#Tommy Shelby/Reader

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?” 

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family. 

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

[amostimprobabledream]

Sick and Tired of False Devotion (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

In which Tommy is cheating with you. Takes place shortly after Season 3.

Tommy Shelby wakes to the sound of blackbirds singing.

The noise, no matter the time or place he was currently in, always took him back to days of his boyhood. Yawning stretches of summer mornings, him and his siblings taking the long path to school across rolling fields of green grass swaying in the breeze, accompanied by the warbling of the birds. The future stretched out before him then, full of promise. That boy was dead now, lost in the cold mud in France, but he still remembers the birdsong. Next to him there issues a new noise – a soft, feminine moan. He observes you beside him as you open your eyes, the sweet peaceful expression of your sleeping face morphing into something else as you ascend into full consciousness. The fog of sleep in your eyes recedes and in its place is that sparkle, the glimmer of naughtiness and spirit that sucks him in like a whirlpool.

A man could get lost in such eyes.

“Morning,” you greet Tommy in a sleepy hum, a far cry from the noises you were making last night. “Mornin’.” Tommy answers, leaning down to kiss you, the mutual whiff of cigarettes on your collective breaths be damned. You tilt your head up to receive him, like a flower pointing towards the sun. Your lips are soft, still kiss-swollen from before and your hand snakes around to the back of his head, cupping the shorn base of his skull and pulling him in to deepen the kiss. You tug on his dark hair, always so demanding, and he could easily succumb to it – the allure of your body, naked under the slippery silk sheets, the sweetness of your lips and the warmth of the bed. But he can’t. His wife will be expecting him.

“I can’t stay.” Tommy tells you, pulling back. Some women might have protested a little harder at being left behind like this, these clandestine meetings that always end with Tommy departing your brightly lit bedroom to return to grey Birmingham skies and an equally chilly manor house. But you don’t beg him to stay, you never have. You accept his affections when he offers them, but you always watch him with droll amusement as he dresses to leave. You’re doing it right now, lighting a cigarette and lounging back in bed as Tommy tugs on his trousers and feeds the end of his belt through the buckle. “What’s she got you doing this time?” you ask, mockingly. “Time to show you off at some ghastly gala or other? A charity auction? Dinner with the in-laws?” You snicker, smoke spewing from your nose. Tommy doesn’t dignify that with a response, though he makes no effort to deny it either, nor does he scold you for your tone. You seem to regard the fact that Tommy Shelby is sneaking around behind his wife’s back as highly amusing. You talk about her in the third person, with sarcastic inflection. Like she’s a scheming pantomime villainess. It entertains you to imagine Tommy’s wife, rattling around the mansion he bought like the lady of the manor, ordering about the staff who secretly despise her and wearing imported silks and rearranging paintings Tommy says he bought but are actually stolen, blissfully unaware her husband has been fucking around behind her back for months or that he hasn’t halted his gang activities whatsoever. She has no idea you laugh at her, at thinking she’s bent Tommy Shelby to her will, ignorant that his growing antipathy for his marriage has driven him right into your arms. Tommy trusts you, you see. He sometimes tells you little bits of what he’s doing – never the full picture, of course, but enough that you can puzzle together most of it yourself. You never pry, never probe him with breathy questions, but you listen to him and offer your objective opinions, you’re totally impartial to most of the issues he’s grappling with, so he knows you’re not being tainted by any preconceived notions. You’ll tell him if you think something is a bad idea, but you’ve never asked him to be anything other than what he is. You don’t see Tommy Shelby as a project to fix or something to be tamed.

You know a wild thing like him would never be happy bridled.

Your tactic acceptance of him, your eyes lacking judgement and your own peculiar penchants make you an enigma to him. Tommy can’t resist a challenge, a puzzle for his intense intelligence to figure out. He comes back again and again for you – each new facet of you fascinates him.

Grace has been hinting lately at wanting another child, remarking that Charles might be lonely, and wouldn’t it be nice if he had a brother to play with? Yet the thought of Grace swanning around with a stollen belly, smirking and rubbing it like a genie’s lamp, leaves him cold. It hasn’t escaped his notice that as Charles ages, the boy barely resembles him at all. When he plays with Arthur, John and Ada’s children, his lighter hair stands out like a sore thumb against a gaggle of dark-haired children. He knows Grace disapproves of her precious son mixing with his sibling’s children – that he’ll pick up bad habits.

When Tommy is unable to slip away from home to see you, you shrug and go off to one of your mysterious parties or other social engagements he is not privy to. He pays his boys quite a lot of money to keep track of the whereabouts of his mistress, but even then, you prove to be frustratingly elusive when you want to be, always drifting just a bit out of his reach, like fog at his fingertips. He doesn’t know how you knew the men he pays to watch you are his, but you do.

It's aggravating, but in a way, pleasing, like putting pressure on a bruise to see how deep the wound goes. “Got something for you.” He tells you in a rasp. You look up from where you’re fussing with your stockings, a faux  diamond on the garter glinting in the sunlight. “Oh?” you ask in an effort to sound detached, but he can see your eyes light up with excitement. Tommy’s gifts are often both pretty and very expensive. Tommy crosses the room and produces a box that was hidden inside the pocket of his coat. When he brings it over to you, you’re suddenly sitting up and alert, taking it from him and stripping it of the velvet ribbon holding it shut. “Oh.” You say again, with a wildly different inflection this time, recognising the logo stamped on the top. When you pop the lid off the box, your breath catches in your throat. Something is nestled in a bed of black velvet.

It's a dress, in a shade of green that you can tell at a glance will look great with your skin tone. Slowly you lift it up, the fabric whispering as it moves, and hold it up to the light, marvelling as the material seems to shimmer with colour.

“Tommy, I love it.” You whisper reverently.

He grunts, but you can tell he’s pleased, and he pops a cigarette between his lips before lighting it, the flame at the end of his match lighting up his eyes, making them look like ice, like glaciers lit up by the dawn. You wonder if he picked this dress himself, imagined you in it, imagined taking it off you later. Lizzie could have gone in his stead, but she still would have paid for it with Tommy’s money, and he would have still had final approval before handing it to you. That’s enough for you. “I ‘ave a meeting with the Russian ambassador.” He says, nonchalantly, as if such a thing is just an ordinary Tuesday for Tommy Shelby. “Need someone with me to keep things looking above board and respectable. Someone who can keep their mouth shut.” You don’t have to ask why he wants you there and not Grace. His wife has proven in the past that she isn’t to be trusted with a secret. Even her husband’s. Perhaps especially her husband’s. “I’ll be there.” You say, forgetting to ask him when this meeting is, so enamoured are you with the thought of getting to wear clothes like this and stand at Tommy’s side, facing down an enemy together. True, you’d be wearing silk instead of a razor in your cap, but both these things can prove a useful tool, depending on how you use it. Honestly, you’d probably agree to visit a pigpen if it meant you got to wear clothes like this, and knowing that a night of subterfuge and champagne will probably lead to a night of some incredible post-socialising fucking?

Well, you could do worse.

“Pour me a drink before you go?” you ask sweetly, voice still rough with sleep, pointing across the room at a bottle of whisky and some glasses, still sticky with residue. It’s a little early to be knocking back the booze, but you don’t have anywhere urgent to be until this afternoon.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t refuse, and you watch him saunter over to the table, pouring one for you and one for himself, his white shirt still unbuttoned and hanging off him, light making the fabric practically translucent. He looks equally delicious partially dressed as he does naked, and you lick your lips as you greedily drink in the sight. He approaches, a wry smirk on his face as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and you smirk up at him in return. “Does Polly know about this little meeting?” you ask him, accepting your glass, fingertips leaving smudges on the design. “She’s the one who helped set it up.” Tommy replies, speaking around his cigarette. “Pol understands how important this is.” “Well, then.” You reply. “If Polly’s on board, then I’ll drink to that.” Polly’s no idiot – if she’s willing to deal with Russians, either she knows that what they’re offering makes it worth it, or that pissing them off would lead to consequences the family would do better to avoid. If you can smooth the way to a successful negotiation by looking pretty and keeping your eyes and ears open, then you’ll do it. You clink glasses with him and swallow back the whisky. The familiar burn down your throat is strangely pleasant, and more importantly quenches your dry mouth a little. Tommy sets his glass down on the side table and smacks his lips. “I’ll send a car ‘round to pick you up tomorrow at nine.” He says and wags a finger at you in a way that’s supposed to be stern, but you can detect a little playfulness there too. “Don’t keep me waiting.” “Mm, but you keep me waiting all the time,” you counter, unable to resist teasing him a little bit, lounging back in the bed so the covers slip a tantalising inch or so lower, exposing more of your bare skin. “Don’t you?” He looks down at you with that impassive face that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you – besides his mistress, obviously. What do you represent to him? You’re not married so he doesn’t have to worry about a jealous husband complicating matters, but he also knows you’re not the type of women who will be dangled from his string indefinitely. Yet if he just wanted a fuck, he could pick up any woman willing to give Tommy Shelby company for a night. Perhaps he feels like he doesn’t have any expectations in your house. He isn’t putting on a mask for the benefit of his men or trying to juggle the very separate factions of his family – the Shelby’s on one side and his wife and son on the other. With you, he can let go of all his worries and just luxuriate in being around you for a little while. He leans down, fingers gripping your jaw in a firm hold that sets off butterflies in your stomach, and he kisses you again. This time it’s Tommy who deepens the kiss, Tommy who slips his tongue into your mouth, his hand sliding down to cup your breasts and marvel in the weight and feel of them, so soft in his rough hands. “Behave yourself,” Tommy says in a low murmur in your ear, and you giggle as his breath tickles your skin. “And you’ll get a reward once the job’s done. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “I would,” you agree, unable to hide the excited tremor in your voice. A reward can mean many things and you know he’s said that so your imagination will take over and get you all worked up with anticipation before he’s had to lift a finger. He’s a crafty bastard.

“Good girl,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, even as he maintains an impressive poker face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “In the dress?” you tease, as if you’d wear anything else. “In the dress.” He replies, with a roll of his eyes. “Mm. Maybe I should wear my favourite stockings too,” you say, rolling onto your back. “And those pretty shoes from Paris you sent me. That was you, wasn’t it? In that box without a note?” You like to remind him that he isn’t the only man who wants to bed you, and you know he knows. He runs a hand over his jaw and clever as he may be, it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s thinking – risk being late home and ruin whatever neatly concocted story he has ready to excuse it to give you a good seeing-to? Or play it safe and wait until tomorrow? Unfortunately for you, he knows you’re just as impatient for his hands on you as he is, and he’s a man capable of great control when he wants. So, he just jams his hat on his head, pulling the brim down low. “Tomorrow,” he repeats, his eyes fixed on yours, pinning you in place. “Wait for me until then.” He leaves shortly after, knowing if he does not, he’ll get sucked into more bantering with you. You have a knack for making him lose track of time. You watch him leave and smile to yourself – despite his instructions, you’re not sure if you can wait that long.

And you’ve never been one for playing by the rules.

[tootiredtobenice]

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.

[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.

[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.” 

[briefinquiries]

Tommy Shelby x Reader: By Order of Blood

Summary: Tommy Shelby thought sending you away would keep you safe, until the carriage was intercepted. Now, as he cradles your trembling, broken body, he swears two things: he will never let you go again… and the men who touched you won’t live to see another sunrise.

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings: angst, violence, injury descriptions (mentions of blood, torture, SA), PTSD, nightmares, and panic attacks, emotional distress, and revenge-driven violence (also includes lots of hurt / comfort).

A/N: Lost all motivation to write my normal stuff recently, but currently rewatching peaky blinders and feeling all sorts of ways about my boyyy tommy shelby.

"Tommy, please. Don't do this." Your voice was barely above a whisper as the weight of the moment pressed down on your chest like a stone.

You reached for him, fingers trembling as they grazed the fabric of his coat. 

But he didn’t budge. He stood rigid, back straight, his jaw locked so tight you could practically see the muscle ticking underneath his skin. A cigarette burned low between his fingers, a thin wisp of smoke curling in the dim light.

His face was unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. It was the same one he wore when giving orders that decided life or death. 

"You’re leaving tonight," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You shook your head before he was even finished speaking, your breath catching. "No– no, I don’t want to leave."

Tommy exhaled slowly, as if he was gearing up for a fight. "This is not about what you want."

Your throat tightened. "Tommy, please–"

"You’ll be safer away from me."

You let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Safer?" The word tasted bitter on your tongue. "Tommy, I’m safe when I’m with you. The further away you are, the less safe I’ll feel."

For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Hesitation. Regret. Maybe even doubt. But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Buried beneath layers of steel.

His shoulders stiffened, his fingers tightening around the cigarette. "You’ll have guards."

"I don’t want guards." Your voice wavered. "I want you. What if something happens, Tommy? What then?"

His breath hitched, but he remained stoic. "It won’t," he said firmly.

You searched his face, desperate for something, anything, that would tell you he wasn’t as sure about this as he was pretending to be. That this was tearing him apart, too. But all you saw was cold resolve. Complete certainty. 

A hollow feeling spread through your stomach as the truth settled in your bones. He had already made up his mind. And there was nothing you could say to make him change it.

Panic pressed against your ribs. You wanted to tell him that being away from him would be worse than any danger that lurked in Birmingham. But you couldn’t find the words.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Tommy took one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out with slow, deliberate movements. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were unreadable.

