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corrupte3d-mindz · 5 months ago

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His Angel

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x F! Younger Reader

Summary: Thomas can’t help himself when it comes to her, she gets everything she wants from him.

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warnings:

possessive! Thomas, head-over-heels! Thomas, lap sitting, kissing, soft talking, praise, lovey dovey things from Thomas.

Inspiration: Too Sweet - Hozier

The Garrison snug was thick with the familiar haze of smoke, the air heavy with the scent of whiskey and sweat. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid yet relaxed, an oxymoron that only he could embody so effortlessly.

Arthur was mid-sentence, his gruff voice detailing the latest shipment, but Thomas’s mind was already elsewhere, drifting into the echo of his brother’s words. John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael murmured amongst themselves, the background noise a symphony of camaraderie and business. The soft knock at the door silenced the room instantly. It was a knock they all recognized, a signal that brought an immediate hush over the group. Thomas’s eyes flicked to the door, and his entire demeanor shifted. The sharpness in his gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost tender. He took a long and deliberate drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light, before turning in his chair to face the door.

As the knob turned and the door creaked open, time seemed to slow. There she stood, framed in the doorway like a vision from a dream. Her off-white fur coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the dark, rich red of her dress. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating every curve with a grace that seemed almost unreal. The bottom hem brushed just past her ankles, revealing her black heels with their signature red bottoms—a custom pair made just for her by Thomas and his connections. Thomas felt a swell of emotion as he took her in. Her makeup was flawless, enhancing her natural beauty without overpowering it. The deep crimson of her lips matched the ruby drop earrings that dangled delicately from her ears, the diamonds in her dog collar necklace catching the light and adding an extra sparkle to her already radiant presence. Her hair was styled in a poodle bob, a classic look that gave her an air of timeless elegance.

He rose from his seat and stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table; the movement drawing the attention of the room, but he paid no mind to the eyes on his back. His focus was entirely on her. With a few long strides, he closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to pull her gently by the waist. As the door closed behind her, sealing them off from the world, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

"What did I ever do.." he sighed softly again, "...to get so lucky with someone like you?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and the smell of cigarettes, whiskey as well as his natural musk he has. He tilted his head slightly, inhaling the scent of her hair—a delicate fragrance that sent a shiver down her spine. The sensation of his breath and the intimacy of the moment made her heart flutter.

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth and adoration. "Maybe it’s not about luck, Tommy. Maybe it's just meant to be," she whispered back, her voice soft and melodic.

Oh, how she spoke to him; he loved it so, it always melted his cold and dark heart; tugging at his vulnerable little heart strings, oh he would do anything she ever asked him. The quiet laughter from the table behind them went ignored. Thomas was lost in her presence, the rest of the world fading into the background. He traced his fingers lightly over her waist, feeling the delicate fabric of her dress under his touch. Her skin was warm, even through the material, and he could feel her heartbeat quicken under his fingertips. He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of awe and affection. "You’re too sweet for a man like me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a rough edge to his words, a hint of the darkness that always seemed to linger just beneath the surface.

She reached up, cupping his face in her gloved hand. "But you’re just right for me," she replied, her smile never wavering.

The sincerity in her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them; his eyes filled with love as he spoke softly just so she could hear. "ingerul meu," he said, his voice breaking slightly; as he spoke his romani language. It was a rare moment of vulnerability; but it was more rare for him to speak his language and say such caring words, it something that he only ever allowed himself in her presence.

For a few precious moments, they stood there, wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside their small bubble. Her presence was a balm to his troubled soul, a touch of sweetness in his otherwise bitter existence. The noise of the pub, the business, the danger—they all melted away, leaving just the two of them. Thomas buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, holding her as if she might disappear if he let go. Her hair smelled like wildflowers, a scent that clashed so wonderfully with the leather and smoke that clung to him. Eventually, the world intruded once more. Thomas pulled back, but kept one arm wrapped around her waist. "Come, sit wit' me," he said, his voice a low rumble, guiding her to the table. He pulled out his chair and sat down, before tapping his lap slightly, the gesture almost gentlemanly despite the roughness of his exterior. She blushed slightly before taking off her off-white fur coat and hanging it on the small coat rack next to him.

She moved to sit down in his lap, her movements graceful and cautious. Thomas helped her get comfortable; his hands gripping her waist to steady her. Each touch was possessive yet tender, as if he were afraid to break her. He occasionally let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear. These sounds were uncharacteristic of the man known for his stoicism, but with her, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. He eventually let go of her waist and rested his hands in the softness of her lap. Her presence grounded him, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold steel he often felt in his chest. The conversation Thomas once had with Arthur resumed, it was about a shipment of theirs, the details gritty and grim, but necessary. Time passed slowly as they talked about things she didn't need to worry about. She would occasionally feel uncomfortable in his lap, and moved slightly to sit differently. Each time she moved, he let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear; his reactions a testament to how much he loved and needed her.

