#thomas shelby x ofc

[sneakyblinders]

The Shelby's

A/N: another installment of Tommy x Bee aka tommy & his darling wife!au. the Shelbys. hope you all are doing well! <;3 warnings: jealous tommy, sexual references, language, not canon, alluding to smut but no smut. 5.5k words. i take no credit for the gif!

1934

Tommy sat in his office at the betting shop one afternoon, sifting through paperwork. It never seemed to end these days, constant influx of papers from Parliament, things Mr. Churchill wanted his opinion on, speeches to prepare, bills to pay. It never ended. The phone call was a welcome distraction. 

“Mr. Shelby? This is Harold Archer, from London,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Tommy could faintly recognize the man's voice. He was an up and coming politician in London society, someone Tommy did not really wish to associate with, but understood it was a necessary evil he would one day have to confront. 

“Mr. Archer, what can I do for you?” Tommy asked. 

“I wanted to extend my sincerest apologies to you and your wife, Mr. Shelby,” the man began. “We are hosting a dinner and luncheon at our London home. I’m afraid a stack of invitations was missed by our mail carrier and the invitations didn’t get out to a few folks, and unfortunately yours was in that stack,” the man said. Tommy rolled his eyes, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. “My wife and I would love for you and Mrs. Shelby to attend. It’s next Saturday evening into Sunday afternoon. Accommodations will be provided, of course.” The man droned on. 

“I don’t involve my wife with business, Mr. Archer,” Tommy said, trying to get the both of them out of this predicament. 

“All of the wives have been invited, Mr. Shelby, my wife does enjoy getting to know them all–more of a social than political arrangement if you will. I am sure your wife would enjoy some time away from your children, no?” Tommy could hear the man chuckle. 

“No,” Tommy sighed. “She quite enjoys being a mother,” Tommy could hear Mr. Archer’s breath hitch on the other end of the phone. “But I will discuss it with her and let you know by tomorrow.”

That night, after the children had been kissed goodnight, all monsters scared away from under the bed and in the closets, Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a moment with her alone. 

Bee curled up next to him on the balcony off their bedroom, on some of the wicker furniture he’d just bought for out there. The spring evening had been warm, the warmth fading with the setting sun. 

He wrapped an arm around Bee’s shoulders and she laid her legs over his lap. He absentmindedly rubbed her calf with his free hand, both of them sitting and watching the horses roam the back pasture in silence. Some of the groundsmen returned to their cabins for the evening after a grueling day of cleaning the dreaded pool house. The days were getting progressively warmer, and despite the cold snaps that were so prone to happening this time of year, the children were getting rather tired of being in the house all day. They had just constructed toy boats with Simmons and were eager to send them on their maiden voyage. So–Tommy had instructed the groundsmen to prep the pool. 

Tommy cherished moments like this. Not much about his life, his work was quiet. But he always knew he could rely on Bee for moments of solitude and peace. To be comfortable with the silence—not feeling the need to fill the void. 

His moment of peace shattered when he remembered—the dreaded dinner. 

“What’s on your mind?” His wife asks, noticing his jaw clenching suddenly. 

He sighed, shaking his head. “This man from London, Harold Archer,” he rolled his eyes. “Invited us for a dinner and luncheon next Friday into Saturday at his London home. Some big political to-do,” Tommy explained, shifting his attention from her one calf to the other. 

“Both of us?” She asks, ears perking. 

“Yes,” he sighed. 

“Why do you not sound excited about that?”  

“You know I don’t like to involve you in business, Darling,” he tells you. 

“Yes, but, maybe it would do me some good to get to know some of these people. Get to know their wives,” Bee sighs. “I do get lonely, Thomas.” 

He furrows his brow. “You have Sara, and Frances, and the children. And me.” 

Bee rolls her eyes. “Thomas, it’s not the same as having a friend.” 

“I’m not your friend?” He asks playfully. 

“You are my greatest friend, my love, but who can I complain about you to?” She jokes, a cheeky smile on her face. 

He brings a dramatic hand to his chest, gripping his heart. “I am hurt, my love,” he tells her playfully. “I am practically perfect, what in bloody hell would you have to complain about?” 

She leans over and playfully swats at his chest, laughter rumbling deep in his chest as she rests her head on his shoulder. Their whole lives together, he had never understood Bee’s loneliness. He told her nearly every chance he could that she was all he needed in this world. Her heart had nearly broken when she couldn’t return the sentiment. 

Of course, he was all she’d ever need romantically. But socially, she knew she needed friends. Women who understood. But no one really understood. Her or Tommy. Tommy unfortunately had cost Bee most of the friendships she had carried from adolescence into adulthood– and even her family did not understand their deep and unending love for one another, and many friends were either envious or afraid–too afraid to get close. 

“Do you really want to go?” He asked, hands covering hers, thumb rubbing gentle circles into the back of her hand.

“I think it might be nice to go,” she tells him, and he realizes he’s lost the battle when he hears that tone of longing in her voice. She looks up at him, and he melts into her eyes. 

“Alright, my love. I will phone Mr. Archer tomorrow and tell him that we will be there.”

“Oh, let me call his wife, please!” She says, looking at him, excitement filling her eyes.

And when she looks at him with those eyes—he cannot deny her anything. 

The next afternoon Bee phones Mrs. Archer. Her name is Laurel. “Yes, this is Mrs. Shelby,” she says into the phone. 

“Oh, my dear I am so sorry your invitation did not get in the mail! I feel so horrible for that oversight. I do hope you’ll forgive me,” she gushes into the phone. 

“It’s no trouble, I assure you. Thomas and I will be there for your dinner and luncheon, we are looking forward to it,” Bee tells her, beginning to think of what she should wear. 

“Oh, splendid! We will have the rooms ready, don’t worry about a thing,” she says cheerily. 

“Mrs. Archer, don’t trouble yourself, separate rooms won’t be necessary,” Bee tell her. 

“Don’t be silly, dear, it’s no bother. Looking forward to seeing you!” 

And she hung up. 

Simmons drove Bee and Thomas to the Archer’s London mansion. “No later than three, Simmons, not a second later,” Tommy told Simmons in regards to their pick up time the next day.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby, I’ll be here by three.” Simmons promised, throwing Bee a smile when Tommy’s back was turned. She smiled, shaking her head in annoyance at her husband. 

The butler retrieved their bags from the back of the car, the London home bustling with people. Bee’s heart fluttered in her chest, not used to these sorts of events–nervous that somehow she’d embarrass herself, or worse, embarrass Tommy. 

He held his arm out to her and she took it as the two of them were escorted into the house. 

 The Archer’s were waiting in their foyer, greeting guests as they arrived. “Mr. and Mrs. Shelby!” Mr. Archer beamed. He was an older man, about sixty, bald, with a gray mustache that reminded Bee of Arthur’s. Mrs. Archer had beautiful white hair and the most radiant skin Bee had ever seen. Her eyes were bright. “We are so pleased to have you, welcome to our home.” 

“Thank you,” Bee and Tommy say in unison. Tommy clears his throat, slightly embarrassed. 

“Right this way to your rooms,” Mrs. Archer said cheerily. Tommy shot Bee a confused look, but she was so busy taking in the beauty of this London house that she didn’t catch it. The hallways were ornately decorated, gilded frames of children, grandchildren, horses, dogs, prizes, meetings with US Senators, Presidents, prominent British families decorated the halls. Bee couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at how active Mrs. Archer was with her husband's dealings–all the connections she had. Mrs. Archer led the two of them down a hallway, stopping in front of a dark blue door. “Mrs. Shelby, this is your room,” she said delicately, opening the door. “And Mr. Shelby, your room is right across the hall. I’ll have your things brought around directly.”

Not even five minutes into this trip and Tommy had already had enough. “My wife had told you that two rooms won’t be necessary, and that is still the case. One room will be adequate for the two of us,” he said, stepping into the room Mrs. Archer had deemed Bee’s. 

Bee blushed, throwing the woman an apologetic smile. “Oh,” Mrs. Archer said, surprised. “I am sorry, Mr. Shelby, I–most couples aren’t that way,” she said, laughing awkwardly.  

“Well,” Tommy said from inside the room, eyeing the vaulted ceilings and the huge windows. “We are that way.” 

Bee blushed again, embarrassed. “I am sorry, Mrs. Archer, we are very grateful for your hospitality. We’re just a little tired from the trip,” She tried to come up with an additional excuse to give for her husband's poor manners, but, truth be told, that was her husband most of the time. Bee was practically the only one he was never harsh to, and it was something his family reminded her of often, and with much disdain.

“I understand, dear. I will leave you to rest for the evening. Dinner is at seven,” she told them, just as the valet brought the bags to the room. 

“I’ll take them,” Tommy said, taking their suitcases from the awkward valet. The valet stood there, eyes wide, hands at his side. “That’ll be all.” 

Bee stood by the door as the valet awkwardly left, wringing her hands together. Tommy sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a cigarette, the tension in his shoulders and jaw visible. “Thomas, are you okay?” She asks, sitting next to him on the bed. 

He sighed, bringing the lit cigarette to his lips, tossing his lighter on the bed. “I hate these sorts of things. Hate being in these big crowds of people. Not being able to speak freely. I never feel like I fit in.” he admitted. 

He had struggled with a lack of acceptance in his life, in general. From his upbringing and his heritage to his unconventional line of work, a common theme in his life was feeling isolated. Alone. A feeling he had grown accustomed to–a feeling he had allowed to make itself home in his soul, only making room for Bee and his children when the time came. 

Bee rubbed gentle circles into his back. He fell backwards on the bed with a dramatic thump. The coils in the mattress squeaked under his weight. Bee giggled, climbing on top of him, pressing kisses to his forehead, nose, cheeks. “I know right where you fit, Thomas,” she tells him cheekily, earning a naughty smirk from him. 

“And where is that, Mrs. Shelby?” he asks, hands grabbing onto her bum and squeezing, making her yelp in surprise. 

“Right here!” she giggles, putting a hand against her heart. 

He let out a thoughtful groan. “I can think of another few places right where I fit, Darling. Shall I show you?” he asked, rolling the two of them so he was on top of her, hips pressing against her. 

“Oh, please do,” she nearly moans as he presses a kiss to her lips. 

That evening at six thirty, some ladies maids and butlers were sent around to the rooms. There was a knock on their door as Tommy zipped the back of Bee’s dress. A maid let out a startled cry, seeing the two of them in the room together. “Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, I am sorry!” she said, averting her eyes from Bee’s exposed back. 

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Bee tells her sweetly as Tommy glides the zipper the rest of the way up, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders gently. The back of the dress dipped down to the middle of her back, revealing the T M S Bee had inked into her shoulder blade a year ago. 

The maid gasped at the artwork that adorned her body as Tommy pressed a kiss to her back. “May we be of assistance?” he asked, voice gravely with desire; not turning around, but rather pressing more kisses to the exposed skin of Bee’s shoulders, the back of her neck. 

“Just here to help Mrs. Shelby dress, that’s all,” the maid said nervously, unable to divert her eyes from the scene unfolding in front of her. 

“I assure you, Mrs. Shelby is in capable hands,” Tommy rasped, subtly dragging his tongue over the top of her shoulder. 

“That will be all, thank you,” Bee manages to croak out as Tommy nibbles at the back of her neck. The maid scurries out of the room, closing the door softly. “Thomas, you’re cruel,” she chastises him as he turns to face the two of them in the vanity mirror. 

