#Peaky blinders OC

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: They have a lot of time to make up for.

Word Count: 5,769

Warnings: Smut, marathon sex, oral sex, size kink, bit of a praise kink, unintentional voyeurism, and references to polyamory and past suicide attempts.

Notes: I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read this fic. This one in particular has been a passion project of mine since nearly the initial creation of Lucy, and I am so, so glad that you enjoyed it enough to read all the way to the end! Thank you so much for all the support that you have given me!

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Chapter 22: Hopelessly Tangled

Lucy took in a deep, shuddering breath and pushed open the door leading into the room where she had been staying at Charlie’s yard. A shiver had gone through her when she passed by the red door leading into the washroom, a sick feeling twisting in her stomach. 

She slipped away while Tommy was speaking to Charlie regarding what to do with the opium shipment they still had at the yard. Originally the plan was for Charlie to take the shipment out while the coppers were all distracted by the assassination. But obviously that had all gone to hell, and it hadn’t been safe to move the shipment yet.

Tommy had cast her an alarmed look when she murmured into his ear that she needed to go take care of something in her old room. But he seemed to calm at least somewhat after she squeezed his hand and reassured him that she was okay. It would take only a minute. 

The room looked different without her suitcases in the corner, her makeup and jewelry on the desk, or the fifty million bouquets of flowers that Tommy had sent her during her stay there. It seemed bigger, yes. But also more empty. Barren. 

Her eyes fixed on the bed, mind turning back to all those nights spent laying on it, cold and lonely and crying.

Pushing up the mattress, she grabbed the slip of paper tucked underneath it, then set the mattress down, turned, and sat on the bed. 

Her fingers traced delicately over the train ticket, thumbing over the printed date and time. Rooting around in her pocket, she pulled out her lighter, clicking it on and just about to coax the corner of the ticket into the flame when she heard the sound of the floorboards by the door creaking. 

Looking up, she was met with Tommy standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets and watching her calculatingly, a frown set into his face. Lucy clicked off the lighter, imagining that she likely looked an awful lot like a child who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

Closing the door behind him and approaching her with heavy footfalls, Tommy sat down beside her on the bed, cringing at the way that the springs creaked with complaint under their combined weight. Neither of them said anything, both just staring down at the train ticket still clutched between her fingers. 

“I bought it after you said that you were going to kill Mosley for her. I thought that I’d lost you forever, so…” she trailed off, fingers rubbing at the edges of the paper. “I thought it would be better for everyone.”

Tommy was quiet for a considerable stretch of time. His shoulder brushed against hers, his fingers fidgeting with each other. She wondered if that was a habit he’d picked up from her, or her from him. 

“Were you going to tell me?” he asked finally, voice soft despite it only being them in the room. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. She could sense the hurt coming off of him in waves at that. She shook her head at her past actions. “I look back on the way that I was thinking and behaving then, and it all seems so silly now.”

Tommy shifted, reaching out silently in request for the ticket. She passed it to him without complaint. His shoulders sagged as he stared down at it clutched gingerly between his hands. Lucy cocked her head.

“What?” 

He looked up at her, eyes sad. “If you really want to leave–”

“I don’t. I never wanted to. I thought that you–” she pulled in a trembling breath. “I thought it would be what was best for you.”

He searched her eyes carefully, and she met his gaze steadfastly, daring him to find any lie or wavering in it. Knowing that he would find none. Satisfied, he held out the ticket to her, and she clicked the lighter back on, holding the flame up to the delicate paper. She and Tommy watched as the flames caught, the parchment beginning to curl and smoke before fully catching ablaze. Tommy turned the paper carefully to avoid letting the yellow flames touch his fingers. And once the fire had mostly engulfed the ticket, Lucy snagged the ashtray on the nightstand for him to drop it into. Setting it and her lighter both back down on the table, she leaned into him. His arm wrapped around her, tucking her closer to his chest while they watched the last remnants of the train ticket turn to ash. 

His other hand stroked along her forearm, delicately trailing his fingers down until they brushed against the raised, barely healed scar on her wrist. 

The stitches had come out that morning. Finally. And while it would still be awhile until she could be considered truly one hundred percent healed, it was close enough for her to not need anymore bandaging or sutures.  

“You’re the love of my life, you know,” Tommy said, lips touching to the crown of her head.

Lucy felt like she might’ve been about to burst with love and affection for him. Raising her face, she cradled both his cheeks in her palms, resting her forehead against his. “And you’re mine.”

His hands smoothed up her back, holding her to him. “I got something for you.”

Lucy leaning back to look at him, a smile pulling at the edges of her lips. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Close your eyes.”

She raised an eyebrow, but complied. She could hear him shifting about beside her.

“Alright. Open ‘em.”

She blinked open her eyes, and was greeted with a delicate gold chain dangling from Tommy’s fingers where they were poised in front of her. Glinting in the light on the end of the chain, was a little golden heart pendant. 

“Tommy…” she reached out, fingers brushing over the pendant. It was just small and simple enough to be to her tastes. And she could wear it with her daily attire easily. But she knew just from looking at it that it was made of real gold.  

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she turned so that he could fasten it around her neck. It fell to rest just below her collarbone. “Thank you.”

“I had it charmed,” he said, finishing doing the clasp and dropping his face to nuzzle in her neck. “For good luck. Protection. And love” He punctuated each with a kiss to her throat. Turning around, Lucy wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

“Thank you, darling.” She touched his face. “I love it.”

“Every time you look at it, I want you to remember. Remember how much I love you.”

“I will.” Their noses bumped a little on their next kiss, but that didn’t dissuade them. 

“And,” he said–a little breathlessly, she noted smugly. “If that’s not enough. If you’re still doubting it, just ask me. Alright? Just ask me the question. Doesn’t matter the time, or the place, or what else might be on my mind. You ask, and I’ll answer, eh?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Okay, I promise.”

His hands landed on her hips, tightening as he pulled her closer, an approving growl rumbling in his chest. “Good. Now c’mere.”

He pulled her impossibly closer to him, kissing her ferociously, his hands running over her sides before settling on her hips.

Lucy gasped delightedly into the kiss, hands going to fist at the front of his coat. Tommy’s tongue slid eagerly into her mouth, their kisses growing impossibly deeper with each passing moment. Her head spun a little, and had they not already been sitting down, she may have been at risk of her legs giving out. 

Just as she felt like she may very well run out of oxygen, Tommy broke the kiss to begin peppering his mouth along her throat. Nose brushing along where her neck met shoulder, she felt him inhaling deeply, and when he pushed her coat and suit jacket both from her shoulders, she didn’t stop him. Simply instead taking his own two outermost layers in her hands and nudging them off him, giving her much better access to grope at his biceps and run her hands along his chest. 

With a groan, Tommy began to fumble with the buttons on her waistcoat, pushing it off of her to land with an unceremonious thump on the floor. Warm hands slipped under her white shirt, stroking along her ribs.

“Yes?” he asked, eyes soft when they regarded her, asking for permission for more. She nodded eagerly, pressing wantonly against him. It had been far, far too long since he had touched her. Hands moving more frantically now, they both worked swiftly to rid the other of their clothes. Tommy’s waistcoat joined hers on the floor, while he became distracted after unbuttoning her shirt by caressing her breasts through her bra. Lucy giggled at the somewhat awkward maneuvering they had to do to get out of their holsters, before pressing her lips to the newly uncovered skin of his chest from her unbuttoning his shirt. Her bra was flicked open by clever fingers and flung to some faraway place in the depths of the room. Both naked from the waist up, Tommy scooped her up to press flush against him, lowering her backward to lay on the tiny bed. 

Immediately crawling on top of her, he set to work hastily ridding her of the remainder of her clothes, trousers and underwear pulled away and tossed carelessly to the floor in one quick movement. Legs fell open for him to settle between them, Tommy purring in approval at her nakedness, open mouthed kisses being planted along her neck down to her chest. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he whispered between kisses, tongue circling one of her nipples before making his way down her body. 

“Missed you too,” she managed to get out, hand tugging on his dark hair and eliciting a groan from him. A finger circled over her clit, another groan clawing its way from Tommy’s throat at how wet she was. His burning lips pressed kisses to her thighs, his fingers beginning to work her over, thumb rubbing her clit while he slowly slipped two thick digits inside her.

She was teetering over the edge of an orgasm almost embarrassingly quickly, hands gripping the bed sheets so hard she was afraid that she might tear them. Tommy smirked, head tilted to the side.

“You wanna come? You wanna fucking come, sweet girl?”

Lucy nodded desperately.

“Yeah. You come as many fucking times as you want tonight.” With that he leaned forward, tongue flicking out to lick over her. A strangled cry ripped from her lips, back arching as after only a few expert swipes of his tongue, Tommy had her hurtling headfirst into an intense orgasm.

Grasping tightly at her thighs, Tommy pulled her closer to his mouth, hungrily lapping at her until she was nudging his head away from overstimulation. He sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smirking. Lucy blinked up at him, hand pawing out to rub in interest along his chest, feeling the muscle ripple beneath her as she traced over the shape of his tattoos. Allowing her fingers to dip lower, it was her turn to smirk at the rather desperate noise that Tommy made when she cupped the large bulge in his trousers. She tugged at his belt, eyes narrowed demandingly.

“Off.”

He shifted off the bed for only a moment to strip off his trousers and underwear before crawling back over her, nose bumping against hers, bracing his arms on either side of her head. His eyes were incredibly soft, the icy blue thawed to a warm ocean.

“My beautiful girl,” he stroked her cheek, kisses pressed to her lips. Lucy wound her arms around his neck, thighs going around his waist. His erection burned where the thick length pressed against her inner thigh. Her core fluttered and clenched, wanting nothing more than to finally have him inside of her again.

In one swift move, she flipped them, careful so as to not accidentally send them both careening to the floor off of the narrow bed. 

“Yes,” Tommy breathed out at her straddling him, hands landing on her hips to help stabilize her. “Yes, fuck me.” His head fell back, eyes fluttering closed. “Please fuck me, Lucy.”

A shiver wracked through him as she gripped his shaft, stroking him in her fist before lining him up, her entire body shuddering as she slowly sunk down onto him. A moan fell from her lips, grasping at Tommy’s shoulders for stability, head tilted back as he filled her. Beneath her, Tommy growled, an arm going around her while the other clasped tight enough to her hip to leave bruises.

“Lucy,” he whispered, sitting up to press kisses along her collarbone. A swell of possessiveness washed over her, gripping his face in one hand and forcing him to look at her. The other hand rested over his chest, right above his heart.

“You’re mine,” she said, not room for argument in her voice. Tommy’s cock twitched inside of her at the words, eyelashes fluttering, pupils dilating until she could barely see any of the blue of his irises. One large hand covered hers, stroking the skin.

“I’m yours,” he agreed.

She leaned forward, lips pressing fully to his, and began to ride him. With his hips rolling up to meet hers with each bounce, they set a slow, deep pace, continuing to kiss languidly, hands caressing every inch of skin they could reach as they made love.

“Tommy,” she moaned, head falling backward and grasping at his hair tightly. “Tommy.” Her pace quickened, Tommy’s thumb pressing against her clit again, rubbing careful circles. With each stroke he was hitting her in exactly the perfect spot, stars dancing across her vision with each thrust.

“You gonna come for me again, love?” Tommy asked sweetly, devilish grin pulling at his cheeks when he felt her clench down on his cock at the sound of his rumbling voice. “Yeah, that’s it.”

A strangled sob left her lips, sinking her nails into Tommy’s back and earning a growl in response. Her next orgasm shuddered through her powerfully, leaving her legs shaking and head spinning. 

“Good girl,” Tommy praised, sitting up and wrapping her up in his arms, rolling them so that he was once again on top of her. His tempo grew faster with each thrust, fucking her through her second orgasm and almost directly into a third. Lucy moaned impossibly loudly, eyes rolling, the poor little bed rattling and squeaking with their combined movements. 

“I love you,” Tommy growled between thrusts. “I will always love you.” He hooked a leg over his hip, pumping into her furiously. Lucy pulled him down to kiss him hard, clinging to his back, legs wrapping more securely around his hips to keep him close. She could tell, by the way his breathing quickened and his cock twitched and throbbed, that he was close. He pushed her legs open and further back, like he was trying to get as deep inside of her as possible.

“I love you, too,” she said softly against his lips. Tommy moaned. “No matter what.”

He let out a bellowing roar, back arched as his cock twitched and throbbed powerfully inside her. Lucy cried out, the feeling of him pouring his cum inside of her triggering another orgasm, arms wrapping around Tommy’s shoulders while he thrusted as deep inside of her as he could get and stayed there, body trembling in her arms as he came hard.

Slumping against her, Tommy’s head burrowed into the crook of her neck, breath hot where it tickled her skin. His body was warm and heavy on top of hers, a welcome and comforting weight after so long without him. Lucy brought a hand up to stroke through his soft hair, peacefulness washing over them both. After a moment Tommy raised up on his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips before pulling out gingerly and shifting to lay on his side beside her. Or, he tried to. Considering the tiny space of the bed, he ended up situating them more so that she was settled on top of his chest with his arms around her. It reminded her of years ago, back when she would sneak into Tommy’s tiny flat in Small Health and they’d curl up together on his tiny bed, bodies pressed together. A hand petted through her thoroughly mussed red hair.

“Holy fuck.”

She laughed breathlessly, turning her face to press a kiss to the sunbeams tattooed around his pectoral. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, grinning down at her while he caught his breath. 

“We’ve still got it, eh?”

She stretched up to kiss him tenderly. “Damn right.” Cuddling back into his chest, she let her eyes drop closed contentedly at the familiar warmth of him around her. 

Tommy shifted, grabbing the lighter she’d dropped on the nightstand and a pack of cigarettes that she must have left there, lighting one for himself. For a while they laid in peaceful silence, Lucy beginning to doze on his chest while he traced nonsensical patterns into her skin. There was no doubt in her mind that they weren’t even close to done for the night. If true to habit, Tommy would be ready to go again within a couple more minutes. They had a lot of catching up to do.  

“Tommy?”

“Hm?”

She frowned, trying to figure out how to word the question. Or if she should even ask it at all. It wasn’t really any of her business. Not really. But she couldn’t help but wonder, with the amount in which he’d just came in her…

“How much sex did you have after I moved out?”

He froze. Then reached over slowly to set his cigarette down into the ashtray, and tilted her face up by the chin to look at him. His throat worked, and she saw shame and guilt enter his eyes. 

“Only twice.”

She frowned. She had expected it to be a lot more than that. “That’s it?”

He nodded, wincing. “Once a few days after you moved out. I was drunk and…depressed and Lizzie was there. I think I might’ve called her by your name at one point, but she didn’t say anything about it. And then the second time was in the cupboard at her birthday party.”

Turning onto her side on his chest, she trailed her fingers up and down through the hair that sprouted between his pecs. “Oh. I figured it would be more.”

“I haven’t exactly been in the mood much, recently.” His fingers slid through her hair languidly. “I meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?”

“When I said that it wasn’t the same. It’s not. It’s better with you.”

She felt herself flush all the way from head to toe. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He pecked at her shoulder. “I dreamed about you.”

“You did?”

“Came in my sleep like a fucking teenager.”

She grinned at the mental image. He’d probably been so exasperated once he’d realized what had happened. 

She felt his hips shift a little against her.  

“And there was no one else? Other than Lizzie?”

“No. No one else.” He rubbed his nose along the length of her shoulder. “What about you, hm?”

“Nothing and no one.” She had never felt comfortable enough to be that vulnerable with someone else without Tommy there. With the exception of Grace. “Except my hand, once.” A wicked thought occurred to her. Tilting her head up, she let her lips graze across the base of his neck when she spoke. “In this bed. Thinking of you…”

“Fuck,” his hips bucked, pushing his swelling cock against her hip desperately. Lucy angled her head up to meet him when his mouth came crashing down onto hers.   

As soon they parted, he leaned in to press kisses to her neck. In a smooth movement he rolled them so that he was on top, growing erection grinding against her. Catching at his shoulders, Lucy pulled back just enough to look at him. 

“The others…” she started, biting her lip. “They’re just bodies, right?”

She saw understanding enter Tommy’s eyes at her repeating the term he had used earlier. Getting at what she was really asking. 

“Just bodies,” he agreed, leaning in to kiss her again, then chuckled and shook his head fondly. “As if I could make love to anyone else but you,” he tutted, hands running all over her body.

“Silver tongued bastard,” she crooned affectionately, hands tangling in his hair. Tommy chuckled, the vibrations against her chest making her shiver.

“You’re not going to be able to walk straight after I’m done with you…” his voice was beginning to get growly again, her core clenching around nothing as she whined and arched into the teasing touches that he was laying on her.

“Promises, promises,” she teased, grinning at the way his eyes lit up at the challenge.

And then her head was lolling back onto the pillow, moaning while her hands scrambled at his powerful shoulders, as with one expert forward thrust of his hips, he pushed inside of her once more. 

“Oh my God…” Tommy moaned wantonly, as if he'd just been reunited with the missing half of his soul. His eyes closed, head tipping back, face contorting with bliss. “Fucking hell, sweetheart.”

She gasped at the praise, grabbing onto him fiercely. Her legs squeezed around his hips while she clawed at his back as he set an absolutely brutal pace, thrusting into her so hard that the headboard struck the wall with each one.

Lucy moaned with abandon, not caring if the whole yard could hear her. Good God, how had she ever managed to live without this?

He felt fucking huge. Splitting her open with each thrust, filling her completely. She caught herself staring at the place where they were joined in awe, amazed that something so massive could actually fit in her. His cock glimmered with their combined juices every time he pulled out, a wet squelch sounding when he thrust back in balls deep, skin slapping together when their hips met.

She felt like she might combust from how good it all felt. And then he started talking. 

“This what you thought about, love? In this bed, all on your own? You imagine me splitting you open like this? Fucking you ‘til neither of us can move…Mm…” He thrusted all the way in and stayed there, grinding against her. His pubic bone slid against her clit wonderfully. “Squeezing me so tight, honey,” he purred when he picked the pace back up again. “Shit, you feel so good. Best fucking cunt I’ve ever been in…”

She sobbed at the praise, clinging to him for dear life. With a hand in his hair she dragged his mouth down to hers, kissing him greedily. His pace increased, pounding into her like a fucking animal. The bed creaked and groaned angrily under them.

“Right there,” she squeaked, head falling back against the pillows. The tip of his cock rubbed right up against that spot inside her again, stars bursting behind her eyes. “Right there, don’t stop, Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…”

“Fuck,” he grunted, hands fisting in the sheets at either side of her head. “I’m not gonna last.”

She tightened her legs around him, urging him in deeper. His mouth found hers, tongues tangling, devouring each other’s moans. Their hands, the ones with the still healing cuts from their pact in the woods across their palms, entwined. Lucy could feel the band tightening within her. Just a little more…

There was a loud crack, and then a sudden snap from under them. Lucy yelped, finding herself suddenly and momentarily in free-fall. Above her, Tommy’s eyes widened, seizing her in his arms and curling his body protectively around her. 

It took her a moment to realize what happened. The support beams of the bed frame had completely snapped, leaving the mattress to fall unceremoniously onto the floor amongst the wooden wreckage of the broken frame. 

“Shit,” Tommy gasped out, cupping the side of her face. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You?” she choked out. He nodded to confirm that he was okay. They looked at each other, and then immediately descended into giggles. 

“Fucking hell,” Tommy chuckled, dropping his head into her neck. “What’s this thing made out of? Rotted wood?”

“It’s old,” she managed between wheezes. “It was already here when I arrived in 1918.”

“Mm,” he hummed, glancing around at the damage and shaking his head. When he returned his gaze to her, she felt the air around them shift again. His eyes darted over her face, lingering on her lips, and she was suddenly deeply aware of the fact that he was still very much buried inside her and throbbing. 

Hand sliding up to brace near her head, Tommy pushed himself up to kiss her again. This time slow and deep. Their mouths moved sensually together, tongues stroking as he started to slowly rock his hips. 

She clung to him like he was a lifeline, cradling his face and running her fingers through his hair. Tommy sighed deeply into her mouth, a hand running along her side to cup and squeeze one of her breasts, then creeping downwards to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts. 

