your watch—it’s early for the showing, but perhaps that’s a good sign. Eagerness often signals serious intent to buy, or so you hope.

You had tried to dissuade the sellers from an open house. In your experience, they rarely resulted in a sale—but they insisted, and you complied.

Crossing the room, you weave through the staged perfection, smoothing your expression into a practiced smile. As you reach the door and pull it open a faint familiar scent of cigarettes drifts toward you, catching your nose just before the figure steps into view.

“Good afternoon,” Tommy begins smoothly, his accent peeking out just slightly. You feel your smile waver, but you hold it steady, refusing to let it falter.

Since the unexpected gift appeared at your door, you hadn’t stopped working with him. He never mentioned it, and you made sure not to either. No thanks, no questions about how he found your address or why he sent it. You simply pretended it never happened, reminding yourself this was strictly business—nothing more.

“Hello, Tommy,” you greet him, your voice a touch stiffer than intended. The question nags at the edge of your thoughts—how did he know about the open house? But, like the wine and flowers, you push it aside. Better to let it go. “I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought you passed on this listing when I showed it to you a few days ago.”

His gaze shifts past you, sharp and detached, the faint tang of cigarettes trailing him like a signature. It clings to the air, a phantom of habits you’d come to associate with him. He always had one—always—perched between his fingers or tucked at the corner of his mouth. You’d lost count of how many times you’d told him to put it out, your voice firm, surprisingly he always complied. But now, with his hands empty and his mouth free, he looked odd.

"I think I might have spoken in haste," he says casually, brushing past you with a renewed focus on the staircase. "I wasn’t sold on it before, but I’ve had a few days to sleep on it."

He pauses, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Besides, I can’t afford to waste time. I need to lock something down—sooner rather than later.”

You nod silently, hesitating for a moment, debating whether to follow him. But you stay put, watching as he ascends the stairs with an unhurried pace. At the top, he stops and glances back, those icy blue eyes sweeping over you and the room below, like a king surveying his kingdom.

🚬

The large home is a buzzes of life as more prospective buyers arrive. Smiling, you greet each one with polished charm, answering the same questions over and over with practiced enthusiasm.

They’re all the same—polite, curious, but ultimately deterred by the one thing you can’t control, the price. The house is beautiful, the location ideal, yet the price remains the death knell, reverberating through every conversation.

“Um, are the previous owners smokers?” a blonde woman asks, cutting through your rehearsed routine. Her question catches you off guard, and you blink.

“Oh, no,” you reply, a nervous chuckle slipping out as you steady your smile. “Why do you ask?”

“I smelled smoke when I went to check out the upstairs,” she whispers, leaning in far too close. Her hairspray mingles with scent of her perfume.

Your eyes instinctively scan the crowd, searching for Tommy. Of course, it had to be him.

“That’s odd,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Maybe someone stepped outside for a cigarette earlier, and the scent drifted back in.”

“I don’t think so. It was so strong I had to get away from it. I can’t even smell it down here,” she insists.

“Well, that’s not good,” you concede with a polite smile. “I’ll go check it out.”

You don’t wait for her response. Weaving through the crowd in the hallway, you ascend the stairs with measured steps. Your grip tightens on the railing as you inhale deeply, searching for the faint trace of smoke still lingering in the air.

At the landing, you pause, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. You’re sure you look ridiculous, but you keep your movements subtle, flashing a tight smile when nearby buyers glance your way.

The scent pulls you toward the far end of the hallway. Every door stands wide open as you pass, people milling about inside or out, but the study remains closed. You pause outside it, the smell unmistakably stronger here. You already know what you’ll find inside, yet the dread of confrontation roots you in place.

🚬

The door creaks with your intrusion, its hinges groaning softly in protest. You snap it shut behind you, the soft click blending into the muted buzz of activity filtering up from below.

Tommy stands across from you, leaning against the desk, his face partially obscured by the curling tendrils of smoke rising from his cigarette as he speaks softly into his phone. His eyes flick to yours as you hesitate, unsure of what to do. Your gaze drifts to the cigarette between his fingers, irritation rising slowly, curling upward like the smoke, but you swallow it.

You’ve asked him countless times not to smoke in the house—he knows better. You’re sure of it.

You turn away, your eyes fixating on the window as you storm toward it, the sharp click of your heels echoing against the hardwood floor. Your hands move swiftly, flicking the locks open before gripping the heavy frame, straining as you push it. The window resists, the frame creaking under pressure, and you push harder, determined, the sound of your struggle almost drowning out his conversation.

It finally gives with a frustrating groan, and a cool breeze rushes in, cutting through the smoke with a welcome sharpness. Outside, children laugh and shout as they play in the yard next door, their mother watching from the porch. The scene stirs something faint and unwelcome—a memory of what you once thought you wanted but could never quite hold on to.

As you stare out the window, his reflection catches your eye, making you gasp. At some point, his phone disappeared, the call ended. You hadn’t noticed him approach, sly and silent as a fox stalking unseen.

“Um, I don’t think the sellers would appreciate that,” you say, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand.

He exhales slowly, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. You wave the air in front of your face, trying to push it away.

“You didn’t tell me not to,” he replies coolly, his gaze steady and unreadable.

“Well,” you say, your voice quieter, “it wouldn’t matter to me if you smoke here—if you were buying it.”

He takes another slow drag, his silence stretching just long enough to make you uncomfortable. “I’m still thinking.”

You suppress a sigh. He’s been like this since the beginning, indecisive and inscrutable.

“You’re always thinking,” you say, a smart edge to your voice.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes flicker toward you, a slight tightening of his jaw that you almost miss, before he looks away, lost in the haze of smoke. “Some decisions need a little more clarity,” he says, his tone calm, almost dismissive.

Your lips press into a thin line. Your chest tightens with frustration, but you force yourself to nod. “I see… Well if that’s the case then I think we should end our business here.”

“You promised to find me a house.” He retorts.

“And as I’ve told you before Mr. Shelby-”

“Tommy,” he corrects a bit firmly.

“Mr. Shelby,” you reaffirm. “I can’t help you. I’ve tried. I’ve showed you house after house, but none have suited your taste.”

“So you’re just a quitter then?” Tommy asks, his brow cocked at you quizzically.

"I’m not a quitter," you reply with a sigh, your frustration seeping into your words. "I’ve done everything I can—rearranged my schedule, prioritized you over others, even passed on buyers who were likely more serious—all because you said you needed to buy a house immediately. But now… it’s starting to feel like you’re playing games with me, and I just don’t understand why."

"Still sounds like quitting," he challenges, his voice maddeningly calm.

You bite back the sharp response that rises to your lips, exhaling slowly. “If I knew what you wanted, maybe I could help you more. But as it is… I think it’s best you find another agent.”

He doesn’t react immediately, his gaze drifting to the cigarette in his hand. "Did you drink it yet?" he asks, his tone so casual it throws you off balance.

You hesitate, caught off guard by the sudden question. Why is he bringing this up now?

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He taps out his cigarette, a defiant grin playing at the corners of his lips. Your frown deepens as he taps the cigarette against the hardwood desk. The spot where it lands seems destined to leave a mark. "Though I thought we agreed to share a glass once we finally closed on a house. Guess I’ll have to send another bottle when you finally close the deal for me."

“What?” You blink, hesitating, your brow furrowing. “Are you saying you want to buy this house?”

“I wanted to confirm a few things first. But now? I’m confident in my decision.”

"This is great!" you exclaim, pulling out your phone to quickly text the seller. There’s something odd in his tone, but you push it aside, focusing on what matters: he seems serious about the house, which means commission and an end to these awkward interactions.

“I’ll let the sellers know and get the contract to you ASAP. I’ll send you an email, and once you e-sign, we can start the process. I’ll make sure you get the keys by the end of the day.”

“Slow your horses,” he says, his voice steady, almost amused. “I’m a bit old-fashioned. I want something physical, something I can hold and touch with my hands.”

His gaze lingers, dragging over you like a weight. There was something in his eyes—hunger, maybe. Lust.

“I-I can do that,” you manage, the awkward stammer betraying a calm you don’t feel. You shifted, dismissing the thought. You’d been wrong before, mortifyingly so. It was just him, you told yourself. Just his presence, how he was. “Where… do you want me to take it?”

He doesn’t answer right away, as though savoring your words. When he finally speaks, his tone feels deeper, and his eyes dim with an unfamiliar darkness you can’t place. “My office. I’ll text you the address.”

You stay back as he moves to leave, pausing only to pull a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it coolly, with his back turned to you. You don’t stop him—it’s his house now. When the door swings shut behind him, the air feels lighter, clearer. Yet the unease he leaves behind clings to you.

[idhrenniel]

What I See | Thomas Shelby

➴ Summary: Hii! Could you possibly do Thomas Shelby x reader where she's a WOC born into like a good family but she's kinda an outcast because she's a half sibling and she's scared of what people will think if they're together but Thomas fights for her and stands up for her?

➴ Pairing: Tommy Shelby / woc!fem!reader (3rd POV).

➴ Warnings: Racism and xenophobia, but nothing explicit. Also me not proof-reading as usual.

➴ Wordcount: 2.2K

➴ Tagged: @angelaiswriting

➴ Author Note: This is the first time I write for a specific-race/reader and I hope I did good. Special thanks to Em and Aara for reading this and giving it the green light. Thank you for this request!

