#Tommy Shelby X Reader

[fel-09]

You are his problem

Tommy Shelby x reader

Author's notes: Caring Thomas Shelby This is my own separate Roman empire

Plot : You are his problem, one continuous headache, an irresponsible woman whom he loves madly.

Words :1.3к

The night in Birmingham covers the streets with a thick, lingering gloom, and only the light in Thomas Shelby's house is on. Dim, amber, staining the old wallpaper, it barely breaks the twilight in his room. His desk is littered with papers: contracts, invoices, unresolved issues, each line weighing on him more than the bronze storm lantern next to it.

And on his bed, stretched out in lazy tenderness like a cat, lies she.

Her light breathing almost merges with the rustle of paper, her arms spread out in carelessness, and on her face an expression of serenity he can never reach. The perpetual chaos she carries with her is strangely peaceful to him.

Her clothes are lying somewhere in the corner of the room, and if anyone had said she had even a shadow of neatness, he would have only laughed. Stockings-one on the back of a chair, the other must have gotten lost in the folds of a blanket. The garter, the one he'd fastened on her pale skin himself, was gone without a trace, as was the earring she'd bemoaned last week.

She doesn't care about order, doesn't bother with things, hardly remembers where she puts them. He's used to picking up her brooches off the floor, picking up forgotten gloves from the dresser, and searching for her hairbrush, which invariably gets lost between the pillows. He's used to the fact that every morning begins with her searching for missing items and ends with her wearing the first thing that comes to hand anyway.

Thomas runs his hand over his face tiredly, bringing himself back to reality. Long fingers transfer the ink stain from the paper to his temple, but he doesn't care. He needs to finish his work so he can drift off to sleep as easily as she does - as if she doesn't have to think about anything, as if this world requires nothing more than the lazy movement of her hand to once again take possession of everything she desires.

He looks at her and feels a slight weariness, but there is a strange, quiet pleasure in that weariness. He shouldn't be babysitting, shouldn't be taking care of a man who can't even find his own stockings. But apparently that's what he had become.

She rarely did anything on her own. Not because she was lazy (though she was lazy too), but because whenever she did, it turned out to be a disaster. Inept was the word that best described her. If she tried to fix something, the result was always something completely different, most often for the worse.

She could sleep half the day, forgetting all her chores, she could lose her things without leaving one room, or she could try to help, and in doing so she could drive the situation to the point of absurdity.

Like that morning when she had suddenly thought of helping Thomas tie his tie.

He was standing in front of the mirror, frowning at his shirt and the carelessly thrown on piece of cloth. She stretched lazily, yawned, and, seeing his hesitation, suddenly suggested:

- Let me do it.

He only raised an eyebrow, but apparently he was too tired to argue.

So the tie was in her hands.

She took hold of the knot confidently, trying to pull it tight, the way respectable people do. The problem was, she'd never had a talent for this sort of thing. With each new movement, the fabric twisted into something unimaginable, and the harder she tried, the worse the result became.

By the time Thomas suddenly began coughing, she realized she was literally choking him.

His hands immediately flew to her neck, trying to loosen the deadly noose she had so diligently tied.

- God, I'm sorry! - she released the tie so sharply that it tightened even more, and now Thomas was looking at her as if deciding whether to let her live.

He loosened the noose abruptly, took a deep breath, and turned around slowly, very slowly.

- Don't move," he said, burning her with his gaze.

She did the only thing she could do in a situation like this - she put her hands up, feigning complete innocence.

- I'm sorry. I just wanted to help.

He looked at her, then shifted his gaze to his tie, which now looked like it had been used in a fight, and back at her again.

- Did you really want to help or were you trying to kill me?

She laughed nervously.

- If I wanted to kill you, I would have found a more subtle way.

He rubbed his temples and seemed to mutter something quietly to himself.

She concluded that helping was not her forte. Better to lie on the bed, entertain herself with harmless thoughts, and let Thomas deal with things on his own.

At least it was safer for his life.

And for some reason it doesn't annoy him at all.

Thomas had never said it out loud, but he seemed to have accepted that he wasn't just her lover-he was her guardian, her nurse, her controller, the only person who could keep her safe from herself.

She couldn't even take care of her own clothes.

Once he had left her alone for five minutes, and that had been enough for her stockings to disappear into the abyss of the room and her corset to somehow end up tightened on the wrong side. No one could explain how it happened, but the fact remained that if left unattended she inevitably turned herself into a mess.

So he dressed her himself.

At first he just helped - adjusting the straps, pulling up the stockings, buttoning the buttons. But then he realized that if he wanted to leave the house in the next hour, he'd have to take

he'd have to take matters into his own hands.

She sat on the bed, yawning and stretching as he carefully arranged her underwear in front of her as if he were dressing a porcelain doll.

- Lift your leg," he said briefly.

She lazily complied, and he confidently pulled the thin silk stocking over her.

- The other.

She smirked, but complied.

When he was done with it, she ran her finger along the edge of the lace.

- You tie them better than I do.

- Because I don't turn simple things into disasters.

She grinned wider.

- 'You don't trust me too much.

He looked at her, assessing her disheveled hair, the pillow mark on her cheek, and the chaos around her. His gaze dropped to her hands, which were carelessly going through the folds of her skirt.

- And have you given me any reason to trust you on this?

She shrugged her shoulders.

- Probably not. But it's still nice to have you take care of me.

He silently pulled his shirt over her and buttoned it, not even bothering to comment. He was used to it.

Used to the fact that she could go through the day without realizing she'd put her dress on backwards. Used to the fact that every morning started with him looking for clothes for her while she sat lazily on the bed, legs dangling.

And he knew he'd keep doing it.

Because she couldn't survive otherwise.

You couldn't say he was looking for trouble. They found him on their own, as if there was an invisible sign on his shoulders: "You get in trouble, you don't get out."

But then, that day, on the narrow street with the smell of fresh baked goods, he hadn't realized he was in trouble yet.

He nodded and paid.

Thomas hadn't realized what a mistake he'd made. He hadn't realized that the girl's parents would just as easily sell her to him, and she would be like an ownerless cat, cautious at first, and then just stay.

And he wouldn't be able to kick her out, of course.

Thomas wasn't sorry. Wasn't angry. Wasn't really angry.

To be honest, he encouraged her behavior himself.

Sure, he scolded her, spoke sternly, arched his eyebrows and gritted his teeth that she'd managed to lose her hairpin again, knocked over the inkwell again, stepped on her hemline again, and nearly tumbled down the stairs.

But as soon as he left the room, he froze outside the door.

And listened.

How she grumbled to herself, how she mocked him, how she tried (unsuccessfully, of course) to cope with another disaster on her own.

Sometimes he peeked out.

Standing in the doorway, watching her try to button the buttons of her dress and then give up and sit on the bed, frowning frustratedly. How she climbed under the bed for her lost earring but got stuck there, and only her muffled exclamation told him that the operation had failed.

And at times like this, he found it hard to hold back a smile.

But as soon as she turned around, his face became stern again, his voice steady, his steps confident.

- Why did you go under the bed? - he asked calmly.

- I lost my earring.

He nodded, walked over, bent down, and after a few seconds pulled out her find.

She looked up at him with slight indignation.

- You mean you found her right away?!

- I did.

She rolled her eyes and looked away, and he smiled imperceptibly again as he walked away.

She was a disaster. But somehow a disaster for him.

He loves her.

Not just loves her - madly, desperately, to the very edge where love becomes obsession.

He loves dressing her. Smoothing the hem of her dress, buttoning the tiny buttons, pulling her stockings over her soft skin. He loves tying ribbons in her hair because he knows that if she tries to do it herself, the knot will be so tight that the devil himself can't untie it.

She's his problem.

A cheeky, cunning, lazy cat who always loses her things, stumbles over things, and can't tie his tie without trying to strangle him. The cat he scolds and then eavesdrops outside the door, listening to her mumble something to herself.

And when her parents came back to get her...

He didn't even let them finish their sentence.

No.

They'd left her when she'd been a helpless girl at the doughnut counter. They abandoned her like she was worthless. And now that she was his, now that he was used to buttoning her dress, stroking her hair, sorting out her morning mishaps with her and watching her throw her stuff all over the house, they decided to remember they had a daughter?

Too late.

- She's staying.

A simple phrase, said without too much emotion.

She lives with him now. She is now his concern. His disaster. His curse.

And damn it, he loves her

her like he's never loved anyone before.

[zablife]

Reblogging bc I managed to add one more chapter! The last two parts will be posted next week 🤩

Becoming Mrs. Shelby Masterlist

Tommy Shelby x female reader

Summary: When a grieving Tommy meets an orphan turned ladies' companion, he instantly becomes infatuated. After a whirlwind courtship, he proposes marriage and a lifetime of happiness. But when you arrive at Arrow House as the new Mrs. Shelby, the illusion begins to shatter when you realize you're living in the shadow of a ghost.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17 , Part 18, Part 19, Part 20 (ongoing)

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 21

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 21

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: You and Tommy finally tie the knot in a whirlwind of nerves, love, and celebration, an unforgettable day filled with warmth, laughter, and the joy of becoming a family. But you should’ve known peace never lasts long when you marry a Shelby.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch.

--

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Not badly, just a subtle tremble at your fingertips, barely visible unless you looked for it. But you could feel it. A nervous energy pulsing beneath your skin, fluttering low in your stomach like wings beating against your ribs.

The room smelled like rosewater and perfume, the faint scent of pressed flowers from the bouquet resting on the vanity, the soft rustle of fabric filling the quiet between voices. Polly stood behind you, steady hands fastening the last delicate button at the nape of your neck. Ada was perched on the windowsill with a cigarette in one hand and a half-finished glass of champagne in the other, while Esme paced with restless energy, occasionally plucking stray threads off her own dress.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Ada said, flicking ash into a tray. 

“Or take off runnin���,” Esme smirked, leaning in to adjust the fall of your veil. “That’s just adrenaline. Perfectly normal before marrying a Shelby, if you ask me.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

Polly gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s just nerves, love,” she said simply. 

You nodded slowly, swallowing the knot in your throat. The dress was perfect, simple, elegant, the fabric hugging your frame like it had been stitched just for you. But beneath the silk and lace, your heart was hammering like a war drum.

You gave a small, unsteady smile, eyes still on the mirror. “I just… I don’t want to mess it up.”

Ada snorted. “If anyone should be worried about messing things up, it’s Tommy.”

That made Esme laugh, and even Polly cracked a faint smile.

But still, the nerves pulsed in your chest like a second heartbeat. You weren’t afraid of marrying him, not truly. You were afraid of what came with it. The weight of his name. The eyes on you. The risks that followed a life tethered to a Shelby.

And yet… beneath it all, deeper than the nerves and the fluttering uncertainty, was something steadier. Something sure.

You loved him.

And you’d walk through fire for him if you had to.

Suddenly, there was a quiet knock at the door. One of the younger Blinders poked his head in, cap in hand, eyes flicking briefly to you before leaning in toward Polly.

She bent slightly, listening as he murmured something low.

You couldn’t hear everything. But you heard enough.

“... still not back yet… tried to reach him… nothing yet…”

Polly’s expression didn’t shift, not visibly. But you saw the subtle tightening of her mouth. The brief flicker in her eyes.

“What is it?” you asked immediately, turning in your chair before Polly could wave him away.

“Nothing,” Polly said smoothly, straightening again. “Just a small delay. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You stared at her. “Where is he?”

Polly hesitated for a beat too long. “He’ll be here.”

“He’s not here?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp with panic.

“Sweetheart,” Ada said gently from the windowsill, “he probably just got caught up with some last-minute business. You know how Tommy is.”

But the unease had already taken root, coiling in your chest.

It was your wedding day. And he was missing.

You tried to breathe, tried to tell yourself it was fine– that he’d walk through the door any minute with some muttered excuse and a cigarette dangling from his fingers like nothing was wrong. 

Your mind spun, tumbling through a hundred scenarios before you could stop it. What if something had gone wrong– another attack, another message, another quiet war unfolding behind the scenes that no one had told you about? What if this was the price of marrying into his world, and you were only just beginning to see it?

Or worse– what if it wasn’t danger at all?

What if he’d changed his mind?

The thought struck harder than you expected, sharp and cold and mean. You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on your reflection again. You looked calm on the outside, polished, elegant, composed. But beneath the satin, your pulse thundered, your heart twisting itself into anxious knots.

What if he’d gotten too close to the edge of it all, too close to this life, this weight, this love, and decided it wasn’t worth it?

What if he’d realized you were the one weak point in his armor?

Behind you, Polly was murmuring something to Ada, trying to distract the room, trying to keep the mood light. Esme was laughing at a story you couldn’t even hear anymore. The world moved on around you, dresses and flowers and champagne flutes glinting in the light… and still, he wasn’t there.

You pressed your palm to your stomach, willing the nerves to settle. Willing your heart to stop spiraling.

“What if he doesn’t come?” you said quietly, so quietly you weren’t sure anyone heard it. “What if he’s left me– before he even married me?”

But Ada turned instantly, her smile faltering. “Hey. No. Don’t do that,” she said, crossing the room in a heartbeat. She knelt slightly beside your chair, her hands warm as they reached for yours. “He loves you. You know that, right? You’ve seen it– you feel it. Don’t let your head start lying to you now.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep your expression steady, but something in your throat tightened anyway.

“I just–” Your voice cracked. “Why isn’t he here? What if I imagined this whole thing?”

Ada squeezed your hands harder. “You didn’t. You didn’t imagine a bloody thing. That man would tear down the whole world for you if you asked him to.”

You tried to nod, but it was shaky at best.

“You’re going to ruin your makeup if you keep going like this.” 

From the doorway, Polly’s voice rang out, clipped and commanding.

“Go find him. Now,” she said sharply to the Blinder still lingering there, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to be caught listening. “I don’t care where the hell he is– get him here. Tell him I said if he’s not standing in front of her in ten minutes, I’ll put a bullet through him myself.”

The young man nodded quickly, disappearing down the corridor without another word.

Ada glanced over her shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth despite everything. “Well. Who needs the Blinders when you’ve got your own army of women now.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“He’ll be here, love,” Ada said gently. 

You sat stiffly in the chair, hands folded tightly in your lap as Polly began weaving the final pins into your hair. Esme and Ada flitted around the room, chatting, teasing, laughing louder than usual, but their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.

They were trying. You knew that.

Ada held up a ridiculous feathered hat at one point, balancing it dramatically on her head. “What do you think?” she said in a mock-posh accent. “Good enough to be in the wedding?”

Esme snorted. “Careful, you’ll scare everyone away before the ceremony even starts.”

“I’m serious,” Ada added, tossing the veil toward you with a crooked grin. “If he doesn’t come, we’ll throw a party anyway. I’ll marry you. Polly can officiate.”

Polly rolled her eyes without looking up from your hair. “You’ll do no such thing.”

You tried to smile, tried so hard, but it didn’t quite make it past the tight ache in your chest.

Your eyes kept drifting toward the door. Toward the clock. Toward the empty space where Tommy should’ve been.

The laughter in the room felt distant now, muffled, like it was happening underwater. Your chest tightened with every beat of your heart, and you tried to breathe through it, to blink back the heat behind your eyes.

“Still no word?” Ada asked Polly under her breath, trying to make it sound like a casual aside.

Polly didn’t answer at first. She just twisted the final pin into place and patted your shoulder gently. “He’ll come.”

Just as Polly’s hand withdrew from your shoulder, the door burst open with a sudden, loud thud.

Arthur strode in like a storm, all wide grins and uncontainable energy. “Alright, alright, where’s our bloody bride?” he shouted, arms thrown wide like he expected cheers to greet him.

You startled slightly in your seat, the sudden volume jarring against the quiet thrum of nerves in your chest.

“There she is!” Arthur boomed, spotting you immediately and offering a lopsided grin. “Christ, look at you! You look like a bloody angel.”

Arthur barely registered her as he stepped further into the room, still beaming. But his excitement faltered slightly when he looked around and saw the way everyone else had gone still.

His brow furrowed. “What’s with all the long faces, eh?” His eyes flicked to Ada, then Polly. “You lot look like someone died.”

Polly gave him a sharp look, but Ada was the one who spoke first, voice flat. “Tommy’s not back yet.”

Arthur blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “Bloody hell, that’s what’s got ya lot all sour. Why didn’t you say so?”

You sat up straighter, heart thudding, eyes fixed on Arthur.

“He’s been out all morning,” Arthur went on, waving a hand like it was obvious. “Ran off first thing to get some last-minute thing for you. Wouldn’t tell anyone what it was– said it had to be perfect.” He scoffed, then shook his head with a crooked grin. “Bloody romantic, that one.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“He’s here now,” Arthur added, stepping to the side as if on cue.

And there he was– Tommy, stepping through the doorway with that quiet, commanding presence only he ever had. His tie slightly loosened, hair a little windswept from the breeze outside, but his eyes… his eyes went straight to you.

The moment he saw your face, his expression shifted. The flicker of relief in his features was quickly swallowed by something deeper, heavier. He saw the worry in your eyes, the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the fabric of your dress just to keep them from shaking.

“Everyone out,” Polly said quietly, but firmly, already standing. “Give them a minute.”

Ada opened her mouth to protest, but one look from Polly silenced her. Esme gave you a knowing glance as she rose, smoothing her skirt with a little smirk before nudging Ada toward the door.

And then it was just the two of you.

The door clicked softly shut behind them, but neither of you moved.

“What’s wrong, love?” Tommy asked, his voice low, softer than usual. He stepped forward slowly, cautious like you might shatter if he got too close.

You shook your head quickly, forcing a tight smile as your hands fussed with the edge of your dress. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just nerves.”

But his eyes didn’t leave your face. He saw the way your fingers trembled slightly, the flicker of something behind your smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. He stepped closer, one hand reaching out gently to brush his knuckles along your cheek.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” you asked, trying again to laugh it off, but your voice cracked at the edges.

“Pretend with me.”

You dropped your gaze to the floor, teeth catching your bottom lip, trying to will the emotion away before it spilled over. But then he was right in front of you, easing down to sit on the small bench beside you, one hand still at your cheek, thumb stroking gently across your skin like he was trying to soothe it out of you.

“Tell me,” he murmured. 

You exhaled slowly, the words catching in your throat before you finally said them, barely above a whisper. “I thought… It’s stupid. But I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

His hand stilled, just for a second. A flicker of realization crossed his face, followed by something heavier, something that looked like regret.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind,” you added, eyes still focused on your hands. “That maybe it was just… too much. Maybe I was too much.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, but not with anger, just pain. Quiet, gutting pain.

“Christ,” he said softly, exhaling a slow breath. “Is that what you thought?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

His hand slid to your jaw, guiding your face gently toward his until your eyes met his again. There was no fire in them now, no tension, just that steady, anchored blue that had always made you feel like you were on solid ground again.

“I was running around like an idiot trying to get a surprise delivered before the ceremony,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Wasn’t thinking. Should’ve told someone. Should’ve told you.”

You blinked, your throat still tight, heart still aching from the spiral you’d fallen into.

“Love,” he said again, softer this time. “If I could be anywhere in the world right now, it’d still be right here. With you. Always you.”