“Ohhh, c’mere,” he shuddered, arm hooking around her, crushing her to his chest. And all the while he kept on kissing her. Over and over again. So tenderly and passionately it made her heart feel as though it were about to explode out of her chest. 

How could she have ever been so stupid as to have doubted his love for her? When he was making love to her like this, it was impossible to think that he didn’t adore her down to his very soul.  

She came softly, with her back arching and a soft gasp of his name shuddering from her mouth. He was not far behind, whispering her name and sweet nothings into her ear as he pressed in and emptied another generous load inside her. 

“This bed is fucking terrible,” he complained, after pulling out and shifting them so that she was laying on his chest once more. Lucy hummed in agreement. 

“Yeah. Probably did everyone a favor by breaking it.”

He snorted, pressing his smile into her hair. Sitting up, she straddled him, Tommy raising an intrigued eyebrow at the position, his hands resting on her hips.  

“You’re my favorite person,” she told him seriously. His eyes softened. 

“You’re my favorite too, sweetheart.”

Rubbing her thumb along his cheek, she smiled at him tenderly, reaching with her other hand for his cock. It twitched in interest against her palm, and Tommy smirked cockily. 

“I’m warning you now,” she leaned forward to murmur in his ear. “I’m gonna put that famous Shelby stamina to the test, my love.”

He looked absolutely delighted at the prospect. His cock throbbed. It didn’t take long for her to have to ready and raring to go once more, guiding him to her entrance and sheathing down onto him with a moan. 

Later, when they’d both kept their promises–him to fuck her until neither of them could move, and her to put his renowned endurance to the test–she looked up at him shyly from her spot curled up on his chest. “Thank you for not letting me go,” she said.

He caressed her cheek with his fingers, touch warm and gentle. “I promised you,” he whispered, as if there had never been any question in his mind that he would keep it. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Charlie was happy for them. Really. They’d both been so miserable during the separation. Everything was back to the way it should be.

But holy fuck, did they have to be so fucking loud about it?

He shot a glower towards the wall at the sound of another loud moan reverberating from the other side.

Fuck’s sake. He’d have thought that they’d have tired themselves out by now. They'd been at it for hours.

His cheeks and ears burned. He had managed to sleep for a little while, but then there’d been the sound of what he could only describe as a small earthquake next door, sending him shooting straight up in bed.

Ever since then, he’d been in and out. Just as he managed to doze off, they’d make some particularly loud racket that sent him jerking awake again. If he didn’t know better he would have suspected that they were doing it on purpose. Not even putting his pillow over his ears was enough to drown them out. 

Silence fell on the other side of the wall, and he let out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes. 

Then there was a loud…wet noise, and Tommy started promptly screaming Lucy’s name loud enough to bring the roof down.  

Nope. Nope. Uncomfortable as it may be to sleep in the stables, it was better than having to listen to this.

He snatched up his pillow and stomped irritably for the door, mumbling under his breath. 

Fucking Shelbys. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy moaned, body shuddering with his orgasm as he pumped his hips at a languish pace a few times before stilling. Pressed deep inside of Lucy, his balls fluttering and tightening with each generous spurt of seed that he was filling her with. Below him, Lucy moaned, hands grasping at his back and shoulders as her walls clenched tight around him with her own release, milking him for absolutely everything he had.

He had awoken to her cradled warm and safe in his arms, red hair spread out on his chest where her head was nestled, their bodies practically intertwined with how closely they were pressed together in the tiny bed, arms and legs tangled together. 

He had fucked her deep into the night. Probably had kept poor Charlie awake with all the noise they’d been making. And when they were finally well and truly exhausted, they’d collapsed into a pile of sweaty, satisfied limbs and fallen asleep. That morning he allowed himself the chance to just admire her for a while as she slept. The soft strands of her hair, the freckles covering her face. The way her limbs twitched in her sleep and she snuggled closer to him. She was heartbreakingly beautiful. His favorite person in the entire world.

It was with soft kisses to her neck that he woke her, hands running adoringly over her soft skin. It had been around when she pressed a sleepy kiss to the tattoo encircling his left pec that his cock had inevitably stirred awake, and they ended up right where they left off the night before.

Now basking in their afterglows, Lucy laughed sweetly, hand petting through his dark hair.

“Good morning to you, too.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to a scar on her chest and sitting up. “We have meetings with constituents at the Garrison this morning.”

“How long do we have?”

His eyes glanced at the clock on the wall. “About an hour.”

“Oh, good,” she said, rolling them over so he was on his back with her hovering over him. Tommy laughed, grinning up at her almost boyishly. “We have enough time for this, then,” she murmured huskily, leaning down to kiss him heatedly. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

They just barely managed to be ready in time, pulling on clothes hastily and stuffing down some toast and eggs that Charlie prepared for them in the kitchen before heading outside. Tommy went to do a final quick check on the opium shipment, while Lucy greeted Charlie where he was sitting with his injured leg stretched out in front of him, watching Curly tend to the horses.

“Good morning,” he said to her.

“Morning.”

The man was eyeing her in quiet amusement, eyes darting between her and Tommy, who was walking towards them. “Sleep well?”

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Between her legs, she ached wonderfully, and true to Tommy’s word, she was having a significant amount of trouble walking in a straight line. Her legs felt a little like jelly. “Oh, yes. Very much so.”

“Mhm.” Charlie smirked. ”Good.”

“You?”

“Bah. It was fine. These two assholes next door keep waking me up with the absurdly loud sex they were having, though.”

She cringed. “Shit. Sorry.”

Charlie shrugged with a smile, patting her on the arm. “I’m just glad that everything’s back to the way it should be, kiddo.”

“Hello, Charlie,” Tommy finally made his way over to them. 

“Shouldn’t you two be getting going if you don’t want to be late? I hear that they line up down the street sometimes to get a chance to talk to you.”

“Yeah, we do. But here, before we go,” he reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of cash, counting it out and passing it to Charlie. “For the bed.”

Charlie frowned. “What the fuck happened to the bed?”

“Tommy happened.” Lucy quickly pointed the blame. Tommy’s brows rose. 

“From what I remember it was very much a group effort.”

She bit her lip to try to keep from laughing. Charlie groaned, making a face.

“Ugh, God, I don’t want to know anymore. Just get out of my yard, you insatiable animals.”

Taking his advice, Tommy took hold of her hand, beginning to pull her towards the exit. 

“After we’re done meeting with constituents, we can go home,” he mumbled cheekily into her ear. “We have a whole new bed there to christen.” His eyes danced mischievously. “Maybe we’ll break that one too.”

Stopping them before they could leave the safety of the yard, she cupped both his cheeks with one hand. “Charlie’s right. You are insatiable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She grinned, and leaned in when he kissed her. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

She did ask the question, later. As she would, every once in a while. For forever. But not always because she was beginning to have doubts, or because her insecurities were getting the better of her. Sometimes, she just wanted to hear his answer.

“Do you love me?” 

And Tommy answered in the same way that he would answer for the rest of their days. 

“Yes; I love you. I love you more than anything.”

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[novashelby]

Evie: The Origin Story-Chapter One

Chapter Summary: Tommy didn't think twice about the girl with ragged clothes and broken shoes. Girls like Evie weren't a rarity in Birmingham. But what happens when little Evie breaks into the Shelby stable? Word Count: 3,675 Warning(s): Mention of abuse, mention of drugs(once), mention of alcoholism, poverty, neglect, prostitution. Links: ->Wattpad ->Ao3

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The little girl pounded pavement with her broken sole shoes. The rain from that morning soaked through to her lace trimmed white socks. Birmingham puddles were like any other city puddles; filled with grime and soot. They blackened her socks and made her feet all pruny. She looked behind her, and on her tail were three boys. They were the rascals that lived in the tennant housing across the street, but because they had dads that could afford hot water, Evie was below them. Under her arm was tucked her sacred little drawing book that held all her secrets in images. She tried to quicken her pace, feeling her lungs burn and her legs get wobbly. Without thinking, she darted between two buildings, but she found herself at a dead end. The boys’ laughter grew louder and their running slowed as they approached the dead alleyway.

Evie tried to tuck herself behind the trash, but they could easily spot her glancing over. Stinky Evie, stinky Evie. That’s what they’d call her. Every single day it was stinky Evie, stinky Evie. Nothing original, nothing she wasn’t already aware of. Her hair was never kept, her clothing was hardly washed between uses, and dirt always rested under her nails. None of the girls at school wanted to play with her and the nuns gave her blatant looks of disgust.

The bigger of the three boys stepped forward, a snide smirk on his face. Evie never understood their distaste for her. Their shoes had holes, too. Evie coward, clinging to her drawing book. “Stinky Evie,” he said, and the other two boys follow suit. She attempted to push further back, but the brick wall left no more room. All the poor girl could do was pray. They boys shared elbow nudges, silently agreeing on the next step when the boy said, “you look like a girl, but you stink like a pig.”

“Ugly like one, too,” the other boy said, spitting. It nearly landed on her and when she tried to wiggle away, whining and grunting, the front boy kicked her legs. 

The third boy laughed. “Uglier than one and your mum’s a filthy whore-”

“That gets paid shite to fuck pigs-”

“Leave me alone!” she yelled, kicking her feet. “Just leave me alone.” But poor Evelyn Walsh was smaller than all the other kids, especially the boys. They easily overpowered her, keeping her in place as they hovered over her. Her fingers clutching tightly against her drawing book that had already seen too much. “Give it back!” She tugged as hard as she could, the spine weakening anymore. In the rustle and tussle, pages tore and fell out, landing in muddy alley grime. “It’s mine, it’s mine!”

The larger boy yelled, “they ain’t nothing special. My arse can do better.” Her fingers slipped and the book was in their hands. She sobbed a bit, sniffling and choking. It was the last of it; all she had besides three broken pencils. Their dads could afford wooden train sets and balls, her mom could only afford what made her own brain sane; alcohol and the white stuff that left nasty residue on the dinner table. The boys sarcastically hummed, flipping through the pages that fell from the spine before running off with it yelling in unison, stinky Evie, stinky Evie. 

Evie watched as they disappeared. Her chin numbed a bit as she tried to fight back all the crying she wanted to do. Her drawing book. The only thing I have-had. She slowly stood from her spot as the sun started to leave, and a purple-orange haze took over. Her mother would start to wake up for her work and if Evie wasn’t home-well, it depended. Sometimes Cindy Walsh wouldn’t notice and other days she would. But in the rare case that she would, Evie hurriedly along, trying to sing herself out of sadness. And despite the water seeping to her feet, she danced in every puddle that said ‘hi’ on her way. It wasn’t a long walk, but it always felt long because everything was so in reach, but not obtainable. Like the warm places, the bakeries and restaurants that sold warm food. Or how she’d see pretty dresses in the window and Mary Jane shoes that didn’t have broken soles.

She paused at a boutique, pressing her hands against the window. It was closed for the evening, but just on the other side of the glass were shoes. As her feet shivered in her dirty socks, unshielded from her shoes, a nice, pretty new pair were right before her eyes. Evie never believed she could be like other girls. The girls that wore bows in their hair and had pretty coats. Or the white gloves that matched their mother’s. When she tucked her hands in her pockets, on the window glass rested two handprints. A memory of her wants and desires. She continued onward, trying her best to keep her nose down. The more she smelled the stench, the less she smelt the food. 

It was nearing six at night. Pubs were bustling and jazz clubs were starting to open, restaurants were welcoming people. The streets cleared of school children, and filled with those running home from work or chiming with glee as the nightlife took over. At home, all that was waiting for her was a piece of stale bread and porridge. 

She was in her own thoughts, weaving in and out of people who hardly noticed she was there. But above all the clatter, in the distance she heard laughter. She paused and saw the three boys. They were sharing a smoke that they probably bummed from the bins. In their hands was her drawing book. Her breath hitched, and quickly she scanned for cover. But just as she was about to dodge, the boy that led the pack spotted her. Evie cursed and ran, weaving in and out of crowds until they had met her on her side of the street.

“Where ya’ goin’, stinky Evie?” One hollered, and she wasn’t even sure who. Their voices all blended after a while. Stinky Evie, stinky Evie. Your mum’s a whore. 

She kept running, hearing their chants until they stopped and the footsteps stopped. Except her’s, they kept going until her body banged into something much sturdier. “Oof!” she yelped, falling to the ground. The three boys were behind her, but none of them said anything. Evie looked at what she bumped into and what she saw were a pair of legs. That of which she followed up until meeting the eyes of an older man in a neat three piece suit. Between his gloved fingers, he held a smoke up to his lips and inhaled. His expression was neutral and unassuming, but every one that walked by seemed to regard him. Evie crawled back a bit, cowering under his stare. They were outside a pub that glistened with drunk laughter and cheers. Mostly men. No, only men. There wasn’t a single female laugh in the mix. 

His eyes shifted to the boys and nodded, “you boys up to something, eh?” Evie turned to look at them. All three stiffened like soldiers in boot camp. They shared looks before mumbling a stream of no, sir. No, Mr. Shelby. Nu uh, Mr. Shelby. He nodded and looked back down at Evie. “What about you, eh? Behaving yourself?” He outreached his gloved hand and she met it, feeling him tug her to her feet. He looked over the girl in pity and back at the boys. 

In a small voice, Evie said, “can you get my drawing book? They took my drawing book.”

His eyes raised and he nodded to the boys, who then presumed guilty stances. Pointedly, he asked, “you boys steal this girl’s drawing book?” Evie was so shocked as to how much hold this man had over them. She watched as they swallowed, nearly pissing themselves. One nodded. “Give it back, eh? What fathers teach their sons to push around a little girl, huh?” The boys immediately handed it to her. The man tilted his chin. “Now fuck off, eh? Yer mums probably done with dinner about now.” 

When the boys left, Evie slowly looked up at the man, blinking before widening her smile. “Thank you, sir.” 

He nodded, tilting his hat. “Go on home, yeah? It’s getting late. You bastards shouldn’t be on the street at this time.” With that, he left her there with her drawing book. The next time those boys saw her, they ran off, wanting nothing to do with the girl that Mr. Shelby helped. 

Evie got home. As she always did, she opened the door slowly and peaked in first to scope out the situation. Then slipped in, closing the door for it’d make nothing more than a slight click. As she kicked off her shoes and shoes, a groan came from the bedroom. She paused to listen. Cindy had just woken up a few minutes prior. Evie went to the sink, filling her glass with water when her mother groaned out, “Evs?” Her eyes shot to the door. Immediately, she felt this utter dread. Her mother slipped from their one bed, and walked from their room. Yawning, groggily looking around and running her eyes, she said, “Evs?” She swung her house coat over her cotton slip. 

“Yes-”

“You know, you don’t have to fucking bang shit around when you want water,” she said, sighing. Evie yelped slightly as her mother pushed her off to the side as she got down a coffee cup. Her stomach cramped as she watched her mother slowly look at the moka pot. Irritated, she picked it up and flipped it over before tossing it back on the counter. It banged with a clang and Evie jumped back as he mother glared at her, “what the fuck, Evs, you could have made me a fucking cup of coffee.” She scratched irritatedly at her scalp, shaking her head. “I don’t ask you to anything for me, but I work my fucking ass off to support us and…fuck!” Her eyes drifted to the clock. 

Evie quickly scrambled to get the moka pot going and pulled out a chair for her mother. “I’m sorry, mama. After school I went to see if the ducks were in the canal. Of course they weren’t, but I wanted to see them because, Mama, they’re…they’re…they’re my friends. But they weren’t in the canal. Sister Esther says ducks don’t have friends, but I think they do. But anyway, then I started skipping puddles, but then these real mean boys found me and chased me. They stole my drawing book. But mama!” She turned to her mother with wide eyes. The woman had already resorted to sinking in the chair, rubbing her temples.

She rolled her eyes and looked at the girl. “Yeah?”

Evie laughed as she stood on the chair to grab something from the cabinet. “There was a real classy looking man and he got my drawing book back-”

“And was he rich?” she asked, almost sarcastically as she grabbed a cigarette and lit it. 

Evie thought for a moment, noting how her and her mother’s idea of rich were very different. Evie saw food and clothes as wealthy, and her mother? Saw luxuries that no one could take six feet under. Evie supposed by her standards, yes, he’d be rich. “I think so…a real handsome looker, too. Not like your boyfriends, mama.”

She let out a long sigh before slipping from the chair and closing herself back into the room. Cindy Walsh was born in Boston in  1895. It was a cold winter, and the running idea in the family was, the blizzard must have frozen her heart. Unlike her family, Cindy was always unpredictable and self-motivated. Evie looked at the closed door wondering what she did, but if only there was someone to tell Evie that she hadn’t done anything, but be a child who yearned for a mother who cared. 

She finished making her mother’s coffee when Cindy exited the room wearing a different set of night clothes with her hair pinned. Just as she grabbed the cup and placed her lips on the rim, the door called for her; a loud, rapid knock. As Cindy would call them, one of her boyfriends arrived. Normally she’d add a joke. Maybe this one will be rich and buy us shit.

Evie watched as a tall, but aging man walked in. They neither spoke or hugged like Evie would imagine boyfriend-girlfriends doing. Simply, Cindy held his hand and brought him to the bedroom. The man hardly noticed the young girl soaking her break in water to soften it. But Cindy looked at her and placed her fingers to her lips. “In here,” she told the man. “And please make yourself comfortable.” But he was familiar with her. Evie could tell by the way he walked. He knew their small flat. 

At the table, Evie tried to ignore the giggles and whispers of ‘mean nothings’, but pretending to be ‘sweet somethings’. She dipped her bread in the water and suckled at its crust, hoping for it to soften. But she got just a few bites in before the noises began. She hated the noises. They were awful noises and they were to happen all night. One boyfriend after the other. Evie frowned and slipped from her chair, grabbing her coat and slipping on her shoes, disregarding the sock. And even though it was dark, she slipped out the door and went for the streets. 

There was nowhere she could go. The library was closed and her empty pockets hardly permitted her entry to any place. Besides, who would want a stinky kid in their place of business? Evie walked along the lonely pavement, kicking street rubbish as she hummed. Everyone had someone, but Evie. She thought about a lot of things to prevent herself from crying. Usually the ducks that sometimes occupied the canal or the funny things Father Michael would say at school mass. She walked down a long dark road. The stench of manure and hay tickling her nose, causing her to sneeze. But off in the distance, there was a glimpse of something that made her smile. Stables. Stables? Had she walked that far? She looked behind her before deciding she didn't care. She ran until she was met with a lock and chain.

Frowning, she sighed, plopping herself on the crates before grinning. She stacked them on top of one another before she reached the gap between the roof and the wooden door. It’d hurt, but it felt warm. The horses on the inside looked over, making a slight fuss in their pods. There were two or so…Evie couldn’t count well. She whined as she wedged herself in and plop! “Ow!” She whined, meeting the ground. She laid there for a moment, groaning as her little body ached. Slowly, she gathered herself on her feet and looked around, eyes landing on a black horse. She grabbed a crate and stood on it, outreaching her hand to touch its nose. She nervously hesitated, but the horse huffed and nodded, leaning its head forward to meet her hand. Evie’s heart fluttered, and slowly, she smiled. The nose was cold, but everything felt warm. For the first time, something introduced her to unconditional affection. 

Evie laughed, looking around to get something to feed it. In a bucket of slop, there was a somewhat rotten carrot. She hopped from the crate and grabbed it. Her eyes scanned over it and she sighed, “you’re eating better than me, tonight.” She climbed back up and put it to his lips. The horse generously took a bite and Evie pulled it back. “I suppose we can share.” Evie took a bite of carrot. Of course, one would never suggest sharing food with a horse. Especially a carrot that’d been laying in a pocket of other food waste. It tasted repulsive, but she focused on the only bit of sweetness the carrot had left over. One bite for her, a big bite for him. All the while, her hand was stroking his cheek.

“You’re nicer than my school friends,” she whispered, touching her cheek to his and closing her eyes. “But I don’t think my school friends like me very much…only Quack, Diddle, and Poe. Those are the ducks that I am friends with. They like seeds and grapes. I don’t like raisins. I eat them sometimes…You know, I don’t think I could imagine you eating raisins with your big teeth.” Evie pulled back and eyed the horse, pinching its lip and pulling it up to look. The horse didn’t like that very much, scoffing. Saliva and snot sprayed against her face, and she whined. “Hey!” Evie wiped her face against her sleeve before giving the horse a look. “You’re lucky I can’t be picky with my friends….”