He eyes her in the mirror, hands roaming over the front of her dress, cupping, kneading, caressing. “How?” he asked, hands moving to her back, fingers tracing his initials, inked into her skin. 

“Practically seducing me in front of the staff,” Bee blushes, reaching into her jewelry case to retrieve Tommy’s cufflinks. 

His eyes are dark as he eyes her, moving back towards him to fasten the cufflinks on his shirt. “Anyone would enjoy watching that,” he tells her, voice deep with lust. “Listening to those fucking sounds you make,” he shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, watching her trying to focus on the task at hand. “You drive me wild,” he whispers, gazing at her–a mixture of lust and adoration in his eyes. 

“Thomas, please, you’re making me warm,” she stifled a giggle, an embarrassed smile on her face, cheeks flushing red under his gaze. 

“You’re always warm, Darling,” he tells her. 

“What’s gotten into you?” she giggled, finishing his other cufflink. 

He walks over to his suitcase, where he retrieves a dark black box. “A man can’t show his wife how in love with her he still is? Even after all this time?” He hides the box behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. 

She turns away from him and closes her eyes, giggling. “Thomas, what’d we talk about?” 

He smirks, opening the box. “You said no more diamonds, that you had far too many than you could ever wear,” he recounts. 

“Yes,” Bee agreed. 

“Good thing I listen, hm?” he says, placing the three strand pearl necklace around her neck and fastening it in the back. “Open,” he instructs, and she does, fingers moving to touch the pearls. 

“Thomas,” she gasps. “Thomas Shelby!” she turns around to face him, a smug smile on his face. “It’s too much, Thomas,” she tells him, fingers still running over the smooth surface of the pearls. “Thank you.” 

He wraps his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, eyeing the two of them in the mirror. “Anything for you, my angel.” 

And she knew he meant it. 

The strands of pearls complimented the dark peach of her dress beautifully, which set off her hair and skin tone in the most enchanting way. It wasn’t a long necklace, the strands laying elegantly at the top of her collarbones. 

“You look stunning,” he tells her, peeling himself away from her for a moment to pull his tuxedo jacket over his shoulders, and slide his signet ring on his pinky; his wedding band a staple he never removed. 

“You look dashing, Mr. Shelby,” she teases him and he rolls his eyes. “You outshine me, my Darling.”

His sweet words bring to remembrance the first time he’d danced with her, all those years ago, at her grandfather's birthday party. That he had crashed. 

“After all this time, hm?” she smiles, straightening his bowtie. 

“After all this time,” he agrees. 

The dinner bell rings, and they both let out a sigh. 

The Shelby’s make their way down the hall, a housemaid guiding them through the various passages and hallways, to a large, open room. “Welcome to cocktail hour, Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” the maid smiles sweetly at them, eyes lingering on Tommy. 

“Thank you,” Bee tells her, Tommys hand moving to the small of her back, straightening his posture and widening his shoulders. The maid bats her eyelashes at Tommy, who paid her no mind, eyes canvassing the room. “Are you alright, love?” Bee whispers to her husband, who immediately tensed upon entering the room. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Just hate these fucking things,” he said. 

The women seemed to be gathered on one side of the room, the men on the other. “I didn’t know there’d be a cocktail hour,” Bee said, pressing her lips together. 

“Let’s go, Darling,” Tommy said as a waiter walked past with a tray of champagne. Tommy grabbed two glasses, handing his wife one. 

A man approached Tommy–a man about his age, maybe slightly younger. “Mr. Shelby!” he greets enthusiastically. 

“Yes?” Tommy replies, unsure of who this man is, or how he knows of him. 

“I’m Hiram Quincy from Manchester,” he introduced himself, eyes sparkling at Bee. 

“Oh, yes, I recall seeing you at my oath ceremony,” Tommy told him dully. Bee stifled a giggle. She understood why Thomas got into politics, but sweet-talking with other members of the political realm was not his strong suit. He loathed small talk. Would rather be silent for hours than talk about the weather, tell others menial details about his life, his children, and would rather someone throw all his cigarettes into the punch bowl than divulge information about his wife. She was his. 

“Mrs. Shelby!” Laurel Archer spotted her from across the room, and waved her over. Bee gave Tommy an apologetic look before walking over to the crowd of women. 

Hiram turned towards Tommy, hands in his pockets, eyeing Bee as she walked away. “What special occasion is this that Thomas Shelby allows his wife to grace us all with her presence?” 

Tommy watches as the man's eyes devour his wife, eyes moving up and down her frame. “What the fuck did you just say?” Tommy asked, eyes narrowing at the man. 

Hiram pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “It’s no fucking secret, mate,” he chuckled, the cigarette between his lips. “You keep her locked up in the Shelby fucking Manor for fear of another man getting his sights on her and,” he shook his head, eyeing Bee again. “I can fucking see why,” he lit the cigarette. “She’s a a fucking dream.”

Tommy’s wrath was seconds from spilling over. He angled his body towards Hiram, his back to his wife. “Do you want to fuck my wife, Mr. Quincy?” he asked. The man's eyes widened. Until that moment, Tommy didn’t realize how beady they were. 

Bee had her back turned, Tommy’s initials on her skin visible. “You marked her, hm?” Hiram asked, raising his eyebrows at Tommy. 

Tommy raised his eyebrows, lighting a cigarette of his own. “She got it for our anniversary last year, actually,” 

“How long have you been married to that siren of a woman, Mr. Shelby?” 

Tommy could hear the blood furiously pulsing through his body. “Fourteen years.” 

“Lucky fucking man,” Hiram ground out. Tommy protectively kept an eye on his wife. It appeared she was having a good time, speaking with the other women. 

“The best I can do is offer for you to watch from a chair in the corner while I fuck her,” Tommy lowly told the man. “But I’ll have to take your eyes after we’re finished. No one looks at my wife that way, Mr. Quincy.” 

Hiram shot Tommy a cold look as Tommy walked away. 

Bee was in comfortable conversation with the women around her. Mary, the wife of an MP from Liverpool had asked dozens of questions about their children. She had beamed with excitement when she had told her of the twins. 

“Oh, I’m sure they’re just darlings!” she gushed. 

“They are. To me anyway,” she chuckled. “The nanny may have a different opinion.” 

A young wife, Madeline, whose husband was an MP from Bedford had hung on every word she said. She had complimented nearly everything Bee wore, and gasped when she saw her tattoo. It was something Bee was proud of–something she’d never in a million years would have thought about before Tommy. But he could be so possessive sometimes. She got it to remind him that no matter what happened, no matter where life took them–she would always be his. 

Bee had felt Tommy’s eyes on her all throughout the cocktail hour, protectively keeping watch. She’d caught his eye a few times, and had gently smiled across the room at one another. 

“Will you sit next to me during dinner, Mrs. Shelby?” Madeline asked. 

Bee smiled gently at her. “Of course, that would be lovely.” 

The dinner bell finally rang and Tommy let out a sigh of relief, anxious to be near his wife again. He came alongside her, a hand on the small of her back, already feeling more grounded from just a simple touch. “Madeline,” Bee says sweetly to the young woman standing rather close to them. “This is my husband, Thomas,” Tommy meets the young woman's eyes and is stunned by how incredibly young she is. Maybe nineteen. “Madeline is Mr. Stetfordshire’s wife, from Bedford,'' Bee tells him as he shakes her hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stetfordshire,” Tommy says. 

“Your wife is wonderful, she’s kept me company this evening. I’m not too good at these social things, you see,” she said bashfully as her husband, easily thirty years her senior approached her. 

“Aah!” the man said, “Shelby! I see you’ve met my wife,” the man said, an arm around his wife’s waist. 

“Yes, Hugh,” Tommy said. “This is my wife, Bee,” Tommy introduced the two of them. 

“We have all heard many things about Mrs. Shelby,” the man said, smirking at Tommy, who fought back a flush that crept up his neck. 

“We’ll sit next to them tonight,” Madeline said, flashing her husband a pleading look. 

“Of course, of course,” her husband said, giving her a sympathetic look. 

The first course went smoothly enough, Tommy’s hand on Bee’s thigh whenever he wasn’t actively engaged in eating his dinner. It was something she’d gotten used to, really. Him always touching her, always wanting to be near–to know she was there. To feel that she was there, even though he could see her. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Hiram bellowed from another end of the table they were seated at. “Tell us of your background, what interested you in politics.” 

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey and cleared his throat. “I am Romani,” he started off with, earning several raised eyebrows from around the table. “We grew up very poor, being travelers, and I would like to see the world a little better–different for those after me who are in situations similar to the one I grew up in,” he said truthfully, one of the more transparent things he’d said in front of a group of people. That much was true, Bee knew, and her heart softened at the goodness that lived in this man. This man she loves–this man she would do anything for.  

Hiram chuckled. “A Gypsy, hm? Bee, really, what did you see in him?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s a war veteran,” she says, tone firm. “He was a Sergeant Major in the tunnels in France. He was at the Somme and Mons,” she told them, their eyes flashing sympathetic. “He saved me from being raped not long after we first met. He’s a wonderful father. A protective brother and uncle. There’s a lot I see in him. Not that it’s any of your business, but if you’re interested I could easily spend hours telling all of you of what I see in Thomas Shelby.” 

Tommy’s eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, a wave of emotion overtaking him. The pride she had in him. The pride that she had to be his. Unashamedly and unabashedly. Bee literally wore him on her body and would scream it from the rooftops of Buckingham Palace that he was yours if he asked her to. He reached for her hand, smiling softly at her as the table fell silent, Hiram’s face falling. 

Anger poured from Bee–anger at this assumption that her husband wasn’t worthy of love. Wasn’t worthy of her love, of this life he’d built. Tommy’s thumb stroked gently on the back of her hand, drawing her from her angered state. 

The evening ended with a nightcap in the library, which was the most impressive home library either of them had ever seen. Madeline didn’t leave Bee’s side, almost like a lost puppy. At the end of the evening, as Bee made her way back to her room with Tommy, and Madeline with Hugh, she looked at Bee with a heartbroken expression. 

“I would give anything for a man to look at me the way Mr. Shelby looks at you, Bee,” Hugh caught up to her and escorted her to her room. 

“Goodnight, Dear!” Bee calls after her. Madeline threw her a smile over her shoulder as Tommy came up behind Bee, opening the door. 

Tommy opened their room door, letting Bee in before closing it gently behind the two of them, securing the lock in place. 

Bee sinks into the vanity bench, mind and body ready for sleep. “These things are exhausting,” she says, slipping her shoes off. 

“Tell me about it,” he ground out, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders, lying it neatly across the dresser top. “All I heard about all evening is how many men want to fuck my wife,” he said, angrily tugging his bowtie free from his neck. 

Bee turned around to face him. “What?” she asked in shock. 

He scoffed. “Oh don’t act like you don’t know, Darling.”

“I don’t!” she tells him, mouth open in shock. “What on earth do you mean?” 

He unclasps his cufflinks. “This is why I can’t bring you to these things because everyone,” he throws them down on the nightstand with a clang. “Wants to know about you,” he says, toeing off his shoes next. “Wants to talk about you,” he removes his braces from his shoulders. “Wants to know why I keep you locked up in a castle in Birmingham to rot away, while you make me out to be some hero at dinner. Here I am a jailer.” 

