#thomas rush x cap

[saintmuses]

❝𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙨, 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚𝙣❞

Pairing:

Thomas Shelby x Michael’s Wife!Reader

Summary:

Y/N couldn’t stand Thomas Shelby, she could see him for what he was. A devil in disguise despite her heart went pitter patter with lust rushing in her veins whenever she saw him.

Warning(s): SMUT. Mentions of religion. Infidelity. P in V. Deaths. Slight possessive!Thomas. Minors, dni! Note: Y/N’s maiden name was Buchanan.

Word Count: 2k

Summer, 1930

She wanted to press the nuzzle of the hand rifle gun to his smooth forehead hidden by his peaky cap. She wanted to pressurize the cool metal to its skin until it caved to mold around the circular imprint. 

She wanted to pull her index finger backwards until there was an echoing sound of the bullet going straight through his brain. She would've loved to see the blood splatter all over his three pieces suit and a white collared buttoned shirt as he fell backwards until he was no more.

Thomas Shelby.

A businessman who was a member of parliament with decorated military history from the Great War, and her family-in-law who was and always had been a gangster dabbling in illegal trades.

Her red painted lips curled back in disgust, before the edge of the cigarette laid between, and she closed her lips around it to inhale the tobacco.

Something was not right with him. Even if he was the best businessman, the leader of Peaky Blinders in Birmingham where they live, even if he was attractive. 

Something was odd about him.

She noticed his eyes flickered to her as he stood by a couple coming into their seventies, conversing with them.

Her heart thrummed loudly when his gaze trailed down to her lips that held the cigarette.

Her lips curled into a form of a smirk when his pupils dilated enough to take over his blue irises.

She'd never admit to anyone but herself that she loved his icy eyes.

Her fingers pulled the thin rolled tobacco filled paper away from her mouth as she inhaled enough to fill her lungs before pushing the excess out into thick humidity air while she stared at him in return.

"Honey," a voice clear its throat behind her. She could see Thomas’ eyes narrowing at the presence behind her, and she nearly chuckled at the sight of his jaw clenching enough to see tendons straining against his skin of his neck.

What a lovely sight. She thought haughtily before turning her head to see her husband, Michael standing near her, hands in his pockets.

"Yes, dear?" She knew Thomas had issues with his cousin ever since he came back across the pond with her in tow.

His dark eyes flickered to her before jerking his head towards the door of the car a good amount of distance, "it's time to go."

"I will get in the car after I talk to Thomas," she turned her gaze to the driver's seat with a pointed look. Her husband's face flushed with acknowledgment before he nodded stiffly, then walked away.

Outside, he held all the power to their dynamic, but behind the closed doors, she had all the power in her hands, and her husband could have all the whores and snow he wanted as long as he was respectful towards her in their marriage.

Quite frankly, she did not give a damn.

She waited until the sounds of her husband's footsteps shuffling against the tall spineless grasses faded, then she turned around just in time to see Thomas sauntering over to her.

"It is a good afternoon, is it not?" He looked down at her with a smirk gracing upon his face. His voice was sinful, with a hint of accent as it rolled over certain letters.

The top row of teeth scraped the bottom lip of hers, enough to ignite a sting of pain in the flesh. Irritated, "yes. I enjoyed the...lecture you gave about how we need to be discreet. After all, you are a mastermind of deluding people into thinking you are just a politician." She all but snarled at him, flicking an unfinished cigarette in the grass, ashes still burning.

His tongue slipped out, lightly wetting the bottom lip of his. "Miss Buchanan," his voice purred softly at her maiden name, "I am not a mastermind." His eyes held amusement as he spoke a false truth they both know it was a lie.

"Mrs. Gray." She corrected him flatly. She didn't even want to know how he found her maiden name when she and her husband moved to England from the Empire state of New York a year ago. She was still irritated as she withdrew a fresh stick of tobacco from her purse, holding the filter to her lips as she lit the end with her metal pocket lighter.

He waved it off, snatching the burning cigarette from her fingers with his leather gloved fingers before she could inhale the cigarette, "it’s the all the same to me." 

She was pissed at his lack of etiquettes. 

Once a thief boy, always will be a thief man. She thought to herself.

"I will be watching you," her upper lip curled, revealing the threat as she stared up at him coldly. "You better not do anything...out of the line."

She found out she was the only one who could talk to him like that and got away with it as well.

His eyes flashed in return, not with anger but with pure unadulterated lust. Dear God, something unraveled in her stomach at the sight of the animalistic feral look in his gaze, just like the first time she saw him a year ago, and he was already watching her.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said lowly, his voice rasped after he exhaled the smoke from the cigarette before she glared at him and turned her body to walk away.

"'Y/N-"

"If you're going to fuck a whore, then go ahead." She sighed as if she was tired. Sitting at the kitchen table, looking at her husband with a small smile. "You do not need to hide your infidelities from me." She said shrugging with indifference, observing the way he stared at her, unblinkingly before he reached for the door handle, nodding slightly before stepping out of their place.

She never loved Michael. Well, not in that way, but they only married to hide his shenanigans in the states especially when he held onto the stocks when the economy collapsed, and quite frankly, she wanted to leave that godforsaken city in America. Away from her father who loved her but was smothering her, and away from her mother who was unfaithful towards her father by messing around with men whose pockets were filled with banknotes.

She blinked when she heard the door shut.

I wouldn't dream of it.

I wouldn't dream of it.

It’s the all the same to me.

Maybe she'd fuck him out of her system then she would be able to see him clearer rather than an attractive man with an aura of danger surrounding him.

They were all going to hell, every single one of them. She just didn't care for the technicalities.

She moved her husband's heavy coat out of the way, only to flinch when there was a loud clang of metal hitting the wooden floor.

She glanced down to see a small hand rifle, and her heart stuttered at the sight of it lying there so innocently before bending down to reach for it.

She stared down at the small metal weapon in her pale palm as she stood back up, her fingers gripping the wood as if her life depended on it. In a way it was, but only for the others.

She inhaled before opening the front door, grabbing her purse along the way, stepping out in the light drizzle as the sky started to roll in heavy blue.

The sound of the door slamming behind her brought the sound of the echo of the bullet she would aim.

The Cross that was hanging on the wall, shook violently against the plaster as she threw her head back in the darkened room. 

"You're going to Hell." She gasped the words out of her mouth.

Her hips were tightly holding onto the body of Thomas who had his fingers digging into the walls. He was physically stronger than her by anatomy differences, but she was relatively small.

"And I will be dragging you down with me," he groaned breathlessly into her ear as his hips swiveled into her. Giving her a knowing look, and her blood froze. She sincerely hoped he did not know what she was planning to do.

"Oh God." She gasped into the air as the blood rushed through in her veins when he gave her a bruising thrust.

"You said my name wrong, sweetheart."  He rumbled before pulling her away from the wall with his hands wrapped around the curve of her legs to keep her against him.

He walked backwards until the back of his knees hit the wooden bench and stumbled onto it. Y/N already curled her fingers into his hair, pulling as she pushed her hips in a downward movement onto his cock.

"Just like that," he grunted, gripping her hips and she could feel how tight his fingers were pressing against her skin.

She gasped, throwing her head back as his lips latched onto her throat.

"Mine," he rumbled into the curve of her neck.

She nodded empathetically, "yours." She agreed. In twenty-seven years of her life, she wandered through life like a ghost. As if she wasn't there. Thomas was the only one who made her feel something.

It was also filled with regret that she had every intention to kill him. Like him, she did a little digging of his past, and found a lot of atrocities she could not let it pass or forgive.

"I wanted you ever since you showed up with Michael introducing you as his wife, and when you looked at me for the first time...I knew you saw something," he groaned, looking at her as his hips pushed upwards into her, "saw right through me as if I was an open book for you to see the sins I've committed. That's when I knew I had to have you." He gripped the grooves of her back through her shirt. "Unlike the others who were charmed by my façade, you just knew before I was introduced to you." He rumbled before withdrawing away from her neck.

She swallowed inaudibly, inhaling the heady but addicting scent of his as her eyes rolled back into her head when he'd hit a certain spot in her.

It wasn't love. It was lust filled with affection for him. The monster hiding in a sheep's clothing.

It wasn't pretty.

Her eyes then flickered to her fallen purse, with the moonlight casting through the arched windows, the metal glinted under the bright light.

Her walls clenched in response, and she noticed his thrusting patterns became irregular. She then reached over to her purse without distracting him, and quietly drew the gun out of the crack of her purse.

Before he could turn his head, she pressed her lips to his. His fingers tightened even more in response as his lips caved and melded with hers in a passionate frenzy.

"In another life, if we'd met under different circumstances, I would've loved you." She whispered into his mouth, and she heard him exhale onto her lips. "We would've been each other's."

Before he could thrust into her for the final time, she sneaked the gun between them, and when he got to the ending with a guttural groan, she pulled the trigger as she barely laid the nuzzle in front of his heart. 

Flinching when there was a bang echoed in the empty space of the church.

She then gasped in pain, pulling back from his face to look down to see a lone knife laying in his hand, with red liquid seeping onto his hands and trousers, but she knew what he did. She could see it in her sight, blood pooling around the clean but ripped hole of her dress shirt where her heart was at. 

She was in shock, turning her gaze back to his eyes. A mischievous but all-knowing look glinted in his icy depths. Her hand shook as she dropped the weapon. It clattered on the wooden pew next to them.

"Oh, I knew all about your plan to kill me. I could see it in your eyes." He smirked, his voice strained, and his blood staining the spaces in his teeth as the red liquid gurgled in his lungs. "I was going to let you, but I was not going to go down without takin’ you with me."

It wasn't love. It was lust, and it wasn't pretty.

[ay0nha]

Venus Rising | Thomas Shelby

SUMMARY: Three moments in which you run into Tommy, the final provoking a deal neither of you are prepared for.

“I am afraid of getting older. I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free…I want, I want to think, to be omniscient.” Sylvia Plath (1949)

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader 

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking (tobacco/weed), criticism of time-period misogyny/misogyny in general, canon-typical things, angst again, rich people being annoying, no proof reading, rushed ending, slow burn, etc.

A/N: Oop, another Tommy fic, apparently it’s not quite out of my system. Inspired by the film How to Steal a Million (title is inspired by the original title of the book!) and @huntingingoodwill‘s post (here), ESPECIALLY with the third part of this as it comes from Carmen’s beautiful brain. Inspo is taken from various feminist writing and particularly an Agnes Varda quote. MIGHT do a part two, idk yet.

Comments are VERY encouraged! Enjoy. 

“Thanks for that…” Tommy was finally catching his breath but still searched for your name. He hadn’t seen you in the gathering below and questioned if the room he found himself in belonged to you.

“We’re better off strangers.” You weren’t defensive, nor was your guard up; you were just focused. Fixated. The painting was borderline mesmerizing, and you struggled to tell if it was from the art or how your joint dwindled steadily.

Your isolation was purposeful.

The reception provoked the start of a migraine; its noise bleeding through the thick walls of the stately home only grew more deafening as the evening furthered. To find relief, you wandered the empty halls, the stairs that led to darkness, and every door that seemed particularly off-limits.

It was a simple measure of self-preservation until your seclusion was fractured.

The door opened abruptly, a body sliding through the narrow space to hide in the most prominent shadow. You thought you were caught, but the man held a finger to his lips, expression prepared for the obvious chase.

You were the perfect accomplice.

Those who came looking for him were met with your theatrics, a role well-rehearsed; your eyes never glanced to where Tommy hid in the most prominent shadows; your upset alone secured you hadn’t seen the man with the razor-lined cap; you simply wanted to return to your silence.

“You stick out, you know…” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought was absentminded, your lips tingling with indifference.

“I have an invitation.” Tommy had it forged, making it nearly identical to the one you’d received in the post.

You hummed with amusement. “I mean—you don’t belong.”

Considering how you equated his presence with his class, Tommy considered taking offense. However, your humor exposed no ill intent. You were trying to relate to him. To offer some solace, you offered the joint to him between pinched fingers.

“Let me guess, neither do you.” Tommy accepted your olive branch with a drag.

“Oh, I never will.” Although your smile remained, your tone became distant. You didn’t glance at Tommy until he took another puff. His eyes were ahead, just as yours were, attempting to see what had enraptured you in the painting. “Just like her.”

The face of the young woman depicted was covered, but her body was exposed. You were sure the owner of the canvas only valued the misinterpreted eroticism. Yet, the scene’s voyeuristic purposes were to convey the end of a very long day. You were convinced if you reached out, you could soothe her aching muscles from her obviously laborious job.

The painting's size didn’t speak for its cost. You wanted to laugh at how something so precious was stored on a wall as a forgotten decoration. However, you would do the exact same if it were in your possession. It would hang on your ceiling that way; when you rested your head against your pillow, you could get one final look at it as if it were a mirror, a grounding reminder that there was company in such an empty space.

“You pity the poor.” The statement held a questioning tone. Tommy interpreted the painting and your thoughts literally; a woman relieved of farm work was being judged by you—someone worse than the bourgeois.

“Don’t you see it?” Bitter ecstasy carried your words. You wanted to be heard. “Her and I are the same…”

Tommy returned the joint, realizing its purpose was to aid and calm you from the turmoil you hoped to escape. He felt an odd sense to comfort you but wouldn’t.

Instead, he repaid his earlier debt with unaccustomed humor, “I doubt someone like you shovels shit for a living.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You let the smoke settle in your chest, its warmth comforting. “From inception, we’re indistinguishable, born with an innocence that is only nurtured to be stolen. Our very being is never our own. Once our bodies are pried from our minds, we starve because of it.”

“Ah, I see…” Tommy started, “You’re a modern woman.”

The joint was almost a roach, but you passed it back, ridding yourself of its responsibility. The man beside you was a stranger, and you were thankful for that position. Anything said didn’t matter. It would evaporate and leave no trace. Tommy understood this well, participating in a game he didn’t know the rules of.

“Modernity is irrelevant.” You corrected. Your words sunk into your stomach, weighing you down. “This is beyond time.”

—

“Gave a try shoveling shit, eh?” Tommy crossed his legs, leaning back with an ease you were envious of. A cigarette was rolled along his lips, a habit formed by comfort.

Once lit, the image was complete. It had clicked. “You.”

Thomas Shelby. Your memory of him held a haze, that night's intoxication cherry-picking how you retained the interaction. But your vague image of him was enough to understand his occupation. You were warned against his world, but you could only do so much when your worlds overlapped so bizarrely.

“Me.” He confessed with mitigation. There was a cadence even in his silence. Clearly, he was thinking of how to approach you, but you failed to recognize how he always remained ahead in his business. “You were found near the stables.”

“Apparently, I’m a witch.” You mused. Cheltenham was never dull.

Tommy hummed, entertaining your wit only slightly. “They think you’ve cursed the horses.”

Horses were efficient beasts that were often mistreated, that much you knew. However, they intimidated you into submission. Their role in your life was distant, typically involving a reflection of wealth and nothing more.