"The carriage is waiting."

The words hit you like a blow, stealing whatever fight you had left.

You felt yourself nod, but you didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. Without another word, you turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence.

And Thomas Shelby let you go. 

…

The wooden seat beneath you felt cold and unforgiving. But not nearly as cold as the hollow feeling in your chest.

You sat stiffly, arms folded across your body. Your stomach churned– a mixture between fear, anger, and grief. Each emotion fought for dominance, and yet all you could do was stare blankly at the road stretching endlessly ahead of you, your surroundings blurring past the window.

You tried to rationalize his actions and remind yourself why he made the choices he did. But this didn’t feel like protection anymore. 

It felt like a punishment. 

The hours dragged. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the occasional creak of the carriage were the only sounds filling the silence. You hadn’t spoken a word to the driver or to the men Tommy had sent to guard you. You refused. Who cared if they thought you were some entitled brat?

But then, suddenly, something in the air shifted.

You weren’t sure what it was at first. Maybe it was just a feeling, an unease that coiled in your stomach like a vice. But then you noticed the hooves come to a gradual stop. One of the guards riding ahead straightened in his saddle, glancing toward the dense trees lining the road.

Your pulse quickened, but before you could even part your lips to ask what was wrong, you heard the gunshot.

A sickening crack followed by shouting. One of the men slumped forward on his horse before crashing onto the dirt road in a heap. The horses screamed, rearing violently. The carriage lurched, sending you slamming into the side with a sharp gasp.

Another shot. Another thud. 

The second guard fell before he could even draw his gun. Then the driver let out a strangled yell, yanking hard on the reins. 

But it was too late.

Figures emerged from the darkness of the trees, their boots pounding against the dirt, moving fast. Panic seized you. Without thinking, you scrambled toward the door, heart hammering, fumbling for the latch. You could still get out, still run, still–

But when you threw your weight against it, the door didn’t budge.

The impact from the gunfire, the carriage rocking on the uneven road– it had bent the frame inward. The wood creaked, but the metal hinges were jammed tight.

"No, no, no–” you pleaded. You pushed harder, shoulders slamming against the door.

Then, the other door was yanked open violently, nearly ripping off its hinges. You barely had time to turn before rough, gloved hands grabbed you, wrenching you forward. You thrashed against them, kicking, clawing, screaming for them to let go. 

"Shut her up!" A voice snapped. 

And just like that, the back end of a gun slammed into your gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred as your body doubled over. Fingers fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burned.

One of the men leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek.

"I guess Shelby should’ve sent more men."

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as the other men chuckled darkly.

Your hands shook as you tried to fight, but there were too many of them, too many voices, too many shadows closing in around you. You screamed again. 

Then, a final, crushing blow to the side of your head sent the world tilting. Your knees buckled. 

And then– total darkness.

…

The office smelled of whiskey and smoke as the low glow of candlelight flickered against the walls. Tommy sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped around a glass he hadn’t yet touched.

Across from him, Arthur was talking. Something about business, numbers, men needing paying, but Tommy wasn’t listening. He had been distracted all night.

His mind kept circling back to you. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he made the right choice– that sending you away had been for your own good, that it was the only way to keep you safe. That image of you, eyes wide, pleading, your fingers brushing against his coat before he had forced himself to turn away remained at the forefront of his mind.

"Tommy, please," you had begged. 

He had ignored the way it made his chest ache, forcing himself to shut down the part of him that wanted to keep you close.

Because this was the only way.

Right?

But if it was the right choice, then why the fuck did it feel like such a fucking mistake?

"Tom?" Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Tommy blinked, setting the untouched glass down with slow, deliberate movements. His fingers tapped against the wood, a restless habit. "What?"

Arthur frowned, watching him closely. "You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?"

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw twitched. 

Arthur exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, Tommy. Forget about it. You did the right thing, yeah? She’s safer out of Birmingham. You said so yourself."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. He shook his head, reaching for the cigarette pack on his desk, desperate for something to quiet his mind. But just as he struck the match, the door burst open.

Tommy’s head snapped up.

John stood in the doorway, breathless and pale.

"Tommy–" he panted, eyes wide with urgency. "The carriage– we just got word– it was intercepted–"

For a moment, the words didn’t register. A slow, heavy silence fell over the room. Tommy just stared at him, cigarette burning between his fingers, unmoving. Then, a sharp, cold wave of panic slammed into his chest.

His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet. "What?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

John swallowed hard. "One of the scouts came back. The men– the guards you sent– they’re dead. Driver too."

The room tilted. A deafening ringing filled Tommy’s ears, drowning out everything else.

No, no, no. No. 

"Where?" Tommy demanded, his voice now urgent, raw, trembling with barely contained terror.

"We don’t know yet–"

Tommy’s chest heaved, his breath coming sharp and ragged. "Find out," he snapped, grabbing his coat. His hands were shaking. "Find out right fucking now."

Arthur was already up, grabbing his gun. "We’re going after her, Tommy."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing, trying to think, trying to breathe, trying not to fucking lose it.

He had sent you away.

He had sent you away.

His heart pounded violently, his throat tight with a kind of fear he had never felt before.

Not anger. Not fury. Not vengeance.

Fear.

Because if they had taken you…

If they had hurt you…

Tommy couldn’t finish the thought.

Because the moment he did, he wouldn’t be able to fucking breathe.

…

When you woke up, the first thing you registered was the pain. 

The deep, aching throb in your skull. The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue, thick and suffocating.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs sluggish as you tried to move, only to realize that you couldn’t.

Panic slid into your chest, sharp and immediate as you became aware of the restraints, of the rough, biting feel of rope digging into your wrists, binding them behind the back of a chair. Your breath hitched, vision swimming in the overwhelming darkness that surrounded you.

You struggled against the restraints, muscles screaming in protest, but the chair barely creaked beneath your weight. The air was damp, thick with the scent of rotting wood and stale sweat. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the faint melodic drop of water.

A basement. Maybe a warehouse. Somewhere completely forgotten.

A door creaked open and your breath stilled. There were footsteps– slow and leisurely. 

A shadow loomed at the edge of the room, then a man stepped forward, boots scraping against the concrete floor. The dim light of a lantern illuminated his features, dark eyes full of amusement, a smirk twisting his thin lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, tilting his head. "Look who's awake."

Your stomach coiled in disgust as he came closer, circling you like a predator playing with its prey. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay still, to keep your expression blank.

The man stopped just beside you, tapping a finger against his chin, mockingly thoughtful. "You’re prettier up close," he mused. "Is that why Shelby keeps you so close? Well… not this time I guess."

A beat of silence. Then, his voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Where’s he keeping his next shipment?"

You didn’t answer but his smirk only widened. "Playing the silent game, are we?"

He moved closer to you, and before you could react, a sharp, stinging slap cracked across your cheek.

Your head snapped to the side, your vision blurring with the impact.

"You’ll want to answer me," he said menacingly. "Or this is going to get a hell of a lot worse for you."

You clenched your teeth, forcing your breath to stay even. 

He let out a disappointed sigh. "Stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Brave, even?" He stepped closer, gripping the arms of your chair, leaning in until his breath was hot against your ear. "But tell me, sweetheart… how brave do you think you’ll be when we’re through with you?"

You refused to let him see your fear. But inside, terror clawed at your ribs, sinking in deep.  

The man stepped back, studying you. His smirk hadn't faltered, but you could see the frustration flicker in his dark eyes.

"Not talking, eh?" He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if this were some inconvenience, some tedious task he had to complete before moving on with his night.

Then, without warning, his fist slammed into your stomach.

Your body jerked violently against the ropes, a strangled gasp ripping from your throat as the air was stolen from your lungs. White, hot agony flared in your gut, the chair beneath you rocking from the force of it. You coughed, your body instinctively trying to double over, but the ropes held you upright, forcing you to endure it.

Still, you said nothing.

The man let out a humorless chuckle. "Tough girl, huh?"

Another blow. To your face again. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the cry that threatened to escape.

"Tell me," he continued casually, shaking out his fist, "where the Peaky Blinders keep their weapons."

You lifted your head slowly, breathing heavily through your nose. Then, you spat blood onto the floor at his feet.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. And then, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply you let out a strangled gasp.

"I was hoping you’d be difficult," he murmured, tilting his head. "It makes this so much more fun for me."

Deep fear curled around your bones like ice. Because you knew exactly what men like him were capable of. He let go of your hair abruptly, your head snapping forward from the force of it, pain splintering through your already throbbing skull.The next blow came before you could brace yourself. It was a heavy, brutal punch to your nose. Pain exploded behind your eyes, your body lurching sideways, nearly toppling the chair. Your ears rang, the room spinning wildly.

Your nose was dripping. It took you a second to realize it was blood, warm and thick as it trailed down your lips. Still, you didn’t speak. 

He let out a long, slow breath, tilting his head as he studied you. "I can do this all night," he said lightly, as if he weren’t already beating you bloody. Then, something darker crossed his expression. 

"But maybe," he continued, voice lower, silkier, more dangerous, "I could find other ways to make you talk."

Your stomach churned at the sight of his gaze, predatorial. Every muscle in your body seized as he took a step forward, one hand reaching for his pocket. Then, metal glinted under the dim light.

A knife. Not small, not discreet, but long, sharp, wicked.

He flicked it open with an almost lazy motion, rolling it between his fingers like a coin, as if the weapon was nothing more than a casual accessory to him. "You know," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes dragging over your bound, broken form with something close to amusement, "I've always wondered how many pieces a person can be cut into before they bleed out."

He crouched beside you, the blade dancing along his fingers, before slowly pressing the cold steel under your chin.

"Tell me what I want to know," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, like a whisper of silk against your skin. 

More silence. 

He smirked. A devilish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I'll start with the fingers."

Your heart pounded violently, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, fight, do something– 

But what were you supposed to do? The ropes bit into your wrists, your limbs too weak, too battered, your breath too shallow.

"Think I'm bluffing?" he asked, watching your reaction. "Think I won’t carve you up, nice and slow?"

The knife dragged downward, grazing lightly along the column of your throat, just enough to prickle your skin, to remind you how easily he could cut deeper.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Because I will, sweetheart," he whispered, almost fondly. "And when I'm done, I’ll send the pieces back to Shelby. One by one."

“I don’t know where the weapons are,” The words spilled out before you could even think, desperate, shaky, but holding just enough bite to make them believable. “Tommy doesn’t tell me those things– says it’s not a woman’s business to know– that we’d break too easily if we got questioned.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears as you held his gaze, willing yourself to look small, weak, unimportant.

He laughed. Low, dark, amused. He leaned in again, the overwhelming stench of sweat and smoke rolling off him in waves.

"You think I believe that?" His voice was smooth as he tilted his head, watching you with something cruel, calculating. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, your hands twisting uselessly behind your back, fingers numb from the ropes cutting into your skin.

You didn’t answer. Because you knew better. Men like him didn’t want the truth. They wanted excuses to hurt you.

He sighed, feigning disappointment. "See, sweetheart, here’s the problem with your little lie." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, something smudged with dirt and blood.

"One of your guards had this tucked in his coat. An order from Mr. Shelby himself," he said, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Says to keep you safe. Says not to let you out of their sight."

The bastard grinned as he tossed the paper onto your lap. "Now, why would Thomas Shelby go through all that trouble for someone who doesn’t know anything?"

You felt cold all over. He knew. No amount of lying was going to save you now.

"Yeah," he murmured, standing upright. "That’s what I thought."

His hand shot out suddenly, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back. You winced, but didn’t look away. A cruel smile spread across his face. "That’s good," he murmured. "I like when they look at me."

Then, cold steel pressed against your cheek. You flinched violently, your breath stuttering, but he only grinned wider, his grip tightening, holding you in place. 

"You’ll tell me what I want to know," he promised, his fingers digging into your bruised skin. "Sooner or later."

The blade slid downward, slow, deliberate, tracing the delicate line of your jaw.

Then, it pressed in. A sharp, searing pain bloomed beneath your skin, and you gasped, body jerking instinctively, but the ropes held you tight, trapped.

A thin line of warm blood trickled down your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow, taunting. "Maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it," he mused, releasing you with a sharp shove.

…

Tommy paced the office like a caged animal, fingers tugging through his hair, his mind racing faster than his body could keep up.

The room was too small, too fucking suffocating, and the longer it took to get information, the more his chest tightened, the more his hands shook.

"Where the fuck is she?"

No one had an answer.

Tommy turned on John. "Who told you? Who gave you the fucking word?"

John swallowed, shifting on his feet. "A scout, one of our boys in Small Heath– he saw the wreckage. The guards, the driver… all dead, Tommy."

His stomach dropped.

Bodies.

But no mention of her.

He felt sick. Cold. A new kind of fear he hadn’t felt since the war clawed its way up his throat like bile. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. If they had taken you alive, that meant they wanted something from you.

He had to find you. Now. A sharp knock on the door cut through the tense silence. Isaiah stepped in, breathless, eyes wide.

"We’ve got something."

Tommy’s head snapped up so fast his vision blurred.

"Where?"

Isaiah wiped a hand down his face, shaking his head. "We don’t know for sure, but one of the lads caught wind of a group setting up shop in an old distillery just outside the city– on the outskirts near the river."

"Who?" Tommy’s voice was deadly calm, but the way his hands shook slightly at his sides betrayed him.