Soon, everyone had said what they needed to say, and they called the little meeting to a close. Arthur, John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael started to get up and leave the snug, their goodbyes curt and businesslike. Thomas watched and waited as they filtered out, his focus shifting back to her as the room emptied. It was just them now, them and the air around them, them and the world only. Thomas sighed, the weight of the world momentarily lifting as he leaned forward to rest his chin on her head, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her closer. He occasionally sniffed her hair; oh, how he loved how she smelled. The sweet scent was intoxicating, a reminder of the softness and sweetness she brought into his life. His arm now slightly wrapping around her waist; an action that held her more against him. His other hand found its way to her hands; cupping them both in his large, calloused hand, feeling the contrast between his roughness and her softness.

"I heard y' had problems when visitin' Polly the other day... why didn't y'-tell me? Eh'.." His voice was a low whisper as he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing against the soft flesh of her earlobe. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, a mix of his tenderness and the latent danger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface with him. "I had 'em handle it, they won' give ye' problems anymore—" His voice filled with a mixture of slow-burning rage for the men who gave her problems she shouldn't have to deal with and a deep, abiding love for her.

His words were a promise, a declaration of the lengths he would go to protect her. His hand tightened around hers, his grip firm but gentle. She was the light in his darkness, the sweetness in his bitterness, and he would do anything to keep her safe. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a rare feeling for a man so accustomed to the cold. Her voice was soft when she replied, "I didn't want to worry you, Tommy. You've got so much on your plate already." Her words were filled with the kind of understanding and compassion that only she could offer. She was too kind, too sweet, too loving, and he was acutely aware of how undeserving he felt of her love. He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You never worry me, love. Yer the only good thing in this bloody world. An' if anyone tries to take that away, I'll deal with 'em myself." There was a fierce protectiveness in his voice, a promise of retribution for anyone who dared to threaten her peace. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The pub, the business, the danger—they all became background noise to the rhythm of their shared breath. Thomas stroked her hair, his touch gentle, his heart full.

Her presence was like a soothing balm to his tumultuous soul, and in these stolen moments, he allowed himself to savor the peace she brought him. His entire being radiated a dangerous intensity, a brooding darkness that was barely contained beneath the surface. The sharp planes of his face were etched with a perpetual look of determination, his eyes glinting with a mix of love and ferocity. There was a rage simmering within him, a fury that was always ready to explode at the slightest provocation. But with her, that anger was tempered by a tenderness he rarely showed to anyone else. As he sat there, holding her close, his thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. He was a man used to control, accustomed to bending the world to his will. Yet, when it came to her, he found himself at a loss. She was everything he had never known he needed: kind, sweet, understanding, and loving. She was the light to his darkness, the softness to his hardness, and he was utterly captivated by her. His tone was dark, his words dripping with unspoken promises; he stopped petting her soft hair. He could feel the tension in her body as he spoke, her confusion evident in the way she shifted slightly on his lap. He picked her up slightly, turning her around to face him. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His other hand left her hands and moved to cup her face roughly, his touch firm yet somehow gentle.

"If people ever fuckin' knew..." he began, his voice low and menacing. His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of understanding. But she looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes, not comprehending the depths of his words. "The thin's I'd be willin' t'do for yeh," he continued, his touch becoming more possessive, his fingers digging into her soft skin. There was a darkness in his gaze, a promise of violence that he would unleash upon anyone who dared to harm her. "They woul' realize t'one they should b' scared of is not me..." he said, his nose scrunching in a gesture that was both menacing and almost tender. "It's you, love."

She still didn't understand, and that only fueled his frustration. How could she not see that she held more power over him than anyone else ever had? How could she not realize that she was the one thing in this world that could bring him to his knees? He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke.

"They don't know what it's like, lovin' someone like yeh. They don't know what I'd do, what I'd sacrifice, to keep yeh safe," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'd tear the world apart for yeh, I'd burn it all down if it meant keepin' yeh by my side."

His words were a vow, a promise of the lengths he would go to protect her. He could feel her trembling in his grasp, whether from fear or something else, he wasn't sure. But he needed her to understand, needed her to see that she was the most important thing in his life.

"You make me better, love. You make me want to be better," he confessed, his voice softening for a moment. "But that don't mean I won't do what's necessary. That don't mean I won't become a monster if it means keepin' yeh safe." He could see the thoughts piling up in her brain, in her eyes; he could tell by the way her lips quivered, he brushed a thumb across her cheek. His touch was gentler now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "I love yeh," he whispered, the words carrying a weight that was almost tangible. "More than anythin' in this world. An' I'll do whatever it takes to make sure nothin' ever hurts yeh."