During the previous months to the ball, (Y/N) and Thomas met in secret a few times. She would argue with her father she didn’t want to be a nuisance for him while he did business and that would be her excuse to leave the house and don’t go back until well into the night. Her father wasn’t the brightest man and fooling him around was easier than stealing a child’s candy. It was her siblings that worried her, with their ever-vigilant attitudes and sharp looks and questions too specific to be a coincidence. If she paid some attention, she could hear her sisters whispering about her in the kitchen. So far, none of her five siblings had linked her with Thomas and that was a relief. Of course, if her father were to know she had been sneaking around meeting with a man… she shuddered at the thought, not wanting to think about the punishment he’d give her. Her father wasn’t smart, no, but he was cruel and when it came to making people suffer, he knew what to do. This fear, and the fear that Thomas’s reputation and business could be damaged if people were to find out he had been sleeping with a bastard - a brown bastard for that matter, lead her to stop their encounters. She cried for an entire week, finding it difficult to fall asleep without feeling his hands on her hair, only to turn around and realize it was all her imagination. Thomas didn’t accept it, though. Not without an explanation, a reason that didn’t include the words who I am and what will they think. So (Y/N) stopped leaving her house all together in order to avoid him because she knew, if he were to kiss her once again she would leave everything behind to be with him. But she loved him and couldn’t do that to him.

It was the night of the Ball and (Y/N) was nervous, excited and worried all at once. Her father took all of his children to social gatherings, even her. It was because he wanted to make business with different ethnicities, not because he believed her equal to her siblings. However, while her sisters and brother talked with people, it was rare the time someone didn’t mistake her for a waitress… or a whore, and once realization hit in, no one bothered to talk to her again. Some were different, though.

Thomas was different. (Y/N) met him in one of those business meetings disguised as social events. As per usual, her father wanted to make them believe he was open to all races and ethnicities since, well, since he had a brown daughter. All she could gather from her siblings - who had been left behind that night, was that he was a romani business man from Birmingham and that his wife died, making him a single father. (Y/N) didn’t know what to expect of him - would he be nice, cold, distant? Would he be like all the other men her father did business with? Would he be like her father? It was a great and pleasant surprise when she found out Thomas was none of those things. Upon meeting her, he had been polite and courteous, treating her like a human being and not the bastard, brown daughter of James Harrison. She and Thomas had danced, talked, laughed. He seemed to be a determined man, who loved his son and spoke of him with a pride she could but dream of. Unlike the men that, in the past, tried to get with her, he had been interested about her life, her feelings and passions. Thomas took the time to know her. So, when a week later he asked to meet for tea, she didn’t have to be told twice. (Y/N) had kept this a secret, of course. But falling in love with him was the easiest thing she’s ever done - if he was the ocean, she had jumped head first to be there forever.

“(Y/N)!” The stern voice of her father brought her back from her thoughts. She turned around, holding her breath as she faced him. “What’s taking so long? We’re going to be late.”

She wanted to give him a smart answer, but then she’d risk being left at home. No, she couldn’t. She needed to see Thomas, even if from afar. “I didn’t notice the time, father. I’ll be down in a moment.”

James nodded, walking out of her bedroom and downstairs. (Y/N) grabbed her purse and, looking at herself in the mirror she made sure her makeup and hair were perfect, then followed him.

In the car, she could hear her father talking to her siblings, sometimes even to her. He was explaining her brother how he would, when the moment was right, inherit the business and then he would have to make sure his sisters - note, he never meant her, were married off to good men that would provide for them and their children. It sounded like a boring, despicable life in her opinion. But what would she know? If she ever wanted to get married, she better start running.

“And (Y/N)?” Hearing her name, she turned around to see her brother looking at her. He wasn’t a bad brother, in fact he was a great one. He cared for her, one could even tell he was proud, but for him the most important thing was to, after their father, take over. Such a plan could never include her. “Should I make sure she’s married to a good man, too?” One of her sisters snickered.

Another barged in. “You’d have to promise them a lot of money!” This made her siblings laugh - her brother looking uncomfortable. Her father simply rolled his eyes, ordering them to shut up.

(Y/N) didn’t bother to react. She had grown used to comments like that, having heard them all her life. It had come to a point that, as much as the bastards tried, couldn’t earn a reaction from her. She had learnt her emotions were better hid inside and to let go in the solitude of her bedroom. Or in Thomas’s arms. Everything felt better in Thomas’s arms.

The car stopped and her father got out, then her brother and then her sisters. She was the last. (Y/N) got a hold of her father’s arm, as instructed, and walked in with him. It was… a lot. White and gold in the walls and people dressed up like the King would attend (he’d do, somehow- if Thomas counted). Before she noticed, her siblings had dispersed, eager to make business and find those good men to trick into a marriage. (Y/N) and James walked towards Thomas’s direction. She couldn’t look up from the floor, even when her father stopped and she could see Thomas’s shoes in front of her. James, not understanding and not caring, let go of her arm but not without twisting it first. (Y/N) looked up, meeting Thomas’s gaze that hadn’t left her since she entered the venue. She wanted to spend the rest of her life looking at him. Perhaps with a ring on her finger. But those were stupid dreams.

James clapped his hands, laughing. “What’s the special ocassion? Is the King coming?”

“King’s here, Mr. Harrison.” Thomas looked at James, dead stare on. Her father stopped laughing. He was much older than Thomas, had killed more men, but was still afraid. It was impossible not to be. Thomas gave him a quick smile. “Mind if I dance with (Y/N)?”

I mind, she wanted to say. But the explanations that would have to follow were too long and dangerous for her to do. She smiled, taking Thomas’s hand and letting him walk her to the dancefloor. As soon as his hand fell on her waist, she shuddered. He chuckled. Oh, she wanted to slap him. And kiss him. And let him hold her until the sun was up and her feet were bleeding.

Thomas spun her around, not letting her go further than an inch from him. His gaze was so focused on her she was starting to think he wanted to read her mind.

At last, he spoke. “You look beautiful.” She smiled. “People’s been whispering since you came in.”

He spoke with such pride, he didn’t know what he was talking about. Her smile faltered. “See, Tommy. That has everything to do with how I look - but now because I look beautiful.”

It took him a moment, a moment too long. She stopped dancing and apologized, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. She spoke loud, loud enough for her father to hear. (Y/N) walked fast, with Thomas close behind her. It earn them curious and confused gazes, none of them cared about it, though.

“(Y/N)!” She supported herself against the balcony wall, inhaling the fresh air. Thomas stopped right behind her, repeating her name this time in a whisper. She could feel the hesitation to touch her and she almost wanted to turn around and throw herself in his arms. “I didn’t meant…”

A silence, as cold and dark as that night, fell upon them. How could she explain?

All her life, (Y/N) was an outcast. First, for being a bastard. Her mother was a whore from Delhi, whom she had never met. Then, because no matter how much makeup she put on her face she would never have the fair skin her siblings and father shared. She wasn’t white, it was something she had come to accept as she was growing up. Used to the insults, the laughs, the second glances. Hell, none of that bothered her! (Y/N) was proud of who she was and how she looked like, but at the same time was well aware of the implications for a man like Thomas to be with a woman like her. Her surname meant nothing when her skin spoke for her. Her children’s surname would mean nothing, because their skin would speak for them too.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, turning around to look at him. “You look and act like a white man, ignoring or dismissing the romani blood that runs through your veins. But I can’t do that.” (Y/N) took a step forward, chuckling as she shook her head. “I can wear expensive dresses, wear my hair the same way they do - speak four languages and be the smartest - fuck, and the prettiest out of all my sisters. And still, it doesn’t matter. They don’t see me-”

“I see you.” Thomas interrupted her. In another moment she would be pissed he had done such, but her voice was breaking and sobs threatened to escape. He held her face. “Not a Harrison, not a bastard, not an outcast. I see a beautiful, intelligent brown woman. A woman I want to wake up next to until I die, have children with. A woman I’m proud to love.” He put emphasis in her skin colour, his voice filled with such love she couldn’t keep the sobs in now. In the past, men had been interested in her, looking past the fact that she wasn’t a white woman. Her friends used to dismiss it, ignoring the things she went through because of it. No one ever sat down and cared about how her experiences as a woman of colour were different from those of a white woman, and no one but herself had ever embraced her skin like that. But her worries were still there and he spoke before she could: “You think our children will have it difficult. See, that’s the thing. Those children are going to be gypsies, Shelbys. No one in their right mind, on this life or the next, will fuck with them. So I’m going to ask this, once again, with my heart in my hand. (Y/N)-” he got down on one knee. “Will you honour me and become my wife?”

(Y/N) laughed at his words, nodding. Thomas lifted her up from the floor and spun them around, laughing. He kissed her, slow and tender. A promise to her and to their future.

After that, he took her hand and both walked back into the venue, where people stopped talking and dancing to look at them.

Thomas leaned in to whisper in her ear: “shall we?” She nodded. It wasn’t the first time Thomas asked her to be his wife. In fact, he had done such multiple times, ring and all.

“Ladies and gentlemen. You must be wondering the reason behind this rushed event. It’s a beautiful night and we wanted to announce, we’re getting married.” Thomas ignored the gasps and whispers. (Y/N) didn’t even look at the people, focusing on him. “(Y/N) is a woman I’ve had the pleasure to meet these past months, someone I’m proud to love and who loves me as well. We wanted it to be public as soon as possible, and that’s now. In a few weeks, (Y/N) will stop being a Harrison to become-” he didn’t bother to hide the smile. “-a Shelby. (Y/N) Shelby.”