You hid behind the stables because you misunderstood the distance you created. It had a false bottom that showed those in your world never enter their stables, allowing others to do the hard work. Those around you wouldn’t dare stain their fine fabrics how you chose to.

Although the air was foul, the stables were the only place you could breathe without the hands of your arranged date finding home where they weren’t welcomed.

You knew the man who caught you was Tommy’s brother. Though they looked different, the air surrounding them was suffocating. They were driven by brutal confidence that manifested physically and for Tommy mentally. The mind game you were presented with was just as predetermined as the races.

“I want us to understand each other.” Ash fell from Tommy’s cigarette in thought. “We do not share the same fantasy.”

“And what fantasy is that?”

“Poor little rich girl—” His words were punctuated. “—thinks she can play gypsy until she hears the dinner bell.”

Your laughter made him flinch. “And what’s for dinner?”

Tommy had vetted you. No one knew anything worthy about you. So everyone simply fantasized about you, spinning tales. Yet, you were an extraordinary nobody—an amazing unknown. Suspicion wasn’t necessary, but there was no need for his growing intrigue.

“That man you came with…” Tommy knew who he was. He was another kid that thought one day he could rule the world. But all he was capable of was poorly executed white-collar crime. “Who is he?”

You shrugged. “To him, I am his girlfriend.”

“And to you?”

“Does that matter?”

Tommy quickly learned that your only form of retaliation was posed through questions. The more philosophical, the more your guard remained. “I've been thinking about what you've said…”

The admission alone was out of character and also misrepresented. Tommy's mind was riddled with your sentiments. It was a thoughtful comment on something broader, something Tommy knew of and was growing to understand. But that wasn’t what preoccupied him.

It was how your poise wasn’t carried through your posture. It was how you expressed yourself indifferently but spoke so sharply. You were a constant contrast that perplexed him, possessed him to look into you, into your life. He planned to search until he found a moment where you put your thoughts to use the way he had.

“You, a suffragette?” Your lip curled at the thought. “Now, that, Mr. Shelby, is a fantasy.”

—

Planning an escape was satisfying but little compared to the follow-through.

The feeling solidified when the silk hem of your dress billowed was the only trail of your escape. You could hear your name echo along the corridor wall, someone sent to find you and force you back into the festivities.

“Where are you going?” The voice was a mix of a whisper and shout, reflecting nothing but urgency. The guests weren’t privy to your behavior, but your absence was clear. You heard your name again.“You must come down! You’re upsetting the guests!”

Although your home, the walls felt like they were shifting, creating a maze to your safety. The click of your heels was like a countdown to being caught. That was until your hand frantically found an antique handle of the most inconspicuous door.

Sliding into the broom closet, darkness invaded your senses.

With its veil, you could make out the sliver of light that fought to illuminate the room from the other side. It tracked the shadow of who chased you, showing you how they inched closer, hoping to hear your rapid breathing. Once enough time was given to their search; the footsteps receded in the wrong direction, their voice calling after you growing faint.

Your relief was borderline euphoric; your body demonstrated success as the tension drained the further you calmed. You sunk toward the door, forehead against the smooth, cool wood.

The sound behind was as quick as the movement. Identifiable and surprising.

The match created friction that illuminated the small space with an orange glow. You moved fast, your breath pinned to the roof of your mouth.

“Cigarette?” Tobacco filled the cramped room, the burning end of the cigarette not quite exposing your companion. But you could feel the amusement at the situation radiate from the corner.

Your stupor made you move with shock. “Christ!”

Your hand shot up to feel around for the light switch above you, yanking on the cord. Awash in light, you took in the sight of the man who was casually nursing a cigarette.

“Mr. Shelby?” You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Tommy.”

“What are you—

“I’m a guest.” The cigarette bobbed with his chiding.

“A guest.” You repeated, your tone brimming with doubtful sarcasm. “And what is a guest doing, hiding here, so far away from the party?”

“I could ask the same of you.” He quipped, icy expression holding your own.

“Ah, but I’m not a guest.” You defended yourself, holding up a finger as you corrected him. “This is my family’s party. I am technically a host.”

“Well—” He began, taking a puff of his cigarette, silver smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. “—not a very good host if you’re hiding up here, eh?”

Your eyebrows cocked as you took him in. His presence meant business. “I don’t seem to remember my father mentioning gangsters would be on the guest list tonight.”

“Why not?” He replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “We’re good fun at parties.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” You mused. “But I doubt this is your kind of party.” You wished to witness him in action, for him to live up to all the stories you’ve heard about him firsthand. And you could tell he was itching for you to ask. “What have you got planned tonight?”

“If you must know—” Tommy remained externally stoic but revealed himself bluntly. “—I’m here to rob your family blind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your father has come into quite a bit of money recently,” Tommy said, words calculated and measured. “He’s been stepping on the Blinders’ business. So, I came here tonight to take back what’s ours.”

“How much?” You asked.

“A million dollars.” He sighed, highlighting his statement with a drag of his cigarette.

“That all?” You scoffed.

“You’d hardly miss it,” Tommy explained. “And, with your family’s yearly legendary holiday party going on tonight, I figured I could hide until all the…” He took a second to ponder, searching for the words, “...rich fucks down there were drunk enough. Then, I’d take what’s mine and leave. No one would be any the wiser.”

There was a pause. He wanted you to protest, but he knew you wouldn’t. You were reading him just as well. It quickly became a stalemate, but you had the advantage of toying with him.

“Well, I should fulfill my host duties.” You sighed, tone wrapping up the unorthodox interaction. “Find my father while I’m at it; tell him bookkeepers are infested in our walls.”

“You’re not going back down there.”

Another pause. Your skin crawled with jest. “And why’s that, Mr. Shelby?”

He shook his head casually, eyes boring through yours. “You’re not going back down there because you don’t want to.”

“What?” Your laugh was soft and unexpected. It was hard to determine, but some of you would have rathered a threat. This was almost as entertaining.

“I can tell you don’t want to go down there. So don’t.”

Behind your back, you reached for the doorknob, but as your fingers grazed it, you lost your nerve. You sighed, flexing your fingers.

“Move over.” You instructed, and Tommy listened. He slid closer to the wall as you squeezed beside him, arm against him in a one-sided comfort. “Poor little rich girl opening up to a gangster. Never saw that in the cards.” You plucked the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag, carefully considering your next words. “It’s never as simple as it seems, really.”

“Sure it is.”

“It really isn’t.” You chuckled, eyes trained on the glowing end of the cigarette.

“Enlighten me.” He replied, taking the cigarette back as you passed it to him.

The emotions you kept bottled up bubbled in your throat. Living in the gilded cage of high society had privilege but was equally emotionally destructive. It felt foreign, the thought of exposing yourself with such vulnerability; you grew nervous at the prospect of having to do so.

“Simplicity is a pipe dream when your life relies on codependency.” Just the thought of it made you dizzy. “It’s better to hide than risk being a blemish to the family.”

Tommy stayed quiet. Then against better judgment, he spoke. “Why not just leave? You’re a clever girl. Surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” You countered without edge; you knew his slight dig was only to lighten things. He said his part out of decency. “Why do you think I was at those stables? If it weren’t for your brother…”

The crackle of your drag filled the new-found silence. You weren’t sure how long you’d stay there nor how long you subject Tommy to your company. It was a moment of brevity you both seemed to need. You hadn’t meant to find him, and his plan had nothing to do with you, but that in itself sparked your idea.

“Hey, Tommy?”

He turned to meet your contact, eyebrows raised, air mixing from the proximity. “Hmm?”

“How’d you like some help with stealing that million?”

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Blood Brothers

Thomas Shelby x F! Reader

Summary: Thomas is so in love with her and he believes nothing will ever happen to her.

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings:

Angst, Death, Blood, Gunshots, Suicide, Graphic Depictions.

Inspiration: Brother Joe — Ole 60

True love—Thomas could remember it like it was just yesterday. Meeting her at the Garrison and going a date was one of the few things that made his life better. The memory of that day was seared into his mind, a bright spot in an otherwise dark existence.

Thomas stood alone in the smoky confines of the Garrison, nursing a glass of whiskey that glinted amber in the dim light. The familiar hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses seemed distant, mere background noise to the memories that had come rushing back unbidden. He thought back to the first date, a night that had set the course of his life on a path he could never have anticipated.

It had been a rare warm evening in Small Heath, Birmingham, the air thick with the promise of summer. Thomas, usually so composed and unflappable, had found himself uncharacteristically nervous. He’d dressed carefully, his suit impeccably tailored, his cap perched at a rakish angle. Yet, as he approached her door, he felt his heart pound in a way it never had, not even in the most perilous of situations.

She had answered the door with a smile that stole his breath away. Her dress, simple yet elegant, accentuated her natural beauty in a way that left him momentarily speechless. He had fumbled for words, his usual eloquence deserting him. “Good evenin’,” he managed, his voice sounding strangely foreign to his own ears.

“Good evening, Thomas,” she had replied, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that drew him in like a moth to a flame. “Are you ready for our night out?”

He had nodded, offering his arm with a gallant flourish that felt both archaic and perfectly right. “Shall we?” he said, his nerves momentarily soothed by the touch of her hand on his arm.

They had walked through the bustling streets of Small Heath, the sounds of the city creating a symphony that seemed to underscore the importance of the evening. Thomas had taken her to a small, intimate restaurant, one he knew would provide the perfect backdrop for their first date. The proprietor, an old friend, had greeted them warmly, ensuring they were seated at the best table, tucked away in a quiet corner. As they perused the menu, Thomas found himself sweating, a fine sheen of perspiration gathering at his temples. He cursed inwardly, wishing for the easy confidence he displayed in every other aspect of his life. But here, with her, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that both terrified and exhilarated him.

She had seemed to sense his discomfort, her laughter light and musical as she reached across the table to touch his hand. “Thomas, it’s just dinner,” she said, her eyes meeting his with a reassurance that steadied him. “No need to be nervous.”

He had laughed then, a genuine sound that felt like a release. “I know,” he admitted, squeezing her hand gently. “It’s just… I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”

Her cheeks had flushed a delicate pink, her smile widening. “You flatter me, Mr. Shelby.”

“It’s no flattery,” he had replied earnestly. “Just the truth.”

The evening had unfolded like a dream, each moment etched into his memory with a clarity that defied time. They had talked for hours, sharing stories of their lives, their hopes, and their fears. He learned that she had a sharp wit and a keen intelligence, traits that only deepened his attraction. She, in turn, seemed genuinely interested in his life, his ambitions, and the shadows that sometimes darkened his gaze.

After dinner, they had walked back through the streets, the night air cooling the lingering heat of the day. The city felt different, almost magical, transformed by the connection they had forged. When they reached her door, Thomas had paused, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. He wanted to kiss her, to seal the promise of the night with a touch that would convey everything words could not.

She had smiled, reading his thoughts with an ease that unnerved him. “Goodnight, Thomas,” she said softly, stepping closer. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice a low murmur. And then, gathering his courage, he had leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was both tender and electric. She had responded with a sweetness that left him breathless, her hand resting gently on his chest.

When they parted, he had looked into her eyes, seeing a future there that both thrilled and terrified him. “I’ll see you again?” he asked, his voice betraying the depth of his desire.

She had nodded, her smile lighting up the darkness. “Yes, Thomas. You will.”

As he walked away, the night closing in around him, Thomas had felt a sense of hope and possibility that had long eluded him. He knew that he had found something rare and precious, something worth fighting for.

Back in the present, Thomas took a deep sip of his whiskey, the burn of the liquor grounding him. He had never been a man to dwell on the past, but tonight, the memories seemed to demand his attention. He thought of the woman who had changed everything, the woman whose love had become the anchor in his tumultuous life.

“Thomas,” a familiar voice broke through his reverie. It was Arthur, his brother, looking at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “You all right?”

Thomas nodded, setting his glass down with a decisive clink. “Just thinkin’, Arthur. About the past, and the future.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a rare moment of insight crossing his rugged features. “Thinkin’ about her, eh? She’s somethin’ special, that one.”

“Yes, she is,” Thomas agreed, a faint smile touching his lips. “She’s the reason I keep fightin’, keep pushin’ forward.”

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Well, you’ve got us behind you, Tommy. Always.”

“I know,” Thomas replied, his voice steady with conviction. “And with her by my side, there’s nothin’ we can’t face.”

As the night wore on, Thomas found a renewed sense of purpose. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he also knew that he was not alone. With his family and the woman he loved, he was ready to face whatever the future held. For now, he would cherish the memory of their first date, a reminder of the love that had blossomed against all odds. It was a love that had transformed him, given him hope, and made him believe in a future worth fighting for.

And so, as the last patrons filtered out of the Garrison and the bar quieted, Thomas Shelby allowed himself a moment of peace. He raised his glass in a silent toast to the woman who had changed his life, and to the promise of all that was yet to come.

His mind drifted back to the past once again, to the years that had flown by like leaves in the wind. He thought of his children, of the laughter and joy they brought into his life despite the darkness that often surrounded him. The image of their innocent faces brought a rare, genuine smile to his lips. And then, as if conjured by the music, his thoughts turned to her.

A few years had passed since they first started talking about having children, and now, their home echoed with the laughter and cries of two little ones. His heart clenched at the memory of their births, the overwhelming surge of love and responsibility that had washed over him the moment he held them for the first time.

“Tommy?” Her voice, soft and steady, brought him back to the present. She stood a few paces behind him, wrapped in a woolen shawl against the night’s chill. Her presence was a grounding force, a beacon of warmth and stability in his often tumultuous world.

He turned to face her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the weight on his mind. “What are you doin’ out here, love? It’s cold.”

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, stepping closer. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d find you thinkin’ out here.”

Thomas chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Aye, well, you know me too well.”

She reached out, her hand finding his in the darkness. “What’s on your mind?”

His breathing slowly calmed down and he pulled her in a tight embrace as his hands snaked around her waist. “Just the business, love”

The warmth of her body and the subtle scent of her perfume filled his senses, grounding him in the moment. His hands rested on her stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath. She leaned back into him, tilting her head slightly to rest against his shoulder. Thomas could see the soft curve of her neck, an invitation he couldn’t resist. He lowered his head, brushing his lips against her ear, and whispered, "You know I love you, _______”

Her smile was small but genuine, her eyes closing as she savored the closeness. "I know, Thomas," she replied softly, her voice filled with affection. "I love you too."

Thomas tightened his hold on her, pulling her even closer. His hands moved from her waist to her hips, holding her firmly but tenderly. He bent his head further, his breath warm against her skin, and began to place gentle, lingering kisses along the nape of her neck. Each kiss was a silent promise, a testament to the depth of his love and the bond they shared. She shivered slightly under his touch, her hands coming up to rest on top of his. She turned her head just enough so that their cheeks brushed together, her lips tantalizingly close to his. Thomas moved one hand from her hip to her chin, guiding her face towards his. Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss, full of the unspoken emotions that words could never fully capture.