The lock on the stable clicked open. But Evie had been so distracted by the very large animal before her. She combed its mane, giving him nose kisses. The man walked in and paused, surprised to see a young girl there. He looked around, calculating how she could have gotten in. His eyes scanned over her, making note of her impoverished appearance. Slowly, he moved forward, watching her antics. Normally, he would have been angered, but what could a little girl do? Maybe a lot seeing as she slipped in the stable without even unlocking the door. He drew an inhale from  his smoke before reaching her. His eyes followed how sweetly her hand tended to his horse’s affection, and he smiled thinking of his youth. His first horse and how amazed he was by it. Just like her. His gloved hand met her’s and guided it. “Like this,” he said softly.

When Evie felt his hand touch her own, she jumped from the crate, feeling her heart pound against her chest. She moved back, swallowing. Her eyes drifted to the stable door and to him. It had been the man from earlier. “I-I’m sorry-”

“Come here,” he told her, softly. He ignored the panic in her voice, clearly startled from his sudden appearance. Perhaps she thought she’d get into trouble for trespassing. She nodded, hoping back on the crate, his gloved hand took hers. “Give me your hand.” He brought her small hand in his hand up to the horse’s nose, softly guiding her how to pet. “There you go,” he whispered, looking at her. She smiled in a dream and her hand went along with his. His direction turned back to the horse as he asked, “how did you manage to get in here?” There was no tone of annoyance or anger, just curiosity. When she had told him, he was equally impressed and worried. “You shouldn’t do that. You could have gotten hurt-”

“I didn’t,” she said with a shrug. 

He let out a sigh, tongue swiping at his bottom lip. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but the girl looked so happy. He recognized that happiness. It was the type that only came with sadness. This was a moment for her. Something to overshadow what was in the background. In sacrifice of his own curiosity, he dropped it. “What is your name?”

Without looking at him, she replied, “Evelyn-”

“And your last?” Walsh. When she asked for his name, she already knew what the folk called him. It was Mr. Shelby. And when he said that, she looked over at him with a grin, shaking her head. She requested his real name. His brows arched and he smiled. “That is my real name.”

“No,” she laughed.

“No!? And what do you mean by real name, eh?”

“The name your mama calls you when she’s mad at you…I get Evelyn Walsh, you come here right now-and she stomps her feet like this….” He laughed at her and let out a sigh.

“Well, if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else, okay?” He leaned in real close, and put his gloved finger to his lips then to hers. She nodded and widened her eyes. “Thomas. But you have to call me Mr. Shelby-”

“Always?”

“Every single time,” he said, nodding to her before looking back at his horse. She asked the horse’s name. “What do you think it is?” And she shrugged. “Well, what would you name him?”

That is when her face went real bright. “Oh, jeez, well I dunno know, Mr. Shelby. I don’t know his personally! You see, I named Quacker at the canal Quacker because he makes the most fuss and Poe…he looks like how I imagine a guy named Poe would look-”

“Who?”

“The ducks,” she explained. “They’re my only friends.” Tommy hadn’t felt much since the war, but his smile slipped from his face and he swallowed, feeling something for the girl. His hand rested affectionately on her head, patting it. She noticed his frown and smiled, “but it’s okay. The ducks at least are kind to me. They’re good friends, Mr. Shelby. Like your horse. Can he be my friend, too?”

He let out a small laugh, and gave her a short nod. “Sure.”

“And you, Mr. Shelby, are you my friend?” “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll be your friend. Now, it’s getting real late. Where are your parents? You should get home.” He already knew. Tommy knew too much about life to allow pieces to go unconnected. Evie got real quiet again and went back to the horse. Mama’s working with her boyfriends. He understood and asked for no more explanation. The poor girl was a mess. He studied everything from the ragged clothing, her matted hair, the dirt under her nails, and the smell. The poor girl smelled. Despite how mean the boys were, they were right. “I can’t leave you in here, love,” he said, regrettably. “I’ll walk you home and perhaps your mother can say goodbye to her boyfriends for just one night, eh?”

[wonderlanddreamer]

Reader POV Masterlist

Main Lydia Masterlist

Edits, Drabbles & More

Multi-Chapter Fics.

Queen Of Kings - Nellie Ensor never expected to return to Small Heath, but fate had other plans. After her father's brutal murder at the hands of a ruthless gang, Nellie inherits the family business—a prize many would kill for. Torn between selling it off for safety and honouring her father's legacy, Nellie decides to stand her ground. Navigating a world steeped in danger, she finds herself entangled with the notorious Peaky Blinders. As threats loom and loyalties are tested, Nellie must find courage to protect her father's dream and carve out a place for herself in a world where survival is never guaranteed. In the heart of Birmingham, amidst the smoke and shadows, a legacy is about to be reborn.

Behind Enemy Lines - Fearless journalist Florence Fletcher is on a mission to expose the Peaky Blinders, but her relentless pursuit pits her against the dangerous and captivating John Shelby. When a greater threat looms, they must join forces, turning enemies into uneasy allies. Amidst the chaos and intrigue, sparks fly and forbidden passion ignites. Can they survive the shadows of Birmingham's underworld and find love, or will their secrets destroy them?

Blurred Lines - Florence Fletcher has always been a thorn in John Shelby's side, but when he finds her drunk and vulnerable on a night out, his protective instincts take over. As he steps in to help her, the hard edges of their contentious relationship start to blur, uncovering unexpected depths and hidden feelings.

[A modern spin-off of Behind Enemy Lines]

The Rook - Seeking refuge from his turbulent life, Tommy Shelby finds solace in The Rook, a quiet pub on Birmingham's outskirts. There, he meets Rosemary King, a barmaid whose sunny disposition offers him an unexpected sanctuary. Her kindness and warmth begin to thaw his hardened heart, creating a bond that takes the gangster by surprise. But peace is short-lived when Tommy's enemies track him to his hidden refuge, putting both The Rook and Rosemary in jeopardy. As danger looms, they must navigate the threats together, testing the strength of their growing connection. Can Tommy protect his newfound sanctuary, or will his criminal life shatter the fragile peace he's found?

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[shion-ah]

Death of me

Cillian Murphy as Thomas Fucking Shelby

"Do you honestly think I could ever forget?"

Hayley Atwell as Katherine Redwine

"Christ...just tell him or I will."

Annabelle Wallis as Grace Burgess

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

Joe Cole as John Shelby

"You'll always be a Shelby never get that."

Paul Anderson as Arthur Shelby

"Don't worry luv, we got you. Who do I gotta kill?"

Sophie Rundle as Ada Shelby

"You've always been there for me, of course I'll be here for you."

Helen McCrory as Polly Grey

"Us women are smarter. Now chin up, we have a job to do."

Chapter One

The air of Small Heath seemed to have a way of sticking to your skin or clothing. It left you feeling almost sticky and sweaty from the grim that would collect no matter how careful you chose to be. The people had grown used to such things and one could never be too precious about their clothing. Children seemed to run wild with their dogs and friends, men in the factories returning home covered in soot and the women trying to keep their homes cleaned to the best of their ability. Katherine Redwine had been brought up on Watery Lane and in her young mind, she believed that this was always going to be the case. “Kat, are you listening?” The annoyed voice of Ada rang through her ears pulling her attention away from the window. “Yes, of course. You were saying?” Katherine gave her friend a smile and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. It was rare that the two girls got moments like this and she didn’t mean to waste her time lost in the clouds. Ada watched Katherine with a sad smile of her own. Since the war Katherine hadn’t been the same, which she supposed was the common saying amongst the rest of the world. “I was saying that I think it is time that we get you back out there. You are a beautiful girl and I know anyone would be lucky to have you.” Ada leaned forward in her chair and crossed her ankles. “He wouldn’t want you to live like this. Pat-” “I’m alright I promise, I am just not ready. There’s still too much to do right now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Since the men had come back home it had been a hard adjustment for her. First her brother had been killed and the man she had loved for most of her life had simply turned his back and had barely spoken a full sentence to her. And now that same man seemed to have found more trouble as if he had been fishing for it. Katherine shook her head placing the cup down back on the table giving the young Shelby woman’s hand a small squeeze. “But in the meantime I look forward to hearing all about how sweet and kind Freddie is.” At the mention of Freddie Thorne, Ada's cheeks began to flush, the usual reaction when the man was pulled into the conversation or whenever Ada told her friend of the latest escapades the two had gotten into. Katherine watched as Ada continued to talk about how much she loved Freddie and the latest times they had to meet up in secret, the forbidden romance felt like a dream she had had once. She had been so young when she first met him but those blue eyes of Thomas Shelby would forever haunt her. She was sure she would die with the image of his eyes, his smile permanently imprinted into her thoughts. She had been so angry with him, the sting of her slap across his face still stung her hand when she thought about it for too long. Of course when she had heard of what he found she wanted to try to knock some sense into him. 

And now she had a sinking feeling in her gut that felt like it was growing larger and larger each time she tried to swallow. Leave it to the most clever man she knew to bring down the eye of the government, the IRA, and god knows who else by finding and taking those guns. 

Thomas fucking Shelby. 

Those words rang in her mind when her man had told her, they rang when she confronted Charlie Strong and Curly. And once she had left Ada making her way down the street and heard of his stunt with the Chinese in a show to gather more bets. Any time she had tried to tell Thomas that he was getting into things he had no business doing, he would tell her that it “wasn’t women’s business” and would drop it at that, leaving Katherine to stare at him in a mix of frustration and continued heartache. 

Katherine began to make her way to the Garrison pub for her usual one drink with Harry giving a small nod and smile to the people she passed and in return would gain her own “Mrs. Shelby” greeting. She had grown numb to the nickname and had given up on correcting those that continued to use it and she decided to see it as a type of shield. No one fucked with the Peaky Blinders and the Shelby name went a long way in Small Heath. If Thomas had taught her anything it was to appear as calm and unbothered as possible when inside you just want to shoot something, or rather someone.

“Welcome in my lady, your usual?” Harry said, placing a glass down on the bar once Katherine had entered. She made her way to the middle of the bar and took her usual seat. “Yes please, Harry.” Katherine gave the older man a kind smile and glanced about the pub. The usual bar flies were about four glasses in and only acknowledged her with a simple nod or not at all. “How have you been Harry? Haven’t been given any trouble have you?”

“None, miss. Mostly the occasional drunkard fight but it ends well enough.” Harry placed the Irish whiskey down for the Redwine and leaned on the bar top. “You look as if you need a good drink and a good sleep.” Katherine huffed a laughed at her friend’s words and shrugged taking a sip from the amber liquid. “Don’t I always look this way?” She teased tilting her head. She had always enjoyed Harry’s company; he was kind in his own way and cared for the Garrison like it should have been. This was home and he had taken care of her when she had gotten so drunk she hadn’t been able to stand and he made sure that she would never reach that low again. He had made Katherine promise to not lose herself in her grief or heartbreak. He had been the father figure that she needed after Patrick had been killed. 

“Kat, don’t bullshit me.” Harry shook his head. Katherine spun her glass slightly, his gentle but stern tone was comforting in a sense. It was the same tone he had when he found her in the private room that Thomas always used. She had broken down and cried in Harry’s arms and was more whiskey than person and she was sure her breath could have caused an explosion if she lit a match. Earlier that day they had held a service for Patrick and it had really hit her that he was gone, her big brother, her protector was nowhere to be found. Just like her Tommy, sweet happy Tommy who was able to light up a room with his smile and whose laugh was contagious seemed to have died the same night. Harry had listened as she cried and mourned the lives lost and dreams that were crushed but once she was done he picked her up and helped her upstairs and cleaned her up and put her to bed. He had banned anyone giving her any kind of alcohol in the Garrison until she was able to function. He would be damned if the sweet girl turned into one of the men he served. “I’m fine Harry, I promise.” Katherine was touched as he watched her but before he could comment the doors to the Garrison were pushed open as the one man who she couldn’t stand walked through in the most attention way he could have. 

Fucking Thomas. 

(It will get better I promise but let me know what you think!)

[fireside-fanfics]

The Weight You Carry

Based on this prompt.

The rain drummed a soothing rhythm against the windows of Arrow House, a melody that usually lulled Jo into peaceful dreams. Tonight, however, sleep eluded her. She was wrapped in a blanket, curled in an armchair by the fireplace, her legs tucked beneath her. A book rested in her lap, but she hadn’t turned a page in over an hour. The flames cast a golden glow on the room, their warmth failing to chase away the unease that coiled in her chest.

The sound of the front door opening and closing startled her. She glanced at the clock on the mantel—well past midnight. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she knew without looking who it was.

The door creaked open, and there he stood: Tommy Shelby, disheveled but still infuriatingly composed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms lightly dusted with ink stains from his paperwork. His hair was slightly damp from the rain, the stray strands falling over his forehead making him look younger, softer. A small smile tugged at the corner of Jo’s lips at the sight of her husband entering their home.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice low, laced with a hint of surprise. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “I thought you’d be passed out by now.”

Jo gave a small shrug with a soft smile as she responded, “Couldn’t sleep... You’re back late.”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate as though measuring the space between them. He sank into the chair opposite hers with a weary sigh, his body folding into the seat as though the weight of the day had finally caught up with him.

“Business,” he said simply, lighting a cigarette.

The flick of his lighter momentarily illuminated his sharp features—his eyes shadowed but attentive. He leaned back in his chair, studying her through the thin veil of smoke. Jo gestured toward the untouched glass of whiskey on the side table beside her.

“I poured that hours ago,” she murmured, “thinking it might help, but it didn’t feel right drinking alone.”

Tommy’s mouth tilted into a faint smirk. “Soft, are we? The Jo I know would’ve finished the bottle and dared me to keep up.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like the crackle of the fire. “The Jo you knew didn’t have a front-row seat to all your secrets. It changes a person.”

His smirk faded, his gaze flickering to the fire. “Does it, now?”

“It does,” she said, her tone softer now, less teasing. “You carry so much, Tommy. It’s hard not to feel it too.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Tommy inhaled deeply from his cigarette before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You shouldn’t feel it, Jo. You shouldn’t carry anything I do. You’ve got enough on your own plate.”

Jo tilted her head, watching him with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and fond. “And yet, here I am on the sofa in my nightgown. Still awake. Still worrying about you.”

Tommy’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t quite a frown. “I’m not worth losing sleep over, Jo.”

“Not up to you to decide that,” she shot back, a hint of fire in her tone.

That drew a low chuckle from him. He extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on the table between them, leaning back into his chair.

“Stubborn woman,” Tommy muttered, his eyes twinkling with delight beneath his lashes.

“Takes one to know one,” she countered with a grin.

Tommy shook his head, a rare softness creeping into his features as he watched her. There was something about the way the firelight danced on her skin, the way her eyes glimmered with unspoken determination, that made the exhaustion in his chest feel just a little lighter. The couple was silent for several minutes simply enjoying each other’s company. Tommy quietly watched Jo as she read her book.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Her brows furrowed. “Regret what, love?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between them, his voice quieter now. “Being here. Staying.”

“Absolutely not, Tommy,” Jo answered firmly without hesitation. “Not once, not even for a second.”

Tommy’s gaze locked with hers, searching for any hint of doubt, but there was none. She stood, crossing the small space between them; she nudged his legs open with her knee and traced shapes on his thigh. Her hands found his, warm and steady against his calloused fingers.

“You’ve got this idea in your head,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “that you have to do everything alone. That no one could ever understand—that you have to keep it all locked up inside forever.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

“I’m not asking for all of it, Tommy. I’m not even asking for most of it. I’m just asking for enough to know when you’re hurting, so I can remind you that you’re not alone.”

He stared at her, his throat working as he swallowed hard. For a man so accustomed to wielding control like a weapon, her words left Tommy disarmed. After a moment, he shifted and wrapped his hands around her waist. He guided her gently so she was seated on his lap; he wrapped an arm around her waist, anchoring her against him. Jo smiled widely as her knees bent and her legs listed on either side of him.

“Alright...” Tommy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can do that. I can give you that. Not tonight, but tomorrow.”

Jo leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder, the tension in her body finally easing. “Sounds lovely, Tommy.”

For the first time that night, Tommy allowed himself to relax, his chin resting lightly atop her head as the fire crackled softly beside them. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, but it no longer felt cold or lonely. For now, in the quiet warmth of the room, they were enough for each other.

[evita-shelby]

New Year's Ava

The Mirror Demon is out again, this time to throw a party to die for. All ---fictional and not--- are invited by Ava herself.

👗- have the demon herself dress you for the party

🍧-have the demon give you food crafted by her own hand

🍾- share a drink with the demon and ask her anything you wish to know

🎁- get a gift from the demon

🪞- give your oc its own mirror version

be sure to ask everything before December 30th

⚠️ all items sourced from the mirror demon dimension open at your own discretion⚠️

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[reiwanwan]

A warm place for goodbyes

Summary: Hazel Shelby thought she had left chaos behind when she moved to London, but an unexpected connection with Alfie Solomons challenges everything she thought she wanted.

a/n: this chapter took longer than I had anticipated, but it’s finally here, and there’s a lot a lot of references from the show itself

Part 4

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content warning: none

1923

Walking through the bustling streets of London, I clutched the crumpled piece of paper with Alfie’s scribbled address. I finally had the time to visit his workplace. The thought of him running a bakery seemed almost laughable. I pictured him in a flour-dusted apron, kneading dough with those rough hands of his, cursing up a storm when the frosting didn’t behave. It was such a ridiculous image that I almost didn’t notice the building looming ahead of me.

As I got closer I saw multiple people — men, coming in and out of what looked like a factory. The scent of freshly baked bread was nowhere to be found. Instead, the air was heavy with the acrid tang of machinery and smoke. The men had soot and grime on their faces, hoisting barrels on their shoulders. I squinted my eyes at the address written on a small piece of paper with Alfie’s scribbled handwriting, “this should be the place…” I thought to myself.

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Hazel?” A man with curly black hair says to me from the entrance. “Oh y-yes that is me…I’m here to meet Alfie?” startled that he knew my name. He nods and extends his hands to help me up the steps, “Alfie is just inside, I’ll take you there alright?, oh and I’m Ollie by the way, forgive me for not introducing myself earlier”. Workers passed us, some lifting barrels, others smoking in corners. “Some bakery” I muttered under my breath.

And after a long minute of walking down the hall, I finally saw what I came here for— Alfie. I watched as he ordered men back and forth, and oh did he look absolutely charming when doing so, despite his not-so beautiful language of course. He strides up to me with wide open arms, “Ahh there you are, Hazelnut!”. I couldn’t help but snort at the nickname as I reached over to him and was met with a big bear hug. My face got squished against his chest as he tightens his big arms around my body. When he pulled away, he lifts my chin up and places a chaste kiss to my lips, his beard tickling my chin. “You like my bakery? taken a look around?” he asks. I straighten my clothes and raised my brows, “well…it’s certainly a very different looking bakery I must say, a very big one at that” I added. “Yes…it is big, and I’m very proud of it” he exclaims.

Alfie then leads over to a small table with his hand at the small of my back. “You want to try some of my bread? which one did you want eh, white or brown bread?” he asked curiously. I shifted my gaze over to the “bread” in front of me and smirked and shook my head at him. “I think I’ll try the white bread”, Alfie nods his head in approval. “We’ll see that’s how I know you’ve got standards love, and taste, because the white stuff is amazing, the brown stuff…it’s fuckin awful that stuff” he claims as he pours for me a cup. I raise my cup up to him. I took a sip, surprised by the smoothness of the rum. “It’s good”, he takes the cup away from my hands and walks me over elsewhere, “yeah…that’s good…that’s good, Ollie, go back in there and tell the lads to move those boxes will you? thanks ever so much”.

He walks me into his office and plops himself down on his chair. “You can sit down as well…over there”, he points to the chair across of him. “Or you could always sit here on my lap if you’d like” he says, patting his lap. I rolled my eyes, “Tempting”. He chuckles lowly, “Ah, don’t be daft cmere” he chuckles as he pulls my arm and places me on his lap before I could protest, I could feel my cheeks burning up a bright shade of red. I sat down awkwardly and stiff, my throat beginning to get dry. His hands palm my back, “loosen up a bit I won’t bite ya, it’s comfy innit?” he teases.