Her skin was soft and smooth, a delicate canvas beneath his rough fingers. He traced the curve of her cheekbone, his touch feather-light, almost reverent. His thumb brushed against her lips, and he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. The crimson stain of her lipstick left a faint mark on his thumb, a vivid reminder of her presence.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout..." His voice trailed off, rough and gravelly, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid thoughts. He paused, his thumb resting against her lips, feeling the soft, pliant flesh beneath his touch. The struggle to find the right words was evident in the furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw. "I just wish I could've met yeh before all this." The words finally came, a rough whisper in the quiet of the snug. His thumb traced her lower lip, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. There was a vulnerability in his voice that she rarely heard, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened exterior.

He gazed into her eyes, those windows of softness and light that calmed the storm within him.

"Ești prea dulce pentru mine," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, rough and full of the gravel of his Birmingham accent. His Romani roots slipped into his words, a tender whisper of his heritage that only she was privy to. She smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the understanding and love she held for him. Her hand covered his, her fingers curling around his, feeling the strength and callouses of a man who had fought many battles. Before she could respond, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was more battle than embrace. His lips crashed against hers with a force that spoke of desperation and need, a raw intensity that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

The kiss was a tempest of emotions—passion, anger, pain, and a lingering sadness that he could never quite shake. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her impossibly closer, as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. His other hand cupped her face, thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was almost tender. She clung to him, her arms finally moving to encircle his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if anchoring herself to him. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring and claiming in a way that was both possessive and reverent. He tasted the sweetness of her, a stark contrast to the bitter whiskey and smoke that lingered on his own tongue. Her taste was intoxicating, a heady blend of innocence and warmth that he couldn't get enough of. He gripped her face more firmly, his need for her bordering on frantic.

Time seemed to stand still as they kissed, the world outside the snug fading into oblivion. It was as if they were the only two people in existence, bound together by a connection that defied explanation. The kiss went on, a relentless exploration that left them both breathless. When they finally pulled apart, a thin string of saliva still connected their lips, a physical reminder of the bond they shared. Thomas's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his gaze never leaving her face. Her lipstick was smeared, a vibrant red that now adorned his own lips and around his mouth. She looked equally disheveled, her eyes bright with the same mix of emotions that churned within him. He watched as she leaned back against the table, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Without a word, he pulled her against him once more, her face finding its place in the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he held her close. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, a quiet that was both comforting and fraught with tension.

"îngerul meu dulce și dulce," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. My sweet, sweet angel. The words were a confession, an admission of a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to feel. In her arms, he found a sanctuary from the darkness that constantly threatened to consume him.

Her hand moved to his chest, resting over his heart as if to soothe the turmoil that raged within. She didn't need to say anything; her presence was enough, her touch a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere. He tightened his grip on her, drawing strength from her unwavering support. Thomas's thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions, memories of a past marred by violence and loss clashing with the hope that she represented. She was everything he needed but didn't deserve, a beacon of light in his dark, dangerous world. He knew he should push her away, should protect her from the storm that was his life, but he couldn't. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side. As he held her, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she fit so perfectly against him, as if she were made to be there. Her kindness, her sweetness, her unwavering love—they were the antithesis of everything he had known, and yet they were exactly what he needed. She balanced him in a way nothing else could, her softness soothing the jagged edges of his soul.

Author's Notes:

This song is actually so fucking perfect, like it matches Thomas so well. God I can't believe I let this one shot sit on the back burner for this long!!! The reader is literally too sweet for Thomas; because she's too sweet like wine....ahhhhh!!! Please check out these articles to understand it more!!: What does it mean? 'Too Sweet' by Hozier.

The person who asked for an older and dom! Cillian paired w a younger reader; I must tell you that's its being worked on it's just I've had weird problems with it, like it's cursed. I've spent a couple hours on writing for it; then saved it only for it to not save. I've had text formatting problems; the whole 9 yards; everything and the damn kitchen sink.

However it is in the works and should be one of my next uploads; if I don't have problems with it.

To just a simple passer by; I hope you enjoyed this one shot as I did writing it.

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corrupte3d-mindz · 6 months ago

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Burning Embers

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: Thomas would burn the world down then not be able to hear you call his name again.

Wordcount: 5.8k

Warnings:

Possessive! Thomas, arson, gunshots, death, kissing, then lovey dovey stuff from Thomas.

Inspiration: Let the world burn - Chris Grey

The Garrison was a cacophony of noise, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The dim light of the gas lamps cast a warm, golden glow over the worn wooden surfaces, creating an almost intimate atmosphere despite the throng of patrons.