(Y/N) kissed him, she could almost feel her sisters’ rage from where she was standing. Almost. But with him at her side, nothing of the sort would ever matter again. She knew who she was, she loved who she was. And so did Thomas.

[twistedrunes]

hi, I thought maybe you can name your fav peaky blinders authors if you read? or maybe just some texts you liked? x

Hello friend,

I both love and hate being asked this question because I KNOW I will forget someone and that makes me feel horrid. But here are some of those writers who immediately spring to mind. I do tag all fics I share with #not mine - so you can search my blog too. I’m not sure what you are looking for in particular so here are a few options:

Tommy

@prettieparker86 - it’s all about Tommy and angst/ exploring emotions here, three wonderful series here. smut. 

@tommysmutnothingbut - also all about Tommy, but this time all about the smut. It’s what it says on the tin. This stuff is HOT. Dom! Tommy features heavily. 

Alfie@inkinterrupted - there are a few wonderful Alfie series here, but this author has written a range of wonderful Tom Hardy characters too. Smut

@peaky-yamyam - Has been a little inactive lately but still well worth a look. Smut

Assorted

@blinder-secrets - the whole gang - no smut.

@collecting-stories - again the whole gang and no smut 

@xxdearlybeloved - a variety of characters and smut!

@danceyreagan - assorted characters, particularly Isaiah Jesus, reader is also a WOC. 

@ hethrewmyheartinthecut - writes an amazing range of characters and pairings - also the creator of the AMAZING peaky pairings quiz.  Who’s Your Peaky Match? quiz.

Tommy x Alfie

@whentommymetalfie - the OG. There’s a whole wonderful array of mostly fluffy (but with occasional heartbreaking angst) Tommy x Alfie and extended fam stuff. Art too!

@darkandstormyslash - mostly on AO3, mostly smut, BDSM themes (basically what it says on the tin, dark and stormy slash)

@bluerighthand - an AU of the young Shelby’s, with some Alfie too. 

@fiveaceslike  - lots of wonderful headcanons and theories

@zainclaw - their first chapter in their coffee shop AU is wonderful 

@toyhto - amazing interesting work, mostly on AO3. 

@pure-bastard-extract - mostly does amazing art, but has written some great pieces, which with the current changes to visual ‘adult content’ we may see more of!! (nudge, nudge) 

Okay, I’m stopping there. If I forgot you I’m sorry, it wasn’t intentional. 

Happy reading friends. 

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 2

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

You were both nervous and excited, when the nice lady invited you and Rueben, you could sense his hesitation, and you were ready to make an excuse to get out of it but when her son tugged on Rueben’s slacks and asked Rueben to come see and meet his friends, you could sense Rueben’s resolve melting a little. You smiled, seeing your big soft teddy bear of a husband accepting the invitation of little Charlie Shelby.

Rueben looked at you with questioning eyes, you smiled and nodded. Rueben promised that cute little boy that he would definitely come to meet him and his friends at the ball.

Your husband was an introvert and so were you, but he had the courage to ask you out after two months of fleeting glances in the local coffee shop you both frequented. You were pretty sure Rueben timed his breaks to come to see you during those two months just like you used to wait for him for a chance to see charming and handsome devil you now proudly called your husband. Destiny is weird but for you, Rueben was your destiny, and you were his…

His club business had brought him to the U.K., Birmingham specifically, but you had cousins in London, so you decided to tag along with your husband and visit them and then join your husband in Birmingham. It was a nice change of pace; both of your professional lives were hectic and so this mini vacation of sorts came at the right time.   

Your husband is ex-Navy, and he does not trust many people around him or even his business anyone but his squad, and they even adopted you into their little family, something you are eternally grateful for. You asked your husband if his squad could join both of you after a weekend together in Birmingham and your husband agreed with no qualms, little did you know, half of his squad was already planning on joining both of you on this elusive business trip. Rueben always has backup, he never wanted to be involved directly but Tommy Shelby insisted on joining him at his mansion, Arrow House, as his guest but Rueben refused, you can never trust anyone in this business especially the new partners.

Half of Rueben’s squad had already landed in the U.K., prior to his visit to the King of Birmingham, and the other half was back at home. Rueben made sure to book the suite under a fake name, nothing that could be traced back to him or you…

Rueben picked you up from the train station, he loved your quirks, how you hated public spaces like clubs but loved trains, how you pretended to love coffee for him but in reality, you loved tea. How you always made sure to pack him lunch and always made him make dinner for both of you. Rueben never thought he could have a normal life, but meeting you made him believe he at least had to give it a shot, he dragged his feet for two months only to later succumb to his crush, infatuation, his desire to see you daily whatever you can call it. You were his world and he was yours…Your relationship was something true, something solid, something filled with love and determination, something only few people ever find in their life and you were the lucky ones.

At the ball –

Your gracious husband bought you a cool purple gown because he wanted to make you feel like a queen, his queen…Who would’ve thought for once in your lifetime you and your husband would love dressing up? Both of you were giggling like teenagers and acting like royalty.

Just like you assumed the ball was extravagant, more extravagant than anything you had ever seen before. You looked at the wastage of money, these assholes can easily donate money, but they need these stupid ass-kissing events to donate to children in need…

You held on to your husband tightly, out of your element but still giddy about dressing up with your king bear. Just like you, your husband did not leave you alone even while mingling with the people he knew…

“Good evening, Mr. Fitch, I did not expect to see you here…” Tommy commented in his Brummie accent as he joined your group of people, and they left both of you alone with this new person.

“Hello, Mr. Shelby…” Rueben greeted, and you could sense Rueben’s unease.

“I was convinced to join your charity ball by a very insistent Charlie Shelby, whom I couldn’t disappoint.” Rueben replied, you may have missed the implication, but Tommy didn’t, just like Charlie, you were not involved.

“And you must be Mrs. Fitch” Tommy turned towards you, his eyes consuming you.

“Hi, I’m Y/N” you say meekly as you extend your right hand to shake Tommy’s, but Tommy Shelby had something else in his mind, he brings your hand close to his eager lips, kissing the back of your hand much to your shock. You look at your husband clearly annoyed just like you. You feel a chill running down your spine. You take back your hand quickly, trying to escape this man. You lean on your husband to send him a clear signal and your loving husband grabs you by the waist and tugs you towards him, in his embrace… Rueben kisses the top your head to calm you down meanwhile Tommy Shelby watches the interaction enviously. Rueben is fuming with anger, but he is smart, he knows Tommy has his eye on you, something Rueben had been trying to avoid from the start. There is a tense atmosphere around the three of you, thankfully Grace joins in unaware of the charged scene and asks Tommy to mingle with other guests, Thomas Shelby leaves reluctantly with his wife while you plead with your husband to take you back to your hotel,  not wanting to endure the steely blue-stare of the devil.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 6

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”.

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

You could feel judgmental eyes of the bartender, it was not even 11 a.m. at the hotel bar downing tequila, vodka, whiskey, vermouth, and whatever bartender thought would appease you. You were drinking your weight in alcohol to numb the pain that senseless weirdo brought up so casually. The absurd and preposterous claim (totally correct & valid point) that you were running away from your husband’s memories. Thomas Shelby doesn’t know you, and the nerve of his mouth, the audacity of those haunting eyes of that man to tell you what you should do, after you barely met all those months ago, after you barely talked to him today, who does he think he is?

The pretty bartender, Patty, as her badge indicated, kept bringing you some sort of snack to absorb that alcohol, which you were thankful for, she didn’t question much, and you really didn’t have the energy to answer. You were pretty hammered and past the point of even noticing that there was a new bartender serving you what seemed like endless amounts of drinks without you even asking. Had you been a little careful, a little vigilant you would have noticed that the new bartender slipped something in your drink. Had you not been drowning in the insurmountable grief of losing the love of your life, you would have noticed Tommy Shelby and his goons spread out near the bar, keeping an eye on you. Had you not been so damn oblivious you would have noticed the bartender stealing your phone before darkness took over, and you lost consciousness.

Tommy didn’t know kidnapping was going to be added to the long list of crimes he has committed, but love makes you do crazy things, so what’s one more crime to add to that list but getting you to Birmingham, now that was going to take some serious effort, but he knows how to grease a few hands and tell them to look away when it's needed…That’s how he has been able to infiltrate North American black markets.

Flight from Vancouver to Birmingham was smooth, it had to be, the drug was effective for about 12 hours. It gave enough time for the Peaky Blinders to clean out your room, ditch your smartphone in some dumpster in other city before Rueben’s squad could even figure out what had happened.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room, your throat parched, your mind a bit disconnected, and you needed to pee badly, damn, how many drinks did you have…Wait a minute, did you sleep with someone, so many questions swirling around in your brain.

The door opened, and you saw a sweet looking woman carrying a glass of water and a glass of orange juice. She offered them both to you, and you gulped down that water in one big gulp…

“Thank you….Could you point me towards the washroom? I need to freshen up…” you mumbled

She directed you towards the door on the other side of the bed. You got up quickly, a little too quickly and felt a bit dizzy. After practically rushing towards the washroom and doing your business did you start to take the notice of things not feeling right…You did not remember anything except the mimosa you drank. Fuck…what had happened? Where the fuck were you? You needed to get the fuck out of whatever this place was, you needed your phone, you needed to call an uber…

It was then you realized you did not have your phone, your stomach dropped…Fuck fuckity fuck…You searched the bedroom but there was nothing there…You were in process of ripping off the bedsheets when you heard a familiar voice.