Isaiah hesitated. "You’re not gonna like the answer, Tom."

Tommy’s chest tightened. "Say it," he demanded.

Isaiah exhaled. "Sabini’s men."

The room went deathly quiet.

Arthur swore, kicking the leg of a chair so hard it splintered.

Sabini.

That filthy fucking bastard had been waiting for an opportunity to strike, and Tommy had handed it to him on a silver fucking platter when he sent you away. Tommy felt his pulse roar in his ears, drowning out every other sound in the room.

He turned to Arthur. "Get everyone. We move now."

His brother didn’t hesitate. As Arthur stormed out, barking orders to the rest of the men, Tommy grabbed his coat, his revolver already in his hand.

He didn’t just want to kill them.

He wanted to wipe them from existence.

Because they had taken you.

And Thomas Shelby was going to burn the fucking city down to get you back.

…

Your wrists were raw from the ropes, skin rubbed red and torn from how hard you had fought– fought for nothing, fought for no one to come, fought just to survive another minute, another second.

You were too weak to fight anymore. Your entire body was screaming in agony, every nerve burning, every muscle aching with exhaustion.

Your stomach throbbed violently, a deep, searing pain radiating from one of the larger gashes that had been carved into your skin. You could still feel the sting of the blade as it sank into your flesh, the warm trickle of blood spilling down your ribs, soaking into the shredded remains of your clothes.

What was left of them, anyway.

Your dress had been ripped apart, torn from your body in jagged, humiliating shreds, exposing bruised, violated skin.

The men had touched you, their hands roaming, gripping, forcing you still, their laughter ringing in your ears as they stripped you down like you were nothing more than something to be used.

You had fought, God, you had fought, thrashing, kicking, but their hands had been stronger, crueler, unyielding.

Now, you could feel the cool air biting at your skin, the exposed places where they had left their marks– dark bruises, bloody scratches, shame carved into your very bones. Your arms shook, the fabric clinging to what was left of you, offering little protection, little dignity.

You felt disgusting.

Ruined.

And even though they had been interrupted before they could take it any further, the damage was already done.

The way they had laughed. Cruel, mocking, like your pain was amusing, like your struggle meant nothing.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

The words had sliced deeper than the knife, burrowing into your chest, your ribs, your bones.

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

It was all still there, burned into your mind, bleeding into your skin like an invisible brand you would never escape.

And your ribs– God, your ribs. Every inhale was a battle, every breath felt like knives digging into your sides, sharp and relentless. You didn’t know if they were bruised or broken, but the deep, throbbing ache that rattled through your chest made you certain that something was damaged beyond repair.

Even the slightest movement sent sharp, unbearable pain lancing through you, making your vision blur, making bile rise in your throat.

Your face was swollen, beaten, the metallic taste of blood thick on your tongue.

Your body flinched violently as hands roamed over you, rough fingers gripping, bruising, tearing fabric, exposing too much. A cruel chuckle ghosted over your ear.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

The words barely registered through the haze, but the hot breath against your skin did, the weight of a body pressing against you. Suffocating.

You turned your head, gasping sharply, choking on a sob as your body tried to shrink away, but the ropes held you firm, like an animal waiting for slaughter.

Another pair of hands gripped your thigh, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to disappear inside yourself, trying to will yourself into a place where this wasn’t happening, wasn’t real.

Then– footsteps, shouting.

Not inside the room, but outside.

The hands stilled.

More voices now, low, urgent, laced with something that sounded close to alarm.

"Go check it out," one of the men shouted.

A few of them grumbled, hesitating, as if reluctant to leave, but then another loud thud echoed from beyond the door, followed by the distant clatter of metal hitting the floor.

The man above you cursed, pushing off of you abruptly, leaving behind a nauseating heat where his body had been pressing against yours.

"Fucking deal with her," he ordered the one who stayed behind before storming toward the door.

You heard them shuffle out, their boots heavy against the floor, the door creaking as it was pulled shut behind them. One remained. 

Then– Gunfire. A sharp, brutal crack shook the walls. The man froze. Another shot. Then another. Shouts of panic cried outside the door, the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground. And then the door burst open.

The man barely had time to turn, barely had time to lift his knife, barely had time to do anything, before a bullet tore through his skull, the shot echoing like thunder.

His body crumpled to the floor.

More boots pounded into the room. Your swollen, half-lidded eyes struggled to focus, your mind fading in and out, but you knew– you knew those voices. Someone dropped to their knees beside you.

"Fuck– It’s her." The voice was urgent, but familiar. "She’s alive. Love, it’s me– it’s John. Can ya hear me?"

He moved to untie you, but you let out a small, broken noise. Weakly, you tried to turn away, as if you could somehow hide your exposed body from him– hide from what had been done to you.

"Shit– someone get her a coat, something!" John hollered. 

More hurried voices. More boots scuffing against the ground.

Then a voice rang out. "Get out of the fucking way!"

The tone was raw, shaking with rage, sharp enough to cut through the chaos like a knife. Everyone moved aside instantly.

Tommy’s blue eyes locked onto you, widening as he took in the bruises, the gash on your stomach leaking blood, the torn fabric barely covering your body.

Then, under his breath, so low it was barely a whisper, he muttered, "Jesus Christ.” 

His coat was off his shoulders in an instant. He crouched down and carefully draped it over you, covering as much of your exposed skin as he could. The weight of it should’ve been comforting, should’ve felt like protection, but you flinched. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through your body, making your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Tommy’s jaw tightened. His hands hovered, like he was unsure if touching you would only make things worse.

John knelt beside him, fingers moving to quickly undo the ropes. 

Your body swayed forward as the last rope fell away, your muscles too weak to hold you upright, but Tommy’s hands shot out instantly, catching you before you could collapse completely. He felt the way you tensed. The way your body tried to shrink away, as if you weren’t sure whether his hands were safe ones or not. 

“Can you walk?” His voice was low, controlled, but his heart was fucking pounding.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t even manage to look up at him– like you didn’t even register his question.

Your head hung limply forward, resting weakly against his shoulder. Your breath came in shallow bursts as the weight of exhaustion and pain dragged you down.

That was all the answer he needed. Without hesitation, he scooped you up into his arms. The moment he lifted you, a sharp, strangled cry tore from your throat as the wound on your stomach pinched.

“I got you,” The sound of your pain sent a violent shudder through Tommy’s body, his grip instinctively tightening. “I know, love. I know.”

Your head lolled against his chest, another small whimper escaping your lips as his arms adjusted their hold, careful but unrelenting. His breath was uneven as he stood, keeping you pressed tightly against him, shielding you as much as he could.

Your pain was his pain now.

Your suffering was his burden to bear.

And he was going to make every last one of those bastards suffer for what they had done to you.

The night air was cold, but Tommy barely felt it. His grip on you didn’t waver, his arms locking you against his chest, shielding you from the world as he carried you through the bloodstained corridors of the warehouse.

Every step he took was controlled, deliberate, but inside he was barely holding it together. You were too still, your body too limp in his arms. 

“Almost there," he murmured, his voice softer than he’d ever let it be, barely audible beneath the pounding of his own heart.

You didn’t respond. But when his arms shifted slightly, having to adjust his hold as he stepped over a body on the ground, you let out a small whimper of pain. His grip tightened instinctively.

"Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing against your temple, voice raw. "I’ve got you."

The car was waiting outside, its headlights cutting through the darkness, and the backseat door already open. Arthur was barking orders to the men, his voice clipped and deadly, but the moment Tommy stepped outside, all movement stopped. The others watched as he carried you– silent, grim, waiting.

They had seen Tommy Shelby furious before.

But this was something else entirely.

Without a word, Tommy laid you down in the backseat, before climbing in himself. He adjusted his coat so that it covered you again before guiding your head to rest more comfortably on his lap. 

The door slammed shut and the engine roared to life. The moment the car jolted forward, you let out another soft whimper, your fingers weakly reaching for him. 

"It’s alright," he murmured, as his hand brushed through your matted hair. "You’re alright."

You heard his words, but they felt far away… like a voice carried through water, muffled, distant. Your head shifted slightly against his lap as you forced your swollen eyes open. 

And then you saw it.

Blood.

Deep red, seeping through the white fabric of his shirt, thick and dark, staining the material all the way down to his waist. Your breath hitched. For a second, you didn’t understand. Your dazed mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process how he might’ve gotten hurt. 

Then it clicked. It wasn’t his blood.

It was yours.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the soaked fabric.

"Tommy–"

The word came out slurred, almost inaudible.

His hands tensed around you instantly. "I’m here, love," he said quickly, his voice sharper now, urgent. "I’m right here."

Your vision blurred. The world was tilting again. The blood, so much blood– 

"Tommy, am I dying?"

His arms tightened around you, his grip firm, protective, as if holding you together was enough to keep you here. 

"No," he said immediately, but there was something frantic beneath his voice now, something breaking. "No, you’re not dying. You’re alright."

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion dragging you down. 

Tommy turned his head sharply.

"Drive faster," he snapped, his voice thick with something close to desperation.

Arthur was already pushing the car to its limit, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as they sped toward home. Tommy’s hand cradled your cheek, his thumb stroking gently along your skin, even as his grip shook.

"You’re alright. But you have to stay awake," he said, almost pleadingly. 

You tried. And really, you wanted to. 

But the last thing you felt before the darkness pulled you under was the way his fingers trembled against your skin.

…

You felt the car lurch to a stop, the tires skidding against the dirt, but the world around you was hazy, your body heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.

You jolted further awake when Tommy shifted, pulling you onto his lap before he pushed the door open.

Then, a rush of cold air. Sharp as it bit at your skin. Tommy stepped out, his grip on you unwavering, unrelenting. There were voices, then footsteps. The sound of boots pounding against the ground. 

Polly’s familiar voice. "Oh, my girl," she gasped. “What have they done to her?”

You tried to lift your head, to focus, but your vision swam, the world tilting in and out of darkness. 

Polly was moving fast, her skirt rustling as she rushed toward you, her hands reaching for you before you even realized what was happening.

"Get her inside," she ordered, her tone sharp, controlled, but beneath it there was fear.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. You felt the urgency in his body, the tension coiling tight in his arms as he carried you up the steps, past the doorway, into the dim warmth of the house.

Everything was spinning. 

When he set you down, the wound in your stomach pinched and a warm rush of liquid poured from it. You clutched at it– felt the blood pooling between your fingers. 

"Tommy, put some pressure on that!" Polly’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Your breath hitched, your body already trembling from exhaustion, from blood loss, from the deep, horrible throbbing wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

Tommy moved instantly, his hands already reaching for you. You felt him brush your hands away before pressing a towel firmly against the open wound on your stomach. 

The moment the pressure hit, white-hot pain exploded through you.

You screamed.

 Your body arched off the mattress, hands flying to his wrist, gripping hard, your nails digging into his skin, trying to push him away.

"I know," Tommy rasped without budging, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might break his teeth.

You tried to twist away, but his hands didn’t move, didn’t falter, didn’t let up.

Your vision swam, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in your ears, agony coiling through your body like fire, licking up your ribs, burning through your spine.

Polly was moving fast, grabbing bandages, ripping fabric, preparing whatever she needed, but all you could focus on was the pressure, the unbearable weight of Tommy’s hands pressing against your stomach.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed under his breath. "Pol, do something. Help her–"

"I need supplies, Tommy," Polly snapped. "I need you to go get them."

You saw Tommy hesitate.

"Tom," Polly’s voice was firmer now, demanding. "Go. Now."

A beat. Then, the pressure on your stomach lifted as he moved away. The moment Tommy’s hands left your body, you felt the loss like a cruel snap of cold air.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively tensing, but Polly’s hands were already there, replacing his. 

She pressed tightly against the wound, and fresh agony ripped through you, another strangled cry spilling from your lips.

"Shh, darling," Polly murmured, her voice softer now, gentler than before, but still edged with urgency. "I know, I know. We’re going to get you all fixed up."

You let out a soft, weak noise as Tommy moved, as if your body somehow knew it was losing its only source of warmth, of safety.

"I’ll be right back," Tommy’s voice was hoarse, raw, full of something broken.

And then, the door swung shut. 

Your fingers clutched weakly at the sheets, your body writhing slightly, trying to escape the searing pain, but Polly held firm. "Easy," she murmured, one hand moving up to smooth your hair back from your face, her touch gentle despite the blood coating her fingers. "Just breathe."

You tried. But every inhale sent sharp daggers through your ribs, every second felt like your body was tearing itself apart.

"That’s it," Polly encouraged, even as her hands remained firm, even as she continued pressing into the wound. "Just keep breathing, sweetheart."

Footsteps. A door swinging open.

Then, his voice.

"Here," Tommy said, sounding breathless as he stormed back into the room. His hands were full of supplies.

Polly barely glanced up. "Put them on the table."

He did, his movements fast and urgent. But the moment he turned back to you, his face fell.

His blue eyes flickered to the blood pooling around Polly’s hands, to the torn fabric soaked with red, and then, to your face.

Your body was trembling, your breath coming shaky and weak, your skin far too pale.

Tommy’s hands curled into fists. Polly looked at him before releasing the pressure on your wound.

"It’s not clotting," she said, flat, grim. Polly exhaled sharply, grabbing the needle and thread. "We’ll have to stitch it up."