It was beginning to become comfortable as I settled on his lap much more, resting my head on his chest as he twirls a strand of my brown hair in his fingers.

“So this is what you meant by a bakery huh?” I asked. “Yeah, it’s quite the bakery isn’t it? bake all sorts of bread, make about 10,000 loaves a week…amazing innit?”.

“Sure is…” I played along.

I looked around at his office, it was not much but seemed enough. The desk was covered with papers scattered all over, books, pens, you name it. A bit much like Alfie if I dare say.

After a moment of silence I decided to speak up, “so…you made me come all the way over here to your ‘bakery’, to serve me white rum is that it?”. And right after I asked that question Alfie grabs a hold of my cheeks, squishing it together gently but hard enough to mush my lips together. “Now listen here treacle” he says in a soft but serious tone, “Here…in this lovely bakery yeah…the distinction between bread and rum…shall not be discussed, got it?” he asks, waiting for my response. I figured it already— the bakery was just a ruse for a distillery which I assume is also ran illegally, was quite obvious as well. I looked up at him with big blue doe eyes, eye lash batting at him innocently, and nodded my head compliantly.

“Say it love” he instructs, his fingers squishing my cheeks tighter.

“Yesh Alfie…” I managed to respond, despite my voice being slightly muffled.

He hums satisfactorily and lets go. I palm my cheeks that were left stinging a bit from the pressure of his fingers. “Aw I’m sorry about that Hazelnut” he coos as he reaches over to my cheeks again and pressed his lips to it, holding and delaying the release. I turn my head away and feigned a pout. Alfie looks at me, unfazed, as if he knows me too well. “Now Hazel, that won’t work on me, those fake sad eyes…you’re not foolin me treacle, I know when you’re really mad, your eyebrows will really show it and those wrinkles on your forehead too”. I try to suppress my smile and giggles, but to no avail. He immediately takes this as a sign to go for the offence and attack me with soft kisses on all over my face and neck, trapping me in between his large arms.

For the first time in my life, I genuinely felt so happy with a man. I never want for this moment to end. If only it could be like this forever. Me and Alfie, just the two of us. No Tommy, no having to hide about selling rum, no more of any of this. But who was I kidding? I answered my own question. Deep down, I already knew that Alfie wouldn’t let go of this life just because I want him to.

Sure, he loves me, but does he love me that much?.

I could only hope so.

Hope, the only thing i’ve been doing ever since I felt Alfie make my heart skip a beat.

I held on to him, hugging him as tight as I can just to savour the moment before I would have to return back home to an older sister who will most definitely interrogate me about my day.

“What’s wrong Hazel?” he asks.

“Nothing, Alfie…just wanted to hug you cuz you’re so cuddly…like a teddy bear” I teased, masking my worries.

“Alright then, well you should probably get home now, it’s getting dark…you came here alone?”. I nodded, “yeah I did, why?”. He holds my hand and walks out with me back to the entrance calling out to Ollie. “Well then at least let Ollie walk you down to the street yeah? s’not safe for you to walk alone at this time”

I would’ve tried to convince him that I would be okay on my own, but this was Alfie Solomons we’re talking about, so for his sanity, I agreed and didn’t bother to argue further.

Ollie led me away down the street as the bakery fade into the distance. “Here we are Mrs. Hazel, stay safe and take care”. “Thank you very much Ollie”. I continued making my way back home, luckily it wasn’t that far from where Ollie had dropped me off.

My doubts and worry from before start replay in my mind as I walked sullenly back home, that same heavy feeling I felt in my chest tightening again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much I wished for a different life, this was the one Alfie had chosen.

And yet, as I walked home, I clung to the only thing I could.

Hope.

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Taglist: @vivianleighwishesshewasme @weepingdreammarvel @kittenlover882

[copinghex]

Fool's gold | T.S

Summary: Eleanor welcomes Tommy back home, but the man who returns isn't the same who left.

A/N: For Christmas, I decided to gift myself bringing Eleanor back :) Is this a series? I'd rather say no. It is shaped like one, but it's totally up to my brain if it's continued or not and we know how it's like. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter 1: Lots of love, Thomas Shelby.

Eleanor woke up in a bedroom that wasn't hers. Looking superficially, anyone would guess the room belonged to a woman, her hygiene products, make-up and clothes occupied the room while her thin body rested on the bed.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and heavily sighing. That day, the bedroom's owner would return, the coldness of his last letter haunted her. If he couldn’t say he missed her, he surely wouldn't want her in his house.

Walking to the small mirror in the wall, she ran a hand through her messy hair, usually she made a braid before sleep, moisturizing with cream borrowed from Polly so the curls would look nice in the morning. Last night she didn't have a mind for it.

All she thought about were the things she wanted to do to him, kiss him, hold him, cook for him, talk to him or just watch him from close. After so long apart, she yearned to feel his warmth again.

Peeking at the bed table, at an old picture they took together, Eleanor gulped, his signature was simple yet tender. Lots of love, Thomas Shelby, she feared the Thomas to return wouldn't hold such fondness of her.

Changing off her nightgown, she grouped all her belongings into a corner to make it less obvious that she took over his room. The bed was perfectly made and she sprinkled some of his cologne at the mattress so it'd smell like him, although mostly smelled like alcohol.

Before she entered the kitchen, incessant talking was heard, Katie, Maria, George and Pearl chattered over every single aspect of their young lives. Sat still, Ada sipped on her tea, ignoring John's horde of children.

“Morning,” Eleanor watched today's newspaper burning in the fireplace, “where's Polly?”

“Praying,” Ada filled her mouth with bread, “and Finn isn't up yet,”

Eleanor quietly huffed, in the first months of war she accompanied Polly in her morning prayers, as time went by and the radio announced ten thousand men died per day, she lost faith God would actually help those poor souls, seeing old colleagues wearing all black in the streets didn't help either.

The scent of herbal tea traveled to her nostrils as she poured herself a cup. She missed the coffee Tommy made when she stayed for the night, she slept almost on top of him, using his chest to support a book. Tommy enjoyed Wuthering heights, Pride and prejudice not so much.

In the next minute, she stood next to Polly in the living room, in respectful silence until the prayers were done, “You shouldn't have stopped, you used to smile more,”

Eleanor blinked, she wasn't an atheist, their prayers weren't insignificant poems told to the walls, she believed they were purposely ignored, “What will we do today?”

“The whole Small Heath will be at the station, so will we,”

“I thought, maybe we should make a special dinner, or get something expensive from the Garrison,”

Polly's eyes drifted away while she considered the idea, lately she spent so long at the betting shop she almost forgot how to welcome men home. Her days as bookmaker were counted and warming up to chores again wouldn’t do harm, even if she’d never be fully a housewife.

“They’ll be back around three, if I clean, can you cook?”

With agreeable nods, they went to the kitchen. Six hours later, the house was spotless and the table set. Each woman was in a bedroom, making themselves presentable.

Some colognes were overpriced even if destined for the working class, Eleanor had one of these, eight crochet coats had to be sold until she had enough money to buy it, her hands nearly fell off during crafting, but it was worthy, because she got a compliment every time she wore it.

In her best dress, shoes and hat, she didn’t feel alright, she wasn’t going to a party or a fancy social occasion, she’d meet Tommy and his brothers. Biting her lip in anxiety, she changed into a white dress and red wool coat matching her shoes. She felt better looking clean and proper, not a beauty queen from a magazine.

The walk to the train station was fast and silent, the children had to be held tightly by the hand so they wouldn’t run ahead. Many families still waited for their soldiers, all benches were full and Ada’s feet hurt from standing in such high heels.

The first to show up was John, he didn’t have time to approach the family since his children found him first, shouting and running through the crowd to catch him in a big hug. Arthur and Tommy showed up together, walking slowly in their worn out uniforms.

Arthur got his aunt and sister on each arm, leaving Eleanor to Tommy. There he stood, his once warm eyes looked hollow, combative even, his freckled face covered by a layer of sweat and his hair slighly disheveled, although combed with gel.

Breathing heavily, her body froze, shook and threw itself at him. Both arms wrapped around his neck, Tommy’s hands rested on the small of her back, he held her like she was the last floater in a shipwreck, an essential survival item, she held him like a porcelain vase, a fragile ornament she feared to break.

Tears from her eyes were immediately reprimanded, she breathed in and out at slow pace, brushing her face on his shoulder, it was a happy occasion, she’d hate to ruin it with pointless crying. Her hands ran up and down his back, some of the ribs that could previously be felt were replaced by strong muscle and when she finally lifted her head, Tommy's eyes held something she couldn't quite point out.

Eleanor cupped his face, tracing his cheekbones and the wrinkles around his eyes, he looked exhausted and yet, still dashingly handsome, a weak smile got to her face as she felt her increasing heartbeat, after all this time, being face to face with him still gave her butterflies.

At last, she gently pecked his lips, Tommy barely moved, closing his eyes and letting himself be kissed. His hands hadn't moved from her back yet and only did when John called for them, “Oi! Lovebirds! Keep it until we're home, yeah?”

Turning around, Eleanor bit her bottom lip to suppress a big smile, “And how is my favorite corporal going?”

It was hard to hug John with a kid still holding onto his leg, but it didn't stop him from lifting her up. Laughing, she didn't notice Tommy squinting his eyes, John quickly put her back down, awkwardly squeezing her shoulder.

“And you?” she asked Arthur, “No hug for me?”

“Yeah, how are you, sister?” Arthur's chin rested on top of her head while his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Alright,” Polly said, her eye make-up smudged, “let's go home now,”

Eleanor ran to hold Tommy's hand. Walking behind the rest, tension formed between them, as if they had nothing left to say, there were no words for the hole in her chest that only his presence filled, nor for the piece of his brain the war had rotten.

“Tommy!” someone called, the whole family looked back and Ada ran ahead to Freddie Thorne's arms.

Tommy stopped, dropping Eleanor's hand and waiting until Freddie approached with Ada on his arm, “Didn't see you in the train,”

“Got into a distant wagon,”

“Yeah,” he eyed Eleanor, “I remember you, it's- Hm-”

“Eleanor, I'm glad to see you're alright,”

“You should have dinner with us, I'm sure there's enough for everyone,” Ada suggested to Freddie.

“Oh, there are some comrades waiting for me at the Black Swan, we'll drink a last one all together,” he dismissed, “join us, Tommy?”

“Yeah, of course,”

Freddie affectionately patted Ada's head before walking away, Tommy didn't bother looking back. There Eleanor stood, trembling lips and watery eyes.

He didn't come back to dinner and she only saw him again the next morning.

[starlight045]

The Price of Revenge

| Chapter One |

| Luca Changretta X OC!

| Summarry: When Luca Changretta comes seeking revenge in the form of a Vendetta out for the Shelby family Elizabeth Shelby is forced to pick between two options. She can marry the man who has killed her brother or refuse and let the bloodshed continue. People get hurt, secrets are revealed and Elizabeth makes the unlikely decision. (This is set in 1925 during season 4 of the show Peaky Blinders.)

| I hope you guys like this story! And perusual feedback is encouraged. :)

Chapter One

1925, Birmingham, England

The rain came down steadily on the cobblestone streets in Birmingham. Luca Changretta stood in his hotel room looking out the window when Matteo came in. His sleeves were rolled up and his top buttons were undone.

“Luca,” Matteo said, taking his hat off. Luca stayed facing the window, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the man. He had his toothpick hanging out of his mouth.

“Matteo…dimmi.” he said, turning to look at him. Both Matteo and him had been close. Friends since infancy practically. Now they work together. Matteo helped him but sometimes Luca would lose his temper.

“John Shelby è morto. Abbiamo colpito Michael Grey ma pensiamo che sia sopravvissuto.” Luca nodded his head and walked up to the shorter Italian.

“Sì…sì, è grandioso. Perché quel fottuto Michael Grey è ancora vivo?” He asked, gritting his teeth.

“Someone managed to get him to the hospital on time I guess. I believe it was John’s wife.”

Luca shook his head and sighed.

“You can go Matteo.

____________________________________________________________

Angel Changretta who was Luca’s oldest brother and the eldest son of Vicente and Audrey Changretta was killed a year ago. It all started a year ago or so when the Shelby family found out Angel was the love interest of Lizzie Stark. So after Angel’s restaurant is burnt down Vicente goes to confront Arthur and John. But when both brothers threaten Angel the problem is made worse.

Vicente threatens the Shelby brothers and John gets into a fight with Angel beating him up and slashing his eyes. As a form of revenge, Vicente calls a hitman to kill Thomas Shelby but they end up killing his wife instead by mistake and later that week Angel is killed. This isn’t where the story ends as Vicente is ordered to be assassinated along with his wife Audrey but Audrey is spared and Arthur had shot Vicente.

With both his father and oldest brother dead Luca Changretta came from New York seeking revenge. The Changrettas were a family that belonged to a Mafia that dealt with liquor in New York. Luca was determined to avenge both his brother and father.

The Shelby family had all received black hands in their mail and were terrified. Everyone except for Elizabeth Shelby, the third oldest Shelby sibling.

When she received a call in her small neighborhood away from small heath she was surprised to hear the news. She came on the next train bags in hand as her family ushered her inside. “What’s going on? I got the call.” She asked setting her stuff down as Tommy and the whole family stood in the room together.

“Luca Changretta’s father and brother were killed by John and Arthur. Now he’s here from New York seeking revenge. It’s called a vendetta.” *He said, handing Elizabeth the card they all received.* __________________________________ And now here they were with John dead and Micheal in the hospital. Elizabeth hated staying in small heath; she promised herself she would never come back. She always hated what her brothers had been doing too. The killing, the illegal things, the never-ending wars.

But yet here she was and her younger brother was dead. He was killed by the men hired by an old flame. But her family didn’t know and she didn’t dare tell them.

Besides, it shouldn’t have mattered much. It happened when they were teenagers and Luca was just staying for a month as his father needed to clean up business.

He was different back then. Young, carefree, sweet, and caring. He was a doll. But now all Elizabeth heard was about how he had killed people or what he was doing in New York and that he had aged and grown cold. She knew a different Luca Changretta. And he knew a different Elizabeth Shelby.

____

The night was late and Polly Gray walked into a club wearing her red dress and fur shoulder wrap. She went to sit at the bar ordering champagne. As she sat a grey fedora was slowly placed next to her on the table.

The man’s tattoos were peaking out from under his sleeve, a black hand on his upper wrist, and a small cross on his middle finger. He stood letting the barman pour him a drink before sitting down next to her.

“This, is public enough, no?” he asked before taking a sip of the whiskey.

“yes.”

“So?” Luca asked in return.

“The boy in the hospital is out of bounds. And I’ll ask you to spare Finn and Arthur.” Polly said.

“In return for what?”

“Tommy Shelby.”

“And why should I trust you?” Luca asked before turning to look at Polly.

“Because you know our history. You know what happened between us.”

“You have an unlikely Cassius,” he said before drinking again. “You know…my mother. My mother knew your mother. She taught her how to read.” Luca said.

“Did she tell you that John and Arthur spared her life? When Tommy wanted her dead.” Polly asked not looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah and now she’s giving me the information about you people. So Tommy Shelby was right. his ruthlessness was justified. You should have killed her when you had the chance.” Luca told her.

“John was a good boy. Arthur tries. Tommy’s different. You take Tommy spare the rest.” Polly asked the man not once looking at him.

“But…What if it isn’t Tommy Shelby I want.” Luca asked which made Polly stop putting her dink down. “Years ago…I met this wonderful breathtaking girl. She was beautiful. Very polite in her mannerisms and all. I thought we’d get married one day.” Polly froze. He could only be talking about one person. “That is what I want. I want her.”

“Elizabeth is not a part of the deal.”

“Well, she is now. I marry her, we can end it.” Luca said as Polly sat there in disbelief not knowing what to do in this situation.

Polly didn’t look at Luca. She kept her eyes trained on anything but him.

“You know my mother used to say this about you. She said that ‘Polly Gray’ that child could never let go of a grievance.” Luca started making Polly look at him. “And she loves to dance. What do you say hm? Wanna dance?” Luca asked.

“I don’t dance, anymore,” Polly said as she stood up and pulled her fur shoulder wrap over her body before leaving.

“Yeah, that’s a shame. Cause you’re dancing with me.” Luca said as she walked off finishing his drink.

And Polly with this new news went to go tell Tommy that night. both she and him agreed that they wouldn’t settle with Luca’s new terms. There was no way they could marry off Liza who had never even picked up a gun in her life. It would kill her being married to an Italian mob boss.

A Week Later

It was a cold morning and tired of being cooped up in Small Health Elizabeth dressed up and went out. She was quite the painter and always had been. So as soon as she split from the chaos that was the peaky blinders she sold her art in upper Birmingham and even made it to a museum or two. She had planned on doing a few landscape portraits but couldn’t find the right tools at any of the nearby shops or vendors. So despite Tommy’s orders and wishes she went out in the outer parts of Birmingham and looked for what she needed.

It was at the fifth store of the day when she was looking at the different shades of blue when she felt the presence of someone standing behind her. Not thinking much of it she didn’t pay attention until it spoke up.

“That’s a nice shade.” He said and Elizabeth froze where she was at.

There was no way. It couldn’t be him. How did he find her if it was? Turning around Elizabeth’s suspicions were confirmed. It was Luca Changretta with his toothpick leaning against another shelf.

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.” He smirked, taking his toothpick out and twisting it in his fingers.

Everyone was right. He did look older. He had a scar or two on his face and his eyes held more to them. As if he had seen the world and horrible things.

And of course, he was way taller and wore fine leather shoes along with tailored suits.

“Luca,” Elizabeth said softly.

“Elizabeth.” He said with a smirk.

“Are you here to kill me?” Elizabeth asked nervously.

“Because if you are just…just do it now.”

Luca just continued to smirk and he shook his head.

“No dolce I’m not here to kill you. Why would I do that?”

“Well because you killed my brother! You sent a black hand to my whole family except for me.”

“There’s a good reason for that Dolce. Besides it’s called a vendetta your brothers killed my brother and father.” And at that word, Elizabeth made a face.

“I just want to talk. Simple as that.” Luca shrugged putting his toothpick back between his lips.

“Fine,” Elizabeth muttered before going to buy her paints but Luca stopped her trying to buy them for her. “I can buy my own. I do make money Luca.”

“Let me be a gentleman, Liza,” he said putting the money down as Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

After the pair walked out Elizabeth was immediately met with the sight of Luca’s black Rolls Royce his men standing next to the car their pistols on their carriers.

Luca nodded to them before putting his hand on the small of Elizabeth’s back and walking down the street with him. She immediately swatted his hand away

With a spark of fear ready to ignite in her chest, she looked up at the tall mobster. “So Luca…if you’re not going to kill me. What the fuck do you want?”

“I met with your aunt, last night. She offered me a promising deal. To spare two of your brothers. and your cousin, for your brother Tommy.” Elizabeth’s head immediately snapped up to him her jaw dropped.

“Polly wouldn’t do that,” she said as Luca huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t think so either. She said uh, their history is why she’s doing it.” And Elizabeth thought about the story Ada had told her recently. how everyone was almost hung at the noose and Tommy saved them in the nick of time. Ironically it was also his fault.

“But I told her, Tommy isn’t the one I want,” Luca said looking down at Elizabeth. and Elizabeth felt the spark in her chest. Maybe he was there to kill her. Maybe he also grew into a liar. He was a mob boss now.

“I offered a deal. Marriage or vendetta?” which made her stop walking and Luca turned to look at her.

“You want to marry me.”

“I need a wife. I’ve got everything but one. Besides I liked what we had when we were young. I missed you.”

“Why would I marry you? You killed my brother. Almost killed my cousin. And you think things should be like when we were kids?” Elizabeth said getting bothered and upset.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luca said gently grabbing her arm not wanting to draw attention.

“Get off of me,” she said yanking her arm off.

“I think you’d marry me, to stop this whole Vendetta. My mother told me about you now Elizabeth Shelby. You hate what your brothers do. You’ve never touched a gun. You hate your brothers for being like this. I hear you’re a great artist too. You already lost John. What about Arthur? or Finn? I know you’re close with Micheal at least. Wouldn’t be hard to kill that one. OR what about Ada hm? Your little sister.” Luca said as Elizabeth’s hands shook in fear and her eyes became wet.