Bee eyes him in the mirror. “Thomas,” she says softly. She gets up and walks over to him as he nearly rips his sleeve garters from his arms. “Thomas,” she holds his face in her hands and he sighs. “Look at me,” she tells him sweetly when he doesn’t meet her gaze. “I love you,” his hands grip her wrists. “They don’t know about us,” she tells him. “They don’t need to know everything. They just need to know that I am yours and you are mine.” 

They undressed each other quickly, desperate to touch one another, feel one another, after a long night of longing looks from across an unfamiliar room. She was panting beneath him when he dragged his thumb over her lower lip and rasped, “Don’t you dare be quiet tonight. I want them all to fucking hear you. Hear you say you are fucking mine.” 

She obeyed. 

Bee fell asleep in his arms while he laid awake, observing every inch of her body as she slept. He ran gentle fingertips up and down her body, watching in amusement as goosebumps rippled in his touch's wake. 

During the night she rolled over, the dim candlelight from his nightstand illuminating his initials on her back. He pressed a sleepy kiss to the ink. He rehearsed in his mind all the sweet things she’d whispered, moaned, cried into his ear when he made love to her. How worthy she made him feel. How loved. Treasured. Respected. Adored. Cherished. Feelings he’d never felt before. Never felt free to feel before. 

His father had drunk to forget how he felt, allowing only anger to be the driving emotion in his life–something Tommy and all his brothers wore scars both physically and emotionally from. His mother felt everything deeply–something Tommy was afraid he and Arthur inherited. His father made them feel ashamed for feeling any extreme emotion.

Tommy remembered when he was five, his favorite horse fell lame and had to be shot, something a boy of his age was not prepared to hear, let alone see. He had run to cry in his mothers chest, terrified of the horror his father had inflicted on his favorite animal. His mother tried to soothe him, rubbing his back, rocking him gently in her lap. His father wandered in later, drunk and angry, pulling Tommy from his mothers lap. He screamed in his face, Tommy not remembering most of what he had said, half asleep and still terrified. 

It wasn’t until he found Bee that he could feel safe again. She was his hiding place, his refuge. The one he could always run to. The first time he’d cried in front of her he’d been beyond embarrassed. But she held him and kissed every inch of skin she could get her lips on. He shook, body overwhelmed from exhaustion and pent up emotion, and she held him together in her arms. 

When she woke up the next morning, she smiled at him and he looked at her with all the love and tenderness he could muster. “My lighthouse,” he whispered. “I was lost. Drowning. You saved me with your light,” he pressed kisses to her collarbones. 

“Mr. Shelby, waxing poetic this morning, hm?” she asked as he moved atop her. 

“I think when I’m old, I’ll write poems for you. That way you can read them when I’m dead and you’re missing me,” he said, half jokingly, half serious. 

“Thomas!” she scolded, playfully swatting at his bum. 

“Darling, the chances of us both dying at precisely the same time are terribly slim,” he said.

“But that’s how I want it to happen,” she said, eyes wide. 

“I know, my darling, but that is the risk you run I suppose when you marry a man ten years your senior,” he told her, dropping to his forearms above her, his forehead against hers. 

“Old man,” she giggled playfully, kissing him, her hands in his hair. 

“Old man who knows what the fuck he’s doing, eh?” he smirked into the kiss, grinding his hips against hers. 

“Oh yes,” she moaned as he made love to her again… for the first (and not only) time that day. 

The Shelby’s skipped breakfast entirely, too wrapped up in one another to care that their bellies rumbled with hunger. They decided to prepare themselves for the luncheon and for their departure. 

“Are you ready for your shadow to return?” Tommy asked with a small smile as he tied his tie. 

“What do you mean?” Bee asked, selecting her jewelry. 

“That young woman from dinner last night. She practically followed you everywhere.”

“She needs a friend, Thomas. And so do I,” Bee said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Alright, my love, I’m sorry,” he came up behind her and pressed a kiss to her neck. “I do think her husband was rather old for her,” he said, hands resting on her belly, chin on her shoulder. 

“Yes, it’s unfortunate but I do think they care for one another,” Bee said, reaching for her bottle of perfume. 

Tommy stepped back as she misted herself with her perfume, the one he loved, the one that drove him wild. He admired her. Her grace, her elegance. And in that moment his heart swelled with gratitude that he was able to marry for love. Not forced to out of convenience, not trapped in a loveless one, bound only by the children they’d brought into the world. But for love. 

They managed to emerge from their room a decent amount of time before lunch was scheduled to begin. Madeline caught Bee’s attention almost immediately. “Oh, are you feeling alright? We missed you both at breakfast,” Madeline smiled kindly at both of them. 

“Nonsense,” another wife, Carol? Anne? Bee couldn’t remember, commented. “We all heard them last night. It’s ridiculous! This is a sophisticated party and they fuck like animals. Hmph!” she turned her nose up at Bee. Who smirked. 

“At least my husband fucks me,” Bee smirked before walking towards the appetizer table, rather pleased with herself. 

“Well! Most couples aren’t that way!” The goody-two-shoes wife said, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. 

“Well,” Bee shrugged. “The Shelby’s are.” 

tag list: if tumblr isn't allowing me to tag you, please see this link for reasons why the tags aren't working. (most likely #3)

@peakyltd @cctoma @lyarr24 @shelbyteller @mrsnshelby88 @skydisneylover @babygaga67 @mariarozasworld @kemillyfreitas @cyphah

[vmrsdias]

I need help from Thomas Shelby fan readers, some time ago I was reading a story where Thomas had cheated on Y/N, the two of them had two children (Charles and Ruby), Y/N had kicked Thomas out of the house. I hope someone knows it because I would like to read it again. if anyone could help me thank you ❤️

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Six months after being released from prison and cleared of murder charges, you and Arthur are finally getting married. All you have to do now is hope for the wedding day to be spared from some Shelby chaos. Featuring John Shelby x Reader.

Words: 6k

TW:  tooth-rotting fluff, light angst, allusions to smut, one ruined wedding cake, Tommy not being a dick for once, otherwise it's a well-deserved soft chapter to start this new act. Let's not break your heart too soon.

Notes:

✞ This chapter is the beginning of Act II of Heaven in Your Eyes. The timeline is S4.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The beating in your heart was so erratic, so fierce, that its constant drumming echoed in your skull and ears as painfully as if someone was smashing your brain with a hammer. You clenched your jaws at the painful bite of the rope the police officer behind you had placed around your neck. The way the noose compressed your windpipe, already giving you a foretaste of what was awaiting you, made the act of breathing laborious. Sucking on a sharp breath, your throat whistled like a dying bird. Down below I go, you thought while nervously playing with the wedding ring Arthur gifted you weeks ago. He had barely made his proposal when policemen snatched you from him and threw you both in jail. With your back straight and your crystal eyes glaring at the officers who were present in this slaughter room, you managed to keep your dignity. They might hang you, but they would not see you cry. In fact, if you went down they would have to watch you, so that your piercing irises would haunt them until, one day, Death would come for them too.

I love you Arthur. 

I love you Dad and Mom.

I love you little sister.

I’m so sorry I’ve failed you.

Could you ever forgive me?

Your teeth dug into the flesh of your inner cheek as seconds flew, each bringing you closer to your inevitable end. 

“WAIT!!! PLEASE WAIT! ” 

A far cry in the distance. Were you dreaming? Or were demons already afraid of you down in Hell?

Officer Kat Wilson’s heart missed a beat when the familiar voice boomed in the warehouse, as loud as a foghorn. The blonde policewoman turned around, eyes filled with hope as she saw the silhouette of Sergeant Moss bathed in the blinding outside light that had rushed into the place when he had opened the warehouse’s heavy doors, “Do not kill her! We’ve just received a new order from the Crown: Heaven Lavey and Polly Gray are proven innocent of the crimes they had been accused of.”  He said, forehead glistening with sweat. He had probably run as fast as possible to deliver the news quickly. Kat Wilson felt all of her muscles relax at such an unhoped-for plot twist.

“Take the noose off her neck now.” She ordered, trying his best to sound strict despite Moss standing right here,  running out of breath.

Innocent? Take the noose? Sentences were melting in an intelligible treacle because of the emotional roller coaster you were undergoing, hence you only caught a few words. When your mind finally made sense of what was happening, a long sigh came out of your quivering lips. Then, the policeman behind you set your throat free. You blinked several times and looked at Officer Wilson, who replied to your confused gaze with a faint, supportive smile illuminating her usually oh-so-severe traits. Then, she proceeded to free you from the handcuffs that were sinking into the frail flesh of your wrists. As she did, Kat brought her lips near your ear and whispered so only you could hear, “Arthur’s safe. The warrant includes the Shelby family too. I’m sorry for the mess, doll. ” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and glanced at the woman, trying not to let too many emotions show. Not that you wanted to play the tough girl, but you were so overwhelmed by your feelings that you were not even able to let out anything except confusion. It was all… Too much. “You knew they were going to release us.” You stated with a quiet but still slightly shaky voice as the revelation struck you. 

“Let’s say I hoped they’d interrupt your death sentence in time.” Her soft yet hoarse voice replied, highlighted with a cunning little something.

Kat Wilson gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before leading you outside the sinister warehouse, unwilling to provide you with further details. And somehow, you did not bother to ask. The only thing you wished for was to run away from this killing floor. Thus you walked bare feet on the gravel ground, the peaky sensation of the tiny stones against your flesh keeping you grounded to reality, andyou stopped in the middle of the yard. There, you threw your head back and closed your eyes,  relishing the soft caress of the wind on your face.  You breathed a sigh of relief, for the clouds above you had shifted from the sun, whose rays were warming up your frozen skin. 

You were alive. 

“Heaven!” A woman voice called you.

You reopened your eyes and looked around you, “Oh my God, Polly!” You suddenly exclaimed when you recognized her. Seeing Aunt Polly running to you and almost tackling you in a desperate hug was all it took for your emotions to finally flood you. Tears dawned at the corner of your eyes as you pulled her into a deeper embrace. Polly sobbed in your arms, her body quivering because of her cries.

“I saw them Heaven! I saw the spirits. Oh bloody hell, the spirits…” 

“I know Pol,” You tried to comfort her the best you could, your grip tightening around the poor woman in the hope of helping her calm her panic attack. Still, you knew she was shaken to the core by her freshly canceled rendezvous with Mr. Death, “Everything’s fine,” You whispered, and let one of your hands lose itself in her short dark hair, “I hear them too.” You admitted. Polly gradually grew quieter in your arms, running out of tears. Nevertheless, you did not let her go. What you did, though, was to silently thank the policewoman with your gaze, your irises sparkling with genuine gratitude. No matter her role in all this mess, you knew Kat Wilson contributed to setting you free. 

You were alive.

Alive, for sure, and indescribably furious. 

1925 - Six Months Later 

You had been absentmindedly looking at your reflection in the mirror for long minutes when someone knocked at the door and snatched you from your contemplative state. A growl escaped from your lips for you had let everyone know you did not want to be bothered— truth be told, you needed a bit of time alone with you to soothe your anxiety. However, the uninvited guest came in before you allowed him to do so.

“True gentlemen wait to be invited before entering a room, you know? Especially when a lady is in it. ” You said with a faint smirk on your plump and glossy lips as you recognized the guest by the sole fragrances of his cologne. 

“A part of me hoped to see you undressed, that’s why I didn’t, little Angel.” The masculine voice answered, its tone filled with tease. You snorted at such a stupid answer, kinda expecting it, and rolled your eyes in amusement.