His jaw clenched, his throat working around words he couldn’t say, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. Without a word, he took his place back beside you, his hands finding your shoulders, his grip steady, firm, unyielding.

Polly met his gaze. "Hold her down."

And with agony in his eyes, he did.

A sharp, searing sensation that tore through your body like fire, ripping you from the darkness and into the cruel reality of the moment. Your eyes flew open, your breath catching instantly as a white-hot, unbearable sting shot through your stomach.

A scream tore from your throat before you even knew what was happening.

"Keep her from moving!" Polly’s voice was urgent, firm, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion as she clutched the bottle of alcohol she was using to clean your wounds.

Then, strong hands gripped your shoulders.

"Shh, love, I know, I know."

Tommy pinned you down, his weight pressing against you just enough to keep you still, but not enough to hurt you.

You fought against it anyway, your body thrashing violently, panic and agony blurring together as Polly’s hands worked quickly, pressing something sharp against your skin. Another wave of pain crashed through you, and you sobbed, gasping, your body twisting uselessly beneath Tommy’s grip. 

"Please–" Your voice cracked, weak and frantic, as the burning sensation only grew worse. “Please, stop–”

Tommy’s grip tightened, his breath harsh against your ear as he whispered, "I know,” he repeated. “You have to let her do this."

You couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear the pain, the sting, the relentless wave of agony pressing down on every nerve in your body.

But Tommy wasn’t letting go. His hands stayed firm, keeping you still as Polly continued, her voice clipped, professional– but you could hear the pain in it too.

"It’ll be over soon," she murmured, but it barely reached you over the sound of your own ragged sobs.

Another sharp pain seared through your ribs, and your body arched violently, another broken cry ripping from your throat. Your fingers latched onto Tommy’s arm, gripping him so tightly your nails dug into his skin.

He didn’t flinch.

His voice was hoarse, desperate, like this was hurting him just as much as it was hurting you. "I got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. "I’m right here, love. Just hold on. Just hold on."

But you couldn’t.

You felt yourself slipping away, the pain too much, too unbearable.

Your sobs grew softer, weaker, until the darkness swallowed you whole.

…

Sleep clung to you like a heavy shroud, pulling you under, keeping you trapped beneath the surface.

But then… voices.

Low, hushed, urgent.

You weren’t awake, not really. But the words drifted through the haze, barely reaching you, like an echo through water.

"I don’t know what happened in that room," Polly said, soft but grave, laced with something heavy, unspoken. "But our girl was hurt beyond what the eye can see."

There was silence– so suffocating that you could feel it settle over the room like a funeral shroud.

Then, Tommy’s voice, low, rough, dangerous in a way you had never heard before.

"What are you saying, Pol?"

A pause.

"You saw the bruises on her thighs, Tommy. The way her clothes were torn."

The words barely registered before a deep, unbearable shame clawed its way up your throat.

You wanted to pull the blanket tighter around you– to disappear, vanish, sink back into the darkness where none of this was real.

But your body wouldn’t listen. Your fingers twitched, barely moving against the sheets. Another silence. Longer this time. Heavier.

Then, Tommy’s voice, but it was different now. Not sharp, not angry. Shaken.

“Jesus Christ."

Another pause.

Then, a sound you never thought you’d hear from Tommy Shelby. A shaky exhale, almost like a breath that had been trapped in his chest for too long, forced out in a way that wasn’t entirely controlled.

You wanted to open your eyes.

Wanted to reach for him, for Polly, for something that made you feel whole again.

But your body was too broken, and your mind was too tired.

…

The room was quiet when you woke up.

Not the kind of peaceful quiet that brought comfort, but the kind that felt hollow, empty, like something had been ripped away. Your body felt heavy, every inch of you aching, wrapped in a deep, throbbing pain that radiated from your ribs, your face, your legs.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

Just listened.

The soft crackling of the fireplace. The distant murmurs of voices downstairs. The faint scent of whiskey, tobacco, and something familiar lingering in the air.

Then, movement

Your eyes shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Tommy.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his head bowed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he had been praying but never finished the prayer.

His hair was disheveled, his coat abandoned somewhere, his sleeves rolled up. He looked worn down.  Like he had been carrying too much weight for far too long.

Your throat felt tight. When you shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in your body, the mattress creaked softly beneath you.

Tommy’s head snapped up instantly. His blue eyes locked onto you, and for a brief second they widened, raw and unguarded, before he jolted forward, hurrying to your side.

"Hey–" His voice was rough, low with exhaustion, relief, and something deeper, something broken. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. I’m right here.” 

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully, your lips parting as if to form words, but all that came was silence. Then– tears. Hot, silent tears spilled over your cheeks, streaking down your skin before you could stop them.

Tommy’s breath hitched, his face contorting slightly, as if the sight of you like this physically hurt him.

"Hey," he repeated, his hands reaching up, cupping your face carefully, his thumbs wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. "It’s alright. You’re alright."

But you weren’t. And you both knew it.

More tears spilled, your body trembling despite the warmth of the blankets, despite the fact that Tommy’s hands were steady, firm, and safe. You let out a weak, shaky exhale, your breath stuttering.

Tommy’s jaw tensed, the pad of his thumb still brushing along your cheek.

"You’re safe now," he whispered, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. "You hear me?"

You closed your eyes and nodded weakly, but the tears kept falling. They wouldn’t stop– wouldn’t slow, no matter how hard you tried to breathe through it, to swallow it down, to push it away like it wasn’t happening.

His hands never left your face, gentle, steady, as if he thought you might shatter completely if he let go.

He watched you closely, his expression tight, unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. They were soft. Without a word, Tommy shifted, slowly, carefully, and sat on the edge of the bed. His weight made the mattress dip. And then, he reached for you. Not all at once. Not suddenly. Just gently. One of his arms slid behind your back, the other under your legs, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.  So, when he finally pulled you into him, when he gathered you against his chest, you just let him. Because the desire to be held so gently by him outweighed the pain in your stomach. 

A soft, shuddering sob broke from your throat the second your face pressed into his shoulder. His arms tightened and his chest rose and fell beneath you.

"I’ve got you," he said.

You just cried harder. Cried into his shirt, into his chest, into the only thing that felt remotely safe.

And Tommy just held you.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

… 

The hands were everywhere. Gripping, clawing, pressing against your skin.

Hot breath ghosted over your ear, cruel laughter filling the darkness as rough fingers bruised their way over your body.

"Not so tough now, are you?" 

You thrashed, but you were trapped, bound, helpless. No matter how hard you fought, kicked, screamed, you couldn’t get away.

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done."

No. No, please.

You screamed.

You jerked awake violently, gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to escape. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls, but the nightmare was still there, lingering, suffocating.

A figure moved beside you, reaching for you–  Too close. Too fast.

"Don’t fucking touch me!" The words ripped from your throat before you even registered them, your voice sharp, frantic, trembling with terror. 

"Hey, hey, hey. It’s me. It’s just me."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse roaring in your ears as the terror began to splinter, reality bleeding through the nightmare. Your eyes darted to his face.

Not them.

Tommy.

A shuddering sob broke from your lips as you reached forward. Tommy caught you immediately, his arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly but carefully.

"Shh, you’re alright," he murmured against your hair. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

His warmth grounded you, but the nightmare still clung to you like poison, lingering in your skin, in your bones. You inhaled, your cheek resting against the curve between his shoulder and neck. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and safe. He smelled of whiskey, tobacco, gunpowder, something darker, something uniquely him.

The fabric of his shirt was soft, worn, and beneath it, you could feel the subtle heat of his skin, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was faster than usual, uneven, like he wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be.

The silence stretched between you for a long time, a heavy, fragile thing hanging in the air.

Then, Tommy’s voice finally broke it. "What did they do to you?"

You stiffened. Every muscle in your body locked up, panic flaring hot in your chest. Your breath shook, your fingers twisting into his shirt as your mind raced, panicked, hesitated. 

If he knew, would he still want you?

"Shelby won’t want you now."

"Damaged goods."

"Bet he won’t even look at you when we’re done." 

The cruel messages from the men lingered in the forefront of your mind. You were damaged. Used. Broken. What if he’d see you differently now? What if he never touched you the same again? What if he’d– 

"Please,” he cut in. “I have to know." 

Slowly, you swallowed, your throat tight, aching, before you finally forced the words past your lips. "They–" your voice was barely a whisper. "They touched me, Tommy."

The air in the room shifted as Tommy stiffened. Then his jaw clenched, his breath sharp and ragged through his nose. Before you could process it, he was moving. Standing up and turning toward the door. For a second, your brain didn’t register it– or understand.

Then, it hit you. 

He was leaving… Heading straight for the door. Panic slammed into your chest, raw and frantic.

"Tommy–" Your voice broke, but he didn’t stop.

No, no, no– 

"I’m sorry, I– I tried," you choked out, your throat burning, your hands reaching for him but too weak to move from the bed. "I swear, I fought. I– I should’ve fought harder, I–"

Tommy froze in place.

You didn’t realize you were crying again, but the words kept spilling out, rushed and broken, desperate to keep him here, to explain how hard you fought. "I’m sorry," you gasped, barely able to breathe. "Please– please, don’t go– don’t leave me– I’m so sorry–"

Tommy turned sharply, crossing the room in two strides, and then, his hands were on your face, cradling you, forcing you to look at him.

"No." His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes… His eyes were shining, raw, and shattered. "This is not your fault."

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t let go.

"I should’ve been there," he whispered, voice thick with agony, regret, fury… at himself, at the men who did this, at everything. "You hear me? I should’ve been there. And I should never have sent you away. I was wrong. And I’m so fucking sorry."

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Tommy wiped it away with his thumb, his touch careful.

“I thought–” you stammered. “I thought you were going to leave.”

"Christ, I’m not leaving you love," he murmured, his voice so quiet, so broken it nearly undid you completely. "I just–" he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening. "I want to go back there and kill every last one of those bastards for what they did to you."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking, exhausted, drained. But when you leaned forward, Tommy caught you instantly, pulling you into him, holding you tightly against his chest.

"Please stay," you whispered, your voice thin, fragile, desperate. "Please, Tommy– don’t go."

His hands tensed against your face, thumbs still brushing against your cheekbones, his blue eyes searching yours, reading every ounce of fear buried beneath the words.

"I’m not going anywhere, love," he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion, as if saying the words out loud solidified them in stone.

A quiet, broken noise escaped your throat– not quite a sob, not quite relief, but something in between.

His hands slipped down, his arms gathering you close. Your forehead pressed against his chest, his warmth grounding you.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your temple, barely a whisper of contact, but the weight of it was enough.

"I never should’ve sent you away," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still laced with the guilt he would never forgive himself for. "And I promise you, love, I won’t make that mistake again."

Your fingers weakly clung to his shirt, your body melting against him as the last of your strength gave out. 

And Tommy held you together.

[queenshelby]

what the actual … I couldn’t finish my sentence because I just fainted!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part Two

Part One | Masterlist

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 7.9K

Notes: Hey look it's part two! This is the end of the fic!

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; mention of Reader's mother passing away, though it doesn't say how; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; possessive Tommy; explicit sexual content - vaginal sex, unsafe sex

Summary: Mrs. Shelby. It had been your truth for nearly six months now, but you heard it so rarely that it hardly seemed to fit you.

“You look impressed.” You noted it to him with pride. Thomas’ gaze swept around the hotel room as he pressed a tip into the bellboy’s hand. The young man dipped a courteous nod before hurrying out, shutting the suite door behind himself.

“You chose well,” Tommy conceded. You shrugged nonchalantly, turning away to hide your proud smile. When Tommy had asked you to make arrangements for your trip, you’d been certain it was a test. It seemed like you’d passed, at least. The interior was opulent, with rich shades of red and tawny across the furnishings.

“There’s a balcony,” You nodded him toward it as you headed for the doors. You opened them, stepping out and peering over the hotel’s small courtyard. You heard Thomas come up behind you, felt his hand rest on your lower back as he set the other on the banister.

“It’ll be nice to be able to get some air without all of the street noise,” You added. Why were you so chatty now? It was hardly the first time you’d been alone with him.

Maybe it was the fact that Tommy had trusted you with this in the first place. Maybe it was how close he’d stuck to you on the car ride down, urging you to sit closer so that he could hear you properly over the rumbling of the road beneath his tires. Maybe it was the fact that, unless something else prevailed, you were going to share a bed with your husband for the first time that evening.

You glanced back toward Tommy and found him eyeing the courtyard below. You cleared your throat, looking over your shoulder and nodding inside.

“Do you like it?”

He turned to you, a small, patient smile on his lips.

“Yes,” He reassured, his thumb sweeping gently over your lower back. “I like it.”

You nodded, relieved, and turned back to the courtroom.

“What time is your meeting?”

“Six o’clock.”

“What time do you want me ready to go?”

“Five thirty should work well enough.”

You reached out, fishing into Tommy’s jacket for his timepiece. You ignored his heavy, curious look as you eyed the face. You had a couple of hours between now and then.

“Alright,” You shrugged, tucking the watch back where it belonged before you turned, heading into the room. It was another moment before Tommy followed you back inside.

“What’ll you wear?” He asked.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Where we’re going and who we’re meeting.” You crouched by your suitcase, casting Thomas a sidelong glance. “You still haven’t told me.”

He hummed, drifting closer and leaning against the bed frame.

“We're meeting Jay Miller.”