You swallowed hard, finally letting your body lean toward him, your forehead resting against his. His hands stayed at your face, holding you steady.

“I’m here,” he whispered again. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, the motion small and shaky. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you breathed him in– his scent, the warmth of his hands, the steady rhythm of his breath against yours. That awful knot of fear in your chest slowly began to unravel, thread by thread, just from being close to him again.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and grounding, and you let your eyes close again as his lips lingered there.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your cheek, he looked at you with a softness that made your heart catch in your throat.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to tell you how beautiful you look,” he said quietly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I walked in, and you just about broke my heart before I got the words out.”

You let out a shaky laugh, tears still clinging to your lashes, but lighter now. “Sorry,” you murmured, brushing your thumb against his wrist. “I panicked first.”

“Well,” he said, eyes still steady on you, “just so we’re clear, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your cheeks flushed, and the knot in your chest finally, fully unwound.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked gently, his voice low and warm. Then, with the faintest twitch of a smirk, he added, “Keep an eye on me until it’s time to walk– make sure I don’t bolt out the back door?”

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself with how natural it felt. “No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “It’s okay.”

His grin widened slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway.”

“Better not,” you murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’d hate to have to hunt you down in full lace and heels.”

He chuckled at that, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “You’d look terrifying.”

You grinned. 

A soft knock interrupted the moment as Polly reappeared at the door. “Alright,” she said with a warm, knowing smile. “It’s time.”

You looked at Tommy one last time, really looked, and this time, there was no panic. No dread. Just that same steady warmth he always gave you, the quiet strength of someone who wasn’t just standing beside you for today, but for all the days after.

“I’ll see you out there,” he said, voice low and sure, fingers giving yours one final squeeze.

You nodded. 

…

The ceremony passed in a blur of warmth and golden light, of whispered vows and stolen glances, of the weight of Tommy’s steady hand wrapped around yours, grounding you through every breath.

The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers– roses, lilacs, and gardenias twined together in elegant arrangements, their petals swaying softly in the breeze. Candles flickered in the late afternoon glow, casting golden halos along the wooden pews, where familiar faces watched with quiet reverence. Ada and Polly sat near the front, side by side, the former smirking through misty eyes, the latter composed but proud, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Arthur, standing just beside Tommy, looked unusually solemn, the weight of the moment settling in his features. Even John, forever cheeky, forever irreverent, had kept his usual quips at bay, though you caught the glint of mischief in his eyes when he’d winked at you just before the ceremony began.

But all of it, the setting, the guests, the whispered murmur of the wind through the trees, faded into something distant when you looked up and met Tommy’s eyes.

He was watching you like you were the only person in the room. Like the rest of the world had fallen away completely.

There was something unguarded about him in that moment, something raw and reverent, as though even he couldn’t quite believe this was real. As though he was memorizing every inch of you, committing it all to memory in case it slipped away.

He squeezed your fingers gently, reassuring, a silent I’m here. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in answer.

And then the words came. Soft, steady, unshaken.

The vows.

The moment you promised yourself to him, and he to you.

The moment you became his wife.

It was beautiful.

More beautiful than you could’ve imagined.

The kind of moment that would live in your bones long after the petals wilted and the candles burned out. The kind that settled into your chest like something sacred, something quiet and precious and entirely yours.

The music was soft, a gentle thread weaving between the rows of guests, and the sun had broken through the clouds just enough to cast a warm glow through the stained glass, bathing the room in soft color. You weren’t sure if anyone else noticed, but when you looked up and saw it, it felt like a blessing. A quiet little sign that maybe, just maybe, the world had given you this one good thing.

Tommy’s hands never left yours, not through the vows, not through the exchange of rings, not even when your voice shook slightly and you had to take a breath before continuing. He held you steady with nothing but a look. A small squeeze of your fingers. A breath shared between two hearts beating just a little too fast.

You saw it clearly– how his jaw tensed and softened all at once when he looked at you. The way his mouth trembled just slightly as you recited your vows. The way his eyes shimmered, not quite tearing, but enough that you knew. Enough that your heart twisted in your chest with a love so sharp it almost hurt.

You’d never seen him look at anything the way he looked at you in that moment.

The ceremony had been soft and warm and full of heart– but the reception?

The reception was loud, chaotic, overflowing with whiskey and laughter and the kind of rowdy joy that could only be described as Shelby traditional.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the quiet elegance of the ceremony had given way to a full-blown celebration. Music blared from the record player in the corner, the kind that made boots thump against the floor and voices rise above the din. Someone, probably Arthur, had already knocked over one of the floral centerpieces trying to demonstrate an impromptu boxing move, and John had stolen a bottle of champagne off the dessert table, waving it triumphantly like a trophy.

You’d barely made it ten steps into the room before Polly had pressed a glass of whiskey into your hand and Ada was dragging you toward the dance floor.

“Come on,” she’d said, grinning like the devil. “You’re a Shelby now. Time to dance like one.”

You laughed until your cheeks ached, spun in circles beneath strings of soft light as Esme shouted out the words to a pub song off-key, and Finn nearly tripped over a tray trying to pass around more drinks. Even Polly had cracked a smile when Arthur picked her up and twirled her, only to immediately apologize when he nearly knocked over a table.

It was mayhem. Beautiful, noisy, messy mayhem.

And through it all, Tommy’s eyes never strayed far from you.

“Dance with me,” he said quietly, like it was a secret meant only for you.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your hand slid into his, and he pulled you gently toward the center of the room. The chaos around you dulled to a low hum as his arms wrapped around your waist, your hands finding their familiar place against his chest.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

The alcohol was finally starting to catch up with you, warmth pooling in your limbs, making everything just a little hazier at the edges. Your head felt light, your body loose, a gentle buzz pulsing beneath your skin. You leaned into him more than usual, swaying a little softer, clinging a little tighter, not just because of the gin curling through your veins, but because being in his arms still made everything else fall away.

His hand was steady on your back, his thumb brushing soft circles into the fabric of your dress, grounding you with every breath.

Your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. Into the safety he carried in the quiet way he held you. The rest of the room could’ve vanished, and you wouldn’t have noticed. Not when his heartbeat was beneath your ear. Not when his scent– smoke and spice and something inherently Tommy, wrapped around you like home.

And for just a moment, it didn’t matter who you were, or what had come before. You weren’t a girl recovering from bruises and broken ribs. You weren’t a survivor still flinching at shadows. You were just… his.

You breathed him in, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of his shirt. He dipped his head closer, his lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss, and you felt yourself exhale fully—like your body finally remembered what it meant to feel at peace.

“I can’t believe I get to keep you,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice soft and just a little slurred from the champagne. 

“Keep me?” Tommy huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curving against your hair. “Are you drunk, Mrs. Shelby?” 

You smiled, half-tipsy and wholly content. “Maybe a little.”

His arms tightened just a little around you, like he was never letting go.

Eventually, the music shifted again, drawing more bodies to the dance floor. A few relatives waved Tommy over, gesturing toward a corner of the room where a handful of older guests had gathered– distant family who’d made the trip just for the occasion. He leaned in, brushing one last kiss to your cheek.

“I should say hello. I’ll only be a minute,” he murmured, thumb brushing gently across your jaw. 

You gave a soft, amused hum, letting him go reluctantly as he slipped into the crowd, his frame quickly swallowed by the flurry of movement and conversation.

Left in the warm afterglow of your dance, you wandered to the edge of the room, letting your eyes drift lazily over the crowd. There was laughter, clinking glasses, someone shouting across the room for more champagne. You watched Esme dancing with John, dramatically spinning her in circles while Polly rolled her eyes from the corner. Ada was holding court near the drinks table, gesturing wildly as she recounted some story that had half the group in stitches.

It was perfect.

You continued scanning faces, watching the way everyone mingled, laughed, danced.

That’s when you noticed them.

Two men near the far wall. Not dancing. Not drinking. Not laughing like the others. Just standing there, still, quiet, their expressions unreadable.

You tilted your head slightly, squinting toward them in your haze. Their suits were sharp, their posture too stiff, too formal. One of them held a drink he hadn’t touched. The other smoked, eyes trailing across the room– and landing briefly, unmistakably, on you.

You blinked. You didn’t recognize them. And they certainly didn’t carry the same easy familiarity as the rest of the guests.

One of them leaned toward the other, murmuring something you couldn’t hear. The second man glanced briefly toward the exit, then returned his attention to the crowd.

You weren’t alarmed exactly– just curious. Curious enough to want an answer. So you turned, weaving through the crowd without urgency, politely excusing yourself between conversations and shifting dancers.

You found Tommy at the far end of the room, standing among a few of his distant relatives, laughing quietly at some half-funny story being told by an uncle you barely remembered. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, jacket loosened, a half-drunk glass of whiskey in his hand. His smile was easy, eyes soft.

You didn’t even think twice, you just made your way toward him.

Tommy’s eyes landed on you the moment you approached, his grin tugging higher as he stepped away from the group. “Couldn’t wait for me to come back, eh?” he teased, slipping an arm around your waist.

“Love, there’s a couple of men over there I don’t recognize. Thought maybe they were from your side,” you said with a half-smile, glancing over your shoulder toward the bar. 

Tommy’s brow furrowed slightly. “You didn’t invite them?”

You blinked. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before. Maybe Polly knows them?”

His expression didn’t change much, just a faint twitch in his jaw. He nodded slowly, eyes flicking over your face. “Probably,” he said with a small smile, brushing a thumb over your arm. 

Tommy leaned in, brushing a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, already making his way toward Arthur and John with that quiet focus you knew all too well.

You didn’t think much of it. Just sipped your champagne, watching the party swirl on around you as you watched happily. 

A few minutes passed, the music picking up again, laughter echoing from the far side of the room. One of Tommy’s cousins– Nellie, maybe? Or Noreen– sidled up beside you, also tipsy, her voice loud over the music as she complimented your dress and asked what it was like planning a wedding with a Shelby.

You offered polite responses, even managed a soft laugh, letting yourself lean into the lightness of it all. 

Before you knew it, Tommy reappeared from the crowd with that same deliberate pace, but his eyes were sharper now, his jaw tight. He didn’t smile this time. He didn’t say a word either, just reached for your arm and gently, but firmly, started guiding you away.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept moving, his grip secure around your wrist, weaving through the crowd with you in tow. His silence made your heart thump a little harder.

“Tommy, what’s going on?”

Still nothing. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone.

He led you into one of the adjoining rooms off the reception hall– a small sitting room with soft light and a door that muffled the noise behind it. Your heels wobbled slightly on the floor as you stepped inside, the lingering champagne making your head feel a little floaty, a little slow. You stumbled just slightly, catching yourself on the edge of a side table as Tommy turned to face you.

“Stay here,” he said lowly, his tone clipped, serious.

You blinked at him, unsteady, brows pulling together. “What? Tommy– what’s happening?” you asked, trying to shake off the fuzziness clouding your thoughts. 

But his expression didn’t soften. If anything, it only grew more tense.

“Tommy,” you said again, stepping toward him. 

“Just stay here,” was all he said, then he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, stunned and alone.

You stood there for a beat, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides as heat rose in your chest. That old, gnawing frustration surged up fast– sharp and hot, made worse by the dizzy hum of alcohol still lingering in your veins. He was doing it again. Tucking you away like something fragile. On your own bloody wedding day.

You paced the room, heels clicking sharply against the floor, trying to calm your breath, but it only made you angrier. Outside, you could hear the music still going strong, laughter spilling from the reception hall like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t being shoved behind a door and told to sit still like a child while the rest of the world moved on.

Your stomach twisted with indignation. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. You weren’t a porcelain doll to be placed neatly on a shelf whenever danger sniffed too close.

You sat down for a moment, gripping the edge of the seat with white-knuckled fingers, trying to tell yourself to wait. To trust him. To just breathe.

But the minutes dragged, and your blood only simmered hotter with each one.

Finally, you stood again, cheeks flushed, heart pounding with more than just nerves. Enough.

You stormed across the room and yanked the door open.

It was your damn wedding day. 

The music met you first, louder now, full of laughter and clinking glasses, the hum of conversation and the occasional roar of someone retelling a story too loud over the music. Everything was exactly how it had been when you left. 

You stepped back into the reception hall, scanning the crowd.

No sign of Tommy. No sign of Arthur. No sign of John.

What a surprise. 

Still, you forced yourself forward, weaving through the crowd again, your dress brushing against the edge of a chair, your smile faint and automatic when someone congratulated you in passing. You didn’t stop. Not until you spotted a familiar face near the refreshment table.

“Finn,” you breathed, crossing the space quickly. 

He looked up from where he was piling cake onto a plate, a fork already in his mouth. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Hello!” he grinned. 

You managed a small laugh, trying to seem casual. “You’ve got frosting on your nose.”

“What?” He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, missing it completely. You reached out and gently swiped it away with your thumb.

“There. Crisis averted.”

“Thank God,” he said dramatically. “This is a big day for me, afterall.”

You grinned widely at him. “You’ve got quite a reputation to protect.”

Finn chuckled, nudging a second slice of cake toward you. “It’s a wedding. You’re obligated to eat cake with me now. Tommy would agree.”

But before you could reply, something caught in the corner of your eye.

Movement.

Quick. Deliberate. Wrong.

Your gaze flicked toward the far side of the room toward the two unfamiliar men you’d noticed earlier.

One of them reached into his coat.

The breath caught in your throat.

But before you could react, before anyone could, the first shot rang out.

A deafening crack split through the music and laughter like a lightning strike.

You barely had time to register it before everything turned to chaos.

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[stupidnpoetic]

me if being obsessed with older men was illegal

[itshelia]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[theinheriteddutchess]

oh god I'm hooked!

I can't believe how good this is,😭 I'm glad it was Tommy, but now he won't let her leave! Poor girl, he's all possessive. I mean he could have just courter her, but he doesn't like to take chances, does he?

🙏🏻

The Arrangement

Words: 8k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Drugging, age gap, coercion, loss of innocence, dub-con, explicit sex, oral (f rec), breeding kink (inferred), HEA

Your stepfather made an ill-advised wager with Arthur Shelby and when he lost the coin toss, you were are to be given to Arthur for the night. And you will be taken tonight. Just not by Arthur...

A/N: I don't know if any of you are fans of Peaky Blinders. The DH started watching it recently and I've watched it with him. My muse grabbed me and this was the result. But I find if I keep her happy, she'll let me work on my other projects so... Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

You shivered in the chilly air, wearing your best dress and wrapped in your heaviest shawl, as you walked along the cobbled street, slick with rain and coal dust. You felt numb, struggling to accept the situation you found yourself in through no fault of your own. 

One one side of you John Shelby walked with his usual restless energy, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. Though younger than the others, he had a sharpness in his eyes, a tension in his jaw that betrayed the weight of the world he’s been forced to carry. His hair was slightly disheveled, his cap pulled low over his forehead, casting a shadow that makes him look harder than his years. The dim gas light flickered across his face, highlighting a faint bruise on his cheekbone—evidence of a recent scrap, though nothing too serious by Shelby standards.

On the other side, Liam Murphy, one of the Peaky Blinders’ trusted men, walked along. Taller and broader than John, he carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who knows he can handle whatever comes next. His dark eyes scan the area as they reach the destination, ever-watchful. His fingers tapping idly against the handle of the revolver holstered beneath his coat. Dressed in the same razor-brimmed flat cap and three-piece suit as the rest of the gang, Liam looked every bit the part of a man who’s bled for the Shelbys and would do so again without hesitation. The faint trace of whiskey lingers on his breath, but his movements are steady, his focus razor-sharp.

Around them, the air hums with unspoken tension. John’s energy crackles like a struck match, eager, impatient. His gaze landed on you and he cracked a smile. "Look at you. You look like a fuckin' lamb going to slaughter."

Yes, were scared to death. But you lifted your chin, holding his gaze. "Wouldn't you?"

Both of them burst into laughter at that as they stopped in front of the apartment, the agreed meeting place. 

"Yes," John said. "Can't say I'd want to fuck Arthur either."

The reminder of why you were here was too pointed, too impersonal. You glanced around Small Heath, the neighborhood the Shelbys dominated here in Birmingham. It was a rough area, a working-class district, thick with the grime of industry and the weight of hardship. The narrow, soot-stained brick houses huddled together as if bracing against the cold, damp air rolling in from the factories. The sharp scent of iron and smoke from nearby foundries clung to the wind like an ever-present warning.

Gas lamps cast flickering pools of light, their glow struggling against the heavy smog that lingered in the alleyways. The sounds of the city never truly died—somewhere in the distance, a train whistle howls through the night, blending with the rattle of carts, the distant shouts of drunken men spilling from the back doors of a pub, and the occasional bark of a stray dog scavenging for scraps.

When the door opened, your heart lurched in your chest to see Arthur Shelby standing there in the dim light, a shadow of the man he once was—wild-eyed, disheveled, and teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, his once-crisp white shirt now rumpled and stained with whiskey and the sweat of a man who's been drinking too long and thinking too hard. His tie hangs loose around his neck, the knot twisted and undone, as if he tried and failed to make himself presentable before giving up entirely.

His hair, usually slicked back with care, is in disarray, tufts sticking up where he’s raked his fingers through it in frustration. His face is a map of old scars and fresh exhaustion, his beard uneven, the shadow of stubble catching the flickering light. His knuckles are raw, split from a recent fight—maybe a brawl at The Garrison, maybe something worse.

His eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, burned with the remnants of rage and sorrow, that familiar fire barely held at bay. His breath reeks of whiskey and smoke, and when he exhales, it’s slow, heavy, as if the weight of the world presses down on his chest. When he sees you, his eyes light up in surprise as if his mind just pushed the memory of why you're there through the haze of his enebriation. 

"Come in," he said after studying you for a moment.

What else could you do? 

Dropping your head, trying to keep your desperation and fury at bay, you walked quickly by him and into the apartment. 

When John and Liam tried to push their way in, Arthur smashed a fist into LIam's face. The crunching sound made you think Arthur broke his nose. "What the fuck?" Liam yelled. "Aren't we supposed to be witnesses?"

The question sent a spike of fear through your heart.

"The hell you are!" Arthur raged at them. "Now get out before I knock some teeth out, you fuckin' bastard."

With that, he slammed the door hard and locked it for good measure. 

Inside the small apartment, the air was thick with the scent of damp wood, old tobacco, and the faint traces of stew long gone cold. The walls were thin, covered in peeling wallpaper that was once floral but now curls at the edges, stained by years of cigarette smoke and candlelight. The floorboards creaked under the weight of every movement, betraying any attempt at stealth. Outside, heavy boots scuff against the cobblestones, stopping and starting, keeping you on edge.

The only light inside came from a low-burning candle near the window, its feeble glow barely touching the dark corners of the room. A single iron-framed bed sits against one wall, its mattress lumpy and worn. A wooden table stands near the hearth, cluttered with an empty bottle, a playing card bent at the edges, and a knife someone left behind—perhaps a warning, perhaps a promise.

The Peaky Blinders owned these streets, and yet, danger lurks in the shadows, even for them. Every knock at the door could be salvation—or the end. This is where you were born.

You stood in the small space and waited. You had no intention to make this easy for anyone. Particularly when it wasn't fair at all how you came to be here.