“Your phone is not here, Y/N”

You turned around to face the devil with vibrant blue eyes; there was something sinister about them, something that you would learn rather quickly.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 4

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”.

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

On one of his many sleepless nights Tommy received a message from his man at the airport. Y/N & Rueben Fitch just left. With that, there were several images of you and Reuben navigating through the airport.

This was a sudden departure. In the middle of the night, Tommy had on good authority that you and Rueben had been planning on staying for one more week. So, whatever must have happened was urgent enough to discard your plans.

Tommy called up his contacts in San Diego, telling them to give him an update by next morning.

Since Tommy had nothing to do but mull over, he decided to stalk you on IG, TikTok, and other countless apps, but it seemed like your profiles were locked and so was Rueben’s social media across the board. The only account that was public was Rueben’s San Diego Club and even among those thousands of posts there was nothing.

Tommy decided to call Rueben with the pretext of inviting him for a discussion some additional details of the partnership.

Tommy dialed Rueben’s number, but he did not pick up. Tommy decided to try again. But this time Rueben picked up the call.

“Hello” Rueben’s annoyance vividly filtering through the phone.

“Hello, Mr. Fitch.”

“Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes, I apologize for calling so late, I have received some good news, this could expand our business in the West Coast. I wanted to ask if you are free to join me at my house at noon tomorrow?”

“Oh…Oh, shit.” Rueben replied.

“I am sorry Mr. Shelby, can we schedule a call. I am currently travelling out of Birmingham; I won’t be able to meet you tomorrow.” He added.

“Is everything okay? You sound stressed.” Tommy probed.

“Everything is fine…Just some family emergency. If it is urgent, I can send Mickey, he is in the area around there somewhere” Rueben countered.

“It is not urgent at all, Mr. Fitch. This can wait until your family matter is resolved.” Tommy mentioned nonchalantly.

“Bear…I need some help…Could you open this bottle for me?” you asked Rueben in your melodious voice in background and Tommy’s hand clenched around the phone.

Rueben smiled and popped open the seal for you to have a sip.

“Is there anything else Mr. Shelby?” Rueben inquired.

“No, nothing major, we can schedule a call, I’ll ask Finn or Isaiah to put something on the calendar for both of us.” Tommy responded.

Tommy was about to cut the call when he heard your voice filling his ears.

“Who was that?”

Tommy waited with bated breath to listen to you talk but Rueben disconnected the call.

From all the pictures of both of you in the airport lounge, Tommy deduced whatever it was, it was related to you.

Rueben was seen assuring you, holding your hands, rubbing your arms while your head was resting against his shoulder. You looked nervous but also excited. That should be him with you, not Rueben. And soon, he will be rectifying that. You would be by his side; he just needed a few days to formulate his plan and get things in motion in America.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 5

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”.

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

You don’t know how your life turned into a nightmare…a ghoulish nightmare. One moment you were happy and celebrating your pregnancy with your family and friends and the next moment, you were getting held at gun point by a robber, you knew your husband had a gun in his pocket, something you loathed but at that moment you were happy that he had that gun, the robber must have seen the gun when he shot Rueben erratically, and then he turned on you, Rueben protected you till his dying breath, Rueben shot the robber with his gun and saved your life, but your husband your family was taken away from you, your husband and best friend snatched from you. You couldn’t even comprehend what had happened. When you woke up in the hospital, for a moment you thought it was a bad nightmare, but the machines attached to you signaled the opposite.

The attending doctor told you that you were shot in the chest, the bullet miraculously had missed your heart but punctured your lung, and you were lucky to be alive. But were you lucky? Or were you the unluckiest person, you had lost everything, your husband was shot dead in front of you, the shooter shot you too but missed the first shot and was not alive to shoot the next bullet.

“I am sorry Mrs. Fitch; we could not save the baby…” these words brought you out of your mind fog. Instinctively your hand went to your abdomen…Your baby died too…Your one connection to Rueben died too…You were catatonic…You could not even do the basic job of protecting the life growing within you…You never felt so useless.

Your friends and family gave you space, space to mourn, space to grieve not just your husband, but your child too…

Police called it an armed robbery but Javy, Mickey, Nat, Brad, Jake did not think so, but they didn’t say anything. They increased your security. They changed your locks, your cameras and every damn device, while you were in hospital. They even increased the surrounding security in hospital. Rueben knew how dangerous his line of work was, and your security was paramount to him. For you, your husband was a military contractor with a pub he ran with his friends, you just didn’t know that your husband was involved in illegal activities as well which included drugs, liquor and arms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were on your way to get to some Chai with oat-milk, trying not to break down every damn morning, missing your husband and the morning rituals you shared with him. You bumped into Tommy in a café in Vancouver, Canada of all places, physically bumped into him, you were in over your head, and you were not looking where you were supposed to be going.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” You looked to apologize to the stranger, but you were met with relatively known steely blue eyes.

“Mrs. Fitch?” Thomas asked in his Brummie accent.

Fuck, that name, that label, that brings up so much sorrow, your eyes well up, but you blink away those tears, you tell yourself, you need to move on…need to power through…It’s been almost a year since your life upended, the love of your life killed in front of your eyes.

Not really, you were unaware of your surroundings, but you were trying to keep to yourself, but Thomas Shelby needed to find a way to talk to you, so he chose the easiest way of it all, crashing into you purposefully.   

You smiled, trying to place him…

“Oh hi” you reply. Tommy saw the questioning look in your eyes, you had no clue who he was or what he was.

“I am Thomas Shelby, we met briefly at a Charity Ball in Birmingham.”

“It is nice to see you again, Mr. Shelby.” you reply politely.

“I heard what happened…I’m sorry for your loss.” Tommy added.

You just nodded reflexively, like you did every fucking time when someone offered their sympathies.

“I didn’t expect to see you here Mrs. Fitch, I thought you lived in San Diego.”

“I did…I do…Well, not now exactly, I am taking a sabbatical and please call me Y/N.” you asked, basically pleading, not wanting another reminder of what you lost or who you were…Rueben’s wife or what you are now…his widow. His sad pathetic widow who is running away from her life because you can’t fucking function properly without your soulmate.

“Only if you call me Tommy” He responded while physically guiding you inside the coffee shop, and there is nothing you can do but comply out of politeness.

Tommy asks you for your order, you wanted to protest and buy your own beverage, but you also didn’t want to be rude. You begrudgingly order some chai. Tommy Shelby bought you your chai but nothing for himself, and it made you feel guilty.

He pushed the mug towards you, you took the mug and thanked him.

“So, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Tommy asked in his heavy Brummie accent.

“I guess, I just needed to get away…”

“I heard what happened. I am sorry for your loss.” Tommy consoled.

Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry….you chant mentally.

You clear your throat and squeak out “Thank you”.

“So, how long are you here for?” Tommy probed.

“I don’t know, I may be here for a while, or I may leave and find another city to go to which is safe… Mickey usually sends me the locations that are relatively safer for me. I do not have any timeline.” You reply.

Tommy knows that very well. He is well-aware of Rueben’s people taking care of your security. Tommy only got to know about your location from his people on the East Coast, namely Michael.

“That’s fun, why don’t you come visit us in Birmingham?” Tommy proposes.

You are taken aback by his proposition, you don’t really know what to say, you barely know this man, why would he invite you to his home?

“Mr. Shelby…ummm…I mean Thomas, I don’t think that is a good idea…”. You mumble out.

“Why not? I see it in your eyes, you are trying to escape your painful memories, anyone can see that…why don’t you join us in another continent as long as you want where Rueben and his memories wouldn’t haunt you.” Tommy confronts you, basically bringing up everything that your family and friends have been thinking…going for your jugular.

You gulp nervously, you didn’t expect some relatively unknown person to expose your wounds and like a wounded animal you ran away from that table. You did not like being confronted by the likes of Thomas Shelby, how dare he say anything about what you should do….

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 3

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”.

This blog supports Palestine.

Zionists are not welcome here.

After the weird and frankly unnerving incident at the ball in Birmingham everything went smoothly, you and Rueben enjoyed your weekend together, unaware of the prying eyes watching you and your husband, taking pictures, and reporting back to their king, the king who had found something he needed and that was you, Y/N Fitch, the shy and mysterious wife of Rueben Fitch, Tommy’s new business partner on the West Coast of America.

Tommy was watching your pictures his blinders had sent on his laptop, pictures of you in the arms of your husband, looking all happy and content. Pictures of both you out in the streets, roaming around like tourists. Pictures of you having breakfast in your bathrobe sitting on your shirtless husband’s lap, even he could figure out from the photo what activities you had been enjoying, pictures of you in the pool of the hotel, pictures of you enjoying a quiet dinner with your husband, both of you lost in each other.

Tommy felt a jolt of jealousy coursing through his system, he wanted that, and he wanted that with you…He was so lost in the pictures in front of him, he never heard Grace enter the office, and he was unaware of Grace standing behind him.

“They look happy” Grace said ruefully, bringing Tommy out of his imagination.

Tommy was shocked, but he could not show it, not to her, Grace read every movement.

“Good for them” Tommy replied with nonchalance.

“You’re keeping an eye on them?” Grace questioned, trying to access what was going on.

“Something like that…”

“They look good together.” Grace added.