Sure she wasn’t as bothered by Luca. But he unsettled her to her core. She knew she was no longer dealing with the sweet boy she once knew. She was now dealing with a grown man she didn’t know with the same eyes. They were essentially strangers. But strangers with memories.

“You choose, Liza. Vendetta…or marriage?” Luca told her. “You let me know soon amore,” he said pointing to her before Elizabeth turned around and walked away her legs wobbly. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

____________________________________________________

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy needs Lucy more than ever after a devastating blow is dealt that will send shockwaves throughout the entire family and empire that he has built.

Word Count: 6,936

Warnings: Major character death, suicide baiting, grief, suicide/death pact, and references to past suicide attempts.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 21: A Thousand Tears

“Mr. Shelby? Miss. Winters?” Frances asked, eyes questioning and confused when they came in.

“Would some breakfast be possible, Frances?” Arthur asked. 

“It’s already set up in the dining room, Mr. Shelby. Mrs. Shelby and the children aren’t up yet, but I would expect that they will be soon.”

Lucy followed Arthur into the dining room, where he began to pile a plate high with eggs and sausage.

“You should eat,” he told her when she made no move towards the table.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry to bother you again.” Frances appeared in the doorway. “But Charlie Strong just called.”

“I’ll get it.” Lucy was already moving towards the hall that led to the study. She closed the door behind her, walking over to the heavy wooden desk and picking up the phone from its cradle. “Charlie?”

“Lucy? Is that you? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s busy at the moment.”

“What the hell happened last night?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know?”

Her mind had been turning over every possible person who could have spilled the information about the assassination. Anyone who was at the last family meeting was a possible leak. She knew that it wasn’t her, Tommy, or Arthur. Certainly not Aberama considering he was dead.

But that still left a lot of people who potentially could have blabbed.

“Tommy, Arthur, and I are working it out,” she tried to assure him.

“Johnny said that some of our people are dead.”

“Listen,” she walked over to look out the window. “I’ll call you when we have some information to share, alright? Keep the yard locked down for now. You’ll hear from us soon.” She froze, eyes focusing on the tall figure walking out of the house and towards the fields in the same direction that Tommy had gone. “I have to go, Charlie.”

“Now, wait just a second–”

She hung up the phone and rushed out of the room.

“Where is Lizzie going?” she demanded. Arthur looked up from his plate.

“I told her that Tom went to walk by the fields.”

Spinning on her heel, Lucy went quickly for the door.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go after them–”

“Stay here. Stay inside. Don’t let the children come outside.”

She ignored Arthur’s further attempts to call after her, jogging out the door and towards the fields. The whole area was covered in such thick fog, she could barely see a few inches in front of her face. Her shoes sunk into the mud all the way up to her ankles, causing her to stagger and wobble at the way it stuck and sucked at her feet. There was a bone-chilling, agonized scream from somewhere in front of her, the click of what sounded like an unloaded gun being fired. The thud of something falling into the mud. Lucy broke into a run, or the best that she could manage at one with the wet soil tugging at her shoes. She focused on the ground until she found the outline of shoes in the dirt and followed them. Somewhere, a significant way in front of her, she heard the hum of Lizzie’s voice. 

“You’re not even a soldier anymore, Tommy. You didn’t check your weapon. You’re not a soldier, you’re a coward. I heard you pull the trigger. Leaving your family behind without a goodbye. If you still need a way out, here are six of them.” The sound of clinking metal punctuated her words as bullets were tossed to the ground. Lizzie’s voice radiated nothing but complete and utter contempt and disgust. 

The squelch of footsteps in the mud began to grow louder, until finally Lizzie emerged from the fog, freezing to stare at Lucy, eyes widening a fraction. Lucy tilted her head to the side.

A cold sort of rage washed over her, quiet and dangerous, leaving her nearly trembling with it. Before she could even process her own movements, her hand flew out, striking Lizzie hard across the cheek. The woman’s hand flew to her face, mouth gaping at Lucy in shock from the slap. Lucy took a step back, looking at Lizzie almost as if also in surprise at her own actions. All the rage and resentment that she had kept bottled up toward Lizzie, locked tight in a box in the far recesses of her mind, came pouring out in one great rush.

How miserable Lizzie had made both her and Tommy. After all they’d done to try to make their situation as tolerable for her as possible. Of course they’d made mistakes, but she had known what she was getting herself into. No one had ever forced her into anything. And yet she turned around and hated them for it all the same; played at being the victim, when she had been nothing but an active participant in the misery that the three of them shared. 

And now she stood there, over Lucy’s lover as he laid in the mud, the gun he’d had pressed to his head a moment ago still grasped in his hand, and threw bullets at him while taunting him to try again. 

Lucy could tolerate being kicked by Lizzie over and over. Deep down she believed that she deserved it. But her going after Tommy in such a way, striking at him when he was already down, was not something Lucy would ever be able to tolerate. 

No one touched him or hurt him like that. Not on her watch. 

“Go back to the house and stay there,” her voice was level and quiet, but even she could hear the dangerous remnants of rage in it. “Don’t come back out. Don’t let the children go outside. Don’t even let Arthur go outside. When we come back, you will not speak to me. You will not speak to Tommy. Not until I say that you can.”

There were a thousand things that she wanted to say to Lizzie, to scream at her until she was hoarse. There was even the temptation to grab her by the back of the head, throw her to the ground, and shove her face down into the mud. 

Lizzie continued to stare at her, clutching her reddening cheek, eyes frightened. Lucy jerked her head.

“Go. Now.”  

The taller woman pulled herself to her full height, chin held high, jaw clenched. Before she walked around Lucy and back towards the house. 

With a deep, slow breath, she forced herself to let the anger go. Before it burned her up and consumed her from the inside out. She could deal with Lizzie more thoroughly later. Right now, Tommy needed her. When she turned away from watching Lizzie leave, she was met with another figure. White shirt blending into the fog, the wind ruffling her blonde hair. 

“You tried to take him from me,” Lucy said. Grace smiled sadly, apologetically.

“I’m sorry.”

Lucy just sighed. “Take me to him?” she asked softly. Grace nodded and turned wordlessly, guiding her through the mist.

The fog was so thick, she didn’t even see Tommy until she was practically colliding with him, grasping at the front of his shirt in surprise. Half of his body was covered entirely in mud, no doubt where he had fallen. In one hand, he was clutching the empty gun. In the other, a handful of the bullets Lizzie had thrown at him.

“Lucy.”

He looked smaller than usual, huddled in his suit jacket, tear tracks clear on the side of his face not drenched in mud. He was shaking, unable to meet her eyes.

“Tommy,” she cupped the side of his face not caked with dirt. “Oh, love.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, body wracked with a violet sob. Shaking her head, Lucy pulled him tightly into her arms, not caring that he was getting mud all over her. He buried his face in her shoulder, arms going around her waist. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” was being chanted over and over again like a mantra. She stroked at his back and hair, practically holding him up with how hard he was crying.

“It’s alright, love. It’s alright. I’ve got you,” she rocked him gently from side to side. But she didn’t shush his sobs. The poor man probably needed to have a good cry.

It could have been hours or only minutes, she wasn’t sure, but Tommy eventually quieted. Lucy turned her head, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Okay?” 

He nodded. She knew better than to believe that he was truly alright, but at least she could be relatively confident that she’d gotten him stabilized enough to keep him from doing anything rash. He pulled away from her and she frowned, tugging a handkerchief from her pocket and attempting to wipe away the mud on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

He did as she asked, so she could clean his face without fear of getting mud in his sad, beautiful blue orbs. He opened them and looked down at himself.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, and under any other circumstances it would have been quite funny, to see the look of utter disgust take over his face as he fully took in his current state of being. Completely and utterly caked with mud. Lucy wrapped an arm around his waist to help support his uneasy steps and, rather gingerly, they began the trek back to the house. 

The phone in the study was ringing when they arrived, Frances was there to greet them, but quickly scampered off at Lucy’s gesture for her to leave them.

They staggered into the study, Tommy dumping the gun and bullets onto the desk before picking up the phone. He tilted it a bit where it rested against his ear so that she could listen in.

Lizzie came storming into the office, but one look at Lucy’s face and a small shake of her head and she remained silent, just standing in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest. Together, Lucy and Tommy listened quietly as the woman on the phone spoke to them of how the IRA had been the ones to thwart the assassination. And that the truck pulling up on the front drive was there to deliver to them the three bodies of their dead.         

Three. Three? Two of them had to be Aberama and Barney, but who was the third?

She followed Tommy back outside, to where the three bodies had been spread out on the driveway. They were each wrapped in white sheets and twine. Tommy pulled a knife from his pocket and crouched down over one, cutting away the twine. He pulled away the material covering the face.

Barney.

He moved to the next body and repeated the process.

Aberama.

To the third, then. She could see Lizzie watching from the window. Anxiety churned in Lucy’s guts, mind racing to try to figure out who it could be that was wrapped up in that white sheet.

Tommy pulled away the material, just enough to uncover the face.

Lucy staggered away for a moment, chest shuddering, too shocked to even be able to make a sound. Tommy clasped a hand over his mouth. His face crumpled with horrified grief and guilt. He turned to look at her in desperation before turning away, a hand over his eyes as he began to shake with sobs. With unsteady steps, Lucy stumbled forward. She looped her arms around Tommy, pulling him close so that he could turn his face to cry into her stomach. Silent tears rolled down her own cheeks.

As she stared down at the lifeless face of Polly Gray.     

∗ ∗ ∗

She watched Tommy with increasing worry, fingers toying with her rings, lip caught between her teeth. He was sitting at his desk, staring vacantly at nothing, one hand holding a smoking cigarette but not bringing it to his lips. There was something dead and empty in his eyes that had her worry tripling. 

She and Polly had never really seen eye to eye, or gotten along much at all for that matter. At least not until towards the very end. But Lucy knew how massively important she had always been to Tommy. 

He had already been so raw from the failure of the assassination plan, Lucy feared for what this would do to his already fragile mental state. She could see him blaming himself, starting to tailspin out of control down a dark abyss of self hatred. 

The day had passed in a blur after they uncovered the bodies sent to their doorstep. Arthur was in hysterics the moment he saw Polly laid out on the drive, Lizzie’s face pale and horror stricken at the window. 

Tommy hadn’t been in any state to give orders. So Lucy had taken it upon herself. She set Lizzie to work calling everyone and telling them the news. She’d have done it, but she was afraid to leave Tommy’s side for that long. She feared that her presence was the only thing keeping him from raising his pistol to his temple again. And this time he knew to check to make sure that the chambers weren’t empty. 

Most of the family had come to the house once they heard the news. Most were quiet in their mourning, sipping whiskey and speaking in low voices where they gathered in one of the sitting rooms. Ada–to Lucy’s great relief–took charge of handling Arthur before he hurt himself. She could only handle one suicidal Shelby brother on her own at a time, and Tommy was always her priority.

The only problem was Michael.

He’d gone into the room where they’d laid out Polly’s body, alone, and didn’t come out for a long while. And when he did, he made a beeline for Tommy, screaming, roaring in his face, spittle flying from his lips, threats and curses echoing throughout the room. It took her, Charlie Strong, and Johnny Dogs to all wrestle him off of him. And Lizzie had to threaten to throw him out of the house to get him to stop shouting. He’d spat at Tommy’s feet and stormed off into another room with Gina, and they hadn’t seen them since.      

Throughout the entire altercation, Tommy made no move or attempt to defend himself, simply standing there, staring at Michael miserably. Lucy had a feeling that if Michael had tried to kill him, Tommy would have let him. 

It was late. Darkness had fallen outside, blanketing the grounds in pitch black. 

Asher was laid out at Tommy’s feet. He’d been hovering by him ever since Lucy finally managed to shepherd him back into the house. When Tommy retreated into the office shortly after Michael confronted him, Asher had followed him. He’d plucked up one of his toys from the floor, carrying it in his mouth over to Tommy and dropping it at his feet, nudging at his legs with his nose to try to get him to play. When Tommy made no acknowledgement of him, Asher had started crying softly, going to Lucy and even trying to herd her with little nips and nudges at her heels towards him, before finally laying down next to Tommy, watching him with worried big brown eyes. 

Such a good boy. Always looking out for them. 

Trouble was also agitated. She kept rubbing herself against Tommy’s legs, meowing up at him curiously and hovering nearby, green eyes focused on him intently. 

Both animals clearly had picked up on their owners’ distress. Lucy couldn’t help but note how the clinginess that they had shown towards her after she’d first arrived home from the hospital had transferred over to Tommy. Like they knew that each of them had tried to take their own lives.  

Probably, at least on some level, they did. 

“Tommy,” she took a tentative step closer to him. He didn’t respond. She was starting to worry that his still burning cigarette would burn all the way down until it singed his fingers and he wouldn’t even notice. “Love,” she slid her hand into his hair, palm laying flat against the back of his skull. She managed to convince him to change out of his muddied clothes and take a quick bath to get the lingering dirt off his body before everyone had started showing up. He’d laid back in the tub, eyes staring up at the ceiling while she sat on a stool beside him and he let her wash him. His hair was soft and smelled nice from the soaps she’d lathered in it, fingers working carefully to massage the crusting dirt from the dark strands without pulling on them. 

Again, she was struck at how sharply their positions had reversed from where they’d been only a few days ago. 

Going to perch on the desk in front of him, she took the cigarette from between his fingers, stubbing it out in the ashtray and caressing the side of his face. 

There was a soft knock on the door. Lucy sighed. 

“Come.”

The door opened, and Lizzie slipped in. “Ada finally got Arthur to go to sleep.”

Lucy let out a breath of relief. “Good.”

“Pretty much everyone else is heading to bed. I told them they could all stay in the spare rooms, if they liked. Ada said that she would sleep in Arthur’s room with him. To make sure he doesn’t get up in the middle of the night and…you know.”

“Good.”

“And…Charlie says that he’s found a wagon that he thinks will be suitable.”

Lucy swallowed hard. “Right. Assuming nothing changes, I think we can still plan on lighting the fire tomorrow, then.”

Lizzie took a step forward, holding out an envelope. “Johnny Dogs came back with this.”

Lucy hopped off the desk and went to take it from her. She turned it around, flicked it open and checked the contents inside. Satisfied, she tucked the envelope away into her pocket. “Are Michael and Gina still up?”

“I think so. They’re in the west sitting room.”

“Right,” she hesitated, glancing over at Tommy. Trouble had hopped up to curl in his lap. She didn’t want to leave him, but they had both agreed that this needed to be done, and she didn’t trust anyone else to do it. 

Lizzie noticed her nerves. “I can stay with him,” she offered, voice lowering so only Lucy could hear.

Lucy frowned, remembering the bullets Lizzie had thrown at him.

“I promise that I won’t…” Lizzie sighed. “I’m sorry for what I did out there in the field. It wasn’t right.”

Lucy eyed her carefully. “I’m sorry that I slapped you,” she said finally. To her surprise, Lizzie just shrugged with a small smile.

“Call it even?”

Lucy frowned, unsure if she would ever entirely be able to forget Lizzie baiting the love of her life into trying to shoot himself again. But she couldn’t be fighting with Lizzie right now. Plus, they’d finally managed to get to an at least somewhat good place with each other. She shouldn’t throw that away. For everyone’s sake. 

“Alright.” Walking around the desk, she bent to kiss Tommy’s forehead. “I’m gonna go deal with Michael and Gina, love. I’ll be right back.”

His face turned to her, hand shooting out to grab her arm. “Be careful.”

“I will. Don’t worry.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll only be a minute,” she told Lizzie, who had plopped down onto the loveseat and lit a cigarette.  

She made her way to the sitting room with hurried steps, fingers flexing at her sides. Without bothering to knock, she blew through the door, striding in to find Michael and Gina standing together by the window, speaking in hushed voices. Their heads whipped around when she came in, immediately going silent. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Scheming again, are we?”

Michael scowled. “What do you want, demon?”

“You know,” she stepped deeper into the room. There was an untouched plate of little appetizers that Frances must have brought for them at some point. Lucy plucked one up and popped it into her mouth. “I take that title as a compliment.” 

Hands shoving into her pockets, she leaned against the wall, looking over the pair of would-be-usurpers lazily. 

“You can stay for the funeral,” she said slowly. “But then you need to leave. I think it’s well past time you both returned to America, eh?”

Gina’s lips curled back from her teeth. “How dare you try to tell us–”

“If it were up to me,” Lucy talked right over her. She didn’t even really pay the little brat any mind at all, her gaze fixed squarely on Michael. “We’d have slit both your throats and sunk you in the canal the second after you proposed that fucking restructuring of the company. But Tommy, in honor of your mother’s memory, has decided to be merciful.” Reaching into her pocket, she tossed the envelope Lizzie had given her onto the table between them. “That’s two tickets for the train to Liverpool, and two tickets for a ship departing for New York in two days’ time. First class, of course.”

Michael didn’t look at the envelope. Instead he merely stared at her, eyes burning with hatred. 

“It’s his fault she’s dead.”

“No. It was the IRA and fascists who killed her, Michael.”

“Yeah, and he’s doing fuck all to punish them for it!”

“It’s been less than twenty four hours since he was weeping over her body in the driveway. What do you expect him to have done in that time?” A scoff left her lips, shaking her head. “Petulant child. All you’re looking for is an excuse to kill him and steal his throne. It’s what you’ve been planning from the beginning, right? Since you came back from America, if not before. And now you’re grasping for a justification of it. Because you need to convince yourself that she wouldn’t have hated you for trying to hurt Tommy. But let’s not pretend that killing him wasn’t what you were planning to do long before Polly was dead, Michael.”

Michael’s jaw worked. “She would have chosen me.”

Lucy chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe. I guess we’ll never really know, will we?” 

Michael broke eye contact with her, looking away with his nostrils flaring. 

Lucy cocked her head. “She always loved your sister more than you.” She saw the blow hit. The way that Michael flinched almost imperceptibly at it. Good. She was done playing nice. She wanted to hurt him.

Taking a step forward, she drew herself to her full height, schooling her features into the immovable mask of cold sternness and wrath that was the Red Demon. 

“As a result of your attempts to undermine and usurp the boss, and your repeated defiance, petulance, and incompetence, you are no longer a member of this Shelby family. By order of the Peaky Blinders. We do not trust you. And we do not want you here. You are to leave after the funeral, or I am free to deal with both of you as I see fit.” 

Michael’s expression was one of complete, burning fury. He seemed to be shaking a little with it. But he made no movement towards her, nor tried to argue against her declaration. Lucy held eye contact with him for a few more beats, then turned and walked from the room without another word. 

When she returned to the office, it was to find Tommy and Lizzie still there. Trouble was batting around a ball of yarn across the rug that Lizzie must have set out for her. Both Tommy and Lizzie were watching her quite intently. They looked up when Lucy came in. 

“It’s done.”

“It went alright?” Tommy asked, tapping a fresh cigarette into the ashtray. 

“As well as can be expected.”

“Right,” Lizzie stood. “I’m going to go check that the children are asleep and then I’m going to bed. Unless either of you need anything?”

They both shook their heads.

“Alright,” she went to the desk, giving Tommy a peck on the forehead and then turning to Lucy, bending to kiss her cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” they both mumbled after her. 

Once she was gone, Lucy went to Tommy, sliding her arms around his shoulders and tucking her face into his neck. 

“It’s late. Let’s go to bed, hm? Come on.” Entwining their fingers together, she pulled him from his chair and led him to the door. Behind them, she heard the soft pad of Asher and Trouble’s paws trailing after them.  

She took him to her room, closing the door once both Asher and Trouble slipped in after them, then thought of Michael still lurking in the house somewhere, and locked it. Just in case.

With numb, almost automated movements, Tommy took off all his clothes save for his underwear and climbed into bed. Lucy wondered if he even was aware of what he was doing, or if he merely was running on instinct while his mind dissociated somewhere very far away. Stripping down to her knickers, she decided it was too much work to root around her wardrobe for one of her nightgowns, instead merely snagging one of his soft cotton Henley’s and pulling that on. When she turned back to the bed, Tommy was sitting there, legs half drawn up to his chest and his back bent, playing with his fingers and watching her with eyes full of deep longing and sorrow. 