He kissed her deeply, savoring the taste of her lips and the softness of her skin. His other hand remained on her hip, anchoring them both in the moment. She responded with equal fervor, her hands slipping behind her to grip the back of his neck, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as their need for each other intensified. Thomas's hand moved from her chin to cradle her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. He kissed her with an urgency that spoke of all the times they had been apart, all the dangers they had faced, and all the love that had brought them back together.

She turned in his arms, wanting to face him fully. Their kiss broke only for a moment, their breaths mingling as they gazed into each other's eyes. There was a fire in Thomas’s eyes, a raw intensity that made her heart race. He captured her lips once more, his kiss fervent and consuming.

Thomas sat at his mahogany desk, sorting through papers and signing certain things that needed his signature. It was a task that gnawed at him with the persistence of an old wound.

He strode purposefully towards the storage room, the heels of his polished boots clicking against the wooden floor. The room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners, and the faint smell of old books and dust filled the air. Thomas reached for the heavy black phone mounted on the wall, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand. He dialed the familiar number, each rotation of the dial bringing him closer to the sound of her voice.

"Hello?" Her voice, soft and melodic, crackled through the line.

"It's me," Thomas said, his voice low and steady, the Birmingham lilt unmistakable. "I'll be a bit late tonight. There's something I need to finish here first."

There was a pause on the other end, a hesitation that spoke volumes. "Alright, Tommy. Just be careful, please."

Thomas felt a pang of guilt. She always worried about him, knew the dangers that lurked in every shadow of his world. "I will," he promised, though he knew it was a promise he might not always be able to keep. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll see you soon."

He hung up the phone, the finality of the click resonating in the silence. For a moment, he stood there, his hand lingering on the receiver, his mind drifting back to the days when life was simpler. A song she had sung to him to help him sleep was weaving its way through his thoughts, pulling him back to a time when his only concerns were the next race, the next deal, the next drink. Thomas shook himself from his reverie and turned to the task at hand. He needed to go through the inventory, ensure that everything was accounted for and ready for the next shipment. It was a mundane task, but one that required his meticulous attention to detail.

The old rotary phone in the corner of Thomas Shelby's dimly lit office began to ring. The sound, usually a harbinger of business or bad news, was a jarring intrusion into the rare tranquility he had found that evening. Thomas was in the midst of humming an old gospel hymn he had learned from his sweet, sweet _______ a rare moment of sentimentality for the man known more for his ruthlessness than his piety.

“Nearer, my God, to Thee,” he sang softly, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the sparse room. The hymn was a link to a past long buried under layers of soot and blood, a memory of a simpler time after the war, during the Peaky Blinders, while everything had become so damned complicated.

The phone's incessant ringing persisted, pulling Thomas back to the present. With a sigh, he stood and crossed the room, his footsteps heavy against the worn wooden floor. He glanced at the caller ID, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he recognized the number. It was the Bobbie’s office.

He picked up the receiver, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his thoughts. "Thomas Shelby speaking," he said, his voice steady but with an edge of impatience.

The call had come just as dusk was settling, the sky outside painted in hues of deep blue and purple. The voice on the other end, urgent and breathless, delivered news that made his blood run cold. "Mr. Shelby, sir, it's the parsonage... someone broke in. The neighbors heard poppin’…”

Before the lady on the other end could finish, Thomas felt his knees buckle. He clutched the edge of his desk for support, the world around him spinning. "Caught him... two broken locks and three little bodies... and _______”

My sweet, sweet _______

The receiver slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. For a moment, he stood there, paralyzed by the weight of the words that hung in the air. His mind raced, memories of her laughter, her touch, her warmth, flooding him like a tidal wave. The image of her lifeless body, of the innocent children who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, seared into his consciousness.

With a guttural cry, Thomas sank to his knees, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as he fought to regain control. The room felt stifling, the air thick with a suffocating silence. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand, to think, to act.

The caller on the phone spoke once more; “Were sending a Bobbie to come talk to you…” The line went silent.

Thomas Shelby sat alone in his dimly lit office, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. The events of the past few hours had taken their toll on him, and he found himself at a crossroads, unsure of which path to take. The image of his wife, _______, lying lifeless on the ground flashed before his eyes, and he clenched his fists in anger and frustration.

He knew that he was a man that would hurt anyone but circumstances had pushed him to the brink. He believed that he needed to leave a bullet in a man's head to set things right, to protect his family and his empire. He knew that come the risen sun, it would all be said and done, and he would have to live with the consequences of his actions.

With a heavy heart, Thomas reached for the gun that lay on his desk, its cold steel sending a shiver down his spine. He didn't want to do this, but he felt that he had no choice. Tears welled up in his eyes as he pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple, the weight of his decisions bearing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Jesus wept," he whispered, the words catching in his throat. What the hell was all this for? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. With a steady hand, he pulled the trigger, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the empty room.

As Thomas fell to the floor, his lifeless body hitting the ground with a thud, his soul began its journey home. Home to his three boys and his sweet _______, the only light in his dark world. His sweet _______, who had stood by him through thick and thin, who had been his rock in times of trouble.

Thomas Shelby was gone, but his legacy would live on, a testament to the man he had been and the choices he had made. And somewhere, in the great beyond, his soul found peace, reunited with those he had lost along the way.

Author’s Notes:

Btw the places he’s in are jumping all over for a reason!

If I ruined your night and that was the plan I’m not sorry. I honestly do recommend listening to what they have out it’s so good. Peace and cheers my babies! Ole’ 60!!

[veeisdunn]

You and me

part II -- Distractions

Tommy & Finn Shelby x sister!reader

warning: character self harm, suicide attempt

WC: 2.5K

MASTERLIST

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The front door clicked behind Finn and he sighed. Peace at last. He had gotten out of his obligations at the shop early due to his twin feeling under the weather. At least, that's what you'd told him.

The air in the house was stagnant. He expected you to be rushing to greet him. 

Y/N is sick, you idiot.

He peered upstairs, your door was wide open. You weren't there.

"Y/N?" He called out. Silence followed by a chair scraping across the stone floor. You were in the kitchen with the door shut. 

Finn took his coat and hat off, hanging them up by the entrance way before swinging the kitchen door open without warning.

He was hit with a metallic stench, mixed with the salt of fresh tears. Blood. His eyes darted and fell on his sister. You stood in the corner, wearing one of Arthur's old knitted jumpers, your eyes laced with pure fear.

You tried to open your mouth, but your lips trembled and nothing came out.

"Y/N! What the bloody hell happened?" He demanded, perhaps a little too harshly. He walked over to you in an attempt to drag you out of the corner, his mind racing. Did someone break in? Is she hurt? Did someone hurt her?! His thoughts all ceased when he touched your sleeve and realised it was sticky and soggy. 

"Finn. Leave" Your voice croaked, strained by your previous cries and wails, all of which went unheard.

He looked down to see his hand stained red from the dark stain on your sleeve. The blood, your blood, seeping into the crevasses of his skin. Finn went to raise your sleeve but you recoiled, somehow pushing your body deeper into the corner. He stood over you, trapping you.

Finn's eyes darted around the room. And that's when he saw it. A razor blade on the kitchen table, covered in fresh blood. No doubt stolen from one of their caps.

You let out a small whine once you were certain he knew. Finn stepped back, visibly disturbed. "Show me."

"Finn, please… Leave." you begged, repeating yourself, tears streaming down your sullen cheeks.

He ignored you and forcefully pushed up your sleeve. You winced out in pain as he winced with horror. Your wrist was unrecognisable, it was absolutely destroyed. There was barely any skin left to see due to the blood pouring from the vertical slices.

Finn thought he was used to seeing blood. He had become a fully-fledged peaky blinder after the death of their brother John, however nothing could have prepared him for the blood of his sister spilling out in their own home.

Wordlessly, he grabbed a tea towel and pressed it into your arm. You sobbed and your knees buckled. Finn was speechless.

"I have to call someone, Y/N" He spoke, his tone giving off both anger and sorrow "I don't know what to do."

"No, no don’t. I can deal with it." You sobbed, pleading with him desperately. 

He ignored you and grabbed the phone that was on the wall, putting in the number for the company offices. You tried to grab the phone from him but he turned his body away, keeping his other hand firmly over the towel on your wrist. 

One of the young assistants picked up the phone.

"It's Finn Shelby. Whose in? I need to speak to family." He demanded hastily

"One moment Mr Shelby." a calm voice spoke on the other end "The only family in the office is Mr Thomas Shelby"

You shook your head furiously, silently begging as you choked on your tears. Finn ignored you.

"Put me through"

click

"Hello? Who's this?" Tommy's voice was gruff and tired

"Tommy, I need help. Y/N's hurt." Finn blurted out, immediately getting his older brother’s attention. 

"Where are you?" He demanded, his voice switching to fully alert. "What the fuck happened?"

"Home. She cut herself Tommy, really really badly." He spluttered. You tried to fight against his grip so you could escape, but he used his body weight to push you into the wall.

A muffled slam came through the other end of the phone and the line went dead. He'd be there in a matter of minutes.

Looking back down at you, he could almost smell the fear. Finn had never dealt with anything like this before. Sure, his siblings had other addictions but this was different. Your gaze refused to meet him, you had rarely seen Finn appear this pissed.

“Just leave. I know you’re angry. I can’t deal with two of you mad with me” You begged, your voice cracking.

“No” Finn quipped, force in his voice. “I’m not angry. I just don’t know what to do.” He was being painfully honest, “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to get out.” You blurted back, unable to recognise his confusion and desperation due to the racing of your thoughts.

“Y/N,” he interrupted, “I’m not leaving you.”

You let out a pained sniffle and he began to crack. Finn tried so hard to put on a tough act but you were making it impossible. He hadn’t cried since John’s funeral. Without warning, he pulled you into his chest, keeping one hand over your arm. He buried his head into your hair in an attempt to hide his sobs. He’d already lost one sibling this year and he couldn't lose another - but the young man was so confused. Why the hell would she do this?

There was a brief moment of silence before the front door swung open forcefully, slamming into the wall with the force of an explosion. your body convulsed as you tried to fight out of Finn’s grip, only making him hold on tighter. 

Tommy ran to the pair and rested his hand on Finn’s shoulder, prompting him to pull away, leaving you to lean against the brick wall, a shaking mess. It was a foreign sight for both men, who were used to seeing their sister’s tough facade. Tommy took Finn’s place in front of you which allowed Finn to lean up against the door and process what the hell had just happened, putting his head in his blood-covered hands.

Tommy’s new perspective highlighted the severity of the situation. There was blood everywhere. Floor, walls, both of the twins, and now himself. You cried out with paralysing fear and pain as your older brother lifted the towel off wrist to inspect the damage. He winced and took a sharp inward breath, before grabbing a fresh towel from the shelf above you and applying more pressure to your injury.

“I’m gonna clean you up, eh? You don’t need to say anything, just sit down” 

“Finn, get me the first aid kit from under the sink and some whisky.” The elder brother ordered, but spoke with a cautiously soft tone, sensing that his youngest brother was on the edge of breaking, tears free falling down his cheeks. He hadn’t been seen crying like this since he was a child.

Tommy turned back to face you. “Love, look at me.”

You obliged, your eyes shaking in their sockets.

You nodded, gratefully, and slid down the wall to the floor. Finn came back over to you both with the supplies his brother requested.

Tommy popped open the bottle. You bit your lip in anticipation of the pain.

“I’m sorry love. It’s gonna sting a little.” He warned. The second the cold liquid hit your skin, your entire body shook. Finn instinctively reached over to grab your other hand. 

Tommy then wiped away the blood, getting a clearer view of what you had done. The cuts were deep and vertically running from your wrist downwards. He had never seen anyone cut themselves in this manner. Was she just trying to hurt herself or was she-? 

He hastily opened one of the drawers above where the Shelby twins were collapsed in a ball to pull out the sewing kit. He knew deep down he should get a doctor, but he also knew that you were in no state to deal with anymore people around you. Tommy had ample experience stitching his friends up in the trenches, or his men after fights - but this was different. He desperately didn’t want to hurt you or make the scarring worse. 

His thoughts were interrupted with your head dropping to look at the floor while you let out gut-wrenching sobs. Finn crawled over, practically on top of you, and pulled you in for another embrace, Tommy still gripping your injured arm. She’s gonna need stitches.

He let out a deep sigh. “Y/N, I’n going to have to sew you up.” You tried to retract your arm but Tommy’s grip was too strong. Finn held onto you tighter. “Let him help you.” He whispered into your ear. You didn’t respond.

Tommy trusted Finn to hold you down. He took a needle and a thin piece of thread out, dipping them both in the bottle of whisky. Only one cut looked like it needed stitches, doing the others would risk tearing your skin. He bent the needle into a half-moon shape, just as he’d been shown many years ago by an army medic.

Without warning, the alcohol soaked needle penetrated your tender skin, knotting the end of your cut together. You let out a cry, though it was muffled partially by Finn’s waistcoat. Fin on the other hand was letting out audible sobs that echoed throughout the room.

Perhaps he could feel it, Tommy thought. Polly always said they could feel each other's pain- gypsy magic.

“Nearly done.” Tommy mumbled, mainly to himself. “Nearly finished.” He reached the end of the cut, near the inside of your elbow, and finished it off with another knot. After cutting the thread he poured the rest of the whisky on top of your arm. Finn cautiously looked down and inspected the neat row of stitches which were doing a successful job of stopping the flow of blood. 

“It’s ok. He’s all finished, yeah? You did so well.” Finn spoke softly into your ear, you just sniffled in response.

“Can you wrap her up, Finn? I need to wash my hands.” Tommy gestured down to his dripping red hands. Finn wordlessly released his embrace and picked up the bandage from the first aid kit. He delicately wrapped the cream fabric around your arm, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Cmon. Living room. We need to talk.” Tommy spoke quietly, walking out of the room.

Finn looked down to you. Was she always this small? He stood up slowly and pulled you up, using the wall to support you. Your silence was scaring him, you hadn’t spoken a word since Tom’s arrival.

In the living room, the older brother chucked wood into the fire (a fleeting attempt at releasing his anger) and lit it with the lighter from his pocket. The quaint orange flame quickly engulfed the bark, exploding into a waltz of embers. Satisfied, he sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at the open door. In the corner of his eyes, Tommy saw a yellow envelope on the table, confirming his fears. She’d left a suicide note. Wordlessly, he took it and slipped it into his blazer pocket. Finn emerged from the kitchen, his hand on your back, practically pushing you into the room.

“Sit.” Tommy gestured to the sofa opposite them.

He cleared his throat, looking at his two youngest siblings, the innocent ones. 

“Y/N. Before we get into how you’re feeling, I need to ask, is that the first time this has happened?” Tommy asked, using his stoic business voice to hide his sorrow.

Wordlessly, you shook your head.