Thomas sat in a corner booth, his back against the wall, eyes scanning the room with a calculated indifference. His suit, impeccably tailored, clung to his frame with an air of authority. He had just finished a conversation with a couple of local businessmen, deals and threats interwoven with the ease of a man who knew his power. Arthur burst through the doors, his presence a stark contrast to the quiet control that Thomas exuded. The pub fell silent for a moment as everyone turned to look. Arthur’s face was a mask of urgency, his eyes wild. John, Finn, Michael, Isaiah, and their father followed closely behind, their expressions grim. Johnny Dogs lingered at the rear, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

"EVERYONE! CLEAR OUT! BY ORDER OF THE PEAKY FUCKING BLINDERS!" Arthur’s voice cut through the air, leaving no room for argument. The patrons scrambled to leave, their conversations halting abruptly. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sound of hurried footsteps filled the pub as it emptied out, leaving only the Shelby clan and their close associates.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a dark cloud. He rose slowly, the weight of his gaze heavy on Arthur. "What's goin' on, Arthur?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning of the storm brewing beneath the surface. John stepped forward, it would be better if he said it; his face pale and his eyes wide with dread. "Thomas...Sabini, they found Polly's home. And you remember your wife sayin' she was goin' to talk to Polly about somethin'? Well, they fuckin' took her."

Thomas froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His eyes darkened, filling with a cold, murderous rage. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a slow, steady drumbeat of fury. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching with barely restrained violence. He didn't speak for a moment, the silence heavy with the weight of his anger. Arthur exchanged glances with the rest of the men, seeking their silent agreement. They nodded, their faces set with determination. Arthur took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Thomas... she went to Polly because... she's havin' your kid. She's pregnant."

The room seemed to spin for a moment as Thomas processed the information. His wife, his angel in this cold, dark world, was pregnant. And now she was in the hands of his enemies. A growl escaped his throat, low and dangerous. "Those bastards..."

He turned abruptly, his mind already working through the logistics of what needed to be done. His anger sharpened his focus, turning it into a deadly precision. He barked orders to the men, his voice cold and authoritative. "Finn, get the car ready. Isaiah , gather the weapons and petrol; John, Michael, Arthur, you're comin' with me. Johnny, find out where they took her."

The men sprang into action, their movements quick and efficient. Thomas paced the room, his mind racing. He thought of his wife, her gentle smile, the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. She was the light in his life, the warmth that kept the darkness at bay. And now she was carrying his child, their future, and he would move heaven and earth to bring her back safely. He pictured her at Polly’s house, the way she would have sat at the kitchen table, her small frame dwarfed by the large wooden furniture. He imagined her talking to Polly, her voice soft and filled with excitement about the baby. And then the fear she must have felt when Sabini’s men burst in. The thought of her being scared, of her being hurt, made his blood boil. Thomas grabbed his cap, the razor blades sewn into the brim glinting ominously in the dim light. He slid it on, the familiar weight grounding him. He was Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, and no one threatened his family without paying the price. He glanced around at his men, their faces set with the same determination he felt. They were ready, and so was he.

As they piled into the car, Thomas’s mind was a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. He ran through every possible scenario, every potential outcome. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not when so much was at stake. He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. His wife’s face floated in front of him, her eyes filled with love and trust. He wouldn’t let her down. The drive to Polly’s house was tense, the silence in the car broken only by the occasional muttered curse. Thomas stared out the window, his mind a storm of thoughts. He had always been a man of action, but this time it was different. This time it was personal. He could feel the weight of the responsibility pressing down on him, but it only made him more determined.

The Shelby family had always been a force to be reckoned with, a tight-knit unit bound by blood and an unbreakable code of loyalty. Today, that bond was tested as they stood in Polly's ransacked house, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. Thomas, surveyed the wreckage with a cold, calculating gaze, his heart a tight knot in his chest. The familiar surroundings, now torn apart, mirrored the turmoil inside him. The signs of a struggle were everywhere. Furniture overturned, shattered glass glittering like cruel stars on the floor, and papers scattered in a chaotic swirl. Thomas’s sharp eyes took in every detail, his mind racing through the possible scenarios. His wife, the angel in his dark and brutal world, was taken. She was pregnant, carrying their future, and now she was in danger. He felt a surge of anger, a visceral, consuming rage that threatened to break his carefully maintained composure.

John and Arthur stood nearby, their faces etched with concern and barely restrained fury. Michael, younger but no less determined, clenched his fists at his sides, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Polly, ever the matriarch, sat in the corner, a bruise darkening her cheek but her spirit unbroken. Her presence was a grounding force, a reminder of the resilience that ran through their veins. Thomas approached Polly, his footsteps deliberate and measured. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the heavy breathing of the men and the creak of the floorboards under his boots. He knelt beside her, his eyes searching her face for answers. The sight of her injury ignited another flash of anger, but he pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Polly… how far along is she?” His voice was low, a rumble that seemed to echo in the shattered room. His accent, thick and unmistakable, lent a weight to his words that demanded attention and respect.

Polly sighed, a sound filled with fatigue and frustration. She cleared her throat, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “Thomas, she said she thinks she’s about a month along.”