Checking one last time that the animals were tucked away in their respective beds, she climbed into her side of the big bed, reaching over the flick off the light. Shifting to recline against the pillows, she fixed her gaze on Tommy’s figure next to her, still hunched over, twiddling with his fingers. When she curled her hand around his shoulder to try to get his attention, she found his skin to be a little clammy. He sighed, letting her coax him to lay down beside her. In the dark, she could just make out the way that he was staring up at the canopy, lips trembling and throat flexing. Moments away from crying. 

It hurt her to see him like this. So broken and devastated beyond belief. 

“Come here, love,” she pulled him into her arms, his head resting on her chest. She began to card her fingers through his thick dark hair, hoping it would help to soothe him. She was under no illusions that he probably wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight–neither of them would. 

His shoulders started to shake, arms going around her, and suddenly a ragged, broken sob tore from his throat, sounding like he had tried to stifle it but failed.

“Tommy…”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, clinging to her tightly, body half collapsing in on itself with the force of his cries. “I’m so, so sorry, Lucy. Please don’t leave me. Please, please. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. Just please…” he looked up at her, expression laid bare, completely vulnerable and pleading. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Tears welled into her own eyes, taking hold of both of his cheeks. “I won’t. I won’t, I promise. I’ll never leave you again.”

“I love you so much,” he hiccupped, burrowing deeper against her, as if he were trying to meld them into one being. “I need you.” 

“I love you too. I love you more than anything, Tommy,” she shushed him gently, tightening her hold on him. “I know. I know. It’s okay.” Kissing the top of his head, she nuzzled into him and rubbed his back, lump in her throat growing at his quiet cries against her chest. She could feel the dampness of his tears seeping into her skin. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Throughout the entire night, he wept in her arms, and the whole time, she held him as tightly as she could. Until his sobs gave way to quiet crying, to sniffles, and finally he fell into a fitful sleep against her. 

Lucy remained awake, a little afraid to fall asleep in case he woke in the middle of the night and needed her. 

Was this what he had felt like after she’d cut her wrists? No wonder he’d been reluctant to let her out of his sight since then. 

She squeezed him a little tighter, both out of wanting to comfort him even in his sleep, and out of guilt for what she’d put him through.   

Silver moonlight was filtering in through a crack in the curtains.

 It caught and glinted briefly against the gold of his wedding ring, where it rested on the hand he had settled on her hip. She stared at it numbly. 

She had almost completely forgotten the train ticket that she’d purchased. Still likely hidden under the mattress in her room at Charlie’s. She doubted that anyone had found it yet. But   dealing with getting the train and ship tickets for Michael and Gina had reminded her of it. 

She could not leave him. Not after everything that had just happened. Not when she knew that he still loved her and wanted her in his life. Not when she still loved him. And certainly not after it was just all but confirmed to her that she was still the only one able and willing to take care of him. There had been a time when she thought that maybe Lizzie would actually be up to the task, but that was before she’d openly tossed bullets at him mere moments after he tried to shoot himself. 

She could not trust Lizzie. Not with this. Not with Tommy’s life and wellbeing. 

But could she live with the guilt that remaining would bring? It would never be completely smooth sailing with Lizzie. And she still felt the burn of self hatred for what she’d put her through. What she continued to put her through. Would she be able to let that go? To allow herself to be at peace with the choices they’d made and not forever seek to punish herself for the crime of being the recipient of Tommy’s love? 

She honestly didn’t know. She supposed she would have to, if she wanted to stay. It was that or be torn apart by guilt and self hatred. 

He’d promised that he would help her. All she had to do was let him. 

Let it go, Lucy. Let the guilt go, and be happy.

In his sleep, Tommy turned over, eyes still closed. “Lucy?”

She shifted closer, squeezing her arms around him. “I’m right here.”

“Mm,” he nuzzled into her chest. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t, sweetheart,” she promised, kissing his forehead. “I won’t leave you alone.”

He snuffled, then settled back down into sleep. Lucy kissed his temple and settled more heavily into the mattress, with him still clutched tightly in her arms.  

∗ ∗ ∗

The smoke barely cleared from the funeral wagon and Tommy was pulling away, turning to stride off into the trees. Lizzie called for him quietly, a hand reaching out to try to grasp at his shoulder but he shook her off, not even turning to look at her. Lucy waited only a small beat before following him, keeping her eyes trained on the ground in front of her, not wanting to have to deal with the rest of the family’s gaze that she was sure was fixed upon them.

He had come to a stop at a small creek, settled down on a rock with his gloved hands clasped in front of him. Lucy sat herself carefully down beside him, her shoulder brushing his gently. This was better. In the quiet of nature, without the tears of the family or Michael’s furious eyes.

They all were likely convening now, muttering to themselves about how heartless their patriarch was, unable to shed a tear even at his own aunt’s funeral.

They had not been there, when he pulled the cloth away to reveal Polly’s lifeless eyes. They had not seen as his buried his face in his hands and wept. How she’d had to put her arms around him for fear that if she didn’t he would collapse completely.  

Now her small hand looped around him to rub at one strong shoulder. Tommy sighed heavily, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, body drooping. Lucy let her head settle on his shoulder. She was hit with a sudden wave of deja vu, of memories of sitting with him alone outside in the dark near Arrow House. On those nights after Grace died and neither of them could stand to be in that mansion for one more minute. They would sit, their arms around one another, often both quietly weeping as they watched the flames of the fire they’d built dance before them. 

How cruel this world was to make them bury so many that they loved. 

“Fuck,” Tommy mumbled, lifting his head from where he bowed it. Lucy hummed softly and closed her eyes. Tommy shook his head and leaned back, blue eyes gazing at the sky. “Everyone I love dies.”

She sat up, head lifting from its home on his shoulder. She didn’t know what to say to make any of this better. She knew that he felt cursed; that his presence did nothing but bring misery and pain to everyone he cared about. 

“Not me,” she replied hoarsely. And not for lack of trying, either. With how many close brushes with death she had managed to survive, she was beginning to think that maybe she really was unkillable like some of the people in Small Heath whispered. Tommy glanced down at her with those devastated eyes. She cracked a tiny smile, “Apparently I’m gonna live forever.”

His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. He tucked a red lock of hair behind her ear, thumb rubbing along her cheek. Turning her head, her eyes peered up at him. He continued to pet her cheek, his expression dropping as he stared at her.

“Did I ruin your life?”

Startled by the question, her brows furrowed, immediately shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t even have a life if it weren’t for you.” 

Tommy looked at her with such heartbreakingly sad eyes that it made her chest ache to just look at them.

“I could have protected you from Matthew and your father without dragging you into any of this. You could have had a good, normal, easy life somewhere.” He looked back at the creek, eyes tracking the way that the water rushed past, carrying bits of leaves and debris with it.

“Boring,” she remarked with a click of her tongue. Her head cocked curiously. “Why didn’t you?”

“I liked you,” he shrugged. “You made me feel…I didn’t have to be Thomas Shelby with you. I could just be Tommy.” He glanced back at her again. “You were pretty. And smart. And loyal. And you intrigued me. I wanted to keep you close.”

“Am I not still all of those things?” she teased lightly.

“You know what I mean,” he chastised in a failed attempt to hide his amusement. She grasped his arm, lifting it to wrap around her shoulders, snuggling into his warm side. Her gloved hand stroked his jaw.

“If I had the chance to go back to when I made that deal with you on the bridge, I wouldn’t change a thing,” her forehead rested against his. “Not one bit of it.”

“I love you.” 

Her eyes fluttered. “I love you, too.”

They sat there for a while, listening to the birds chirp and the brook babble. 

“Are we going to try to kill Mosley again?”

“No.”

She was a little taken aback at how immediate his response was. “No?”

He shook his head furiously. “These people who stopped us this time…clearly they want very badly to keep him alive.” His arm tightened a little around her. “I can’t lose anymore of you.” 

Understandable, and she knew better than to try to push the matter. At least not right now. She’d still like to see the fascist bastard bleed, sometime. 

“I’ve decided to stop drinking.” 

She jerked. “You what?”

He nodded, slowly. “It’s been addling my mind. Keeping me from thinking as clearly. And…”

She shifted a little closer to him, raising an eyebrow curiously. “And…?” she coaxed. 

Tommy looked at her softly. Regretfully. “It almost lost me you. If I hadn’t been so drunk that night Lizzie came to me with her deal, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

She reached up to cup his face, resting her forehead on his. “I’ll quit with you. Solidarity.”  

His lips twitched upwards. “You don’t have to…”

“It’s alright. It would probably be good for my liver, anyway.” She gave him a stern look. “I’m not giving up smoking, though.” 

“Oh, absolutely not.”

She giggled, pecking his lips. When she pulled back, he was smiling at her softly, thumb rubbing against her cheek.

He hesitated, wetting his lips, smile falling, one hand sliding down to dip under the left sleeve of her coat, stroking his fingertips across the bandages on her wrists. The pain in his eyes doubled. Lucy leaned closer to him. 

“Stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” she mumbled, shaking her head. Tommy’s eyes snapped up to hers. 

“You–”

“Massively overreacted? Yeah, something like that.”

He shook his head. “You were in pain. It…It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t yours either.”

“I wasn’t there for you…”

“You were trying to be. I was the one who kept shutting you out.” With a sigh, she drew her knees in closer to her chest. It was chilly out there in the middle of the woods. Her hand began to stroke along his arm. “What about you?”

“Hm?” 

“You held a gun to your head, Tommy.” She swallowed dryly around the words. The way he had screamed while she was searching for him in the mist still haunted her. Visions of variations of that moment, where Arthur didn’t think to take the bullets out, ran through her mind. The crack of gunfire. The splatter of brains meeting dirt. The thud of his lifeless body hitting the ground.

She huddled in closer to him, slipping a hand into his coat to more distinctly feel the warmth of his body. A reminder that he was still there with her.  

“I’m alright.”

“Very convincing, love,” she huffed sarcastically. “Just promise me that you aren’t…” she choked on the words, closing her eyes. “Promise me you aren’t going to try to do it again.”

The pads of his fingers rubbed across her cheek. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with a blue gaze full of understanding. “I promise if you promise.”

She supposed that was fair, angling her head against his shoulder to more properly meet his eyes. “I promise.”

He kissed her nose, starting to idly play with her fingers. Lucy tugged off one of his gloves so that she could trace across the faint scar that still marked his palm, a twin to the one she had on hers. “You’re all I have, you know that?”

“So are you.”

She shook her head with a small, self deprecating laugh. “You have your family…”

“Do I?” 

“They love you, Tommy.”

“Yeah,” he shifted, leaves crunching beneath him. “To a point.”

There was nothing she could say to argue against that. Instead she just squeezed him tighter.

“I don’t want to live without you,” he brushed his hand across her face, thumb stroking up and down her cheek. “I don’t think that I can.”

“Me neither,” she whispered, understanding.  

He kissed her forehead, the other arm joining the one already around her to squeeze her against him. Together they sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the forest and the creek around them. 

An idea came to her. “Let’s swear it.”

Tommy raised his head to look at her. “What?”

She looked into his eyes, deadly serious. “Let’s swear that we won’t live without one another.” She reached out to stroke her thumb along his bottom lip. “If one of us dies, so does the other.”

He looked into her eyes for a long, long time. And then he reached into his pocket and procured a switchblade. The silver blade popped out with a sharp click. He flexed open his palm, bringing the knife to the faded scar made from their blood bond. Forged so many years ago. He sliced into the skin cleanly, deep enough to have blood welling from the wound, but not so deep as to cause any real damage. Lucy pulled off her gloves, holding her scarred palm out to him. He drew the blade along the scar carefully, kissing her temple when she hissed at the sting. 

Bleeding hands raising, they pressed them flush against each other, staring intently into each other’s eyes. And then entwined their fingers, squeezing their palms together, their blood mixing. Like it had that time they created their blood bond in 1918. Like when the paramedics had transfused his blood into her to keep her alive. 

His blood ran through her veins. He was a part of her. Forever. They were merged. Blurred together. One.  

“If you go; I go,” Tommy said, his face so close to hers that she could count his eyelashes. 

“If you go; I go,” she repeated. Their hands squeezed even tighter against each other. Their mixed blood dripped to run down their arms and splatter onto the ground. 

Tommy kissed her, Lucy’s fingers weaving into his hair and keeping his face close when he did. 

The pact was complete.

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[novashelby]

Forgive Me-Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: TommyxReader(third person)

Word count: 2k-ish

Summary: Tommy Shelby is attracted to his attorney's daughter, and decides to corrupt her little nun brain at work.

Prompt: "What makes you think I am going to fuck you?"

Warning: Degrading language, non-con, Dubcon, oral(m), religious banter.

@darlingsfandom

“Y’know,” Tommy said, weaving himself through the wooden pews. It was a rare occasion that he was in church as he and God didn’t talk very much. If not, at all. You see, they weren’t on the best of terms. But he could admit that. He had no shame in his religious affiliations, or lack of. But her? Looking at her kneeling in the novice robes with her hands folded was laughable, at best. Tommy pointed his finger at her, wiggling it. “This, honestly…Love, why?”

She’d been trying hard to focus on her prayer for the last thirty minutes, knelt down, hands folded. Stiffening, she rolled her eyes up and let out a long sigh of frustration. Perhaps she was a little wild in her teen years, but what did he know of any of it? He was just her father’s client. Her father was an attorney, a big wig one in London. However, she hardly ever associated with him. And the only times she ever spoke with Mr. Thomas Shelby was when she was required to go to dinner parties and he just so happened to be there. “Mr. Shelby,” she greeted, though he’d been circling the pews for quite some time.

Finally he made it to hers, sliding in and kneeling right next to her. When his elbow caressed her arm, she flinched away, giving him a wild look. Amused, he asked, “oh, sorry, is that a sin these days? I mean, you are a messenger of God…know all his updated terms of services, eh?”

Getting up, she looked down at him.  “Instead of saundering within the pews, perhaps you should head to confession, Mr. Shelby. I can direct you, if you’d like? Or….” She leaned in, a snarky grin playing on her face. “I can give you the fast pass to hell, surely the Devil can’t wait to meet his biggest fan from Birmingham, eh?” It was the mockery for him. The little teasing infliction of her voice. Eh. He reached up to grip her cheeks, but she turned away before he could. Tommy got up and followed her, and when she heard the click of his lighter, she stopped. “There is no smoking allowed in the church, Thomas. Put it out.”

The cigarette rested between his fingers. “Do the rules still apply to nonbelievers?”

“If you are such a nonbeliever,” she said, turning on her heels. “Then you’d best find better company elsewhere.” Instead of leaving, he sat on the priest’s velvet chair on the altar. He leaned back, crossing his legs as if it was his lounge chair. Luckily for her, she was the only one in the church besides a few custodians. 

“What would your father say,” he said, pointing at her with a cigarette, giving her a knowing look. “Being so disrespectful to his client. To an older person. To a man.”

“He’d say nothing,” she quipped, gathering her bag with her notes and bible. Some of her hair had been peeking through her white veil. Tommy pushed off the chair and walked over, grabbing her arm. Flinching, she pushed him off, a nasty glare on her face. “Don’t touch me-”

“C’mere,” he said, regaining his grip and pulling her in. “You’re being immodest,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he poked the loose strands back under the veil. People were weak under him. Once they were trapped by his little games, it was hard to push away. And she was no different, so small under him. Like the good girl she was meant to be, she stayed in place. “You see,” he started, words muffled slightly from the smoke perched between his lips. “I don’t think this is all you. I think…I think you are here just to be a little fuckin’ brat-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she interjected. “If you don’t mind, I have to get to study.”

When she tried to move from him, he gripped tighter. “I do mind, actually.” Yes, it was true, she had a wild era once in her teens. But it stopped at dancing and drinking. Never had she ever broken the seal. The church was safe. It was to keep her safe, and never had she considered the scenario where a man had her trapped. Mr. Shelby of all men. The small of her back pressed against the side of a wooden pew, digging into her body. The edge felt sharp, even through her thick robes. “I quite like your company. I find it…redeeming? As if my soul is just cleansing being in your presence.”

“You’re mocking me,” she said in a mere whisper, their eyes connecting.

“No,” he said, sarcastically while his knee pressed between her legs. “It’s true. Forgive me, I’m just thinking….” He paused, words trailing off. “Just how much you can save me.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she said, pushing at his chest, but he was just too strong for her.

Grinning, he leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “And how do you pray? On your knees? Hmmm…that’s a good idea. You’ll pray for me, right here. On your knees. Go on, be a good little girl and get on your knees.” He stepped back and waited. His face said it all…don’t try to move. Without breaking eye contact, she slid to her knees. A nun, sure, but she knew enough about life to understand what he wanted. “What do you think you should do?” he asked, all emotion leaving his voice. Her hands reached up to his trousers, closing her eyes. To his amusement, her fingers fumbled with the belt loop, struggling. “I guess those wild years did you no good. Or are you just out of practice? C’mon.” He took over, undoing the metal clasp on his belt and unzipping his trousers.

Eyes squeezed shut, chin quivering, she sobbed. “Mr. Shelby, please-”

“It’s coming, love,” he chuckled, flicking her forehead. “Take it out.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, pleading, tears streaming down her face. “I could lose my apprenticeship!”

“Then Mr. Shelby will give you a better one,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it against his hardening cock. “Take it out, go on. Do your job.” She couldn’t look at him while doing it; pulling the waistband of his underwear down by the hooks of her fingers. Her fingers gently caressed the cock before it came out, displayed in front of her. Gently, he lifted her chin. “Open your eyes.” Her eyes fluttered open, averting her glance from his cock. Tommy laughed, and teased, “looks like you don’t wanna be here. Come on now, put a smile on that pretty face.” He pulled the sides of her trembling lips and forced a smile upon her face. “There we go, all happy to take your father’s cock.” The words were enough to send a chill up her spine, nevermind his throbbing cock lightly teasing at her lips. Releasing her lips, he snaked his hand around her head and grabbed her hair through her veil. “That’s what you call your priest, right? Haha, Father Shelby….Fuckin’ ‘ell. Never in my life….” 

“I’ll do it,” she agreed in a whisper. Just please stop taunting me. 

“I know you will,” he said, his other hand rubbing her cheek. What he did next took her by surprise; pulling her head back and a ball of spit forming at his lips. He spit in her face. “Cause I know and you know that deep, deep down you are a dirty fuckin’ girl that craves a cock buried in her holes.” She nodded to please him, repeating that she was a dirty girl and that she wanted his cock in one of her holes. The spit was running down her cheek, dripping to her dress leaving a wet streak. 

“Ahhh,” she moaned, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out. He commented how no true good girl knows how to display her mouth so pretty. Leaning in, she took the tip first; kissing, sucking with a pop. Salty and feeling like sin, his precum rested on her tongue. Deeper he had told her, hands resting on the back of her head, pressing her lightly.

His hips jerked and twitched slightly as he cursed. “Shit,” he hissed, fingers digging into the veil. “C’mon, you can take daddy in more. I know you can…Fuck, baby. How dare you try to hide this mouth from me.” Nervously, she choked and tried to back away before taking him in a little more; tongue swirling around his length. 

With a free hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and pumped while her tongue worked the tip. Removing him from her mouth, she slid her lips in an array of kisses and licks around the shaft before taking him in again, sucking up and down, drool dripping from her bottom lip. Tommy closed his eyes, gently rocking his hips into her, head thrown back. Fuck he hissed, enjoying how her mouth was so warm and wet around him. It took all his strength not to pick her up and throw her over the altar. No, no…he couldn’t be that disrespectful. “Fuck, baby girl…You’re too good. You’re so good for me. Look at you…being such a whore for the Devil of Birmingham.” She hated to admit it, but it was getting to her; his hands, his words, his cock. Her legs were trembling with need, and it made her feel ashamed. Sucking his cock, she moaned at his degrading, taunting banter.  “Faster, whore….C’mon, take your daddy deeper.” He pushed in more. The poor girl choked as it hit the back of her throat, but he loved that. It was the best feeling; dominating a cunt’s throat. The way it would make their throat burn. It certainly made hers burn in agony, but she wanted to make him happy. He paused, thumb wiping away tears from under her eyes, giving her a moment's beak. Then, to his surprise, it was her who started bobbing her head again, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

Tommy didn’t break eye contact, enjoying it as some form of submission. Bobbing her head faster, her moans matched the speed. To keep him the way she wanted, she gripped his hips. “What a pretty girl,” he commented when she pulled back, allowing the pool of spit in her mouth to drip over his twitching dick. She smiled up at him, lips puffy and abused, before sucking him back in; licking, sucking, swallowing. He helped her along, feeling his orgasm build up; bucking his hips forward, faster and with better rhythm. “Good girl, my good girl…fuck! You’re going to swallow it all for me, right?”