“When did this start?” Finn asked softly, caressing the bandage on your wrist.

“I - I’m really sorry.” You croaked.

“Y/N. When did this start?” Tommy asked with more force in his voice.

“A few years ago.” You whispered in shame. “But it’s been on and off.”

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” Tommy asked, refusing to skate around the issue. Finn’s eyes widened in horror as he looked over at Tommy. He hadn’t allowed the thought to cross his mind.

Again, you shook your head silently, this time lying. Tommy pulled the note out of his pocket and left it on the table in front of you both. Finn’s face dropped as his breathing began to shake. He thought he was going to be sick. He couldn’t imagine a second without you - his literal other half. “What the fuck?” he half cried, half shouted. “You seriously were going to leave me?” You burst into tears.

“Ay, both of yous.” Tommy spoke up “Finn, don’t shout.”

“You were going to leave me.” Tommy felt seriously out of his depth, watching Finn cry out while you sobbed, shifting away from him.

“Why?” Finn begged, holding onto your shoulders. Tommy sat back and allowed them to talk, after all, he was double their ages and didn’t feel qualified to comfort either of them. “I know you struggle with depression, but we talk-” Finn cut himself off, knowing full well that since John’s death and his official inauguration into the Peaky Blinders, your once frequent talks had ceased. “I’m sorry Y/N, I’m so so sorry.” He wept “this is all my fault.”

“No blame game.” Tommy cut in, “Y/N, what’s going on inside that head of yours, ey?” He dropped his serious-Mr-Shelby voice in favour of his caring brother-Tommy tones.

“I just, I feel so empty and alone. I’m such a deadweight. I can’t do anything except make people sad.” The words freely tumbled from your mouth before you even had a chance to register them. “I can’t go on like this, but I don’t want to hurt you guys more.” 

Finn once again grabbed you and pulled you into a hug.

“Chin up, look at me.” Both of you looked up at their elder brother, Finn squeezing your hand so tight his knuckles were white.

“Did you seriously think this would solve anything? Finn needs you, Arthur needs you, Ada, Polly, me” Tommy spoke, not caring that his words might have seemed harsh. This tactic worked on Arthur in the Garrison, it would hopefully work again.

“This ends today.” Tommy ordered, “No more suffering in silence, you are to come to one of us next time you feel these urges. I’m sure Finn will keep close watch on you and we will be checking your body for cuts daily.”

Finn hummed in response, siffling down his tears. “It’s you and me, remember?” He spoke softly, recalling when you were both just kids during the war.

You both sat on the wall at the bank of the cut, your little legs hanging over the edge. “It’s you and me, Y/N.” Finn spoke out suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Us against the world.” You smiled, gazing off into the distance.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part II -- distractions

please drop me a comment or message with any feedback or suggestions! I'd love to hear from you ♡

Vee x

MASTERLIST

[just-a-casual-newtasaur]

Bloody lip

Bloody lip (Newt x Reader)

Word Count: 858 words

Warnings: BLOOD, VIOLENCE (sorry for the caps, just wanna make sure y’all know), kissing, jealousy.

Summary: when Gally find out you and Newt are dating you find him less than happy.

(Tysm to, Anonymous for giving the request for this piece! I’m really grateful, this was very fun to write)

you sit next to your best friend, and he watches you closely, his eyes narrowed. “What?” you ask, annoyed.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at him.” he jerks his head toward the blond boy, laughing with two others, you had indeed been watching.

“Why”

Gally narrows his eyes, “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anyone Gally” you sigh. he grins, “you know me so well.”

“I should hope so.” you stand up, “I’m off to get some food.”

you feel Gally’s eyes on the back of your head as you move meaningfully past the boys.

the blond boy’s eyes meet yours and you flit your eyes to the side. understanding shows in his face and you hear him making an excuse to his friends as you walk off.

you sit on a counter of frypan’s kitchen, waiting for the boy you knew would come. after a moment or two Newt slips through the door, smiling as he sees you. “Hey” he moves towards you.

“How are you”

“Tired.” he sighs a little.

“Too tired to keep meeting me”

he grins, “you know I’ll never be too tired to meet you.”

you share a kiss before Newt clears his throat. “Listen y/n, I think you need to tell Gally about us, he’s pretty much like your brother and he deserves to know”

“Are you kidding, he’d snap you in half.”

Newt laughs quietly, but you keep a serious face, and Newt’s laugh fades.

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, alright.” you say, moving closer to him.

“Bit too late for that now.” you jump away form Newt at the sound of Gally’s voice.

“Oh, Gally, hi” you blush furiously.

Gally’s face is stoney he’s looking at Newt as though he would like to rip him limb from limb.

“Uhm, what are you doing here”

“Don’t act dumb y/n, I’ve been standing here for longer than you think. I’m not stupid, it’s not like I didn’t notice how you both decide to leave at the same time.”

“Listen, Gally.” Newt steps towards him, “me and y/n are just friends, good friends that’s it”

“Oh, Oh” Gally puts his hands on his hips in mock understanding, “Yes, good friends, good friends who kiss each other?”

Newt’s face turns steadily red and he doesn’t answer. “Look, Gally, we didn’t want to tell you because we thought you’d be jealous but me and Newt are dating”

Gally smiles very exaggeratedly and nods making little “oh” sounds. then he grabs Newt, drags him out of the room and throws him into the ground.

you shout in surprise and rush after the pair, seeing Newt trying to get to his feet, wincing in pain. Gally kicks him in the chest, pushing him onto the ground. he kneels beside him and puts his face and inch away form his, “stay away from y/n, you hear me, stay away from her or I’ll break every bone in your body and feed you to a griever.

Newt shrinks away from him, still trying to stand up, but keeping getting pushed down by Gally. “you hear me, blondie.”

Newt shakes his head, “no Gally, you can’t do this”

“Watch me”

he draws back a fist and punches him so hard blood splatters the grass around him. Newt holds his bleeding nose in his hands. you try to rush towards him but you are stopped by Gally’s arm.

“I said you hear me, blondie”

Newt shakes his head again, still looking defiant. Gally swings back his arm again, and punches Newt harder in the face. when he draws back his fist again it’s coated in blood and one of Newts eyes is pressed shut.

“Gally stop”

“I’ll stop when he understands me”

he turned back to Newt, let’s try one more time, “do..you..understand..me……blondie.”

Newt raised his chin in constant defiance, shaking his head and spitting blood out of his mouth onto Gally’s shoe.

Gally draws back his fist again but is stopped before he can punch. he turns to see Thomas holding onto his arm with Minho at his shoulder.

as Gally starts a heated talk with the boys you kneel beside Newt, who’s still cupping his hands over his bleeding lip.

“We need to get you to a medjack.” he nods, letting you help him to his feet. you walk together, seeing the disgusting look Gally throws Newt as you pass.

“Newt,” he looks sideways at you, “thank you, I can’t believe you let yourself get punched to stay with me”

he smiles at you, spitting blood out his mouth before his answers, “of course, I love you, I’m not letting you go for what, a couple scratches and a bruised eye.

“It’s a little more than a couple of scratches but, I appreciate it”

you move towards him and kiss him, not caring when the metallic tang of blood seeps into your mouth.

you don’t know how long you stay there only that the whole time, Gally stares daggers at the two of you, possibly planning the things he would do to Newt next time he got him on his own…

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 2: Employed By Criminals

I can’t stand waiting any longer. I’ve been in my new room for what seems like an hour and no one has come to give any further instructions. The time I took to settle in only lasted five minutes, considering all my possessions fit in a small suitcase. So, I decide now I will explore.

I peek through the keyhole and find the kitchen outside to be empty. After opening the door I stick my head out to survey again. Still empty. Where is everyone? The least I can do now is to prepare dinner. After scavenging the kitchen I find some vegetables and spices to work with. No meat, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself around looking for the meat cellar. After I’ve started boiling water and mixed in some herbs I begin to chop the vegetables.

“You’re back,” Finn states as he enters from another side door, looking at the pot with new-found interest. “What’s that?”

“Dinner. Oh, since I didn’t get a good chance to introduce myself, my name’s Verena. Just so you know. Your aunt hired me to be your tutor.”

Finn scrunches his face in dislike. “Ugh. That again? Aunt Polly knows I hate reading!”

“What do you enjoy instead?” I try to sound optimistic as I peel the carrots.

“I like math better, like the math Tommy does for the business. Reading’s too complicated.”

“Not necessarily. What have you read before?”

“The Wind In The Willows, Peter Rabbit, all that kids stuff.”

“Well then it seems to me that you just need to find content you enjoy. Fiction may not be your choice, but you might like books of science, philosophy, or social issues. Have you heard of the Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy by Isaac Newton, or Relativity: The Special and General Theory by Albert Einstein? Maybe The Jungle by Upton Sinclair? Actually-” I set down my knife and rush to my room, returning with a book from my suitcase. “I brought this with me on vacation for light reading.” I hand the curious child the worn book. “It’s the Common Sense pamphlet by Thomas Paine. It’s American, but I’m sure it’s much more interesting than Peter Rabbit.”

Finn apprehensively scans the first page, and I can’t hide my growing smile as a look of interest begins to spread on his face. He starts reading, wandering down the hall while not looking up once. Maybe I’ll make a good tutor after all.

“Alright, enough chatter. Let’s eat.” An approaching voice speaks.

I go back to chopping carrots and don’t bother to look up until the voice speaks again.

“Who are you?”

When I lift my gaze to find the voice’s source, a pair of icy blue eyes are peering into me. The eyes belong to a man with a well-sculpted face that shows both stern and commanding intentions. He’s wearing gray trousers, black dress shoes, white shirt and gray vest, as well as a flat cap that John was wearing earlier. He’s also smoking a cigarette, which has brought a foul stench along with it.

“Who let you in here?” The man asks, not even waiting for me to answer his first question.

“Polly did. Pleasure to meet you-”

“But you can’t be here. I’ll have to talk to her.” Then he walks off and starts pouring himself some water, and I faintly hear him mutter: “We don’t take in strays.”

Excuse me? Since when does this guy get to treat me like dirt? Maybe it’s the American mutt temper, but I’ve got the urge to give him a piece of my mind!

I lean against the counter and look up with rebellious eyes. “Gotta say, your accent is a bit on the tricky side. Mind saying that again?”

The man seems taken back by the tone of my voice, as if he’s not used to people being sassy with him. He’s quick to regain his posture and has a smirk growing on his lips.

“And I’ll say that your American accent is downright pathetic compared to ours. You lot still never got over being independent, did you? Gotta flaunt it about in all our faces!”

My jaw drops. “I never even mentioned that! I think you’re the one holding a grudge based on a war you weren’t even a part of!” He tries to interrupt but I keep talking. “And for the record, we Americans are current allies with you. So instead of arguing about something that happened a hundred and forty years ago, I say we uphold each country’s honor and talk as if we’re on the same level. Do you agree?”

The man keeps staring at me, seeming to ponder whether or not to argue again.

“This book is really good!” Finn interrupts the silence from down the hall.

I grin at his enthusiasm and go back to chopping carrots, ignoring the man’s blank stare.

“Polly said you know Finn, my new student.”

His eyes flick upwards to find mine again. “Pardon?”

“I’m his tutor, or at least I have been for the past hour. Polly hired me, so that’s why I’m here.”

“Interesting…”

Now he’s looking at me in a different manner, as if sizing me up as a potential threat. Why would he do that? The man slowly walks around the counter towards me and removes his cap, allowing me to see he has dark hair in a style similar to Finn’s. He turns it over and sets it on the counter, as if he wants me to get a closer look. What I do I notice it’s got something shiny peeking out of the brim.

“What’s with the custom hat? It’s made of metal, or something?”

The man simply chuckles and holds back the fabric to show- razors?

“You sew razor blades into your hat? Now I’ve heard everything! And I thought Americans were crazy!”

“Is that soup I smell?” Another voice comes from the same way the man came. Another man enters the room and I recognize him as John. When he sees us, his eyes acquire a hint of uncertainty. “Thomas, I see you’ve met Verena. Polly was just telling me about her.”

So this is the Thomas I was warned about? I guess Polly wasn’t kidding when she said he was ruff. 

“Not officially, John. She was just telling about how Polly hired her to teach Finn. May I ask why?”

“Polly says it’s because he needs a proper education. Not one that’s only taught through bookkeeping. Can’t say I blame her. When’s the last time any of us actually sat down with him and taught him something?”

Thomas shrugs. “If he’s going to be part of the Blinders he’ll learn all he needs to know by watching us.”

The name sends a chill down my spine and I snap to attention.

“Wait- Blinders? As in Peaky Blinders…? Oh my God.” I look back and forth between Thomas and John, still holding the knife. “Shelby! That’s the name! Shelby! I’ve heard things about you, what kind of a man you are! Excuse me, but I do not want to be involved with anything surrounding you!”

I grip the knife and dash for the hallway, yanking on the door handle only to find it’s locked. Panicking, I stand in the corner with the knife held out as Thomas Shelby struts towards me- holding a pistol!

“Please, don’t kill me! I have nothing to offer! You’d just be wasting a bullet!”

There’s no answer, only Thomas looking at me with cold eyes.

“Verena! Verena! Polly, where'd she go?” Finn’s voice comes from down the hall. He turns his head and sees me, with a wide grin on his face. God, I can’t let him see me get killed!

“Finn…? Finn! Did you finish your reading?” I speak in a quivering voice.

“Almost. I’ve only got a few more pages.”

I nod shakily still looking between Finn and Thomas, who’s looking at him while still holding the gun up. “Alright, go and finish up and then I’ll be right over.”

Finn heads back into his room, and I look up to glare into Thomas’ calculating eyes. “I swear to God, if you so much as lay a finger on that boy-!”

“You’ll what?” Thomas asks in a laid-back manner. “A moment ago you were begging for me not to kill you. Now you’re threatening me not to kill my own brother?”

My mind stops. “Brother…? He’s your brother? Oh…” I shamefully look to the floor, cursing myself in my head for making such a stupid mistake. “But you’ll still kill me.”

The next few quiet seconds are so suspenseful I swear I can hear my own heart beating. I dare to look back up at Thomas, who now shakes his head.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

My brow furrows at his words. “This means I’m fired then, doesn’t it?”

By now John’s entered the hallway and comes over to stand in front of Thomas.

“Why would we fire you? From what Polly’s told me and what we’ve seen here, you haven’t given us any reason to fire you.”

“But my question is-” Thomas steps forward. “Can she be trusted? How do we know she’s loyal to us?”

I bite my lip and lower the knife I’m holding. “With all due respect sir, you’re technically my employer. That and the fact that you’re temporarily housing me gives me enough reason to be loyal. And if for whatever reason in the future I might not be, you can kick me to the dirt.”

Both men exchange looks, seeming to have a silent conversation while I stand here awkwardly. Eventually John gestures for Thomas to put away the gun, who seems to have forgotten he had it out.

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Thomas says in a lighter tone. “What was your name again?”