“They look beautiful.” Tommy said while eyeing the picture of you in the bathrobe sitting on Rueben’s lap laughing at something silly.

“Why are your men keeping an eye on them?” Grace probes uncharacteristically.

“In this business, we have to keep an eye on everyone we make deals with, Grace, you know that.” Tommy chastises.

“I know Tommy, but I also know he would not have been invited here without being vetted by your men in America.” Grace remarks with caution.

“Let’s just say, I have a vested interest in this venture, and I’m making sure to keep an eye out for an opportunity” Tommy replies to his wife as he turns around. Grace could see something brewing in his eyes, Tommy may not have known, but his eyes spoke volumes, something Grace could read easily, but now his eyes were hiding something, something that Grace could not put her finger on and it was unnerving her.

Grace decided to drop this matter, she would approach Arthur, he may know what new plan Tommy has been conjuring up.

You were plaguing Tommy’s dreams, thoughts & nightmares, dreams which once were filled with Grace, thoughts of business and all the plans of the future and nightmares filled with whatever new ghoulish dream his PTSD conjured up. But now, he was seeing you everywhere, craving your sweet cherry smell, your eyes haunting him, you were calling him, and he must find a way to get to you.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Legitimate

Chapter 2

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Tommy’s thirst for power leads him overseas to the States, where he's after more than just business. What starts as a strategic move soon becomes something far more complex.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Dark Slow Burn

Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader

⌂

The neighborhood sits in quiet perfection, manicured lawns bordered by hedges that whisper of some unspoken HOA decree. You sit idle in your car, parked in the driveway of the massive luxury home. It's unnecessarily large for the area, its sharp angles and sleek lines standing in stark contrast to the more subdued, contemporary neighbors. Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a game room—and even a pickleball court, a new popular accessory for the well-to-do.

Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, the other scrolling absently through your phone. The client is late—no message. Money the only motivating factor for your patience.

You run your tongue over your teeth, brushing away the faint smudge of rouge. Your gaze drifts to the movement behind you—a sleek black car gliding into view. It’s him.

You exhale slowly, giving yourself a final once-over in the tiny mirror. Usually, you don’t show houses outside of your listings. But he had been insistent, and with the commission on the line, you’d jumped through twice as many hoops just to make this happen. You’re not sure why you pushed so hard—maybe it’s the challenge.

With a practiced smile, you step out of the car, leather folder in hand as you go. The steady click of your heels on the driveway fills the quiet as you approach the car, each step measured and steady. The door opens slowly as you near it, smoke spilling from the door as he rises—unruffled. His suit is sharp, too sharp, like a blade in a dark room. Slim, tailored to perfection. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, barely acknowledging the world around him.

“Hello again, Mr. Shelby,” you say, forcing the words to sound natural. “Hope you found it here alright.”

“It’s a lot easier these days with one of these,” he says, his eyes still locking on you, as he waggles his phone before slipping it into his suit pocket.

“Right, well, right this way.” You motion to the house, tamping down the small flush of foolishness creeping up your neck.

He follows close behind as you step onto the stone path toward the door, his footsteps matching your rhythm. His presence feels louder than the silence around you.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” you begin, stopping short and spinning on your heels to face him. His brow rises slightly, yet his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Tommy,” he interrupts, his voice smooth, like velvet, but his eyes sharp—piercing.

“Oh, uh, right, well, Mr.—Tommy,” you correct yourself quickly, your words stumbling over the unfamiliarity. “I’m afraid the owners don’t allow smoking on the premises.” Your voice is small, unsure, as his closeness presses on your nerves, and his gaze lingers too long for comfort. “Sorry.”

He lets out a faint scoff, a smirk playing at his lips, before stubbing the cigarette beneath his polished shoe with a casual flick of his wrist.

“So you never said,” you continue as . “Are you looking to bring your family over? This seems a bit big for just yourself.”

“I do have a family back home,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge to it. “But whether they’ll be coming here… well, that’s not something you need to worry about.”

“Right, sorry,” The words dry in your mouth, and silence thickens the air between you. You lift the key to the door, fingers brushing over the lock with a deliberate slowness, every motion feeling heavier. You can’t quite read him, and something tells you he’d rather keep it that way.

⌂

You sit on the couch, the cool weight of the wine glass steady in your hand as you absentmindedly flip through the listings. The low hum of cicadas barely reaches your ears, drowned out by the mounting frustration in your chest. The sharp clink of the glass against the table punctuates the silence as you take another sip, your eyes scanning the photos but not really seeing them.

You've heard the stories—difficult clients, high expectations—but Mr. Shelby was becoming the very definition. Every home you've shown him was met with some new criticism. The sting of each comment still lingers in your mind.

Were it not for the proof of funds he'd presented, you might have assumed he was simply playing the long game—wasting your time with no intention closing.

You set your glass down as your phone vibrates, the screen glowing faintly in the dim room. It’s him.

“Hello, Mr. Shelby.”

“Now, I’m sure I’ve told you to call me Tommy, haven’t I?”

You pause, hesitating before answering, feeling the tug between politeness and formality. “My apologies, but it’s late, and I’ve been drinking,” you admit, almost defensively.

He chuckles, low and unhurried. “Anything worth drinking?”

“Top-shelf grocery store brand,” you say with a half-smile he can’t see. The words slip out, the drink loosening a part of you that prefers to stay cautious, professional.

“Well,” he says, almost thoughtfully, “we’ll have to share a glass when we finally close on a house.”

His words hang in the quiet space, and you swallow, feeling the slightest pull of warmth at the thought. You let out a light laugh, barely more than a breath.

“At this rate, Mr.—Tommy—you may have to build one from scratch. I’m running out of listings.”

There’s a pause on his end, and you can almost imagine the way he’s leaning into his own quiet, perhaps smirking at the way you waver on his name. And though he doesn’t respond right away, you feel the weight of something unspoken, the strange pull between a man in search of a home and a woman who can’t tell if he’s looking for more than just four walls.

"Build a place from scratch, then? Only if you’re prepared to be the one I call on for, let’s say, expert guidance."

You almost scoff but catch yourself, letting his words linger in the air a moment longer than they should. You've been down that road before—and weren’t about to do it again.

"I’m sorry, Tommy, but if that’s what you’re after, I’m not the right person for you."

⌂

Quiet fills the room, and days go by without a word from him. Maybe you scared him off, or maybe he found someone more suited to his needs. You don’t worry too much, work is work. New houses come on the market, and potential buyers come and go.

Barefoot, you pad across the hardwood floor, heels in one hand, purse and keys balanced in the other. You love this home—every corner carefully crafted. Selling isn’t in the cards—not now, maybe not ever. Too much history is layered into these walls, even if staying means holding onto something you should’ve let go of long ago.

The art deco kitchen you fought tooth and nail to build greets you quietly as you step through the doorway. Your ex said it was dated, but you didn’t care—this was your dream. The marble tiles, painstakingly laid by your own hands, cool the bottoms of your feet as you head toward the mudroom.

Light floods the garage as you step in, your gaze catching on the boxes piled along the wall, their contents waiting for the day you stop putting them off. A small frown settles as you let the thought drift, slipping into the driver’s seat instead.

The soft purr of the engine fills the space as you buckle in, the garage door rising in a slow, steady arc. Carefully, you back out into the quiet morning.

That’s when you see it—a parcel on your porch, vibrant against the muted colors of the morning. You stop, putting the car in park, and step closer, brow creasing at the sight. The flowers, not your favorite but still beautiful, lay against your door, coupled with a bottle of wine and a card that reads simply, “Better than top-shelf.”

It would almost be romantic, if it weren’t so unnerving. You gather the items, scanning your quiet street, though you already have an idea who sent them. But how he found your address… that’s a detail you didn’t know.

⌂

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife Poll

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Prison or Castle

Warnings - DubCon, Dark Tommy Shelby, 18+, Smut

Read at your own risk

Minors & Zionists - DNI

There may be grammatical errors, I did not proof read it. Got an idea and wrote as quickly as I could.

Tommy was furious, no, he was beyond furious, there wasn't any word to describe the anger radiating off of him like Tsunami waves. You had dared to run away again,

How could you do that to him?

How could you do that to him when he provided you with all the luxury the world had to offer?

You didn’t understand how he was trying so desperately to keep you safe .You never understood or listened.

Sure, he had basically kidnapped you from your home, killed your husband in a fit of jealous rage. You were not even aware of his existence , a problem he resolved easily by pretending to be your dead husband's old friend . It wasn't technically a lie, your husband and Tommy were mere acquaintances, nothing more than a nod and a polite hello was ever exchanged.

It didn't take long for him to worm his way into your tattered life. You were struggling with mortgage payments and crushing grief, trying to keep your head above the water, trying to exist in this cold, hard and unjust world.

You weren't even aware of the web of lies and traps of deceits that Thomas Shelby was weaving and designing around you to seclude you from your support system, your loving family and friends.

"Darling, how many times have I told you not to go out without security." Tommy Shelby tutted while tranferring your gagged, bound and wriggling body forcefully to his sedan's backseat. Pushing you over and buckling your seatbealt.

Your angry eyes and defiant body was nothing under his powerful and muscular body.

"Do not move" but you still tried to move, tried to get out of the handcuffs that shady policeman on Tommy's payroll had put you in and when you made a fussand attracted some attention, he had slapped duct tape on your mouth. And after that he had hand delivered you to the notorious gangaster Thomas Shelby, you knew that corrupt cop would be rewarded handsomely for returning Tommy's most precious possession. You knew you had a bounty on your head but you were dumb enough to trust a cop. Obviously, cops are more loyal to Peaky Blinders than to their own job.