Thomas felt a tightening in his chest, a mix of fear and determination. A month. It was so early, so precarious. He couldn’t let anything happen to her, to their child. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each more ruthless than the last. There would be a reckoning, but first, he had to find her, to bring her back safely. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his piercing blue eyes fixed on a map spread out before him. His mind was a whirlwind of strategies and contingencies, every possible outcome calculated and re-calculated. John, Arthur, and Michael flanked him, their faces set in grim determination. Polly stood nearby, her presence a steadying force amidst the chaos. The house was a sanctuary, a place where plans were hatched and lives were decided, and tonight was no different. Hours had slipped by unnoticed, consumed by the relentless pace of their search. Thomas's people had been a constant lifeline, connecting him to a web of contacts and informants. His fingers tapped impatiently against the table, a rhythm that matched the frenetic pace of his thoughts. Each call, each lead, was a thread he pulled at, trying to unravel the mystery of his wife's kidnapping. She was his anchor, his beacon in the darkness, and the thought of her in danger was a knife twisting in his gut.

John paced the length of the room, his restlessness a stark contrast to Thomas's stillness. Arthur leaned against the wall, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to contain his frustration. Michael sat quietly, his eyes flicking between the others, absorbing their tension like a sponge. Polly moved about with purpose, her sharp eyes missing nothing, her presence a reminder of the strength and resilience that ran through their blood. The ring of the phone cut through the heavy silence, and all eyes turned to Thomas as he strode over to pick it up. The moment hung in the air, a heartbeat of expectation before Johnny Dogs' voice crackled through the receiver. Thomas's grip tightened, his knuckles white against the black of the phone. His breathing hitched for a moment, a flash of vulnerability that he quickly buried beneath a mask of steel resolve.

"Tom, I think we've found where she's at..." Johnny's voice was a lifeline, a thread of hope in the darkness.

Thomas exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "Where are they keeping her, eh?" His voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with barely restrained fury.

"Epsom...his race track," Johnny replied, the words sending a jolt through Thomas. Epsom, the place was familiar, a playground for the rich and powerful, now a prison for his beloved.

A smile, cold and dangerous, curved Thomas's lips. "Get as much petrol as you can get your hands on..." he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. The plan was taking shape in his mind, a path of fire and blood that would lead him to her. He could already see the flames, smell the smoke, hear the screams of those who had dared to cross him.

As he hung up the phone, the room seemed to pulse with renewed energy. John stopped pacing, his eyes lighting up with a fierce determination. Arthur pushed off the wall, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. Michael's expression hardened, his youthful face a mask of resolve. Polly nodded, her approval unspoken but clear in the set of her jaw.

"Right," Thomas began, his voice commanding the room's attention. "We move tonight. Get everything ready. We’re bringing 'er home." His eyes met each of theirs in turn, a silent vow that he would stop at nothing to rescue his wife.

The preparations began in earnest, the room a flurry of activity. Weapons were checked and rechecked, ammunition counted and distributed. Maps were consulted, routes planned with military precision. Thomas oversaw it all, his mind a whirlwind of logistics and strategy. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, sharpening his senses, fueling his resolve. His thoughts drifted to her, the image of her face a constant presence in his mind. She was only a month along, carrying their future within her, and the thought of her in danger made his blood boil. He remembered the way she smiled, the light in her eyes, the softness of her touch. Thomas's jaw clenched as he thought of the men who had taken her, his mind filled with visions of retribution. They had made a fatal mistake, one they would not live to regret. His reputation was built on ruthlessness, a legacy of violence and power that had shaped him into the man he was.

They would learn the hard way that no one touched what was his and lived to tell the tale. As the last preparations were made, Thomas took a moment to himself, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars were hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the moon a faint glow in the distance. He lit a cigarette, the familiar burn of the smoke a brief comfort. He thought of her again, his heart aching with the need to hold her, to see her safe and sound. The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see Arthur approaching. His brother's face was a mirror of his own determination, a fierce loyalty burning in his eyes. They stood together in silence for a moment, the bond between them unspoken but unbreakable.

"We'll get 'er back, Tom," Arthur said, his voice a low rumble. "No matter what it takes."

The journey to Epsom was a blur of headlights and dark roads, the landscape rushing past in a haze of motion. Thomas sat in the driver's seat, his focus razor-sharp, his thoughts a relentless march of strategy and determination. His mind was a steel trap, allowing no room for doubt or fear. Beside him, his brothers John and Arthur, along with Michael, sat in silence, their shared resolve a palpable force. Each one of them was a cog in the well-oiled machine that Thomas had engineered for this night, their roles clear, their purpose unwavering. The moon cast an eerie glow over the countryside, the night cloaking the world in a shroud of darkness. The Epsom race track loomed in the distance, a shadowy fortress that held his world captive. Thomas's grip on the wheel tightened, his jaw set in a hard line. This was it, the moment of reckoning, the culmination of their relentless search. His heart pounded with a cold fury, the thought of his pregnant wife in the hands of their enemies fueling his every action.

