#cillian murphy gifs

[cherrycilly]

Bts batman

[barmaidatthegarrison]

Green Eyes and Gunpowder (1/?)

Thomas Shelby x OC (Emily Hughes)

Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.

Word Count - 1,630

Warnings - pre-relationship (for now), fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (it's Peaky my guys)

A/N - First ever Peaky fic? With an OC? Because I don't know how to write fics without giving the characters names it's just not in me. I wish it was.

This is basically a season 1 rewrite.

Chapter 1

The Garrison, not yet owned by the family, but she knew it would be one day. Those boys, her boys, when they loved something, they made it theirs. She could definitely attest to that.

She slipped through the door, not quietly, but given that it was a Friday night, definitely not loud enough to be noticed. She caught sight of a few Blinders among the crowds of regulars, but it was mostly townies. And movement in the snug. That was convenient.

Though for a moment she stood in the door and let the loudness and familiarity and sound of people that talked like her wash over her. She’d been gone only a few months, and it’d felt like a lifetime. How she managed during the war, she doesn’t know. Well, she does, and it’s best not to pry on that too much tonight.

There were also better questions to ask and answer, like who the blonde behind the bar staring at her was.

Grace didn’t recognize her. Sure, plenty of girls made their way through the Garrison most nights, of various motives, but this one didn’t strike her as a whore or a wife here to drag her husband home. Her clothes were modest, but of good quality, and though she was beautiful, she was not trying to upsell that beauty. She did not watch the unruly room as a predator or saleswoman, but with fondness, familiarity.

Her eyes locked on the newcomers, and Grace was struck by how very green they were. And she thought Tommy had stunning eyes. Purely from an observational perspective of course.

The woman made her way to the bar on light feet, pulling the hat off her head as she did so. Not a very ladylike gesture, Grace mused. A head of dark curls popped free as she did, a small smile playing on her face, but before either woman could speak, Harry appeared as if summoned to her side.

He paused mid-offload of his empty mugs and smiled at the newcomer.

“Emily! It’s a relief to see you back, if I may say so.”

The woman – Emily – smiled warmly, “Good to see you too, Harry. Relief though? I wouldn’t talk as if I make them any easier to deal with – we both know that isn’t true.” Her accent was pure Birmingham; she was local then.

Harry snorted, “You make them less on edge.” He turned to Grace then, “Whatever Emily wants is on the house.”

She remembered Harry’s warning, no more than a month ago since she came here and heard it: “If l say something's on the house, then say nothing to whoever you're serving. If they decide that they want you, then there's nothing anybody could do about it.”

But this woman, she didn’t seem dangerous – not the way Tommy or John or Arthur or, hell, even Polly did; it practically radiated off them. This woman was, if anything, disarming.

“Seems my boys are already here, so no need quite yet, Harry.” With that she offered Grace a smile and made a beeline for the snug in the corner, filled with the aforementioned dangerous group.

Shouts of her name echoed loudly from the corner room, Arthur swooping the smaller woman up in a hug, lifting her clean off her feet, and before the door closed, Grace caught sight of Tommy’s smile – the first she’d seen, and far softer than anything she would have thought him capable of.

“I take it I was missed then.” Emily joked, stealing the cigarette from Arthur’s hand. “Always good to see.”

Arthur draped an arm across the bench behind her, “You must be joking. You’re always missed, Em.”

“Here, here.” Polly agreed smiling easily. “Someone get the poor woman a drink.”

Tommy was already placing his own full glass in front of her. Birmingham may have been her home, but she never truly felt settled until she was with her family, until she could see with her own eyes that they were safe.

“Thanks, Tom.” She mumbled taking a deep drink, letting the tension start to ease from her shoulders. “God it’s good to be the fuck out of Galway. Place is a pit.”

“Still not sure why the fuck you went.” John injected.

“A friend called in a favour, simple as that. I’m a woman of my word.” With that she drained the rest of the glass, Tommy already refilling it for her.

“You know you could stand to be a little less reliable.” John muttered. “We need you here more than they do anyhow.”

Polly cuffed him on the back of the head for the comment, “Watch your mouth, John. There should be at least one stand up person in this family.”

While he rubbed the spot on the back of his head, Emily leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then mussed up his hair, eliciting an indignant noise from him, a snort from Arthur, and a small smile from Tommy.

“Well, I’ve paid my dues, shouldn’t be leaving again. Now be a good lad and get us another glass.”

John rolled his eyes, but his mock annoyance couldn’t cover up how relieved they all were to be together again.

“Another glass, Grace.” John’s voice startled her from her own thoughts. He glanced back at the room he’d come from, “Another bottle of whiskey too.”

She didn’t hesitate to hand the items over, speaking as she did so before he disappeared. “I take it she’s from here?”

John blinked at her for a few seconds, as if completely lost as to who she could be referring to.

“Oh, you mean Em. Yeah, heh, good to have the whole family back together.” And with that he slipped away with his prizes back into the room.

Harry didn’t even try to hide a snort from where he was filling up four ales. “You could just ask, Grace. Don’t need to be so sneaky about it.”

“Who is she then, Harry?” Grace wasn’t a woman easily embarrassed but this was the closest she’d come since she got her.

“Dr. Emily Hughes. She grew up with the Shelby boys, before the war they worked double and triple time to put enough money together to send her to medical school – smart as a whip that one. Her last name may as well be Shelby for as much as she’s one of them, remember that.”

What little she could see of them laughing and joking and smoking through the partially cracked snug window, Grace could definitely believe it.

This might create a new opportunity.

“Who’s the new barmaid?” Emily asked, folding her cards, turning to Tommy. He folded his as well and lit another cigarette, offering her one which she accepted.

“Name’s Grace. Started a month ago. Says she’s from Galway, but then again, she also said she worked in a pub in Dublin I know doesn’t exist.”

Galway… she looked so familiar, but Emily couldn’t place her. And she had been here while Emily had been there so it’s not like they could have run into each other.

“She lying to save face or something else?”

Tommy sighed, leaning back into his chair a little. “Still trying to figure that out.”

She nodded, taking another drink. “Want me on it?”

“You always were better at getting people to trust you.”

That wasn’t true. Before the war, Tommy used to laugh, used to be so much warmer and more open. So much had changed. But now wasn’t the time to say that. Now it was time to get dealt back in and take the boys’ money.

Another thing that had changed.

As the clock ticked to 1 in the morning, Emily gasped awake, shooting up, wild eyes scanning the room. Alone. No one was here. She was in Birmingham.

She was safe.

Her heartbeat in her ears was near deafening and the hand she held up was trembling too hard to stop. It took about twenty minutes of deep breaths to get her own body to start listening to her again. Desperately she grasped onto the here and now, pushing the thoughts of screaming men and boys, violent hands and blood-soaked beds, and the taste of her own terror away.

The knock at the door wasn’t exactly unexpected, but not something she had been willing to count on.

“Come in.” She breathed, loud enough to be heard, but not to carry further than the ears it was intended for.

The door opened and closed quickly, Tommy’s pale face and anxious blue eyes met her green ones. Wordlessly, she scooted further in towards the wall, lifting up the sheet. Tommy knew his cue well and slid in beside her.

He tucked his head under her chin, and she buried her face in his hair. He smelled like whiskey and tobacco and sweat, smelled like Tommy, and the last of her dream-based fear fell away.

He clung to her like he was afraid she was going to disappear if he let go, but neither said a word. This was something that started accidentally after the war, when they both realised they couldn’t sleep without nightmares. The shared comfort, the familiarity, the lack of judgement.

Tommy told her it was the only time he didn’t hear German shovels and pickaxes through his wall, Emily said it was the only time the screams of the dying stopped. It was also the only time she didn’t feel those men’s fucking hands– no. No not every memory needed to be acknowledged.

They would both eventually fall asleep then wake early enough for Tommy to slip back to his bed, finally rested and well. Neither would say a word about it, but they would share a smile over breakfast and that would be enough.

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 41)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Pregnancy

At around 4 o 'clock that day, you and Max climbed into Paidi's car to take the thirty-minute drive to a nearby hiking spot.

"Excited?" Max asked, his voice brimming with energy as he adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Absolutely," you replied, forcing enthusiasm into your voice, but a hint of unease churned in your stomach as you worried that, perhaps, by going with him, you were leading Max on, which was not your intention.

"That's good, because I even have a little surprise for you when we get there," Max grinned, his enthusiasm contagious, as he turned onto the winding road that led to the cliffs.

"Oh? What is it?" you shot back, curiosity piquing despite your earlier reservations.

"You'll see soon enough," he said, glancing at you with a sly smile.

The car bumped along the uneven road, and you took a moment to admire the lush greenery flanking the path.

"Is it food?" you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice, hoping it would be something you could savour.

"Maybe," he replied, a grin splitting his face as he navigated a sharp turn to pull in to the nearby car park.

You hopped out, the salty breeze rustling your hair as you caught sight of the cliffs looming ahead.

"I can't believe I haven't come here before," you murmured, the stunning view stretching out before you, where the rugged rock met the frothy sea below. “It’s amazing.”

"Just wait until you see it up close," Max replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's breathtaking."

"So, you have been here before?" you asked with a hint of surprise in your voice, thinking that he didn't know much about it by the way he had acted earlier.

"Once or twice when I was really young," he admitted, brushing a stray hair from his forehead before retrieving a small basket from the back seat, its woven surface hinting at hidden delights.

"What's in there?" you asked, peering over curiously as he popped it open.

"Just a little something to fuel our adventure," he grinned, pulling out a couple of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper as well as some beers.

"Jesus, you came prepared. I thought we were just going to come here for a quick walk," you murmured, feeling a little uncomfortable now, hoping that he wouldn't want to take this any further.

"Well, I thought a picnic might be fun," Max said as he showed you the way and you followed him, a mix of anticipation and lingering uncertainty threading through your veins.

"Okay, just let me text the others, telling them that we will be back late," you said as you fished your phone from your pocket, the cool screen illuminating your fingers.

Max stood a few paces away, scanning the breathtaking view, his expression a mix of excitement and impatience.

"Don't worry about them, let's just enjoy the moment," he urged, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. "Despite, there isn't any reception here," he declared and, sure enough, the screen displayed a lonely message icon, mocking you with its emptiness.

"Come on! Let's hike a bit and find the perfect spot," Max urged, breaking your focus and beckoning you toward the trail that wound around the cliffs.

As you stepped onto the rocky path, the sea foamed and crashed below, a rhythmic symphony of nature.

"Just a little further," Max called back, his enthusiasm infectious as he bounded ahead, weaving through the wildflowers sprouting along the trail.

"You know, these cliffs are the kind of place that make you feel small?" Max called back, the wind tugging at his words.

"It's absolutely amazing," he acknowledged and nodded, the expansive horizon swallowing your thoughts, pushing all worries aside for a moment.

"Yeah," you agreed, a smile creeping onto your face. "It's beautiful," you said until, eventually, you made it to the cliff's edge, where the wind whipped around you, sending shivers down your spine. Max plopped down on the grass, unwrapping the sandwiches triumphantly.

"Dinner with a view?" he joked, glancing up, hopeful eyes reflecting the ocean's blue.

"Thanks," you murmured, grinning as you accepted a sandwich, its fresh aroma mixing with the salty air.

Max also pulled out the beers and popped the caps with a satisfying crack, handing one to you with a grin.

"Slainté," he said, raising his bottle, the sun casting a golden glow on the horizon behind him.

You clinked your bottles together, laughter bubbling in the air.

"Slainté," you murmured, feeling the coolness of the glass against your palm.

Max took a hearty bite of his sandwich, crumbs tumbling into the grass as he began with some small talk.

You took many photos on your phone and Max took some of you too, while you chatted about random topics such as art and politics.

He was good company and time went by much faster than you had expected.

"We should probably head back soon. It's getting dark," you suggested, glancing at the horizon where the sun dipped lower, casting a fiery orange hue across the sky.

Max frowned, reluctant. "Just a few more minutes? The view is worth it," he said, moving a little closer towards you as the sun began to stretch its golden fingers across the sky, casting long shadows that danced around your feet.

"Okay, just a few more, but then we really should head back," you relented, caught in the moment as, suddenly, Max's hand sneaked around you, catching you by surprise.

Your heart raced as his fingers brushed against your side, igniting a flutter of confusion within you.

"Max, I...," you thus began but, before you could even finish your sentence, Max leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a hesitant kiss.

You quickly pulled away, heart pounding, the shock of the moment washing over you like the tide.

"Max, I am not..." you started, the warmth of his breath lingering in the air between you, catching you off guard as you searched for the right words.

"You aren't into me," he stammered, backing away slightly, a flush creeping into his cheeks. “I mean, I should have known, but…,” he began, shaking his head, causing you to blush.

"I'm just... things are complicated right now," you interrupted, keeping your voice steady despite the thundering in your chest.

Max rubbed the back of his neck, visibly trying to process your rejection.

"You really do have a crush on my uncle, don't you?" Max's voice cracked slightly, although his amusement was evident.

"What?" you feigned confusion, the soft breeze mingling with your rising heart rate.

"You two give of a vibe," he insisted, glancing away, unsure whether to be amused or frustrated. "It's impossible not to notice and I am surprised your dad and Nina haven’t even picked up on it yet,” he chuckled as the tension wrapped around you, the truth hanging unspoken in the air.

"No, we just worked together on a project, that's all," you insisted, your pulse racing as you felt the weight of his gaze. “There is no vibe!”

Max crossed his arms, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Okay, sure. If you say so," he relented nonetheless, causing you to shake your head.

"I mean it Max. There is nothing between me and your uncle, in any shape or form," you insisted, but the doubt lingered in the air like the salty breeze around you.

Max raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk creeping onto his face. "And I believe you, Y/N," he lied, before offering you his hand.

"We should go now. Maybe we can stop by the local pub on the way back for a pint," he suggested and you hesitated, the unease flickering inside you once more.

"Only if you promise that you won't try to kiss me again," you said, your eyes narrowing playfully.

Max raised his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. "I promise. Just a beer and some banter."

Relieved, you accepted the terms, and together you headed back down the path.

Shortly after you left the parking lot and drove off to the nearest pub, you finally had some reception.

The screen lit up with a flurry of texts from Cillian, wondering where you were.

"Is everything okay?" he wanted to know in his latest message as, clearly, he was worried about your prolonged absence. Or was it something else that he was worried about?

As you read through the messages, a knot twisted in your stomach and you wondered what his problem was.

There were several of them, asking you if you were safe, if you had reached the cliffs, and why you hadn't replied. You glanced at Max, who was bouncing mildly in his seat, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind your smile.

"All good?" he asked, glancing over at you momentarily as he navigated the winding roads, his enthusiasm unwavering.

"Yeah, just catching up on messages," you replied, forcing a smile while your mind whirled with Cillian's concerns.

Max nodded, oblivious, as he shifted gears, eager to reach the pub teeming with life and, just as you were to reply to Cillian's latest message, the reception went again.

***

Meanwhile, at the house, Cillian paced back and forward.

"You know, they should have been back by now," he murmured, wondering if he should text you again, which is when Paidi stepped in to calm him down, his casual demeanour contrasting sharply with Cillian's growing anxiety.