“Idiot.” You simply retorted, glancing at him through the mirror you were still facing.

“Idiot? That’s it? I’m used to better roast from ya, eh!” John exclaimed, surprised by your lack of wit. He wanted to tease you again you but your sudden silence kept him from doing so. Something was off. Worried, the young Shelby brother frowned a little bit and walked to you, not minding your desire of being alone. You jumped slightly at the sensation of his two large and warm hands squeezing your upper arms, “Oi, Angel.” He gently called, the tenderness in his voice wrapping you in a comforting haze, “Tell me what’s wrong please…” 

For sure John Shelby had a soft spot for you since the day Arthur introduced you to the family. No one had ever doubted it. Without the slightest explanation nor apparent reasons, you both immediately grew fond of each other from the moment your eyes met. In truth, your relationship with the Shelby family had been quite tricky for months following the first meeting. Most of them didn’t want you to be a part of the clan, partly due to the witch rumors around you and Arthur’s obsessive love. It was only now, a solid year and one murder later, that everything had started to flow more smoothly with them.

Even Esme, who had been terrified of you and would usually avoid you at all costs, had learned to live with your presence in the family. According to Polly, you had deserved your place among them more than any other women the boys brought home. The only threat to this harmony had been and still was Thomas Shelby himself. The mutual resentment you shared for each other was rooted in deep and far too complicated reasons, the most recent one was him selling you to the police for murder charges. However, you came to terms with the idea of maintaining a mutual hatred as long as he did not step between Arthur and you ever again. 

So, apart from Tommy and Esme, you were now getting along with everyone. But with John… With John, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced, apart from Arthur. Whenever your man wasn’t there, John would do everything that was in his power to keep you company and bring a smile to your face. Not only he loved to visit you and spent his free time with you, but he truly cared for your well-being. Sometimes he would make a surprise visit to your house. In fact, he would stand there on your porch with the most adorable smile you had ever seen etched on his lips, a basket filled with food in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. When Arthur and you decided to leave Birmingham, your heart ached at the thought of moving away from John. Following your departure, rumors said John’s eternal smile had not be seen for weeks. However, once you had well adjusted to your new routine, even distance could not shake your unique bond: John never ceased to visit you when he could.

“What’s the matter, little angel?” He inquired, genuinely concerned by your silence and the melancholic gleam in your aquamarine eyes. 

“I’m scared John. I’m fucking scared.” You finally admitted, closing your eyelids a few seconds to take a slow inhale. The weight in your chest had vanished from the moment words left your mouth.  At such a surprising answer, the young gangster’s grip tightened on your arms and he gently forced you to turn around to face him. Still, you avoided his gaze, fearing judgment. 

“It’s your wedding day, Heaven. What are you scared of?” He carefully asked, taking care not to make you think he was mocking or judging you.

“I’m scared because now I’ve got something to lose again,” You fell silent for a tiny while, fighting again the desire to remain silent, but you knew you could open up to him, “I have a magnificent house in the forest cradled by the sweet chant of a peaceful stream. I have the loveliest man I could have dreamt of by my side, who loves me to the moon and back. God, I even got a dog!” Another brief pause you took to avoid crying, “And one day there will be one or two kids…” John listened to you carefully, still wondering what the problem was, “If I'm being honest, I’ve never thought I would be allowed to be this happy. At one point in my life, I got used to the idea of dying alone,  hunted down by bad memories, and drowned by guilt. But, look at me now. Look how far I’ve come… That’s why I’m scared of losing it all. Fuck, John —” 

To your greatest surprise, the young gangster replied to your lament with soft chuckles, “Heaven. I don’t know what it is between Arthur and you, but I’ve never seen a love fiercer than the one you share. Bloody Hell, you’re so addicted to each other it’s even a bit scary sometimes, not gonna lie eh,” His fingers trapped your chin in one soft movement and, with indescribable tenderness, he raised your head so that he could observe each trait of your angelic face, “Having something to lose makes you cherish what you have even more. Plus it doesn’t mean you’re gonna lose it. “ The corner of his charming lips curled in a sweet smile, “Moreover, there’s more chance for Tommy to like you than for Arthur to leave your side. He’s not gonna let you go… To my greatest sadness.” John winked at you and, despite everything, his last flirty comment managed to make you laugh.  Sometimes, you didn’t know how he always succeeded in cheering you up but still he did, “Listen, I knew you’d be a bit nervous for your wedding day, so I got you a little surprise.” 

“A surprise?” You asked, curious, wiping away the tiny tears that had formed in the corner of your eyes while being careful not to ruin the stunning siren-eyes makeup Ada did. It would be a shame to have more mascara on your cheek than on your eyelashes the day of your wedding. John walked to the door and put his large hand on the knob, looking at you to maintain a small suspense “I know he’s not supposed to see you before the ceremony but he would not stop crying without you so…” He was about to open the door when he stopped mid-action, “Oh and I’m not talking about Arthur by the way. Even though I’m pretty sure he’s also doing that.” 

“Fuck off, John boy.” You poked your tongue out, feeling cheerful and far less anxious thanks to him. He grinned in reply and finally opened the door.

“Oh! This is... So cuuuuute!” You almost squealed, for you were welcomed by the sight of Kaiser, the huge Cane Corso Arthur’s had brought home one night, sitting in front of the door with his mouth open in a big smile and with his drooling tongue hanging, “Come here big boy!” You called him, kneeling on the floor without minding your wedding dress now that your fur baby was here. Kaiser did not need to be asked twice: he walked to you and put his huge head between your frail hands to get his scratches, looking at you with so much love in his hazel eyes you could not resist smooching his wet snout “I can’t believe you’ve put a bow tie to my dog!” You laughed, “Look at this distinguished gentleman... He’s gonna steal all the women!”  The massive beast barked loudly as to agree with you. You delicately wrapped your arms around his muscular frame to hug him, the sensation of his fur against your face erasing the last bits of anxiety left in you “Oh you’re the most handsome man of the whole family, baby Kaiser... Yes, you are. ”

His tail wagged. Of course, he was!

“Couldn’t participate in the wedding if he wasn’t all fancy, eh. I've also put a fake mustache on his snout but he ate it so I gave up on the idea,” He shrugged, “I thought it would make you laugh and help you relax.” 

“Thank you, John! Thank you so much, you’re lovely I swear.” You said, looking at him with your gaze filled with genuine affection all the while cuddling with Kaiser, who seemed to be in paradise judging by his blissfully happy face. 

“So — are you ready?” John finally asked.

“Yes, I am.” You replied, then stood up and took a quick look at your reflection in the mirror to fix your long white mane, which had been styled in wavy and adorned with a few diamonds from there and then, giving your hair an otherworldly shine. As you focused on your hairstyle, John rearranged your dress. At one point, he stopped what he was doing to look at you with a dreamy expression. 

“You’re stunning, little angel. Fuckin’ bewitching.” He whispered before shaking his head, “Let’s find your man now, eh. Alright?” You nodded, the butterflies in your stomach flying at the sole mention of Arthur.

“I’m ready but before we go can I ask you a favor, John?”

“Anything.” 

“You know, I’d have loved my family to be here. Mom would have been prolly crying during the whole wedding in Dad’s arms while my little sister would have thrown white petals at everyone’s face for fun…” You let out a charming but oh-so-sad chuckle “But no matter how fiercely I’ve prayed for it I know they won’t be there. So I’ve got two choices left: either I walk alone to my husband or I ask someone to accompany me.” You had barely finished your sentence when the celeste blue of your eyes dived into the sky blue of his, “I’d like you to escort me down the aisle, John.”

He remained silent, stricken by surprise at such a touching demand.  He had not been expecting it. Words were at loss, however, they were not necessary for you to understand his answer:  as the sun rays crossed through the windows and enlightened John’s face, you could see the precious shine of one sole crystal tear running down his cheek.

The powerful sound of the organ resonated in the whole church, the vibrations of its melody resounding in Arthur’s chest and making him tremble from within. He was standing in front of the altar with his manly hands interlocked in front of him. For the occasion, he had bought the most elegant and expensive tailored three-piece suit he had ever owned: he was dressed in all black, except for the white shirt he was wearing under. Moreover, Tommy had put some traditional white flowers in the pocket of his vest, while Polly had slipped an emerald pillar pendant around his neck and hid it under his shirt before he entered the church— a marriage blessing, from what he had understood from Polly’s emotional speech. The woman was so proud of her older nephew she could not help but already weep with joy. Arthur nervously glanced at his brother who was standing by his side, slightly in front of him at his best man’s place.  Then, his steel-blue eyes shifted from Tommy and searched for his Aunt, who sat a bit further in the audience beside Ada and Finn. To be honest, Arthur’s anxiety kicked in. The more the second passed, the more the unpleasant impression his heart was about to burst from his chest was overwhelming. Nervously spinning one of his silver rings, he tried to control his nerves the best he could but it was harder than he thought: a part of him, admittedly irrational, was terrified by the possibility of you not showing up.

What if you’ve changed your mind? What if you’ve come to the conclusion you did not want him? What if your wedding did not work out, just like his first one? Maybe the problem hadn’t been Linda but him? 

As was always the case when he was panicking, his self-whipping thoughts banged together in his skull like a hive of furious buzzing hornets. Nevertheless, Arthur knew, deep down, that you were soul mates and that there was no actual reason for you to flee. What really helped him to calm down though was taking a deep inhale and focusing on the hundred of candles’ flames that were illuminating the room with tiny dancing flames. A comforting wave of warmth almost immediately wrapped his heart as he did, for this church was the place in which you met for the very first time. He still clearly remembers the fire that had lit in his dying soul at the way your fingers grazed him when you had cleaned the blood off his face with a torn piece of your own dress. Not only had you purified his soiled skin, but then you had allowed him to put his head on your thighs and proceeded to pet his hair all the while lulling his demons to sleep with that enchanting voice of yours. From that night, Arthur made a promise to Almighty God, who had been kind enough to answer his prayers and sent him his most precious Angel. And that promise was that he would marry you in this same place to show God how well he would treat you and how happy you would be with him.

The organ roared louder in the church all of a sudden, causing him to refocus.

 You were coming.

The gangster straightened his back, quickly slicked his hair back one last time to look perfect for you, and then stared at the church’s heavy wooden doors with both anxiety and anticipation in his eyes. His blood boiled with impatience, for you had been separated for too long because of the traditional “don’t see the bride before the ceremony” the Shelby women — and John — had insisted to establish. That being said, it had been torture for Arthur, who was aching so much from your absence that he felt almost as bad as when he went through rehab. Hands shaking, cold sweat running down his back, breath hitching, Arthur could definitely not live without you by his side. — you were the most exquisite drug ever created, against which even opium could not even compete. 

The doors opened and panic rushed even more brutally into his being. At first, he thought he was about to die from a heart attack, but then, all these negative feelings vanished in dust when his piercing blue irises met your tantalizing silhouette. When you erupted from the almost supernatural light that was surrounding you, Arthur widened his eyes and stopped breathing. Here you were, your seductive body adorned with a graceful Greek goddess-inspired dress whose cut let the pale flesh of your back for the world to see while also forming a graceful and long wedding cape that was cascading down your shoulders. The whiteness of your outfit, equaling the wonderful snow-like color of your hair, was enhanced with gold jewels: armbands and a choker. One look at you was all it took for Arthur to feel the stinging of uncontrollable tears dawning in his eyes, for a tsunami of emotions had crashed in his soul at such a holy sight. As you walked to the altar at John’s arm, the wind blew in the church and made your cape dance behind you. For a few seconds, Arthur was convinced he saw wings in your back. Mighty feathery wings. 