Arthur swayed slightly, adjusting his stance, his grip tightening on the half-empty bottle he lifted from the small table by the window. At least the curtains there were closed. There’s an eerie stillness in him, the kind that only comes before a storm. He wiped a hand down his face, inhaling sharply, trying to steady himself, but the chaos inside him is still bubbling, waiting for the right moment to spill over.

"Look," Arthur said, "I'm truly sorry for this situation. It's nothing personal towards you, you know. It was your father and the coin toss. He--"

"Stepfather," you corrected him. Your father had been a decent man who didn't make it back from the war. Your mother had married Sean O'Grady out of necessity, to keep you and your younger brother fed. Your stepfather was as bad as your father had apparently been good.

"Whatever," Arthur said. "He lost the coin toss and the coin is sacred to us. He promised me a turn with you if he lost."

Something like shame flashed in his eyes as he looked you over. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking. You were inexperienced with men. Your brother had started working at the factory at a young age but you stayed home and helped with the garden, with the sewing. Your mother took in work as a seamstress here and there and that's how the Shelbys came into your life to begin with. Arthur started it, coming by to have a couple of shirts repaired, stains removed. He'd been intimidating enough but he wasn't the one who scared you the most.

Tommy Shelby.

His name alone carried weight, pressing down on your chest like an iron shackle. He was the kind of man stories are whispered about in dark corners, the kind of man who steps into a room and bends the air around him. He never needed to raise his voice to command obedience, nor did he need to lift a hand to make someone afraid. His power was in the silence, in the way his glacier-blue eyes stripped a person down to their bones, exposing every weakness, every lie, every desperate plea before it ever leaves their lips.

You'd seen men stronger than you shrink beneath his gaze, their bravado crumbling under the quiet calculation that lurks behind those cold, unreadable eyes. There was no excess in his movements, no wasted gestures. He was precise, measured, a man who played chess while everyone else is swinging fists. And yet, beneath the tailored suit and composed expression, there lurked something even more dangerous—something hollow, something broken, something that made him unpredictable.

He didn't look like a man who enjoyed violence. That would make him easier to understand. No, Tommy Shelby wore it like a necessary burden, a tool in his arsenal, wielding it with the same detached efficiency as he did his words. That detachment terrified you the most. Because men who enjoy hurting others can be manipulated, can be fed their own hunger until they slip. But a man like Tommy—one who kills without joy, without hesitation, without remorse—he was a different kind of monster entirely.

Arthur drank straight from the bottle, the amber liquid splashing inside it. His eyes never left you and now you were shaking. You knew your stepfather wanted you married off and gone from his house, but he felt like this was the way to do it? Or was this punishment because you hadn't made that happen?

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, slurring his words. "Come over here."

"And do what?" you had to ask. "I don't know... how..."

His eyebrows shot up at that. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

You shook your head. Waves of shame and anger rushed through you to be in this situation. You were untried and terrified. He was drunk and seemed at a loss as to how to handle this situation. After a moment, he set the bottle back on the table and marched towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you in place for his kiss. Just like that.

Instinct had you fighting him. His kiss was sloppy and wet, the liquor on his breath heavy, making you feel a little sick. He was easily twice your size and it was nothing for him to drag you in the direction of the bed. When your back met the mattress, you closed your eyes in acquiescence. You just wanted it over with so you could go back home, soiled goods thanks to your stepfather's poor judgment. But you'd live to fight another day. At least you hoped you would.

Arthur's weight dropped onto you on the bed, but after a moment, you realized he wasn't moving. When he snored by your ear, it was all you could do not to burst into tears. Did this mean you'd have to wait for him to sober up? Would this torment be rescheduled? You didn't think you could take that.

You didn't know what to do. Carefully, you managed to roll him off you and onto his side. He didn't wake or even move as you managed to get off the bed. Hope had your heart swelling in your chest. Could you make it out of this apartment then? You could claim that the deed was done and he passed out after. You could declare it done, right?

Rushing to the window, you moved the curtain just enough to see the street and it didn't look like anyone was outside the door now. Could you make it out? If you moved fast enough? 

With your heart flying in your chest, you unlocked the door and pulled it open, dashing out onto the street and sending up every prayer that you'd ever said that you could just make it home. 

You collided with someone hard. You were shaking as his hands came up to steady you, keep you from falling. An apology was on your tonque as you glanced up to see who blocked you.

It was him.

Tommy Shelby was the one who had you, his figure a sharp silhouette against the darkness. A beat after he released you, a match flares to life, momentarily illuminating the angular planes of his face—the high cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the cigarette resting between his fingers. The glow flickers out as he exhales, smoke curling around him like a specter, and in that brief moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto yours.

He doesn’t look surprised.

No anger. No raised voice. Just that cold, assessing gaze—as if he had already predicted this, as if he knew you would run before even you did. A slow inhale. A subtle shift of his stance. The barest tilt of his head, like a wolf considering a cornered rabbit.

You expect fury, maybe even threats, but what terrifies you most is the patience in his expression. Calculated. Absolute. Unshaken.

“Going somewhere?” His voice is soft, measured, all the more dangerous for its calmness.

You want to run, but your legs refuse to move. The street around you is empty, swallowed in shadow, but you know—he's never truly alone. Somewhere, in the darkened alleys, his men are watching. Waiting.

Tommy takes one step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You should know,” he murmured, flicking his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his polished boot, “I don’t like having to come after people.” The weight of his words coiled around you, squeezing the air from your lungs. What happened now?

Hooking your thumb in the direction of the apartment, and it was trembling, you said, "He's d-done."

That cool gaze moved over you, up and down, and his gaze returned to yours. "Not with you. Arthur loves the ladies but I've never seen him move that fast."

You hadn't thought of that. 

"Did he pass out?" he asked quietly.

Tears stung the backs of your eyes and you nodded. It wouldn't do any good to lie to him. "What happens now?" you asked, cringing under that cold gaze. 

"There's still an arrangement," Tommy reminded you. "And it has to be honored."

You glanced back over your shoulder at the door wondering what he meant by that. Would you wait for Arthur to wake up? Come back another day when he was sober?

Rough fingers at your chin had you flinching away from the unfamiliar touch, be he relented, turning your face back to him. When your attention was returned to him, he grabbed your upper arm and started walking, almost dragging you up the street at first. What was he going to do? Where was he taking you?

Men were walking not too far behind you now, his men. They stayed behind the two of you until Tommy abruptly turned a corner, heading up a short flight of steps. Leading you into another apartment.

The new apartment was different—cleaner, quieter, colder. A stark contrast to the cramped, smoke-choked rooms you just fled from. The walls are smooth, freshly painted in an off-white shade that seems almost too pristine for a place in Small Heath. There’s no peeling wallpaper, no damp smell clinging to the wooden floorboards. Instead, there’s the faint scent of tobacco and whiskey, mingling with the lingering traces of fresh linen and polish—evidence that someone actually cares for this space.

The furniture is sparse but elegant in a way that doesn’t fit the rough streets outside. A solid oak table sits near the window, a glass decanter of amber liquid resting on top, two crystal tumblers beside it. A plush armchair, its deep leather cracked at the seams, faces the fireplace where faint embers glow, casting flickering shadows against the walls. A bottle of Scotch, half-empty, stands on the mantel as if waiting for its owner’s return.

Against one wall, a proper bed. Not a cot, not a lumpy mattress stuffed into the corner, but a well-made bed with crisp white sheets and a thick wool blanket folded at the foot. A luxury in this part of Birmingham. A reminder that this isn’t a prison, not exactly. But it’s still his space. His territory. And now, you're trapped inside it.

The gas lamps flickered, their glow reflecting off the dark glass of the window. Outside, Small Heath moved on—voices drifting through the night, a horse’s hooves clattering in the distance, the faint murmur of a pub emptying out. But in here, the world feels still, heavy with unspoken rules and the weight of Tommy Shelby’s presence.

His men have left by now, their boots retreating down the hallway, leaving you alone with him. The door clicks shut.

A moment of silence.

“You’ll be more comfortable here,” he says, his voice as controlled as ever, but there’s no mistaking the finality in his words. This isn’t a courtesy. It’s an arrangement.

You didn't understand why you were here. Was he going to keep an eye on you until his brother slept it off? Or would he expect you to stay here until the deed could be done?

With practiced ease, he hung up his cap and shrugged out his dusty black coat, hanging it up. Then, the soft sound of a match striking as Tommy lights another cigarette, his gaze unreadable as he exhales a slow stream of smoke. Grabbing the Scotch and tumblers from his mantel, he moving to the table at the window, filling the crystal glasses and motioning you over. "Have one," he said. 

He wanted you to drink? You'd never drank spirits in your life. You must have stared at the glass like a snake about to bite you.

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette. "Since my brother is unable to do the honors," he said, "we'll finish the arrangement here and now. Drink it. It will make it easier."

Panic threatened to overtake you. What? Arthur Shelby passed out drunk so now you were expected to fuck Tommy Shelby?

Not doing as he said seemed terrifying, so you reached for the tumbler meant for you with a shaking hand. Bringing it to your lips for a sip, you almost coughed. The drink was smooth but potent. It burned like fire all the way down to your stomach. 

"Sit down," he said, using his foot to push one of the two chairs at the table back for you. You did as he wanted, taking another drink of whiskey. You felt the weight of those ice-blue eyes on you as you stiffly took a seat. "You ever been with a man?"

The man could just talk about something so personal like it was nothing more than business. It was a lot more than that to you. It took a moment for you to work up the courage to meet his gaze now, but you made yourself do it. You may have been trapped in this situation but you had to remember that you personally had done nothing wrong. 

“No,” was all you said. “Never drank either. Until now.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly, still studying you, the faint glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp angles of his face. “Your stepfather isn’t a smart man.”

“Or a kind one,” you murmured, the words bitter on your tongue.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, effortless yet edged with something unreadable. “That why he offered you up?” His voice was calm, almost casual, but his gaze never wavered. “Strict with you, was he? That why you haven’t got any experience?”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the tumbler in your hands. “No. He just wants me gone.”

Tommy hummed in answer. The room feels smaller with him in it. The air is thick with the smoky bite of liquor and tobacco, the soft glow of the gas lamp casting shadows across his sharp features. Tommy took the chair across from you, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, the other resting on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around a half-filled tumbler. He hasn’t spoken for a couple of moments, and yet his silence is as oppressive as a threat.

He studies you, slow and deliberate, his ice-blue gaze dragging over you like a weight you can’t shake off. Not leering. Not curious. Calculating. Like he’s unraveling you in his mind, peeling back the layers of fear, of defiance, of whatever fragile armor you've built to protect yourself. He sees through you. And he enjoys it.

The cigarette smolders between his fingers, the red ember glowing each time he takes a slow, unhurried drag. He exhales through his nose, the smoke curling like ghostly fingers in the space between them, thick, intimate, suffocating. He’s not trying to scare you. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough—a man who doesn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand to remind the world of what he is capable of.

And yet… he is devastating.

The angles of his face, chiseled and unyielding, should make him look harsh, unappealing, but they don’t. His dark lashes, too long for a man, cast shadows over his cheekbones as he watches you, the corner of his mouth curling around the cigarette in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but is. The controlled power in the way he moves, the effortless confidence—it draws you in even as you will yourself to stay afraid.

He lifts his glass, taking a slow sip of Scotch, the tendons in his forearm flexing beneath the crisp sleeve of his shirt. When he sets it down, the clink of crystal against wood echoes too loud in the quiet.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low, even, dangerous.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, tapping ash from his cigarette, “and I’ll start thinking you’ve forgotten why you’re here.”

It’s a warning. It’s a challenge.

And God help you, it’s both terrifying and intoxicating. You take another sip of from your glass, welcoming the burn and the warmth. You'd been unable to really eat today given what was going to happen. Your entire life would change after tonight. The alcohol went straight to your head, taking the edge off of your fear. Not enough but it was better than nothing.

"If the... arrangement is settled, here and now, then I'm done?" you had to ask. "Arthur..."

Tommy takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a ribbon of smoke that curls lazily between you. His blue eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and unreadable, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. He lifts his glass, takes a sip, then sets it down with an almost deliberate slowness.

Then, in that same calm, cutting voice, he asks, “Would you prefer Arthur?”

The question lands like a blow.

Your fingers tightened around the tumbler, the burn of alcohol lingering in your throat, but you can’t find your voice. Prefer Arthur? Tommy says it so easily, like the answer doesn’t matter to him either way, like it’s nothing more than an idle curiosity. But the way he watches you now—eyes half-lidded, cigarette balanced between his fingers—you know it’s not.

Your pulse quickens. Arthur is rougher. Louder. More reckless. But Tommy… Tommy is something else entirely. Colder. Calculating. Inevitable.

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No.”

Tommy doesn’t react, not right away. He just studies you for another long, unbearable moment before flicking the ash from his cigarette and smashing out in a small tray. “Good.”

You don’t ask why. Something tells you you don’t want to know.

Your heart pounds as he drains his tumbler in one slow pull, then rises from the chair with a grace that feels almost too controlled. His movements are smooth, deliberate—never hurried, never uncertain. Without a word, he reaches for your glass. Carefully, but firmly, he takes it from your hands and sets it on the table, the sharp clink of crystal against wood echoing in the silence. Then, he offers his hand.

Your pulse spikes. A silent command. A choice that isn’t really a choice. Despite the tension tightening in your chest, you take it. His fingers closed around yours—not rough, not gentle, just steady. Certain. He pulls you effortlessly to your feet, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, grounding you even as your nerves coil tighter.

It’s only a few steps to the bed, but the space between felt heavily, charged. Tommy sits at the edge, his grip still firm around your hand. Then, he glances up at you, those piercing blue eyes pinning you in place. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, the weight of the moment pressing down on your skin. And still—he doesn't let go.

Tommy’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, almost absentmindedly, as he studied you with that same quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. His gaze flickers over your face, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail—the way your lips part slightly, the way your pulse jumped at your throat.

Then, in that smooth, low voice that sends a shiver down your spine, he murmurs, “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”

It isn’t a question. It’s an observation. A fact. A verdict.

Your stomach tightens. There’s no warmth in his tone, no flirtation, just a simple acknowledgment, spoken like he’s already decided exactly what to do with you. Like he owns the moment, owns the space, owns you. His fingers tighten, just for a beat, before his grip loosens again. Waiting. Watching. Expecting. And for the first time, you realize—it’s not just fear that’s making your heart race.

You weren’t prepared for the way his other hand slips behind your neck, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to send a shiver down your spine. No hesitation. No uncertainty. He pulls you toward him with quiet intent, as if he’s already decided how this will go—as if there was never a question.

The only time a man had ever kissed you was Arthur’s sloppy, whiskey-soaked attempt in the other apartment. But this—this is something else entirely.

There’s no drunken sway, no careless fumbling. Tommy moves with purpose, with the same measured control he applies to everything he does. And that’s what makes it dangerous. When his lips touched yours, it was a whisper of a kiss at first. There was no overpowering smell of spirits, just the faint scent of tobacco, of him. As his lips moved against yours, firmer and seeking, you tried to mimic him, afraid not to do something. You must have done something right. He increased the pressure at the back of your neck to pull you closer, and your hands landed on his shoulders, crisp linen covering tight muscle under your palms, to keep your balance. When he deepened the kiss, you let him, and the slide of his tongue against yours gave him a deep taste of you. His deep moan surprised you, and you felt that subtle sound all through your body as he continued to kiss you breathless.

It was easy for him to pull you onto the bed and roll you under him, breathless as you were. When his mouth claimed yours again, his kiss was more demanding, and his hands were everywhere. Tommy managed to pull the shawl free of you without breaking the kiss, his hands then sliding down to work the worn leather Mary Janes you wore off your feet, tossing them off the side of the bed. One hand grabbed your ankle before sliding up your leg, up to cover the globe of your ass and panic had you jerking in his hold. 

Tommy pulled back to look you in the eye, his face flushed in his excitement and quiet intent. There was a wildness in his eyes—untamed, dangerous, something raw and unchecked. You doubted many had ever seen it, and for good reason. It wasn’t meant to be witnessed. His gaze searched yours, piercing, relentless, and you trembled in his arms, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it.

"I'm going to have you," he said breathlessly, his weight pinning your body to the bed. Grinding himself into your tummy, the hard, heated length of him was unmistakable, even with both of you clothed. His eyes darkened in sheer determination and his hold on you tightened. "You understand?"

You nodded quickly. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

Sliding his hand roughly up your body, he smoothed his hand over you cheek, his gaze never leaving you. Tommy kept watching you as that hand moved back down to pluck at the buttons of your blouse and his nimble fingers made quick work of it. Impatiently, his hands pulled the garment free of your skirt before undoing the buttons of your camisole beneath. You couldn't stop trembling as he undid the last barrier and peeled it back to reveal your upper body to him.

His gaze was sharp, moving over your breasts with growing impatience, hunger. With a delicacy you wouldn't have believed him capable of, his fingers traced over your collar bone, over the tiny gold cross pendant of your necklace. He trailed a finger over your skin, across to one breast, using that digit to tease your nipple to a tight peak with a gentle circular touch. When his heated gaze returned to yours, his filled his hand with your breast, squeezing firmly but not enough to hurt. Tommy began kissing you again, heated and greedy now, with his hand teasing your breast before sliding down your body and beneath your skirt. As if he knew you were about to start fighting him again, he broke the kiss to cover your breast, teasing it with his lips and tongue as his hand slid under your skirt, into your underwear. Sensation overwhelmed you, need battling fear, and your hands clutched in the bedding beneath you as his fingers teased your private flesh, the light pressure drawing sensations from your body that you'd never experienced. 

"You can touch me," he muttered around your nipple. It felt like a command. Your hands shook as they slid up to him, instinctively moving to his head. The glossy black locks of his short hair slid between your fingers as he continued to tease you relentlessly, burning you down with his mouth and hands. 

Chills and pulses of unexpected pleasure had you writhing feverishly beneath him as his tongue smoothed over your aching nipple and his fingers danced in the wet folds between your legs. Your breath sucked in when he touched your pearl, and he lifted his head to savor your reaction. Whatever he was doing with his fingers, all you knew was that it would soon drive you insane, continued but he didn't give you the speed or pressure you wanted. The touch was fleeting, maddening. Your fingers clutched in his hair as he continued to delicately torture you, your legs clamped around his hand because you couldn't help it in your need. And it didn't slow his efforts at all. 

When his touch stopped, you whined, an unfamiliar sound to you. In a frenzy of movement, Tommy unzipped your skirt and roughly yanked it off along with your underwear, your stockings. He wasn't satisfied until you were stripped bare beneath him, all of you trembling under the intensity of his stare. As he sat there next to you, taking every inch of you in, his fingers went to work with haste, undoing his tie, stripping off his waistcoat. His fingers flew at undoing the buttons of his own shirt which he pulled free of his trousers but didn't remove it. 

Tommy shifted down the bed and moved to throw one of your legs over his shoulder so fast, you didn't have time to react. And by the time you did, he'd buried his face between your thighs. The flames of humiliation only burned you for a few seconds. The man's mouth covered your sex, his tongue a wicked torment that was unfamiliar and almost too much to bear. One of his hands worked to keep your folds open, your curls out of his way, as he kissed your pussy as he had your mouth. The other slid up over your tummy with pressure, holding you in place for his wicked torment.