You frowned. That name sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place it. He waited patiently as you wracked your mind. Jay Miller. Jay Miller…

Your mind flashed with a face that you used to know well—a warm smile, a lopsided grin, the flutter of dark lashes as you took him between your lips—

You turned away from Thomas, your face going hot.

“I didn’t know that you knew Jacob,” You said crisply.

“It’s a young acquaintance. Lewis made introductions.”

And you would have to thank your brother for that—perhaps with a smack upside of his head. What the devil was he thinking, introducing your husband to your former beau?

“How fortuitous.” You straightened from your suitcase, looking down at its contents. Jay Miller. Lord above. You hadn’t seen the man in years. Maybe he wouldn’t remember you? Maybe he wouldn’t dare say a thing in front of Tommy. Maybe Tommy didn’t even know—

“That one.”

Your mind quieted as Tommy stepped up beside you, pointing into the suitcase. Your brow furrowed as you followed his direction, crouching down to pluck up a purple beaded dress.

“Why this one?” You asked, turning the fabric over in your hands.

“I’ve never seen you in it.”

“You haven’t seen me in most of the things I’ve packed,” You pointed out. Tommy hummed, pressing tightly up against your back, making your stomach turn somersaults.

“Then this’ll be a good place to start,” He insisted.

“And you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“We're having dinner at the Granville Hotel."

You drew in a shaky breath as he stepped away again, reahing into his pocket for his cigarette case as he headed back toward the balcony. You'd wear your purple dress to the Granville Hotel. Fine. You looked down at the dress, smoothing the crepe satin with your fingers. You’d known that you would need to prepare yourself physically, but preparing yourself mentally was now an entirely different matter.

-- 

It was a boon that Jacob seemed as shocked to see you as you had been when Tommy had mentioned his name to you. For as long as it had been, Jacob seemed almost wholly unchanged. He stood from the restaurant table, straightening his jacket as you and Tommy grew closer.

Jacob’s dark hair was neatly coiffed; his warm, dark eyes lingered heavily on you as you approached him on Tommy’s arm. He was taller than Tommy, nearly 6’4, with broad shoulders, and biceps that bulged in such a way that they seemed to challenge the seams of his suit. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Jacob turned his attention to Thomas, shaking his hand warmly.

“Mr. Miller,” They shook hands before Tommy gestured toward you, “I believe you know my wife.”

“I do,” Jacob nodded, “But I’m ashamed to say that I have not had the pleasure for quite some time.” He took hold of your extended hand, and while you’d expected a shake, he bowed over it, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. You fought to hold your expression steady as he leaned back, murmuring, “Mrs. Shelby.”

Mrs. Shelby. It had been your truth for nearly six months now, but you heard it so rarely that it hardly seemed to fit you.

“Mr. Miller,” You answered softly. “It is nice to see you again.”

“And you.”

“Shall we sit?” Tommy asked.

“Please.” Jacob waved his hands to the seat on the other side of the table from him. Tommy pulled your chair out for you, nodding as you murmured your thanks. He leaned down, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head, and you couldn’t help but glance back with a small smile on your lips. You didn’t even care if it was for show. The outward affection that Tommy had given you in the last few weeks felt so nice. It had been so long since you’d felt anything like that, not since—Well. Not since Jacob, at least.

You let your eyes stray to the other side of the table where Jacob seemed to be perusing the wine menu. It was a relief. You weren’t sure what business the two were engaged in, and finding out right off the bat would have been a bit much for you to handle. You knew well enough now that Thomas liked to ease into his business rather than state it outright.

--

Dinner was delicious. Course upon course upon course of perfectly prepared, filling food, chased by sips of the best bottles of wine that the restaurant had to offer you. Jacob and Thomas spent the entire meal exchanging pleasantries, talking around business…Until you reached the wasteland between dessert and the bill.

“...Now,” Jay started, folding his arms on the table. “We ought to come to our reason for meeting.”

“In front of the lady?”

“She can handle it.”

Where there had been a tease in Tommy’s voice, there was a thread of annoyance in Jay’s, insistent and firm. You weren’t sure who you were more grateful for at that moment. Jay knew you in your place in your family’s structure; Tommy was still learning you, in a way. He shifted in his seat a touch beside you, curling his arm around the back of your seat.

“I know she can,” Tommy insisted. “I just wanted to remind you that it’s simply not polite.”

Polite. You were almost certain that that word had never once applied to Tommy Shelby. Jay gave Tommy a tight smile, giving a small nod.

“Well then,” He replied, tone clipped. “Let’s get to it. We have sixteen distribution centers, but we’d only be able to lend five to you and your operations.”

You glanced toward Tommy, trying to gauge his reaction to the news. He nodded slowly, tapping the ash from his cigarette into the tray on the table.

“When we last spoke,” He spoke matter-of-factly, his tone tipped with venom, “You told me that ten centers would be available.”

“Yes, well.” Jay’s gaze flitted toward you lightning-quick, then away again. “That was blue sky thinking on my part. The fact of the matter is, we have five. Take them or leave them.”

“I’ll leave them.”

Your gaze flitted over to Tommy, stunned. He’d leave the option of five, rather than pursue them and find five elsewhere?

“You’re kidding,” Jay scoffed before he nudged you beneath the table with his foot. “Talk some sense into your husband.”

You considered for a moment, taking in Tommy properly. It was stalwart—almost flat—but he quirked a brow. You took in his expression, his countenance…And you knew. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be enough for him. You shook your head a little, your gaze fixed on Tommy as you agreed:

“It’s ten or nothing, Jay,” You warned.

“Please,” Jay laughed. “You can’t have bought into his shit so quickly.”

Tommy’s expression flickered as he turned to meet Jay’s eye again, his eyes narrowing.

“You doubt my wife’s sense?” Tommy frowned, his voice daring Jay to disagree.

“Thomas,” You warned softly, but it was drowned out by Jay’s, “I’m questioning whether your wife still has a mind of her own.”

Tommy stood so quickly that it made you jolt, stunned at the sudden move. Jay followed suit, the glasses on the table rattling as his thighs hit the table on the way up. You reached out, hurriedly steadying the table as the motions drew the attention of the other diners. You looked up, gaze darting between the two of them.

“You question my wife’s intellect. That is a dangerous path to walk.”

“I knew her long before you, Shelby, and better, if I do say so.”

“Is that right.”

“Thomas,” You hissed, “Don’t.”

Your dread grew as Tommy’s gaze held steadfast and heavily on Jay’s.

“Tommy,” You reached up, catching hold of his hand and squeezing it, “Please. Not here.”

It was another long, harrowing moment before Tommy lowered himself to sit beside you again, his arm curling around the back of your chair. You watched him, your heart pounding as Jay reluctantly lowered himself to sit, casting an apologetic smile toward the maître d.

“So,” Tommy drawled, “If five is all you’ve to offer, we may as well conclude our business now.”

“I suppose we should,” Jay agreed, his gaze drifting toward you. Your eyes dropped to Tommy’s shoulder, holding steadily there, rather than look at Jay.

“I’ll take care of the check,” Jay offered.

“There’s no need,” Tommy insisted, drawing out his money clip and slapping a stack of bills on the table. “It’s on us.”

--

Your entire body was hot as you stormed into your hotel room, already reaching up to remove your earrings as you crossed the threshold.

“Was that necessary?” You spat, glancing back toward him.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

You bit your inner cheek, holding in a hysterical laugh. That was bullshit. You tossed the earrings onto the vanity, ignoring one that pinged off of the mirror and onto the floor. You reached back, struggling to tug your dress off. You huffed in irritation, simply holding your arms up. It was a moment before Tommy strolled over, drawing the dress off of your body. You turned away from you before he could get a proper look, snatching the dress, your pajamas, and robe before hurrying behind the room divider to change.

You drew off your slip and your stockings hurriedly, listening to Tommy mill around on the other side. You tugged on your pajamas and robe, tying the tie tightly before rounding the divider, your pretty purple dress balled up to shove into your suitcase.

“I did not appreciate that,” You announced primly, crouching beside the case for your toiletries. 

“Appreciate what, precisely?”

“Being used as a bargaining chip.”

You straightened, settling at the vanity and taking up your cold cream to take your makeup off.

“...That’s not why I brought you.”

“Bullshit.” You met his eye in the mirror, uncaring of the fact that you likely looked ridiculous, smearing cream all over your face. “You wanted a position from the higher ground, and bringing me, you got it.”

You sprung up, striding over to the restroom and taking up a washcloth. You twisted on the tap, running it under the water and raising it to clean away the cold cream. You looked into the mirror, swiping away the remaining smudges of kohl beneath your eyes. You drew in a steadying breath, fighting to staunch your irritation. It felt good, but it just wasn’t enough.

You could hear the twisting of a bottle top, chased by the almost melodic sound of whiskey being poured into a glass. You straightened up, pitching the used washcloth into the basin of the sink and winding into the room. You plucked the glass of whiskey out of Tommy’s hands moments before he could take a sip, stomping over to the balcony and yanking the door open. You drew in a deep gulp as you leaned against the balcony, peering into the courtyard. The small winding path around it was lit with small lanterns, swaying in the evening breeze. You heard Tommy’s footsteps approaching after a few moments, but refused to look in his direction.

“What if you’re right?” He asked after a few moments.

“Then I’d say that you’d accomplished your mission.”

“Thank you for following my lead.”

“You should’ve taken the five.”

“Excuse me?”

“Better to have five to start with and look for five,” You argued, glancing up at him. “You could’ve negotiated a lower fee with Jay and an equal fee elsewhere.”

“You think my choice is foolish.”

“I think it’s short-sighted.”

Tommy’s brows rose and fell swiftly.

“You’re certainly entitled to that opinion.”

The telephone rang on the side table just inside the bedroom, and Tommy stepped away with a murmur of, “Excuse me,” As he went back inside. You turned to watch him, leaning against the balcony and watching him. He plucked the phone up, tucking it against his ear and answering, “Yes…Ah, Jay,” His gaze darted to yours. “I didn’t expect to hear from you this evening…Mm…Mhm…I see…”

Your brows rose, stomach roiling with nerves as you listened.

“Yes…Yes, ten centers will still do just fine,” Tommy insisted. You narrowed your eyes slightly. Dickhead.

“Of course… I understand…Thank you…Lovely doing business with you as well.”

You rested your chin on your hand as you heard Tommy lower the receiver back into the cradle. A moment later, he joined you on the balcony. You listened as he drew out a cigarette, tucked it between his lips, and lit a match. You caught the acrid scent of his cigarette just a few moments later.

“...Go on,” You finally sighed.

“‘Scuse me?”

“Gloat. Get it over with.”

“I think I’ll wait.”

--

“Tell me about him.”

Getting into bed with Thomas had been nerve-wracking. You’d been certain that he’d stay up and go out, but as you’d shut the light off and gotten under the covers, he’d joined you. There was a good amount of space between the two of you. You’d been staring at the ceiling, praying that sleep would come quickly, but you’d laid in silence until he’d asked that shocking question.

“What?” You frowned, letting your head loll to the side to look at him.

“Jacob Miller.”

You could feel him watching you in the room’s low light. You rolled onto your side to face him, tucking your hands under your head.

“I’m sure you did your research before doing business with him.”

“I did, but everything that I know is strictly professional. How did you meet him?”

You sighed softly, casting your mind back.

“It was at a party.”

“You brother’s?”

“No, he was still too young then. One of my Aunt Pearl’s friends threw it.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“How old was he?”

“Mm…Twenty I guess.”

“You liked him.”

“Not at first.”

“Why not?”

“He was just…I don’t know,” You shook your head. “He was too showy, flashy. Loud. But, he was already drunk by the time I got there. He’s far more calm when he doesn’t have a few in him.”

“Did you want to marry him?”

You considered for a moment, your thumb sweeping along the band of your wedding ring.

“I used to, I suppose.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“...It didn’t feel right.”

“And our marriage did?”

Did. The word hit you low in the belly. Did? Not does? What made Tommy think that your stance on the marriage had changed already? Was it your irritation at his tactics earlier that evening? You were certainly justified in that upset, and you wouldn’t let him talk you down from that, at least.

“...It’s different,” You insisted. “Jacob and I were simply attracted to one another. No strings. You and I married for the sakes of our families.”

“Do you regret it?”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in Tommy’s features.

“...No,” You shook your head. “We both got what we wanted. Didn’t we?”

Tommy nodded slowly, his foot gently brushing yours beneath the sheets.

“That we did.”

You nodded, relief melting over you.

“Have you ever been in love?” You hedged. It took a moment before Tommy admitted, “Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“There was a girl. Greta. We were young, and…She got very sick.”

“Only her?”

“...Another, named Grace. She worked at the Garrison.”

“Why her?”

“I thought we were cut from the same cloth.”

“...And now?”

Pain flashed across Tommy’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Now I know better.”

-- 

It was strange to wake up with someone else. You opened your eyes slowly, focusing on the rise-and-fall of your belly with the weight of Tommy’s arm atop it, the heat of his body pressed into your side. You tipped your head to look at him, taking him in properly in the early morning light. You raised your hand, gently smoothing back his sleep-mussed hair.

The night had yielded far more than you’d expected. You hadn’t expected Tommy to tell you about his first love, and you hadn’t expected him to ask about yours. You hoped that it would bring you closer, but with Tommy, you could never tell. Maybe it was leverage…But if it was, why would he have told you about Greta, or Grace? You peered up at the ceiling, noting to yourself that you ought to ask Peggy more about them when you got back to Birmingham.