Divine. It was the only word that came into his mind when he watched you breaking the distance between you. And the more you approached, the more he was stunned by your ethereal beauty. So stunned he had to keep himself from falling on his knees at your feet, deeming himself unworthy of standing in front of such a pure seraph. Even Tommy, whose resentment for you was a secret to none, found himself in awe at your pulchritude. He, along with the groom, had to blink several times to make sure they were not dreaming. 

Your glossy lips stretched in an enamored smile overflowing with emotions when you looked at your future husband: he was so charming in his suit that you fell in love with him for a second time. Your grip tightened around John’s arm for your heartbeat quickened until you finally rejoined Arthur. As soon as you reached him, the tall gangster took you by the hands — yours: small, delicate, and freezing. His: large, calloused, and burning. You dived into each other’s eyes, and the rest of the world disappeared. 

“You’re so handsome.”  You whispered, causing an adorable pink shade to blossom on your soon-to-be husband’s cheeks. 

“C-Come on. Did ye see yer own reflection? Ye took me fookin breath away, Angel.” His hoarse replied.

“Arthur, we’re in a church.” You discreetly snorted.

“Oh Fook. I mean shi— Whatever.” He slightly stuttered. At this moment, it did not matter that he was a grown man in his mid-thirties: he felt like a flustered teenager in front of his first crush all over again.  And to be true, so you were — to the point you both did not hear much of what the priest was saying, for you were far too hypnotized by each other’s presence as well as fighting hard against the urge of devouring each other’s lips. The only moment you both came back to your senses was when you had to pronounce your vows.

Then came the final moment.

Arthur Shelby, do you take Heaven Lavey to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honor her all the days of your life?

I do. He answered with haste. You trapped your lower lip between your teeth, gathering all your strength to hold your emotions, but the crystal tears in your aquamarine eyes betrayed you. 

Arthur Shelby, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

The caress of your fingers along with the cold sensation of the golden ring on his skin sent shivers down his spine.  Observing you as you sealed your love by slipping the ring around his finger,  Arthur’s smile grew a bit larger and made his teary eyes squint, digging adorable crowfeet at their corners.

You can kiss the bride.

The priest’s last words brought him back to life — that’s what he had been waiting for what seemed to be an eternity. Unable to wait any longer, the gangster brought one hand to your cheek and broke the excruciating distance between your lips until they crashed together under a thunder of applause. The feathery caress of his moustache on your skin mixed with the sensation of his eager mouth warmed you all over. Arthur deepened the kiss by parting his lips slightly so that his tongue could find its way to yours and give it a gentle stroke. But while hungry, the press of his mouth remained chaste. Carried away by his softness, you felt your body flickering in his arms, as fragile as the church’s candle flames.

You were his, he told it to himself. And he was yours. All yours until death tears you apart.

No, fuck that Reaper cunt he thought, even Death would not keep him apart from you.

The hundreds of candles and lanterns that were scattered through all Arrow House’s garden enlightened the night with their warm hue. Shortly before the wedding, the Shelby family suggested hosting the party in Tommy’s Mansion rather than in your place for practical matters. By celebrating your marriage in Arrow House, all the family and, by extension, friends, could reunite together without having to drive for miles. Moreover, the mansion was far bigger than your and Arthur’s house, which made the place far more convenient for partying.  For the event, all of Arrow House and its gargantuan garden had been decorated with lights, candles of every kind, white drapes, and flower wreaths that gave the place a supernatural atmosphere. The cheerful cacophony of chatter and music hovered above the garden as the guests were indulging themselves with food, alcohol, and innocent fun. Even Officer Kat Wilson, who had been invited following her implication in your release from prison, spent the whole night partying with the Shelby family.  Surprisingly enough, no one dared to disrupt the celebration with illegal activities. Just a few bets here and there. The only incident to declare had been the moment when Arthur, faithful to himself, almost smashed someone’s head in the wedding cake —he got angry when one of the guests looked at your cleavage—.  However, if Arthur failed with ruining the cake it had not been Kaiser’s case, who ate half of it by himself. 

“Where are Arthur and Heaven? Can’t believe the bride and the groom had disappeared!” Polly asked Tommy and Ada, visibly unhappy. The latter was a bit tipsy judging by the red shade of her cheeks and the glass of champagne in her perfectly manicured hand.

“Last time I’ve seen them they were dancing with flower crowns on their heads,” She hiccoughed, “I nearly died from laughing. Arthur. With a flower crown. It was so sweet and ridiculous!”

“That ain’t fun, Ada. I really need to find those stupid lovebirds. I swear I’m going bonkers: first Arthur’s tantrum, then Kaiser ruining the wedding cake, and now the newlyweds are late for the picture!” She complained. Overall, it had been Aunt Polly who made sure everything ran smoothly, hence her discontentment.

Tommy rolled his eyes at his sister’s inebriation, then he squeezed her shoulder with his large hand, “I think your question will find its answer really soon, Pol.” He stated with his quiet and deep voice as his turquoise eyes caught sight of your silhouette walking toward them, holding Arthur by the hand. You were both exchanging glances and light enamored laughters.

As surprising as it sounded, Thomas Shelby and you had managed to put your mutual hatred aside for the sake of the wedding. Of course, you were carefully avoiding each other the best you could, but when you were together in inevitable family moments, your exchanges remained polite. 

Polly turned to you with her eyebrows furrowed and pressed her fists on her hips with an angry- mother expression when you and Arthur joined the small group.

“Ah! There you are! The photographer has been fuming for half an hour! Where have you been?” She scolded. 

“We really need a map. This place is a fookin’ maze eh. We got lost.” Arthur tried to justify himself, his fingers firmly intertwined with yours, “I mean I wanted to show her the mansion but hey, I quite forgot which way to go and —“

“Arthur?” Polly cut him.

“Eh?” 

“Your fly.”  She simply stated. Holding much power, those two tiny words made Arthur almost jump. He let go of your hand in one vivid movement.

“OH FOOKIN HELL!” His gravel voice exclaimed when he looked down at his trousers. He quickly zipped the fly up under Ada’s hysterical laugh and Tommy’s mocking smirk. Admittedly, you could not help but giggle too for his reaction had been quite priceless. Oh Arthur, you thought. The only one who was not laughing was Polly, who looked at him with such a desperate face that you were sure she was about to facepalm herself. Or slap his face, it depended on her mood.

“Men and their cock, I swear. Look at you, idiot,” She said affectionately, “Your hair is all messed up! You’re going to look awful in your wedding pic!” She growled, grabbing her oldest nephew to rearrange both his hair and his tie. 

“Don’t be mean Pol, he just needed to release the pressure.” You said, watching the scene with a faint smile on your juicy and glossy lips still swollen from Arthur’s lustful kisses, “The whole speech thing worried him.”   

“Mmmpff— true.” He grunted, embarrassed.  

“Yeah of course.” The beautiful Ada started before coming to you and smoothing the folds of your goddess dress with a teasing grin “What a long and difficult way to say you just wanted to give him a blowjob.” She teased.

“Piss off Ada.” You gently retorted, rolling your eyes in a fake outraged pout, “let’s take that picture before Polly strangle us all.”

“OI. Everyone fucking gather together for the picture! Bring the damn dog too!” Tommy yelled to the crowd, “John! Made them pose in front of the mansion!” Orders flew and Peaky Blinders were soon taking the crowd in charge to help the photographer take the most perfect picture he could take. When everyone was ready, he pushed the button of his camera and, in a blinding flash, captured the most beautiful moment of your whole life in a picture you would cherish like the apple of your eye.

“We… We really should … Like… At least try to get in bed.” You giggled, your cheeks still adorned with a pink blush. Admittedly, talking had become quite a challenge after the second bottle of wine.

“Not gonna lie, love, I can’t fookin’ get up for the life of me.” Arthur pulled you closer against his bare chest and slipped one hand into your messy long hair, not willing to move. The tenderness of his caresses made your whole body relax and you melted in the warmth of his freckled skin. To hell with the bed, you thought, the floor would do the trick. 

When the party had come to an end, Arthur had carried you bridal-style to one of the mansion’s magnificent bedrooms, despite being completely drunk. The whole walk had been tedious with poor Arthur staggering in the stairway, but you could not have cared less — you were as wasted as he was and could not walk anymore. Maybe the alcohol contest with Kat and Uncle Charlie had not been such a great idea after all… Once you reached the bedroom, Arthur and you collapsed on the large fur rug that was on the wooden floor and clumsily took off each other’s clothes between heated kisses and steamy moans. He had impatiently waited for the wedding night, calling you “Mrs. Shelby” and “me lovely wife” all the way. That being said, a few intoxicated chuckles had embellished the symphony of your love when alcohol made one of you missed the other’s lips. No one could tell how many hours went by nor how many times you made love — Not even you. You were only coming back to your senses now that you were both snuggling naked on the floor, your legs entangled and your mind still clouded with your latest orgasm.

“I don’t want this wonderful day to end,” Arthur said, his gruff voice finally breaking the comfortable and peaceful silence that had settled in the room. A slow and long exhale escaped from your nostrils at his words before you laid lazy kisses on his chest. Your lips, still hungry for him despite your drowsiness, trailed up until they reached the golden cross pendant he was always wearing. A shiver ran down his spine when you took it between your full lips and looked up to his eyes through your Bambi lashes, “Fook — you make me so… Happy.” 

“And I’ll do my best to keep you happy every day of your life.” You replied after a little while, setting the pendant free from your tantalizing mouth. “That was a pretty successful day.” 

“It was, eh.” Arthur softly smiled at your words, his piercing blue eyes enjoying your mesmerizing beauty and his long fingers gently massaging your scalp, “We got a letter and a bouquet from Mrs. Solomons, y’know. She wanted to come but her husband’s back was hurting too much. ” 

“Oh yes? Rosie is a sweetheart.”

“And her husband’s a cunt.” He growled, “Bloody bastard.”

“I know right? But she’s great. She’s been teaching me so many interesting things about feminism! Really made me want to attend her next meeting!” 

“Women… You’re all going to overpower us one day.” Arthur said, his voice tinted with amusement. His free hand quickly grabbed the bottle of whisky that was next to him and took a mouthful of alcohol.

“It would not be a bad thing,” You pressed a kiss against his chin and he hummed in response, delighted by the way you showered him with tenderness. Arthur would have been purring under your touch if he had been able to do so. It just felt good — so good the whole world could have gone down in flames he wouldn’t mind as long as you kept pampering him like you were doing. You made him feel loved. You made him feel at peace… And God knows how much he needed that. “Especially for Michael. Have you seen his girlfriend Nora? She looked exhausted.” 

“She just gave birth to her second child. Of course, she’s exhausted, love.” He said. His hand, which had been playing with your hair until then, slowly ran down your naked back.

“Hm.” That was all you replied, for you felt Michael’s girl was more than just physically exhausted. Something was definitely off in their relationship, but you did not want to mingle. “Their daughter is lovely, though.” 

“She is.”

Another silence fell in the bedroom, only embellished by the relaxing cracking of the woods burning in the hearth. Both of you had closed your eyes, slowly drifting away into Morpheus’ kingdom.

“Angel?” He called you with a sleepy voice.