"What's got you all wound up?" Paddy asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, Max and Y/N have been gone for a while, so I am a little worried," Cillian shot back, rubbing the back of his neck as he cast a wary glance at his phone.

Paidi chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, man. They are probably having a good time. Max took some sandwiches and a few beers with him," he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he leaned against the counter. "I think he likes Y/N," he went on to say, trying to tease his brother who shot him a look, the tension still etched on his brow.

"Yeah, but it's dark and it's windy too," he replied, pacing again, frustration bubbling just below the surface as Dermont joined the conversation as well, unaware of Cillian's growing jealousy which he masterfully masked with concern and worry.

Dermont studied him, shaking his head. "You're being paranoid. They're adults, not kids," he declared. "Despite, I know Y/N to be extremely responsible and I trust her to do the right thing," your father said, but it wasn't you who Cillian didn't trust. It was Max.

The fact that Max was having some private time with you made Cillian uncomfortable. He was raging with jealousy inside now and this only just fuelled his frustration with your prolonged absence.

Internally, he wondered what you were doing. Were you making out or were you just talking about the cliffs, or worse?

"So you aren't at all concerned that they haven't rocked up yet?" Cillian asked, crossing his arms defensively, his brow knitted into a tight frown.

Dermont shrugged, amusement flickering in his eyes. "No I am not man, and she is my daughter, not yours, so you can relax now," your father countered, a playful tone easing the tension in the room.

Cillian sighed, raking a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with an unwilling anxiety.

"I mean, why are you even so worried about her lately?" Dermont then asked, having noticed Cillian being rather protective towards you, which was unusual for him.

"I don't know," Cillian murmured, unsure how to respond. "Maybe we just connected a bit more since working together," he explained to your father, telling him that he was trying to look after you while on set.

"Alight, well thanks for looking out for her man, but I can assure you she is fine. She is a good kid," Dermont said and the word 'kid' made Cillian cringe, but he bit his tongue.

"Now, I am going to hit the hay," Dermont finally declared, stretching his arms above his head as he yawned and Paidi agreed. He was tired too and wasn't going to wait up for the both of you, knowing full well that, by now, you were probably hanging out in some pub.

Your father had always trusted you as you never gave him a reason to doubt your judgment. But of course. he was blissfully unaware of what was brewing beneath the surface, the connection between you and Cillian tangled in layers of secrecy.

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[enidsinclair]

#the cutest red-nosed reindeer

[jtargaryen18]

Thank you so much! 🖤🖤🖤

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Words: 8.2k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to physical violence, planning physical violence

You learn your mother's whereabouts (sort of) but can't help feeling information is being kept from you by the Shelbys. Arthur gets some things off his chest. Tommy confronts Rory and begins to understand his plan may cost him the one thing he wanted most.

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

For once, Tommy had woken up warm. Not from the whiskey. Not from the fire dying in the fireplace. But from her.

The soft rise and fall of her breath as she slept kept him calm, and if he focused on it, he could keep most of his troubles at bay. At least until dawn. Her arm draped over his chest, light and unknowing, but real. He liked the idea that she needed to know he was there by her side in sleep. Lying in wasn’t a thing he allowed himself often. Moments like that didn’t belong to men like him. And maybe that’s why he hadn’t moved. Tommy just laid there for a few extra minutes, watching the early light spill across the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

It was a rare glimpse of normalcy, of stolen peaceful. But peace came with a clock ticking beside it. And somewhere deep down, he knew it couldn’t last.

But he wanted it to. God help him, he wanted it. What would he give for a thousand mornings like this one. Waking up with her next to him, the world outside their room unable to reach them.

He wanted to see her face when Polly showed her the sewing machine, see the way her eyes lit up when she realized it was hers to use, not just something borrowed. He wanted to ask her what she was making, watch her learn the machine and marvel at its convenience. He could sit in silence while her hands moved with purpose. Listen to her hum a song, or curse softly when a stitch went wrong. He wanted to come home every day and find her there in his home. He wanted to have her waiting in his bed each night.

He would never get last night out of his head if he lived to be a hundred. He could tell himself that she offered herself up so sweetly for sewing needles and something to do. Any other women, he would have flatly believed that. But he already told her she could have what she wanted -- as if he'd ever be able to say no to her. Tommy had no expectations. Would he have tried to seduce her? Yes. But she came at him first, shy but willing with those innocent eyes and that siren's smile. No agenda, no artifice. Everything else was forgotten. The scars the war left on his body and mind. The fact that he was the most ruthless man in Birmingham, and all the sins that bloodied his hands and blackened his heart. She'd just wanted him.

Tommy wanted so many impossible things, and that scared him. Because wanting was dangerous, leading to weakness and mistakes.

To pain.

But still… He wanted it all the same.

It took real effort on his part to leave the bed but he managed, peeling himself away like a man trying not to wake up from a dream. He washed up, dressed in silence, every movement mechanical, but slower than usual. Like part of him wanted to stretch the morning out just a little longer.

And just as he reached the door, he glanced back. She had shifted in her sleep, rolling toward where he’d been, now curled into the hollow his body had left behind, like she’d trapped his warmth for herself. In moments like this, there was no anxiety in her face. No worry creasing her brow. No guarded tension in her shoulders. Just peace. The kind he’d spent his life chasing and but had never quite caught. And for a brief second, he let himself imagine a world where he could give that to her—where it was his name, not his silence, that made her feel safe. 

But the world didn’t work like that. So he turned, and walked out, already bracing for whatever the day held. He didn't have to wait long.

Tommy stood by the hearth, one hand resting on the mantle, the other adjusting his cufflink with deliberate calm. The cigarette between his fingers was half-burned and almost forgotten with the weight of everything preying on his mind. 

He heard Polly before he saw her. She moved with purpose and when she stepped into the sitting room, he didn’t look at her right away. If she was here this early, it wasn’t for pleasantries.

“I’ve heard from Maeve March," she said.

Tommy didn’t move. Just waited. He could already feel the conversation sharpening like a blade. “And?”

Polly’s voice cut through the silence, sharper than it had any right to be at this hour. “Her mother’s not just in bed from worry, Tommy. She’s been beaten within an inch of her life.”

Tommy stilled, halfway through adjusting his cufflink, the weight of the words settling like stone in his chest.

Polly didn’t stop there. “Bruises, Tommy. Arms. Ribs. Face. One of her legs is broken. She hasn’t been seen in days because she can’t be. Maeve said she heard this from the doctor’s wife and he’s been out to the house twice. Said it looked like someone tied her to the bumper of their motorcar and dragged her for miles.” Her tone had shifted, less anger now, more concern. “And we both know who did it.”

Tommy exhaled, his fingers stilled, cufflink forgotten as he turned toward the window.

Polly stepped closer, her voice lower now. “This is what comes of your game, Thomas. You didn’t just humiliate him—you cornered him. And cowards like Sean O’Grady? They only know how to fight down.” She let him think about her words for a moment. “He couldn’t get to the girl and apparently the doctor's been out there to see her a time or two for the same thing. He turned to the only other woman who couldn’t fight back.”

And the silence that followed said everything Tommy didn’t. His jaw flexed. His cigarette burned to ash between his fingers, forgotten. 

All this time, he thought his girl was just a victim of circumstance. Of bad men making worse choices. Of a wager no one should’ve accepted. But now? Now he knew the truth. The bruises hadn’t started with the coin toss. Sean had been laying hands on her and her mother long before that. And no one had been able to stop him. Rory’s rage now made perfect sense. It wasn’t reckless, it was inherited, sharpened by years of silence and the sick knowing that no one had ever come to save them.

Until now. Tommy didn’t care what it took or what names he had to bury along the way. He wasn’t just going to silence Sean O’Grady. He was going to make sure his girl never had to look over her shoulder again.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“No. That’s why I’m going.” 

He nodded. If it was true—if Sean had really laid hands on his wife—then it wasn’t just a rumor anymore. It was action. And desperate men did stupid things.

But before he could respond, Polly kept going. “You think you’re still in control of this. But you’re not. It’s slipping.”

Control. That word again. That damn word everyone liked to throw at him when they didn’t understand the stakes. “She’s safe here.”

“Physically, yes. But emotionally? Mentally?” Polly’s voice sharpened. “She doesn’t know what you did to get her here. That it was you who set all of this in motion.”

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, inhaled, letting the smoke curl in his lungs before answering. “What I did was necessary.” But even to him, the words rang hollow.

Polly didn’t back down. She never did. “What you did was selfish.”

His pulse kicked up at that. Her words struck deeper than he’d admit. Because he knew it was true. He’d told himself the wager was about teaching Small Heath a lesson. About punishing the men who treated women like they were worth less than the coins in their pockets. But the truth? The truth was that he’d seen her—really seen her—and wanted her. And he’d orchestrated everything else to make that want seem righteous.

Polly stepped closer, her voice lower now. Not angry. Just disappointed. “She doesn’t know you planted the wager in the first place. And everything that's happened since is a result of that. Her mother could have died. Her brother? I hope he's not planning to do something stupid.”

Tommy exhaled slowly. That old ache began to stir in his chest again—the one he ignored, the one he doused with whiskey and war stories and work. “She’ll know when I decide it’s time.”

When I can frame it right. When she’s too close to leave.

“And what if that time comes too late?” Polly asked.

Tommy looked at her, finally. Really looked and saw the warning in her eyes. Because Polly had seen it all before. She’d watched him build things out of strategy—empires, alliances, illusions. And she’d watched him destroy them just as fast when emotion crept in.

“If I tell her now, I lose her,” he admitted. It came out quieter than he meant it to. But it was the truth. The raw, ugly center of all of it.

Polly didn’t gloat, but she didn’t soften either. “If you don’t, you'll lose her anyway. But next time, it’ll be because she ran. And you’ll deserve it.”

With that said, she made her way out of the room. Coat over her arm, heels clicking softly against the wood floors.

Tommy didn’t call after her. Just stood there, the silence thick around him, smoke curling from his cigarette, his thoughts loud and dark.

***

The sewing machine was beautiful. When Tommy mentioned his family had one, you didn't picture anything that fancy. It was older but clean, polished like someone had taken care to bring it back to life. All you could do was stare at it, waiting in the sitting room like it had always belonged there, a small pile of fabric, a couple of white shirts, and an open tin filled with needles, thread, and dull metal thimbles were placed neatly beside it. A quiet invitation.

“Polly?” you asked, voice soft. 

She turned from the shelf she’d been rearranging, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Thought you might like to have a go,” she said. “Tommy said to get you whatever you needed.”

That part still made your chest tighten. He’d said that. He wanted you to have this. You ran your fingers over the machine’s edge, still unsure you were allowed to want anything. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Polly didn’t rush you. She just moved to the chair next to you, lowering herself with a soft grunt, her sharp eyes taking you in like she was trying to read the spaces between your words. "You'll learn it,” she said. “I was never any good at sewing anything but even I figured it out... You and your mother brought in money with your mending. You're not afraid of work.”

You gave a small smile. “Never had the choice.”

That earned a slow nod. “Tell me about your family,” she said gently. “Before all this.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk—it was that you didn’t know where to begin.

“My mother,” you said finally, voice small, “she’s kind. Quiet. She used to hum to herself while she worked. Always trying to keep the peace. But… she doesn’t speak up much anymore.”

Polly nodded, saying nothing, letting you go on.

“Rory… he’s younger than me, but always acted older. Always trying to be the man of the house, even when we both knew the one already there wouldn’t let him.” You didn’t say his name. 

Polly’s voice softened. “Your stepfather?”

Your hands froze where they’d been sorting the many items in the tin. You shook your head. “He's not a nice man. He drinks and gambles. There have been many a night when there was nothing to eat because of it. He has fits of rage. Mostly at my mother, even though she's done nothing wrong. Sometimes he'd go after Rory, when he spoke out. He doesn't liked being challenged. And he hated being reminded that he wasn't our real father.”

You felt Polly watching you. Not with pity. With something stronger. “Did he ever raise a hand to you?” she asked carefully.

You swallowed. Eyes on the machine. “Not often. He knew how to get his point across without leaving marks.”

Polly reached out then, her hand resting over yours. “You’re not there anymore, love.”

You nodded, though your throat was tight. 

“And neither is your mother.”

Your gaze met hers. What?

“She’s safe,” Polly said gently. “We got her out of that house this morning to a place that's safe and guarded. She's out of your stepfather's reach.”

Your breath caught as you tried to wrap your mind about what this really meant. “She’s safe?”

“She is.” But something flickered in Polly’s eyes. Just for a split second. Something that didn’t match the reassurance in her voice.

You saw it in the way she looked past you instead of at you. There was something she wasn't saying. And just like that, the warm relief that had just started to settle in your chest evaporated. Why had they moved your mother now instead of when this started? And if she needed to be kept safe, why couldn't she be with you? 

Oh, you knew as well as anyone that your stepfather wouldn't have allowed her to do anything, much less try to find you. But you'd hoped for something. Even a message slipped to you through the staff. And suddenly— suddenly —they decided to move her?

You didn't think Polly wasn't lying. But she wasn’t telling the whole truth either. Something had happened. You just didn’t know what.

"Can I go see her?" you had to ask. "Is she alright?"

Polly paused, but only for a second. There was a slight shift in her eyes. The faintest pause between syllables.The way her gaze darted, like someone avoiding a detail they didn’t want to give voice to. The smile she flashed you was gentle, but composed.

“She’s safe. And that’s what matters most.” Another beat. “You’ll see her. Just… not yet. Not until Tommy finally puts an end to all this.”

You nodded slowly, but your heart sank because you knew there was more to the story. Polly Gray wasn’t a liar. But she was loyal to her family first just as you were. And if she wasn’t telling you everything…It meant the rest was something you weren’t ready to hear. Or worse, something you weren’t meant to know at all.

Polly gave your hand a gentle squeeze before leaning back in her chair, settling like she wasn’t in a hurry. “Your father,” she said after a quiet moment, her voice softer now, thoughtful. “Malachy Flynn. I remember him.”

You knew it was a jump to another topic but you still wanted to hear what she had to say. “You do?”

Polly nodded. “He used to come by the Garrison sometimes. Before it was ours. Kept to himself. Brave man, from what I heard. What I remember was that he was unfailingly kind.”

It was rare that anyone talked about him these days. Tommy mentioned knowing him from the war. Rarer still that anyone remembered him as kind.

“Life was different before he died,” you said quietly. “Calmer. We didn’t have much, but… there was laughter.”

Polly’s eyes darkened just slightly, gaze drifting for a moment to something far away.

“That war took too much from all of us,” she murmured. “Our sons, our husbands, our homes. It didn’t stop at the trenches. It came back with the ones who survived.” Her voice turned heavier now. Measured. “It turned my nephews into ghosts for a while. John buried it under jokes. Arthur drowned it in drink and fists. And Tommy…” She paused, studying you closely now. “Well, Tommy learned to keep breathing while everything inside him was already dead.”

Your breath caught at that. You didn’t mean to, but you leaned in a little, as if her words might bring him into sharper focus.