Now that he’s not holding a gun at me, Thomas actually seems decent. I might dare to even call him handsome. Remember, this is your boss now. Keep it professional. Don’t lose your head.

I stand up straighter and hold out a hand to shake his. “Verena Nora Steenstra. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.” I turn to John and shake his hand too. “You as well, Mr. Shelby. I was told by Polly to wait for any further instructions. In the meantime there is soup in the pot if you’re interested.”

“Wait.” Thomas gets an odd look. “You… made dinner? Why?”

Now that I have more leverage, I hold my breath to squeeze past the two men and back into the kitchen. “I had nothing else to do, and it’s the least I can do since you’ve allowed me into your home.”

Just then, Polly comes into the room. She hesitates when she sees us, giving John and Thomas a certain look. Then she sees the pot on the stove.

“Who cooked? Ada hasn’t made anything in weeks.”

The two men look at each other, then point to me. Polly seems impressed.

“You appear to be a lady of many talents, Ms. Steenstra.”

My face goes pink at her praise and I busy myself by stirring the soup. “I know my way around the kitchen. My family thinks it’s proper for me to be a suitable housewife, so that’s what I’ve been expected to do my whole life. Cooking, baking, sewing, the works. In all honesty, this is the first real job I’ve ever had.”

When I turn back to them, they’re all sitting at the table and appear to all be whispering something. Thomas is the one to speak first.

“So you’re from America, and for the moment you are stuck here?”

“Correct.”

He nods slowly. “Welcome to Birmingham, Ms. Steenstra. Here’s exactly what you’re getting yourself into, love. My family runs a bookkeeping business, and we do our part to keep a close eye on the authorities. People know better not to mess with us.”

“Bookkeeping, like gambling?”

“Correct.”

Dear Lord, I’ve become involved with criminals!

Polly seems to catch onto my panicked thoughts. “You need not worry about being caught up with our work. You’ll only be interacting with Finn.” Polly’s eyes narrow. “If anyone asks, you’re a private tutor and only a private tutor. Do not go asking too many questions.”

I nod shakily and wring my hands together. “Seems to me like a world made up of gambling, drinking, and violence.” I shake my head and give her a skeptical look. “That doesn’t seem like a world I want to be involved in.”

“You won’t have to, and I suggest you don’t.”

By now Finn’s returned and is sitting next to John, but he’s not the only one who’s entered. Over the past few minutes a man with a mustache and a younger woman with short dark hair wearing a red dress are now standing across from me. Thankfully Polly notices my discomfort.

“Everyone, we need proper introductions. This is Verena Steenstra, and she’s going to be helping Finn with his studies. Verena, you’ve met Finn, Thomas, and John. The final Shelby brother is Arthur over there.” She points to the mustache man. “And Ada’s their sister.” She points to the woman in red.

Wow. The Shelbys are a big family. And suspicious ones at that, because they’re all looking at me as if they’re dogs eyeing a piece of meat.

“Polly, no offense, but I don’t like this,” the one called Arthur grunts. “Who says the bitch won’t tattle to the coppers the instant she leaves? How do you know she isn’t a spy sent by the new bloke?” He jerks his head to see Finn eating my soup and he swipes the bowl. “How do we know this isn’t poisoned?!”

“Because I ate it?” I shrug. “Because unlike most people I’ve met here I actually try to be nice? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

John starts outright laughing, leaving us all giving him funny looks. “You picked out a real winner, Polly! She’s just like the Americans I met during the war!”

Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

[floraltypes]

Show Me

paring - thomas shelby x fem!reader

summary - the shelby can’t help himself when making a business visit

warnings - mature audience only, read with caution! mentions of oral, hint of manipulation, inexperienced reader

In the early mornings of a new day, the sun has just begun its duty to rise while another is attending to his as well. With his cap tightly secured around his head, pockets filled with folded papers, and trousers neatly ironed he makes his way down the cobblestone path. 

A curt knock on the front of a numbered, wooden door brings the man back to reminisce of a time he had done a similar action for a very different reason. From the other side rustling and wandering around could be heard, and he could already picture the flowers beginning to bud around the home. 

“Mr. Shelby,” you gasp, hands fluttering to cover the feathery coverup as the air from the opened door rose the fabric. Your nightgown only goes right to your knees, leaving much of the skin to be now seen, you aren’t wearing stockings underneath and look completely up for devouring. “I wasn’t prepared.”

He can clearly tell and should refrain from letting those eyes wander but they can’t help but to look down. It’s a familiar nightgown, one he bought for you for your birthday after a curt mention of the clothing piece. Catching himself, he turns his head to look out upon the street.

“I came to chat, merely, about business with your father,” the kids are yelling around the streets, kicking some ball, while a dirty cat prances by with a specific hiss to the superior. 

“Oh!” you light up, hands now itching at the hair tied up in pieces of cloth from the attempt at a different curl. “Did you not hear?”

“Hear of what?” he glances back, eyes landing on your own doe-like ones. Your hands are playing with the ends of thread from the coverup, eyes searching anywhere but his own. It makes him realize how refreshing you are. 

“He was supposed to tell you before he left, well, to tell Polly. I did speak to Ada but she seemed preoccupied-”

“Tell me of what?” he cut you off, stepping inside and closing the door shut behind him. 

“That I was the one running the business. It was actually me, in secrecy.”

“You?” he looks down at the soft pout forming on your lightly tainted lips, twirls of hair coming loose, fidgety stance, and sweet pink of your dress mimicking the sweetness you possess. “You have been taking care of your father's plant business?” 

“I know much of nature,” you beam. “Please sit,” you gesture to him to an open seat in the nearby room, only two seats available. “I have tea ready.” 

You rush around the confined kitchen/dining room, pouring the steaming pot into a cup and gathering the limited sugar from the cupboard. Thomas sits gently in an open seat, legs crossed, and glances around the (somehow) nicer-looking kitchen. He never really noticed how much of an effect you had on the things you touched, including your father's business. 

“I read much, sir, especially when the men were away someone had to take over,” you explain, dropping a cube into his drink despite the lack of asking. “I now know much about,” you lean across the table, cupping your hand to his ear, “drugs,” you whispered. 

Thomas coughs, cheeks lighting up, “Who distributes them? You?” he takes another sip to try and cool the unexpectedness of your actions. A man of himself has had his fair accounts with women taking a liking to him, and their boldness, yet someone as you who has held such a place in his heart since childhood was the definition of unexpected. 

“No, father had a partner,” you easily tell him, pushing your dress down. It was always so simple for you to reveal secrets to a man you admire madly. “He picks up the items and sells them ‘imself. Kind fellow actually,” you add.

Thomas plants his feet firmly on the ground, now beginning to inch his chair over towards you. He moves it right beside your own, his knee touching your unclothed one. He picks through his pockets, a crumpled box filled with limited cigarettes. Propping open the box, his fingers picked their way toward a white roll, snugging it in between his pointer and middle finger. 

Your eyes were stuck on where your body was connected, feeling heated at the foreign touch of a man. He slowly looks you up and down, watching your fascination with his actions. “You have a light?” he whispers, words near your ear that you now feel as if those are burning as well. Looking back up your met with his stare, his eyes going back down to gesture to the cigarette between his fingers. 

“Mhm,” it comes out very quietly, hands fumbling towards the middle of the table where a matchbox lies. With a quick flick of the match a spark forms, you move the flame underneath the cigarette, watching the change in color at its end. He moves the stick to his mouth, breathing in largely before letting the smoke fall out. It isn’t surprising to him how your eyes are unable to glance away from his pink lips inhaling the substance.  

“Have you missed me?” Thomas questions, his hand moving to cup your cheeks. “You used to always complain when I went away when we were lads.”

“Of course.”

“Then won’t you show me?”

There is no movement on your part, pure shock at his words showing through the widening of your eyes. 

“Alright then,” he mumbles, pointer finger brushing back and forth against your cheek until his thumb prods at your bottom lip, “Why pretend innocence? You ��ave done this once before.”

“I was nine, my eldest sister said I had to.”

“Did you not like it?”

You carefully take the cigarette from his grip, holding it tight and inhaling it in hopes to calm the bubbling nerves. Smoke falls past your lips and flows towards Thomas’s way. As he steals it back your hands stay motionless and he takes this opportunity to place his lips onto yours. 

It is a soft peck at first, the flavor of tea and smoke mixing with your own on your lips. His mouth opens as yours stayed close, hand still cupping your cheek before you open your lips for his tongue to dive in. The one hand holds the smoke away, focused on discovering your taste. He soon enough pulls away to watch you take a deep breath, eyes hooded, and body inching itself closer to his own. 

He flicks the ash into the small, empty sugar bowl, pressing it towards the bottom to stop the flame. With his now free hand, he moves to the hem of your nightgown, lifting the material and dragging his hand further up your thigh. What his other thumb once did to your cheek he now does to your inner thigh, finger dragging itself across the skin, that same skin heating his once cold hand. 

A small noise forms, where he was once staring down below moves back up towards your expression. Your hands travel underneath his coat, trailing themselves further toward his neck, and kiss him with eagerness. Soon enough your lips are opening themselves on their own, awaiting Tommy to take control once again. He deepens the kiss, that hand now resting on top of your underwear. 

You lift your butt slightly, scooting to feel his hand more. His finger points through the fabric slightly to allow you to feel the tip. “Tommy,” you moan during a break, grabbing onto his muscled arms tightly while he continues his movements below. 

His lips kiss down towards your neck, sucking on the open skin as your pussy keeps trying to move his finger deeper, yearning to feel more friction. You can feel the uplift of his lips on your skin and would imagine the gears turning in his head in regard to his effect on you yet your mind can only focus on one thing. He finds it endearing, exhilarating and entertaining all at once. 

“Do not get greedy,” he tuts, looking down at the mark forming on your skin. “This should be for me, show your gratitude.”

“Anything,” you hum, kissing his cheek where a fresh scar lay. He winces at the touch until the following kisses help him to relax even more in the rickety chair. “Anything for you, Tommy.”

He removes his hand from your pussy and totally removes himself from you. Your eyes are now fully open, looking at him, and a slight pout forms on your lips at the lack of contact. He takes your hand in his own, moving it down toward the top of his trousers. 

“Go ahead, show me,” he commands, your dainty fingers working to pop the button. Instead of continuing to pull them down, he takes charge once again, completing that for you. He guides your hand towards his crotch, placing it on the underwear covering it. “Feel it up, it's your first, ain't it?”

Your hand works, now clutching onto the bulge and letting your fingers be felt through the fabric. Your thumb rubs on the enclosed tip, trying to follow the length up to his waistline, slowly, inquisitive. His hands are now fumbling back with that same crinkled box, searching for another cigarette. Hesitantly you pull his undergarments down, watching as his cock springs to life, the tip hitting his stomach. You continue to feel the head, it's wet with precum and larger than you had imagined. 

“Just like a lolly now. Suck on it.”

He lifts his hand to push down on your bottom lip, opening your mouth. You lean further down, pushing the chair back, and getting onto your knees. You take the tip into your mouth, hollowing while trying to suck it like the sweet treat he told you to imagine it was. Your tongue moves around and eventually takes his cock out in order to kiss it up. 

The cigarette is now lit, placed between his lips as slit eyes peer down at you. He huffs at the smoke, admiring your fascination with his cock. You feel his balls hesitantly and begin to take his cock back into your mouth once again, trying to suck as he once guided before. 

Though it isn’t much, and he has experienced women who could at least take half, it is the fact that you are the one doing it. The only one who could calm the tremors he experienced during the night, the only one he could ever allow his softness to be seen by who wasn’t family. Some may say the Shelby became infatuated with you over the years, but those who would mutter such words knew the consequences they would weep. 

He thrust his hips, cock entering further into your mouth, tears forming in your eyes. Tommy knew he was almost at his point, quickly coming undone, and soon enough - with a grunt - you could feel an unknown liquid drip to the back of your throat. 

He pulled your face away, hands gripping onto your chin and trying to move you closer to his own face. Thomas stared at your fucked out gaze, brain hazy and hands searching for his own. He helped you get seated on the seat once again, liquid dripping onto your laced gown. 

“It’s a bit lonely here,” he looks around the silent home (besides your panting). “Come back to the house with me, see Ada, and we can continue to talk business there.”

“Yes, yes, Tommy,” you nodded, pieces of the cloth had fallen from your hair, allowing the strands to dangle. “I have to change.”

“Now, now,” he places the cigarette between your lips. “Take a drag sweet, I’ll go gather your dress.”

Though he didn’t mutter the words of fondness as many lovers would, he knew that he wanted you as his.

(peaky blinders masterlist)

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 43

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary = Ana has a craving but doesn’t want to ruin their evening and keeps quiet about it. But Tommy always finds out. 

Warnings = Language, Grammar, Fluffs, Alcohol, Smoking.

Word Count = 2424

Note = This chapter is based on an anonymous suggestion about Ana craving fish and chips and Tommy going to get it despite being annoyed. So whoever you are...I hope  you enjoy it. Happy Friday. 

It had been a few days since that evening in the betting shop. Both John and Arthur couldn't believe that my parents agreed to 'sell' me to settle a debt. That was the thing about the Shelby family, they were quite progressive when it came to women and the idea of selling someone off against their will disgusted them.

As the news fell,  I could see the turmoil behind Arthur's eyes – instantly blaming himself once again.

I hadn't heard from either brother since Tommy had sent them off on a stakeout to make sure that the voice I heard matched up to the face they were able to see. The only issue was that had to enter enemy territory, therefore they would have to move without getting caught otherwise – war.

It was late in the evening when Tommy returned home, a stoic look on his face as he whipped the peaked cap from his head, hanging it on the hook along with his coat. He nodded his head in my direction as he passed, opening the cupboard to pull out his glass and pouring a hefty measure of the brown liquid.

"Long day?" I asked, circling the rim of my tea cup with my finger. I could feel the tension in him the minute he walked through the door.

"It was." He responded flatly, looking ahead towards the bedroom, the gears in his head still churning, never stopping.

"Do you want something to eat?" I asked, standing to my feet, taking the now empty cup with me, and moving next to him, his woody yet smoky scent filling my nose as I placed the cup into the sink.

"No, I'm alright. Have you eaten?" He asked, eyes flickering over to me.

"Not yet." I shook my head, reaching out to take the glass from his hand, placing it on the table, and stepping into his space, resting my hands on his chest, simply enjoying his closeness.

"Why?"

"Why haven't you?" I challenged back, pushing my hands up until they lay on his shoulders. Glancing down to watch my hands I noticed a red stain on the collar of his shirt.

Furrowing, I took the fabric into my hand, rubbing it between my fingers. Not moving. Swallowing back, my eyes slowly made their way back up to his eyes. They were watching me intently, a coldness in them sent a shiver down my spine.

I felt my breathing stop as the realisation hit me.