“Yes, Arthur?” You answered, dozing off.

“ I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

“You aren’t.. You're not even as messed up as what I've known before you.” You smiled and let your fingers lazily graze his skin, your nails crossing through his chest hairs and ending their race on his heart, right where his tattoo was “I want it too Arthur. I want it too.” 

Sleep made the last word of your sentence die on your lips. Now, the hullabaloo of the party was no more. All the remaining noises were the harmonious murmurs of your slow breathings and the lullaby sung by the fire, which had never been so comforting. 

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms

✞ Nora Gray belongs to @amidst-wonderland || Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms || Kat Wilson belongs to my sweet partner @callme-fox

✞ Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone even though it's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

[evita-shelby]

Forbidden

Based on @justrainandcoffee post where tommy is married to Rose and Eva to Alfie

For both @justrainandcoffee and @emotionalcadaver

Cw: open marriage, cheating, illegitimate children, drama

Rose was born to love Alfie just as Eva was born to love Tommy, and yet the whims of a higher power have made Rose a Shelby and Eva a Solomons.

Rose married Tommy to escape Lawerence Evertt and Eva married Alfie to escape death by firing squad. Neither are happy despite their many attempts and until they happened to meet their true soulmates by chance and realized they were married to the wrong person.

Eva met Tommy when he came to meet her husband in 1922 while Rose had reconnected with her love in the same train station she was to meet her husband on in the winter of 1918.

There was a silent agreement in their marriages, you go your way, I will go mine.

If Diane Solomons had Tommy Shelby’s cheekbones and left blue eye or if Mrs. Shelby seemed to book all their reservations with Mrs. Solomons only for both women to exchange spouses every time, no one dared to speak it out loud.

They could divorce, but their reputations could not handle it. Not after both Rose and Tommy entered politics and Eva rose so high in society even the Queen feared the witch’s displeasure.

1923 turns to 1927 and until that night they believed they could weather it and keep their arrangements until their marriage ended with death. One cannot simply divorce a gangster, nor can a female politician weather the shitstorm that would come from marrying her best friend’s ex husband while said friend married the other point of the triangle.

It is at a party for Tommy’s reelection campaign that both couples realize they cannot wait anymore.

Eva steals away with Tommy the moment both could invent a reason to get away, and Rose decides her career isn’t worth this torment and runs out of there.

She knows Birmingham as good as she knows Camden Town and leads Alfie to a Night Market she’s been dying to show him.

“This is wrong.” She breathes as they kiss in a dark corner, still terrified of stepping into the light hand and hand.

“They don’t care, love, what do you think they are doing in that dressing room right now? Next year I’ll be holding a bris for his bastard and you and I pretending we’re just friends.” Alfie says bitterly thinking Rose will call it off again.

“No, I don’t mean that, Alfie. I mean us not being together. Why must we all be miserable when the four of us can be happy with the right person? Eva loves Tommy in ways I never will, and I love you in ways she cannot.

Tommy knows it, I know it. Parliament isn’t worth all our suffering, my love.” Rose threw her arms around his neck feeling happier than she had ever been. “What do you say, Alfie Solomons, are you willing to see me burn it all to the ground for you?”

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, “Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

[cloudyluun]

Like Hell You’d Tell Me No | PB fic

(tommyshelby x fem!reader – s2 era)

Summary: When Y/N gets sent to Birmingham for her own protection, the last thing she expects is to be dropped into the middle of Shelby territory, especially under the icy watch of one Thomas Shelby. But somehow, she keeps breaking his rules... and somehow, he lets her. Between unannounced office visits, drunken nights in his chair, and a new bestie in Ada Shelby, Y/N is stirring up more than just trouble. And when things start to heat up between her and Tommy, they might just find themselves caught in a moment that neither of them is quite ready for, yet.

A/N: okay so, I always write Harry (literally always), but while prepping for my internship I decided to finally watch Peaky Blinders... and now I’m unwell. Like, genuinely not okay. Tommy Shelby lives in my head rent-free and I can’t make him leave. 😭

So instead of lesson planning like a responsible adult, this little fic idea basically wrote itself at 1AM with Taylor Swift playing in the background lol. Not sure if I’ll continue this or if I’ll dabble in multiple fandoms, but I had fun writing it and wanted to share in case anyone else is also deep in their Peaky Blinders phase

Word Count: 4147

Warnings: 

Light drinking

Mentions of past threats/harassment (non-graphic)

Protective/possessive behavior (from Tommy, ofc)

Language (it’s Peaky Blinders, there’s swearing lol)

Slow-burn tension and emotional build-up

Mentions of minor violence (one punch, classic Tommy move)

Unresolved romantic tension (aka cliffhanger ending 😌)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Tommy just… stares.

The silence in the room stretched, thick as the smoke curling from his cigarette. Papers sat idle in front of him, ignored now. The man across the desk – some poor bastard talking percentages – had gone completely still, mouth half-open like he was about to continue his pitch until she appeared out of nowhere.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room like she’d walked into a pub instead of the Shelby Company office. Young, maybe mid-twenties, wearing a travel-worn coat and scuffed boots. There was something in her look. Not arrogance. Just no fear. Like she'd met worse than a room full of Shelbys.

“Door was open,” she said again, tilting her head. “Didn’t think it was a problem.”

Arthur snorted behind her. “Bloody hell, she’s brave.”

Polly didn’t say a word, but the look on her face was a mix of amusement and caution. Always watching.

Tommy took a slow drag, tapped ash into the tray. “You must be Y/N.”

“Yeah,” she said, stepping in without being asked. “You must be Tommy, Thomas Shelby.”

“Bit early to be on first-name terms.”

“Bit late not to be,” she replied, dropping her bag by the wall like she belonged there. “You owe my brother a favor. I’m the favor.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Not from her mouth. Not from anyone, really. But the message had come a few days ago, and he’d read it twice just to be sure. Michael Carter. They’d served together. Pulled him out of a trench once. Didn’t talk much after the war, but when a man like that writes and says his sister’s in trouble, you pay attention. You don’t say no.

“What kind of trouble?”

She shrugged. “The vague kind. London’s full of it. Wrong place, wrong time. Few names I shouldn’t have known, a few blokes who didn’t like me walking away.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair. “You running?”

“I’d call it more of a stroll,” she said. “Don’t worry. I didn’t bring much baggage.”

He looked at her. Really looked. She was tired but not broken. Something restless behind her eyes. There was a fight in her, the kind that either got people killed or made them dangerous friends. He wasn’t sure which yet.

“You’ll stay above the shop,” he said after a pause. “Spare room. Polly’ll take you up.”

Y/N glanced toward Polly, who gave a small nod.

Tommy picked up his pen again, glancing at the man across from him who’d gone completely pale. “Now, if we’re done with the interruptions–”

“I’ll get out of your hair,” she said, already walking off.

“Don’t wander.”

She turned in the doorway, gave a small smirk. “No promises.”

Polly followed her out a moment later, her heels sharp on the floorboards.

Arthur leaned in with a low whistle. “She’s got some fire, that one.”

Tommy didn’t answer. He was staring at the spot she’d been standing in. His jaw clenched as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

“She gonna be trouble?” Arthur asked.

“She already is,” Tommy said quietly, then went back to pretending to listen to the pitch in front of him.

--

Upstairs, Y/N was already sizing up the space. The spare room was clean enough. Not warm, but not cold either. Polly stood by the door, watching.

“You’re lucky,” Polly said finally. “He doesn’t like people in his office. Doesn’t like people full stop.”

Y/N looked around, then dropped onto the bed with a soft thump. “I’ll keep out of his way.” Polly gave a dry smile. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Downstairs, Tommy stubbed out his cigarette, but his hand hovered near the tin for another. He didn’t light it. Just sat there, staring at the door where she’d come in like a storm in worn boots and sharp words.

A favor owed, he thought. Just a favor.

But he already knew better.

The days that followed proved it. She didn’t just stay in the spare room. She moved through the betting shop like she’d always been there. Tommy had told himself he’d figure out what to do with her once things settled, once he had time. But time didn’t slow for the Shelbys. And she didn’t wait for permission.

“You know there’s a kettle in the back, right?” she asked one morning, walking into his office without knocking. Again. She set a chipped mug down on the desk like it was hers to do so. “You don’t have to drink your weight in whisky before noon.”

Tommy looked up slowly. “You bring tea to every man who gives you a place to sleep?”

“Only the grumpy ones,” she said, hands in the pockets of her skirt. “Which is lucky for you.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at the steam curling from the cup.

She lingered a second longer, then turned to leave. “Try not to scowl into it too hard. Might go bitter.”

That was the third time that week she’d barged in. Polly had stopped bothering to intervene. Arthur found it funny. John asked if she had a death wish.

Tommy just drank the tea.

It wasn’t that she was rude. She just didn’t care about the little rules. Rules like knocking before you enter a room that belongs to Thomas Shelby. Rules like not sitting in the man’s chair while drunk at the end of a long day.

Which she did.

It was Friday, the shop was quiet, and she had found the whisky in the cabinet behind the front desk. Arthur had offered her a glass earlier. She’d declined then. Hours later, she helped herself.

Tommy walked in to find her kicked back in his chair, legs tucked under her, nursing a glass. Her boots were off and resting on the floor beside her. She looked comfortable. Dangerous thing to be in his space.

“You’re in my chair,” he said.

She turned her head lazily. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

He didn’t say anything. He looked at her for a moment, then walked to the other side of the room. Took off his coat, hung it up. Sat on the edge of the desk, lit a cigarette. The quiet filled the space between them.

“You always drink alone?” he asked finally.

“I wasn’t alone,” she said. “You came in.”

Arthur came by halfway through and nearly choked on his laughter. John followed, paused in the doorway, gave a long low whistle.

“She’s got some bloody nerve,” John said under his breath.

Tommy said nothing. Just exhaled a long stream of smoke and looked at the ceiling.

After a few minutes, she stood, wobbling just a bit, and set the glass down neatly on the desk.

“Thanks for not shouting,” she said. “It’s rare.”

He watched her as she walked out, barefoot, leaving the smell of whisky and some kind of sweet soap in her wake.

The door clicked shut.

Arthur leaned closer to Tommy after a beat. “You gonna let her get away with that?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. “She’s not doing any harm.”

John raised an eyebrow. “She was in your chair, brother.”

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette. “She’s not in it now.”

That was how it was. She floated in and out of the betting shop like smoke, slipping through the cracks no one else dared to touch. She was younger, yes. Full of jokes and sudden laughter. The kind that didn’t come from politeness but from deep inside, like she refused to let the world make her quiet.

He didn’t know what to make of her yet. But he noticed things. The way she talked to everyone. The way she read newspapers he hadn’t even opened yet. The way she knew how to patch a rip in her own coat with needle and thread without making a fuss. Like she’d done it a hundred times.

She didn’t belong here. Not really. But she was here. And the longer she stayed, the more it felt like a storm had rolled in and decided to settle.

He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with her. But he knew sending her away wasn’t an option anymore. That thought sat in the back of his mind the night Arthur burst through his office door, out of breath and sweating.

“She’s at the Garrison,” he said. “Alone. Some bloke’s not takin’ the hint.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. He stood, grabbed his coat, and walked past Arthur without a word. His pace was calm, but his steps were hard. Each one louder than the last on the wooden stairs.

The Garrison wasn’t far, but it felt like miles. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Inside, the music was low and the laughter was higher than usual. A Friday night crowd. Voices blurred together until one stood out.