Polly noticed. “He’s different with you,” she said, just a touch of warmth threading her voice. “It’s not a thing he’d say, not aloud. But I know what I see.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. All you knew was that the mention of your father had brought something back. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time. And now, the idea that someone like Tommy Shelby might have once been broken, and was somehow trying to come back from it, that settled into your chest like hope. 

He’s different with you.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Because what were you supposed to say to that? That it shouldn't matter? That it didn’t? That it couldn’t? What did Polly think this was? Some slow, unlikely romance where the broken soldier finds solace in the girl he stole from her life? You weren’t a story. You were cargo from a bet. Collateral in a lesson that had nothing to do with you until Tommy Shelby made it so.

And yet…

He’d spoken to Rory. Rather your brother had sought him out, confronting a man that terrified most of Birmingham. Your brother was still breathing and unbruised, and somehow that had meant more than you let on. Now your mother had been moved, tucked away somewhere safe by the very people who had upended your life. That kind of protection didn’t come cheap. Or without purpose.

Why? Why were they still shielding you like you were precious, like you mattered? Why was Polly sitting here, placing sewing kits in your hands like you belonged here?

Yes, you knew Tommy had interfered the moment you tried to flee that night and you found yourself caught in his snare. But back then you assumed he was just protecting what he’d taken. You still assumed that. Didn’t you? You were meant to stay until the storm passed. Until whatever lesson he was teaching Small Heath had sunk in. Then you'd be released—damaged, maybe, but still walking. That was the plan. Wasn’t it?

You glanced down at your hands, resting in your lap. They were steady now. Stronger than when you'd first arrived. It scared you. Because if you were being made whole again, it meant something in this place was stitching you back together. And if you started to want it… Well, you weren’t sure you’d survive being sent home.

Polly just watched you, calm and quiet, letting the silence stretch. She always seemed to know when to push and when to let something sink in. But after a moment, she shifted slightly in her chair, hands folded in her lap, her voice softer than before. “I don’t know what he told you,” she said, eyes still on you. “Or what you’ve let yourself believe.”

Your gaze lifted, cautious.

“But I’ve lived with those boys long enough to know the difference between when they want something… and when they mean it.”

“What is it you think Tommy means?” you asked, surprising yourself with how small your voice sounded.

Polly didn’t answer right away. She just studyied you like she was trying to decide what you could handle. “I think he’s still figuring that out for himself,” she said. “And that’s the part that worries me.”

Holding your breath, you waited for her to explain.

 “Because if he gets it wrong?" Polly gave a small, sad smile. “Then you’ll be the one who pays for it.”

And just like that, she stood. No dramatic exit. No final remark to twist the knife. She simply touched your shoulder in passing—warm, steady, like a thread pulling you back from unraveling—then left the room with her usual grace. 

Polly’s footsteps faded down the hall, but her words didn’t. You sat there, motionless, her touch still warm on your shoulder. And that question kept echoing: What does it mean to pay for it? Did it mean being cast out once his point had been made? Forgotten the moment he tired of the game? Or worse, kept close, like a favorite possession, never quite free again? You weren’t sure which outcome scared you more.

You sat there long after she was gone, the sewing machine quiet beside you, the only sound in the room the soft ticking of the grandfather clock. Your fingers rested on the fabric in your lap. Still, like they’d forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. You weren’t even thinking about sewing.

Because now, your mind wasn’t just circling around what had happened. It was inching toward what might come next. 

It wasn’t just the secrets still hanging in the air, or the careful way Polly had chosen her words. The ground beneath your feet didn’t feel as solid as it had the day before—if it ever had at all. You felt it in the silence, in Tommy’s absence. In the look Polly flashed you before quickly taking it back. Something underneath everything was building. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were ready for it. Would you be able to handle answers, consequences, or whatever version of truth might finally arrive?

The sewing machine was all but forgotten next to you, its silent presence now feeling more like a question than a gift. You reached for the thread, but before you could start, you heard footsteps. They were heavier and uneven in pace. He was someone who never moved quietly. When his shadow filled the doorway, you froze.

Arthur Shelby.

He paused when he saw you, mouth tightening, like he’d expected someone else. Or maybe no one at all.

You stood slowly, out of instinct. Out of respect. 

He waved a hand. “Don’t—don’t get up. Just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You sat again, cautiously.

He lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, and for a moment, you thought he’d leave without saying anything else.

“You any good at that?” he nodded toward the machine.

“I’ve never tried before. I usually do all the sewing by hand.”

“Guess that’s good then,” he muttered, scratching at his jaw. “Means Tommy’s shirts’ll be fixed for free.”

It took you a second to realize he was joking. Was he offering a truce?

You smiled. “If I am, I'll be fixing your shirts for free too.”

A smile played about Arthur's lips, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate movements like he was trying not to scare you. He sat down in the chair across from you, and close up, he looked older, tired. At least he wasn't angry like before. You were grateful for that.

“Listen,” he said after a moment, “about before...”

You didn’t say anything, but the memory still lingered in the back of your mind. His voice, his fury, the look in his eyes when he’d cornered you in the foyer. The blame you hadn’t earned.

“I was wrong,” he muttered, staring at a spot on the floor. “I was drunk and dumb. Blamed you for something you didn’t do. Wasn’t fair.” He shifted in the chair, clearly uncomfortable. It was the kind of apology that came with splinters—halting, awkward, like every word scraped its way up from somewhere he didn’t like to go.

“Whole bloody ordeal,” he added after a moment, with a short shake of his head. He looked up at you, for just a moment. Some emotion flash in his eyes but it was gone before you could make it out. Regret, maybe. “Not makin’ excuses,” he added quickly. “Just sayin’… it was a mess. And I was part of it.” He rubbed his hands together like he was trying to scrub the guilt off. “Should’ve known better. Should’ve put an end to it.”

You sat frozen, listening, unsure how to respond. The hurt was still there, but it was softer now, wrapped in the rough edges of his humility.

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know how it looks. Like we’re just… monsters. Men with power, doing whatever the fuck we want. But it’s not always like that.”

Was he trying to defend what happened or just looking for a way to make sense of it?

“What happened to you,” he continued, more gently than before, “it shouldn’t’ve happened. Not to you. Not to anyone. Tommy's putting that to rights. It's the least he can do.” He looked up then, met your eyes properly for the first time. “I’m sorry. Truly am.”

It wasn’t polished or elegant, but it was genuine. And for a man like Arthur Shelby, who so rarely admitted fault or failure, that meant something to you. He blew out a breath, like he’d been holding it the whole time.

You nodded slowly, your throat tight. “Thank you. Takes a lot to admit that."

He snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.” Then, after a beat, he offered a half-smile and said, “Still don’t know why you’re fixin’ shirts for free. Must be mad.” And just like that, the tension broke, replaced by something lighter. A fragile kind of peace. And maybe, if only in small pieces, a bit of healing.

You looked at him, surprised. "He hasn't actually asked me to fix them yet. There's a couple here but I don't know who they belong to. I guess this will come in handy."

That had you both smiling, the tension easing. There was a long pause between you, but not a heavy one. A careful kind of quiet.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he leaned back and added, “He’s gone soft, you know.”

That got your attention, your gaze meeting his. 

“Tommy.” Arthur gestured vaguely, like the word alone held too much to unpack. “Would’ve never done half of this for anyone else. Not unless there was a deal at the end of it. Some gain. But you?” He shook his head slowly. “You’re not a play. You’re not leverage. If you were, I’d have seen it by now.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. You looked down at your hands, unsure what to say. You thought there was a reason. His lesson for Small Heath. What was Arthur trying to say?

“Not sayin’ he’s easy. My brother is anything but that. Or good at this sort of thing. He’s fuckin' not.” Arthur gave a quiet, tired laugh. “Hell, he’s more likely to set fire to his own happiness than admit he wants any.” He stood, brushing his palms down his trousers, like shaking off something heavy. “But whatever else this started as… it’s different now. And if I can see it? Maybe you will too. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

Then he gave a short nod, more to himself than to you, and left you there, surrounded by quiet and questions, with one more layer of Tommy Shelby to unravel.

***

Tommy was in his office at the betting shop, bent over the day’s ledger, though he hadn’t turned a page in nearly half an hour. The silence around him was heavy, weighted by everything he hadn’t said, everything he’d done, and knowing that it was all catching up with him. 

The door opened without a knock. Only one man entered like that. Arthur.

Tommy didn’t look up at first. He knew this was coming. Had felt it building in the quiet glares and the unspoken tension since the day after the wager. Since Arthur had looked at him like a stranger in their own house. So when Arthur stepped into the room and let the silence sit between them like a weight, Tommy didn’t bother filling it. Because whatever Arthur had to say, he’d earned the right to say it.

Arthur stood on the other side of the desk, the intensity Tommy expected to see in his face. “I saw her today. Spoke to her.”

Tommy looked up slowly. Not defensive or braced for a fight. Because that was the thing about Arthur, when he wasn’t angry, when he was honest, it cut far deeper than a bullet.

“I treated her like shite because I thought she was part of all this.” His voice cracked slightly. “Turns out she was just caught in it. I thought you flashed me those drawers as part of your theatrics. But...”

Tommy closed the ledger gently. “You were angry. I let you be. I had my reasons.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well. I’m your brother, not your pawn. And now people are fuckin' talkin’. O’Grady’s got folks whispering my name in alleyways like I’m the one who stole her. Like I—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you know what that feels like?”

Tommy stood, slowly. Walked around the desk. Not threatening, but direct. 

Arthur looked at him. Hard. "Why’d you do it, Tom? Was it about the girl... or the message?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he looked away, toward the window. “Started with her.”

Arthur absorbed that in silence. "She's different and you know it. She's no whore. She'll make some lucky bastard a good wife... And you still used her.”

It was a truth Tommy couldn’t argue with. Because he had. He’d maneuvered her like a piece on a board. Now, hearing it out loud, from his own brother, no less, felt like a blade slipping past his ribs.

“I protected her.” But the words sounded hollow even as Tommy said them.

“From what? Us?”

Tommy stepped in closer. “From him.”

Arthur stared at him. And slowly, the fight bled out of his shoulders. “You should’ve told me,” he said.

Tommy nodded once. “I know.”

Arthur broke eye contact then, just for a second. Just long enough for Tommy to see it wasn’t anger fueling him, it was guilt. Shame. 

“I saw her first, remember?” Arthur said, quieter now. “Told you to take the fuckin' coat for her to fix. Thought maybe… Maybe I liked her.” He laughed once, bitter and short.“Then I made them hand her over. Like she was nothing. And you let me.”

“I did,” Tommy said quietly. “I didn't know her before I took the coat for mending. But the moment I saw her... I knew.” He met Arthur’s gaze, steady. “I thought I could make her part of the game, then protect her from it.” A breath... "Didn't stop me from making her mine before I ever had the right to.”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. His shoulders didn’t rise, his fists didn’t clench. It might’ve been the most honest thing he'd ever said to his older brother. And that made it worse somehow.

Dropping his gaze, Arthur gave a short, bitter laugh.“Well, fuck me, Tom. That’s what this is, then. You thought you'd cash in that wager and you fuckin' fell for her. I fuckin' knew it. You’ve gone soft.”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence answer for him.

“Should’ve seen it earlier.” Arthur shook his head, brow furrowing.“You’ve been off lately. Head not in the game like it usually is. Always rushing off somewhere.”

Tommy said nothing, let him get it all out.

“You really pissed me off, y’know. Put me through it. Let me think I’d done something that I didn't want to live with. Let me stew in it while you sat on the truth.” Arthur glanced over, not looking for an apology, just recognition. “Even got my name dragged through the muck... But at the end of this game, I come out of this in better shape than you, brother.”

Tommy had been the one to orchestrate the wager. And now? Now he was the one who stood to lose the most. He'd be left with the ashes of the life he’d tried to build on a lie. And the worst part was…he’d known from the start. He just thought he could outpace the damage. Like always.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Arthur moved toward the door. “You planning to marry her?”

Tommy's his voice was soft. “If she’ll have me.”

"You'd fuckin' better." Arthur let out a breath and half-smirked, though there was no amusement in it. “She fixes my shirts for free now, you know.”

Tommy watched as Arthur stepped out the door. 

“Don’t cock this up, Tom.”

***

The light was bleeding out of the sky when Liam found him. Tommy was in the garden, cigarette tucked between his lips. His coat draped over his shoulders, boots planted in the damp earth. The air smelled like soil and cooling stone. It was one of those rare, still moments that felt suspended in time. He'd been speaking with the men he had guarding his house, cautioning them to be on high alert as the situation with Sean O'Grady continued to escalate. 

He heard Liam’s boots on the gravel before the man in front of him could answer. Tommy knew by the pace it wasn’t good news. Walking towards Liam, his man he'd been speaking with knew to walk away, to give them privacy.

“He’s getting ready,” Liam said without preamble. “Didn’t go to work today. I've seen him everywhere O'Grady has been. One hand always near his pocket.”

Tommy didn’t need to ask who. “Rory.”

Liam nodded once. “Looks like he's meaning to finish something.”

Tommy took a slow drag, exhaled. His mind began pulling threads, tying them together with practiced ease. O'Grady. The bruised mother. The quiet rage he'd seen in the boy. It was all coming to a head now.

He flicked the cigarette into the grass and turned. “I’ll handle it.”

The streets were quiet, but not silent as the night dropped its dark veil over Small Heath. Distant voices drifted from open pub doors, muffled by the fog curling low along the cobblestones. Gas lamps burned soft and yellow, casting long shadows through alleyways that had seen too much and forgotten nothing.

Tommy moved with purpose, his coat collar up, steps soundless beneath him. He knew these streets better than he knew most people. Knew the corners where boys became men too fast. Knew the alleys where secrets were buried beneath the weight of silence and soot. Tonight, he knew exactly where to look. 

What Polly said about the mother’s injuries was true and she’d moved the woman to a safehouse while O’Grady was at work, no questions asked. Rory had to be on the edge of his sanity right now. He’d lived under the shadow of a man like Sean O’Grady. A man who punished weakness and hit women, and still dared to look himself in the mirror.

Rory knew what bruises meant, what silence meant, just like he knew what it felt like to be powerless against it. Of course he was going to snap. Tommy wasn’t going to let the boy do something that would cost him everything. Not when he’d come this far and still had something to save.

He spotted Rory just before the lad noticed him. His back was pressed to the brick wall behind the narrow side alley. The rundown pub he watched that was the Garrison's biggest competition. According to Liam, it was where O'Grady spent significant time. But his stepson was coiled tight as a spring, watching as people came and went. His chest rose fast, like he’d been running even though he hadn’t moved an inch. One hand was tucked deep into his coat pocket.

Tommy didn’t have to guess what was in there. A knife, maybe. A revolver. Something that made him feel stronger than he was.

Tommy stepped out of the shadows, not caring that the gravel crunched beneath his boots. No need to sneak up on someone ready to explode. 

“Revenge looks different in your head than it does after.” Tommy’s voice came low from the shadows, calm but heavy.

Rory flinched, spinning on his heel to face him, his hand twitching in his pocket. But he managed to stop himself. He recognized Tommy's voice. Just maybe he even expected to hear it. 

“Mr. Shelby?” the boy snapped, his voice sharp, defensive. “You followed me?”