Nodding, I cleared my throat, offering Tommy a small smile before stepping away from him, putting my arms around myself as I thought about what he has done. It had to be done. He was protecting me, at least that was what I would tell myself.

Walking towards the sofa, I sat down, taking the paper in my hands reading over the headlines to distract myself from the truth.

"I did it for you."

"Can you take off the shirt? I can try and get the stain out but it may be a lost cause at this point." I answered, glancing over toward him. "I'll be going shopping with Esme in the morning so I will pick up a new shirt."

"Did you make it hurt?" I asked, closing my eyes at the tingling feeling rushing through my body due to his loving touches.

Unsure of what to say, Tommy simply nodded. His nimble fingers worked the buttons of his waistcoat removing it along with his jacket with a sigh.

Moving to walk past me, he placed a soft kiss on the top of my head, a hand resting on my shoulder.

"To an extent." He replied, pulling away to unbutton the white shirt.

Turning around to face him, I kneeled on the sofa, reaching a hand out to pull him closer to me, undoing a few buttons myself.  "Will they know it was you?"

"No." His answer was short, quick. "Arthur and John are dealing with the body. It will look like a mugging gone wrong."

"Okay" I nodded, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "Probably best we burn this shirt, limit any suspicion."

"Agreed" Tommy nodded, pulling the white fabric from his shoulders revealing his long sleeve undershirt.

Throwing the shirt on the back of the sofa, he walked around the sofa towards the fireplace, nudging the dulling embers with the poker before throwing on more coal and bringing it to light once more.

Standing to his feet he patted down the remains of the coal on his trousers, reaching a hand out for me to pass him the shirt. Taking the material in my hands our fingers grazed as I passed it along, watching the entire thing burn once Tommy tossed it on the burning fire.

"You need to eat Stace," Tommy spoke, bringing my attention away from the fire. He stood before me, hands resting on his hips, eyes looking down at my sitting position.

"I know but I don't want to cook." I sighed, playing with the material of my dress.

"Then let's go out for dinner eh? You deserve it"

******

Looking over the menu, I couldn't help but sigh nothing was grabbing my attention. My mind continuously went back to the local fish and chip shop a few streets back, the smell had my mouth watering and my stomach grumbling. But Tommy wanted to treat me, so I kept my mouth shut.

"What are you thinking?" Tommy asked next to me.

The waiter instantly recognised Tommy when we walked through the door. He had sat us towards the back of the restaurant, in a booth far away from anyone else, giving us privacy.

There were plenty of opinions on the menu, chicken, beef, fish you name it, they had it. But it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted dirty and greasy food tonight.

"Uhm, I don't know." I forced out a smile. Nights like this were rare, I didn't want to ruin the moment between Tommy and me. I was determined to enjoy it.

"What about you?" I asked, glancing over at him. He wasn't even looking at the menu he was rolling an unlit cigarette along his lips – his eyes taking in the environment around him.

"A smoke and a whiskey will do me love."

"Tommy that isn't much of a meal" I huffed out a breath of annoyance but there was no point in arguing with him when he was like this.

The waiter returned with a smile, asking if we were ready to order, to which Tommy looked over at me expectantly. "Do you need a few more moments Ma'am?"

"Oh um no, no I…" I stumble over my words before something fell from my lips. "Chicken, yeah the ah spring chicken please."

"And for you Sir?"

"More whiskey." Tommy titled his quickly emptying glass towards the waiter who simply nodded, writing it down on his little pad before disappearing. "What going on in that pretty little head?"

"Nothing." I smiled, sneaking a peak at him while my fingers rubbed the hemlines of the cotton napkins. "This place is nice."

"Do you like it?" Tommy asked, nodding thanks to the waiter once he returned with a large glass of whiskey. "Honestly?" A smile grew on the sides of his lips, it was like he could read me like the chapters of his favourite book.

"It is definitely a date night place to be." I nodded, returning the smile.

Leaning over to him I waited until he exhaled the smoke from his mouth before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, staying there a little longer before pulling away completely.

“Thank you” 

"You are welcome." Tommy nodded, puffing heavily on the cigarette. "But you don't have to thank me."

"I want to, I know how busy you are Tommy and it's little moments like this that make me smile."

"Is that right eh?" He smirked, noticing the redness of my cheeks. I wasn't embarrassed admitting my feelings to Tommy, quite the opposite. I rather loved him knowing how he made me feel. It got me all hot and bothered inside.

"You know I love you right."

"You remind me every morning and night."

"Does that bother you?"

"Don't ever stop," Tommy confirmed, leaning across and pressing his lips tightly against mine. His hand rested on the back of my head, deepening the kiss when the young waiter returned with my dinner, forcing us apart.

"Thank you"

"Anything else please don't be afraid to let me know."

******

"Don't you like it?" Tommy asked noticing how I was moving the food from one side of the plate to the other.

"No, it is. It's lovely" I nodded not a word of a lie. It was rather nice, beautiful in fact but it wasn't hitting the spot. It wasn't what the baby wanted.  "Would you like a taste?"

"How long have we known each other Anastasia?" Tommy huffed out ignoring what I had asked as his hand reached up to wave at the waiter.

"Almost three years?" I answered, the question catching me off guard.

"Exactly" Tommy nodded at me, the waiter returning to the table with a nervous smile on his face. "We will be taking the chicken home."

Tommy had told the young waiter, who seemed speechless before him. With a quick nod of his head, he lifted my plate scurrying off towards the back to fulfill the request.  

"Why did you do that?" I asked, afraid that I had upset him in some way. My brain worked overtime thinking of how I could have possibly done it within such a short space of time.

"Because." Tommy sighed, finishing the last of his whiskey before standing to his feet, and fixing the collar of his suit jacket around his neck. "You're not enjoying it."

"I'm sorry" I whimpered, feeling overcome with emotion.

Tommy's movements stopped as he looked over at me, tears in my eyes, my bottom lip quivering. Glancing over his shoulder he checked to see if something had caught my eye to upset me, not quite understanding where this show of emotion had come from.

"Why are you crying eh?" He asked softly, sliding back into the booth next to me, his soft hand came up to caress my face. Leaning into his touch, I tried in vain to stop the tears from falling from my eyes.

"You took me here so we could have a special night together and I ruined it."

"Jesus Stace, you didn't ruin anything." Tommy exhaled, the candlelight on the table catching the blue of his eyes. "but I know you, you weren't having a good time."

"Like you were?" I scoffed, reaching up and pushing aside a stray tear. "I don't know what's wrong with me Tom. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for yeah?" Tommy rested his forehead against mine briefly before the sounds of footsteps pulled him away.

"Your food Mr. Shelby." The young waiter had returned, placing the chicken on the table, wrapped and ready to go. Tommy nodded his thanks, reaching into his trousers pocket and pulling out some notes, handing them over to the boy before waving him away.

"Come on, let's get you home."

Walking through the cold streets that were Birmingham, I wrapped the coat tighter around myself as Tommy guided me home, a gentle hand around my back as we moved around the late-night crowd.

I had to suppress an unsatisfied moan as we passed the fish and chip shop once more, my stomach almost growled at the smell. It was obvious what the baby had wanted. I had told myself that when Tommy returned to work later tonight, I would satisfy these cravings.

Returning home, I put my coat on the hook, giving Tommy a soft smile as I hoovered around him by the exit, waiting for him to tell me he was going to the betting shop.

"What's that look for?" He asked, removing the cap from his head, and holding it in his hands for a moment before shoving it into his coat pocket.

"Nothing." I shook my head, squinting at him.

"You sure?" Tommy chuckled, shrugging the coat from his shoulders.

"Are you not going to the betting shop tonight?"

"No, I told you Arthur and John are settling what needs to be done. I'm spending the evening with you."

"Oh"

"Oh?" Tommy repeated, placing his hands on my hips. "What? You want rid of me? You playing around Miss Adler?"

"No, God no Tommy I would never."

"Good"

"It's just I thought you would return to work like you always do," I answered carefully, using the softest tone I could muster. Tommy just stared through me, eyes squinting as if he could read my thoughts.

"What's going on?" Tommy asked, already growing bored of the back and forth between us.

"It's nothing" I tried to play off but he wasn't having it. His hands on my hips squeezed tighter, the expression on his face turning emotionless as he waited. "Well, I was going to go out and get something."

"What?"

"Doesn't ma-"

"Anastasia I swear to God I am not…"

"I was going to that fish and chips place on Queen's road. The baby wants it real bad."

"The baby wants it?" Tommy asked, a smile pulling at his lips at the mention of his growing child.

"Yeah, we smelled it on the way to the restaurant. It smelled so good Tommy."

"If that was what you wanted why didn't you say something before eh?" Tommy asked with a deep sigh, his index finger and thumb coming up to pinch his nose, eyes closed in frustration.

"Because I didn't want to ruin your evening."

"It was your evening Stace." Tommy pointed out, throwing his hand from his face, reaching over to grab his jacket from the kitchen chair, throwing it around his shoulders, ready to brave the evening once more.

"I should have said something, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should have but don't be sorry." Tommy pointed his finger at me after he put his peaked cap over his head. "I'll be back soon." He nodded, pressing his lips against mine before disappearing out the door.

I couldn't stop the smile growing on my face at the thought of Birmingham's most feared gangster disappearing into the night to get me and our baby the food we had been craving all night. It was the little things that proved just how much Tommy loved me.

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76   @midnightmagpiemama  @pierre-gasssllyy    @duckybird101

[natjennie]

some thoughts on. all of that. now that I can breathe. I loved it. I thought it was all exactly what it needed to be and executed itself wonderfully. was it perfect? maybe not. but I think some people are doing the same things some wwdits fans do, where they think things are magically going to get more deep and dark and dramatic than they have been the whole show. and, a thing wwdits people do too, they think that people that have been dead for hundreds of years are going to change in the blink of an eye. the subtle shifts alison has brought to their.. lives. is the whole point.

people want x y and z to wrap up, but if they all perfectly came together, you'd complain about it happening too fast and inorganically. part of the great part of ghosts is its utter sincerity, its complete and total commitment to being REAL, despite its absurd premise. so if kitty and thomas had suddenly confessed feelings and kissed it would seem rushed. thomas has been making leaps and bounds to not fawn over alison. he's complimentary, but respectful, and has made real progress after seeing obi's breakdown. if he was completely neutral to her out of nowhere it would have felt forced. cap's backstory has been the whole show in the making and still went by too fast.

the length of the episodes and the seasons as a whole are meant for quick peaks into domestic moments of some silly little guys, not succession level drama. the finale didn't feel final because it wasn't supposed to. their stories haven't ended, we just stopped getting to witness them.

[edbanger-unoffical]

An old pic of Busy P was in the most recent Daft Punk memory tapes episode which also had a segment uploaded to the Ed Banger Instagram. The caption reads as follows:

#tbt 2001

You've heard that story, but it sounds like the right time to share it again.

I pushed the doors of Right Track in New York. I was with Mehdi, Pharrell welcomed us like we were already friends. He was there, at the piano, jamming wearing a vintage Rush t-shirt and a green cap. He was working on a beat that will become <I'm a slave 4u>

I couldn't hide the fact I was a fan. I remember Mehdi told me to keep my trucker cap on, < stay as you are > even if I thought it will look too obvious. While on the road with Daft Punk, our car was boom baping with x Superthug >, < Shake ya ass >, < Southern hospitality >, < I just wanna love u >

The Neptunes quickly became that little name we were searching in the credits on the records, and everytime it was written we immediately knew it was them! Like a sonic signature that takes you to another galaxy.

I decided I had a mission : To get a remix from The Neptunes for Daft Punk! Thomas and Guy-Man were cool enough to let me travel to NYC and do my thing. We were working on the release of < Discovery > the 2nd Daft punk album < Harder Better Faster Stronger > will become a single, I felt it was the perfect one to be remixed by Pharrell & Chad.

We went to the control room, I pressed play on the DAT player.

Pharrell went mental listening to that Daft groove, his eyes breakdancing to the vocoder! I knew he was impressed, his smile couldn't lie. To add more craziness about what was happening Pharrell called the guy in the second recording studio... Timbaland showed up and I pressed play again! I was with my brother Dj Mehdi, and my heroes Pharrell and Timbo in the same room listening to the band of my life. Writing this gives me goose bump. Ok ok those instagram posts must be shorter sorry...I could write a lot about all this

What's important here, I am honored that Pharrell is remembering this whole story. l am very proud to have been a sparkle in this collaboration. But I'd like to make things clear, by inviting Pharrell on Random Access Memories Thomas and Guy Man are the masterminds, the genius craftsmen of one of the best featuring of our modern pop culture! < Get Lucky > they said, oh oui, lucky I was."

[celiansartblog]

It was only once in Hope County that Thomas discovered the extent of Slick’s lack of driving skills, it’s no wonder no one had ever seen her use anything with an engine ever. 

A dumb lil sketch comic in between of working for commissions

[lucaniisdellamorte]

Romance Month

Prompt: "Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

WC: 1250

Fandom: Far Cry New Dawn

Pairing: Thomas Rush x Captain (Cassidy Kidd)

Warnings: Probably minor spoilers for New Dawn if you haven’t played and don’t want to know anything about it. Talk of injuries though nothing graphic

After rescuing him from the highwaymen, introducing him to Kim, and fixing his knee, Cassidy helps escort Thomas to the upper floor of Prosperity with Carmina in tow. She walks next to him despite him saying that he doesn’t need help, she’s there just in case as they head up the stairs and he has to put weight on his injured knee. He doesn’t cry out like he had when she first found him but he’s still limping of course and flinching occasionally. It makes her worry that maybe the damage is worse than they thought but she keeps that to herself as she guides him to the room that the two of them will be sharing now.

“Sorry you two don’t get your own rooms,” Carmina says from behind them, shifting the dufflelbag she’s carrying from one shoulder to the other.

“Ah, we’re used to it. At least we get actual beds this time,” Thomas replies as Cassidy opens the door to the room. He limps inside first while she takes the duffel from Carmina, nodding in agreement with his statement.

“There’s clothes in there and mom put a first aid kit in there too, just in case,” she says gently, giving a meaningful look towards Thomas.

“Thanks,” Cassidy replies, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “He’ll probably need it.”

“I’m fine,” Thomas tells them both. Carmina just barely manages to catch herself before she laughs and gives Cassidy a good luck with that, you’re going to need it look before heading back downstairs.

Cassidy turns to enter the room, closing the door with her foot as she takes off her hat and lets her dark hair fall out of it’s ponytail. It's not a very big room just enough for two twin beds, a crate, and a dresser that she’s been using to store extra clothes along with her weapons and ammo.

“She’s a good kid,” Thomas remarks as he leans against a crate -which she still isn’t sure if it's there just to serve as a table or if there’s really some kind of supplies inside- taking some of the weight off his bad knee.