“Come on, sweetheart,” a man was saying. “Don’t be so bloody cold.”

Tommy moved through the crowd like smoke. He didn’t shove. Didn’t speak. Just walked until the man came into view. Broad-shouldered, older, drunk. Y/N was backed against the wall near the end of the bar, her arms crossed tight and chin lifted. She wasn’t scared, but she wasn’t laughing either.

“I said no,” she repeated, voice firm.

“And I said I don’t care,” the man replied, hand brushing against her arm again.

Tommy didn’t stop walking. The man didn’t see him coming. One second he was smirking, the next he was on the ground, nose caved in and blood gushing. No warning. No words.

The room went quiet.

Tommy didn’t look down. He turned to Y/N, who hadn’t moved. Her face had gone pale.

“Come on,” he said.

She followed him out into the street without arguing. The cold hit her hard, cutting through the whisky in her blood. They walked in silence for a few blocks, her footsteps uneven beside his. She hadn’t even grabbed her coat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said finally.

He didn’t look at her. “Yes. I did.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I could’ve handled it.”

“I’m sure,” he said, voice flat. “But, he touched you.”

She stopped walking. He stopped too, turning to face her.

“I don’t need a fucking bodyguard, Tommy.”

“No,” he said. “You need someone to keep you alive. That’s me now.”

She stared at him, jaw tight, but her voice cracked when she spoke again. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

He looked at her. Really looked. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wind-blown, and her eyes shining in that way they did when she was holding too much in. She was trying to be tough, but her hands were shaking.

He stepped closer, calm now. “You all right?”

She looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“It wasn’t the first time someone got too close.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t say what he wanted to say. That London was behind her, but its shadows were still clinging. That he should’ve never let her walk out alone. That the second he got word she was in danger, his heart had pounded like it hadn’t since France.

Instead, he took a breath and said, “Next time you go out, you take someone with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Arthur? Polly?”

“Me,” he said. “Preferably.”

The silence stretched between them, and something shifted in her face. Not fear. Not defiance. Just something quieter.

“Right,” she said. “Okay.”

He nodded once, then turned and kept walking. She followed.

The streets of Birmingham were dark, damp, full of half-spoken threats. But she walked beside him like it was the safest place she’d ever been.

The next morning, Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of the spare room, trying to make sense of the mess she called her belongings. Half-unpacked bags, a few folded letters, and a pair of boots still caked in city grime. She was tugging a comb through her hair when there was a knock on the door. “Mind if I come in?” came a voice.

Y/N turned to see a woman leaning in the doorway, lipstick perfect, hair pinned up tight like she meant business even on a quiet day. She looked familiar in that way all the Shelbys did.

“Ada, right?” Y/N said.

“That’s me. Figured it was about time we had a proper chat,” Ada replied, stepping in without waiting. “They’ve all been talking about you.”

“Yeah?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

Ada grinned. “Only if you hate compliments wrapped in irritation.”

She handed over two cups of something that smelled strong enough to kick. Y/N took one with a grateful nod.

“Whiskey in the coffee?” Y/N asked.

“Bit of both. It’s the Shelby way.”

They sat near the window, legs stretched out, warmth settling into the space.

“You’re not like them,” Ada said after a moment. “Not from here. Not stuck in it like the rest of us.”

Y/N gave a little shrug. “London’s not exactly better.”

“No, but you’ve still got light in your eyes,” Ada said. “Most people around here have it beaten out of them by twenty.”

Y/N looked out the window. “I don’t know about light. I just don’t see the point in pretending everything’s always awful.”

Ada sipped from her cup. “That’s what I mean. You’re a bloody breath of fresh air. Especially among all these grumpy bastards.”

Y/N laughed. “Speak for yourself. You’re just as sharp.”

“I get it from my mother. And years of watching Tommy scowl at paperwork.”

At the mention of his name, Y/N glanced away, but Ada noticed. Of course she did.

“He’s different with you,” Ada said.

Y/N frowned. “Different how?”

Ada leaned in, smug. “Less growling. More… I don’t know. Breathing.”

“You’re making things up.”

“I’m not.” She pointed her cup at Y/N. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, you know that?”

Y/N blinked, actually blinked, and then laughed into her drink. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Ada said. “He doesn’t even let me in his office unannounced.”

Y/N bit her lip. “Maybe he’s just tired of telling me off.”

“No. That’s not it.” Ada gave her a long look. “He trusts you.”

There was a weight in those words Y/N hadn’t expected. She didn’t answer right away. Trust wasn’t something she’d had a lot of lately. It felt strange to even think about.

“He walked me home last night,” Y/N said quietly. “After a man at the Garrison got pushy.”

Ada nodded. “I heard. Arthur said Tommy didn’t say a word. Just broke the bloke’s nose and left.”

Y/N stared down into her mug. “He didn’t even look angry. That’s what got me.”

Ada tilted her head. “That’s worse, you know. Means he meant it.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “I know it’s just a favor, what he’s doing. Letting me stay. Letting me be here.”

Ada stood and stretched. “It started out that way, but i believe it has turned into more. That’s why it matters.”

She walked toward the door, then turned. “You’re good for him. Whether he admits it or not.”

Y/N stayed by the window after she left. The coffee had gone cold, but she held it anyway, hands wrapped around something solid.

Out in the street, she caught sight of Tommy crossing to the shop, coat pulled close, face unreadable as ever.

She watched him for a second too long. Then she looked away, heart skipping in a way she pretended not to notice.

By the time evening came, the betting shop had been cleared out, lanterns strung up, and Polly’s birthday turned into one of those Shelby nights that started quiet and always ended with someone singing out of tune. Y/N wasn’t much of a drinker, but it was hard to say no when John poured heavy and Polly kept pressing glasses into her hand with a look that said she’d take offense otherwise.

She’d laughed too hard, danced once with Ada, twice with Arthur, and ended up slipping out when her head started to spin and the voices all blurred into one. The music still floated through the floorboards when she made her way up the stairs and pushed open the office door.

She didn’t even bother with the lights. The soft glow from the hallway was enough. She crossed the room like it was muscle memory now and dropped into the chair behind the desk. His chair. She tucked one leg under herself and took a slow sip from the bottle she’d brought up.

The first sip burned. The second didn’t.

She leaned back and closed her eyes for a second, listening to the muffled laughter below, the distant clink of glasses. The door creaked after a few minutes. She didn’t open her eyes.

“Told you I like your chair,” she said lazily.

Tommy stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “You’ve got a habit.”

“I’ve got nowhere else that’s quiet,” she replied.

He walked across the room and sat on the edge of the desk, facing her. No coat, sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of his tattoo. His tie was loose. He looked like he’d stopped pretending to be the man everyone thought he had to be.

She glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the party?”

He shrugged. “They won’t miss me for a few minutes.”

She tilted the bottle toward him. “Want some?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“Then keep me company.”

So he did. They sat in the kind of silence that had weight but no pressure. She traced a line in the wood grain of the desk with her finger, then spoke, soft and unguarded.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on her face.

“I used to think London was it,” she went on. “Then everything went to shit. I came here thinking it’d be worse. But now I just feel stuck in between.”

She looked down. “And I hate feeling like a guest. Like I’m just waiting for someone to tell me it’s time to go.”

“You’re not a guest,” Tommy said.

“Then what am I?”

He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t answer either.

She looked at him, really looked. The way his eyes softened in moments like this, when no one else was around to see. How still he went when he let his guard down. Like it scared him more than war ever had.

“You don’t talk much,” she said.

“I say what needs saying.”

“Right.” She took another sip. “But you listen.”

Their eyes met. Her thumb brushed the side of the glass, and his fingers reached out absently to take it from her. Their hands touched – just a second – but it was enough to make her chest tighten.

He set the bottle down without breaking the gaze. Neither moved.

“Why are you always so calm?” she whispered.

“I’m not.”

His voice was low. Closer now. She hadn’t noticed how near he’d leaned until she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of tobacco and something colder underneath.

Her fingers curled around the arm of the chair.

His hand was resting near hers on the desk. Not quite touching. But close.

Too close. Not close enough.

The silence pulled tight between them. She wasn’t sure who was holding it there, but it felt deliberate, like something balanced on the edge of a blade.

She didn’t move her hand.

Tommy shifted closer, the worn fabric of his sleeve brushing hers. Her breath caught. He didn’t look at her yet, not directly – his eyes stayed on the papers scattered across the desk like they meant something. Like any of this was still about business.

“Don’t smoke in here,” she said quietly, not looking at him either.

“I’m not.”

“You were earlier. Without me.”

He didn’t argue. Just leaned back the slightest bit, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might smile, but didn’t. His voice stayed low.

“You always this jumpy around men, or just me?”

She turned her head. Met his eyes. “You always this full of yourself, or just with women who talk back?”

There was a flicker in his expression, something like approval, maybe amusement. Maybe something sharper underneath.

“Maybe I like women who talk back.”

“Maybe you like trouble.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth for the briefest second. “I’m in the business of it.”

That pull in her gut tightened. Her fingers curled harder around the arm of the chair, grounding herself. It wasn’t enough.

The room had gone quiet again, except for the tick of the clock on the mantel and the soft hum of music and voices seeping in from the hallway. The party still spun on without them, but here it felt like everything had narrowed to the space between their hands.

She turned slightly, just enough that her knee brushed his. She didn’t apologize. Neither did he.

“Thomas.”

He lifted his eyes again. That look he gave her made her forget what she was about to say. Or maybe she hadn’t planned to say anything at all.

He leaned in. Slowly, like he wanted her to see it coming. His breath was warm against her cheek, and there was that scent again – tobacco, sharp gin, and something colder. Something metallic, like the edge of a coin.

The air between them thickened. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this the part where you kiss me, or tell me I’ve crossed a line?”

Tommy’s eyes darkened, his focus slipping to her lips, then back up. A slow smirk curved his mouth, not the cruel one he used in business, not the charming one he pulled out for show. This one was quieter. Closer to real.

He leaned in just a little more.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps on the doorframe.

“You two decent?”

Ada’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.

Y/N jerked back in her chair, heat rushing to her face as if she’d been caught doing something she hadn’t even done.

Tommy straightened slowly, not looking away from her. The smirk was gone. What replaced it was something harder to name. Something held tight behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he called, not loud. “We’re decent.”

Ada poked her head in, grin wide, eyes darting between them. “Well, don’t let me interrupt whatever this was.”

“It was nothing,” Y/N said too quickly. She cleared her throat. “Just work.”

“Right.” Ada’s grin didn’t budge. “You’re missing the part where Finn tries to charm the Americans. It’s going about as well as you’d expect.”

Tommy gave a short nod. “We’ll be out soon.”

Ada raised a brow but didn’t push. “Suit yourselves.” She ducked out again.

The silence came back, heavier this time.

Y/N stood, smoothing her skirt like it might help her pretend nothing had happened. Nothing almost had.

Tommy watched her. Didn’t say anything at first.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

“I should–” she started.

“Go back to the party,” he said softly.

She looked at him then.

“We’ll finish this later.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

[novashelby]

His Innocence-TommyxOFC Masterlist

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OFC

Warnings: Please refer to my pinned post for the themes I write about. Age gap, manipulation, abuse, gaslighting, noncon, dub-con, emotional and mental abuse. Time appropriate language, attitudes, and violence.