You accepted it but your entire body was shaking, shivering and it was impossible to stay still. Your back arched and you would have been horrified to realize that you were pushing yourself towards him, towards his mouth, wanting more, if you hadn't been so lost in the storm of sensation. What he was doing didn't make the fever better, it made it worse. It felt like fire running through your veins with raw need pooling low in your belly. When he slid a finger back to your pearl as he continued to work you with his mouth, you gasped. When his movements sped up, when his tongued traced your opening, you screamed long and loud. A wave of pure pleasure swept over you and he didn't stop what he was doing the entire time, dragging it out until you violently shook beneath him, crying and moaning as your body shivered and eased. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he moved up the bed toward you, his hands working the fine leather belt at the front of his trousers. He wore nothing beneath and the sight of his cock, angry red and larger than you expected, filled your vision as you watched him take himself in hand, working himself as his gaze roamed over you. Tommy shifted, one of his knees pushing yours apart. You let him, watching him drape himself over you. There was something obscene about the way he stripped you naked but was still mostly clothed himself. 

He surprised you by stopping then, a hand smoothing over your hair and face with care. You sensed he was holding back, respecting your inexperience. You knew it meant nothing to him but he realized it meant something for you, and your heart squeezed in your chest at the gesture. 

"It's going to hurt," he said, whispering against your lips. "Not for long. Hang onto me."

You did what he said, but slid your hands beneath his shirt, running your hands over the muscular plane his damp back. Your fingers found scars, a lot of them, but it gave you a distraction from the way he lined himself up with your entrance, the smooth head of him pressing into you insistently. It felt better to bring your legs up, your knees hovering around his hips. You held your breath as the pressure built, and the intrusion of him pushed further into your body. When he met that fleshy barrier inside you that proved your claim, Tommy surged through it, and the pain was searing. It took your breath away, had tears stinging your eyes as he completely filled you. Your tender walls quivered around him, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar length of him.

With the pad of his thumb, he caught a tear, brushing it away with a touch that was almost too careful for a man like him. Then, without a word, he lowered his head, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft, deliberate—unexpectedly tender. No force. No urgency. Just a slow, measured touch, as if, for once, Tommy Shelby was in no hurry to take what he wanted. He held still inside you, allowing you to adjust. Lost in the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure from his kisses, you found yourself clinging to the unexpected gentleness in his touch. A contradiction. A quiet mercy. Something you never would have expected from a man like him.

But the arrangement wasn’t over. Not yet. Not until he decided it was. Not until he was finished.

Slowly, he started moving inside you and it stung like fire as he thrust in and out of you. You knew you were wincing, but you'd be damned if you'd complain now. You wanted to be brave, feeling like you'd earn his respect if you were. And as he pushed in and out of you, the pain lessened and dulled, easing to be replaced with more of the sensation from before. The good ones. Before long your thighs were clamped around his hips as he plunged into you again and again. Hot, reckless kisses dropped over your face and breasts as he fucked you. Your arms and legs were wrapped around him but it was more than that. You weren't just lying there and thinking of England as you'd been advised by your mother and aunts. You were riding waves of unexpected pleasure, soaring to those heights again. Your hands became claws at his back, your nails carving into his skin. Your tighs tightened around his hips as you moved with him, wanting more, craving more.

His lips blazed a path to the sensitive skin of your throat, peppering your skin with kisses and swipes of his tongue as he rode you harder. The drive of him inside of you, his hands on your breasts, fingers teasing your pearl, drove you mad. You started begging him, pleading for release from the intense experience he was drowning you in.

"Please," you chanted.

He pushed you higher with your heart racing in your chest until he sent you flying again, crying and screaming as the man literally destroyed you. 

Tommy drove on above you and you knew he was now chasing his own end and you still held him. But it also occured to you in that moment that there was no birth control being used here, no condom or anything. You tried to steady your breathing, pushing down the rising panic. Surely, a man like Tommy Shelby wouldn’t want a bastard running around—wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. Tommy was many things—ruthless, dangerous, unreadable. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had more honor than that.

 As his movements sped up, his thrusts just shy of painful, you tensed, hoping he was going to pull out of you when his time came so there'd be no worry about a baby. Above you his eyes were closed, his mouth slack. The beauty of him in that moment made you pause as he came. When you jerked beneath him, his hands collared your wrists and pushed them into the bed by your head. Holding you there, he pumped himself into you growling as he did, thrust after thrust, and truthfully, you didn't have it in you to try and stop him. As if you even could.

Maybe it wouldn't take. You tried to shove that worry to the back of your mind, not even wanting to think about that right now.

He'd collapsed onto you, but his weight wasn't too much as his breathing rushed with yours. Running your fingers through his hair, you tried to stay calm. Your mind couldn't help jumping ahead. Now that the deed was done, you'd be sent back home. Everyone in Small Heath knew you'd been won in an ill-advised bet. Would other men consider you an easy mark? You couldn't count on your stepfather to protect you. 

Tommy pulled himself free from you and it stung. He stretched out next to you on the bed, his finger tracing the curve of your breast. He watched you in that way he does—too sharp, too knowing. His gaze settled on you, unreadable yet unrelenting. Then, in that low, measured voice, he asks, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

It’s not just a question. It’s a test. A challenge. Like he can already see the storm rising behind your eyes, the panic tightening in your chest as you grapple with the future he’s tangled you in.

You open your mouth, then close it. Because what do you even say to him? But he doesn’t look away. He waits. And somehow, that’s even worse. At the end of the day, only the arrangement mattered. His family’s honor was intact, the deal upheld—that was all that concerned him. Whatever you felt, whatever came next for you, wouldn’t change a thing. Tommy wasn’t the kind of man to concern himself with your plight. You knew that. It was better not to mention it at all.

So instead, you took the coward’s way out.

“Can I go home now?” The words left your lips, but somehow, they didn’t sound like a plea. More like a quiet resignation. A question you already knew the answer to.

Was that reluctance you saw in his face? Just for a flicker of a moment—something unreadable, something hesitant beneath the mask of indifference.

Tommy considers your question, his expression giving nothing away. But he studies you, weighing something. You can’t tell what. And that’s the most unsettling part.

With a deep sigh, he finally says, "You can."

As you start to sit up, you watch him search through your clothing on the bed, finding your simple underwear. You watch in stunned silenced as he carefully takes them and dips them between your legs, staining the white garment with your blood. When you instinctively reach for them—alarmed by the sight of your own blood, mortified by what he’s just done—Tommy’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unyielding. Before you can touch them, he moves them out of reach, his grip firm, his expression leaving no room for argument.

“I’m keeping these.” The finality in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Like a claim. Like a promise.

Why?

You were shaking as you watched him dress, dressing yourself as quickly as you could with shaking limbs. It was over now, right? Was your underwear stained with your blood proof that the arrangement was met? You were bleeding and he was keeping your undergarment. It was distressing. He must have noticed. Without a word, he stepped to a cabinet drawer and pulled out a clean, white towel, tossing it onto your lap.

"Clean yourself up," he said, already pulling on his coat and adjusting his cap with practiced ease. Then, just as effortlessly, "I'll be back to take you home."

And with that, he was gone.

You sat there, staring at the door he’d just disappeared through, the towel limp in your hands.

Tommy Shelby was taking you home.

A short, breathless laugh escaped before you could stop it. That would scare the shit out of your stepfather. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss you.

Or maybe—it wouldn’t matter at all. You didn't know what the future held for you or what impact this night would have on it.

***

Tommy’s grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw set in that familiar, unreadable line. The road stretched dark and empty ahead of him, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. He didn’t glance her way—didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of her presence beside him, could hear the way she shifted slightly in her seat, the tension rolling off her in waves.

This was necessary. That’s what he told himself. A loose end tied up, an arrangement upheld.

When he pulled up to Watery Lane, the headlights cut through the mist curling over the cobbled drive, illuminating the towering structure of Arrow House. The place had never really felt like home, but it served its purpose—just like everything in his world.

He killed the engine and stepped out first, running as he rounded the car and opened the door for her. She hesitated, just for a moment, then followed without a word. He could almost see the question in her mind. Why am I here?

Because he wanted her here. He wanted her. Tonight merely sealed her fate.

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the scent of wood smoke and aged whiskey lingering in the air. Tommy didn’t break stride, already pulling off his gloves as he spotted Polly standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, dark eyes sharp as they flicked between him and her.

“Take her up,” he said simply, voice low and clipped. “My room. Find her something to sleep in.”

Polly didn’t move right away. Instead, she gave him a look—one of those looks. The kind that didn’t need words, the kind only Polly could give.

It was half question, half judgment. What’s this, then?

Tommy exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, “Not now, Pol.”

With a slow shake of her head, she turned to his girl, her expression softening slightly as she gestured for her to follow.

Tommy watched for a second longer, then turned on his heel, heading straight for the whiskey decanter. He'd knock back a couple then he'd join her in sleep.

***

The house was quiet early the next morning, but Polly was already up.

Tommy found her in the sitting room, a cigarette between her fingers, an untouched cup of tea going cold on the table beside her. The morning light filtered weakly through the windows, casting a dull glow over the room. She didn’t look at him right away, just took a slow drag, exhaling through her nose before finally speaking. “That the girl Arthur won in a coin toss?”

Tommy poured himself a drink, even though it was too early for one. He took his time before answering. “It is.”

Polly’s gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing. “So why is she upstairs, in your room, and not with him? Or home with her family?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Just swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught in it. No rush. No need to explain himself.

But Polly wasn’t stupid. Her eyes narrowed slightly, putting the pieces together faster than most ever could. She leaned back in her chair, cigarette poised between her fingers, a slow smirk curving her lips. “You wanted her.” It wasn’t a question.

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. But Polly was already seeing through him, like she always did. Like she always had.

“You let Arthur think it was his idea.” Her voice was quieter now, more dangerous. “Tricked her stepfather into wagering her. Then drugged Arthur when the time came to claim her. Waited, knowing she’d panic, knowing she’d run. And who was there, ready to catch her?” She let the silence hang for a beat before answering her own question. “You.”

Tommy tilted his head, nonchalant, unreadable. He took another slow sip of whiskey before finally meeting Polly’s gaze.

She sighed, shaking her head as if tired of playing this game with him. “What are your intentions, Thomas?”

Another pause. Another flicker of something in his eyes. He could lie. He could deflect. But Polly wouldn’t believe him, and they both knew it.

So instead, he took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and simply said—“She’s mine.”

Polly let out a breath, long and slow, before muttering, “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

Tommy had already made his decision.

Arthur would know soon enough. There’d be no shouting, no drunken outburst—just the facts, laid out cleanly, irrefutably. Tommy would hand over proof that the arrangement had been upheld, that the wager had been honored in the way that mattered. It would be enough to keep Arthur from questioning him, enough to silence any complaints before they started.

As for the girl’s stepfather? He would be a cautionary tale. A reminder of what happened when someone gambled with the Shelbys and lost. When a debt was called, when something was taken and then never seen again. Her sudden disappearance—her absence—would be enough to send a whisper of fear through Small Heath, a warning to any fool who might ever think to challenge them again.

And in time, when the dust settled, when the moment was right—he would marry her. Not because of obligation. Not because of the arrangement.

Because she was his.

[nemesis-writer]

POV- Writing for ____x reader fic

[mydear-corinthian]

phone call

synopsis - tommy receives a phone call in the middle of having sex with his wife.

pairing - tommy shelby x reader / thomas shelby x reader

warnings - SMUT +18, rough sex, use of foul language, breeding kink, praising kink, creampie, just full of porn, unprotected sex, p in v

notes - short (w.c <850), gif and picture isn't mine, divider is mine

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

His hands explored every inch of your sensitive body with a satisfying touch that sent shivers down your spine. There was an irresistible affection between the two of you that was endless. Your breath caught as his dominant, wild hip thrusts into yours, causing hectic, unrestrained moans with every thrust.

"Oh my God- yes, Thomas!"

As he pushed you farther into the mattress, his weight and heat surrounded you as you lay beneath him, your bodies linked. He drew closer as your legs coiled around his hips, stretching you in the most delicious way as he slid deeper with each thrust. Tommy started to breathe hard, his chest heaving as sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down to mix with the heat from your smooth skin. He met your gaze with lust and something deeper than that.

"Yes, baby.. fuck- you take me so well.. so fucking well," he praised on your ear as he rested his head on your neck, his deep thrusts not stopping.

The telephone on top of the nightstand beside your shared bed rang loudly. Your husband stopped, looking at the phone near him.

Who the fuck is calling at this hour?

Tommy picked the phone up, not leaving the bed.

"Thomas Shelby." he answered.

You expected him that he would draw away and stop, especially when the phone rang. He stopped and reached for it, and you felt upset. Tommy, though, chose to stay still and answered the phone with one hand while tightening his grip on your waist with the other and suddenly thrusting his hips forward once more.

His thrusts continued to shock you, causing your body to tense in surprise, but before you could respond, pleasure took over. His cock sank farther, each malicious movement finding that exact spot. You ended up speechless by both of his soothing phone voice and the way he caused your body to react to him.

"What ha-happened?" Tommy asked over the phone, his breathing heavily telling each question with a struggled and unsteady voice. He attempted to keep his composure, but the force of his motions made it almost impossible as his chest rose and fell quickly. As he tried to concentrate on the talk, you could feel his heart thumping against your body and his breath rapid and hot against your skin.

Tommy looked at you, a smirk painted on his face. With his free hand, his fingers toyed with your hardened nipples, brushing them and squeezing it.

"Tomm-" you covered your mouth immediately as you nearly moaned his name out loud, afraid of whoever is on the phone hearing that Tommy is fucking his wife at the moment.

"Yeah, I'll handle that tomorrow morning," his voice was deep making you feel wetter and wetter. A familiar feeling coiled down through your stomach.

"Tommy, I'm so close," you quietly moaned. Your fingers gripped the silk bedsheets tightly as you felt your high coming.

The room was filled with the constant sound of your bodies meeting, the heat between you growing with each slap of flesh on skin. Your thoughts were taken over by the intense pleasure that was shooting through your entire body as your eyelids fluttered closed, buried in a fog of ecstasy. You vaguely heard Tommy drop the phone somewhere in the distance, but it didn't really matter. The way he grabbed you closer and pounded your hips with such merciless pace that every thrust sent shivers of pleasure through your entire body was all that mattered. Heavy intakes of breath from him, merging with your groans as he pushed you both to the edge.

"Good girl, yes, yes.. Finish on my cock."

Tommy experienced the same closeness as your cock clenched all over it. With a deep moan, he raised your right leg to his shoulders. He treated you like the most precious gemstones that thieves like him could take. Tommy groaned and praised as his head rolled back.

"D'you want me to cum inside you? Breed you? Make you mine?"

"Yes, yes! Fill me up, sir! Please!"

His back was scratched by your nails, and in a few hours, scars will definitely begin to appear. You groaned, breasts bouncing and the bed creaking with every pound.

And then, after a few more thrusts, he smashed deep inside of you until he poured all of his seed into your abused and tight walls. It was warm and filled. Tommy groaned loudly and pleased, then rested his head on the side of your neck to inhale yourself. He waited until every last drop of his cum filled you before pulling out.

As soon as he pulled out, a mixture of his and your load leaked outside your throbbing pussy. Tommy got up, grabbing a box of tissue and cleaned the both of you up.

"Who was that?" you asked.

"Just the betting shop asking for me to check on something."

"You think they.. heard me?"

"I'm sure they did and I'm glad so that they know how much I fucking please my lovely wife." he chuckled before planting another kiss to your lips.

You gladly kissed him back but the kiss deepened and the both of you know what that means.

Another round.

[fel-09]

A Woman who can't drink is a disaster 18+

Pairing: tommy Shelby x reader

Warning: Alcohol consumption ,Content 18+

Author's note:The only thing I did badly was the ending, because I could have written it much better. And I want to sleep

She doesn't often get drunk, but when she does, she turns it into an art form. Alcohol dissolves in her blood, softening her movements, making them smooth, graceful as a cat's, and yet completely reckless. Once she's had a couple of drinks, all her restraint goes to hell: she becomes talkative, sarcastic, unbearably free.

Thomas hates it.

He hates the way she absent-mindedly shakes the glass in her fingers, lazily watching the amber liquid play. The way she squints her eyes, trying to remember a word, and wrinkles her nose when her memory fails her. The way he stretches out the words, as if savoring them, and then finds a special pleasure in it and laughs, throwing back his head. He hates even that laughter itself - too sonorous, too lively, too frank.

He sits across from her, exhaling blue smoke, but he can't help but stare. Catching every gesture, every curve of her lips, every drunken sigh. He can't bear to see her gradually lose control, her guard dulled, and the world around her become nothing but a haze.

She doesn't belong to him, but at times like this it feels like she belongs to something else-this warm, clammy, foggy state that alcohol draws her into.

And that makes him angry.

Because she has to be edgy, defiant, sharp as ever. Should respond to his glances with equally barbed ones, full of hidden challenge, but now-now she's different.

And yet he doesn't take his eyes off her. Because even so - insufferable, drunk, unceremonious - she's still the one who keeps him in suspense.

And the funny thing about all of this is that she, on her fifth binge, decides to teach him.

Okay, he can understand it when she's sober when she's telling him her grievances. When she says, with her usual sarcasm, that he should be friendly once in a while, or, for example, "don't barge into the house like a torpedo". These are her words, her quotation, thrown to him once with an irritated wave of her hand when he came in too sharply, too impetuously, too ... Shelbyesque.

But now--now it was different.

Now he was looking at a woman who could hardly stand on her feet, who was lazily running her finger over the rim of a glass, speaking in a stammering tongue, talking nonsense. He doesn't even listen to what she's talking about. At first he tried to catch the meaning, but quickly gave up. At some point her speech became so ridiculous that even he, who had seen everything, became annoyed.

Thomas nervously lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag, one hand resting on his hip as if trying to keep himself in reality. He doesn't know what to do with her. Completely.

Chase her away? She'll only laugh.

Leave her here? Tomorrow she'll accuse him of being heartless.

Try to calm her down? It's ridiculous to even try.

He looks at her sideways, slowly exhaling smoke, and she, all in her drunken philosophy, doesn't notice his murderous stare. She keeps on talking. Something important, I guess. Something important to her.

And he--and he just doesn't know where to put this woman anymore.

And then it finally hit.

A phrase that would scar his mind forever. A phrase that made him wonder if he had made some fatal mistake when he let this woman into his life.

- Did you know that if you put a frog on a drum set, it becomes a musician against its will?

Thomas froze. Just froze in place, unable to even inhale. He stared at her, blinked once, then again, but the words still didn't make sense.

And she, satisfied with her thought, continued, finishing him off:

- "And anyway, someone looked at the cow first and decided: "I'll milk this one."

It was too much. It pressed on his psyche harder than war, than business, than any betrayal.

He took a nervous drag on his cigarette, feeling that a little more and his sanity would simply refuse to take it.

She opened her mouth again, but he raised his hand sharply, cutting short the nightmare:

- Shut up. Just...shut up.