You glanced toward Tommy as you felt him sigh, nuzzling your shoulder sleepily.

“...Morning,” You murmured. He hummed softly, turning his head from the window.

“I want coffee.” “I’ll order room service.”

You rolled over, reaching for the phone. You sucked in a breath as Tommy’s arms curled around your middle, his body pressing up against your back. You swallowed thickly, reaching out to dial the front desk.

“...Hello?...Two coffees…” You requested, “And, um…” You drew the receiver away. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“Toast for now.”

“And two orders of toast…Room 402…Thank you.” You hung up, settling back down in bed. “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Should be ten for what we’re paying to stay here, ” Tommy sighed, brushing his cheek against your shoulder.

“Did you sleep alright?”

“Fine…You?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Tommy rolled away, stretching and yawning widely before he sat up. You stayed in bed, trying to remember the warmth of Tommy cuddling so close, certain that you wouldn’t feel it again any time soon. You’d forgotten how nice it was to be held. You watched him for a few moments, taking in the expanse of his pale back before you finally pushed yourself to sit up, lowering your gaze to the sheets as Tommy turned back toward you.

“...You alright?” He asked after a moment. You swallowed thickly, forcing a placid expression as you met his gaze again.

“Of course.”

For a moment, you thought that he may push back for an answer, but he let it go, nodding as he fished into his coat pocket for his cigarettes.

-- 

The news that the Blakes would be visiting Birmingham had reached Pearl first. She had mentioned it to Polly, who had told Tommy while Lewis was in earshot. Lewis had written and sent you a note, and you’d had the facts of it by noon.

By the time Tommy returned for the evening, you were completely occupied with the arrangements. He found you in the kitchen with notebooks and your planner spread out over the table.

“I see you’ve heard,” He commented.

“I have.”

“Is there dinner?”

“There's soup and bread in the oven.”

Tommy grunted, walking more deeply into the kitchen. You hardly registered the feeling of him resting his hands on your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“...How was work?” You asked after a few moments.

“Fine.” You heard the oven door open, then close again. You tutted as he nudged some of your work aside, setting his plate down before he sat beside you. You could see Tommy rolling his sleeves up out of the corner of your eye, but you simply drew another notebook nearer to yourself, eyeing an itemized grocery list.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asked after a moment.

“Totaling the estimated costs. I want everything to be prepared before they arrive.”

“Mm…Have you eaten?”

You turned the page of your mother's old notebook, brow furrowing. Was it apple cake or apple pie that the Blakes preferred? Or apple strudel? You knew that there was apple involved—

You jolted as the notebook was yanked out from beneath your hands, tossed to the other side of the table, out of reach. You whirled around, eyes wide.

“Tommy!”

He pushed the plate toward you, turning it in your direction so that the stew was closer to you than it was to him. “Eat.”

“And what’s to stop me from just taking up the notebook up again?”

“I am.” Tommy snapped his fingers, pointing at the plate. “Eat.”

You huffed softly, taking up a piece of bread and reluctantly dipping it into the stew.

“...I made this for you,” You grumbled.

“What was it that the minister said when we were married? About the two being as one? Means we share.”

“How technical,” You grumbled through your mouthful. You glanced up as Tommy nudged a glass of wine closer to you. You took the glass up, taking a deep pull before passing it back. Lord above, you hadn’t even realized how hungry you were. It hit you all at once, your stomach grumbling as you swallowed. You didn’t dare look at Tommy, nervous that he’d heard it.

“How long have you been at this?” He asked, waggling a finger toward the mess on the table.

“I don’t know. A while.”

“Mm. An awful lot of uproar for the Blakes.”

You cast him a sidelong glance, brow raised. “The Blakes are one of the oldest families in our acquaintance. I haven’t seen them since I was a child, since—” Since before your mother had passed. You cleared your throat, lowering your gaze to the plate. “Anyway. I was just going over my mother’s old party notes. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Beyond offending them and losing our connections? Gee, Thomas, I can’t think of a thing,” You quipped dryly. He seemed to smile unwittingly.

“Less chatting, more chewing,” He counseled, nudging the bowl closer again.

-- 

“I trust you have everything in hand.”

Pearl’s tone indicated that she did not trust that you did, in fact, have everything in hand. Despite her prickly barb and lack of faith, you’d managed everything quite well. The Blakes would be staying in your guest room, which had been fully kitted out when you’d remodeled the house. You’d ordered in a chef and a sous chef for the next few days, giving you the freedom to deal with the house, and you’d hired on a maid permanently. Ethel was a quick, eager, high-spirited woman, who had practically been your shadow for the last few days.

You cast Pearl a sidelong glance, jaw clenched as she lazily swept her eyes across the neat sitting room. You could just make out the sound of the cook and his sous chef bustling about in the kitchen, Ethel in the living room, setting the table.

“Yes, I have,” You nodded. “And thank you for all of your help this week.”

Pearl snorted at your contemptuous tone, tapping the ashes from her cigarette into a tray on the sideboard.

“You’re the lady of the house. You have to learn how to manage these things for yourself sometime. It may as well be now.”

You sighed, turning to the house and straightening the cushions for what had to be the eightieth time that day.

“Did you see them when they went into the office?” You asked, glancing back toward Polly.

“Mm, briefly. Beulah looked like hell. Poor woman never did have the stomach for the crossing. They booked too late, couldn’t get a cabin close enough to the middle. She must've spent the last five full days chucking her guts up.”

“Pearl,” You scowled, disgusted.

“I”m simply saying, don’t be too offended if she doesn’t eat too much at dinner tonight.”

“Mm. How about the old man?”

“Oh, you know Chester. Strong as an ox. He’ll outlive us all.” Pearl was quiet for a moment before she added, “They brought Hugh.”

The news hit you like a freight train. You groaned loudly, giving your foot one petulant stomp before striding over to the door to the dining room. You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself before you opened the door.

“Ethel.”

“Ma’am?”

“We’ll be ten for dinner tonight—Unless,” You glared over toward Polly, “You have any more surprises.”

“Not a one. You’re a dear, Ethel,” Pearl gave her a bright smile. You turned your own tight smile toward Ethel, nodding, “Ten.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s better this way,” Pearl insisted as you let the door swing closed. “You were saying that you hated a lopsided table. Hugh evens out numbers.”

“How kind of him,” You grumbled. “How old is he now?”

“Thirty.”

“Married?”

“Divorced.”

“Mm.”

“...Attractive.”

You arched a brow at Pearl’s comment. She watched you for a moment before she lowered her gaze to the smoldering end of her cigarette.

“Is your husband still seeing that woman?” She asked. The mention of Lizzie made your gut pang with bitterness, but you forced your face into an uninterested mask as you shrugged.

“I don’t know,” You admitted.

“Does he bring her around?”

“No, but he may go to her. However he handles that business, he doesn’t—...It isn’t in the house, at least.”

“Have you considered asking him?”

“I don’t care what he does.”

“It’s up to you to know. Especially for the course of this visit.”

You sighed softly. “Thomas will do what’s best for the business. He won’t jeopardize it for a roll in the hay.”

“You’re certain?”

“Trust me, aunt. If there is one thing that he cares for in this world, it’s that.”

-- 

Pearl’s assessments of your visitors had been correct—you could see that the second they walked through the door.

With a full head of greyed hair and a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache, standing at 6’2, Chester Blake had the same larger-than-life air that he’d possessed when you were young. He was a little thicker around the middle than he had been the last time you’d seen him, but the sands of time didn’t exactly flow north. He was aging, but he wore it well. Beulah, on the other hand, looked as if she’d spent the entire crossing on the cargo hold of the ship. Her hair and clothing were neatly styled, but her typically pinked fair skin looked sallow, and her expression was drawn. Her bright grey eyes were dull, and her smile seemed just a little wobbly as she took you in.

“My word,” She managed, “How much you’ve grown.”

“And you haven’t changed at all,” You smiled as you embraced her, “Either of you.”

“A lie, and one that your mother would’ve abhorred, rest her soul,” Chester patted your shoulder, “But I’m happy to hear it myself.”

You smiled, shaking your head.

“I think that my mother would’ve scolded me if I hadn’t said as such.”

Tommy skirted around Beulah, resting a hand on your hip and leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. You smiled, despite the fact that the show of affection was likely a show for your guests.

“We mustn’t all crowd in the doorway,” You insisted as Tommy helped Beulah out of her coat, passing it off to Ethel, “Can I get anyone a drink?”

“Have you got whiskey?” Chester asked as they followed you into the sitting room.

“Man after my own heart,” Tommy commented, walking over to the sideboard.

“And you, Beulah? Some tea, perhaps?” You suggested softly. She took your hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“I’d love nothing more.”

“Ginger?”

“You’re an angel.”

“Ethel,” You turned to your maid as she headed for the kitchen, “A ginger tea for Mrs. Blake, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

You guided Beulah to a seat before joining Tommy at the sideboard.

“Would you like one?” He murmured.

“Thank you, no. I think it’d be best if I kept my head for the evening. There’ll be wine with dinner, besides.”

“Mm.”

You glanced toward Beulah where she had closed her eyes, then looked toward Chester, where he was eyeing the tintype photographs of your parents, and of Lewis when he was young.

“...Where are the boys?” You asked after a moment.

“With Polly and Pearl, showing Hugh a good time at the Garrison.”

You groaned quietly in annoyance. That was just what you needed—the lot of them spilling in to dinner, absolutely smashed.

“They’ll be on their best behavior,” Tommy added before you could complain further.

“You’re certain?”

“They gave me their word.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line before you gave a short nod, murmuring, “Alright.” You could feel Tommy eyeing you for a moment before you felt his hand slide across your waist. You raised your eyes to his as he shifted just a little closer, his hip pressing to yours.

“The contract was signed this morning—everything from here on out is just pleasantries. Relax.”

You drew in a deep breath, holding it for a few moments before you sighed, lowering your eyes to collar. You closed your eyes as Tommy leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You patted his hand softly before he drew away, taking up one of the glasses and turning back to your guests.

“Here you are, Chester.”

You glanced toward Beulah, grimacing as you saw her raise her hand to her mouth, resting it there, as if she wasn’t sure whether she’d be ill or not. You walked over to her, forgoing propriety as you crouched beside her.

“The tea should be ready in a moment. Would you like to go and lie down for a few minutes before dinner?”

She gave you a small, grateful smile.

“I’ll be alright, dear,” She insisted, patting your hand. “But could I ask you to get the tin of mints from my coat? They’re in the left pocket.”

“Of course.”

You straightened, heading for the coat closet. You’d only just retrieved the tin when the front door was flung open. You heard the clamoring of voices just a moment later, and you watched as Polly, Pearl, Lewis, Arthur, John, and an unfamiliar man piled in. You folded your arms across your chest, unable to help the slight, disapproving raise of your brow. Pearl caught sight of you first, and she cackled, pinching your cheek.

“Give up the sourpuss, pet, it’s only us.”

“I can see that, thank you.”

Ethel zipped into the hall, rushing to collect the coats as quickly as they were being shrugged off. You gave Lewis, Arthur, and John a peck on the cheek as they passed you, heading into the sitting room.

“I don’t get one?”

The man’s voice gave you pause, and you turned to get a better look at him.

Hugh Chester Blake had been a menace of a child when you were growing up—stealing your books, dipping the ends of your hair in ink, shoving you down into the dirt as he passed. Your gaze swept him speculatively. He had his mother’s eyes, his father’s thick, dark head of hair. You had remembered a lanky little twit, but he’d grown to be quite tall and quite broad.

“Hello, Hugh,” You greeted.

“That’s not a very warm welcome, is it.” He took a step closer, and you fought the urge to step back, swallowing thickly as he crowded into your space. Christ, where had Polly and Pearl gone? Play nice, just play nice. Pleasantries, you thought. Thomas had done the hard work, you couldn’t undo it by insulting the man—

“About time, Hugh,” You heard.

You could’ve cried with relief as Tommy joined you, curling a territorial arm around your waist.

“Mrs. Blake is looking for those mints, darling,” Tommy added. Darling, that was new—Your mind stalled at the endearment before you squeaked, “Oh, goodness! Excuse me.”

You hurried away from the crowded doorway, just catching on Tommy saying, “You boys took your sweet time.”

You crouched beside Mrs. Blake’s seat again, murmuring your apologies as you passed the tin over.

“It’s quite alright,” She insisted, “I know all about the hosting game—your attention is torn ten different directions.”

You smiled gratefully, giving her hand a squeeze as you straightened, glancing around. Everyone had drinks in hand…And Tommy and Hugh were still in the doorway. You frowned, recognizing the tight, irritated set of Tommy’s jaw. What could they possibly be discussing—?

“Dinner is nearly ready, Mrs. Shelby.” Ethel’s news snapped you out of your contemplation, and you nodded, smiling at her.

“I’ll start herding the cats, then. Thank you, Ethel.”

--

Dinner had gone off without a hitch. Every dish had been prepared perfectly—and the chef had been quick to heat broth for Beulah when she’d been wary of not being able to keep any of the rich meal down. You could feel yourself beginning to truly relax as you watched Pearl and Polly dance with John and Lewis. The sound of the record player, their chatter and laughter began to brighten up the typically drab, quiet calm of the sitting room.