As they neared their destination, the nighttime made the race track look more unforgiving, its skeletal structures silhouetted against the night sky. The vehicles rolled to a stop, engines cutting off in a symphony of finality. Thomas stepped out, the cool night air biting at his skin, the scent of petrol and determination thick in the air. He glanced at his brothers, their faces set in grim resolve, and nodded. It was time. Finn, Isaiah and his father, Johnny Dogs, and five families of the Lee's were already there, waiting in the shadows. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension a living, breathing entity. Thomas’s eyes swept over the assembled group, his expression hard, his blue eyes like shards of ice in the darkness. Each man here was ready to lay down his life for the cause, for the family, and Thomas felt the weight of that loyalty pressing down on him.

Thomas spoke, his voice a low, commanding growl that cut through the night. "You all will round up his men, find the ones that laid their hands on her and separate them from the rest; I'll deal with those personally." His words were met with nods of agreement, the resolve of the group solidifying around him like a fortress.

He turned to Johnny Dogs, who stood ready, a small, feral smile on his face. "How many cans of petrol did you get?" Thomas asked, his voice edged with a darkness that mirrored the night around them.

Johnny’s smile widened. "Enough to burn the whole world down, Tom."

Thomas nodded, satisfaction mingling with the cold rage that simmered just beneath his surface. He looked around at the men, their faces hard and determined. This was not just a rescue mission; it was a statement, a declaration of war. They would not leave this place without making it clear that no one touched a Shelby and lived to tell the tale. The night was alive with the sound of footsteps against the dirt, hushed voices, and the metallic click of weapons being checked and readied. Thomas moved among his men, his presence a steadying force, his commands clear and concise. He was the eye of the storm, the calm center around which the chaos would swirl. Every detail had been planned, every possibility accounted for. Now, it was just a matter of execution.

As they approached the entrance to the race track, Thomas's mind flashed back to the moment he had discovered his wife was missing. The rage he had felt then was nothing compared to what he felt now, standing on the brink of action. His love for her was a fierce, consuming fire, and the thought of her in danger had kindled a fury that would only be quenched by the blood of those who had dared to harm her. He signaled for his men to move into position, his movements precise and controlled. They spread out, slipping into the shadows, their figures blending seamlessly with the darkness. Thomas's eyes never stopped moving, scanning the area, assessing every potential threat. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand, the cold metal a comforting presence.

Inside the race track, the enemy was unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Thomas knew they had the element of surprise, and he intended to use it to its fullest advantage. He glanced at John, who was crouched beside him, his face a mask of focused intensity. Arthur, John, Finn, Micheal and Isaiah were on other sides of the track; their positions strategically chosen to cover all exits. The first shots rang out, shattering the silence of the night. Thomas moved with a lethal grace, his every action deliberate and deadly. He saw his men engage the enemy, the flash of gunfire illuminating the darkness in brief, violent bursts. He pressed forward, his focus unerring, his goal clear. He would find her, and he would make them pay.

He caught sight of a group of men near the stables, their panicked movements betraying their fear. Thomas felt a grim satisfaction as he raised his gun, his shots precise and fatal. He moved through the chaos, his path cutting a swath of destruction, his mind a singular focus: get her back. His brothers fought alongside him, their loyalty and ferocity a testament to the bond they shared. Thomas reached the main building, kicking the door open with a force that splintered the wood. Inside, the dim light revealed a scene of chaos, men scrambling to defend themselves against the onslaught. He didn't hesitate, his movements a blur of calculated violence. He shot each of the men with ruthless efficiency, in the knees, making it nearly impossible for the to run. Thomas moved to one of the men on the floor whose moaning in pain, he grabbed him by his neck and forced him to look at him in his eyes, making him look his grim reaper in the eyes.

"I'm not done with y' yet'.." Thomas said his voice cold and calculated, he let go of his neck making him fall back against the floor on his back; the man let out another pained cry. His men would be back for them, to moved them to the front of the race track; to burn them.

The night air was thick with tension as Thomas Shelby navigated through the dimly lit stable area, his boots echoing against the cold, hard ground. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow that seeped through the cracks in the old wooden walls. His heart pounded with a fierce determination, each step bringing him closer to the back room where he hoped to find his wife. The sound of distant shouts and scuffles filtered through the air, but his focus remained unwavering. He was a man on a mission, a predator hunting in the dead of night, driven by the primal instinct to protect his own. As he approached the back room, a chilling sight greeted him. Blood stained the floor in dark, ominous patches, and drag marks indicated a struggle. A wave of cold fury washed over him. His hand clenched around the cold metal doorknob, twisting it with a deliberate force. The door swung open with a creak, and he swiftly stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, clearing it with practiced precision. Moonlight streamed in, revealing a sight that made his heart clench: there she was, tied to a chair, her small frame illuminated by the pale glow. His wife looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear. The sight of her, his angel, ignited a fire within him. He crossed the room in two long strides, his gun slipping back into his belt as he reached her. With deft fingers, he untied the ropes that bound her, and as soon as she was free, he pulled her into his arms. The embrace was fierce, protective, his hold on her unyielding. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, their hearts beating in sync, a brief respite from the chaos.