“Didn’t have to.” Tommy stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “Word is you didn’t show at the factory today."

Rory didn’t answer right away, but the set of his jaw spoke loud enough.

“Your mother’s safe,” Tommy added quietly. “He’ll come home to an empty house and no one left to scream at. Things will get worse before they get better."

The boy’s eyes flicked away, not in fear, but in barely restrained fury. “Then maybe it’s time someone made him afraid,” Rory muttered.

Tommy studied him for abeat, watching the way those words shook in the boy’s chest—less bravado, more truth. A quiet kind of desperation that came from years of being unable to fight back. And now the leash was off.

“He beat her.” His voice cracked on the words, just slightly. “Again. My mum. Our mum. She can't even walk. She can't draw a breath without it hurtin'. And you’re still letting him walk around like nothing happened.”

Tommy said nothing. Just watched. Measured the fear and fury in Rory’s voice, the way he stood—not broken, but right on the edge. And to his credit, Rory hadn't said a word to anyone. Tommy would have known if he had.

“You moved my mum like you moved my sister? And Mum wasn’t the only one he laid hands on,” Rory added, louder now. “And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of sitting around waiting for someone else to fix it.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched.There it was. Confirmation of what he’d suspected. Proof. Not just bruises passed off in silence or pain hidden behind quiet eyes.O’Grady had hurt her. The girl he held at night like a promise he hadn’t made yet. And for one blistering second, all Tommy wanted was to rip through the dark and put a bullet between the bastard’s eyes.

But not yet. That was anger talking, and he couldn’t afford to act on fury. Not when Rory was hanging on the edge, and the next move needed to be precise. So he pushed it down. Buried it. For now.

But the rage stayed lit, banked like a fire he fully intended to let burn.

“So you thought you’d do it yourself?” Tommy asked, tilting his head slightly. “Just wait for him to walk out and put him in the ground?”

“If I have to.”

“And then what, Rory?” he asked, keeping his voice low and even. “Let's say you get your vengeance. Think you get to go home after that?”

Rory’s lip curled, but his eyes flickered.

“You think your mother will be better off?" Tommy went on. What would it do to her to bury her husband and her son in the same week? She wouldn’t mourn him,” Tommy muttered. “But she’d still lose.”

Realization struck the lad then, Tommy recognized it. Because he knew that feeling all too well, had carried it for years. That sharp, breathless knowledge that the people you love…they don’t survive your choices. Even if they live, they don’t survive them. Tommy saw a younger version of himself in Rory. He saw the hero he'd desperately wanted to be before France, the smoke and medals and blood. Rory was who he'd been before he learned what it meant to lose everything in the name of doing what felt right.

And in that moment, Tommy didn’t see a threat. He saw someone worth saving. “Alright,” he said quietly. “So let’s make sure you don’t lose anything tonight.”

Rory met his gaze, startled. Not because he didn’t want to believe it, but because part of him hadn’t expected anyone to offer him another way.

Tommy stepped closer, his tone shifting just slightly, less steel now, more weight. “There are other ways to fight men like him. Smarter ways. You’ve got more in you than swinging a blade in the dark and hoping for the best.” He paused, watching the boy take it in. “You want to protect your mother?” he asked. “Protect your sister?”

Rory’s nod was immediate. Fierce.

“Then be something more than his murderer,” Tommy said. “Be useful to me.” The words weren’t a threat. They were a door and one not offered lightly. “You’re sharp. Loyal. And you’ve seen enough of this world to understand what it takes to survive it.”

Rory hesitated. “Doing what?”

“You’ll learn.” He didn’t need to say more.

Rory understood what the offer was. It was a bargain with the devil, but still a chance. For someone like him, it could be everything. Or it could be the beginning of the end for him.

“I’m not like him,” the boy said hoarsely.

Tommy’s tone softened, just slightly. “Then prove it.”

Rory didn’t answer right away. But Tommy saw the shift in him. In the way his shoulders eased, the way his hand drifted just slightly from the pocket where the knife or gun was hidden. He didn’t say yes. But he wasn’t saying no either. And that was enough for now.

Tommy turned slightly and gestured down the street. Reaching out, he rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

They fell into step side by side, and it was quiet except for the steady sound of boots against wet stone. The night pressed in around them, thick and damp with smoke and fog, but it didn’t feel as heavy now. Tommy lit a cigarette, taking a drag and exhaling smoke slowly into the cold. Rory’s steps were heavier now, the weight of what he almost did hanging off his shoulders like a soaked coat.

They reached the block where Rory lived. It was one of those narrow, leaning rows near the canal with chipped stone steps and windows that always seemed dim, even in the light of day. 

Rory stopped at the foot of the stairs. He stared at the door like it might open on an answer he didn’t have. “My mum and my sister…” he said after a long pause. “They’re all I’ve got left, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy just listened.

“And I don’t even know if they’re safe.” Rory blew out an exhale. He finally looked over, meeting Tommy’s eyes head-on. “I’m trusting you. But I don’t know what that buys me or them.”

Rory’s hand hovered at the doorknob, the light from inside spilling just enough to catch the tension still coiled in his shoulders.

“Think about what I said,” Tommy told him, voice low.“This part’s almost over. After that… you’ll have a choice.”

Rory nodded once, then slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that felt heavier than it should’ve.

It buys you me, Rory. That’s the trade.

Turning to walk back up the mist-soaked street, Tommy's thoughts grew darker. The part of his plan that was almost done? That was for Rory. For his mother who Sean O’Grady had broken. For his sister who now slept in Tommy’s bed.

For Tommy, it was  just the beginning. He’d waited long enough. And now, he was going to deal with Sean O’Grady in a way that didn’t just end the problem, but satisfied the quiet, cold part of him that still wanted everything. 

But as he walked deeper into the fog, doubt stalked him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

His girl was going to find out what he'd done. And when she did, it wouldn’t matter how gentle he’d been after. Wouldn’t matter that he’d kept her close, or tried to make it right. She’d remember how it started. She’d remember the price her mother paid for his plans.

Revenge was simple, easy. The truth was messy, sharp, and inevitable. And when it finally surfaced, that’s when the real war would begin. 

***

The house was mostly dark when Tommy returned. No lamps burned in the hallway except for the one flickering low in the sitting room. Somewhere upstairs, doors were shut, people asleep.

But she was still awake. He heard the rhythmic clatter of the sewing machine before he saw her, a soft, steady sound like a heartbeat echoing in the quiet.

Tommy stepped into the doorway of the sitting room and stopped. There she was, seated near the window with its curtains drawn, working in the low golden light of the lamp. Her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, lower lip caught gently between her teeth, fingers guiding fabric with care. A man’s shirt lay across her lap.

“Still at it?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

She looked up, smiling when she saw him. “Fixing the cuffs on Arthur’s shirts,” she said lightly. “Only now I’m doing it for free.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, a breath of something like laughter caught in his throat. “Did he mention that?”

She nodded, returning to her stitching for a moment before adding, “Said it like I’d lost my mind. ‘Still don’t know why you’re fixin’ shirts for free. Must be mad,’ I think were his exact words.”

Her imitation of Arthur was surprisingly good. It had just enough gruffness to earn a real smirk from Tommy. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a softened gaze. “He’s not wrong.”

She glanced up again, brow raised, just slightly teasing. “And yet here I am.”

Tommy’s chest pulled tight—not from guilt this time, but something quieter. The fact that she was here, doing something kind for Arthur of all people, after everything… It told him more about her than she probably meant to reveal. It told him she still had kindness left in her.

He took a step forward, his voice low now. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug, but there was a tenderness in her voice when she replied, “Didn’t  have to. I wanted to. He apologized.”

Tommy nodded, slowly. That settled something in his chest. Not everything, but something. Arthur had tried. And she’d let him. That was a kind of peace Tommy hadn’t expected. And it made him even more certain that she was worth the risk.

His coat was still buttoned, gloves tucked into one pocket. He hadn’t taken a breath all evening that didn’t taste like smoke and tension.

“Have you eaten?” she asked gently.

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

His mind wouldn’t slow. Wouldn’t let him sit still long enough to want anything. Too many things were moving beneath the surface. O'Grady. Rory. Her. Always her.

Should he tell her tonight? Would it shatter the fragile thing they’d built in the quiet hours between regret and routine? Would it break everything, the trust, the comfort, the softness she’d started to show him in slivers, even if she didn’t mean to? Or was it better to let her believe she was just drifting here, a passenger in a storm she never agreed to ride out?

The truth was coming, and when it did, it wouldn’t just knock. It would rip the bloody fucking doors off their hinges. Would she still be standing with him when the dust settled?

"That’s enough for tonight,” he said, the words quiet but firm.

She didn't hesitate. She nodded before carefully folding the shirt, setting it aside. Rising from her seat, she stretched and her neck and back had to be aching from sitting there for hours. As he watched, she walked past him without flinching, with no fear. That quiet trust gutted him.

Upstairs, the room they shared was dim but warm. She moved with gentle familiarity now. She wasn't claiming the space, but no longer afraid of it either. She peeled off her day dress, still one of Ada's, and changed into her nightclothes in silence, her back to him. Not hiding, not flaunting. She was just existing.

He removed his coat, tossed it over the chair. His tie. His waistcoat and shirt. Even so, he still felt heavy.

She climbed into the bed and pulled the blankets up, lying on her back. She looked tired, probably at that machine most of the day. But it was different. The shadows behind her eyes had faded. She had something in her day to help her hold her fears and worries at bay. He envied her that.

Tommy sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He didn’t want her tonight—not in the way men wanted women. He just wanted her close. Because something in his gut said this wouldn’t last. That a reckoning was coming. And when it did, he didn’t know if she’d stay.

He pulled off his boots, then slid beneath the covers. She didn’t move away. Tommy reached for her, one arm looping around her waist, pulling her into him. She tucked herself close, her back to his chest, her hand over his. She was warm and soft. Real. Tommy pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes. Just a moment, he let himself pretend she was his without condition. That there was no plan. No lies. No secrets.

Just her. 

Tommy held her tighter until her breathing evened out into the cadence of sleep. Because he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence

[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.

[jokerous]

BARBENHEIMER (2023)

[chappellsroans]

#And he took that personally 💀

Bonus (I still can't stop laughing at Cillian Murphy):

[lau219]

💯

How would Neil react to Y/N coming into the store constantly just to talk to him? She really likes him, but she’s too nervous to say anything.

He definitely wouldn’t make the connection that it’s because you like him.

He’d think it’s a bit out of the ordinary that you come by so much (Neil: “Why is this cute chick always stopping by? She’s so bubbly and fun, you’d think she’d have somewhere else to be with her friends.), but he’s not at all upset about it.

Soon, it becomes such an enjoyable and expected thing for you to come by and chat/hang with him that Neil finds himself watching the door for you and being very disappointed on the days when you don’t visit. He’s saving up stories and jokes to tell you when he sees you again and setting aside movies for you that he thinks you’ll like. It’s when he’s cursing himself for never getting your number that he suddenly realizes he’s crushing hard on you.

@ennui-whimsy-and-me @breakthestereo @newbarrel

[vader-anakin]

"He researches his enemies, that's why he's been chosen." Peaky Blinders | Season 2 Episode 1

[tomcriuse]

Batman Begins (2005) dir. Christopher Nolan

[jtargaryen18]

It's going to be okay. I promise. 💕💕💕

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Words: 9.2k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Kidnapping, physical violence, references to prostitution, attempted SA, angst, so much angst.

You fall into a trap and finally learn the truth...

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

The sun slanted through the tall sitting room windows, casting long golden ribbons across the floorboards. Dust floated in the light, undisturbed. The past few mornings had been so peaceful here. The sort of peace you hadn't enjoyed since you father left for the war that had taken his life. 

You sat at the small table near the window, hands working slowly over the seam of a shirt. It was Arthur’s if you had to guess, judging by the frayed cuffs. The steady pull of the needle through cloth was comforting. The consistent movement of your fingers kept your thoughts from unraveling completely. 

A low creak of the floorboards pulled your attention toward the doorway. Arthur hovered there a moment, newspaper in his hand. Then he stepped inside and lowered himself into the armchair across from you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking briefly to the shirt in your lap.

“You know, Polly would never try to mend mine,” he said, nodding toward the sleeve. “She would’ve told me to bin the bloody thing.”

You smiled. “I don’t mind.”

And you didn’t. You could just picture it. Polly standing over a laundry basket, cigarette dangling from her mouth, scoffing at the sorry state of one of Arthur’s shirts. “You’ve got money now, Arthur. Stop dressing like a bloody scarecrow,” she'd say. You could see her rolling her eyes and hand the shirt off to someone else or toss it in the bin herself.

Somehow, that only made you admire her more. Even when she was grumbling or swearing under her breath, there was a quiet dignity in Polly Gray. She didn’t waste her time on things she considered beneath her, but she always showed up when it counted. She’d taken care of you in her own way. And for all her biting words and clever looks, you did trust her.

Normally, she was here at the house but she'd gone out this morning to run errands. She said she planned to check in on your mother. Try as you might, your doubts and fears kept eating at you. You still didn't understand why you couldn't see your own mother.

For a while, the two of you sat there in companionable silence, broken only by the rhythmic slide of the needle and thread. Arthur read the morning paper and it was nice to have someone else for company. Finn passed through the hallway outside a few minutes later, humming tunelessly and tossing a quick, “Mornin’,” over his shoulder. You returned it with a nod, and Arthur grumbled something about him being late to everything but trouble.

Your eyes drifted to the window, though your hands kept working. Last night kept pulling at your thoughts like a thread you couldn’t knot. Tommy.

The way he’d looked when he walked into the room. Tired, yes, but also… something had been different. His shoulders had softened and something behind his pale blue eyes had cracked open, just a little. The way he’d held you as you fell asleep... There'd been no urgency to any of his actions, no possession. Tommy had made you feel like you mattered, like you were safe.

That was the part you didn’t know what to do with. If you didn't know better, you'd think...

No. You couldn’t let yourself go there. If you did, if you started to believe that Tommy Shelby cared for you--really cared for you... What happened when he no longer needed you? When the message had been sent, when the point had been made?

They’d already pulled your mother out of your home. Neither of you could go back now. Not ever again. Not after what had happened and what people were likely hearing. And after this, you couldn't share a home with Sean O'Grady. Not another single day. You'd be in physical danger from him, and everyone else, because everyone knew you'd been wagered to the Shelbys. You’d have to take your mother and start over. Somewhere new and far away. Maybe you could make it, convince Rory to come with you. He probably would as long as your stepfather wasn't involved.

The truth settled cold in your chest. You didn’t know if you even had the strength for that. You stared down at the thread in your hands, fingers still moving, but slower now. Less precise. Your rhythm faltered. 

Arthur must’ve noticed, because for once, he didn’t fill the silence with noise. He just sat there a moment. Watching. Then, softly he said, “Try not to worry yourself.” 

You looked up. It was like he could read your mind. Like he could feel the weight of your fears. 

He nodded toward the fabric in your lap. “You’re sittin’ here fixin’ shirts and not fallin' apart. That’s strength.” He paused, jaw working like he wasn’t sure how much further to go. “It’s dignity. That’s what it is.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. It was the first time someone had ever called it that before. What you did to survive, to stay upright. 