“Room on your card for me?”

Hugh’s question made you clam up again, and your eyes darted to his palm. Pleasantries. You could manage one dance, couldn’t you? You gave him a small smile, resting your hand in his. You knew the moment that you did that it was a mistake. He tugged you far too harshly toward the others, causing you to nearly trip over your own feet. He rested his hand on your lower back, fingers splaying wide, nearly dipping lower than what was appropriate. Your hear ticked up in your chest as you took in the ruddiness in his cheeks.

Hugh was drunk.

You didn’t know how much he’d had at the Garrison, but he’d been pounding the wine back at dinner, nearly drinking an entire bottle alone, and hardly touching his food. Now, he jerkily steered you around the crowded space, his grasp on your hand so tight it was nearly painful. Where was Beulah? Maybe you could excuse yourself to check in on her—

“I’m cutting in.”  

Your eyes darted gratefully to Tommy as he grasped Hugh’s jacket, forcing the man to stop.

“What?” Hugh asked, face reddening in irritation.

“I said,” Tommy stepped closer, “I’m cutting in. I want to dance with my wife, if you don’t mind.”

If you don’t mind. It was tactful, almost genius. It put the ball in Hugh’s court. The polite thing to do would be to acquiesce; if he didn’t, the phrasing and his refusal to let go would seem absolutely ridiculous. You felt Hugh glance between you and Tommy before he reluctantly passed you into Tommy’s hands.

“Thank you for the dance,” You added over your shoulder before Tommy steered you to the other side of the dance floor. You sighed softly, resting your forehead against Tommy’s shoulder. “Your timing was superb.”

Tommy hummed knowingly, swaying you slowly as Arthur switched the record over.

“Are you alright?” He asked, sweeping his thumb over the side of your hand.

“I am now,” You murmured, lifting your head to look at Tommy. He nodded, gaze sweeping your face. His nose brushed gently against yours, his eyes flitting to your lips, and lingering. You swiped your tongue along your lower lip, stomach fluttering as Tommy pressed his lips to yours. You felt the swaying slow, then stop as Tommy’s arm curled around your waist, drawing you into his chest. You gently lifted your hand from his shoulder, resting on his nape. You had barely kissed him on your wedding day. This was sweet in a way that you’d never known from Tommy—a way that you wanted to become more familiar with.

The hoots and whoops from Lewis, Arthur, and John snapped you from the tender embrace, and you turned your head from Tommy, embarrassedly pressing your face into his neck.

“Alright, pipe down,” Tommy grumbled. When you managed to draw yourself from your nervous hiding place, you found Polly and Pearl sharing a smile.

--

“…What are you doing in here?”

The question flew out of your mouth, coated in your surprise, and you could see the swell of Tommy’s amusement as he closed your bedroom door behind himself.

“Hugh is in my room,” He informed you. Oh—Lord above. You nodded a little. Of course. How hadn’t you thought of that?

“I see,” You muttered. Tommy hummed, pushing off from the door and walking deeper inside. You watched him take in the furnishings, his gaze sweeping the armchair and bookshelf, the small reading table, the nightstand…And the bed. You raised your hand, scrubbing at the back of your neck.

It was going to be alright, you told yourself. You’d slept with Tommy—you’d been asleep with Tommy—before, just a few weeks ago. That had been a comfortable enough experience, so…So this would be more than alright. You were certain of it.

“I’ll just,” You gestured toward the divider in the corner of the room, “I’ll go change.” You skirted around it before Tommy could argue, or offer to be the one to change behind it. You plucked up your pajamas and stepped behind the divider, scrubbing your hands over your heated face once you were out of his line of vision. How did this man still make you so nervous?

“...It was a lovely evening.” Tommy’s insistence floated over the divider to you, prompting you to snap into action.

“Yes, it was,” You answered, words slightly muffled as you drew your dress up and over your head. You hung it over the silk folding screen, reaching for the fastenings on your brassiere and corset. “I’ll have to give the cook an excellent recommendation. Dinner was superb.”

“Yes.”

You drew off your thigh-highs, hanging them on the screen by your dress. You pulled on your nightdress, smoothing your hands over the cool, sky-blue fabric before putting on the matching robe.

“…May I come out?” You asked, damning your nerves.

“Of course.”

You stepped around the screen, surprised to find Tommy in bed already. He had the manuscript that had been on your bedside table in hand.

“You’re making progress,” He commented, flipping through a few pages, skimming a few of your corrections and notes.

“I was. Things got a little…Held up with the Blake’s visit,” You admitted. You’d hardly touched the manuscript in the last couple of weeks. You walked over to the basin, trying to ignore the feeling of Tommy’s gaze following you.

“…Is that new?” He asked.

“Hm?” You looked at them, finding his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. The interest in his gaze warmed you, and you hurriedly looked away again as his eyes swept upward. “Oh, the—This? No.”

“Had it long?”

“A few months.” It was another outfit that you’d gotten for your honeymoon months ago—one that Tommy would never had had a reason to see before.

“Will you be reading before bed?” Tommy asked.

“I think not. It’s been a long day.”

The stress was beginning to drain from your system, making you feel the full weight of your fatigue. You were almost certain that you’d fall asleep the second your head hit the pillow. You washed your face quickly, listening to Tommy turn the pages of the manuscript every few moments. When you finished, you dried your hands and turned back to the bed.

“Would you like to leave that light on?” You asked, nodding toward the lamp on the bedside table as you shrugged your robe off, hanging it up on the bed post.

“I can do without it, unless you’d like it on.”

“No! I’m alright,” You chirped as you climbed into bed, tugging the covers up. Tommy set the manuscript aside, shutting the light off before he settled down in bed beside you. You could feel his legs brush against yours as you the two of you laid on your sides facing one another.

“…Hugh’s a live one, isn’t he,” Tommy commented.

“He hasn’t been told no much before.”

“That became quite clear.”

You shivered at the thread of steel in Tommy’s tone. You reached out, tracing a finger gently along the back of his hand.

“Thank you again,” You added, “For stepping in when you did.”

“I told you,” Tommy turned his hand over beneath yours. “If I ever find out another man touched you, I’ll give you his hands.”

You huffed a soft laugh through your nose.

“May put a bit of a damper on your contract with his father.”

“Though they’d make an excellent trophy above the mantle.”

“That’s vile,” You giggled, smile widening as Tommy’s hand wrapped around yours. You were quiet for a few moments, reveling in the heat of his palm against yours. “…I don’t suppose I’m afforded the same opportunity?” You added.

“What do you mean?”

“Whose hands would I get to take as a trophy?”

Tommy met the statement with silence, and it made you want to sink into the bed. You’d been joking—

“There’s been no one,” He finally said. The admission made your heart stutter in your chest.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s been no one,” He repeated.

“But…Lizzie—”

“Not for months.”

Months. When had it stopped? And—

“Why?” You asked, shaking your head in disbelief. Tommy raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. He pressed another to your forearm, then shifted closer, lips brushing against your shoulder. He turned his head, and your eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Tommy—” You breathed, but you were unable to get another word out as his lips covered yours. You sighed against his lips, raising your other hand to smooth over the close crop of his undercut. He let go of your hand just long enough to grasp your nightdress, using his hold on the fabric to draw you closer, then steer himself up over you. You let your thighs splay as he slotted between them, pressing his bare chest against you, hips flush and grinding against yours. His kisses trailed lower, hands grasping covetously at the fabric covering your chest. He gave the lace a yank, and you hissed softly as you heard it rip.

“Tommy—Oh,” Your mouth fell open as he drew one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, “Damnit—I liked this nightdress.”

Tommy lifted his head, lips brushing your chin. “I’ll get you others,” He grumbled against you, “I’ll buy you a hundred more tomorrow.” His hand slipped between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers brushed against your pussy. You tipped your hips up into his touch pleadingly, lowering your chin and finding his lips with yours.

“I want you bare,” He murmured against your lips.

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“No.”

The answer made you go still, embarrassment and nerves flipping your stomach. Tommy took your face in his hands, holding your gaze steadily with his.

“I’m going to make love to my wife.”

--

His palm pressed heavily over your mouth, muffling your moans as his cock stretched your needy core. You pressed your head back into the pillows, curling your arms around his shoulders, and your legs around the backs of his.

“Sssh,” He murmured, the push of the hush brushing against your ear. “We don’t want the Blakes hearing, do we?”

You managed to shake your head a little, blinking up at Tommy as you panted broadly against his palm. Your cunt throbbed around his cock as he fully sheathed himself in you. You reached up, tugging Tommy’s hand away and catching his lips in a kiss. His fingers intertwined with yours, raising your joined hands to rest on the pillow beside you. He rolled his hips gently, then again as you whimpered, swirling his tongue with yours. Tommy fucked you with slow, even strokes, trading slow kisses as you moaned and panted into one another’s mouths.

Tommy broke your kiss, pressing his face into your neck as his thrusts became harder. You gasped, sinking your nails into his shoulders as you let your eyes slide closed. The bed was beginning to creak with his movements, the slapping of your hips slightly muffled beneath the sheets. You felt the familiar curling sensation beneath your waist, and you slid a hand down, grasping Tommy’s behind and using the grip to urge him on. He drew back just enough to get a good look at you, his eyes bright in the dim room. You sucked in a stunned breath as he reached between your legs, fingers teasing your clit as his hips pounded yours more roughly.

Your eyes widened as the headboard whacked against the wall behind you.

“Tommy,” You chastised, “Hugh will hear—”

“Let him,” Tommy spat, “Let him hear how I take care of my wife.”

You bit your lip to quiet your moans, grasping his wrist and stilling it as his touch tipped you over the edge. Your hips bounded up against his, chased by the harsh slamming of his hips, and the heat of him spilling into you. The scrape and squeak of the bed quieted as Tommy braced himself over you, looking down at your sweat-sheened body. He leaned down, brushing his lips over your breasts, then up, over your neck. You closed your eyes, curling your arm around his shoulder and resting your hand on the nape of his neck. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the pounding of his heart against yours. You turned your head, nuzzling his hair and pressing a kiss to his head.

“…Think that dresser has enough room for my things, too?” He mumbled. You grinned, tightening your grip on him as his hand tenderly smoothed along your thigh.

“It certainly does.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @babaohhhriley ; @thescarletfang ;

[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

[cherrycranes]

A Proper Thank You (Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female reader Summary: You're Tommy's younger girlfriend who he loves to spoil. Thankfully, you always know how to thank him. Word count: 2,954 Contents: (Minors DNI) Age gap (reader is in her 20's, Tommy is in his 40's), smut, daddy kink (a serious use of the word "daddy"), oral sex (male receiving), cum eating. Author's notes: Another collab with my bestie @fuckiingloser. Don't forget to give her some love too! Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Love ya!

You were not the first young woman to be with a man in his 40's. It was still very common even if the times were changing. But there was something about this relationship that did mirror the societal shift. You were his sweet girlfriend who he paraded around town, who shamelessly sat on his lap while he worked and who shared his bed. Quite the scandal for those still stuck in Victorian times who would expect this to happen only between a married couple. Good thing the Victorian times had ended over 30 years ago. 

Tommy loved having you by his arm half of the time. The other half he loved having you under him. Or on top, he wasn't picky. He got a kick out of the variety of looks some people would give him for having a pretty, young girl as his sweetheart. But above all things, he absolutely adored the way his pretty baby looked at him whenever he spoiled her rotten.

Today, you went with him to a horse ranch near Southam. A lovely place where Tommy intended to see that beautiful look in your eyes once more. He smirked, seeing you caress a beautiful mare’s nuzzle, the animal calm and docile under your touch.

“Aye, I think she likes you.” Tommy announced with pride, already planning to buy the horse for his beautiful girlfriend.

“You think?” You turned your head to look at him and admire his poise. The cigarette kissing his lips, the fine dark suit, the piercing blue eyes. So intimidating to many, so dear to you. “She’s beautiful…” Your thoughts and eyes returned to the mare, giving her another soft pet.

“You two make a very pretty picture, baby girl.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out skillfully before making his way to you. His big arms wrapped around you from behind while he rested his chin on your shoulder. You smirked when a surprisingly sweet kiss was planted on the side of your head. Thomas Shelby was never sweet to anyone, not even in the dark humor jokes of those who knew him. His portrait could have easily been annexed to the definitions of “rugged”, “serious” and even “ruthless”, yet, here he was. This was what his lips that had spat out curses and threats were doing. Kissing. And very gently at that. 

Above all women, you had a special place in his soul. You had him wrapped around your finger like those expensive rings you wore. Anything you wanted, you could have it. And if tomorrow you were to ask for a heart on a silver plate, he would tear anybody’s chest open and serve it to you himself.

You leaned into him, just in time to meet his husky whisper:

“If you want her baby… She’s yours.” 

With a big, spoiled princess grin, you turned around and looked at him in complete elation.

“Thank you, daddy!” Your sweetness intoxicated him, the way you looked into his eyes killed him, and the way you called him “daddy” raised him from the dead. He absolutely loved it. 

A calloused hand came up to touch your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing over your bottom lip. He admired the joy upon your beautiful face and studied it devotedly.

“Anything for my girl.” He spoke softly, his sexy Birmingham accent made your knees feel weak and your pussy become wetter. In a heartbeat, Thomas spoke to the farm owner, purchased the mare without even caring about the cost and made the necessary arrangements so you could have your pretty horse. 