"My angel, my sweet angel..." His voice was a gravelly whisper as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. It was a scent he had missed, one that grounded him in moments of turmoil. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes scanning for any sign of injury. Small cuts marred her delicate skin, but they were minor, nothing that would cause lasting harm.

"Still as beautiful as when I last saw you," he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips before their mouths met in a desperate kiss. It was a kiss born of pain and longing, their lips moving with a frantic intensity. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, their tongues intertwining in a dance of raw emotion. When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling. "I'm really going to be a father, eh?"

"You are..." Her smile was shy, yet filled with a warmth that soothed his soul.

Thomas brushed his thumb gently across her cheek, his touch tender. "Come on, let's get y' out of here, eh?" With ease, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her bridal style as he made his way back through the stables. The smell of blood and fear lingered in the air, but he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on her, his angel, safe in his arms.

As they emerged from the stables, the scene that greeted them was one of controlled chaos. John, Arthur, Michael, Finn, Isaiah, and his father, along with Johnny Dogs and the Lee families, were scattered around, unloading petrol cans. Blood stained their clothes, but it wasn’t their own. Thomas’s eyes flickered to the ground where the five men who had dared to touch his wife lay, their bodies broken and bleeding. He smirked, a dark satisfaction curling in his chest, before continuing to the car. He opened the passenger door and gently placed her inside, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Stay here, love," he whispered, his voice soft but commanding. He closed the door with a firm click, turning to face the others.

The moon was obscured by thick clouds that mirrored the murky deeds about to unfold below. The racetrack lay eerily silent, the stillness broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Thomas stood at the center of this storm, his sharp eyes surveying the scene. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and resolve, a tempest brewing behind his cold, piercing gaze. The scent of petrol hung heavily in the air, a harbinger of the destruction to come. John and Arthur flanked him, their faces set in grim determination. Michael, Finn, Isaiah, Johnny Dogs, and the Lee family members were scattered around, ready for the signal. The air was thick with tension, a tangible force that made every breath feel heavy. Thomas’s thoughts flickered to his wife, his angel and the way they tried to use her against him; that backfired on them horribly. A fire burned in his chest, fueled by the memory of her soft voice, her gentle touch. She was his sanctuary, and they had dared to violate it.

He strode over to the five men who were the source of his ire, their bodies already bruised and battered. His presence alone seemed to make them cower. “John, Arthur,” he called, his voice a low growl. The two brothers stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I want you to move them to the front, lean them against the walls, and soak em' in petrol.” His smile was a chilling contrast to the rage in his eyes. “If you don’t, you’ll join them as well.”

Arthur nodded, a savage grin spreading across his face. “We were going to burn em' anyway, no need to tell us.”

“Good,” Thomas replied, his tone curt. He cast a glance back at the car where his wife sat, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and understanding. She knew what was coming. She knew Thomas would not let their transgression go unpunished.

The men moved swiftly, dragging the nearly lifeless bodies to the designated spot. Petrol cans were upended, the liquid splashing onto the walls, seeping into the ground. The acrid smell grew stronger, mingling with the scent of fear emanating from the men. They were too weak to struggle, too broken to plead for mercy. Their fate was sealed the moment they had laid hands on Thomas Shelby’s wife.

It took almost an hour for the entire place to be doused in petrol, every room, every corner soaked in the flammable liquid. The task would have taken much longer if not for the combined efforts of the Shelby brothers and their allies. Thomas watched, his expression unreadable, as the preparations were completed. The fire within him mirrored the impending inferno, both consuming everything in their path. Thomas reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. The flame briefly illuminated his face, casting shadows that danced across his features. Around him, the others followed suit, those who smoked taking a moment to savor the calm before the storm. They stood in a loose semicircle, the flickering embers of their cigarettes the only light in the encroaching darkness.

The men who had dared to harm his wife were propped against the walls, their eyes darting around in a futile search for escape. Thomas stepped forward, his gaze boring into them. “Let the world burn,” he said, his voice carrying a finality that sent a shiver down the spines of everyone present.

As one, they stepped back and threw their lit cigarettes into the building. The effect was immediate and devastating. Flames erupted, racing along the trails of petrol with a voracious hunger. The night was transformed into a hellscape of red, orange, and yellow, the heat searing the air. Screams of agony pierced the night as Sabini’s men were consumed by the fire, their bodies writhing in a futile attempt to escape the flames. Thomas watched with a detached satisfaction, his face bathed in the glow of the inferno. Each scream was a note in a symphony of retribution, each flicker of flame a testament to his resolve. The men’s knees had been blown out earlier, ensuring they could not flee. Now, they were prisoners of their own fate, their arms dislocated to prevent even the slightest chance of escape. The fire roared, its fury unchecked, devouring the building and everything within. The sounds of collapsing timbers and shattering glass added to the cacophony, a fitting accompaniment to the demise of those who had crossed Thomas Shelby. He turned away, his mind already moving to the next step, the next plan. There was always another move to make, another battle to fight.