Even Arthur preferred to disappear at times like this. He could be anything - reckless, irascible, irascible, boisterous - but not an idiot to voluntarily stay by her side when she was drunk.

John... John was already broken. She had plunged him into the abyss of her "fairy tales" time after time, and now he, traumatized, had been sitting in the closet for hours and didn't seem to have any intention of coming out. Perhaps he was trying to make sense of his life there. Perhaps he was simply resigned to his fate.

And Thomas... Thomas was now taking the fall for everyone.

He exhaled heavily, watching her stretch lazily, still carrying the hell out of her, satisfaction in her eyes. She's enjoying this. She knows damn well she's getting on everyone's nerves, but she keeps going.

Poor Finn. Finn escaped that fate. He was lucky.

He was the youngest, so he was entitled to be saved.

Another drop in the ocean.

A single drop in this never-ending barrage of nonsense, but it was the last.

Thomas couldn't stand it.

His gaze fell on her face, sliding over her squinting eyes, her eyebrows, slightly mockingly arched. Her lips - slightly swollen from alcohol and endless chatter, moist, unbearably irritating... but they were the ones he lingered on.

At that moment. he realized.

He realized that even though she pissed him off, even though she drove him crazy every night when she got drunk and started her nonstop stream of words, even though he was ready to run away anywhere to avoid hearing it....

He listened anyway.

Every word. Every goddamn letter. Not because he was a masochist.

It was because it was her.

- And you know, I--

He didn't let her finish.

Her voice-that melodic, slightly dragging, drunken voice that made him both mad and maddened at the same time-had to stop. Now.

His patience was wearing thin.

Thomas grabbed her wrist, and before she realized what was happening, he had her in his lap.

She blinked, but before she could even squeak, his palms firmly gripped her thighs, forcing her against his torso.

to wrap her arms around his torso.

Hot breath, heavy, slightly hitching-she was still trying to figure out what was going on, but he didn't leave her a second to think.

Their lips met.

Not gently, not slowly, not tenderly - greedily, demandingly, with a complete determination to shut her up once and for all.

She shuddered, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, instinctively clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

Lips hot, soft, yet firm, hard, commanding. Thomas wasn't asking, he was taking.

His breathing became confused. He wouldn't let go.

Kissed, going deeper, greedier, with the same desperation that built up in him every time she spoke, spoke, spoke....

Lips. The taste of whiskey and something sweet. Her hands lost in his hair.

She twitched as if trying to pull away, but he was stronger. He held on.

Until at some point he felt her respond.

Warm fingers traveled down his neck, slid into his hair, clawed.

He wheezed into the kiss as her nails scratched his skin slightly.

- Just shut the fuck up.

Deafeningly. Powerful. Deeper than a whisper, but louder than he wanted.

She gasped, but didn't push away.

Shit. She was letting him.

The heat grew, coating her head with heat.

Her body responded to his every gesture, every strong, insistent kiss.

His fingers gripped her thigh greedily, digging into the soft skin, leaving hot marks that would be felt for a long time to come.

She could barely breathe.

Thomas felt her breathing hitch, her body involuntarily pulling closer, pressing tighter against him.

He wasn't thinking anymore.

His hips moved on their own, measured, pressing against her center through her clothes, stretching this moment to the point of madness.

A deep exhale, slightly hoarse, tinged with raw pleasure.

She could feel everything.

The heat of another man's body, the weight of his hands, each careful but unbearably maddening thrust forward, as if he were testing her patience, pushing her to the brink.

His lips found her neck.

Hot, greedy, demanding. He wasn't just kissing - he was digging into her skin, leaving marks, absorbing her reaction.

Thomas moved, slow, steady, endlessly teasing.

And he could hear her breathing.

Nervous, short, barely contained.

Shit.

She was reaching for him.

His patience was breaking.

Her nails scraped his neck, her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as if she were trying to stay afloat, but things had already taken another turn.

Thomas squeezed her hips harder, pulling her against him, provoking her, forcing her to feel him fully.

Muffled, heavy, he exhaled through gritted teeth:

- I warned you, don't fucking bring me down.

Clothes had long since been lying on the floor, forgotten, unwanted. The room was thick, enveloping darkness, and the air, soaked with the warmth of their bodies, was heavy, rich, electrified

.

The climax came like a thunderclap, like a flash of lightning, shattering reality for an instant, leaving behind only a sense of finality.

She collapsed in his arms, barely breathing, lips slightly ajar, lashes quivering with residual impulses.

Thomas stared at her for a long moment, almost wistfully. Her features seemed softer in the darkness, a shadow falling across her collarbones, and her lips looked kissed to oblivion.

His heart was still pounding in his chest, but he was in no hurry to move.

Just watched.

She looked completely different. Not defiant, not cocky, not like she'd been in a drunken stupor when he'd been ready to throw her out the door, but different....

Calm. Real. His.

He was in no hurry to let her go, no hurry to speak.

Just ran his palm down her back, slowly, from neck to waist, letting her feel every movement of his fingers.

Thomas leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead, slowly, thoughtfully, discreetly but gently.

He knew that in the morning everything would be back to normal.

She'd argue again, claw at him with phrases again, pretend she didn't care again.

But right now - right now he was just being with her.

Thomas exhaled, ran his hand through her hair, letting himself freeze in that brief moment of silence, of peace, of truth.

And then, leaning back, he stared up at the ceiling and thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe....

Maybe he didn't mind so much the whole damn disaster that was calling her.

She was just coming to, feeling someone else's warmth slowly drifting away from the sheets. The air in the room was saturated with cigarette smoke, the smell of whiskey, and something else-something that hadn't belonged to her before but was now embedded in her skin.

Her body ached. But it was a pleasant soreness.

She moved, feeling the soft fabric against her skin. The shirt was clearly not hers - too loose, slightly wrinkled, soaked with his scent. When she lifted her hand, the cuff slipped off, exposing her wrist.

She wasn't quite awake yet, but she could feel it - feel his gaze.

Thomas stood nearby, silent, smoking.

Naked to the waist, with a slight shadow of stubble on his face, he looked at her as if he'd already made up his mind.

There was none of the usual mockery, irritation, desire to leave.

Only a strange, unaccustomed calmness.

He smoked slowly, lazily, as if he were thinking something over, and then - without unnecessary emotion, simply as a statement of fact - he said:

- I take responsibility.

She froze.

The dream was gone instantly.

He didn't even look at her - he just threw the cigarette into the ashtray, shook the ash out with his hand, and continued smoking as if nothing had happened.

But to her, it had.

Her brain refused to make sense of those words.

Responsibility?

For what? For whom?

She sat up on the bed, one hand holding the collar of her shirt, her hair tangled, her breathing still ragged from sleep.

- Tommy...

He didn't let her finish.

He simply stepped closer, keeping his eyes on her face, and, slowly, with the same devilish confidence that drove her mad, he leaned over and said

her into a frenzy, he leaned over and said:

- Get used to it. You're mine now.

Get used to it.

It's not a request.

It's a sentence.

[aias-fxtns]

Forward lads! Forward!, Tommy closed his eyes, face contorting as he battled against the echoing orders that had followed him home to English soil. Battled with the shrieking hiss of the teapot muffling the sound of his aunt's voice, when another suddenly snapped him out of the sweaty panic rising on the nape of his neck.

How long would he keep this up?, your gaze darted to each freckle, to the crystal specks in his eyes catching the morning sun as your heart ached for him to talk to you. Ached to see a glimpse of the man who kissed you goodbye four years ago.

It getting worse than last time. Here we, might as well book for a therapy session after this one. LMAO.

Both are suffering from the pain caused by the war but both experienced different kinds of war. The one was literal and other wasn't. I hope they will find their peace and each other again wherein both are healed. They deserve it, they deserve to be free from the constant horror on their minds.

For unlike the men that had returned screaming of the horrors of war, Tommy had returned silent. A silence she feared not even you could release him from to let the screams that so desperately needed to be heard, free.

Awe, wow. This is peak cinema.

"Why would they wana be me, eh? I don't even wana be me" Tommy's grumbling response quickly shrouded the moment as he snapped his scanning eyes away from the smiles and nods of respect sent his way.

"Old men make war, so young men can die. And I've seen many kids die. They have no place playing soldier, love" his sentiments for his superiors, for the echoing words he shared with Sean had you digging your heels into the ground as you pulled your hand from his.

"They know nothing of war" he swevered through the streets of people with you in tow. His agitation for the growing bustle that came with the morning rush, felt through his tightening grip on your hand.

"Pretty please?" a boyish grin appeared on the corners of his lips, causing you to quickly surrender to its charm with a nod of your head as you left your worries behind for a sense of the same normalcy he craved.

Ahhh, genuine smiling and grinning Tommy top tier moments.

And they live happily ever after, the end. Yeah, let's end it here now, aye....

"Well, we can't be doing that. I need you in one piece" you rested your hand on his chest with a gentle tap, eyes beaming up at him as his fingers swept over the curves of your hips.

I scream everytime I caught them having fluff moments it like treasure hunting at this point😭. It's very rare.

"Fuck..." you slumped back against the rattling walls, head thudding against the papered concrete in frustration.

Why the heck did just my head played one of Adele's song in my head as I continue reading this chapter, especially on this part.... it's concerning😭😭😭

"Tommy please, wake up!" you began to sob in a panic as you watched the colour drain from his face, his chest rise with heavy labored breaths. " Polly, help!"

"Thomas!" the mothering boom of Polly's voice rattled the walls as she threw open the door to see him looming over you with a gun pointed to your head.

No words, just this gif.

Lips falling silent, Tommy turned his back to your trembling body as his heart sank to the back of his chest, hardening with a one worded order that threatened to change the course of your relationship, shutting you out and throwing you into the arms of another.

"Leave."

Here we go! Ahhhh, I can't. Not me trying to gaslight myself that the next chapter isn't angstier than this😭. Let's just ignore this part, yeah....

Sweet Dreams, Darling (Part Six)

Summary: As Tommy's hold on the torment in his mind begins to slip further from his control, Sean relays the unsettling events he witnessed the previous night. But when his sly move to put a wedge between you and Tommy catches your soldiers eye, you are left to deal with not only his growing paranoia but a harrowing night that'll leave you scared for your life in the arms of the man who fought to keep you safe.

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, PTSD, hallucinations, depictions of war, depictions of death, suicidal thoughts.

Word Count: 4K

Authors Note: The last scene of this chapter will include a dream sequence that's highlighted in bold and italics so you can differentiate between what's part of the nightmare and what's not. Happy reading!

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

" Don't say it, mum" Tommy's eyes sheepishly past those of his mother in the framed picture hanging on the landing wall with a heavy sigh of embarrassment as he beat the morning's rising sun, and made his way down the wooden stairs before the house woke to a new day.

Hands brushing through the length of his hair, he sat at the dining table with eyes absently staring at the chipped wood. Waiting with grinding teeth for the first sound of noise as the previous night's hazy events, cleared for its accompanying shame to hurl a barrage of questions at his tired mind. Was he as lost as Danny? As far gone as him?

"Tea?" Polly's voice and creaky steps saved him from the face-slapping reality of how quickly, how easily, he had fallen for his fellow soldiers chanting orders.

" I see" her brow arched at the empty glass of whiskey sat between his hands and the unenthusiastic grunt of a response sent her way as she sauntered to the copper tea pot before she too, reached for something stronger to see her through the day.

With all forms of conversation seemingly off the table, Polly settled herself into the small armchair by the fire. The days' news grasped between her fingers with an observant eye over her nephew and the battle of wills with himself he was losing against.

For just as the first morning rays of sun had begun to appear through the netted curtains of Watery Lane, so had Tommy's heightened senses, still as sharp as his last day of battle. A blood-pumping alertness that had his clenched fists straining against his rattling fingers as his eyes snapped to each flicker of noise.

" We took over a hundred pounds in winnings last month" Polly curiously watched over the printed paper in her hand for a response as Tommy's face flinched away from the shrill of a bicycle's ringing bell, pedaling past their front door. A snapping glance away from each crisp turn of the pages between her fingers. His eyes honing in on the steaming kettle, bubbling its way to its whistling finale.

" No, two hundred..." her voice petered out as she lowered the journal to her lap, watching the information that would in any other circumstance, garner her nephews immediate attention within seconds as a plan to double their intake for the next month simultaneously formulated in his mind.

Eyes glaring at the harmless threat in front of him, Tommy watched the small kettle rumble against the hob of the iron cooker as his tunneling vision blurred out every object, every buzzing noise around him with readiness for the whistling command that would send him over into enemy lines.

Forward lads! Forward!, Tommy closed his eyes, face contorting as he battled against the echoing orders that had followed him home to English soil. Battled with the shrieking hiss of the teapot muffling the sound of his aunt's voice, when another suddenly snapped him out of the sweaty panic rising on the nape of his neck.

" Ready?" you appeared with a smile at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting the pin in your hat as Tommy abruptly launched from his seat with heavy strides towards the blowing kettle, throwing it into the sink beside him.

" Tommy...?" your eyes widened as you watched his shoulders hunch over, fists clench against the tin basin with hissing teeth at the burn blistering his palm.

Frightened eyes snapping to Polly, you slowly took an apprehensive step forward when she came to stand between you and your injured soldier with a shake of her head.

Hand clutching yours, her hazel eyes deepened with dread at the premonitions she had foreseen as they settled upon her lost nephew, stood with his back to you, looking down at his trembling hand and the searing pain radiating under his reddening skin.

Clearing the knotted embarrassment from his throat, Tommy pulled his weighted coat around his shoulders. Blistering palm catching the edges of its padded lapels before darting out to his side for you to take.

"Y/N?" his voice broke through the silence as he stepped from foot to foot. Coated back to you with an unwillingness to come face to face with you and his aunt after his slipping mind had you witnessing the harrowing aftermath the war had on him.

" Please..." his voice croaked with desperation to hide the shame he felt, the urgency he had to forget the uncontrollable whispers he shared with his brothers in arms.

As his splayed fingers ushered you forward, you steadied your trembling lip, brushed back the frightened tears pooling in your eyes as you mindfully reached for his hand and the oozing burn surfacing on his palm.

Without another word, Tommy intertwined his fingers with yours in a tight grasp as he stayed unresponsive to the scorching pain searing his skin. Stubbornly keeping up the facade of a man sound of mind as he pulled you with him to the front door with an unmoving face.

With the sound of the brassy lock clicking shut, Polly lowered herself to perch on the arm of the upholstered chair as the forbading words she had once spoken taunted her with a reality far worse.

For unlike the men that had returned screaming of the horrors of war, Tommy had returned silent. A silence she feared not even you could release him from to let the screams that so desperately needed to be heard, free.

Shit.

Out onto the bustling streets of Small Heath, and away from the terraced house that weighed heavy with gloom since the three brothers return, you walked with hurried steps alongside Tommy down the streets of his childhood town. An outing suggested by him, made in the hopes of not only escaping the pressure of what needed to be addressed, but to decompress back into civilian life with the only thing he needed next to him. His peace, his reassuring comfort. You.

Hand grasped tightly within his, an internal wince for the injury he was adamant on neglecting had your stomach turn with worry as your eyes drifted up to his unwavering stare at the cobbled street ahead.

How long would he keep this up?, your gaze darted to each freckle, to the crystal specks in his eyes catching the morning sun as your heart ached for him to talk to you. Ached to see a glimpse of the man who kissed you goodbye four years ago.

" Welcome home, Mister" a young boy stood to attention with a salute. Stick rifle perched on his shoulder as his dimpled-cheeked, and muddy-kneed gang of friends looked on in awe.

" They want to be like you" you turned into his side, hand resting on his chest with pride as you ushered his attention with a nod of your head to the beaming eyes of children watching a hero in their mist.

"Why would they wana be me, eh? I don't even wana be me" Tommy's grumbling response quickly shrouded the moment as he snapped his scanning eyes away from the smiles and nods of respect sent his way.

"Tommy, don't say such things" your brow furrowed with disappointment at the qualities you saw in him, he had begun to loathe.

" They know nothing of war" he swevered through the streets of people with you in tow. His agitation for the growing bustle that came with the morning rush, felt through his tightening grip on your hand.

" They're Finn's age, Tommy. Kids. They're just kids" you winced, feeling the heat of his injury radiating against your hand as he marched you along the street at a quickened pace.

" Old men make war, so young men can die. And I've seen many kids die. They have no place playing soldier, love" his sentiments for his superiors, for the echoing words he shared with Sean had you digging your heels into the ground as you pulled your hand from his.

" Why would you say that?" your eyes bubbled with anger as Tommy hissed with a darting glance down at the burn to his hand hitting the cool January air.

" What's wrong, Tommy? This morning..." you grabbed his wrist, turning it for him to see the flakey skin scorched by his sudden outburst.

"...last night" your voice quietened as you gently cupped your palm over his, eyes drifting up to see his darting blues searching for something to say that would ward you off from digging any further.

"I'm just...I'm fucking tired, Y/N. Tired of everyone on my back, staring at me like I'm some bloody circus act, alright?" his snapping words came with instant regret, when you released his hand from yours and a lone tear fell to your cheek.

" Are they not allowed to be proud of you, Tommy? Am I not allow..." you held back your feelings of rejection, giving in to the notion that you were the cause of his sour mood for a second day running after being met with nothing but silence from him.

"Just, forget it" your eyes cast down in disappointment as you turned with a heavy sigh to leave him in the peace you believed you were hindering.

" Shit" he huffed under his breath as he brushed his fingers down his furrowed brow before spinning on his heel to the maze of alleyways that would see him back onto the main street and directly in your path.

" Hey!" he appeared from the bricked gulley of potholes with darting feet and steadying hands in front of you. " I didn't..."

" I'm going home, Tommy. So I'm no longer on your...back" you quickly interrupted, hurt feelings made clear as you wiggled yourself free of his hold.

"Fuck sake" he mumbled, tightening jaw and regretful eyes watching you walk down the cobbled street before he jogged back into the row of alleyways to catch up with you.

" Come on, love. Don't do this to me, eh?" he reappeared directly in front of your stuttering heels with persistence to make up for his blundering statement once again.

"Y/N, look at me " he blocked each of your dodging steps as his hands came up to your cheeks, lifting your face to meet the heavy guilt in his.

"I didn't mean you, darling. Never you" his voice softened as he brushed the whispers of hair from your reddened face, wetted with tears.

" Leave me alone, Tommy" you felt the past twenty-four hours of rejection come to a head as you turned your face from his pruning fingers, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

" Hey, come on" he kept you in place, battling against your swatting fingers with a heavy sigh.

" I wanted to spend the day with you. Just you and me, eh?" His hands fell to his side in surrender, dipping his head down to catch your eyes as you remained unconvinced with folded arms.

"We'll do anything you want. Shops, a walk down by the cut. Anything just to feel..." he stopped himself from saying how he really felt, from what he desperately needed from you. Normality.

"Please?" his hand brushed down your arm as you looked up through your lashes with doe eyes at the man that could talk you into anything if given the chance.

"Pretty please?" a boyish grin appeared on the corners of his lips, causing you to quickly surrender to its charm with a nod of your head as you left your worries behind for a sense of the same normalcy he craved.