“Mmmhm,” she moaned, cock filling her mouth as she matched his speed.

“Daddy is going to fill all those fuckin’ holes,” he said mid high. “Every one, baby girl. You’re gonna drip his cum from your tight ass and daddy’s going to breed that tight fuckin’ cunt.” His words spilled out, and after a while, he was incoherent. His orgasm ripped through him, lacing the inside of her mouth with hot ropes of cum. “F-fuck,” he groaned, getting a few last pumps out while his eyes went hooded. Breaths jagged and uneven, he pulled away, gripping her chin. “Show daddy…ah, good fuckin’ girl. Swallow it.”

“Ahhh,” she moaned, mouth opened as if she was proud before swallowing it. It tasted salty and a bit sweet. Truthfully, perhaps a little vile, but it made her feel dirty. Tommy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cocked ruined lips. “Thank you, sir.”

“I told you,” he said, teasing. “I know you are just a dirty little slut deep down. Now, are you going to go repent your dirty little sins or do you want to go for a ride with Mr. Shelby?” He tucked himself away and helped her up. “C’mon.” He answered for her, helping her out of the church and to his car. 

She looked up at him, and asked with a teasing glint in her eyes, “What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” 

“We already established,” he started, pushing the wooden doors open. “You’re a dirty little girl.” 

[wonderlanddreamer]

The Rook

— Chapter One

Summary: Reeling from a recent loss and seeing no light at the end of the tunnel, Tommy drives with no end in sight. But what happens when he accidentally happens upon a quiet little pub and a barmaid with a smile like sunshine?

The biting wind whipped at Tommy Shelby’s coat, offering little protection against the icy despair that gnawed at his soul. Birmingham, usually a city pulsating with his ambition, felt suffocating. The weight of his decisions, the ghosts of his past, pressed down with the force of a collapsing mine shaft. He’d stared into the abyss, and it had stared back, promising oblivion – a welcome respite from the ceaseless turmoil.

He’d almost taken it. Almost yielded to the seductive whisper of darkness. The pistol, cold and heavy in his pocket, was a dreary reminder of how close he’d come. He’d driven aimlessly until the city lights faded, replaced by the inky blackness of the countryside.

Then, a single, flickering light emerged – a small, unassuming pub nestled beside a winding road. Its sign, barely visible in the gloom, read: The Rook. Curiosity, or perhaps a perverse instinct for self-preservation, compelled him to stop.

The building was low-slung and weathered, its stone walls stained by time. Mismatched window panes, steamed with condensation, hinted at warmth within, a contrast to the chill that permeated his bones. He hesitated, his hand instinctively resting on the pistol. The thought of seeking solace, of finding even a fleeting moment of peace, felt anomalous.

But bone-deep weariness, the crushing weight of his burdens, finally won. He pushed open the heavy oak door, the bell above it jingling a discordant welcome. The air inside was thick with the scent of stale beer, wood smoke, and something else… something indefinitely comforting.

A single barmaid, wiping down the counter with an expert hand, looked up. Rosemary King, with warm brown eyes and a kind smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, her name was embroidered on her apron in faded script. The bar itself was a rich, dark wood, polished to a high sheen, but cluttered with personal touches – a small vase of wildflowers, a framed sepia photograph weighted down by a miniature porcelain cat. Everything felt carefully tended, cherished, and loved.

The pub itself was small, cosy, radiating warmth and a sense of belonging. Mismatched chairs, some worn leather, others sturdy wood, were grouped around small, round tables, each bearing a unique chipped teacup or a faded photograph tucked into a cracked frame. The walls, painted a comforting cream, were adorned with family portraits – generations of smiling faces peering down from faded frames, a tapestry of lives lived and loved within these walls. A grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging rhythmically, ticked away the seconds. The scent wasn't just of woodsmoke and damp earth; a hint of baking bread and something sweet, perhaps apple pie, also lingered, enhancing the homely atmosphere. It felt less like a public house and more like a haven; a family's carefully kept secret.

Tommy pulled up a stool at the bar, the worn leather surprisingly soft beneath him, and stared straight forwards. He didn’t order anything, just sat, lost in the shadowy depths of his own thoughts, the warmth of the fire a meagre counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

“Evening,” the barmaid greeted, her voice as welcoming as her smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” Tommy replied gruffly, his tone sharper than intended. He wasn’t here for pleasantries.

She didn’t flinch at his brusqueness. Instead, she nodded and turned to retrieve a glass, her movements graceful and unhurried. “Coming right up,” she said, pouring the amber liquid with an expert hand. As she slid the glass towards him, she added, “Not many find their way to The Rook. You must be looking for some solace.”

Her perceptiveness startled Tommy. It was as if she saw right through the hardened exterior he wore like armour. “Something like that,” he muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. It burned, but it was a welcome sensation—a reminder that he was still here, still feeling, despite the darkness that lingered at the edges of his mind.

Rosemary leaned against the bar, her demeanour open and unassuming, exuding a warmth that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the world. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’re not much for noise around here.”

For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, Tommy found himself unwinding, if only slightly. Her presence was soothing, a gentle balm on his troubled mind. She seemed to offer a refuge, however temporary, from the turmoil within. “You been here long?” he asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of genuine curiosity.

“Long enough to know the regulars and their stories,” she replied with a soft laugh. “But you’re new. What’s your story?”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw no judgement in her gaze—only an earnest interest that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. In her eyes, he saw a flicker of understanding, as if she recognized the weight he carried. “Just passing through,” he said, deflecting, as was his habit.

“Well, Mr. Passing Through, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” Rosemary said, a hint of playfulness in her tone. There was no pressure in her words, only a gentle encouragement, as if she truly wished for his peace. She straightened up and moved to attend to another customer, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts and the unexpected warmth of her smile lingering in the air.

He sat for a long while, nursing his whiskey, the silence of The Rook a balm to his turbulent thoughts. Rosemary had checked on him twice, her kind smile a silent reassurance. He hadn't spoken much, but her presence, her quiet efficiency, had woven a thread of calm through the chaos within him. He couldn't articulate why, only that the pub's warmth had invaded him, a welcome intrusion he knew he'd need regularly.

He pushed himself up from his chair, the worn leather creaking a soft protest. He felt…lighter. The weight hadn’t vanished entirely, the ghosts of his past still whispered, but their voices were muted, dulled by the warmth he’d found within those four walls. The pistol, still heavy in his pocket, felt less like a solution and more like a forgotten burden.

He approached the bar, and Rosemary looked up, her brown eyes questioning. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the gesture acknowledging her unspoken kindness. He placed a couple of shillings on the counter, more than the drink cost.

"Thank you," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

Rosemary smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that effortlessly reached her eyes. "Anytime."

Tommy stepped back out into the night, the cold air no longer biting, but bracing. The city lights in the distance no longer felt suffocating, but beckoned. He walked to his car, the decision to go home solidifying with each step. The Rook, and the unexpected peace he’d found there, had given him the strength he so desperately needed. He wasn't cured, not by a long shot, but the abyss had receded, at least for now, replaced by a faint, flickering hope. The drive home was quiet, the night a canvas of unshed shadows. He would face his problems; for tonight, home was enough.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Tommy Shelby x You

Summary: For safety purpose and following Arthur's death, you are forced to live under your enemy and unforgiving brother-in-law's roof. It's only you and Tommy between the dreadful walls of Arrow house where grief, hatred, and attraction blend.

some musical background to read + the song that inspired it.

Words: 6.5k

TW: angst, rocky dynamic, pinning, sexual tension, graphic description of violence, strangulation, very very strong sexual innuendos, mention of blood, murder and grief, alteration of canon events + time.

Notes:

✞ Heaven in Your Eyes is an Arthur Shelby story but considering what happens to him in this part of S4, this chapter and the next one will be entirely focused on Reader/Heaven's relationship with Tommy.

✞ This is chapter 17 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Your pale aquamarine eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling, far too different from the ceiling of your house in Watery Lane. The soft glow of morning light filtered through the dark and heavy curtains of the guest bedroom that was bathed in warm shadows. The bedding was too smooth, giving you the unpleasant impression that the mattress was slowly but surely swallowing you whole. As for the room itself, it was too silent, with no trace of the reassuring sounds or smells of your own home, like the floral fragrance of the lily of the valley perfume Arthur sprayed on your pillow each night before sleeping, fully aware that it reminded you of your mother.

A little cry escaped your lips when you turned your head towards the half-hidden window; its blinding light making your head throbbed painfully. You tried to move but your whole body ached, like a cruel and dull echo of the chaos that had ripped your world apart the night before. The chaos who took Arthur, your sweet Arthur, from you.

 Arthur.  With your heart pounding in your chest to the rhythm of invisible drums, you sat up – certainly a bit too violently. As the room spun around you, you clawed the fabric of the blanket not to fall back on the bed. Breathe, Hev. Just breathe, you told yourself. Exhaling slowly through your nostrils, you waited a bit until the dizziness and nausea became bearable and only then did you proceed to scan your surroundings. The place you had woken up in was a spacious bedroom, impeccably furnished yet so sparsely decorated that it ended up cold and impersonal. Just like a furniture store. But despite the unfamiliar setting, the peculiar smell of wood and faint traces of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air rung a bell. You recognized the man who owned it immediately.

Arrow House?

Tommy.

The memories violently surged back. The images of Arthur’s blood, the frenzied struggled to save him, the stabbing of a first Italian, then the murder of another, all of this leading to the moment you had lost consciousness. What the hell happened after? Why were you in Arrow House? Where was Arthur? Questions buzzed in your mind like a hive of furious hornets crashing against your skull. Through the fog, you thought you remembered Thomas’ low voice and arms wrapping you just before you fainted, but you weren’t sure – so came the necessity of finding out. Your sly hands shook as you scrambled out of the bed, even though the cold surface of the floor managed to ground you when your feet touched its polished wood.

You needed to find Tommy and ask for an explanation – or excavate that same explanation from him by using sheer strength and torture if you had to. Yes, you needed to know if Arthur made it. If he was safe, because he had to be safe after everything you did. He had to be safe, or else what would be left of you beside an empty shell? Wasting no time, you rushed out of the room like a fury without minding your poor state. In fact, your legs wobbled beneath your weight as you pushed the door open and made your way through the cool hallway, head spinning with disorientation. For sure, staying in bed would have been the best option but, as was the case that night you fled from your little town in the mountains, a combination of rage and panic controlled you. You braced yourself against the wall, your fingers curling into the wood and tapestry for balance. Each meters reached took a disproportionate amount of effort, each step felt unsteady. Your determination might be spotless, but your body betrayed as you swayed, to the extent that you careened into the wall with a dull thud from time to time. And when it weren’t the walls, it was the uneven carpet that made you almost trip. That damn corridor seemed endless, but the more you walked the sharper the scent of Tommy’s tobacco reached your senses and lifted the haze you were embedded in.

Little King Shelby was there.

That sole observation swept away the remnant of sickness you felt, your energy all regained as your steps, usually light and ethereal, echoed through the expensive house of Arrow house – a sumptuous mansion whose beauty only equaled its claustrophobic and maddening emptiness. The grand, austere décor loomed all around you in rich, dark wood paneling, chandeliers and old paintings staring from their frames. Ironically enough, it wasn’t the old and slightly obscure ones that made you feel uncomfortable, but rather Grace’s gigantic portrait. She was overhanging the house, her piercing blue eyes seemingly glistening in the sunlight and judging your every move.  Silently asking you what the hell you were doing in her home. A shiver ran down your spine, as if you could sense her presence, heavy and utterly sad, sipping through all the walls.  Arrow House might carry a distinct scent of polished wood and smoke, but beneath it lingered something as heavy as the Grace’s portrait – sorrow. It clung to the air like a haunting memory, subtle but inescapable, much like what Tommy himself hid under his expensive after-shave.

Finally, you reached the heavy double doors of Tommy’s office, your heart a relentless thud in your tight chest. Usually, little King Shelby despised being disturbed when he was in his study but you couldn’t care less considering the emergency of the situation – and you wouldn’t have cared in a more casual one. Without the slightest hesitation, you threw the doors open and your voice, already sharp, resounded in the room like a tigress’ roar.

“Where is he?” You demanded, as your pale iris, which were burning with Hell’s fire, surveyed the room until they found Tommy behind his desk.  His ice-cold stare met yours with a calm that only pushed you further to the edge of fury, “Where is Arthur?!”

The blue-eyed demon might have many flaws, but stupidity wasn’t one. He knew you would make a mess when you woke up so he had spent the last few hours patiently waiting for the chaos to storm, a glass of whiskey for sole companion to brace your thunder. He let out a sigh and reached for that same glass, which had remained untouched on his desk until now. After a sip, he leaned back on his chair, his eyes wandering on you as if he was calculating every possible outcome of your conversation.

Then only he spoke.

“Heaven, would you calm down ay?” He said with a smooth yet firm voice that carried an irking placidity. How could he be so serene after his brother got attacked and butchered? Was it the same Tommy who, overwhelmed with emotions you recalled, tried to help you last night? Or was he some kind of evil twin, who locked up his good brother somewhere in Arrow House most of the time?

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”  You snapped, walking toward him with your first clenched and stopping in front of his desk while he was still sitting, “After everything that happened last night, I wake up here and you think you can just sit there and act like this is normal? Tell me where Arthur is now.” You spat, your words like a winter blizzard.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the crystal ashtray that was on his deck before he stood, sky-blue eyes narrowed as he moved around slowly around the furniture. Your whole little body tense when he approached, his sole presence irking you.

“Arthur…” He started, his voice drawling, “Had to make a quick exit. We had to make him disappear for his own safety.”  His statement was heavy with the implications of danger and truth he didn’t wish to fully reveal. Tommy and his little secrets, you thought bitterly. Your jaw clenched, your icy eyes narrowing as you tried to swallow your burning fury in favor of a cold, quiet, anger.

“Disappear? Is he alive? Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing on you. Was he serious? Momentarily stunned by the audacity of the Peaky Blinders’ boss, you blinked. He couldn’t be serious.

“And I’m just supposed to accept that dumb answer? After everything I went through trying to save him?”

Tommy moistened quickly his lips with the tip of his pink tongue, his face an unreadable mask. Still, you could see through it, and you knew he was searching for his words, “It’s not about accepting or not. We suggested the idea to him, and he agreed. Arthur made his choice – he’s lying low, and right now, that’s the best place for him.”

A slap across your face would have been less painful that what he was saying. Trembling with frustration, you shoved your fist into his chest. Tommy didn’t move nor show any hint of paint. If anything, he just let you lash out at him.

 “So what—you’re just hiding him? Keeping him locked away while I’m left in the dark?”

“I’m not hiding him. Not keeping him from you. He’s the one who decided to leave.”  

“You’re lying. That’s just another of your fucked up games.” You hissed, plump lips curling and revealing your sharp canine teeth you dreamt of sinking into your brother-in-law’s throat.

Arthur had left. Without saying anything. Without a fucking warning. Without a fucking 'hi, I'm alive love". You couldn't believe it.

Tommy shook his head, cold but resolute, “I’m not playing. There are people out there looking for him. And if they know you’re alone and vulnerable, those same people will come after you, too.”

Another blow to his chest. The charming gangster closed his eyes a few seconds and exhaled loudly through his nose to swallow the pain.

“Go fuck yourself! I’m going to find him and murder those bastards myself!”

When Tommy reopened his eyes, his large and warm hand grabbed your wrist suddenly in mid-action and kept you from punching his strong chest again.

“Do you think Arthur would want you to risk your life? Do you think I’d let you go on a rampage with my niece or nephew in your belly?”

Your breath suddenly caught, the mention of your pregnancy striking a far too sensitive nerve. With your eyes wide-opened in surprise, you studied Tommy with an expression of pure shock on your seraphic face. How could he possibly know about the baby?

“You nearly lost that kid,” Tommy’s intense gaze softened as he continued, his husky voice dropping lower and his grip loosening around your frail wrist.

“How?” You whispered, your lower lip trembling.

“Polly is not the only one who can sense things eh,” Apart from being gifted with animals, Tommy had a sensibility you had never expected. He had known about the baby the same day you had talked to him about keeping Arthur busy during their meeting. It was the way you touched your belly sometimes, the way you had acted more feral than usually – which he hadn’t thought possible, “But that’s not the point. If you leave, you’ll risk everything. Arthur wants you safe, and right now safe means staying here.”

The air between you grew thick with desperation and frustration. You gritted your teeth so harshly you wouldn’t have been surprised if they would all broken, but it was the only thing that helped you biting down the urge to scream.

“So, you’re telling me I have no other choice than stay?” Your voice wasn’t loud, but its defiance and hatred cut as deep as the razor blades he kept in his cap. To be fair, the fact he talked about the baby made you falter more than you’d wish to admit. Your shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat.

“Yes,” Tommy said simply, leaving no room for argument, “You stay here, under my roof, until this fucking mess is sorted out and until it’s safe for both you and the baby. I don’t expect you to like it, but you just have to accept that situation.”  He finally released your wrist in a surprisingly soft gesture – the fire of your fury had been so bright you had completely forgotten that Tommy had been holding you during your entire exchange. And now that he had stepped back, you realized that his touch had been grounding, and you found yourself missing it.

“It will be temporary, I promise.”  He added, heading back to his office to grab his whiskey and gulp it down. The glass chimed when he put it back on the wooden surface.

Your fruity lips pressed into a tight line, your gaze falling to the floor. That burning anger that had fueled you earlier felt dulled, swallowed by exhaustion and creeping darkness settling deep in within the marrow of your bones. As much as you wanted to fight, to demand answers and storm out of the cage Arrow House was, you knew deep down that Little King Shelby was right. The stakes were too high and your strength, for once, too fragile. This was with reluctance and resignation that you looked up to meet Tommy’s eyes.

“Fine,” You muttered, “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

“It wouldn’t have crossed my mind.”  Tommy made a little tilt with his head while raising one brow, “So you’ll stay ay?”

“Hm. But I’ll get the fuck out of here whenever it will be safer. ”

A little glint of something — approval? Satisfaction? — flickered briefly in his eyes, “As long as you respect the terms of this arrangement, that’s all that matters, Devil.”

With a final, deathly glance, you turned on your heels and left the room, feeling the burn of his scorching gaze on your back. Staying with him was an awful idea, but for now you had no choice but to play along.

To abide by the rules he would set.

The fire flickered low in Arrow House’s main yet darkened living room, the dancing flames casting their undulating shadows along the wooden walls. Wrapped in Arthur’s long coat, you sat curled up in the armchair closest to the fire in a vain attempt to warm your cold soul up. A glass of whiskey was in your small hands, barely tasted. There was exquisite alcohol here, at least. To be honest, you hadn’t planned on staying up this late but killing time here was better than tossing and turning in bed, feeling near suffocating at the sensation of the bedsheet around you. A little sigh escaped your plump lips, whose skin had been picked at until you had bled at the bottom right. Sleep had been quite elusive ever since Arthur’s death – or rather, absence. A deliberate absence that gnawed at you, leaving you restless and hollow the same way you did after the tragedy that took your family from you on a cold October night.  The same way it did when you had left your former fiancé.

Another chill ran down your spine as the events that brought you to Arthur and what followed played in your head like a broken record: you felt like only a few days had passed from your unexpected encounter in the church to the awful evening during which you had held your husband bloodied and limp body. And with the memories came an even more aching revelation: all the people around you always ended up dead or hurt in the end, whether you pulled the trigger or not.

At this moment you would have given everything just to switch your brain off and let someone handle the rest. Everything to be in Amos’ reassuring arms, his tender velvet voice whispering in your ear that everything was going to be fine.

A thought that occurred for the second time, the first appearing when you danced with Luca Changretta.

The door suddenly creaked, the darkness of Arrow House’s corridor subsiding as Tommy appeared in the orange light with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His steps were heavy and his mesmerizing turquoise eyes slightly glazed. As was always the case when you breathed the same air as this asshole, your body tense entirely, every muscle ready to pounce on him and shred him to piece. However, you only raised your head, your pale eyes falling on his face. What you saw made you frown: he was well into a drink himself, judging by the loose expression he wore and the very faint flush on his salient cheekbones.