Arthur didn’t say anything else. Maybe he figured he’d already said too much. When he finished reading the paper, he flipped it closed with a rustle. Without another word, he rose from the chair and wandered off down the hall. The room felt larger without him, too big for you. A few minutes went by with the sound of the clock ticking filling the space he’d left behind.

You tried unsuccessfully to focus on the fabric in your lap again, but your attention span was lost. Your fingers moved out of habit now, not with real purpose as they normally did.

The sunlight had shifted while you'd been sitting there. The angle of its rays was sharper now, shining on the dust in the air that looked like flecks of silver. A breeze slipped in through the cracked window, stirring the curtains, the whisper of it brushing against your neck. Something about it made you uneasy, though you couldn’t say why.

You set the shirt aside, hands folding it neatly, though you hadn’t finished. You stared at the spot where Arthur had sat. You could still hear his voice in your head. It’s dignity.

The silence of the room pressed in on you. It was like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting. It sparked an uneasy feeling in you, like a wave of dread creeping in. 

A soft knock at the open doorway jarred you out of your thoughts. You looked up to find one of the maids standingthere. You barely knew the girl having only seen her once or twice. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her apron, knuckles pale, like she was fretting about something. Something about her expression seemed off.

She moved into the room, her voice low and careful. “There’s something you should know.”

You watched her for just a second, feeling an uncomfortable shift in the air.

She stepped farther into the room, but not with the casual ease of someone running a message or asking about tea. Her gaze darted from your face to the floor, then to the window. Anywhere but directly at you. 

It had you straightening in your chair. “Is everything all right?”

The maid hesitated. Then she nodded. Too quickly. “Yes. I mean--” Her voice faltered. She took a breath and tried again. “There’s just… someone asked me to tell you something.”

Your heart gave sped up. All the color had drained from her face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost, or like maybe she was about to summon one.

“Who?” you asked, gently.

Another beat of silence. She didn’t answer that. Didn’t seem like she could. Instead, she swallowed hard, eyes finally meeting yours, but only for a split second. “It’s about your mother.”

That was all it took. Your pulse jumped. Your body went still, hands froze in your lap.

“What about her?”

The maid shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked like she wanted to bolt and run. Instead, she stepped a little closer, lowering her voice like the walls might be listening. “She’s… not well.”

What did that mean? “Not well how?”

The girl glanced toward the hallway, then back to you, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s been hurt. Bad. I... I don’t know everything. Just that she’s at a house on Holling Street. Someone there’s looking after her.”

Holling Street. You knew it. Just on the edge of Small Heath. Your mouth went dry. “How do you know this?”

“Someone told me,” she said finally, hesitating longer than normal. “They said you need to go see her soon. Might be your only chance.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, it was hard to breathe as panic threatened to take you over. You wanted to question the vagueness, the way she wouldn't say who told her, the way her eyes wouldn’t meet yours for more than a second at a time. But fear was already crowding your thoughts. If your mother was hurt, truly hurt, waiting around for answers wasn’t an option.

You had to see her. Right now.

You thought you said thank you to the maid. Your heart was beating so fast you were afraid it would break out of your ribs.

She left quickly. Too quickly.

But you were already sinking back into your thoughts, the sound of her footsteps fading behind the thundering in your ears. What were you going to do?

Could you make it out unseen? Just long enough to check on your mother? Could you make it back without Tommy finding out? You'd have to find a hat to cover your hair and a coat, try not to look as you normally did. 

Maybe if you were quick. No one had eyes on you every second. You knew you were supposed to be out of sight right now. Because of his lesson. Because of the game Tommy Shelby was playing with Small Heath, and with you. You weren’t supposed to leave the house. You weren’t supposed to be seen.

But what if your mother was dying? What if this was the one chance to see her, to say goodbye if things were dire, and you didn’t take it? You’d never forgive yourself. Not even Tommy’s fury could compare to that kind of regret. And while you hadn't seen his fury firsthand, you were pretty sure you didn't want to. 

You found a dark hat of Polly's in the hall closet and a coat of hers that would work. You were shaking like a leaf but you had to try. You'd do your best to make it back before anyone found out and sent up a couple prayers while you were at it. 

You made it out the front door, heart thundering in your chest, eyes scanning the street as if your guilt alone might alert someone to your escape. But you barely made it three steps down the walk when a voice stopped you.

“Miss.” Turning sharply, one of Tommy's men stood just ahead, hands up like he didn’t want to scare you. You recognized him, always quiet and reliable. He was always shadowing the hallways.

“I can’t let you leave," he said. "It's for your protection."

Your breath caught. “It’s my mother,” you said, voice tight. “She’s been hurt. I just need to see her. I’ll be back. I swear--”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, still firm. “Orders are no one in or out. Not without Mr. Shelby’s say.”

“You don’t understand,” you snapped, desperation breaking through. “She might be dying. I need to see her.”

Shaking his head, visibly uncomfortable now, he said, “It’s not safe.”

Your voice cracked. “Then come with me. Please. If I’m wrong, I’ll come right back. But if I’m right--” Tears welled in your eyes. “Please.”

And that’s when it happened. The man you'd been speaking with saw them before you did. He shoved you behind him, drawing his weapon in the same breath.

Four men in dark clothes, moving fast. At first, you didn’t register it. They were just shapes in the distance. Shadows cutting across the sunlit street. But then you caught the way they moved. Not like passersby. Not like men with errands to run. They were running toward you. Their faces were set with intention, hard, flat, unreadable. They weren’t there to talk. There was no absolutely no hesitation in their stride. No shouted warning. Just momentum and menace.

Your breath caught in your throat. One of them looked familiar as they came closer. He looked like a friend of your stepfather's.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, something screamed run. But you didn’t even get the chance.

The shot the man in front of you got off was loud, had you flinching. He missed. One of the attackers didn’t. Another shot cracked through the air and Tommy’s man staggered, blood blooming at his shoulder, then his chest.

You screamed as he dropped to the ground. The intruders were on you in seconds. Two of them reached you first. You twisted in their grip, kicking, clawing -- anything to get free. One of Tommy’s men was down, bleeding out behind you, and others were running in your direction, you heard their shouts, but still too far off. They wouldn't reach you in time.

“Jesus, you idiot!” the man you recognized snarled as he grabbed your arm, yanking you forward. “You fired that fuckin' close to her. What if you’d hit her?”

The second man, the one with the gun still half-raised, shrugged. “Didn’t Sean say he wanted her dead or alive?”

The first man turned to him, and the grin that spread across his face made your stomach drop. “Oh, he wants her, alright.” His eyes raked over you with a twisted glint. “But not dead. Not yet anyway.”

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t know what Sean had told them, what exactly they’d come to do. But that slimy grin told you enough. This wasn’t just about revenge. This was about ownership. About your stepfather taking back what he thought he was owed.

You tried to scream again, but the breath wouldn’t come. Your chest tightened, your limbs shook. And for one terrifying second, all you could do was freeze. You were alone. Outnumbered. 

And then you heard it. The low growl of an engine. A delivery truck came barreling up the road, tires screeching, engine roaring. The men turned toward it, and one of them laughed. “Right on time.”

More shouts now. Tommy’s men, two of them, sprinting from around the house. And behind them Arthur and Finn. Arthur yelling something you couldn’t make out.

One of the attackers grabbed you with rough hands, the stink of sweat and pipe smoke clinging to him. You struggled, kicked, screamed. It didn’t matter. They hauled you into the truck like a sack of grain, slamming the door shut just as it roared away.

In that last second, as the world blurred through the rear window, your eyes locked with Arthur’s. He was mid-run, gun drawn, fury on his face. 

But it was too late.

The truck disappeared into the street, and you were gone.

***

The first gunshot cracked through the air like a whip. Arthur was already halfway down the stairs before his mind caught up to the sound. Another shot, closer this time.

Then a scream. Her scream.

“Fuck--”

He was moving before Finn could say a word, boots hammering the hardwood, shoving open the front door so hard it slammed the wall.

He saw it all.

One of the blinders, collapsed on the walk, blood spreading across his chest, eyes already going glassy.

And then he saw her. He didn't know why in the fuck she was wearing Polly's hat and coat. Apparently trying to go somewhere. But she didn't appear to want to go anywhere with them. Her body twisted in the grip of two men in dark coats, arms pinned, feet kicking as they dragged her backward toward a truck that came screaming up to the curb. A delivery truck going too fast. 

Arthur's stomach dropped. No, no, no--

He bolted forward, rage in his throat and murder in his mind. “No!” he roared.

But it was too late. The truck door slammed, tires screaming. And they were gone.

He gave chase anyway, running full out, lungs burning, boots slamming pavement. But the truck tore off down the street and around the bend before he even cleared the walk.

Arthur stopped hard, hands on his knees, trying not to vomit from the effort and the fury. 

“Arthur!” Finn called behind him.

“Stay in the fuckin’ house!” Arthur bellowed, not even turning. But of course the kid didn’t listen. He ran up to him anyway.

Arthur turned, grabbed him by the shirt. “Go get Tommy.” His voice was sharp, surgical. No time for emotion. “You run like hell and you don’t stop until you find him.”

Finn nodded, wide-eyed, then took off.

More of their men were flooding out the side gate now, shouting, confused. Arthur spun to face them, barking orders with the kind of clarity only a man trained for war could manage.

“Car. Now. Bring it around!”

They scattered, and to their credit, they moved fast. The sound of tires, engines, the slam of car doors. It all happened in under a minute.

Arthur turned toward the men loading into the car, their faces hard, eyes sharp. He leveled them with a stare that brought all of them to a halt, complete silence.

“We get her back,” he growled. “Or we don’t fuckin’ come back at all.”

***

Tommy paused in lighting a cigarette when he saw Finn running towards him at full speed. His youngest brother’s face was ghost-white, panic carved into every breath.

“They’ve got her,” Finn gasped. “Arthur said to come get you. Four men showed up, grabbed her and dragged her into a truck.”

Tommy just stared at Finn. Like the world had shifted beneath his feet and he hadn’t caught up yet.

“Tell me again,” he said, voice cold and low. “All of it.”

Finn rushed through it-- the kidnapping, the delivery truck, two men down. Arthur chasing after them with the men who'd been guarding the house.

It hit Tommy hard. The rage, dread, and the failure surged up in his chest, thick and bitter. There was no fear or guilt in that moment. All he could see was the image etched into his mind of her, torn from safety, from him, by men who thought she was still someone’s to take.

And still, despite all his efforts, they got to her. The thought hollowed him out because no matter how sharp his mind, how ruthless his plans, this was different. She wasn’t part of the game anymore.

She was his. And they had taken her.

He should have told her everything. Should’ve never waited. Now the choice might not be his anymore. And that terrified him.

But terror had no place now. There was only the gun, the car, and the ruin he would leave behind. 

Crossing to the desk, he pulled the drawer open. Inside it was his old Colt, its black steel catching the light. Tommy pulled it out, popped the cylinder, and quickly checked the chamber. Six rounds. Grabbing another box of ammo, he slipped it into his coat pocket. He blew out an exhale as he tried to keep the anger at bay. This was for blood.

Liam and John ran in then, both of them breathing hard.

“We followed the truck,” John said. “One of the men at the street market saw it turn off toward the edge of Small Heath. Knew where it was headed. It's an old building we've used before to store contraband.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed. “Get the car.”

Grabbing his coat, he checked the gun at his side again. Sliding the hammer back with a click that echoed like thunder through his chest. Tommy was done playing the game. Now he was coming to collect.

***

The men who took you half dragged you through a doorway and into a dark, stale room that reeked of mildew, old sweat, and something sharper beneath it, something like fear. Your heels scraped the floor as you struggled, but they didn’t care. One of them grabbed your arm so tightly it burned, while another shoved you forward until your knees nearly buckled. Polly's hat was snatched from your head, and her coat was ripped from you like they were stripping away the last of the Shelbys' protections. Now, you were unprotected.

Then you saw him. Sean O’Grady. Standing near the far wall, a vision from a nightmare with his hair slicked back, smugness clinging to him like cheap cologne. The grin he flashed you made your stomach turn.

“There she is,” he said with a slow, gleeful drawl, like he was greeting a guest at a party. “The little runaway. Shelby’s whore.”

You didn’t need to ask how he found you. Didn’t need to guess who sent the message the maid delivered to you. You recalled the panic in her eyes, her trembling hands. You knew now that she didn’t want to help him. But she had and you'd walked right into it.

Sean stepped forward, eyes bright with unhinged emotion. “You know, your mum screamed for you.” He smiled wider. “Finest beating I ever gave. And she still begged me not to touch you.”

His words cut deep. But it was the implication behind them that had you struggling to breathe. The maid’s message... It hadn’t just been bait. Some of it was true.

Your voice cracked, brittle with dread. “Is she alive?” You swallowed hard. “My mother. Did you kill her?”

Sean rolled his eyes, like the question annoyed him more than anything. “How the hell should I know?” he muttered.“Probably the Shelbys got to her. Wouldn’t be surprised if they dragged her off somewhere. I don’t care.”

You recoiled, not just from his indifference, but from the wave of helplessness crashing over you. He’d hurt her. Hurt her badly enough that even he wasn’t sure what damage he’d done. Your fists clenched, heart thudding. You weren’t just afraid anymore. You were furious.

Sean kept walking toward you, and you backed away from him until your back met a wall and you couldn't retreat further. 

“But it’s time, girl.” He took another step, licking his bottom lip like he could already taste victory. “Time to deal with you. You’re no good to them anymore. But you’ll make me plenty of money.”

His meaning sank in like icewater down your spine. The door of the big hollow room shut with a heavy click and his men stood not too far behind him, smirking. And Sean started rolling up his sleeves.

Your heart hammered so loud that all of them could probably hear it. Your throat was dry. Sean’s eyes gleamed with something sick, triumphant, like he’d already won.

But you wouldn’t let him have it that easily. “I didn’t want this,” you spat, voice hoarse but unbroken.“You’re the one who wagered me like I was nothing. You’re the one who made me into this mess. Not me.”

Sean paused, just long enough to let the grin stretch wider across his face. “Aye, and now look at you.” He stepped closer, slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears rang. You felt the blood running down your nose from the strike. “Dragged through the mud. Passed around by filthy gypsies. Bet you weren’t so high and mighty when they were done with you, were you?”

You flinched, but you didn’t look away. “They never laid a hand on me.”

An image of Tommy's face floated through your mind. Yes, there's been moments he'd been ruthless with you. But he'd never hurt you. He never would.

Sean snorted. “Doesn’t matter. World thinks they did. And that’s the beauty of it. They tricked me into the wager in the first fuckin' place. But I have to admit, I like how it turned out.” Then his voice dropped, and his eyes hardened. “You think you’re better than me?” he hissed. “You think if you’d just played along, kept your head down, and didn’t fight back that you wouldn’t be here now?”

You froze.

“You brought this on yourself,” he said, stepping so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath. Grabbing the front of your dress, he tore it away from your shoulder, revealing your camisole beneath. His meaty fist punched you in the gut, doubling you over. “You shamed me. You turned your mother against me. Now you’re gonna learn what happens to girls who don’t listen.”