"Fine" you looked up through hooded eyes with a shy smile at the playfulness you had missed, the familiarity that had your heart flutter against your chest as he settled his heavy hand on the curve of your back.

" There she is. My girl" Tommy quietly mouthed, pulling you into his chest as his heart swelled at the smile that he, not Ada, nor Polly or anyone else, had coaxed from you. A smile made just for him.

After a stroll into town, and a pop into the local shops for a basket full of life's essentials, you and Tommy headed home in high spirits. Unaware of the following footsteps of a stray lurking nearby.

" That best not be for me, love" Tommy mumbled through the cigarette perched between his lips as his eyes shot down to the silver-canned staple every soldier had begrudgingly lived off for the past four years in the small basket perched on your arm.

" I thought you might be missing it" you brow furrowed suspiciously at the tinned Spam nestled within the many packets of biscuits that Tommy's sweet tooth made sure they saw their way into your woven basket without your knowledge.

"Open me up, and there'll be cans of the fucking stuff" he chuckled, sliding his hand over your waist with a stroking tickle as his eyes creased with a smile at the delightful giggles he'd wooed from you.

" Well, we can't be doing that. I need you in one piece" you rested your hand on his chest with a gentle tap, eyes beaming up at him as his fingers swept over the curves of your hips.

" Do you now?" his gaze darkened with mischievousness as his hand dipped with a smirk to cup your bum.

" Tommy..." you swatted him away as your eyes darted in a panic for any onlookers that may have witnessed his roaming hands trying to cop a feel.

" Tom!" Charlie, friend to the family and adopted uncle to all the Shelby children, appeared around the corner across the bustling road with a wave of his hand.

"Keep those naughty thoughts for when we get back home, eh? I won't be a minute" he whispered into your ear with a quick pinch to your backside before darting through the oncoming traffic for the street across the road.

" Your naughty thoughts" you corrected him with a wave of your finger as he shot you a cheeky wink over his shoulder.

Head turning to the shop window beside you, your fingers came up to your smiling lips as Tommy's returned playfulness left you both with sparks of excitement to pick up from your disastrous attempt to reconnect the previous night, when a whistle snapped you out of your daydreams.

" Lover boys back then. What's left of him that is" Sean appeared, stood with his back against a truck of goods with muddy boots unlaced around his ankles. His chosen spot of approach, hidden from the street of people on the opposite side of the bustling road. Or more importantly, hidden from said lover boy.

"What do you want, Sean?" you mumbled under your breath as you turned to see Tommy shooting you a smile from over the traffic before returning to the list of demands he'd bestowed upon his grunting uncle.

"Won't be long until he snaps too, sweetheart. These brave soldiers are dropping like flies. One, by, one. Don't be telling me you ain't seen it" he sniffed as he settled his hands into his trouser pockets, kicking a pebble across the cobbled street to the bricked building in front of him.

"Not my, Tommy!" you spat back, stepping a foot forward with arms folded in defense as your reddening cheeks betrayed you with the worry you had for the state of your returning soldiers mind.

"Really?" he smirked with enjoyment at your blushing cheeks and the lie he had unearthed as Tommys eyes looked over the steady stream of cars to see you in conversation with someone hidden from his sight.

" Saw him last night, Y/N. Falling about in the middle of the street, shouting like a fucking mad man. He's got a screw loose, darling" he tapped the side of his head, creasing eyes watching the information he'd relayed sink in.

As your eyes rimmed red with the severity of Tommy's slipping hold on his inner thoughts, he caught sight of your retreating feet from the small truck through the bustle of the road separating you.

" Y/N!" his concerns for your wellbeing and sudden change in cheery demeanour had him seeing Charlie off with a nod of his head before he swerved through the traffic to get back to you.

" You know where I am" Sean quickly turned on his heel, confident that if things fell apart you'd return to him as a last resort and uphold your end of the unspoken deal made near a decade ago.

" You alright? Who was that, eh?" Tommy jogged up to you, cupping your elbow as his squinting eyes darted down the street through the lines of people.

" Can we go?" your eyes cautiously drifted up to his, searching for the madness Sean had seen the previous night, for the flickers of unpredictability you had put down to fatigue as Tommy nodded his head with a furrowed brow.

" Here, give it to me" he took the basket from your arm, head snapping over his shoulder to see none other than Sean turning into an alleyway with a smirk glaring back at him. A teasing grin that had Tommy's paranoia plummeting to the bottom of his stomach with a gut-wrenching fear that kept every fighting soldier up at night with worry across the channel in France. Betrayal.

Back in the warmth of your shared home, you unloaded the shopping onto the large mahogany table as Tommy began to circle around you with a nagging need for answers as he shrugged off his coat.

" Hungry?" you giggled with two packets of his biscuit of choice in each hand as an orange spark of a match caught your eye.

With only a shake of his head for an answer, you turned to the cupboard draws to tidy away the pile of groceries as Tommy watched you from across the table, jaw tethering with suspicion as he thumbed over the cigarette perched between his fingers.

" Couldn't sit there and do nothing?" his paranoia finally got the better of him after the many stories of betrayal told to him about his fellow soldiers sweethearts back home in England, began to pick at his memory.

" Hm?" you hummed, tiptoeing to reach the small cabinet of silverware for a place to stash the months' worth of biscuits brought by him. Unaware of the distrust that had already embedded itself into his tired mind.

" That's what you said in France. That you couldn't just sit back in England and do nothing. No?" the turn in his voice had you slowly settle your feet down onto the wooden floorboards as you caught his piercing stare in the silver platter in front of you.

" That's what I said" you lifted your chin in agreement, turning to face him with fidgety hands brushing down the front of your dress as your eyes flickered to and from his unwavering glare.

" Had nobody here to keep you company?" he worked his way around his unspoken accusations as it became clear to you that he'd caught sight of Sean. The mere glimpse of him, enough to provoke his slipping paranoia.

" Well, I had your Aunt and Ad..."

"Always fucking running. What were you running from this time, eh?" he interrupted, unconvinced by the answer that had grated at his mind ever since the day you left the trenches of France. Unconvinced of the story you had told him that spring day in 1914 down by the canal when he quizzed you about your reasons for returning to Birmingham.

"You running from something, Y/N? Someone?" he began to stalk forward, coming to stand in front of you as your hands clutched the kitchen worktop behind you at his frightening approach.

" What are you trying to say, Tommy?" you looked up at his searching eyes, blinking through the fatigue that had him questioning your loyalty towards him.

" Nothing" his lips pursed together, weighted breath lifting from his lungs as he snapped his head away to make space for the reasoning slowly pushing through his foggy thoughts.

So tired, so fucking tired, he pinched his brow as a thumping headache rattled against his skull.

" You...you must rest, Tommy. Sleep" you watched his broad shoulders hunch over the table as his back rose with a heavy sigh.

" Tommy?" you stepped forward, gently resting your hand on his broad frame, only for your gentle approach to quickly slip from him as he turned for the stairs.

"Where you going?" your rimmed eyes followed his heavy steps up the creaky stairs, head craning around the wall waiting on a response. "Tommy?"

" Following fucking orders" he mumbled under his breath from the top of the landing before the door to his bedroom slammed shut.

"Fuck..." you slumped back against the rattling walls, head thudding against the papered concrete in frustration.

Was he right to think you had betrayed him?, you blamed yourself for your decision to withhold the pushing factor that had you fleeing into the eye of the storm. Blamed yourself for the secrets you kept from him to safeguard his heart.

But a betrayal nonetheless, you ignored your reasoning behind your actions as you slid down to the wooden floorboards in tears, guilting yourself into believing that when trying to save your own back, you went behind his.

Yes. A betrayal, indeed. But not one of the heart that Tommy's paranoia would have him believe. But one from a place of care, in hopes of saving him from another crushing weight of worry that would weigh heavy on his mind. A mind that had returned needing to be nursed back together. One that was silently screaming for help. One you would see the depths of darkness it had been plunged into that very night when all those residing on Watery Lane drifted into a peaceful slumber. All but one, that was.

"Steady lads, steady" Tommy held his rifle tightly against his chest, eyes piercing through the heavy film of smog in front of him as his lieutenant walked along the muddy path with calls for the rows of men, stood behind the lines of ladders perched up against the banks of the trench, to keep calm.

"Let it be known that any man that attempts to flee will be shot for their cowardness" the high-ranking captain's command to stand fast echoed through the bitter winter's air as Tommy's icey breath drew from his lungs into a cloud of fog.

" Anything out there, Tom?" his fellow soldier whispered below as Tommy's creaking boots slowly stepped up the wooden railing to see a shadowy form slowly appear.

Fingers clutching tightly around the handle of his rifle, Tommy maneuvered his weapon over the muddy bank when his eyes suddenly widened in horror.

" Tommy..." your voice drifted to him, turning head searching for him as you walked barefoot through the frosty mud. Ends of your nightie embedded with ash and dirt trailing behind you.

" Y/N..." Tommy began to stir in his sleep as you lay beside him under the warmth of the padded duvet with your hands tucked close to your chest.

"Tommy, come home. Come back to me, Tommy" your voice sang across the empty field for him to reunite with you as he desperately blinked the vision of you from his straining eyes.

"Y/N, get down!" he shouted for you to take cover, startled by the gliding wings of a screeching hawk flying through the still air when the lieutenant in command pulled his reaching body from lunging over before the whistle sounded.

" 'ave you lost your fucking mind, son?! Not until my orders, understood?! he warned him by the scruff of his collar as Tommy's head darted over the bank to see an empty field, with only your voice calling his name.

"Tommy, come home" your whispers traveled across the barren land like a shiver down his back.

"Please, darling. Leave...please, leave" he slammed his eyes shut, chanting silently in prayer for your searching voice to stop, for his mind to stop the torment.

" Please..." you woke to the sound of Tommy incoherently mumbling beside you, eyes flicking behind his lids as he lay deep in sleep.

"Tommy, wake up" you turned, propping yourself onto bent elbows as you watched his face contort below you.

Eyes darting through the fog, Tommy heard the shouting orders from the enemies line preparing to push forward, break through the parting clouds as the sight of you stood vulnerable in the middle of the empty field hopelessly searching for him reappeared.

"Y/N..."

" I said stand down, soldier!" the lieutenant ordered, pulling his gun from its holster as he watched Tommy's booted heel scramble up the last step before running over into no man's land.

Helmet thrown from his head as he raced towards you, Tommy's eyes blurred with tears, face reddened with exertion when the whistle for the British army to follow echoed through the skies.

"Y/N!" he screamed your name as a peppering of bullets hit the ground, the sound of four hundred mens charging feet shook the earth below him.

" Y/N..." Tommy tossed his head from side to side as you pulled the sheets from him to see his straining body drenched in sweat.

" I'm here Tommy, wake up" you brushed his tousled hair from his eyes as a desperation arose in you to release him from his nightmares.

"I'm here, Tommy" locks of hair cascaded around your turning face as you reached your hand out for him to take when the tips of your fingers fell from each other's as a spray of bullets shot through your back. Staining your slip crimson with blood as his name left your lips, and you fell into his chest. "Tommy..."

"No, no, NO!" He fell to the floor, cradling your limp body in his arms as a silent scream, void of life, of a heart shattering into a thousand pieces stole the air from his lungs, until his eyes fell back to the heavens and a primal roar erupted from his chest into the still air.

" Tommy please, wake up!" you began to sob in a panic as you watched the colour drain from his face, his chest rise with heavy labored breaths. " Polly, help!"

Brushing his fallen tears from your pailing cheeks, Tommy rocked your lifeless body in his arms as he calmly reached for his gun, pointing the barrel under the soft flesh of his chin with eyes squeezed shut when the enemy charged through the parting fog.

Manic face contorting with fury, Tommy scrambled to his feet as the unstoppable fight within him resurfaced, driving him forward to the approaching enemy and the lone soldier he had sought out.

Rifle pointed at Tommy's chest, the young soldier's shaky fingers slipped from the trigger as Tommy threw him to the ground in a hand-to-hand fight that saw them battling in the mud as they both strained to reach for the weapon, slowly sinking underneath the trampled earth.

" Tommy, wake up!" you screamed, shaking his arms against the spring mattress when you suddenly felt yourself being thrown on to your back, the cold barrel of Tommy's revolver pushed to your temple with darkened eyes lifelessly looking through you.

" Tommy...Tomm..." your lungs battled for air against his heavy hand pushed into the bony flesh of your bruising chest as your strained attempts to throw him off, fought against his finger inching over the trigger.

" Thomas!" the mothering boom of Polly's voice rattled the walls as she threw open the door to see him looming over you with a gun pointed to your head.

"Pol...?" Tommy suddenly snapped himself out of the clutches of terror behind his eyes as he turned to see his aunt standing by the door.

" Put the gun down, Tommy" Polly commanded as she slowly approached, pointing to the revolver in his hand as Tommy eyes drifted underneath him to see your trembling body shaking with tears streaming you cheeks.

"Y/N..." his breath caught in his throat, eyes widening in horror at the gun pointed to your head as his hand went limp, letting the revolver slip from his fingers onto the cushion beside you.

Pulling yourself off the padded duvet with scrambling legs, you threw yourself into Polly's arms with terrified sobs.

" Darling please..." Tommy begged with reddened eyes as he reached for your trembling body, quickly recoiling to the end of the bed when you flinched away from his attempts to comfort you.

Blinking eyes drifting to the loaded gun nestled within the sheets of your bed, Tommy swallowed back the bile of fear rising in his throat as he scrambled to reassure you that things wouldn't have taken a deadly turn.

" Y/N I...I would have woken up. Darling, I would have never..." he stood to his feet, hand motioning to and from the metal weapon on your cushion, when his guarantees of control surrendered to the harrowing truth in his aunt's eyes staring back him.

Lips falling silent, Tommy turned his back to your trembling body as his heart sank to the back of his chest, hardening with a one worded order that threatened to change the course of your relationship, shutting you out and throwing you into the arms of another.

"Leave"

*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 💚*

[Next part] (coming soon!)

Tag list: @mischievouslittlecreature @peakyswritings @jbrownta @youngbananamilkshake

@meadowshelby @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @novashelby @tiedyedghoulette

@strangeobsessed @justrainandcoffee @bruhidkjustwannaread @percysley

[zablife]

Becoming Mrs. Shelby (Part 19)

Tommy x wife reader

Summary: When you're allowed a moment alone with Tommy, he makes a shocking confession.

Part 18 Masterlist

Heels echoing down a dark prison corridor, you clutched the neckline of your coat to shut out the icy draft. However, if you were honest with yourself, it wasn't only the air giving you chills. Would Tommy want to see you? And if he did, how would he react when he learned you met with his enemy?

The guard in front of you stopped abruptly, causing you to press a hand against the cool stone wall to brace yourself against falling into his back. Suddenly all your questions fell away as you were instructed on a few basic rules. "Ten minutes, no touching and a guard will stand by at all times," the imposing man informed you.

"Thank you," you mumbled, stepping into the fresh air of an empty prison yard. Eyes roving the barren space anxiously, you heard the door open a second time and watched Tommy shuffle toward you in iron shackles.

The sight of him bound at his wrists and feet made your lower lip tremble with emotion, but you resolved to be strong. "How are you?" you asked, quiet and cautious as you awaited a reply that told you of his current mood.

Tommy's clear blue eyes flicked up to yours, the intensity of their color only enhanced by the soft gray of his prison uniform. "I didn't think you'd come," he uttered on a low breath.

"I had to speak with you," you answered simply.

Glancing toward the guard waiting by the door, Tommy indicated for you to follow him to the center of the yard where your conversation wouldn't be overheard.

Before you lost your courage you blurted out, "I know the truth about Grace."

All movement ceased at your words, Tommy's concerned expression urging you to explain.

"I know she was not only an agent of the crown, but a member of Section D. She worked with Father Hughes before her death," you rushed out as you remembered the strict time limit you'd been given.

Tommy stared in disbelief, brow furrowed at you before he asked, "And how do you know all this, eh?"

You could scarcely tell if it was a wave of rising anger or genuine curiosity which drove him. However, you needed him to confirm what Father Hughes had told you. "Father Hughes came to the house this morning with a proposition," you gulped, not yet having revealed the worst of it.

He scoffed at the news, turning his head away from you as he seemed to collect his thoughts on the matter. Tongue darting out to moisten his chapped lips, he nodded to himself. "So he's gotten to you too, has he?"

"You actually believe I'd do such a thing?" you hissed aghast that he would suggest betrayal. "I'm here to help you! Tommy, please, I need to know what happened the night of Grace's death. Not only for my own peace of mind, but to find a way to save your life!"

Tommy searched your watery eyes which pleaded with him in such tender insistence, he finally broke. “Alright, but we talk about it now and never again," he stated firmly.

You nodded your agreement, eager to hear what he might confide.

"Grace was shot at the charity gala for the Shelby Institute," he began, awkwardly shifting his wrists within the confines of the metal handcuffs.

"But who killed her and why?" you quickly interjected, seeing the guard check his pocket watch.

His eyes seemed to glaze over as he mumbled, “You didn’t know what she was like…”

"I think I do," you ventured. "Since I arrived everyone has told me of nothing but her poise and beauty. They all adored her so she must have known she had your heart as well," you whispered, afraid to acknowledge the ghostly presence between you.

“And that I would never divorce her,” Tommy added quietly.

Your heart sank as you gulped, “Because you loved her?”

“I hated her!” he roared in unbridled emotion. “I hated her cruelty and my hubris," he confessed, the force of his words startling you into silence. “I knew she was an undercover agent when we met and I was bold enough to assume I could extract more information from her than she could from me."

"So the image of a deeply devoted couple was nothing more than a twisted web of lies?" you asked, not fully understanding the relationship they'd forged.

Tommy only nodded as he didn't fail to miss tinge of sadness in your voice when you spoke of his first marriage. Though he tried not to encourage discussion of it, somehow you'd succumbed to the curse of believing in their perfect union like everyone else.

With an ache for you growing deep inside his chest, Tommy began pacing in slow circles. As he did, he recounted the reality of his life with Grace. "She relished the thought of being the perfect wife while making a fool of me. It wasn’t enough for her to take my name and my home. She wanted my pride as well."

You began to shake at his assertion, realizing everything you'd been told was a lie. After weeks of suffering to make yourself over in her image, you were shocked to learn Grace had been the enemy all along.

"The night before the gala she told me of her allegiance to Section D, how she'd collected secrets about me and my family throughout our marriage. She demanded I turn them in if I wanted to stay out of prison," he spat. "When I refused, she was outraged and I knew she wouldn't stop until she'd ruined me."

"How do you mean?" you asked, a pit forming in your stomach as you braced yourself for his answer.

"The night of the gala she stole the pistol from my jacket and aimed it at her chest," he revealed as you gasped in horror. " 'Do it, Tommy and then you’ll be free…' she told me, daring me to shoot her with a hundred guests in the next room."

"Tommy, you didn't!" you insisted, rejecting his confession as tears blurred your vision.

Leaning forward onto his knees as though he might be sick at any moment, he whispered, "I did, but it was an accident as we struggled for the gun. The bullet struck her in the chest and she died instantly."

After a brief silence, Tommy turned to you with sorrowful eyes. "It's haunted me ever since."