Walking briskly yet purposefully, Thomas made his way back to the car. His footsteps were steady on the gravel, the sound swallowed by the roar of the fire behind him. He opened the door, the heat from the blaze momentarily flooding the car before he slid in beside her. The interior was a haven of calm, a stark contrast to the inferno outside. His wife’s eyes, wide and searching, locked onto his, seeking the reassurance only he could provide.

“It’s done,” he said, his voice low and steady, a soft rumble in the confined space. He took her small hand in his, his grip firm yet comforting. “They won’t ever hurt you again.”

She exhaled, a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and a flicker of relief crossed her delicate features. Thomas watched her, his heart a fortress against the world’s cruelty but a haven for her. He released her hand, his own moving to cup her face. His thumb brushed against her cheek, the simple touch conveying a world of unspoken promises. He leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both a balm and a blaze, a mixture of passion and unspoken love. His kiss deepened, his tongue seeking hers with a fervor that spoke of his desperation to connect, to reaffirm their bond in the midst of chaos. She responded in kind, her own need mirroring his. Their tongues danced, entwining in a symphony of shared breath and mutual desire. The kiss stretched on, each second a testament to their unbreakable connection. When he finally broke away, it was only to gaze into her eyes, his blue piercing eyes and intense, meeting her soft, doe-like gaze.

“I'd let the world burn, let the world burn for you,” he whispered, the words a vow etched in the air between them.

The fire outside continued to rage, a testament to the violence and power that defined Thomas. But here, in the car with his wife, he was just a man, deeply in love and fiercely protective. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin. The night outside was a battlefield, but inside this car, it was a sanctuary of their own making.

“Y’alright, love?” he asked softly, his accent thick, the concern in his voice palpable. She nodded, placing her hand over his, their fingers intertwining over the life they had created. It was a silent affirmation, a shared resolve to face whatever came next together.

The drive back to their home was quiet, the night around them a shroud of darkness punctuated by the distant glow of the fire. Thomas drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding hers. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers and challenges, but as long as they were together, he felt invincible. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, each one centered around ensuring their safety. His wife rested her head against his shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing a soothing rhythm. Thomas glanced at her, his heart swelling with a love so profound it bordered on pain. He had built an empire, forged a legacy in blood and fire, but she was his greatest treasure. The thought of losing her, of anything happening to her or their child, was a fear that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the warmth of her presence, the steady beat of her heart against his arm.

As they neared their home, the familiar sights of Small Heath came into view, but they weren't home yet; they drove till they were on the outskirts. It was quiet, the sun was starting to come up; Thomas parked the car and turned to her, his expression softening. “We’re home,” he said, the words a balm to the tension that still lingered. She smiled, a small, tired smile that spoke of her own relief.

Inside their home, the world outside seemed a distant memory. Thomas helped her out of the car, his arm around her waist as they made their way to the door. The night had been long and exhausting, but the sight of their home brought a sense of peace. He closed the door behind them, shutting out the chaos and danger, if only for a while. They moved through the house in silence, the weight of the night’s events pressing down on them. Thomas led her to their bedroom, helping her undress and settle into bed. He watched her as she drifted off to sleep, her face serene and untroubled. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be, to let go of the burdens that constantly weighed on him.

But sleep would not come easily. Thomas stood by the window, staring out into the darkness, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger, that the enemies they had made would not rest until they were destroyed. But as long as he had her, as long as he had their child, he would fight with everything he had. He turned back to the bed, his eyes softening as he looked at her. She was his anchor, his reason for everything. Thomas undressed quietly, slipping into bed beside her. He pulled her close, the warmth of her body a comfort against the cold reality of their world. He kissed her forehead, a silent vow to protect and cherish her, no matter the cost.

As he lay there, his mind finally began to quiet. The night’s events would leave scars, but they would also strengthen the resolve he had to keep his family safe. He closed his eyes, the sound of her breathing lulling him into a fitful sleep. The fire outside might rage, but here, in their bed, there was peace, if only for a moment. Thomas knew that the battles would continue, that the fight for their survival was far from over. But with her by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope, a spark of light in the darkness. He tightened his hold on her, his heart a silent promise to never let go. In the midst of chaos, she was his sanctuary, his angel in a world of shadows. And as sleep finally claimed him, Thomas dreamed not of fires and battles, but of a future where they could find peace, a future where their child could grow up safe and loved. It was a dream worth fighting for, a dream worth burning the world down to protect.

Authors Notes:

Don't worry the three asks are being worked on, I just wanted to get this one out because I haven't seen anyone do this song yet or they have and I haven't seen it. But I wanted to do a Jonathan one, because he's fucking mental about his lover but idk it wouldn't click.

Have any idea's please hit me up!!! Love you all xoxo

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