After a successful purchase, Thomas helped you into the passenger seat of his car, driving you back to town. You would have your horse tomorrow morning, right now, business called.

He drove you to the Garrison, the Shelby's family owned pub for a Peaky Blinder business meeting. Usually, women were not allowed, but you were not just a woman. You were Thomas Shelby’s woman. And the people who knew would rather chop a limb off than dare to deny you access.

With his hand on your lower back, Tommy guided you inside the rowdy bar towards the private Peaky Blinders table. Everybody was waiting for your arrival between sips of irish whiskey and puffs of smoke. Thomas took a seat and you took yours on his lap, the feeling of your weight on him as natural as the feeling of air entering his lungs. 

The men at the table did not bat an eye, your presence was the new normality. And in a way, a sign that things were good, that Thomas was relaxed and no conflicts were on the horizon. If something bad or difficult was preying upon them, you would be hidden away in some safe heaven and not happily sitting on Tommy’s lap. Perhaps, the only other emotion a few of the men could feel when looking at you was a secret, deeply buried longing. Anybody would love to have a beauty like you sitting on their lap. Not that they would allow Thomas to hear them admit that.

The meeting started around you, some usual business and many details you didn’t care for. Thomas concentrated, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth on your clothed thigh. You liked the skirt you wore, the fabric was soft, and it incited Tommy to touch. It was not exactly close to the feeling of your bare skin when you fucked him, or when he would make you sit naked on his lap while he worked in his house studio, but it was pleasant. 

The more the meeting dragged on, the more you started to grow restless. And a little bored, in all honesty. Sitting on his lap sounded glamorous and sensual in theory but in practice it was a test of resilience and patience. Being a sweet arm candy girl like you required more than a pretty face and a hot body. You also had to possess the skills to tell when a meeting was dying out and calculate the exact perfect moment to lean closer to Tommy’s ear and whisper something to save you from boredom.

“You know… I never properly thanked you today for getting me my beautiful horse… I think daddy needs a proper thank you…” Thomas turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk.

“Is that right?” He leaned closer to you until your noses bumped together, giving your thigh a squeeze. “And just how would you thank daddy, then? Hmm?” He whispered, the meeting a mere background noise now. You leaned towards his ear again, whispering so quietly so only Tommy could hear.

“I wanna suck your cock… Or you can fuck me over your desk in the back?” You purred so innocently despite the pure filth of your words. His cock told you all you needed to know about his opinion. The twitch inside his pants impossible to miss. You pulled back to stare into his eyes and take in his tiny smirk. He knew that resistance was futile and completely incompatible with him when it came to you.

Without excusing words or explanations to the other gentlemen, Thomas scooted you two out of the booth, taking your hand and guiding you to the back. He kicked the small office door open and locked you both in. You could almost feel his piercing blues tracing the shape of your ass under that fashionable skirt you wore. 

“So...” You started, walking over to his desk and luring him to take a few steps closer to you. He towered over you, his rough hands touched your hips with interest. “How does daddy want me?” You purred innocently, looking into his eyes.

Thomas’ cock hardened even more in his dress pants. Your figure, your soft face, your pretty eyes, your voice, you. Lust took over his eyes.

 “On your knees baby… you know what daddy wants.” His voice was husky, overcome with his need for you and your pretty little mouth. You grinned, a hungry look in your eyes replicating his own. Steadily, you sunk to your knees, the fabric of your skirt your only padding on the cold floor. Tommy leaned against his desk and watched you work your magic. Your fingers undid the button of his pants with torturous care.

“You know… If you wanted to fuck me in front that whole room of men… I’d let you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me..” You were a tease, you killed him slowly. His breath hitched a bit, his possessive streak driving him to total insanity. You were right. You would let him do anything he wanted. He knew. But hearing you say that made the fire of his lower stomach ignite him whole.

“Oh, I know you would… You’d be my good little girl, wouldn’t you?” He whispered, brushing a hair out of your beautiful face. You nodded so innocently, and then lowered his pants down until they pooled around his ankles.

“I'll always be your good girl… I’ll always please you and let you use me however you need…” You whispered back, a soft sensual smile gracing your lips. Tommy couldn’t help but groan at your words, his painfully hard cock pulsing in his boxer briefs right in front of your face.

“God, you’re such a good girl… You’ll be good for daddy now won’t you?” He cooed. 

“Always.” You purred in devotion. Your hands reached up to grab the band of his boxers and, with one swift, well trained motion, pulled them down. His large throbbing cock sprung free for you to drool over. Mere inches away from your face. 

“You gonna thank your daddy properly, hmm?” He asked with a sexy smirk, heavily accented and incredibly husky. You nodded obediently, your eyes going from his beautiful irises to his hard cock. It had been over four months since you became his sweetheart and you still felt enamored at his sheer size.

“Yes daddy…” You answered softly then looked back up to his pretty blue eyes. “Gonna suck your cock and drain these perfect balls just how you like…” You made it a point to speak so innocently, stirring something in him. He could have lost himself right then and there from your words alone. It took him a second to fully take in the idea. The dirtiest promises coming from the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“Fuck baby… You’re gonna be the death of me someday, you know that?” He asked in a playful little smirk, and you attacked. Your soft hand wrapped around his aching hard cock. He groaned softly.

“But at least you’ll die happy.” You purred, gifting him a few seconds to prepare himself before finally leaning in to swirl your tongue skillfully over the head of his dripping cock. Thomas let out a guttural moan, his hand gripping his desk behind him in an attempt to steady himself. His head fell back, the texture of your wet, warm tongue erasing each and every thought off his mind. It all became you and you only. You licking him, tasting his sensitive tip, you pleasing him.

“Fuck, baby… My perfect girl…” He managed to choke out, affected yet addicted. Your tongue swirled over him expertly, and you looked up at him. A sweet happy hum reverberated in your throat as you tasted the salt of his precum. Every drop that ran down his tip not making it far thanks to your eager licks. Your hum sent vibrations up his cock, making him feel like his knees were about to buckle under him. The only time he appreciated feeling vulnerable.

Tommy looked down at you servicing him, taking your sweet time on his sensitive tip. The fire in your eyes recognized his and burnt with it. 

“Holy-f-fuck.. my girl knows how to suck her daddy’s cock so good….” He groaned, and you took more of his lengthy cock in your mouth, working your way down and sucking it, your tongue massaging it slowly.

He tried his best to maintain his composure and control, but another swirl of your tongue made him admit to himself that he would not last long.

“F-fuck, baby girl… You keep going like that…” He groaned, gripping the edge of the wooden desk harder and urging you.

You bobbed your head on his cock in a skillful rhythm. The sounds coming from you were so filthy and obscene. Nothing could have torn his gaze away from you. It was a war between him and his throbbing cock. He wanted more, desperately needed more, but his orgasm neared closer than his next breath.

 “You’re too good to me, baby girl… You’re gonna make daddy come… And it’s gonna be right in your pretty mouth, and you’re gonna take every last drop, aren’t you?” He cooed with one hand touching the top of your head for support. You bobbed your head, up and down his shaft, with your nose bumping his pelvic area. You looked up and hummed in response. You always swallowed.

Noting his increasing pleasure, you pushed yourself to take more of his thick cock. You gagged a little and earned a loud moan from him akin to music to your ears.

“Goood girl… Good girl.” With his praise like a mantra, he watched over you, almost out of breath. “That's it. I'm gonna come for you… ‘m gonna come in this mouth and you’re gonna swallow all of it, aren’t you baby?” He repeated, unaware by now. No thoughts inside his head, only your perfect mouth that pulled back for just a second.

 “Yes, daddy.” You purred, looking up at him with innocent eyes before taking him in your mouth again, this time working faster and with much more intensity. Constantly swiping against the underside of his thick cock.

Thomas had to resist the urge of bucking into your mouth and fuck your face just the way he likes, but he found the willpower to stay calm. This was all about you pleasing him, putting that mouth of yours to work and thanking him. 

“Good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl…” He praised, his orgasm so close to hitting him and knocking him flat out. “Now, remember, baby girl… What’s my rule?” His voice almost cracked. Dominance was a hard thing to upkeep when his balls tightened this hard and your throat hummed around him. Your pussy grew wetter at the mention of the rule, one you had committed to memory.

“Before you can swallow, you have to show it to daddy... Need to see my come all over your pretty tongue, hmm?” Thomas said, barely hanging on at this point. One of his hands holding your hair back and the other gripping the desk behind him for stability.

You hummed as loud and as best as you can, his thick cock barely giving up space for sound to travel. You kept sucking him, and his resistance was hung on by a thread, ready to snap at any moment. His moans, his heavy breaths, the hot puffs of air he lets out, the way his cock throbbed in your  mouth… You wanted him done for. 

Your hand came up, gently cupping his balls and giving them a soft squeeze. His breath hitched and he cursed under his breath.

“Holy fuck, baby-” He choked out, and everything snapped inside him. “Coming..” That was the only word he managed to utter before his resolve crumbled and his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. His hand grabbed your hair firmly, but not painfully, keeping you there, ready to take it all.

Your movements stopped in anticipation and his cock pulsed inside your mouth. A salty load of cum coated your tongue completely and his sensual low groan filled your ears. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and his lips stayed parted. When every last drop was unloaded, he opened his eyes back again and looked at you intently.

“Show daddy…” He murmured, his voice a little strained. You obeyed, pulling off him and sitting back on your knees. With pride, you stuck out your cum-painted tongue for his viewing pleasure.

“My good girl.” Tommy praised. You were indeed so good. So obedient. So perfect for him. “You can swallow now, baby girl.” 

His hand petted the top of your head with appreciative softness, and you, living up to his praise, did as he said. The salt taste of his cum mixing with your saliva before passing down your throat. A soft hum of approval coming from you made him smile ever so gently.

He reached down to pull up his pants, tucking his now soft, sensitive and tired cock back into his boxers and buttoning his dress pants. He reached his hands down, pulling you up from the floor easily into his arms. When you were close to his face, you gave him a cheeky little smile. His hands cupped your face and gently pulled you in for a burning hot, passionate kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, making him taste himself on you. A pervertedly satisfied smile crept into the kiss.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with half-lidded eyes.

“You know… If all it took to get you to do that for me is to buy you a horse… I think I'll buy you a horse, or anything else you want every single day for the rest of your life.” Tommy whispered in a mix of sensuality but also pure, deep love. 

Your eyes twinkled a bit and a soft smile appeared on your face. He was just as obsessed with you as you were with him. 

“Deal”.

[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.

[mypoisonedvine]

A tommy idea: he hires us to help take care of his kids when they’re home but he soon realizes that he likes us more and more seeing how maternal we are with them. He’s constantly checking us out, when we bend over he’s always accidentally bedons us, good girl girl and praising us for doing well taking care of them, and the idea of us carrying his next baby also turns him on so much

oh my goddddd!! this turned out pretty short cause I wrote it in my car on break from work 😭 but I just had to do this concept pronto

warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, slightly dubious consent (tommy is a little... pushy), age gap (not specified, everybody's grown), breeding kink

You were bouncing the little one on your hip when he came in; you gestured to the older child, already asleep, as a reminder to Thomas to speak softly so she wouldn't wake.

He approached you slowly, waving a quick hello to the baby but otherwise just watching him slowly shut his eyes as he drifted off.

"The children adore you," he noticed, smiling proudly, "as do I."

"I adore them," you returned, "and I'm... thankful you hired me to care for them."

You felt his gaze on you as you gently laid the baby in his crib, feeling a little strange about him standing so close behind you while you were bent over. "Don't you ever want any of your own?" he asked, lowering his voice a bit. "You'd make a lovely mother..."

He trailed off for a moment, his fingers brushing over your back through your dress, making your breath catch.

"...and such a sweet little wife, too," he added with a slow breath. You shuddered, turning to face him and completely intending to tell him how inappropriate this was, but the look in his eyes shut you up in a second.

"M-Mr. Shelby..." you mumbled, blinking up at him as he stepped closer again, nearly pressing his body to yours-- you tried to step back but only found yourself pressed against the crib.

"Well?" he pressed. "Don't you want children?"

"M-maybe someday," you answered nervously, struggling to keep your attention on the conversation when he rubbed your arm through your sleeve. "But I think I'm still too young--"

He knit his brows together, shaking his head. "Oh, no-- you're the perfect age for it, darling..."

You swallowed thickly, his fingers running gently over your jaw and lifting your chin so he could get a better look at your nervous, confused expression.

"You should have one," he decided suddenly, "and I should have another."

You opened your mouth to disagree, but nothing really came out... instead, he just pulled you into a kiss: slow, gentle, patient. You knew Tommy could be a volatile man, even violent, but you'd never known he could be so tender.

Of course, it didn't last long. He was anything but slow or gentle or patient when he had you in his bedroom, pressed up against the wall as he drove into you mercilessly, holding your legs open as he grunted with each rough thrust into your heat. "Good girl," he growled as your head fell back with a sigh of pleasure, "look how well you take it. I knew you needed a baby in you, darling-- as soon as I saw you, I knew. This body of yours just begging to be bred..."

You whined and bit your lip, but a hard thrust that went just a bit too deep made you yelp loudly-- and his hand quickly snapped over your mouth, muffling your noises as he panted in your ear.

"Shh, not so loud," he warned, "you don't want to wake the baby..."

[sl-newsie]

Um… yeah