Forgetting the rules, you placed a hand to his cheek as you cried, "You didn't mean to do it. I know you didn't."

"No touching!" the guard barked, causing you to stumble backward from your husband.

"Oh, Tommy...what do we do now?" you begged of him, color draining from your face as the prospect of his acquittal slipped away.

He swiped a hand across his mouth as he thought and you wondered if there was anything to be done for him. You didn't yet understand why Grace forced his hand, but it was clear Tommy was guilty under the law.

That's when a sudden spark flashed in his eyes. "Grace's desk may still hold the evidence of her espionage," he reasoned. "If you can get the key from Mary, you might be able to find something we can use to blackmail Hughes."

"I will," you assured him just as the guard called out to you.

"Time's up!" the authoritative voice boomed from somewhere behind you.

Though you longed to embrace your husband, the moment would have to wait. As you were left standing alone in the yard, you said a silent prayer you'd have that chance one day soon.

Part 20

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 22

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 22

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Chaos unfolds during you and Tommy's reception, in the aftermath, you find some comfort in Small Heath.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetophobia warning

--

You didn’t even register the direction the gunshots came from– just the chaos that followed. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. Someone dropped a tray with a crash that echoed beneath the chandelier’s sudden sway. The music stopped abruptly, a needle skidding off vinyl, and for a split second, everything stood still.

Then, another shot.

You grabbed Finn without thinking, your instincts moving faster than your mind. He’d been standing just beside the refreshment table, laughing, a slice of cake still in his hand. You yanked him down with you, ducking beneath the table just as chairs clattered and guests scattered.

His eyes were wide, panicked, and you could feel him shaking.

“We’re okay,” you said quickly, your arms around him, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s alright, stay low, don’t move.”

The tablecloth hung around you like a makeshift curtain, dimming the chaos outside. 

Finn clutched your arm tightly. “What’s happening?” he whispered, voice cracking.

Above you, another loud bang– a third shot fired, but this one hit the ceiling, plaster raining down. You flinched, shielding Finn instinctively.

And then, through the noise, a voice bellowed across the room:

“A gift from Luca Changretta. Tell Tommy Shelby that his empire bleeds like any other.”

Finn clutched your arm tighter, his breathing shallow and fast. You pulled him in closer beneath the table, your body curled protectively over his, your hand cradling the back of his head to shield him from the falling plaster.

Around you, everything had gone still.

Not silent, there were still gasps and muffled screams, overturned chairs scraping against the floor, glass shattering somewhere across the room, but still in the way that fear locks a room in place, holding everyone in suspended disbelief.

You barely dared to breathe.

Footsteps thundered toward the exit, fast, heavy, purposeful. Then the sharp slam of the doors as the gunmen fled.

Gone, just like that.

No more shots. No more words. Just a trail of fear and smoke left behind in their wake.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you slowly looked out from beneath the table, your arm still curled tightly around Finn.

Polly’s voice rang out from somewhere across the room, sharp and panicked. Arthur was shouting orders. John’s voice followed, rough and urgent..

You pushed yourself up from the floor slowly, your limbs still shaky with adrenaline. Your hands found Finn first, gently helping him upright. He was pale, eyes wide, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look even younger than he was.

“Finn,” you said softly, brushing plaster dust from his jacket. “Are you alright?”

He nodded too quickly to be convincing. His breath hitched, and you reached for his face, cradling it gently between your palms. His skin was clammy, his cheeks flushed. You wiped a smear of dust from his cheek with your thumb, eyes scanning him for any sign of blood, any wound you might’ve missed in the panic.

“Look at me,” you said, steady but kind. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Just… hell– what was that?”

“Just breathe,” you murmured, still holding his face. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Your fingers lingered for a second longer, brushing through his hair before pulling him into a quick, fierce hug. He held onto you like a lifeline, his body trembling just slightly.

You heard Tommy before you saw him, the shift in the air, the magnetic pull. His voice was heavy. “Move– move!”

Before you knew it, Tommy was there, storming toward you, eyes scanning wildly– jaw clenched, breathing hard.

His eyes found yours and stopped.

“Fuck–” he breathed, his expression cracking, just for a second. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and sharp, breathless as he reached you, hands already skimming over your arms, your ribs, your waist.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head, slowly.

But he didn’t accept that. One hand cupped the back of your neck, grounding you firmly in place. His touch wasn’t gentle now– it was firm. Urgent.

“Look at me,” he said, voice fierce. “Are you okay?”

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Yes,” you whispered. “I’m okay.” 

He closed his eyes for half a second, like the air had been knocked from him. When they opened again, they were darker, stormier. Rage and relief tangled behind them.

“I told you,” he said, voice hoarse and cracking as his forehead dropped briefly to yours. “I told you to stay put.”

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, his hands falling from your face, jaw clenching as he turned slightly, already scanning the chaos again. You stood there, stunned, the weight of his anger settling heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to anger him. But the shame still twisted in your stomach like a blade.

Suddenly, you felt small fingers clutching at your arm.

Finn had latched onto you without a word, his arms winding around your waist. His face was pressed into your side, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes and immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, cradling the back of his head. “It’s alright,” you whispered, holding him tightly. “You’re alright.”

He didn’t speak, just shook, buried against you, trying to hide the fact that he’d been terrified. You swayed gently with him, murmuring something soft, your hand brushing through his hair, grounding him in the only way you could.

Tommy, meanwhile, had already shifted gears.

His eyes were scanning the room, sharp and calculating, jaw rigid with fury. “John! Arthur!” he barked. A bitter breath hissed from between Tommy’s teeth. “Find out how they got in. Who let them through the doors. Someone knew. Someone fucking knew!”

John nodded tightly, already heading toward the front.

Tommy’s jaw flexed again as he turned back toward Arthur. “And I want names! Every single fucking guest who wasn’t on the list, where they came from, who they came with. Someone vouched for those bastards.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You got it, Tom.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before muttering, “They didn’t want blood… not tonight. They wanted fear.”

His eyes flicked toward you then, still holding Finn, still trying to slow your breathing, your expression dazed and unreadable.

And in that instant, his fury turned razor-sharp again.

“They came into my fucking wedding,” he yelled. “That’s their warning shot? They’re going to regret not pulling the fucking trigger.”

He paced in a tight line, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing sharp and ragged. You’d seen him angry before– cold, calculating, precise. But this… this was something else. This was pure fury. Unfiltered. Barely contained.

“They walked through those doors,” he snapped, whirling around to face Arthur and John as they returned to his side. “They fired shots over our fucking heads– at my family, at my wife!” 

His voice cracked on the last word, jaw tightening hard enough to make his cheek twitch. His hand went instinctively to his hip like he needed to reach for something– his gun, maybe, or just a way to release the rage bottled beneath his ribs.

“They wanted to humiliate us,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “To prove they could get in and out without a scratch. That they could touch us without drawing blood.”

Arthur stepped forward, voice low. “Tom, we’ll find ‘em. You know we will.”

Tommy’s glare cut through the room like a blade. “Not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want their names. I want their fucking heads.”

You flinched slightly at the venom in his tone, but Finn still clung to your side, and your instinct to protect him kept you grounded.

“They made a spectacle,” Tommy continued, turning toward the ruined tables, the chandelier still swaying faintly overhead. “A statement. They want war? Fine.”

His voice dropped to a growl– cold, merciless. “Then we’ll give them war.”

Arthur nodded grimly, but John exchanged a glance with him, uneasy. Polly hovered nearby, watching Tommy with that sharp, calculating stare of hers, as if measuring how far gone he really was.

And then beside you, Finn let out a soft sound– not quite a whimper, but close. His hands were still clutching the edge of your dress where he’d held on during the gunfire, his knuckles white. He was staring at the floor now, eyes unfocused, jaw tight, like he was trying to swallow whatever panic was still clawing its way through his chest.

“Finn?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just kept shaking his head like he was trying to make the memory disappear. His breathing had gone shallow again.

“Hey.” You crouched a little, meeting his eyes, brushing his fringe back gently. “You’re alright, Finn. It’s over now.”

He nodded, too quickly, too forcefully, and then abruptly turned to the side and vomited into the corner.

Polly immediately stepped toward him, but you raised a hand gently. “I’ve got him.”

The sound of Tommy’s voice barking another order behind you made Finn flinch visibly. That was it. Your chest clenched, protective instinct kicking in fully now.

“Come on, love,” you said, steady and soft, already slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get some air.”

But before you could take a full step, a firm hand caught your arm.

“You can’t go outside,” Tommy said sharply, eyes flashing.

You blinked at him, stunned. “He needs air, Tommy. He’s shaking.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “It’s not safe out there. Not yet.”

“He’s going to pass out if he stays in here,” you snapped. 

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved two of his men forward with a curt gesture. “Go with them,” he barked. Then his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t go past the gate. And this time, do what you’re fucking told, please.”

You stared at him, nostrils flaring, heat rising behind your eyes. It wasn’t just the words, it was the tone, the way he said it like you were one of the men under his command instead of his wife, who’d just been dragged through chaos on her own wedding day.

Your lips parted, ready to spit something back, but instead you just wrenched your arm from his grip, your jaw tight.

You turned your back on him and led Finn away, your hand steady at his back. The weight of Tommy’s stare burned between your shoulder blades, but you didn’t look back.

Finn didn’t protest. He let you guide him away, his legs a bit unsteady beneath him. You led him down the corridor and out through the side door into the cool night air, the chaos muffled now behind stone walls and heavy doors. The moment you stepped outside, you felt him exhale, just a shaky breath, but a little steadier than before.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with him on the edge of the steps, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“I thought they were going to kill us,” Finn said quietly after a long pause. 

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I know.”

You sat in silence for a long moment– just the two of you under the stars, the distant pulse of music and shouting still echoing faintly behind you. But out here, for just a little while, you could breathe.

The night air was sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering adrenaline still humming in your veins. Your heart hadn’t fully settled yet, and Finn was still tense beneath your arm, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You rubbed a slow, steady hand across his back, letting the silence stretch between you like a blanket. You didn’t need to fill it. Not yet.

“I’m sorry I threw up,” Finn said after a while, voice barely above a whisper. 

Your hand stilled for a second, then resumed its rhythm. “It’s okay, Finn. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

A few more minutes passed in stillness, broken only by the distant crack of glass, another door swinging open somewhere inside, a voice shouting orders. The tension of the evening hadn’t fully lifted, not even out here.

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, just holding him steady, when the door creaked open again behind you.

You turned.

Polly stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, her silhouette sharp against the warm glow from the reception hall. Her heels clicked softly on the stone, but there was no urgency in her steps, just the same quiet gravity she always carried like a second skin.

She stopped a few paces away, her eyes scanning you both. Her gaze softened when it landed on Finn. She crouched down beside him then, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “You alright, love?”

“I’m okay,” he lied. 

Polly nodded once, glancing between you and Finn again. “Arthur’s still inside trying to calm people down. Tommy’s… doing what Tommy does.”

You swallowed and gave her a faint nod of thanks.

There was a long pause before you spoke again, your voice low, tired. “When can we go home?”

Polly looked at you for a moment, really looked. Not just at your face, but the slump in your shoulders, the way your hand still gripped Finn’s sleeve like you couldn’t quite let go of the fear yet.

“Soon,” she said gently. “They need to be sure it’s safe first.”

You nodded, but it didn’t ease the restlessness curling in your chest. You were still in your wedding dress. Your hands still smelled faintly of gunpowder and champagne. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the first shot rang out.

You could feel the pressure building behind your eyes, that familiar sting threatening to break through. You blinked hard, jaw clenched tight, willing the tears not to come. 

Polly stepped closer, brushing a bit of hair from your face in a rare, tender gesture. “You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. You just need to breathe.”

You tried, but it caught in your throat.

“I didn’t even see it coming,” you whispered. “It was supposed to be– just for one day–”

“I know.” Her voice softened again, more mother than matriarch now. 

You didn’t have the energy to say anything else. You just glanced down at Finn, who was quiet now, staring out at the street like it might tell him something the rest of you couldn’t.

Polly’s hand touched your arm again, firmer this time. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home soon.”

You nodded once more, but the weight of the evening settled heavy in your bones. You didn’t feel safe. Not yet. Not really.

Polly returned inside, but you stayed there in silence, shoulders tense beneath the weight of your dress, heart still pounding against your ribs like it hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that the threat was over. You kept your eyes on the door, waiting for it to open again. Hoping it would be him this time.

Finn sat quietly beside you, hands clasped in his lap, gaze fixed on the darkened garden path ahead. He hadn’t said anything else, but he leaned into your side slightly, like your presence was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

Minutes passed. Then, finally, the door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the gravel.

Tommy’s figure cut through the dim light like a shadow cast from something solid and unshakable, but there was a new heaviness in his expression, tighter around the eyes, jaw still clenched hard. His tie was crooked now, shirt undone at the collar, blood still flecked faintly at his temple. But his gaze was on you.

“Come on,” he murmured, one hand in his pocket, the other beckoning you gently. “Let’s go.”

You nodded and turned to Finn, brushing your hand gently against his shoulder. “Come on, love,” you said quietly. “Let’s get up.”

He nodded, a little dazed, letting you help him to his feet. He leaned on you more than he probably realized, but you didn’t mind. Your arm stayed steady beneath his.

Tommy reached for him then, his hand landing firm on Finn’s other shoulder, steadying him silently. His other hand reached for yours without a word, fingers curling around yours with quiet purpose.

You glanced down at your joined hands, his fingers warm and certain around yours. The earlier anger– the sting of him snapping at you, the way he’d barked and shut you out, had dissolved somewhere in the chaos. You couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it left you, only that now, standing here beside him, all you could feel was the dull throb of exhaustion and the steady comfort of his touch.

Because whatever his temper had been, whatever sharpness had cut through his voice… you knew it had come from fear.

And now, there was only this, his hand in yours, grounding you again. The way it always did.

Tommy gave your hand a small, silent squeeze, his eyes flicking to yours for a brief second, just long enough to say everything he hadn’t said earlier.

Then, together, the three of you moved toward the car. Slowly, quietly. Away from the wreckage. Toward whatever peace the night could still offer.

The car ride home was quiet. 

No one said it out loud, but there was a silent agreement between all of you, not to scatter off into separate homes, not to retreat behind closed doors where the silence could swallow you whole. Instead, everyone returned to the Small Heath house. It felt safer that way. Closer. Warmer, somehow, even beneath the weight of what had just happened.

You weren’t sure if it was instinct or desperation that led to it, but no one argued. No one left.

Polly took up residence in her usual armchair, a cigarette already between her fingers. Ada curled up on the couch, shoes kicked off, eyes tired but still sharp. Arthur poured drinks, heavily, and John paced the hallway like a restless dog while Esme tried to convince him to sit down. The house was buzzing beneath the quiet, like everyone was trying to act normal, but every small noise made someone flinch. Every knock, every footstep.

You glanced at Finn, he hadn’t said much since the ride. He hadn’t let go of your hand either. Now, he sat slumped in the corner of the settee, shoulders curled in, eyes wide and unfocused. His plate of untouched food sat cooling beside him, forgotten.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight of him.

You moved toward him quietly and lowered yourself beside him. “You alright?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

He nodded quickly, but it was automatic, hollow. His lip trembled.

“Why don’t you head to bed, love? Get some rest?”

He shook his head before you even finished the sentence.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Finn mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched. You reached out, brushing your hand through his hair.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Then stay here with me a while.”

His shoulders eased just a little at that, like the weight pressing into him had lifted, only slightly, but enough.

Minutes passed, slow and heavy. You could hear Arthur and John’s low voices from the kitchen, the clink of glass, the occasional muttered curse. Somewhere down the hall, Tommy’s voice rumbled, low, clipped, issuing orders through the telephone. Polly’s lighter flicked in rhythm from her seat across the room, a steady little flame to match the storm still flickering behind her eyes.

Eventually, you felt Finn’s breathing slow. His body slackened slightly against yours, the last of his adrenaline fading into exhaustion. He was asleep– finally.

You stayed with him anyway, stroking his hair gently, letting your own head rest back against the cushion behind you.

Your eyes drifted closed for a moment, but your mind didn’t quiet. It circled endlessly around the night, around the chaos, around the gunfire echoing behind your ribs. The blood. The fear. 

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

The door creaked open, and you turned slightly at the sound.

John stepped into the room, his gaze landing on Finn curled up beside you. He let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Poor kid,” he muttered. 

You nodded quietly, brushing your hand once more through Finn’s hair before glancing up at John. “He finally fell asleep.”

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll take him upstairs.”

You hesitated, just for a second– some part of you reluctant to let Finn go. But John’s expression was kind, steady. And maybe you needed a moment to breathe.

“Alright,” you said gently, carefully easing yourself away from Finn. 

John nodded. “I’ve got him.”

You watched as he crouched down and scooped Finn up in his arms with practiced ease. The younger boy stirred only faintly, murmuring something incoherent before settling again against John’s shoulder.

You followed behind them to the doorway, pausing just at the threshold. Your eyes drifted toward the sitting room, where the low hum of voices carried down the hallway– Tommy, Arthur, and Polly, deep in discussion.

You could see them through the doorway: Polly pacing slowly, a cigarette burning between her fingers; Arthur slouched forward, elbows on his knees, face tense; and Tommy, standing tall, arms folded tightly across his chest as he spoke in that low, unreadable tone he always used when trying to mask the storm brewing beneath the surface.

You watched him for a moment longer, his words indistinct but his posture unmistakably rigid. Earlier, at the reception, he'd mentioned revenge. War. Against whoever it was that had caused all of this.

A message from Luca Changretta.

You didn’t know who that was, not really. Only that whoever it was, was bound to cause you all a world of trouble.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. You thought, for a moment, about walking in, about catching Tommy’s eye, about pulling him away just for a moment. But he didn’t look up. He didn’t even seem to notice you standing there.

The weight of it settled in your chest again. You were too tired to find out more. Too drained to dig into the shadows gathering around the edges of your wedding night.

So instead, you turned quietly and followed behind John and Finn up the stairs, your footsteps soft on the floorboards.

Whatever that conversation was, whatever came next, it could wait. Tonight had taken enough from you already.

You followed John into Finn’s room, the quiet creak of the door barely audible over the sound of Finn’s soft breathing. The room was dim, only the low flicker of a lamp casting a warm glow across the walls. John moved carefully, easing Finn down onto the bed with practiced gentleness, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he settled.

You lingered by the doorway for a moment, then stepped in fully, moving to the chair in the corner. It was old, the cushion a little worn, but it cradled your tired body easily as you sank into it with a quiet exhale.

John glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded once, giving him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I just… want to stay with him for a bit.”

He studied you for a moment, then gave a single, quiet nod. “Alright,” he said simply. “Shout if you need anything.”

You nodded again, watching as he turned and stepped out, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

The room fell into stillness again. Just you and Finn.

You leaned back into the chair, gaze drifting toward him. His face looked softer in sleep– no longer clouded with fear or tension, just the slow, steady rhythm of rest. You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat and folded your arms across your chest, letting the quiet settle around you.

Your eyelids drifted lower.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But your body had finally reached its limit, and before you realized it, the blur of candlelight and the soft rhythm of Finn’s breathing had lulled you into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

It was the quiet sound of your name that stirred you first, soft, low, spoken like a secret. Then the gentle sweep of fingers through your hair, brushing lightly behind your ear.