His hand reached for your dress again.

A heavy thud as the heavy door flew open. Then a voice, low, furious, and unmistakable. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her.”

The voice cracked through the room like thunder. You turned toward it in disbelief.

Arthur. Framed in the doorway, eyes wild with fury, chest heaving like he’d run straight through hell to get there.

Sean didn’t even flinch. He turned. Surprised, but not scared. “There he is,” Sean said, lips curling with contempt. “The dumb one. Always the one who follows orders, yeah?”

Arthur stepped into the room, slow and heavy, like a storm rolling in.

“Dragged her off, what, to impress your brother?” Sean sneered. “You never could take anything for yourself, could you? Thought you’d break her in, pass her around--”

That was it. Arthur didn’t speak. He lunged.

You barely saw the distance close, just heard the sound of the impact as Arthur’s fist collided with Sean’s jaw, snapping his head sideways and slamming him into the wall.

And then -- total chaos.

Outside the room, the crash of boots on stairs. Shouting. Gunfire. A scuffle in the hallway. Arthur’s men had come in behind him, and they were already tearing through Sean’s goons. Another shot rang out, closer now. You flinched, but Arthur didn’t even blink.

Sean was scrambling, stunned, reaching for something on the floor, maybe a weapon. Arthur kicked it aside and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him halfway off the ground.

“You smeared my good name,” he snarled, breath ragged. “Let's see how dumb you think I am when I beat the fuckin' shite outta you. You should have know better than taking on the Peaky fuckin' Blinders.”

Sean struggled, spit flying, eyes full of confusion and rage. “What? Gonna fight me over a whore now?” he spat, blood dripping from his mouth.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. Before he could answer that, another colder voice did.

“She’s no whore.”

Tommy. In the doorway now, with John and Liam flanking him, weapons drawn and expressions carved from stone.

Sean’s face went pale. Your stepfather had no fear of Arthur Shelby. He was terrified of Tommy.

***

“She’s no whore.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It cut through the room like a cold blade.

Sean froze, still pinned in Arthur’s grip, face covered in sweat and blood.

Tommy stepped inside, his boots deliberate against the floorboards, the click of each step louder than the shouting still echoing down the hallway.

His eyes went to her first. Nose bloodied. Dress torn. Fear written all over her face. The sight of her twisted something in his gut. He'd put her here. It wasn't his intention for this to happen but it was on him just the same.

He forced himself to keep walking. It was time for a reckoning.

He stopped just inches from Sean, his voice low enough that only those closest could hear. “You really thought it was Arthur who had her?”

Sean didn’t answer. He couldn’t, breath was too shallow, his eyes too wide.

Tommy stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. “It was me.”

Sean blinked, confused, then utterly horrified.

“You wagered her.” A pause. “Then you beat her mother. And when you couldn’t find the girl, you came crawling after her like a dog with a bone in its teeth.” Tommy leaned in, nose to nose, his tone flat and vicious. “You raised your hand to my family. And you laid your filthy hands on something that belongs to me.” Another beat. “You’re not leaving this room walking.”

Then he turned to Arthur, nodding once. “Drop him.”

Arthur did. Sean collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor, gasping.

Tommy crouched beside him, pulled his coat back slowly, and pulled his gun. “I want you alive, O’Grady. I want you to feel it. We’re going to take your name, your money, your reputation. We’ll bleed you out slow, ruin every man who ever shook your hand.”

He stood, nodding to John and Liam. “Strip him. Cut his belt. Break every finger if he resists. He’s not leaving this room until we’re done.”

Tommy walked to her as John and Liam got to work and Arthur stood watching with a satisfied grin. O'Grady's screams were already ringing through the room.

Everything else, every ounce of vengeance and strategy and fury, vanished in that moment. She was still against the wall, trying not to collapse in on herself. Her hands trembled. Her eyes were locked on his. He crossed to her slowly, his gun still loose at his side. Holstering it, he took off his coat and draped it over her, hiding what her torn dress revealed.

He expected her to recoil, to flinch, look away. He didn't know what he would have done if she had.

But she didn’t. She stepped into him. Fell into him, really, arms clutching his sides, face pressed against his chest like she’d break without something to hold onto.

Tommy blew out a heavy exhale. As much as he wanted to stay there, to comfort her, there was still business at hand. And she didn't need to see what was coming next for Sean O'Grady. She didn't need to bear witness to what he planned to personally do to the bastard.

"Let's get you out of here, eh?" He spoke only loud enough for her to hear. "Look at me. Don't look away."

Would it be the last time she'd look at him like he was a fucking hero? Her eyes were so trusting as she let him guide her out of the room while her stepfather's screams filled the air. Her entire body was shaking and he let her take her time getting down the stairs, helping her along. At the bottom, Polly waited looking alarmed but not about what was happening in the room upstairs. Her concerned gaze was on his girl, then on him. Still, he could have sworn he saw a flash of approval there too.

From behind Polly, Rory stepped up.

"Rory?" There were tears in her voice and he let her go, watched her make her way to her brother. He closed the distance for her, wrapping his arms around her, holding Tommy's coat to her.

His girl dissolved into tears then, soaking her brother's shirt as he held onto her. His gaze met Tommy's. "Thank you, Mr. Shelby." His voice was sincere, his expression one of gratitude.

Tommy nodded, turning his attention to Polly. "Get her back to the house," he told her. "I'm not finished here."

Polly nodded. Tommy didn't miss the concern on her face as her gaze met his.

***

The car ride was silent. Polly sat beside you, her expression unreadable, but her hands folded tight in her lap. Rory rode up front with one of Tommy’s men and neither of them said a word. It wasn’t until you pulled up outside the narrow stone house nestled in the hills that reality sank in.

You were finally going to see your mother. You didn’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this.

The safe house was dim and quiet. The air was tinged with antiseptic and the faint scent of illness. The led you to the main room, a smaller space than Tommy's house but much bigger than the one in your home. The curtains were drawn, a fire burned low in the grate. Sure enough, there was a nurse there. Her gaze on you was compassionate and she stepped aside to let you pass.

And there she your mother. Propped against a mound of pillows, her pale skin covered with bruises. One eye was swollen shut, her bottom lip split. Bandages peeked out beneath the collar of her nightdress. Your mother's breathing was shallow, her hands limp at her sides.

You couldn’t breathe. You stood frozen as you stopped at her bedside, every part of you rattling. 

Part of the maid’s message had been true. She had been badly hurt.

And Tommy knew.

Polly touched your back gently. “She’s sedated,” she said. “Her pain’s too bad. The doctor comes twice a day.”

You nodded, but the words didn’t register. All you could see was the damage. All you could hear was the voice in your head asking 'Why didn’t he tell you?'

Because he knew and he was behind it. 

The thought landed hard, and it didn’t let go. You stared at your mother’s bruised face, at the slow rise and fall of her chest, and suddenly it all started to piece together. Every silence, every look, and lie of omission. Tommy wouldn’t let you see her. Not when you asked. Not even when you begged. He sent Polly. He said she was “resting.”

No, she was sedated. Not recovering or stable. Just hidden.

He must have know that if you’d seen her like this, if you’d seen what Sean O’Grady had really done, you would have started asking the wrong questions. Like why the man who hurt her still walked free. Who really orchestrated the coin toss? Who gave Arthur the idea? Who set the trap, then decided to keep the prize?

You felt it like a slap to the face, harder than the blow your stepfather had delivered to you just a short while ago. The deception, the manipulation, all cloaked in kindness, in protection. In nights when you kept his bed warm. Flashes of the way he'd cared for you when you were feeling poorly flashed in your mind but you pushed those thoughts away. You couldn't think about that now and those pieces didn't fit into the puzzle you were trying to solve anyway. 

And Polly… She didn’t say a word. But when you glanced her way, she cut you a look that was quick and heavy with things unsaid. A look that said she knew you were figuring it out. Her eyes softened with something like pity, but her mouth stayed in a tight line. You couldn't help feeling that she wanted to tell you more. But she couldn’t. And that’s when you realized that none of this was her call. Polly had helped carry the lie, but she hadn’t written it. That was Tommy’s hand. His orchestration. Polly was just the one picking up the pieces. 

But her expression held more than guilt. It held grief. Not just for your mother. Maybe not even for you. For Tommy. Polly knew what you were about to go through. The weight of the lie. The moment the illusion shattered.

You’ll be the one who pays for it...

And as the realization settled in, your chest tightened, not just with rage, but something far more cruel.

You cared about him. God help you, after everything, some part of you still did. And now it felt like that part of you had been twisted and used. He’d held you, kissed you, took your innocence. Promised you safety and a choice.

But there hadn’t been any choice at all. He'd stolen that too. And it broke something in you just knowing that even now, even in this house, at your mother’s bedside... you were hoping to hear his voice, same as always. You were waiting for him to walk through the door. 

Now you knew. Tommy Shelby played the game. Moved every piece icluding you. Held every string. And your mother, this moment, was part of the cost.

You sank to your knees beside the bed, reaching for your mother’s hand. It felt small and fragile in yours. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t wake.

Rory hovered near the wall, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. You could see the guilt in his eyes, same as yours.

You’d both been too late.

***

Tommy stood at the threshold of the safe house for a long moment, eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. Her back was to him, seated beside the bed, beside her mother. She was so still, looked smaller somehow. At least Polly got her cleaned up in a fresh dress and the nurse had a look at her. But when she turned and met his gaze, he saw it.

She knew.

He didn’t need words. He didn’t need Polly’s knowing look or Rory’s tension or her absence in his house. It was there in her eyes. The betrayal and disbelief. The break.

He stepped inside slowly. Careful. Not like Tommy Shelby, the man people moved for. More like someone approaching the edge of something he couldn’t afford to fall into.

Without a word, she stood and walked right past him. She didn't say a word, didn't look at him. But he followed her, because he always would. Down the narrow hall, to the small bedroom Polly gave her to sleep in. She opened the door, stepped inside, and he shut the door behind him.

That's when she finally turned. And she hit him full force with the storm that he saw brewing in her eyes.

Her voice broke the silence first. “Did you do this?”

Four words, soft and soaked in grief. She didn’t need to clarify.

Tommy knew what she meant. The bet. The apartment. The lie. Her mother. All of it.

His jaw tensed. His hands curled at his sides.

Tommy nodded.

That’s when she started hitting him. No slaps or theatrics. She pushed him, hard, fists to his chest, and kept going. One blow after another, sobs shaking her body as her fists found his ribs, his collarbone, his heart.

“You lied to me!” she cried. “You took everything--everything!--and you said I had a choice!” Another hit. “My mum... Tommy, she’s... look at her! She’s broken. She'll never be the same. And it’s because of you!”

He didn’t move or flinch. He just took it. Didn’t lift a hand to stop her because he deserved it. He felt every word she threw at him like a blade beneath his skin.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I never meant for her to be hurt.”

She let out a broken sound that wasn’t quite a laugh or a sob. “But you didn’t stop it either.”

He nodded again and didn’t offer excuses. He had none. His hands trembled at his sides. Not from fear, but from restraint. All he wanted to do was hold her. To tell her that none of it--none of it--had gone how he planned. But how could he say that when the plan itself had been rotten from the start?

She pressed both palms flat against his chest, not hitting anymore. Just leaning her weight into him like she couldn’t hold herself up.

And still, he couldn't bring himself to touch her. He just stood there.

She didn’t pull away from him. But her voice came again, quiet this time. Like it hurt too much to feel anything else.

“We can’t stay here, Mum and I.” She didn’t look up. “Not in Small Heath. Not in that house.”

There was no name spoken, but they both knew who she meant. Her stepfather who wouldn't be troubling her ever again. But Tommy knew it wasn't the right time to mention that. 

“I know what people must be saying.” Her voice cracked again. “About the wager. About me. About what happened after.” She gave a bitter shake of her head. “You think I don’t know what that makes me now? Even though you stopped him. Even though saved me. That rumor’s going to follow me everywhere.”

She stepped back, arms wrapping around herself now, like she was trying to hold herself together. “I can’t go back to my old life. And I can’t drag my mother from house to house while I try to find work.” A pause. Her throat bobbed. “She can’t care for herself right now. I can’t leave her. And no one... no one is going to hire me now.”

It was then that she met his gaze. Eyes rimmed red. Lashes clumped with tears. But she wasn't defeated, he still saw the fight there. “So tell me, Tommy. What happens now?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, absorbing the pain he’d caused and feeling the fury she hadn’t run out of yet. But her strength hadn’t broken, even now.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “You’ve got a home with me. Your mum too. I’d make sure she's cared for.” A pause. “But I know you won’t take that from me. Not now.”

Something shifted in him then. The regret twisted sharper, deeper, but so did his resolve. He stepped forward. Then again. She took a step back but he kept coming until her back met the wall. He didn’t need to touch her. His presence filled the space between them like coiled heat.

His voice was quiet, but edged in steel. “You’re wrong about one thing. You do have a choice.”

Her breath caught.

“You can take your mother and go. I won’t stop you. I won’t look for you,” He stepped even closer, his breath now mingling with hers. “Or you can stay.” Another beat. “But if you stay, you’re mine. Not for show. Not for shelter.” His eyes darkened, but his voice softened. “As my wife, who'll give me a family. Not just in name, but in truth.”

She stared at him, frozen, lips parted as if she couldn’t decide how to react.

“Move your mother into my house. I don’t care.” A slight shake of his head, almost a bitter laugh. “I’ll even ask Polly to help decorate the bloody room.” Tommy glanced down, then back at her, exposed in a way he never let himself be. His voice broke, just a little. “But if you stay... if you stay, you’re mine.”

Planting his hands on the wall on either side of her, he caged her in and she let him. She stared at him like she didn’t know whether to run or fall apart. They were almost nose to nose, but he wasn't touching her. If she stayed, it would be her choice. Not his move. Not his manipulation. Hers.

And it was killing him. He saw the emotions warring behind her eyes. Hurt, anger, disbelief… and something else. Something that hadn’t quite died yet. 

When she spoke, her voice cracked through the silence. “Why now?”

Tommy blinked. It wasn’t the question he expected.

“You had me. From the beginning,” she said, eyes glinting with betrayal. “Why wait?”

He almost looked away. Almost.

“I thought I could control it.” The words left him like confession. “I thought I control you and how far it would all go."

Her laugh was sharp and bitter, drawing blood. “And now?”

He looked at her like it might be the last time. “Now I’m asking.”

Her arms were crossed. Her body tense. But she didn’t leave and she wasn't pushing him away. 

“And if I say yes?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Tommy’s pulse thudded like a war drum. “Then everything I have is yours. But I’ll expect the same.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Still surrounding her, but now feeling like he’d just stepped off a cliff. If she walked out that door, if she took her mother and never looked back, he wouldn’t stop her. But he’d never be the same.

He watched her, still unsure if he’d already lost her. The silence was thick, too many words unsaid between them—but one kept clawing at the back of his throat. 

“Did he hurt you?” The question came low. Careful. Like it hurt to speak.

She hesitated and that was answer enough. But then, too softly she said, “I’ve had worse.”

It hit him like a gut punch. Not because she meant it to or wanted sympathy. But because it was true. It wasn't a brave statement. She was saying it because that was her reality.