Despite being intoxicated, the sharpness in his gaze didn’t dull when he spotted you by the fire. If anything, it intensified.

Ah! It was still the same old and hateful Thomas Shelby you knew.

“Couldn’t stay in your room, could you?” You muttered, your tone soft but laced with a mix of sarcasm and intrigue as the man approached. Tommy didn’t answer though and sunk onto the couch opposite you.

“This is my house, remember?” He retorted, husky voice almost making the air rumble around him. A few days had passed since you argued in his office. A few days during which you mainly stayed locked up in the room, stubbornly sulking.

“And believe me, I’m counting down the hours until I can leave it,” He met his gaze when you finished speaking but, as surprising as it was, Tommy didn’t find defiance in your eyes. Only fatigue. For once, the insolent brat you usually were seemed too exhausted to bite. "I’d rather not be here, but we don’t always have the choice.” You had wanted to add that the choice was scarce when Tommy Shelby was around, but you didn’t. Not only would it be pointless, but you weren’t in the mood to fight.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, “You’re right. Just like I didn’t have a choice when Arthur took you in, dragging all the trouble that followed,” He paused, attentively studying how your seraphic traits expressed your spitefulness at his words, then pointed at you with his finger “Thought you were above it all, didn’t you?”

“Above what?”

“Above everything. Untouchable. But here we are. Both haunted.”

Your grip tightened on your glass. So strongly you almost snapped it. “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened to him, Thomas. I know you’re used to do so but don’t fucking do it this time.” You warned.

Tommy’s blue eyes darkened as he looked away, shaking his head as if he had just remembered something awfully painful. The same thing that was plaguing your dreams: Arthur and his almost severed throat, “I don’t blame you for that – not for the attack nor for trying to save him.” He admitted. Wow, Tommy not blaming you for something was unexpected!

The gangster sighed and finally brought the cigarette to his mouth, rolling the filter onto his lower lip first before lighting it. Then, he threw the lighter on the small table near him and took a long drag. You carefully observed him all the while, afraid he would jump at your throat if you ought to lose your focus for one microsecond, “But it doesn’t change what came after, does it? You’ve done nothing but bring trouble to me. To all of us.”  He added with a hoarse voice, punctuating his sentence by blowing the smoke noisily. His voice didn’t carry the slightest aggressiveness though, only exhaustion. Yes, you were both drained by this fucking life.

Your jaw clenched, his word cutting deep. “I tried to save him with everything I had, Thomas. I’ve always tried to do my best for this family. Tried my best to make it work. But you –” You sneered, “You’re so determined to hate me that you won’t see it.”

Tommy snorted, the ghost of a desperate smile floated on his lips before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The look in his eyes was hard as steel, unyielding, but utterly melancholic. “Save him? Yes, it’s true, but you think that changes a thing? He was better off with you from the start.”

Things were always like this with Tommy. Even though you told yourself that you weren’t going to give in to your anger, the blue-eyed demon always knew which buttons to push to annihilate your self-control. And even if you didn’t want to play his twisted game, you always ended up getting pulled in. Your heart pounded in your tight chest, anger sparking beneath grief and the pain. Driven by a furious rage only he could fuel, you stood up from the armchair, Arthur’s black coat falling on the floor as you moved. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you know what is best for him. You only know what’s convenient for you. It’s always about you, innit?”

Following your movement, Tommy also got up from the couch to face you, cigarette hanging from his mouth and icy turquoise eyes burning fiercely. “What do you think you know about about me? Or about Arthur, for that matter?”

“About Arthur? Everything. About you? More than I needed to know.”  Your body moved instinctively, taking a step closer to him in utter defiance. “You really think you’re that unfathomable, do you? You think that no one except Thomas Shelby can understand what’s happening in this twisted and scheming mind of him, right?  No, let me correct my mistake, even you cannot understand yourself.”  Trying to calm down sheer anger and the acid you were made of, you took a quick gulp of whisky from your glass before putting it on the table.  Once the glass left your mouth, your lips curled in a mean smirk.

“I know the man you are because my former fiancé was cut from the same cloth. An egocentric criminal with bulging ambition, a far too high sense of self esteem and a greed beyond words. A man who dragged his loved ones down with him without even realizing it. But Tom, you are a poison. And even with good intentions and genuine love, everything you touch ends up rotting. Just like you.”

And just like him.

Your voice sounded like an angelic lilt as you spoke, but there was something horrifying in its softness: a belittling tenderness that was only aimed at mocking and hurting.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, dimples digging in his already sharp cheeks. Bitter, he stubbed his cigarette against the couch’s armrest and threw it right onto the carpet, not minding the damage he just did. For fuck’s sake, he had enough money to buy a new one. Even a new mansion had he wanted to.The tension that was floating in the room became thicker, intoxicating, as your cutting remarks threw sparks into the gasoline of his soul. One could even wonder if the crackling sound of the fire really came from the hearth or if they were made by the flames of your hatred. 

The gangster didn’t reply, yet his eyes were locked with yours, speaking a silent challenge none of you was willing to back down from. He might have remained mute, but his body didn’t. All of sudden, he walked closer to you, reducing the distance step by step until he stood in front of you only from a few inches, fierce and unafraid. He was so close that you could feel the warmth of his bare chest radiating off him, gently warming up your frozen skin without even touching it. The musky scent of his after shave, worn off by the shower but still strong enough for you to catch its fragrances, mixed with his whiskey breath.

“You think I’m scared of you?” You whispered only for him to hear, light tremor of defiance in your voice. “Be careful Thomas, you know I could kill you right here right now.”  You spat, the warm fire reflecting its dim light against the pearly white enamel of your sharp canine teeth and making your ivory mane shine like moonlight.

“It’s Tommy.” He corrected. The way you kept using his full name was starting to get on his nerves, especially after how delicate his nickname had sounded, melting on your tongue like sugar, the day you threw yourself in his arms, mourning John. Crying real tears and not staged ones.

“No, it’s Thomas. You said it yourself years ago.”  You cut him, the name as sharp as the shards of a broken mirror, whose cracked surface reflected Tommy on one side, and your own being on the other, like two perfectly intricated parts of the same puzzle.

A short silence hovered above the room, sharing the space with the electric air as you glared at each other, waiting for the next unpredictable move the other could make.

The blue-eyed demon didn’t bother picking up your little taunt, but rather went on with what you said just before, “Kill me…” He repeated, leaning over you. His void pupils relished every trait of your doll face, “That’s what you want ay?”  Tommy’s voice was dark and daring, but it held a flicker of something different. Something more dangerous. As he spoke, his husky and hushed tone feeding the electric tension, you both stood locked in that heated moment, your breaths mingling in the space between you. Why were you realizing how close you were, both invading each other’s private space, only now? 

This time, Tommy’s expression shifted again and before you could react, he reached for you, his strong calloused hands wrapped around your wrists with a firm yet tender grip and pulled you even closer. “Do it”, he urged in a low growl as he guided your hands around his neck. “Show me how strong you really are without that evil magic of yours...”

Your heart raced, missing a vertiginous beat, as your sly fingers curled instinctively around the hard line of his throat. There was a thrill in the danger, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins when you felt the steady thump of his pulse under the soft pulp of your thumb, a reminder that Tommy Shelby was indeed a mortal man. Without control of any sort, your eyes fell on his throat, which was a striking canvas of both strength and vulnerability, the sinewy muscles taut beneath his smooth, pale skin. The very, very thin layer of sweat which covered him glistened under the dim light, attracting your attention even more on the angular lines of his jaw. Your breath stopped for a few seconds when you noticed how the coolness of his complexions contrasted sharply with the heat that was radiating off him.  Tommy Shelby was a walking paradox, as cold as ice, as hot as fire. Just like you.

With a surge of anger, you tightened your hold and let your nails dig into his skin. “You think this is a game?”

“Life ain’t nothing but a cruel game, Devil” he replied with a hitching breath and a light smirk dancing on his seductive lips as he leaned more into your grip. The gangster exuded something primal you couldn’t really describe. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too—the tension, the way we keep pushing each other.”

Your faces were now inches apart, heat pooling in your body and overwhelming you.

 “You’re insane,” you hissed, a tremor of uncertainty creeping into your voice despite your bravado. You had tried to hide it but it was vain and you knew it didn’t go unnoticed.

“And yet here we are,” he murmured, his growling voice turning into a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. A raspy lilt that made all fibers of your being vibrate like a piano’s strings during a symphony of chaos and desire. Caught off guards by the intensity of his gaze, your grip faltered just a moment before your thumb pressed a bit more on his windpipe. The noise his breath made as well as the way he sharply sucked in for air left no doubt on the power of your grip – you were slowly but surely squeezing the air out of him and, this time, you didn’t need any kind of magic to do so. It made the whole act even more exciting. Suffocatingly intense. 

At this point, you were convinced that the black-haired gangster, with his intoxicating smell of whiskey, cigarettes, leather and expensive after shave, would back up but he did quite the opposite. Leaning forwards, his lips brushed against your ear with a tenderness you didn’t suspect he possessed. Another shiver ran through you, and you hated him even more for enabling this reaction. “Harder…” He breathed, voice already muffled, “ Y—You want this as much as I—I do.”

In that moment, the storm of your usually muffled emotions collided. Rage, desire, fear, hatred, loneliness, doubts, lust, all intertwined with the numbing effect of alcohol, blurred the line between Tommy and you even further.

“Harder, like your former fiancé loved, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me your – yourself ay.”

Lost in the intensity of everything, you felt the control slipping from your fingertip along with the will of fighting him. Tommy Shelby was sliding under your skin and the undeniable urge to give in was too much for you to resist. And somehow, you didn’t want to. What he made you feel was too similar to what you had lost after slashing Amos’ face and running away the day of your wedding.

This was why your grip suddenly tightened around him, your slow choking turning into the verge of deadly strangulation. In reply, Tommy let out a muffled moan. His strong hands, scarred by murder, grabbed your frail hips. So frail he felt like he could crush them easily and break you in half.

Your eyes maybe whole, But the story I'm told is your heart is as black as night.

As the room started to dangerously spin around him, the lack of oxygen building up gradually, the necessity of words faded away. Giving in, you leaned too and gently rubbed your cheek against your brother-in-law’s while still strangling him. Your lashes fluttered at the silky sensation of his perfectly shaved skin, your nerves sparkling with sensations at the lines of his sharp facial bones. His fire skin against the frost that constituted yours was ecstatic. Another little husky yet muffled moan echoed in the living room, his touch feeling as good as a shot of heroin and as brutal as getting crushed by a train. 

“Hev—” Tommy’s muscular body suddenly dropped to its knees, unable to hold his weight anymore.  At first you thought he would finally give up and admit he couldn’t take it anymore but the black-haired gangster didn’t. His rough hands didn’t leave your waist but rather pulled you closer, as if he couldn’t bear a single inch standing between you. The two turquoise gems that he called eyes locked onto yours — unfaltering and desperate. Tommy exhaled a shaky breath and surrendered himself fully to your touch. You wanted to kill him? So be it, he thought.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fascinated for he looked so weak, so… willingly at your mercy that everything around you blurred, your focus only on him. Him and his freckles. Him and the too-perfect traits of his face from his adorable nose to his slightly chapped lips. Him and the sight of what you could be together.

Your lips maybe sweet such that I can't compete, But your heart is as black as night.

A far away cry resounded in the back of your head, pleading you to put a stop to this folly, but you were far too embedded in a primal trance to mind it. 

 Tommy’s head lowered until his cheek pressed against your belly, his arms snaking around your waist in an intimate, blazing embrace. And just like that it wasn’t a fight anymore; it was something else. The same thing you were both desperately pushing away for years — what fueled the vitriol of his hatred. For him and his twisted and tired mind, your deadly hands around his throat weren’t hurting him anymore, they were granting him a momentary relief from his untamable demons. The dirt couldn’t touch him here, your seraphic yet murderous aura keeping it from burying him alive. You strangled him, but he felt like he had never breathed this freely for a long, very long time. 

Soon the static hug turned into a sensual one, with Tommy softly rocking you in a way so soothing that you couldn’t help but bit your juicy lower lip. For a moment you both stayed like that, your body petrified and your hands still squeezing the air out of him while his scorching breath fanned over your belly when he moaned, sipping through the thin fabric of your silk nightgown. It was only after a while that all of Tommy’s energy fled from him. Now he hed had reached his limits. You felt the gangster waver, then he fell back onto the living room floor, dragging you along in his fall. You simply followed, letting him pull you on top to make you straddle him. A firework exploded into you when your hips collided together, your beings only separated by the thin layer of your lace thong and the fabric of his trousers. 

I don't know why it came along at such a perfect time, But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind.

Beneath you, Tommy’s body was entirely tensed, his breath hitching in difficulty, mouth gasping for air and a vein on his forehead pumping blood furiously. Yet, his hypnotic turquoise eyes didn’t waver from you except occasionally when he rolled them back in pure ecstasy. You shut your eyes closed, squeezing them very tight, unable to hold his gaze anymore when his hips started to sensually roll under you, the feeling of his hard length making you gasp.

“Tom… No.” You thought you had spoken with a stern tone but your voice had been nothing but a whisper that melted in a moan and, consequently, he didn’t stop. Quite the opposite, he kept rubbing against you, your hips dancing together in perfect rhythm and intensifying when he felt the warmth pooling between your legs and the small, damp spot on your sinful undergarment. It was too much for him to bear — Tommy growled, a low and primal noise that came from the depths of his soul, and his hips bucked under you. In a final scream of intense pleasure he came, stars waltzing behind the blackness of his eyelid and the mighty hands of God ripping all his suicidal thought from him just enough time to finally be at peace.

Peace, at last. He thought.

Shocked, confused and caught in the haze of the moment, you finally released your grip and freed his throat before curling up in a ball in his arms, trembling. 

“I’m fine.” He stuttered, panting, as if he had read through your concerns.

As you lay entwined on the floor, both of you breathless and tangled in each other’s arms as if your life depended on it, the silence of the room grew thick with unspoken desire and barely bridled resentment.

Would life be easier if you’d give in for good? Would he be the one, strong and steady, guiding you and protecting you? Could he be the one able to finally heal that open wound your attachment to Amos was?

No.

Tommy could never be your solace.

You would never let him.

You’d never do this to Arthur. Never.

Your hand tenderly reached his face. They lingered on his perfectly carved jaw to trace faint lines across his skin as though you were discovering him for the very first time. Had he always been so pretty? The soft caress of your fingers almost made him purr, but he was still panting too much to say something more judging by how his chest rapidly fell with each shallow breath. Only after a few minutes Tommy looked up at you, the eyes that once stared at you with disgust and burning rage now softened – though the remnant of something dark and fierce burnt inside his black pupils. 

He finally broke the silence with a voice both rough and tender, “You feel it ay? The weight of it. The weight of us.” It wasn’t a question for he knew he was right, no matter how hard you would deny it. He pulled you closer to make your embrace even more intimate until your nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck — his perfume soothing you, lulling you.

'Cause your hands maybe strong but the feelings are all wrong, Your heart is as black as night.

“Tommy. This has to stop.” You said slowly, fingers still caressing his face with sheer tenderness, “You have to let it go.”  Fighting against the torpor the sweet comfort of his arms brought you, you raised your head to plunge your gaze into his.  In response, Tommy let out a sigh and one of his hands found yours, intertwining your fingers together.

“You think he loves you the way I could?” His other hand moved to your face to tilt your chin towards him, keeping you from fleeing his vulture eyes which were filled with longing he didn’t bother to hide anymore, “I’m not letting you go.” 

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at the thought that Tommy would never stop haunting you. 

He was talking exactly like Amos. Using the exact same words and sickly-sweet tone.

“Don’t say dumb shit like this.” You retorted, the warmth you had granted him with turning to freezing arctic ice again. With that being said, you gathered all your remaining strength to overcame the comforting haze he instilled in you, and managed to snatch yourself from his arms. You needed to leave this fucking room now. Surprised, Tommy tried to hold you, to keep you from leaving him but you had been too quick. Defeated, the gangster hauled himself with his forearms against the carpet and frowned.

“You know we’re meant to be.”

“And what are we meant to be Thomas?” You sneered, glaring at him from above your bony shoulder, “Can you tell me?!”

Your heart is as black… As mine.

“Each other’s death.”

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia0082 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastic @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996@vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @jjovin3221 @randomcreator-09 @weepingdreammarvel @meadowshelby

[shelbydelrey]

PREV.

2. MOTHER

“Ms. Shelby, there’s someone here to see you,” the secretary announced.

“Great, send them in,” Charlotte replied absent-mindedly; a decision that she would regret not even a minute later.

The visitor entered, revealing themselves to be a woman of high stature and dark hair.

“Lizzie,” The girl jumped out of her chair.

“Charlotte, how are you?”

The smallest of smiles appeared on the woman’s lips. Charlie glared at her brother, if in search of support or disapproval, and found him measuring the former Mrs. Shelby’s presence.

“Fine,” she responded, returning her attention to her stepmother. The first blow of surprise had subsided, “How are you?”

The other woman clasped her hands together.

“Worried. It is, in fact, the reason why i came to speak to you.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Duke declared. He got up and left but not before throwing Charlie a look that evoked his “Nothing good” sentiment from last friday. Lizzie paid him no mind, not when she arrived and not when he got out.

“What are you worried about?” she quizzed, suggesting with her hands that the woman should take a seat.

Sat, her stepmother wiggled her right leg while continuing to rub her hands together. 

“Charles.”

Charlie took a deep breath.

“In what sense?”

“He’s…” Lizzie sighed, “He’s different. Ever since he came back. He doesn’t talk to me, he doesn’t talk to Beth or anyone.”

Her voice trembled.

“And now Ada tells me he’s roaming around Small Heath.”

“Only to visit uncle Charlie,” the words jumped out of Charlotte before she could weigh them down, “He’s been at The Garrison too but he didn’t drink, i promise.”

Her hands curled into fists down the table. So apologetic. And what for? A man she didn’t even know?

“He’s your father’s son, Charlotte. When he came back from his war he brought hell with him.”

Her spine tensed.

“Aunt Ada won’t allow him to do anything. He’s welcome to work with her but illegitimate business is Duke’s.”

Only at the moment the glimmer of hope in Lizzie’s eyes died that Charlie noticed it was there to begin with and she watched as regret, not disappointment, took its place. A ball of heat lodged itself on her chest, stealing her breath, and the scorching fire expanded and expanded threatening to consume her whole. Charlotte knew. Charlotte knew that Lizzie never forgave her for rejecting her as a mother.

“If there was something Ada was never capable of doing was to control the men in her family,” Lizzie hammered down and rose from her seat.

Charlie closed her eyes while clenching her teeth. An idea, however, popped in her head.

“Wait!” 

Thankfully, Lizzie wasn’t out the door yet .

“I can talk to him.”

That’s what the woman’s presence meant, right? Mother, aunt and cousin couldn’t reach Charles but perhaps a sister could.

“I’ll drive some sense into him.”

Relief washed over Lizzie.

“Thank you.”

After the stepmother’s exit, exhausted, Charlie threw herself onto the chair.

The fourteen years hiatus since the last time she saw her brother would finally come to an end.

[prettybillycore]

"For Tommy" Series Masterlist

UPDATED: 5/14/24

Pairing(s): Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Universe: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Veela and Seer- a powerful combination of traits for one person to have. Edith Lillian Scamander falls in love with a young Thomas Shelby while working in a nurse’s ward during WWI. Will her feelings be requited, or will she be doomed to pine over the man of her dreams for eternity hopelessly?

Rating: Teen ✦ prologue | Your sister, Edith Lillian ✦ letter #1 | Yours, Thomas Shelby ✦ ONE ✦ letter #2 | All My Love, Lilli Scamander ✦ letter #3 | Sincerely, Your Peaky Blinder ✦ TWO ✦ letter #4 | Farewell, Edith Lillian ✦ letter #5 | Much Love and Hope, Edith Lillian ✦ THREE ✦ letter #6 | All My Love, Thomas Shelby ✦ letter #7 | Tread lightly, Newt

Read it on AO3 //