Which brings you to your current state of powerlessness, trying to get out of those metal cuffs using some trick you saw somewhere on Tiktok or Youtube or whatever.

Tommy slammed the passeger door shut, and walked over to the driver's seat. Seeing you through rear-view mirror all gagged and tied like that was making him hard, he did his best to adjust his pants, trying to alleviate some pressure on his cock. He palmed his cock while staring at you like a pervert, your heaving breasts, your struggle was turning him on, and he had found a new kink to explore with your unwilling mind but pliant body.

He imagined you choking on his cock till your eyes welled up. Fuck, he was getting harder, his sexual frustrations were building up.

He took a deep breath, centering himself and driving to your little love nest in the countryside with nothing around for miles. The castle he bought for his reluctant queen trying to leave him. That castle was wired up to the teeth with state of the art surveillance systems, every nook and cranny had cameras and motion sensors. Thankfully, because Blinders were able to warn him your escape within minutes of your departure. You didn't need to know how you get caught so easily and quickly. You didn't need to know you were being watched 24 x 7 by someone.

Your struggle to free yourself was unrelenting, creating enough ruckus for Tommy to pull over at the boundary of his vast property, there was nothing but trees and farmland. He knew the road to his castle would be devoid of any traffic.

Tommy got out of the driver's seat and made his way to the back, he opened the door and unbuckled you, he dragged you out and shoved you on the hood of his car. Your backside collided with the car, you tried to centre yourself with the handcuffed hands as much as you could, but before you could think of anything Tommy tore off the top of your dress like paper, your bra was another story, he removed his peaky hat and sliced off your bra from the middle carefully and threw the hat on the side. You gasped in horror behind the duct tape.

Your breasts were on display for the greedy blue cornflower eyes, your nipples pebbled up in the cold air. Tommy used his calloused hands to appreciate the feel of your breasts. His hands teasing and rubbing your hardened nubs, he crouched down to suckle at those traitorous pebbled nubs, he took his time to appreciate each breast and enjoyed feasting on breasts like a beast, your body started betraying you, you felt yourself getting wetter than the ocean.

"I'm mad but I can't even stay mad at you" He murmured into your skin slickened with his saliva. You started moaning and whining like a bitch in heat.

Tommy got off you and took off his coat and threw it on the side, it landed near his hat, he then undid his belt, his pants and his boxers, you were looking at him all wild-eyed scared, and astonished.

What was this crazy man doing?

He grabbed your handcuffed hands with his left hand, silently ordered you to spread your legs and you obliged, his erect cock poking your lower belly proudly. Tommy's dexterous right hand wandered down south, his fingers nudging your panties to one side to make way for his desperate lust. His fingers were met with your arousal, he smiled wickedly. His skilled fingers entered your cunt to collect more of your essence. He brought those fingers to his lips and licked them like a parched animal.

He used his right hand to maneuver you into a better position by grabbing your left leg and hooking it over his naked butt. You desperately hooked your leg tightly behind his back, he aligned his cock, that snake playing with your puffy clit. You knew Tommy wanted submission from you and you were horny and desperate enough to give it to him.

Tommy entered your cunt partially, your body begging his for more but he relented, loving the desperation and confusion on your face.

"Just a moment,darling" Tommy replied huskily before ripping off the duct tape off your mouth.

And as soon as you tried to take breath from your mouth, that bastard Shelby shoved his thick cock in your drenched cunt. You cried with an immense painful pleasure.

You shouted in breathless pleasure.

He pulled out his massive cock halfway and spoke devilishly, "Scream for me, moan all you want" he got closer to you, and whispered in your ears "No one can hear you, it's just you, me and nature" and thrust his cock into you again slowly, trying to extract every moan, every scream from your tired lips.

He laid you on top of the hood carefully, you tried your best to lay on your bound hands and he proceeded to grab your hips and push your right leg on his shoulder to impale you properly like he wanted. Tommy kept thrusting into you wildly. He was in his beast phase, you had angered him and he knew the only way to take out his anger on you was pounding your warm, soft, drenched and invititng cunt into submission.

His cock was coated in your juices, and that sight made him harder. He began to violently pound your cunt with his thick cock, you were squirming on top of his car, you were so close to cumming but Tommy sensed your walls were clenching inanticipation, it took a lot of restraint for him to pull out of you, he shoved your legs down, and grabbed the chain on your handcuffs before turning you over and pushing your front onto the hood and continue thrusting and fucking into you from behind.

Your moans grew and so did his growls,

You were in the middle of the road getting fucked by a gangster like a whore. Your body moved on top of the hood with every powerful thrust from Tommy.

He was tormenting you, not letting you cum.

"Please, please, please Tommy, please let me cum" you beg pathetically.

"You should have said something, darling" He replies snarkily.

"Now, will you run away from our castle again?" He asks as he snaps his hips and his cock nudges violently against your g-spot.

"Nonononono, I won't"

"Good girl" He pulls you towards him and then whispers on your ears.

"This time I am fucking you in an open but empty road, next time I will fuck you in front of all the Peaky Blinders" your cunt clenches around his cock. Tommy chuckles, "You like the idea, eh? Maybe I will fuck you in front of them, let them see what they can never have" He adds as he cruelly thrusts into you.

"Whatver you want Tommy, please, please let me cum" you continue to beg.

He kisses the side of your head and begins pounding into your special spot meanwhile his hand plays with your overly sensitive and puffy clit. You cum quickly but Tommy doesn't stop, he keeps playing with your clit, leaving you overstimulated and out of sorts, his cock pounds into your cunt like a man on mission. He keeps fucking you till he reaches his peak and floods your cunt with his pearly seed, overflowing your cunt with his cum. He pulls out slowly and adjusts your panties. You could feel his seed and your arousal pooling inside your panties, you try your best to stop the flow.

Tommy dresses up fairly quickly and and then picks up his hat and coat, he goes through the pockets and , takes out the key for the cuffs and unties you. He covers you with his coat and then proceeds to carry you to the passenger seat and buckles you in.

He gets in the driver's seat and starts the car and drives you to your jail and his castle

------

Please share your suggestions here

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Legitimate

Chapter 1

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Tommy’s thirst for power leads him overseas to the States, where he's after more than just business. What starts as a strategic move soon becomes something far more complex.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Dark Slow Burn

Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader

🍸

You push through the heavy doors, hoping that just this once, you won’t be the first to arrive. Soft music plays in the lounge, where sleek pendant lights cast an amber glow, and the scent of leather mingles with a faint trace of old whiskey.

You scan the area, letting out a resigned sigh as you confirm it—you’re the first to arrive. It’s as though they’re all just waiting for your inevitable ‘Where are you?’ text before they even begin to leave home

A hostess steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place. "Good evening. Are you meeting someone?"

“Yes,” you say, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of your group-maybe missed them the first time. You give out your friend’s names and cross your fingers as she searches her digital notepad.

"Not yet. Would you like to wait at your table, or perhaps at the bar?"

“The bar, please,” you say, fighting off a frown. Better to blend in with the half-empty space than to sit alone in open view.

She gestures to the bar, where a few patrons are scattered in quiet solitude. You thank her and make your way over, settling into a seat at the far end, where the light is dimmer. The bartender doesn’t notice you—he’s glued to a muted game on the TV overhead—but you don’t mind. This quiet corner, with its polished brass rail and cushy stool, isn’t as bad as waiting in the section alone.

The group chat lights up with those same hollow assurances—they’re “just ten minutes away.” You scoff. Ten minutes will likely stretch to thirty, if not longer.

A low prickle crawls up your neck, subtle at first. You resist the urge to look up, grounding yourself in the glow of your phone. But the feeling sharpens, like the thickening air pressing against your skin.

Slyly, you keep your head low and peer out of the corner of your eye, catching a figure in the periphery—a shape standing tall, moving slowly, drawing closer.

The figure-a man slides onto the bar-stool beside you. You ignore him, fingers tightening around your phone, though his presence feels close, deliberate. He says nothing, just reaches into his pocket, pulls something, and taps it against his palm.

You hear a strikes a match before the sharp scent of sulfur mingles with the aroma of dark liquor. You catch the faint crackle as he takes a slow drag.

“Hey, you can’t smoke in here,” the bartender says, his voice breaking the low murmur of the lounge. But the man beside you seems to barely react, only exhaling another slow stream of smoke.

“Get the lady a drink,” he says, his accent curling through the words, smooth and deliberate, with a quiet authority that lingers in the air. Your brow rises, the urge to look over at him consuming you. He’s staring at you, talking about you, and you feel a weight settle in your chest, uncomfortable under his gaze.

He is handsome—handsome in a way that seems almost out of place, like a face too perfect for the room. His blue eyes cut through you, scanning you unabashedly, and you shift uncomfortably, trying to look anywhere but at him. His dark hair is neatly cut, and his square jaw sharpens his features as he takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling in the air around him.

The bartender’s expression flickers, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, nodding quickly before turning to you, clearly unsettled. “What’ll it be, ma’am?”

"Uh… an espresso martini, please.” You’re not sure why you picked it, but the words slip out before you can reconsider. The man beside you takes another drag, his gaze unwavering, a faint smirk edging his lips. He must be someone important, you think—or perhaps the owner?