Your lashes fluttered, the warmth of his voice coaxing you back to the surface. You blinked up at him, disoriented for a moment, the dim room coming slowly back into focus.

He crouched beside you, one hand still lingering at your hairline, the other settling softly on your knee. “You’ll be sore if you stay like that all night,” he said, voice quiet and full of something softer than usual.

You sat up slowly, blinking away the heaviness from your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright.” His voice was gentle. “Let’s get to bed.”

Your gaze flicked toward the bed, Finn was still curled beneath the blanket, breathing steady and slow. Safe. Asleep.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were still holding.

Tommy’s hand slipped down to yours, curling around your fingers. “Come on,” he said again, quieter now. 

You nodded and stood slowly, glancing one last time at Finn before letting Tommy guide you out of the room. The hallway was dim, the house quieter now, tension still lingering in the air like smoke, but dulled beneath the weight of exhaustion.

You followed him down the corridor to the same spare room you’d taken care of Tommy in– the one you’d stepped inside a hundred times before, back when things were simpler. The sheets were clean but creased, the window cracked just enough to let the cool night air in. It wasn’t your house on the hill– but it was Small Heath. Familiar. Steady. Home.

Tommy shut the door softly behind you, then moved to pull the blanket back. “You alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, stepping toward the bed. “I just… didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“I know,” he said. 

You slid beneath the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Tommy followed a beat later, lying beside you with a quiet sigh. His arm found its way around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you like nothing else could.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing, the faint creak of the old house settling around you.

Then his voice, rumbled, low and rough against the top of your head. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

You blinked, shifting just enough to glance up at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I should’ve listened.”

He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly along his chest. “You were just trying to protect me. On our wedding night.”

His hand covered yours, warm and steady. “Didn’t exactly turn out how I pictured it,” he murmured with a rueful half-smile. 

“How did you picture it?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “I suppose more champagne and dancing. Less… bullets and threats.”

You gave a soft, tired chuckle, resting your forehead against his collarbone. “Well, I am a Shelby now,” you said. “I can’t think of a warmer welcome.”

His chest rumbled faintly with a laugh. “I suppose,” he said, tilting his head down and brushing a kiss into your hair. "Mrs. Shelby."

You didn’t reply, just curled in closer, fingers curling loosely into his shirt. The storm outside might still rage, but here, in this small stretch of warmth and safety, it was just the two of you.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby.

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[slut4thebroken]

Baby Fever

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x wife!reader

Summary | Free use wife.

Warnings | Smut, breeding kink, free use lol, in public, exhibitionism, pregnancy (very few details cause… c’mon lol… I’m the one who wrote it💀), light humiliation.

Words | 1.5 k

Notes | Yeah this gif still makes me feral

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 2: free use + breeding kink

Tommy didn’t expect much from you as a wife. There were already staff who cooked and cleaned and you didn’t have any children yet. The one thing he did expect from you though, was being ready and willing to take his cock at any time of the day. 

Sometimes he’d be more gentle about it, coaxing you away from whatever task or conversation you were involved in to somewhere more private where he’d ravish you until you could only think about him and his cock. Other times, he’d be more desperate. 

If you happened to bring him lunch on a particularly stressful work day, he’d drag you in his office and bend you over the desk, fucking away all of his stress, if at least for a few minutes. 

Sometimes at the race track he’d pull you away to a more secluded— but still very public— area and cover your mouth as he plowed into you, rough and desperate, borderline animalistic. If the sound of your muffled moans didn’t give you away, the loud slapping of skin definitely did, but he didn’t care. If he wanted you, nothing was stopping him from taking you. 

A few times you even woke up to him lazily rutting into you, fucking you deep, but keeping the pace slow. He’d moan quietly, kissing and biting your neck, even sucking on the sensitive skin to leave marks. 

If he was ever short on time, he’d force you to your knees and fuck your face, making you gag and choke on his cock until tears streamed down your cheeks. Sometimes he’d blow his load down your throat. But if you weren’t in public or in too much of a hurry for anything, he’d paint your pretty face with his come, marking you as his. 

He knew you were embarrassed everytime you came back after he dragged you away. Every single time, without fail, you always looked like you were just fucked stupid. But that only encouraged him. He liked showing people that you belonged to him— that his wife was more than happy to satisfy him, even in public. 

It was also common for him to pull over and make you ride his cock in the car, smiling at all the people who drove past. If he couldn’t pull over, he’d grab your hair and force you down on his cock. Even if he arrived at the destination, he wouldn’t stop until you drained his balls and swallowed every last drop. It didn’t matter if it was the middle of the day or if it was pitch black out— it didn’t even matter if the window was open or not. He’d fuck your face and throw his head back as the pleasure consumed him until he finally fell over the edge. Sometimes, his sounds would attract attention, and he loved the look on people’s faces when you lifted yourself up, smiling and wiping the lower half of your face with the back of your hand. 

This didn’t happen often, but if he were ever in the middle of fucking you, too consumed by the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing his cock, and someone knocked on the door, he’d tell them to come in. It was usually someone you didn’t even know— one time it was Arthur… that was a particularly humiliating experience for you— but he wouldn’t stop. He’d keep you bent over his desk or on his lap and continue fucking you as you tried to not make any sounds. He always thought it was amusing when you tried to be quiet. 

One time, he walked in on you holding Ada’s baby, smiling and cooing at him, making him giggle relentlessly. As soon as Tommy got you alone, his cock was inside you and he rambled on about fucking a baby into you, breeding you nice and deep until he knocked you up. His words were almost incoherent with arousal as he described this fantasy of your belly full with his kid, your tits swollen with milk, and the glow that you’d have from all of it. He rambled on about raising them together, how good you’d look as the mother of his kids, how he wanted to fuck baby after baby into you… breed you until he fucking ran out of come. 

That sparked a conversation between the two of you. While the original plan was to wait a few years, you both agreed to shorten that time frame. So less than two years later, you were off of birth control and he was breeding you every chance he had. Honestly you were getting a little worn out, but you never complained. No matter how tiring it could be, you still absolutely loved it. 

It became even more of a frequent occurrence for you to be walking around with either come soaked panties or come running down your thighs. He also took a liking to cock warming. In bed, on his desk chair, in the car— anywhere he could— he’d fuck you and fill you with his come, then keep you plugged up, wanting to make sure it really had a chance to take. 

At home, he’d put you in the mating press position, then stuff you full of his come. Only instead of letting you relax, he'd keep your hips tilted up so none of it could leak out and make you come again with his mouth as a reward for staying in that position. 

The first time he fucked you after finding out you were pregnant… he was practically feral. The fact that there was a baby inside you— that it was his baby, made him all but lose control. He ravaged you with an intensity he’s only had a few times, rambling on about how he planned to fuck you like this for a while since he would eventually have to be gentler— if he could even fuck you at all. The problem was that his promise didn’t just apply to when he fucked you in the privacy of your own home, but it was just a problem for you. Tommy loved that you couldn’t keep quiet. 

Months down the line, rough, hard fucking turned into gentle love making. He’d kiss you tenderly as his hips rocked into you, keeping the pace almost tortuously slow. He tended to kiss over your stomach whenever he could and caress it with gentle hands. Both of you were surprised and disappointed by the fact that your breasts were far too tender for any touch to feel good. So he kept his hands and mouth elsewhere. 

The love making usually took place in bed. But every once in a while, he’d come up behind you and wrap his arms around your small frame, placing his hands on your belly as he kissed your neck until he finally got too impatient and lifted your dress to slip his cock inside. 

Around eight months, and even for weeks after the birth, he showed no sign of needing you like that. He never made you feel pressured either, even when he’d hold you at night. You were grateful though because your body definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. 

It was a little after two months postpartum that you were becoming a bit too needy though. One day, after watching him play with and hold the baby, you finally snapped. The second you were alone you practically jumped his bones, kissing him almost animalistically and pulling on his hair until he moaned into your mouth and finally grabbed your hips. 

“Love,” He started, but cut off when you unzipped your dress and let it fall to the floor, pooling around your feet.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to lose my mind.” You warned breathily, working on ripping his clothes off. 

“Slow down, darling. You have to be careful.” He said gently, making you more frustrated.

“Thomas Shelby, I swear to god if you don’t fuck me, I’ll go find someone who will.” You growled, giving him one last warning. He raised his brows, shocked and amused by your words. “I carried your child for nine months. The least you could do is make me come on your cock until I forget my own name.” 

“You’re that needy, eh?” He smirked, making you scowl. “Calm down, Mrs. Shelby, I’ll give it to you…” you still get butterflies when he calls you that, “but you know I can’t resist teasing you.” 

“You’ve teased me for months. Either fuck the shit out of me or I’ll get it from someone else.” You said, voice low and almost threatening, but you knew it only made Tommy more amused. 

“How have I teased you for months?” He asked innocently. 

“Christ, Tommy— just fuck me already. You have to do what I say because I just birthed a whole baby for you.” 

“I guess you're right.” He said with a sly smirk. “Until you forget your own name?” You nodded eagerly and he walked you backwards until your legs hit the bed. Once you were laying down, he crawled over you and kissed you deeply, making you moan against his lips and bring your hands up to his hair. “As you wish, darling.” 

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request made by @justsumtuffstuff: Could you do a tommy shelby imagine where you secretly have his kid but don’t tell him until one day aunt polly sees you and is like “holy shit” but that’s not the surprise, the surprise is you have twins. Just a lot of angst and fluff pretty please? ((:

This fic will have two parts!

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: It's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

The land of Birmingham seemed to never change, not one bit. Ever since the first people settled there, the sky hung over them as if by force, never clear enough to see prospects for the future. Robbing the poor kids of dreams, of the loud thumping in their hearts caused by excitement for the good that never came.

It would seem that God has lost his way to Birmingham, not to mention Small Heath. Dirt, smoke and silence that rang too loud when working men would finish their shifts in factories seeking peace in their homes. After all, the human brain can get used to everything.

What was the difference between going to sleep hungry every night, and the relentless churning in the depths of her stomach that Y/N felt? Pain that never let go, waking up along her side like a loyal husband, never ceasing to accompany her throughout the day. Never loosening the hold on her heart.

Oh, how cruel the fate can be, Y/N thought, looking at the white ceiling of her bedroom. One she slept in for many nights too long, carrying the weight of the curse on her shoulders.

Because she was cursed, that one she was sure. Seeing the man she loved more than anything else in the world, losing himself in the grief after another woman.

Because that was the woman whose name Y/N dared not speak or even think. That's who she was, another woman. Embodiment of pain and betrayal of so many promises, taking away the beautiful, blue gaze Y/N yearned for so badly.

God must have been so cruel, putting her through the uncertainty of ever seeing him again throughout the war, and then taking him away.

Taking him away from Y/N, and letting her watch the process. Letting her see the distance growing, the dilated pupils in his eyes after each doze of opium, fruitlessly trying to numb the pain he carried.

Y/N couldn't help but wake up everyday, wondering how different his grief would be if it was her who died. Would he cry? Would he push the other woman away, like he did her? Sometimes the pain felt like too much to handle, but Y/N would never try to pull the trigger. Subconsciously feeling the weight of shame in her chest if she'd ever somehow found out she was right. That he wouldn't care.

So she lived, losing pieces of her heart day by day, warming his bed whenever he saw it convenient.

Until that one day came, that was. Hearing the... Scary, oh so scary news from her doctor she visited in secret. Putting both of her hands on her still flat stomach, she didn't feel anything physically. Yet it was enough to find the strength, buried so deep in her heart.

The love she felt for her unborn children outweighed the love for him.

The tension in Arrow house felt heavier than usual, as Y/N dragged her heavy suitcase down the stairs before slowly making her way to his office. The pain, longing in her heart slowing her down, extending the seconds into forever.

Y/N took a deep breath as her hand pressed down on the metal handle, the loud click echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Wordlessly she slipped inside, walking up to his desk quietly, letting out a shaky breath when she stopped mere inches away from the wooden furniture. His eyes didn't move from the documents he was reading, an empty gaze fixed on black letters despite knowing she was there. Y/N waited for a second, giving him a chance to look at her. Hoping he would.

But he didn't.

”I'm leaving” she said, loud enough to be heard. Silence followed her words, loud like never before as her heart squeezed in anticipation, silently begging him to stop her. To say something. Several moments passed before he finally did, making her heart stop for a mere second.

”Safe travels, Y/N Y/L/N” He responded in a cold, husky voice and for a moment, Y/N wondered who he was, wearing his face but sounding so different.

But the dust settled, just like the weight of his words as soon as she closed the door behind her back for what she thought would be the last time.

~~

Polly's eyes cut through his skin like a blade, her gaze never changing after that one feral day. The look of contempt and disgrace not even a bit different than one she gave him finding out what happened, back then.

”I was hoping you wouldn't be so stupid” She hissed, leaning forward, reaching for a cigarette with a shaky hand. Her eyes were teary, as she inhaled the smoke. ”When you were younger I saw your mother in your eyes. Now, they're full of greed and foolishness. Just like your father's” She spat out with contempt, raising from the chair. Quickly walking up to his own, she kneeled down for a moment, to meet his gaze.

One so empty, that gave her goosebumps.

”I will never forgive you, and... Neither will you.” She whispered. ”But you will have to live with the choice you made.”

Her words echoed loudly in his head several minutes after Polly left... And they never stopped ringing now, thirty eight months later. Thomas counted, every morning to be sure. After sobering up it was difficult to tell days apart. He rarely slept, fearful of the dreams he had at first.

He saw her, she was so close and yet no matter how fast Tommy ran, he couldn't reach her. Out of his reach no matter how hard he screamed or cried. Looking at him with the burning tears he caused.

It took him three months to sober up, give up on opium and... Feel. Thomas wasn't ready for the hellish pain that dawned on him once the drug wore off. The terrifying longing that dawned on him when he felt the remnants of her perfume on his pillow. The lack of relief he hoped for so badly, throwing away every single Grace's belonging he held onto previously, burning the photos and destroying the items, but it never came.

As time stretched, it became more intense. Thomas carried the pain and guilt wherever he went, finding the smallest bit of relief only in his office, searching for Y/N in every piece of England day by day.

Replaying the ways in which he treated her, internally setting himself on fire and forcing himself to feel every bit of it. Because that's what he deserved, to feel and carry the cross he created with his own hands.

Oh how beautiful the pain was, as he'd lean back in his armchair, closing his eyes and remembering her gaze. Her scent and her laugh, echoing so lively in his mind.

...but none of it worked, no matter how many people searched. How much money he spent on the search. Almost like she disappeared into thin air.

Day by day he was dying a little, bleeding through the wounds he so desperately prevented from healing every single time. Keeping the memory of her alive in his mind, not letting the hope die. Because it was all he had. Glimmer of hope. The leader of Peaky blinders became even worse than before. The pain shaped his mind in unknown ways, as the limitless cruelty became visible to anyone who dared to cross his path. Peaky Blinders were unmatched.

Nobody besides Thomas held onto the hope anymore. Knowing Y/N for so long, John and Artur knew she wouldn't come back. Not if her life depended on it. Polly only prayed for her safety.

...and Y/N? She stopped praying once her children were born. After finding out she'd have twins, she prayed every night for them to be born healthy. It was all that mattered.

Not the fact that she had to be using a fake name after moving to Coventry, mere miles away from Birmingham. But she couldn't afford to move further.

It's been.. so fucking hard. Everything. Y/N spent every night crying, begging any God that would listen to take away the pain in her heart. The pain that her babies only managed to lessen. Working as a waitress on nightshifts after accepting the kindness of her older neighbour. Mrs Wilson offered to take care of her boys while she works to help her make ends meet. Y/N had no idea what she would do without a woman she grew to call her only family.

”It's no problem, honey. They're little angels” She said quietly with a kind smile, taking one of the boys into her arms mere days after they were born.

The pain Y/N felt by having to leave her kids every night was stronger than the physical one. Having to work a demanding job after giving birth to keep the roof over their heads.

She cried, cried so much that eventually tears ran out and all she could do was.. keep trying. The two little people by her side were giving her strength. Light that she couldn't see before them, and only existed because they were here. Keeping her own heart beating.

***

”Are you sure? I can take care of them while you go, honey. You know how much I love them, don't you?” The older lady offered eagerly, caressing Nick's cheek with a smile, and a hint of concern while she glanced at Y/N.

”Thank you, but I will take them. The least I can do is spend time with them throughout the day.” Y/N responded, smiling sadly to her neighbour who just nodded along, understanding the allusion.

Letting out a sigh, she put her hands together.

”Be careful, dear.”

Y/N squeezed her hand lightly before pulling away as she held her son's hand, while carrying the other one on her hip.

”Always”

Travelling via train took no longer than forty minutes, and with each passing mile, Y/N's anxiety grew. She hasn't been in Birmingham for a long time now, not looking back.

Yet, because of her official address being still in the Arrow house, she needed to visit the office to complete documentation for boys. She put it off as long as she could, but it was inevitable now.

Despite the negative emotions, Y/N couldn't felt.. better, having her babies with her. The familiar facial expressions or blue orbs were enough to sometimes bring her to tears, but she couldn't love them more. They were a perfect little copy of the man whose name was engraved on her heart. The older they were, the more similar looking they were and now at dashing two and a half years, both boys were troublemakers.

Slowly making their way through Birmingham, Y/N held one little hand, chatting away with Nick, who was more energised than his brother who slept soundly in his mum's arms.

”...and dat?” He asked, pointing towards the building and glancing curiously at his mama. Y/N smiled at his curiosity, seeing how similar personality wise he was to her.

”that's a house” She replied calmly. The little boy cheered loudly, throwing his arms in the air.

"Yaay! Hooose!” He squealed making her chuckle, not caring about the scolding glances from other passengers.

A couple minutes later the other little one woke up, and started fussing because obviously he also wanted to walk now, while Nick wanted to be carried now. Sighing, Y/N put one of the kids down, and as she managed to pick up little Nick, she gasped loudly seeing her son's legs already in motion as he ran towards the crowd.

”Tommy! Thomas, stop!” She yelled after him, chasing him with Nick on her hip who watched the whole thing with his blue eyes wide open. ”Tommy!” She yelled once again, and he finally turned around, stumbling upon someone.

Y/N closed the distance as fast as she could, grabbing little Tommy and pulling him back to his feet, as she checked for any bruises – found none.

”I'm so sorry, i–” She started out, wanting to apologise to the random passenger, but words died on her tongue as soon as her eyes locked with the familiar brown ones.

”Y/N?” Polly stumbled out in shock.

Fuck

Part two upcoming

[itshelia]

Is it just me or everyone imagine their fav characters that they are obsessing over in real life???

Like I'll be at work and then I imagine that bitch sitting next to me, talking to me and admiring me while I FUCKING KNOW THAT I HAVENT KISSED A MALE SPECIES IN MY ENTIRE LIFE

I don't know if that's sign of a fucking mental problem or what but I swear if I'm even Slightly upset or tired of my life i WILL open tumblr and start imagining them or talking to them (aka my wall. It be sitting there like the fuck gurl im not your man)

[peaky1wh0re]

Smash.