“The world would be much better off if there were more people like her in it, and her mother too,” Cassidy replies, tossing the duffel and her hat onto the closest bed and opening it. True to her word there’s a first aid kit right on top and enough clothes to fill up the rest of the bag beneath it, not that she ever doubted Carmina. The kit is even in an old white plastic box with the words First Aid printed on top of it which is pretty impressive given that most first aid kits are just random medical supplies thrown into whatever sort of container can hold them these days.

“Shirt,” she commands over her shoulder, half distracted as she sorts through the surprisingly well stocked kit. It's not pre-Collapse well stocked of course, it's not like you’re going to find real bandages and Tylenol in there, but it has enough of the post Collapse equivalents to be a pretty damn good kit. She has to remember to ask Kim where she got all this stuff and if there’s enough left to make a few more for the road.

“Cassie,” Thomas says softly but his voice is strained, the nickname that only he uses for her when they’re along cutting through her train of thought. Immediately she looks over to him and for the first time since she saw him in that garage, he looks fucking exhausted sitting on top of the crate, his body slouched as he rests an elbow on his good knee. The long horrible days he spent with the highwaymen written in the bruises and scrapes that dot his bare chest and arms.

Now worried, Cassidy goes over to him carefully slotting herself into the v of his legs. Thomas drops his head so it rests on her shoulder, his thumbs hooking through her belt loops and pulling her as close as she can get. She wants to wrap her arms around him, give him the comfort he’s seeking and that she needs too, but she can see even more bruises and scrapes across his shoulders and down his back.

“What’s wrong?” Cassidy asks gently, worry obvious in her voice as she pulls away a little so she can cup his face in her hands since that seems to be the only place she knows she won’t accidentally hurt him. It also makes him look at her and there’s something in his blue eyes that makes her chest tighten. Her mind suddenly kicks into overdrive wondering if he’s been hiding just how bad off he really is. She got a hint of it coming up the stairs sure but this wouldn’t be the first time that he’s hidden an injury for the sake of keeping up the appearance of the unbreakable Thomas Rush.

“Just-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head before he leans forward enough that he can rest his forehead against hers. “With your fall and the highwaymen and everything else out there,” Thomas swallows hard and takes a deep breath, “I really really didn’t think that you’d ever be coming for me. I wanted to hope but after everything-”

This time Cassidy cuts him off by pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. His hands move from her hips to the small of her back, keeping her close as he balls his fists into her shirt. She kisses him again, deeper this time, trying to pour all her affection and relief to finally have him back in her arms again into it before pulling away.

“Hey, I’m here with you okay?” She presses their foreheads together again, thumbs trailing over the dried blood and dirt still on his cheeks. Thomas’ eyes are downcast, filled with guilt that he has no business shouldering and if he wasn’t so injured she would shake him. The train, Barnes, none of that was his fault and if he did doubt her ability to come save him for the first time since they’ve known each, it was only because he didn’t think that she was alive enough to do it.

Because as they both know, only death is going to stop her from getting him back. Well at least she knows that, seems like one of them needs a reminder.

“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than you shoving me off a cliff, the Twins and their highwaymen, and whatever the hell else lives up here to stop me from saving you from whatever kidnappers or hostage takers or wild animal has you in it's sights this week,” Cassidy tells him full of conviction and steel, ready to take on the world in order to keep him safe if she has to. Thomas lets out a tired little chuckle at their old joke that he’s always in trouble and she’s always saving him. It's only partially true, trouble follows them like a shadow so he’s saved her almost as many times as she’s saved him.

“I’m with you, okay? You aren't getting rid of me that easily Thomas Rush,” she tells him sternly, gently poking the middle of his chest.

“Good to know,” he replies with a warm smile, taking her hand in his and bringing it up so he can press a kiss to the middle of her palm. 

[insomniasix]

Ok, so.. how do I stop taking pictures of them?

[casino-lights]

indisputable proof that thomas rush and the captain of security were in love... or that ubisoft just really hates us:

thomas refuses to leave the captain behind in the train even when barnes wanted to leave them

ok grace, i hear you say, but barnes is all but confirmed to be a weaselly little coward anyway. you’re totally valid and correct. but anyone could’ve come back for the captain, not just thomas. also consider:

thomas struggles when barnes is killed by lou, but he only overcomes the highwayman holding him when he sees the captain in imminent danger

ok grace, i hear you say again, but maybe that was his only opportunity, or maybe he wasn’t sure the twins were actually gonna kill anyone until lou crushed barnes’ head like a melon. you’re right, but he also sacrificed himself for the captain and pushed them off the cliff into the water, saying “save yourself,” probably knowing full well that he was gonna get whacked upside the head by lou. plus:

when the captain finds him in the coal mine, he’s in the process of bashing a highwayman’s head in with a crowbar. when he sees the captain, he abandons the crowbar in favor of choking the guy out

ok grace, i hear you say once more, but maybe that was easier, or maybe he wanted a nonlethal takedown. but it’s probably much harder to take someone out by choking them with a zip tie holding your wrists together than it is to just knock em out or kill them with a crowbar. and further:

the twins kidnap thomas to use him as bait for the captain once they come to realize the captain is the real threat

the captain disarms themselves and follows the twins’ instructions to the letter when they‘re in the final stage of the “through the wringer” mission because they don’t want the twins to hurt thomas

also, their forbidden fruit superpowers only activate (either inadvertently or because they chose to) after thomas is killed

also also, they manage to drag themselves up several flights of stairs after being brutally beaten, shot almost point-blank with a shotgun, and falling out a third- or fourth-story window (either way it’s really high dammit) just so they can retrieve thomas’ body

also also also, it’s heavily implied that the captain carries thomas’ body back to prosperity by themselves while still heavily wounded, then proceeds to dig his grave and bury him themselves as well

ok grace, i hear you—why can i hear you? are you in my house?—but thomas and the captain could’ve just been good friends!! maybe family if that’s what you’d like to headcanon! and to that I say... yes, you’re entirely right! and super valid! but here’s my final two cents:

the captain returns to thomas’ grave at the end of new dawn; it’s the final objective in the main storyline, and they sit there and reflect until carmina comes to talk to them

a watch is hooked over the wooden stake holding up the nameplate above the grave. you can see thomas wearing it in-game, so... same watch?

ok grace, i hear you say, now thoroughly exasperated, what does a watch have to do with anything? well... probably nothing, tbh. i just like thinking the captain gave him that watch. thank you for coming to my ted talk <3

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

One More Night

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, Unprotected smut (kinda rough), sex while covered in blood (I DO NOT RECOMMEND, VERY UNSANITARY), licking blood off face (SEE PREVIOUS CAPS), explicit language, feels at the end.

A/N: This was 100% self-indulgent. I hope that I got Tommy's character across. He is still fairly new to me! Please comment and reblog! Thank you @firefly-graphics for the divider!!

You didn't marry Thomas Shelby for love. You did it for practicalities. Thomas needed a wife, and you needed a husband. Somewhere down the line, you grew to feel for him, maybe even loved him. Being his wife though, had its perks. He was good looking, caring, and nice. Which was an oddity on its own, given what he did for work. Despite the hardened exterior, your Tommy was kind.

The Grandfather clock down the hall chimed, signaling it was midnight. You were pacing your shared room, waiting for your husband to come home. He was out "taking care of business".

Your nails were ruined, anxiety driving you to nip and chew at them until they were stubs. You knew who you married, and you knew what he did. Knowing didn't stop the worrying. When you heard the lock creak, turning to the open position, you prepared yourself. Either it was Tommy coming back home to you, or it was his brothers coming to tell you that you were now a widow.

The door opened and shut. Footsteps echoed down the long corridor. Your breath caught in your lungs and they were burning. It wasn't until you heard his voice, his accent distinct and so him. He called your name, sounding as worried and upset as you.

"In here, Tommy." Your voice cracked as you said his name. He was home.

The moment you laid eyes on him, you rushed him, throwing your arms around him tightly. "Love, I need-- Fuck, I need to clean up." He said as he peeled you away from him. In the lowlights of the oil lamps, you could see he was covered in blood.

"Fuck, Thomas. Tell me that's not your blood." You yelped, "Wait, I don't want to know." You took a step back and took in his appearance. His dress shirt, stained. It was in his hair, on his face. You couldn't help but notice how his blue eyes sparked against the maroon red of the streaks running down his defined jawline.

Thomas Shelby was a killer, a criminal. He killed men for looking at him the wrong way. And that was the Tommy you were utterly attracted to. He was dangerous, unruly, and entirely yours. Tommy had unbuttoned his vest, shrugged it off and tossed it into the fire. He went to start on the buttons of his once crisp, white shirt, but you stopped him. "Don't." You said, shaking your head, before slotting your lips over his.

Thomas groaned, fighting the urge to pull you closer. You slipped your tongue in his mouth, to slide against his own. You could taste the faint metallic tang of the blood, mixed with tobacco. "Fuck," he mumbled as he separated from you. "Let me clean up first. You've stained your favorite sleeping gown." He pointed to your covered breasts, which were now covered in blood.

He went to turn away from you, but you grasped his wrist. "Tommy, want you to fuck me. Just like this." You mewled, and he paused. He looked up to the ceiling, like he was praying. You heard him harshly whisper a "Jesus Christ" under his breath before he lifted you up by your ass. Quickly you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding tightly. He walked you to his desk, scattering the paperwork on the floor.

Tommy pressed his lips against yours, tangling his large, blood-stained hands in your hair. He thrusted his tongue between your lips, parting them to dance with your own. He always kissed like it was the last time. He all but swallowed you whole. Tommy released your hair, and his hands went down to your breasts. The growl that reverberated through his chest made you damp between your thighs. "It's already ruined, eh?" He said to no one before ripping the silk right down the middle. You gasped at the show of strength. “You shouldn’t let a damned soul like me defile you, princess.” Tommy protested, hands caressing your breasts, smearing the soft flesh with blood, tweaking your nipples with his fingers. You shook your head, moving your face closer to his.

“Too late,” You whispered, licking up his jawline, before placing your lips on his. He pulled you closer if it were possible. His lips parted, tongue prying yours open. You instantly gave him access. He groaned at the taste of the sanguine fluid on your tongue. His hands found their way down your back, fighting for dominance. Tommy was the one who broke the kiss, only to find his way to that spot on your collar bone.

“Thomas,” You moaned. He continued his way up your neck, nibbling on your ear, before returning his lips to your own. His hand traveled down your front to the apex of your thighs. He was pleased to find your core bare, something you have come accustomed to, being married to him. He loved having easy access to your cunt when he wanted. You could feel his hard member against your thigh.

Your hands were buried in his black hair, leaving love bites on his neck. He quickly undid the button of his trousers, pulling his cock free of its confines. “Fuck, I need you, love.” He groaned, rocking himself through your wet folds. It should have scared you. You should have been petrified at the sight of him, but you weren’t. You were dripping for him, knowing that a mere hour ago, your husband had killed someone.

“Then take me, Tommy.” That was all he needed. He licked his slender fingers, applying the spit to his cock, before burying himself to the hilt in one swift thrust. You cried out at the welcomed intrusion, your body accommodating his size almost immediately. He didn’t move, he relished in the feeling of your tight cunt around him. His forehead rested against yours. You looked up, finding his blue eyes staring right at you with amazement.

His breath was labored, like he was experiencing you for the first time. You tried to roll your hips to get some friction, but Tommy gripped your hips tightly. “Fuck, this isn’t going to be easy.”

His pace was brutal, his hips pistoning into yours. The hard wood of the desk dug into your back, but you didn’t care. Not when Tommy was moaning your name like a prayer in the most sinful way. Your hands tried to find purchase on his shoulders, but the drying blood made it difficult.

Tommy's movements stopped abruptly. You were about to complain when he pulled out of your cunt, flipping you onto your stomach, and pushed himself back in. At the angle, you felt him everywhere. He shoved your head down onto the cold wood. You couldn’t help but clench around his length as your nipples pebbled with the friction. "Fuck. Who knew my pretty little wife enjoyed being fucked like a whore." Tommy growled, punctuating the last word with a hard thrust.

"Yours, Tommy. All-- oh, fuck-- yours." You mewled, submitting yourself completely to him. You could hear Tommy’s breaths grow ragged with every moan that elicited his lips. You could get off on his sounds alone. The baritone of his voice, the way he spoke, the power that was embedded with every word.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, and you knew you’d be sore tomorrow; With Tommy, it was always worth it. “I’m– Shit, I need you to come for me, princess.” He was wrecked, losing himself in the pleasure of your body. You pushed back against him, hoping he would get that you needed to change positions to accomplish what he wanted; He did.

Tommy left your body, pulling you toward your bed. You took this as your chance to take charge. You push a firm hand into his chest, causing him to fall back with a grunt. His crystal blue eyes twinkled, enjoying your show of dominance. In the back of your head, you knew blood would be everywhere, but in the moment, you couldn’t care less.

Straddling him, you lowered yourself onto his cock. Your cunt accepted him greedily. When he was fully seated, you rolled your hips. A curse fell from his plush lips. He went to place his hands back on your hips, but you stopped him. Lacing your fingers with his, you pinned hands by his head. Slowly, you started to ride him, switching the rotation of your hips every so often. Tommy fought to touch you, but quickly gave up.

The mood had shifted. You initially wanted a fast, hard, fuck from your husband. Now that you had him under you, it hit you how close you could have been to losing him. Your emotions got the best of you, letting a tear slip over the barrier of your lashes, falling onto his cheek.

“Baby, I’m here.” He assured you. Your ministrations stopped, and your hold on his hands relaxed. Tommy took the opportunity to flip you. He looked down, staring into your eyes. “I love you.” He knew he didn’t say it often, but he knew when he needed to. He started to grind into you, hitting that spot inside you that made you see white. You came quickly, with a chant of his name on your lips. Tommy wasn’t far behind you, spilling his seed deep inside you.

Neither of you said anything, as he pulled out and away from you. You watched as he trotted across the way to the bathroom. You willed your body to move, following behind him. He had stripped off his shirt and trousers, left only in boxers. He started the shower, gesturing for you to go first. Tommy joined you, and you watched as the water ran bloody down the drain. You helped scrub away the sins of his night.

You came out of the bathroom, blood free, to find that your bed had been stripped and remade. You really needed to give Frances a raise. Tommy sighed contently as he turned down the comforter. You slid in first with Tommy right behind you. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, thankful that he was here for at least one more night.

[deliriousgeek]

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: A quiet evening meant for celebration is thrown into chaos. Y/n wills herself to play into the daunting role that comes with being Thomas Shelby’s wife, because it might be the only thing keeping her alive. 

Masterlist

Tommy lowkey feels very oc so idk how to feel about that. im not good at writing suspense...its also very long. ha :,)

Warning: blood, guns, knives, fights, usual peaky blinder violence

If anyone knew Y/n Shelby, then they would know that she can’t stand seeing dead bodies. Although in her case, having that reaction would seem ironic, considering her husband was Thomas Shelby. 