He looked down, jaw clenching, breath shallow. What the hell could he say? That he was sorry? That he should’ve gotten there sooner? That she never should’ve been in that situation in the first place?

He’d built the trap and lit the fuse. Even if he didn’t plan for that, he’d been the architect of everything that led her to it. And now here she was, his girl, saying she’s had worse. Like that was some kind of comfort. It didn’t comfort him, it wrecked him.

Tommy whispered her name against her lips before he kissed her, keeping it light, enticing. For a second, she kissed him back, but it was hesitant. At the same time, her hands pressed against his chest, like her mind was doing battle with her body, her heart. 

She broke the kiss, confusion bleeding into her expression. "What are you doing?"

Tommy didn't budge. "Give me tonight," he whispered.

She shook her head, trying to push him back. "No," she said, tears pooling in her eyes. "I..."

"Tonight," he whispered, his lips caressing hers again. "That's all. Then the choice of whether you ever see me again or not is yours."

Saying it that way wasn't fair and he knew it. He knew what she'd been through today and how wrecked emotionally she had to be. All of it was on him and he didn't need anyone to explain that. But it was probably his last chance to be with her and he had to try. 

Leaning in, he kissed her, soft and slow, his body still caging her to the wall. When she didn't stop him, he deepened the kiss, committing the taste of her to memory. Her hands clutched his shirt, and she was shaking. 

It was nothing for him to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to the narrow bed. He'd wanted to go slow, but desperation had him going at full speed in a lusty haze. Tommy needed her, now.

 When he lowered himself over her, he took her face in his hands, saw the tracks of her tears catching the faint light from the streetlamp. He hated them. Brushing them away with his tumbs, he claimed her lips in a demanding kiss. She let him, her tongue sliding against his as her hands slid up his chest to wrap around his neck. Her touch wasn't as careful as it had been, but bolder now. 

He chained kisses across her cheek to the slim column of her neck, his hands roaming possessively over her body. He used everything he knew she liked against her. His mouth teased her just below her ear before blazing a trail down to her chest. Her fingers slid into his hair as he slid a hand beneath her, unzipping the back of her dress and hauling it down her body with all haste. Her camisole ripped in his hands as he pulled it off her roughly. He got his hands and mouth on her breasts and he didn't stop until her back was arching, a plea for more. Her thighs clamped around one of his and he knew she was looking for friction, looking for relief from the fire he was building in her body. Tommy was all too happy to grind his thigh into the heated center of her, loving the way her lips parted and the chorus of needy gasps and breaths he pulled from her. 

Now that his vision had adjusted to the darkness, he saw the bruises all over her body. With care, he pulled down her slip, her drawers. His rough hands smoothed up the insides of her knees, up her trembling thighs. When he reached the apex, he claimed that tender part of her with his mouth. Shyness usually left her hesitant about the act, but she wasn't stopping him now. Tommy loved the taste of her, the way her thighs quivered around his face. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he held her open, drank his fill. Her hands were restless, pawing at the bedding, at his head. She struggled in his hold, her back arching as he pushed her towards the edge. Tightnening his hold, he doubled down on her efforts, wanting her to come on his face, his tongue. 

And she did, breathy cries filling the room.

She was breathless and trembling above him and he wasn't about to let her recover. Tommy stipped off his jacket and dropped it off the side of the bed. The only other thing he did was taking the time to work his belt open, push down his trousers. He couldn't wait anymore and he slid right into her, slow and deep. Despite everything she'd been through, she was still warm, wet for him. He dropped tender kisses over her face as he started to move, holding her to him. When her knees came up, her thighs cradling his hips, his heart squeezed in his chest. When her arms wrapped around him, he had to fight not to come. Not until she got hers. 

They moved together in that timeless dance, and he didn't want it to ever end. Her gaze met his as he loved her, hoping what he read there was the same love he felt for her. He choose to pretend it was. He'd done most everything wrong and he had plenty of regrets. But he had to believe some small part of her felt something for him. He didn't know if she'd ever forgive him, or even if he'd ever see her again. So he was making one last plea, without words.

The first time she came on his cock surprised him. Tommy wasn't pounding into her or racing to the finish line. He was dragging it out, closing his eyes to savor those flutters around his cock, the way her fingers tugged at his hair. As his own end approached, he moved faster with thrusts that would have pushed her up the bed without his weight anchoring her. Her breath came in a rush like she'd been running as he felt her winding up again. Her nails were tiny knives down his back, carving into his skin. He hoped those trails were bleeding, that they formed scars. He wanted some personal reminder of her on his body so he could know for certain that she'd been real and for a short time, she'd been his. 

The second time she came, he captured her cries in his mouth, a demanding kiss before he went over the edge with her, pumping himself into her like he wasn't going to stop. She took him, took all of it. Both of them struggled to breathe when he was done and he collapsed over her, his head resting on her chest. Her heart was flying, her legs still clinging to his hips. Tommy didn't move, didn't pull out of her. He just listened to the sound of her heart, enjoyed her gentle fingers in his hair. 

​Neither of them spoke as they lay there wrapped in each other. A tear slid from the corner of his eye, dropping onto her skin. Tommy didn't want the night to end, didn't want to be parted from her. 

Before dawn, he rose from the bed, pulling the covers over her as he did and smiling at the way she again moved over into the warm space he'd occupied. Tommy dressed and as he promised her, he left to start the day. He left so she could make her choice.

And he would honor the decision she made, but he was almost sure he knew what that decision would be. And it would leave a hole in his heart.

***

The betting shop was unusually quiet the next morning. Tommy sat behind his desk, cigarette burning slow between his fingers, untouched. The ash tray was already half-full and he hadn’t lit a fresh one in twenty minutes.

He hadn’t slept at all, he didn't even try. He'd just stayed with her, not wanting to miss a minute he had left.

He told himself he had to start his day, it was business and the work had to be done. There was loose ends that needed tying.

But that was a lie.

Tommy hadn’t heard the car leave the safe house. He’d already been gone. He wasn't about watch her go.

But now, the silence was unbearable.

The click of the front door pulled him out of his thoughts. Tommy glanced up as John stepped in, jaw tight, expression grim.

“She’s gone?” Tommy asked, even though he already knew.

John nodded once. “Yeah. An uncle came for her and the mum early this morning. Mother’s brother. He came up from Ipswich.”

The name made Tommy flinch. Ipswich. Far enough to forget him. Far enough that she could pretend he'd never existed.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t say anything. He couldn't bring himself to ask if she left a message or if she even looked back.

He didn’t want to know.

John hovered for a beat. “Rory’s outside.”

Tommy looked up. That, he hadn’t expected.

“Wants a word, if you’re willing.”

Tommy nodded once, then rubbed a hand down his face, trying to pull himself together before the boy came in. When the door creaked open again, Rory stepped in. His shoulders were squared, face composed, like he was bracing for something.

He just looked at Tommy. “Am I still welcome?”

Tommy stared at him. Of all the outcomes he’d prepared himself for, this wasn’t one of them.

“You’re not going with them?” Tommy asked, fighting to keep any emotion out of his tone.

Rory shook his head. “My uncle barely knows me. My sister went because of our mum. She’s worried about her. But me?” He shrugged. “I’d just be in the way.”

He didn’t say the rest. That maybe his sister left because of him. Because of the mess Tommy made. But the boy was giving him a straight answer, and Tommy respected that. Even if it twisted the knife.

Deep down, Tommy knew the truth. He’d lost her. But he still had this. Still had the piece of her she’d left behind. And he wasn’t above keeping it.

“If the offer’s still open,” Rory said, “I’d like to accept.”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. He rose to walk around the desk, clapping a hand on Rory's shoulder.

“You’re a Blinder now.”

The words landed with weight, not ceremony or promise. And as he looked at the lad, young, sharp, and full of fire, he couldn't help thinking she'll come looking for her brother one day.

And when she did, he’d be waiting.

A/N: It's not the end. Just the end of the first act.

@outlanderuniverseoutlanderuniverse @alyssajunellealyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence

[ml080504]

somebody: what do you like about men twice your age?

me: where do i start?

[animusrox]

Cillian Murphy sweeping + Bradley Cooper aging 10 years in 2 months during the awards season

[hllywdwhre]

Revenge - Tommy Shelby

Summary: Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy

Warnings: arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, reader leaves a message written in blood, smut, creampie, light degrading, oral smut (f receiving), overstim, p in v, let me know if I missed any

Notes: I made this text post about protective reader and decided to write it lmfao. I want Tommy with a feral woman. Thank you to @slut4thebroken for proof reading, encouragement, and suggestions💖

MDNI, 18+ only

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened.

Scratch that.

You knew exactly how it had happened.

Your father and Tommy had worked out a deal when Sabini had first started trying to intimidate your father. A bride in exchange for protection and both of them walked away with extra allies when the inevitable war against Sabini broke out. You’d protested the marriage at first, screaming that you were more than just a political pawn for your father to sell when he needed help, but it went through anyway.

You had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Sure, Tommy was distant and seemed obsessed with work, but you knew you could’ve ended up in a much worse situation. He treated you with respect, never let you open a door on your own if he was around, always had a protective hand rested in the small of your back, and… the sex was great.

Perhaps the thing you appreciated the most, was that he didn’t expect you to become the housewife you had feared you would be reduced to. You were your father’s only child, meaning when he died, you would become leader of his gang. You were a gangster the same way Tommy was and he seemed to realize that and respect it. You helped out with the daily runnings of the Peaky Blinders and helped with the daily runnings of your father’s gang at the same time. They both recognized your potential and weren’t afraid to use it.

It wasn’t until you were sitting in a family meeting about a year after your marriage that you realized you had grown to feel more than just okay with the marriage.

Tommy was a closed off individual and through the entire year you had been married, you felt like you were just starting to finally get to know the real him. You never pried because he never pried in your life. If you had general questions, neither of you were afraid to ask them, but anything more was left up for the person to tell. You had more questions than answers still, specifically about the matching scars on his cheeks, but you didn’t dare ask. He hadn’t asked about the scar that ran from your right shoulder blade down to your spine, so you didn’t ask about his scars.

It was a common occurrence for Esme, Ada, and Polly to sit with you at one of the desks in the betting shop, whispering things to you during family meetings to fill in any gaps and answer any questions you may have had.

“Alfie has informed me that the Sicilians are being provided aid by Sabini, in the form of cars and housing,” Tommy started, causing Arthur to let out a loud groan of frustration.

Before you could get dragged into hearing any more of it, you turned your head to Esme who was sitting next to you.

“Sabini’s a prick, I know that, but what has he done to us?” You asked quietly, your eyes still flickering back-and-forth between Tommy and the rest of his family as they spoke about what to do next.

Esme began explaining exactly what Sabini had done. How he and five other men came after Tommy in the dark of night, how he’d ripped out a tooth, sliced his cheeks, and beat him to an inch of his life.

The rage that settled inside of you was your first hint that you had grown to genuinely care for Tommy as more than just a friend and (amazing) fuck buddy. Your jaw remained clenched and set for the rest of the meeting, but as soon as the meeting was called to end, you wiped the look from your face and forced a calm expression to take over.

You stood up and walked over to Tommy, forcing a small smile to your lips,

“I’m not really feeling all that well. You go with your brothers for a drink, I’m just going to head back home, okay?” You said, meeting his eyes so he wouldn’t have a reason to not believe you.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to look for any sign you were lying. You had been fine that morning and fine two hours prior when you sat down for the meeting, but he had no reason to believe you were lying so he simply nodded, placed a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him, and kissed your forehead.

“I won’t be out long. Ask Frances for anything you need, okay, love?”

You nodded and the forced smile turned to a genuine one,

“I will, promise,” you told him before stepping away from him and waving goodbye to the rest of the family.

Yes. You had truly gotten lucky when it came to who you had been forced to marry.

The entire ride back to the Arrow House, you were silent and going over your plan in your head. You knew you’d have to earn Tommy’s trust back after this, but you didn’t particularly care. You were a force of nature on your best day. You were lethal when you were angry.

Once you arrived back, you immediately headed upstairs to yours and Tommy’s shared room. The marriage may have started off with the two of you in separate rooms, “I’m called the devil, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of monster. You can sleep in your own room until you’re comfortable sharing a bed,” but it didn’t take more than a couple weeks for you to eventually join him in bed.

Damn those blue eyes, full lips, and that jawline.

You grabbed a small bag and threw the first set of clothes you laid hands on into it, then, much more carefully, a dress. You grabbed everything else you needed and headed to Tommy’s office next.

I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry for lying, but I’ll be back.

You signed the note and left it in the center of his desk where you knew he would see it, held down by his ashtray.

As quickly as you had entered the house, you left it, getting right back into the car with the driver Tommy had employed for you. You told him the name of a hotel in London that you knew was just outside of anyone’s territory.

The drive seemed to pass by too quickly and soon you were saying goodbye to the driver and sending him home for the night. It was barely 7 in the evening when you got up to your room.

“If there is a God, please let me get through this. I’ll make it up to you… somehow,” you said quietly.

The beading on the dress swayed loudly around your body as you pulled the dress on. The pins in your hair seemed to be extra noticeable against your scalp. The straps on your shoes pressed into your skin more than usual. The blade held against your thigh and hidden by your dress seemed to refuse to warm up. Your left hand felt entirely too light with your ring missing.

You knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you. You’d worn this outfit before and it had always turned heads, which is exactly what you wanted.

You needed Sabini to notice you.

You greeted the cab driver politely as you stepped in and ignored the way his eyes seemed to follow you a bit too closely.

The doors of the club were held open for you and you made your way to the bar and took a seat, knowing you were just playing a waiting game now.

You could feel eyes on you. The wife of Thomas Shelby in Sabini’s club, hours away from Birmingham, far out of Peaky Blinders territory or her father’s territory. You stuck out like a sore thumb, even if you would have blended in during any other scenario.

It felt like an eternity passed before you finally saw the man that made your blood boil, but one glance at the clock above the bar told you it hadn’t even been an hour.

“You seem lost. I thought we had made it clear that your kind weren’t welcomed here,” Sabini said once he was in front of you.

A charming smile graced your lips and you looked up at him,

“My kind?” You questioned, playing innocent.

“Yes. Your kind. You’re the wife of Thomas Shelby and I don’t appreciate him ignoring the last warning I gave him and sending you-“

“I wasn’t sent here,” you stopped him, lifting your left hand and pushing a piece of hair that hadn’t fallen back behind your ear, “and I’m not really a Shelby or a Blinder, am I?”

His eyes were drawn to your hand and noticed the lack of a ring you wore and he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Is that so? I was under the impression the two of you were lovebirds.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your lips and looked away, trying to come off as shy. When you looked back up to him, you hoped the look on his face meant he was intrigued and believing you.

“Perhaps we could talk about it somewhere else… somewhere private?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you did so.

Gods help you. The smirk he gave you made your stomach twist and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, but patience was something you’d adopted a lot of.

“Allow me to show you to my office then,” he said, offering you a hand which you forced yourself to take.

He guided you through the club and towards the back. Some amount of luck seemed to be on your side as his office was behind the stage and provided some cover for any noise you might make. Even more so as you noticed a window just large enough for you to be able to crawl out of.