Your phone hums softly in your hand—a welcome distraction. You glance down, mouthing a faint thank you before turning away, though the weight of his gaze doesn’t fade.  As you type a quick message to the group, his presence lingers beside you, casting a shadow you can’t quite ignore. Maybe next time you’ll just wait in the car.

🍸

Your small group barely fills the wide curve of leather seating, the empty glasses accumulating on side tables in quiet succession. As you anticipated, they were all late—blaming traffic and other excuses that didn’t quite hold up. 

You lost count of the drinks hours ago, and it’s clear everyone’s at their limit. Claire’s unsteady laughter spills out as she grabs for another glass, and Sarah and Beth scramble to keep her from sliding out of her seat, the chaotic scene sparking a new wave of laughter.

It’s all familiar—like a half-forgotten memory from college, when time stretched thin and nights seemed to last forever.

Tonight had been planned for weeks, a celebration for Bethany. She’s getting married, and the sparkle on her finger is hard to miss, a cluster of diamonds catching the dim light like fragments of some distant star. She recounts his proposal with a shy smile, every detail met with wide eyes and laughter, hands reaching out to admire the ring. These gatherings have grown rare since she met him, but you don’t mind it. Everyone’s older now, a few with kids, married, while you’re content to stay in, alone.

The shift from crowded clubs to quieter lounges feels nostalgic, almost soothing—until you catch a glint of something just out of view. You can feel him there, the man from the bar, like a shadow lingering at the edge of your night. He’d paid for your drink earlier without a word, his gaze heavy, cigarette smoke trailing like a ghostly reminder of his presence.

Bethany’s laugh snaps you back, her voice lifting over the chatter. “You don’t have to get me anything from my registry—just a McMansion if you can manage it,” she teases, her grin mischievous.

You match it with a wink. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I heard you’re on a hot streak,” Sarah chimes in, raising her glass. She’s right—you have been. Four houses in six months, commissions that exceed your expectations.

“Oh man, I’ve been begging Andy to get into flipping houses,” Claire chimes in excitedly. “ But he threatened to block HGTV.”

"Well, if you’re aiming for divorce, I wouldn’t recommend it. House flipping is a pain—it causes so much stress in relationships."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and the atmosphere shifts instantly. You can feel the tension rise. They know how you got into the business—with your ex—and how that relationship ended.

"Not to say it can’t work, just that there’s a lot of money—and stress. Just look it up on Reddit." You scramble to recover, but it’s too late. You’ve definitely put your foot in your mouth again.

Bethany’s smile tightens, and the others exchange glances. The tension is clear, but before it fully settles, Bethany checks her phone. “Well, on that note, maybe we should call it a night?” she suggests, barely stifling a yawn. There are no objections.

You flag the waitress and ask for the check.

“It’s been taken care of,” she informs, to everyone’s surprise and delight. You have a feeling it’s him again—the one from the bar. He’d paid for your drink earlier, a gesture that should feel charming, yet instead it lodges like a thorn, unsettling.

You half expected him to make some move, some overture, but instead, he kept to himself, a silent presence that filled the air with the sharp sting of his cigarette smoke.

“Who?” Claire asks, her voice filled with curiosity. She twists around, scanning the area for the mysterious benefactor.

You watch the waitress fidget with the edge of her order pad, her gaze shifting from Claire to her manager and back.

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know,” she replies meekly.

“Oh, boo!” Claire sighs, shrugging as she reaches for her nearly empty glass. She dismisses it with a quick laugh, while the rest of the group gathers their things, ready to head out. You glance back to where you last saw him, but he’s gone, leaving only a faint, sharp smell of smoke in his absence. A bit of relief fills your lungs—though the unsettled feeling lingers.

🍸

You wait for Claire to climb into her Lyft before you order your own. Your head is a little light, the faint warmth of the alcohol still swirling in your veins as you shift on your heels and order your Lyft. Though you were the first to arrive, you’re always the last to leave, making sure everyone gets into their rides safely.

Your nose picks up the scent of cigarette smoke again. You think it’s him—the strange man from the bar. Of course. Same old game—buy drinks, and suddenly he thinks he’s entitled to more. Irritation crawls up your spine, a familiar, almost automatic response. Well, you're not the naive college girl anymore. You don’t go home with guys just because they bought you a drink.

“Looks like you were making sure everyone got home safe,” he observes, his tone light, a hint of curiosity behind it. “That’s pretty thoughtful.”

“Did you and your friends have fun?” he asks, his accent soft but distinct. You blink, the world spinning just slightly, the edges softening with the alcohol still lingering.

“Yeah,” you reply curtly, a bit slurred as you strain to keep his gaze. It’s easier with the haze of alcohol. At the bar, his stare had been sharp, insistent—too much. Now, it’s different, quieter, but still heavy with something unspoken.

“Heading home?” he asks, stepping closer. He’s taller than you thought, his lean frame filling the sharp lines of his tailored suit, the sharp cut of the fabric emphasizing his broad shoulders and commanding posture.

“Mmm,” you nod, rocking back and forth on your heels, suddenly feeling a sharp edge to your own behavior. You don’t know why you’re being so dismissive. He bought you drinks, paid for the tab—but then again, you’re used to guys in places like this always wanting something more.

“So, you’re British?” you try and rest your mood, offering a soft smile. You should be nicer—he was kind to you. “Are you visiting?”

“Yes. I’ve been here a while, thinking about sticking around a bit longer.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” you say with a slight, nervous chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to see London. You know, see the queen, the big clock, have tea at tea time… but I’m not the biggest fan of flying.”

“London isn’t always easy on newcomers,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His eyes hold yours, and there’s a glimmer of something else—you’re just not sure what. “Sometimes, you need someone to show you the ropes. Maybe even… look out for you.”

And there it is. He wants something more, of course—he wasn’t just being nice. His smooth words, his calm demeanor, all part of some unspoken game. The unease tightens in your chest, like a warning bell growing louder with every passing second.

“Well, if you ever decide to move here permanently, I’d love to sell you a house.” You pull a business card from your purse, swaying slightly as you search, trying to steer away from whatever it is he might be hinting at.

You hold out the card, your legs wobbling slightly. He looks down at it, a hint of a scoff escaping him before dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. His gaze sharpens, making your skin prickle.

"I wasn’t angling for your number," he says smoothly, tossing his cigarette down and crushing it beneath his shoe.

Did you misread him? He’s just some foreign guy trying to be nice. You’re bad at assumptions on a good day, and with the booze kicking in, you probably look like an ass.

"But I’ll keep you in mind when I’m ready to settle down," he adds, taking the card. You can't tell if it's out of pity or politeness. Either way, you feel bad.

"Right…" Your voice falters, a hint of embarrassment creeping in.

A car horn breaks the brief silence, impatient and sharp. He glances at the idling car, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I think that might be for you, love.”

Thank goodness. The relief presses down on you, stifling the embarrassment that rises like smoke, suffocating your chest. You nod, offering a quiet goodnight, hoping he doesn’t see the flush spreading through your veins. The sound of your footsteps feels too loud, each one echoing the unease twisting in your gut. You wonder if it will follow you—this feeling, like a shadow—until you're far enough to breathe again.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

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[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Entrapment

DubCon, NonCon - Read at your own risk. 18+

What happens when your fuck buddy Modern! Thomas Shelby wants more?

John’s words were echoing in Tommy’s head… “Every relationship has stages, Tommy, but kids they ground us.”

It just hit Tommy. All he needed to do was to knock you up. That would prove to you that he was serious about this relationship, serious about you. Tommy needed you, and you were his cocaine. He was addicted to you.

Tommy met you in Garrison, and he was spellbound when he saw you stand up for your friend. Nobody had looked Thomas Shelby the wrong way and lived to tell that tale. But then again, you were a living, breathing contradiction.

He asked you out on a date, but you turned him down. Tommy took it in stride, but the Shelby in him didn’t accept that answer. Tommy had his eyes on you, his peaky blinders protecting you, fuck, you were so damn oblivious. You were the smartest, kindest and extraordinary woman, but you literally were unaware of your surroundings. You had just moved to Birmingham and thus were unaware of the influence of the Shelby name or the peaky blinders. You knew nothing about him, and Tommy being the Shelby he was, didn’t tell you anything. After all, secrets were fun.

Thomas Shelby kept you in the dark about many things, his legal business, his illegal business, his gang. You assumed he was a working professional just like yourself, and he didn’t correct you. He fabricated run-ins with you like a teenage boy. It was fun. Your resolve broke down just enough for Tommy to slither in your bed.

“Look, I am new to this city and am not looking to date or be in a relationship yet. I just want to enjoy my time and leave it to the future.”, you told him unfailingly.

“We can hook up casually. But if we are hooking up, I won’t sleep with other men, and you wouldn’t fuck other women. You can go on dates, and I don’t mind that. If anything turns serious, we can end this arrangement.”

“Casual fucking, eh? And what man would be opposed to that?” Tommy smiled.

“It’s nice and dandy in the beginning, but men being men, they become controlling and possessive”, you added anxiously.

“I won’t control you, darling”, Tommy promised in his Brummie accent. A promise he would break, and your words were ringing true in his ears. He wanted you irrevocably and unquestionably.  

It was you who decided to limit the scope of your relationship. It was you who had forced Tommy’s hand. Thomas Shelby was enamoured from the first time you slept with him. He had slept soundly like a baby in your bed, your smell calming his mind, your presence driving away his nightmares, and for the first time in a very long time, he smiled uninhibitedly, something his family noticed.