It was around 9pm when Y/n slipped her night robe off and lay back on her bed. Her night was just winding down and she was waiting for Thomas to get back. He said he would try to be home around midnight, and to not wait up. He and his brothers would be at the Garrison, celebrating Arthur’s return from prison and discussing what was to be done with the Jews and Italians next. 

Y/n knew it would be a couple hours for Tommy to be home, so she settled onto their bed and grabbed a book off her night stand. 

The room was bathed in a warm, orange and yellow light— the type of light candles can give. When she was home alone, Y/n liked to use candle light. It reminded her of a time before the war and before this gang business, when all she and Tommy had to worry about was getting enough candles to light up the dinner table. 

Half an hour had passed and Y/n had gotten through a decent number of pages in her book. She felt her eyes drooping and decided it was time to call it a night. She stretched and cracked her neck before turning to place her book on the nightstand. Just as she was about to place the book down, she heard a creak downstairs. 

She froze.

Tommy wasn’t supposed to be back until midnight and none of the Shelby family would come over this late without a call, that was their safety protocol. 

She listened for more creaking. 

After Tommy had bought their house he had insisted on replacing the creaky floor boards, but decided to keep a few. In certain spots, that could be easily avoided if one knew where to walk, the floor would still creak. It was a safety thing that Tommy and Y/n agreed would be good to have. If the floorboards downstairs still creaked after the first step, it wasn’t one of them. 

Creak...creak...creak...

That wasn’t Tommy. 

Y/n took in a deep breath as she put herself back into a sitting position on the bed. An intruder was in her house. At the moment, the Peaky Blinders had a lot of enemies. It could be anyone. Mostly, someone with a gun. 

She listened as the person made their way upstairs. She could hear them passing Tommy’s office, and the guest bedroom. This person knew where their room was, and she could only deduce from their movement’s that they were coming for her. 

Y/n was scared. She knew how to defend herself, but didn’t like doing it if she didn’t have to. Rolling her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable. She’d have to fight tonight. 

To be clear, Y/n Shelby wasn’t unable to fight. She was a pro at throwing knives, which she preferred to guns; much to Tommy’s dismay. She knew how to shoot a gun and could decently fare in hand to hand combat, but she was still scared. Her heart beat in her chest quickly and anxiety bubbled to the surface. A normal reaction to knowing someone broke into your house to hurt you, or worse. Y/n assumed it was the latter. However, instead of letting her fear show, she turned on her fake calmness. A trick she forced herself to learn as Thomas Shelby’s wife. The alarm that was spread across her face vanished, instead being replaced with an eerily calm facade.

There was no point in locking the door. The person knew how to get past those if he made it into their living room. She heard their steps stop at the front of her door, she raised her book to her face, pretending like she was reading.

Act calm. She told herself.

Then, the door burst open.

Back at the pub, the Shelby brothers  were sitting around the table in the snug. Sharing laughs and taking on their third round of Whiskey.

“Alright boys,” Tommy began, placing his glass down and looking around the table. “We’ve had our fun, business begins now.” His content expression turned serious. 

His other brothers, and cousin Michael, cleared their throats and straightened up. 

“As you know, taking Arthur out of prison is a direct threat to the Sabini’s. It shows that even in London we have enough influence to get our own men out, if needed.”

The brothers nodded, and shared looks.

Tommy continued, “Getting Arthur out was our first move. Now it’s the Italian’s and the Jew’s turn but we don’t know when their next strike will be. So, from this moment on we have to be aware, alert, and ready for every—”

The door flew open.

Sir!” Out of breath, Isaiah stood with one hand on the door knob, looking at Tommy. 

“Oi!” Arthur shouted. “You know better than to interrupt!” 

Tommy nodded his head at Arthur, then turned to Isaiah. “What is it, lad.”

“Better be important,” John added. 

“Sir, the Italians are here. My dad spotted them making their way down the lane. They got a group with guns and a car. We best hurry.” Isaiah said in a rushed voice.

With that all the Shelby men stood and placed their caps on, rushing out of the snug. 

Upon noticing the urgency in which the brothers exited, the rest of the Peaky Blinders in the pub were at full alert, waiting for Tom’s next words. The crowd silenced as the brothers stood at the snug doors, facing the onlookers. 

“If you aren’t a Peaky Blinder,” Tom eyed the crowd, “leave.” 

Noise filled the bar again as chairs shuffled, cups were placed on tables, and the front doors opened and closed.

Tom didn’t speak again until there were only Peaky Blinders left. He pulled out his revolver and checked it, making sure there were bullets, before looking up again. 

“Battle formation, men. The Italians are here.” 

Then in a flurry of peaky hats and over coats, the rest of the men got into their positions. Some ran up the stairs to get the extra cases of shotguns and revolvers. Others pulled out their own handguns and checked them as well. The Shelby boys looked at each other, a silent way of saying ‘good luck’. 

Once Tommy deemed every one armed, he nodded to Arthur, who shouted to move out. 

The Shelbies were at the front, while everyone fell behind them in triangle formation. As they marched outside, they could see the group of Italians rounding the corner. 

It was rather intimidating. An outline of men and guns on shoulders, a rather sizable group at that, illuminated by the truck headlights that followed behind. It was a sight to see.

Darby Sabini stood at the front, a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the groups marched towards each other and came to a stop, a man behind Thomas called out to the front. “At your command Sergeant Major.”

A hushed tone of agreement spread throughout the group.

Darby stepped forward. “Thought you could come on our turf and get away with it, aye?” 

Tommy stepped forward as well, hands in his pockets. “It was meant as a friendly gesture, but I don’t think you have enough friends to know what that means.”

A small smirk made its way onto Tommy’s face as he stared Darby down. 

Darby narrowed his eyes, irritated at that remark. “I’ll show you what friendly means. Now!”

A hail of gunfire began and the sound of shots being fired filled the lane. It was chaos. Bullets flew and body’s fell. Punches were thrown and blood was spread. More men jumped out of the covered truck and ran to beat down the men on the other side. 

Tommy ducked and punched, kicked and shot. In the middle of punching a man in the gut he yelled, “Leave Darby for me!”

His men did just that. 

Thomas fought his way to the center of the fight, where Darby had just knocked out a Peaky Blinder. Tommy aimed his gun and walked forward, aiming at Darby. The fighting on both sides ceased.

“I didn’t bring a battalion to your town.” Tommy spoke clearly, in a raised voice. 

Darby aimed his gun as well. The two circled each other as men on both sides stopped to observe the interaction. They watched Tommy and Darby tread carefully, like two tentative predators waiting for their opposer to falter.

“You still showed up. That was enough.”

The two men were breathing heavily, a result from the brawls they just finished.

“What’s your purpose for being here, Sabini?” Thomas stopped pacing, his gun still firmly held up. 

Darby stopped as well. An obnoxious laugh left his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Tommy didn’t move. He held a blank face, but his eyes still watched Darby with intensity. 

Not waiting for a response Darby continued, “I’m reminding you that I can take away everything you have in an instant. I already put your brother in jail, which it seems wasn’t a good enough warning for you, since you stupidly had him released so quickly.”

Darby took a couple steps toward Thomas, gun raised. 

“Killing me won’t do anything. I got people in place to still ruin you.” Thomas stated, his tone flat. 

Darby lowered his gun, a sickly calm smile spread across his face. It was an unsettling sight that made Tommy begin to think something was off.

“Oh Tommy boy, I’m just the distraction,” Darby’s eyes noticeably darkened, “How’s your wife these days?”

Tommy’s eyes widened and his finger pulled the trigger.

Darby fell to the ground dead, a bullet was lodged in the center of his forehead. 

Then like a wave, the fighting began again.

As soon as the gunshot rang, Tommy saw red. He shot, punched, kicked or swung at anyone in his way as he fought to get out of the crowd. He didn’t bother shouting an explanation to his brothers as he ran to his car. 

Tommy shoved his keys into the ignition and started the car. Tommy slammed his foot on the gas as soon as the engine roared to life. The car’s lights illuminated the carnage left from the battle. The Peaky Blinders were the last ones standing, as Tommy expected, but paid no mind to. His thoughts too consumed with conjuring the hundreds of horrible possibilities he might see upon arriving home, all ending with a bloodied image of Y/n.

John and Arthur ran towards the car, causing Thomas to slam on the breaks. 

“Where are you going?” John asked urgently. 

“They’re going for Y/n.” Thomas hastily replied.

John and Arthur jumped on the side of the car just in time before Tommy could speed up again. 

Michael and Finn watched as the older Shelby boys passed them. 

“Great. So we’re left to clean up the mess.”

At the house, Y/n held her book to her face as the door burst open. She turned her head and was met with the sight of a man pointing a gun at her. His clothes were clean and he looked very young. Her eyes flitted from the gun to his shoes, then to his eyes, then back to the gun. 

“On your feet.” He demanded. 

“What?” Y/n feigned innocence, despite her struggle to keep calm.

The man, gun still held towards her, trudged over and ripped the book from her hands, throwing it onto the floor. 

“I said on your feet!” He yelled in her face, backing away so he was a few feet from the bed.

She stared into his eyes, an impassive look on her face. Y/n looked back down at the gun. 

With a purse of her lips and a shrug she stated, “I’d rather not.”

The man’s soldier esc demeanor nearly slipped at her blatant defiance of his orders. “It’s not an option lady! Get up.”

She chuckled. “Y’see, lad. I’ve been on my feet all day. Have you ever worn heels for over six hours? Rather painful you know.”

Her cocky attitude betrayed her quickly beating heart that was full of adrenaline.

In an effort to scare her, he menacingly stepped forward. “I ain’t afraid to hurt you lady, but the boss wants you alive. If you keep disobeying me, I'm allowed to use force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh really, and who is your boss? I must thank him for not wanting me dead.” 

She knew she was playing with her life, but if this boy was as inexperienced as he looked, she would get the information she needed to warn Tommy. Granted, if she got out of this situation. 

“Sabini.” The man bluntly answered. 

Y/n swallowed. This wasn’t good. If Sabini’s men were here and not in London, she needed to warn Thomas immediately. Her heart pumped faster than she thought possible and every nerve in her body was on the verge of trembling from fear.

“I see.” Y/n turned her head to the foot of the bed. “Well, like I said, I’d rather not get up. Matter of fact, I’d rather keep reading. So be a dear and hand me my book, would ya?” She was stalling.

“C’mon lady, stop being stubborn. You don't even got a weapon to be making these demands.” The man sneered.

Y/n slowly adjusted herself so that she scooted away from the pillows that propped her up. She straightened her legs on the bed, her left crossed over her right. Then she leaned back on her arms, purposely pushing up her chest to show off her unbinded chest. Hopefully, he’d be dumb enough to look at her distraction, and he was. 

“Ah, well. It was worth a shot. I can tell that you're new to this whole— kidnapping thing. If you want to get better at it then you should learn this.” She paused before looking back at the man, “Always do research on your target.”

The young man’s brows furrowed, obviously confused. 

“If you did your research, like a good little gangster,” She began as she slid her left leg up off her right, causing her silk nightgown to slowly expose her leg. The man’s eyes roamed her leg once she stopped moving, leaving her left leg in a bent position. She reached for the hem of the dress and raised it further up her left leg, stopping until it got to her mid thigh, “Then you would know, that I’m always armed.”

In a swift and well practiced motion, Y/n grabbed the sharp, throwing knife from her thigh holster, and threw. The knife landed in the man’s chest, in his heart. Looking down at the knife, the man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. Blood quickly formed a growing splotch of red on his shirt. Y/n quickly stood from the bed to remove the gun from the man’s hand, she then crouched over him. 

She placed her hand on the knife handle, “It was a shame you didn’t do your research.” Then she pushed the knife forward, until she felt through the blade that it had really punctured his heart.

Y/n stood over the man’s body, gun in her hand, and watched the blood puddle grow. She backed away until her knees hit the bed and gave way. Letting out a shaky breath, she sat with the gun in her lap. In an attempt to avoid looking at the body laid in front of her, Y/n stared at the ceiling. 

The adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of the situation dawned on her. She could have died, quite easily too. If her attacker had not been so inexperienced and if she wasn’t wanted brought back alive, she could have died. Then, she thought of her husband.

Tommy. 

Had the man lying dead on her carpet opened the door and shot, Tommy would have had to come home to her dead body instead. The thought of Tommy finding her body, cold and bloody, scared her more than death. She couldn’t imagine the pain of him being alone. He would blame himself for her death. He would say he couldn’t protect her, and he would loathe himself for the rest of his life. Tears began to prick her eyes and her throat tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away and for her erratic heart beat to calm down. 

She killed a man.

That’s the only thought she could process. Her emotions muddled her thinking. Never before had she used her knives to kill. She used guns, from far away. She used punches to knock people out. She used her knives to injure, but never before had she needed them to kill. She was slightly glad for the memory of Tommy coming back home from an errand, returning with the thin knife holster that he insisted she wear when he wasn’t home. She was also glad that she made it a rule for herself to never take it off unless Tommy was home with her. 

Then, the silence of the house was broken again. She flinched. This time, the sound came from the front door slamming open and muffled shouts that she could only register as her name. 

“Y/n! Y/n where are you?” The voice shouted.

She couldn’t pinpoint who it was, not in her boggled state of mind, but she knew it was safe. So she answered. 

“In the bedroom.” 

Her eyes were still shut and her head faced the ceiling when Tommy rushed in.

“Y/n.” His voice was slightly breathless as he took in the sight before him. 

The room was covered in warm, candle light, giving a complete opposite tone to the tense atmosphere. His wife sat on the bed with a gun in her lap. A man, with his wife’s knife in his chest, laid dead on the ground and a puddle of blood surrounded his wound. 

Y/n opened her eyes and looked at her husband. She could see the fear and worry that filled his eyes, his face in slight shock.

Thomas was relieved to see his wife unharmed, but he could see the tears that were threatening to fall. Her slumped shoulders were signs of exhaustion. The way her chest moved up and down with heavy breathes told him she was on the verge of holding herself together. 

Arthur and John came bounding up the stairs next, and found their places on either side of Thomas. 

Y/n’s voice came out void of emotion, but her teary eyes said it all. “One of Sabini’s men.” She stated before turning her eyes to the ceiling once more, trying to blink away tears. “Please get him out of my sight.” The growing puddle of blood made her want to throw up. 

“You heard her,” Thomas said in a low tone, staring at his wife with concerned eyes. “Get rid of ‘em.” His voice was just above a whisper.

Arthur and John stepped forward, grabbing the man by his arms and lugged him out of the room. Only once the man had been removed did Thomas walk towards his wife. Only when he wrapped his arms around her did she let herself cry. She let herself sob and express how truly scared she was when the man burst into her room, and pointed a gun to her head. 

Thomas held her close and kissed her head. He whispered in her ear that she was okay, and that she did what she needed to do. Holding her close, he told her he loved her, and promised to never let anything like that happen to her again. 

Masterlist

well I tried

Edit: Bro this blew up in less than a day with 41 notes. Thank you♡