Once the door was shut behind you, he sat down behind his desk and motioned for you to take a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side.

“Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Sabini said as he poured you both a drink.

“It was never paradise to begin with,” you replied, thanking him for the drink and taking a sip.

You had grown used to Tommy’s Irish whiskey and the bourbon he gave you wasn’t nearly as smooth going down.

“Was it not? From what I’ve heard, you two have quite the fairytale. Gang leader’s daughter married off to another gang leader, uniting two empires.”

“That’s not the way I see it,” you lied.

“And how do you see it?”

“A desperate father sold off his daughter to a desperate gang leader in an attempt for the both of them to gain more power and disregarded the woman’s wishes,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“And so you’ve come to London for what?” Sabini questioned, wanting to hear you say it.

“Because I think we can help each other, Mr. Sabini,” you said, downing the rest of the bourbon and standing up.

His eyes followed your movements, his eyes trailing up your body before resting on your legs again.

“And how do you think we could help each other?” He asked.

You moved to stand in front of him, placing one leg over the side of his and straddled him, placing your arms around his neck.

“They trust me, Mr. Sabini. They don’t suspect me of anything,” you started. The shiver of disgust that rolled up your spine due to his hands trailing up the back of your thighs was one he apparently took as excitement as he gripped slightly at the backs of them, “I can tell you everything and, in return, I get out of my marriage once they’re all gone.”

“They don’t even realize the ticking time bomb they’ve got in their fingertips, do they?” He asked and a chuckle left your lips as a genuine smirk took over.

“They don’t…” you said, trailing your hands down his chest and then up your thigh, trying to make the move appear seductive. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife, “and neither do you, apparently.”

His eyes widened and he realized the trap he had walked into at the same time as you pressed the blade of the knife to his neck.

“I’d say that if you ever threaten my husband or our family again, you’ll regret it, but you won’t be,” you told him, unable to resist pausing for a touch of dramatic effect before adding on, “Never fuck with a Shelby.”

In the next second, you were quickly slicing the knife across his neck and flinching back as his blood coated you.

You knew your next move was morbid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It had been morbid for him and five other men to attack your husband when he was alone. It was morbid for him to rip out his tooth. It had been morbid for him to slice his cheeks. It was just as morbid for you to quickly and quietly clear off his desk, dip your fingers into his blood, and leave a bloodied message across his desk.

Revenge is a scorned Shelby

As soon as the message was written, you grabbed one of the coats from the coat rack and slipped it on, then crawled out of the window. The coat was long enough to cover all of the bloodied mess that was now your dress.

Sabini is dead.

That seemed to be the only thing you could think of as you were driven back to the Arrow House. It wasn’t the first time you had killed a man and you knew it wouldn’t be last.

But you hadn’t told anyone about this time. You hadn’t told anyone your plan, where you were going, or why you were doing it. You had also just started a war.

You weren’t surprised to see almost every light in the house still on when you arrived, and you made sure to slip the cab driver a little extra for the long drive.

You hadn’t risked staying in London longer than you needed to. You had gone into your hotel room, grabbed your bag, and promptly left, only taking the time to slip your wedding ring back on when you were in the cab.

When you stepped into the house, Tommy was in the hallway. All he saw as you stepped in the door was you, in another man’s coat, your wedding ring still on your finger, but your hair and makeup done much differently than it had been you had left.

You stayed silent as you stared at him with nervousness written on your face.

He put out his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for you to explain yourself.

Your silent explanation was to undo the tie on the coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing your blood stained dress.

“I need a fucking drink for this one,” Tommy grumbled, motioning for you to follow him. He guided you to his office and poured both of you a drink, handed you your glass, then sat down in his office chair. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he looked up at where you still stood across the room.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shrug his shoulders,

“Humor me. Short version first,” he told you.

“About a year ago I got married, and tonight I started a war.”

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and running a hand over his face, “Long version.”

“About a year ago, I got married. Over the past year my husband has been nothing but a respectful gentleman, making it nearly impossible for me not to fall for him when you combine it with his fucking blue eyes that could bring the devil to his knees,” you started, feeling the hint of a blush creep into your cheeks, which you knew he noticed by the way his eyes flicked to your cheeks and then back to your eyes, “then today we had a meeting with his family where he mentioned Sabini. When I asked, his sister-in-law told me about what Sabini had done to him. About how my husband had been beaten to an inch of his life and brutalized, leaving him permanently scarred, and I knew I had to make the bastard pay.

“So, I lied to my husband and said I didn’t feel well. I went home, packed a bag, left him a note saying I’d be back, and went to London. I rented a hotel room where I changed into a fancy dress and did my hair and makeup, then I wrapped a knife to my thigh and slid my wedding ring into my bag and went to The Eden Club. News of a Shelby woman spread quickly and Sabini showed up to question me within an hour. I lied to Sabini, told him that I didn’t want to be a Shelby and that I had never wanted to be one. He took me back to his office and I sat on his lap and made him think I was about to cheat on my husband when I slit his throat and made sure he knew it was because of what he’d done to my husband. I left a message on his desk, went back to the hotel, grabbed my bag, and then headed back to our house.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment as Tommy stared at you. His eyes were unreadable as he watched you.

“What did the message say?” He suddenly asked.

“Revenge is a scorned Shelby.”

“Nothing about the Peaky Blinders?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t Peaky business,” you answered confidently, watching him just as closely as he watched you as he stood from his chair and came to stand in front of you.

“Was it not?” He questioned, taking the untouched glass of whiskey from your hand and setting it on the desk before turning back to stare you down.

“No. It was Shelby business, but not Peaky business.”

“Explain.”

“He didn’t just harm a Peaky Blinder. He harmed a Shelby, my Shelby.” Your gaze was unwavering as you held eye contact with him. You wanted him to know you meant your words. He was yours, and the protective touches on your back when you were in public and the way he intimidated and glared at any man who tried approaching you was all the proof you needed to know that you were his.

“So I’m your Shelby?” He asked as he took a step towards you and continued to do so until you pressed against the office door.

“Yes.”

“And that means you’re mine?” He questioned, his hands now pressed against the wall on either side of your head.

You could feel that you were walking into some sort of trap, but you didn’t have a way out of it right now. All you could do was be honest.

“Yes.”

“Then you should know something about what it means to be mine.”

“What’s that?” You asked, your breathing getting shorter as he lowered his face so it was level with yours.

In a second his hands were on your waist and he had you picked up against the wall with legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

“My Shelby is to never come home wearing another man’s coat again,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.

You don’t know what reaction you had expected from him, but being pinned to his office door and him kissing you hadn’t been one you had thought of. Your shock wore off after half a second and you returned the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close.

“You’re not mad?” You asked against his lips.

“At you starting a war?” He questioned, leaning down and beginning to trail kisses hastily down your neck.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Livid,” he said with no hint of joking in his voice.

“This is quite the punishment,” you replied sarcastically. A moan fell from your lips as he nipped at your pulse point.

“Oh, I’m livid,” he said, looking up at you, “but also extremely turned on at the thought of my wife slicing a man’s throat over me and coming home still covered in his blood.”

You weren’t given a chance to respond before he was kissing you again. Your hands came down to his tie, pulling it loose before starting to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.

He didn’t bother setting you down, only turned the two of you around and walked you over to the couch in the office. He laid you down on it and then pulled the waistcoat off before leaning back down between your legs and kissing you again once. His lips started trailing down your neck again while your hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teased as nipped at your skin again.

“You’re the one who pinned me to the door after I revealed I killed a man for you,” you replied in the same teasing tone as him. You undid the last button of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his undershirt following a second later.

He reached his hand to the side of your dress and unzipped it, pulling the fabric down your body while his hands grabbed hold of your underwear, stockings, and garters in the same move and pulled them off, leaving you completely naked underneath him.

He stared and looked over your body a moment longer before running his hands up your thighs and giving a gentle tap to your thigh,

“Up,” he said, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

You did as told though and sat up, leaving him enough room to lay on his back and pull you up to straddle him,

“Was killing a man not enough work?” You teased, not actually minding if he was going to have you ride him. At least it meant you wouldn’t be subjected to him teasing you when all you really wanted was for him to fuck you.

“That’s cute,” he said sarcastically, gripping your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his torso, “that’s not where you’re sitting tonight.”

The man was no stranger at using his mouth to make you see stars, but you’d never ridden his face before. You looked at him, the question obvious on your face.

“Seriously?” You asked even though you knew by his face that he was.

“Seriously. You were enough of a leader to go after Sabini, you’re enough of a leader to sit on my face. Up,” he repeated again while his grip on your thighs tried pulling you forward.

You did as you were told this time, shuffling forward until you were straddling his face. You weren’t given a choice of when to sit as his hands came to your hips and pulled you down, forcing your full weight onto his waiting mouth.

If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Thomas’ ability to use his tongue and lips in more than just outsmarting his enemies.

His tongue trailed through your lips, his hands keeping your hips in place, while his tongue slowly explored you at first.

It had only taken a couple weeks for you to crack and make the first move on Tommy, joining him in bed one night when you’d decided you could trust him, and you’d been insatiable and addicted to him ever since, though he never complained. He’d spent the first couple times figuring out every move that made you tick and every name that made your cheeks flush and used them to his advantage at every turn.

His tongue was a gift with the way he knew exactly how to use it. He dragged it up and down between your folds, drinking in every bit of your arousal before focusing on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and long drags.

Tommy’s hands on your hips began guiding them, silently instructing you to take control. You didn’t hesitate in going along with what he wanted you to do and began rocking your hips. One of your hands trailed to his hair while your other went to lay on top of one his that gripped your hip. You hadn’t realized the volume of your moans until you felt the vibration of his moan against your clit.

Your hips jerked at the added stimulation and he hummed against you purposefully, his eyes never leaving you as your hips sped up, chasing your own high. Within moments you could feel it approaching and your grip on his hair and hand tightened, moans of his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

“Please, fuck,” you cried, whimpers falling from your lips, “Tommy, Tommy…”

Your high crashed over you a moment later and you felt Tommy’s movements begin to slow down as you rode out your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

You went to move off of him, but his grip on your hips tightened at the same time that his tongue started speeding up again.

Your moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of over stimulation and you squirmed against him, but he didn’t let up. Your hips jerked as you tried moving away from him, but all it did was add to the stimulation.

You could practically feel him smirking underneath you as he continued on, watching as your eyes clenched shut and you relented yourself to letting him torture you so beautifully.

If it wasn’t for the way your body was on edge from not being given any type of break after your first orgasm, you might have felt slightly ashamed at the way he was able to bring you to your second orgasm so quickly.

And then your third.

Tears were freely falling from your face when he finally slowed his movements to a stop and helped you to lay down on your back.

He trailed soft and slow kisses along your thighs and stomach to help bring you back down to earth. When his lips reconnected with yours, you returned the kiss, letting your eyes fall shut at the surprisingly tender moment.

“Next time you want to start a war, at least let me know your plans,” he said, causing you to open your eyes and be met with a smirk dancing across his lips, “and don’t doubt my punishments.”

You could’ve smacked the smirk off his face if it wasn’t for the fact he had turned your entire body into mush.

“Think you can be a good girl and handle one more?” He asked.

Your cheeks flushed at the praise and his hands moved to his belt and pants, pulling them off after you nodded your confirmation.

Once the rest of his clothes had been removed, he gently lifted your legs and positioned himself between them. He was gentle as he pushed inside you, but the smirk on his face from the way your voice cracked when you moaned was obvious.

The stretch was familiar at this point, but it didn’t mean you didn’t need the moment he gave you to adjust. When you nodded your head, he started moving.

Tommy knew your body like he knew his own after your time together. His hips immediately changed position as he started thrusting, making sure to hit the spot inside you that added to the ways your legs shook underneath him.

He leaned down and placed his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss right as a moan parted through them. One of his hands came back to cradle the back of your head and his fingers tangled into your hair to keep you close to him.

His other hand went to one of your legs and pulled it up so it rested in the crook of his elbow, causing him to hit even deeper inside you.

The action caused you to let out a high pitched moan and you wrapped your arms around him. Your next moan broke the passionate kiss the two of you had shared while your nails raked down his back.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, beginning to speed up the movements of his hips.

“Y-you,” you moaned out, your back arching underneath him.

“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” He repeated.

“Thomas Shelby,” you answered and dropped your head back.

“Good girl. You’re my fucking wife,” he moaned out. He sat up, using one hand to keep your leg up in the same position while his other hand went to your already over sensitive clit, “all mine. No other man gets to touch you, look at you, or even fucking think of you. It’s my cock that you’re whimpering over right now, and it’s the only cock you’ll ever be whimpering over again.”

“I’m yours, Tommy,” you repeated, your voice breaking as moan after moan fell from your lips.

“Then cum for me. Be a good Shelby wife and make a fucking mess on my cock just like how you made a mess of this war tonight,” he commanded.

You didn’t need any more encouragement from him as your fourth orgasm hit you, causing your back to arch again and your nails to run down his arms.

His moves start to become more sloppy and his pace sped up as he began to chase his own high, the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock only driving him closer to the edge.

“Want to feel you Tommy, please,” you moaned underneath him, “please, cum inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swore out. His hips pushing against yours as his high hit him and his arms came down to either side of your head again while he shoved his face into your neck, completely claiming you as his own while his cum filled you.

His hips slowed as he rode out both of your highs and your arms came to wrap around him, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his head you could reach.

Once the two of your breathing had slowed down to a normal pace, he moved to push himself up and your legs around his waist tightened along with your arms.

“Don’t. Not yet,” you said in a quiet voice.

“I’m going to crush you, love.” He placed soft kisses along your shoulders between his words as he tried warning you.

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you replied and began running your nails softly along the shaved part of his head, knowing the motion worked on him every time.

“Stubborn,” he falsely chided, but relented and relaxed back into your hold.

“Little late to the party if you’ve just worked that out.” Your reply causing both of you to chuckle. “Remind me to start more wars if it means you fuck me like that every time.”

His hand came down and gently slapped your thigh in response while a burst of quiet giggles left your lips.

“Stubborn and a brat,” he teased, sitting up again and carefully sliding out of you.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” you responded with a smirk.

“I don’t think of it that way,” he said as he stood up and wrapped his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you up into his arms.

“How do you think of it?” You asked him as he carried you across the hall and into your shared room.

“I think I’m lucky enough to be married to a woman who killed for me over a years-old attack even though we’d never even said that we loved each other.” He set you down in the middle of the bed before crawling in next to you and pulling you into his chest.

A bright blush rose to your face as he pointed out that you had never even said you loved each other, even though you had admitted to him earlier that you had fallen for him. You didn’t know how to reply immediately and you turned in his arms to look up at him, his arms staying locked around your waist.

He didn’t seem to expect you to reply though, because he leaned in to you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and sweet, as if he was trying to communicate what your actions had meant to him without having the words to say it.

“I fell for you, too,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I realized it tonight. The panic I felt to see your note and to see you come home covered in blood. The anger I felt over seeing you another man’s jacket. The way I felt when you revealed what you had done and why…” He trailed off, looking down at you and seeming to try and memorize every part of your face, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m yours and you’re mine.”