Polly was relieved to find out the old Tommy wasn’t dead and Arthur, John, Ada, and Finn preferred this version of Tommy over the cold and calculated one.

Blinders were assigned for your protection, and they would report on your activities to Thomas Shelby, sending candid pictures of you enjoying coffee with colleagues, of a night out with your girlfriends, you in the park with your overly huge rescue dog, pictures that brightened up his day. Thomas Shelby decided to reduce his smoking when you complained about it, a noteworthy feat. He was changing and becoming a better man for you, whether he admitted it or not.

The frequency of your ‘fuck me texts’ declined, and he chalked it up to you being busy and overworked. But soon, those dreaded pictures started coming from his blinders, becoming his nightmares. He saw pictures of you out with another man, a man he envied because of your frequent dates. Thomas Shelby never claimed you publicly, partly due to fears for your safety and somewhat because he decided to keep his broken heart in a cage after Grace.

His world came crashing when Finn and Isaiah overheard you talking to your best friend, confessing about breaking it off with him to dive into a new serious relationship. Thomas Shelby’s heart jumped out of that metal cage. He may not have given particulars about your relationship to his family. Still, he had to fess up in the family meeting when Ada asked him point blank with the same derision their mother had when any of the Shelby kids were mischievous. Polly, Ada and Lizzie were disappointed in him, but so were Arthur, John, Finn and Isaiah. Michael was only the one who understood Tommy and his obsessive nature. Michael may have joined the Shelby family late, but he could see Tommy's subtlety and actions. His cousin had become unhinged, unencumbered and worst of all, fixated on the idea of owning you, which is what brought him here, standing outside of your door, swimming with whiskey with a rough plan in his mind to keep you by his side forever.

Somebody was incessantly knocking on your door and ringing the bell on top of that Storm, your beautifully dumb puppy, joined in on the chaos. You angrily opened up the door to see a drunk Thomas on your door.

“Thomas, what happened?” you asked carefully, looking at the fragile condition of the man. He just nodded, unwilling to say anything. You opened the door to let him in, asking him to make himself comfortable on the couch. You closed the door, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself before facing your fuck buddy.

“I do not know Y/N and do not know what to do. Everything is eating me alive. I am drowning in responsibilities and disappointments. Who would have thought, when I was in Afghanistan, I didn’t even know I would make it out alive, eh, and that was a war zone, but this real world is sucking up my blood.” Thomas opened up.

“Thomas, I don’t know what to say,” you answered honestly, not knowing what to say to the man.

“Don’t say anything, darling, just sit by me”, Tommy replied.

“Thomas, you need sleep.”

“No, I just need you.”

“Thomas… you are not in the right place, emotionally. Sex is not the answer to your existential crisis.”

“You are right,” Thomas sniffed.

“But you do need some sleep.”

“No, I just need to be with you”, Thomas confessed.

You pulled him up from the couch, guiding him to your bedroom, Storm following you inside.

You ask Thomas to change his clothes, handing him his pyjamas, one of the several clothing items he left to mark his territory over you like some animal.

You sat down, your mind reeling from the confession. For you, Thomas was an amazingly handsome and nice dude you fucked regularly, but you knew nothing about the man you shared your bed and body with. Ironically, you didn’t even ask for his last name. You were getting really good sex with no codependency, possessiveness and the emotional shit.

Sure, it was your personal choice because you didn’t have time or patience for a relationship then. Moving to Birmingham was stressful, and your new job took up the rest of your time. So, you just decided to have a casual relationship with a dude you met in a pub, mostly because he didn’t give off creepy vibes. Still, after eight months of settling in this city and finally having enough time, you decided to go out on dates. And thus, your casual relationship had dwindled. You knew you had to bite the bullet and break it off with Thomas, but after seeing his delicate emotional state, you decided to postpone ‘the talk’.

Thomas joined you in the bed, putting his head on your lap and sighing peacefully. You ran your fingers in his hair, lulling him to peaceful sleep. His outburst confirmed one thing, you had some feelings for him. Now all he needed was to build up on those feelings, to implant a part of him within you, and his seed would tie you to him evermore.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Entrapment - Chapter 10 (Remoulding)

Please do not read this fic if this is not your cup of tea. You have been warned, by clicking on Keep Reading means you have understood the warning. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

18 +

You cooked some spicy gram flour dumplings you had been craving all day. You were sitting in the dining hall. Thomas came and joined you. He sat opposite you, his face not revealing anything that he was thinking, his blue eyes observing you.

“I made it. You want to have some?” you asked him, offering some dumplings dipped in curry. He nodded. You served a tiny portion of spicy dumplings and a whole lot of rice, knowing he could not handle a spicy dish. You told him to pace himself.

He took a bite, and his face turned redder than the beetroot.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Spices, Thomas”

“How can you eat this? I need water, no, I need milk, fuck” he exclaimed.

“Frances, Mary, anyone, could you get me some milk” Thomas shouted like a toddler.

Mary came running with a glass of milk. Thomas snatched it and drank it whole in a gulp. You smirked, seeing the feared gangster of Birmingham tear up because of spices.

He looked at you incredulously when he saw you eat the same dish without even breaking a sweat.

“What? I had a craving…Also, you know that I don’t like bland foods. I like spicy stuff, “ you explained. His face softened. He ate the food you served, but with a lot of water.

“I want to discuss a few things with you, Thomas.”

He gestured for Mary to leave.

“Tell me, darling, what do you need?”

“Firstly, I hope you know I won’t be quitting my job” He nodded. He knew how fiercely independent you were. Making you quit your job won’t do him any favours.

“Secondly, I would like for us to maintain a strict schedule with Charlie. He needs stability. We need to meet with his paediatrician and check his growth and get his vaccines, and I want to get him tested for allergies and some usual kid stuff. Additionally, Aaliyah has been working overtime, and her Masters is suffering. Could you compensate her for the time?”

You listed your requirements. He kept staring, listening to you, observing you. He felt pride fill his heart. You were extraordinary. You had taken everything in stride, not an evil bone in your body. You had taken your responsibilities as a stepmother more seriously than Grace ever did as a mother. You weren’t shallow. You never played him, never had an agenda. You were simply you.

Thomas was busy in his thoughts, his eyes taking you in, his wife, the queen of Birmingham.

Storm came thundering inside the dining hall towards you. You smiled brightly, genuine happiness adorning your face.

“Hi, baby, how was your day? Did you enjoy the grounds?” you squeaked in high pitch. Storm excitedly licked your face very cautiously, his paws on your thighs, offering you all the kisses you missed. He may also have smelled food…

He saw Thomas. Storm went and greeted him, too, trying to swindle some food from him.

Thomas called Frances. By then, Storm decided he had had enough of the Shelby. He greeted Frances, who petted him before addressing her employer. Storm sat down by your side, his head on your lap, giving you puppy dog eyes, damn those eyes.

“Has Storm had his dinner, eh?”

“Yes, Mr Shelby, Storm has eaten. Would you like me to get you something?”

“No, I am good.”

“Mrs Sh…Y/N, would you like something?”

“No, thank you so much, Frances.”

Thomas relieved Frances for the day. You got a message from Aaliyah.

“Thomas… let’s go and say good night to Charlie. He has been fed and bathed, and it’s his bedtime in a few minutes…”

He nodded and followed you and Storm.

You knocked on Charlie’s door, and Aaliyah opened it, surprised to see you both.

“Mr and Mrs Shelby…”

“Aaliyah, we came to say good night to Charlie..”

She nodded and opened the door widely. Charlie was standing in his crib, clearly cranky.

“Oh, hello Charlie…” you greeted the toddler. His attention was on the giant dog.

“This is Storm…” you introduce them.

“Omm”, he exclaims.

Storm got excited, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Thomas picked him up, kissing his cheeks, murmuring hello. Charlie leaned on his father, clearly exhausted from the day.

You felt like you were intruding on a very personal moment between a father and son. When Charlie fell asleep, Thomas put him in his crib. Storm whined because he didn’t get to play with the tiny human…

You shushed Storm, letting him out of the room. He trotted away to your room.

“Aaliyah, could you wait for us in the sitting room?” you asked. She left hurriedly.

“Thomas…stop scaring her”

“How am I scaring her?”

“Could you smile a little bit… put her at ease…”

“If you say so, darling.” you rolled your eyes at the moniker.

You joined Aaliyah in the sitting room. She looked fidgety.

“Aaliyah, there is no need to be nervous”, you smiled.

“Give us a schedule that works for you…and if you need additional help, let me know”, Tommy addressed her. You glared at him, “…please” Thomas added reluctantly like a scolded child.

“Yes, Mr Shelby…”

“Aaliyah.. if you need anything, reach out to Polly. We support education. Shelby Foundation will sponsor your studies.” Tommy informed. Aaliyah’s scared expression turned grateful. She had never had a chat with Tommy Shelby for more than five minutes that didn’t feature Charlie—seeing this different, approachable side of Tommy made her at ease. Every employee in the house had pointed it out, but she’d never seen it, but tonight she saw a man who had changed for the better, the woman responsible for this change wasn’t even aware of it.

His wife had made lives better for people before she came to this manor. You weren’t even aware of the role you played as a catalyst for so many changes around Tommy. A man who was feared and respected had become loveable for the people of Birmingham, all thanks to a bird named Y/N Y/L/N.

---

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