Summary: The year is 1936, and Thomas Shelby retires to the countryside, taking refuge on Robert Turner's farm. For food and a roof, he spends his days cleaning after cattle, drinking, and watching Turner's young daughter, Joni. Small, innocent, and just eighteen years of age, Thomas feels like the devil with the thoughts circling his brain.

Wattpad Ao3 Chapters will soon be available on Tumblr as well! Please be patient or feel free to read at the following links!

Pregnant Joni Innocent Joni Joni Character Profile

[sneakyblinders]

summer beach house pt 1- tommy shelby x oc

A/N: lil blurb for a new au (lol) for tommy x ali, aka the summer beach house au! hope you guys enjoy.

Tommy's attention turned quickly from his newspaper when he heard the front door of his Manhattan condo slam shut. His brow furrowed as he heard light footsteps scamper past the dining room and trail down the hallway towards his daughters bedrooms. "Hi, Daddy!" Twelve year old Marisol, affectionately known as Mari, chirped as she closed her bedroom door quickly.

"Morning," he grumbled as the front door cracked open again and he heard his wife, Alistair walk through the door, on the phone with someone from her bakery. "Yes, I am aware we are out of the espresso chips and I've told you a thousand times our supplier discontinued them, so we may have to cut the espresso chip cookies from the menu," she explained, an annoyed tone to her voice. Tommy smirked, raising an eyebrow as she walked into the dining room, clad in a matching hot pink Pilates set. Tommy set his paper down, cradling his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he watched her pace back and forth, curves on full display in her activewear. She turned to look at him and blushed, his gaze hungry and wanting. "Celeste, I gotta go, we'll talk later," Ali said, hanging up the phone. She set her phone down on the solid oak buffet and crossed her arms over her chest. "Mr. Shelby," she smirked. "Where in hell did you go looking this fucking good this early in the morning, hm?" he asked, standing up and stalking over towards her, arms caging her in against the wood of the buffet. She giggled as Tommy nuzzled against her neck, biting the flesh gently, earning a squeak from her. "Thomas, the girls will be in here any second," she giggled, making no attempt to swat him away. "Still need to shower though, hm?" he asked her, a naughty twinkle in his eye. "Yes, but, Thomas, you're already dressed," Ali pointed out, noting his dark blue suit she loved him in. "Can always get dressed again," he rasped, pressing a kiss to her lips.

The girls bounded in the dining room, ready for their breakfast of cereal, toast and eggs. "Ew, Daddy, get off Mommy!" Lexi, their younger daughter told them, wrinkling her nose at their affection. At ten, she didn't quite get romance. They both knew she'd be there soon. "But she looks so pretty this morning," Tommy counter-argued, earning an eye roll from both his daughters. "Will you sit with us this morning?" Mari asked them, eyes wide in anticipation. Tommy and Ali eyed each other, and Tommy mentally flushed his desire of a shared shower with his wife down the drain. "Of course," Tommy said. How could he deny them anything?

"Girls, Frances is going to start packing some of your things, we leave for the beach house in two weeks," Tommy said when they were halfway through their breakfast. School had let out last week for the summer, and Tommy had a few things to finish up in the city before he could afford to go down to South Carolina for the rest of the summer. Ali was ready. Ready for a break. Ready for a break from the city, the bakery, their city life. The girls cheered, excited to be back at their beach house, back with their beach house friends. Swimming all summer and eating some of the best food.

Ali smiled at Tommy, who bumped her knee against his with a wide smile on his face. It would be a summer to remember.

[jaennwrites]

Stain Them. I Don't Care.

Hi guys it been a long time and although this isn't my comeback I just felt in the writing spirit. I will try my best to write stuff but the truth is y'all my attention span has been gone since TLOU (HBO) ended. However, I'm trading in fortnite videos (jonesyXreader coming soon ofc) for Peaky Blinders. I'm on S2 E2 so this little blurb doesn't have much show lore but I love Tommy, I'm a Cillian Murphy fangirl and I love a good dangerous man who gets soft and obsessed for their women. Anyways let me actually shut up.

Word Count: 1,410 Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Fem Reader (fairly gender neutral but reader is referred to as a wife), Established Relationship (married :3). Warnings: Blood, Mentions of Gun and shooting, Character (you) death. Completely SFW.

All interactions greatly appreciated, hope I can find the motivation to write more, thx guyzers <3

Tommy Shelby was an interesting man, it was even more interesting that he devoted himself to someone like you. It wasn’t an insulting thing, it’s just that many people didn’t understand Tommy’s obsession with this ordinary woman. The circumstances of your meeting was a kept secret of course but as everyone knew, you weren’t a whore, or spy, or other gang’s  daughter or wife, you were just you.

So when Tommy got off of his stressful often bloody days just to see you either sitting peacefully or cooking something, it made him happy. When people had the stupidity to question why Tommy was with you, he’d simply respond with his usual menacing stare. Sure, he didn’t run around town boasting about his wife but you knew he felt prideful when he was with you. Especially when he could bring you around people he considered enemies, you were his walking proof that he could attain and be acquainted with good people. 

The true ‘fuck you’ to those who didn’t know peace for Tommy Shelby had the embodiment of it right by his side always. 

Your head perked up at the sound of the front door smiling as you saw Tommy tiredly walk through the door. You often spent chunks of time waiting for him, more recently than ever before. Thomas Shelby by no means was an open man, but he always allowed himself to be vulnerable with you, he could never not when it came to you. 

Being around you felt like an adrenaline rush that never ended; from the day he first saw you to the day he asked you to marry him. Everything about you made him nervous and scared; he somehow couldn’t rest peacefully with you in his life yet his time with you was more peaceful than he had ever known. 

“You look wide awake” You joked resting your head on the back of the couch.

“Funny” He smiled, a smile that couldn’t fade as long as you were there smiling back at him. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and looked at his bruised hands before squeezing them tightly with a smile. Tommy no doubt carried a lot of baggage into the relationship. On an almost agonizing constant loop you could still vividly picture the first death at the hands of Tommy that you had witnessed. Although he’d never tell you, he remembered it too, the guilt ate him alive everyday. The way you looked at him that day made him physically sick. When you agreed to see him again after that, the look was gone but he’d never forget it. 

“How has everything been?” “Business wise” You asked. 

“It’s getting better” He reassured.

“So can I come with you tomorrow? To the Garrison”

“Would you not prefer to sit here? Safely” Tommy teased.

You rolled your eyes unseriously knowing that simple gesture alone would be enough to convince him. Tommy often had a problem saying no to you, it was chronic at this point. There were times he was a little more resistant but eventually he’d break, just for you. Partly because he trusted your judgment, and you never asked for anything insane. You two were in many ways polar opposites but the borderline paranoid danger/bullshit meter you shared were identical, he trusted you.

“Fine” “Didn’t know you loved my boring meetings” He joked

Your nights consisted of you two sitting sometimes doing some light drinking but for the most part you just enjoyed each other’s company. No matter what Tommy went through during his day, to be able to come home to you or come home with you was his cure all. It scared him to death how much he loved you, some nights it was all he could think of, the fear and happiness you produced. 

Then the morning would come and that feeling would be a distant memory because you’d still always be there. This morning was no different, he woke up right next to you, your sleeping face somehow even more beautiful than when you both fell asleep. Tommy was not a man who was very vocal about his affections but his eyes never lied. You could melt into a puddle whenever he looked at you, when he looked at you it was as if someone had captured love, melted it and injected it into your veins. 

That morning Tommy fulfilled his promise and you happily came along with him to his meeting, you didn’t want to admit that it was indeed boring but god you were bored. These weren’t his sly threat here, sly threat there meetings, just simple boring money managing. 

“This is boring” You whispered, eliciting a smile from your husband before excusing yourself into the main portion of the bar.

However the bar also bore you, a bunch of men drinking all of them too afraid to even glance in your direction. Tommy had planned to be done with this meeting by now but unfortunately it seemed to be taking longer and longer. He sat letting his mind wander a little as the time felt slower and slower while your eyes searched for something to keep you busy. 

Tommy had a big dislike for you walking alone and you understood dislike, however simply standing outside of the bar surely was a loophole. The smell of alcohol was weirdly insufferable today so without a second thought you headed for the front door, opening the one and then the second. 

You hadn’t noticed for the first few seconds, but the wet feeling rapidly spreading from your chest pulled you into the dark reality. You looked up at the gunman to see a face full of regret, from that look alone clearly you weren’t the target

Your husband was. 

The gunman had been young, clearly trigger happy but nevertheless a wonderful shot because by the time your body fell back you were gone. Tommy practically had leaped over the table at the sound. As he opened the door to his private room his eyes scanned the bar full of equally worried faces but had yet to see yours. 

The commotion coming from the front door prompted him to quickly check and confirm the nightmare he had been dreading since the day he first met you. The guttural shout he let out quieted the entire street, anyone moving stopped, anyone working stopped, the entire world seemed to stop. 

Tommy couldn’t remember the last time his hands shook at the sight of a dead body. His shaky hand intertwined with your lifeless one and his arm wrapped securely around your neck. He pulled your body close to his chest, the still fresh blood now soaking into his suit. Nobody around dared to move, hell not even breathe for it would only be a reminder that you couldn’t.

Thomas Shelby sat in that doorway for hours, whispering various pleas and prayers to Gods he didn’t even believe in. Soon enough his family convinced him to allow your body to be taken and for everything to be cleaned up. 

The wedding ring that was removed from your finger felt like it weighed pounds as it moved in his pocket. All that movement just to bring him to an even harsher reality as he stood in front of your shared home. He sat on the front steps for a while, it rained, drunk men passed, various things passed and he sat not daring to move a muscle. 

When Tommy finally made it into the house his heart felt as if it was attempting to break out of his chest. His eyes watered as he slowly shuffled over to your side of the bed falling to his knees beside it. Slowly his head descended before resting into blankets that filled his senses of nothing but you. The sheets smelled of you, the feeling of the blankets brought back every lovely memory of you. 

Thomas Shelby couldn’t remember the last time he cried, like really truly cried. Quite frankly he couldn’t remember anything in this state. A place that once was home to your laughter and voice was now full of the muffled sobs of your husband. 

Tommy’s hands held his blood soaked chest wishing that he had covered himself in your blood. He prayed it would stain every item of clothing he owned, stain his hands, his face so that he could never be without you. 

"I fear to stain your clothes with blood" "Stain them, I don't care"

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…”  You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

Real tears, not staged- ones for once.

He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.”  His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powerful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!”  He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances, your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appeased you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but a bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect for Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest,  Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…”  His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue.  Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was the thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once your glass was refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too, on top of hating the sight of you being that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone was coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully. 

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking past you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you used suggestions rather than orders.  Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another glass. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arm, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived into his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with the cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize it from miles away for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling left to right due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made a promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess in your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense,  “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burnt brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!”  Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”  

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm  “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cut you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and then, he bared his teeth like a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You, who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur, could not keep your sadness for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time to speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. First thing, you showed him the pale flesh of your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your arm to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take your arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re hurt. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sobs. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him — whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded flesh. Everything began to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear:  I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes and that your arm was abundantly bleeding. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me, Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took one last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and force you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, had led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and he felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hiting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence, but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains out with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @helen06dreamer

[evita-shelby]

Plus One

Inspired by @justrainandcoffee Wandering Jew series.

Aka an excuse to write rolfie and teva in the same universe

Gif by @crackshipandcrap

(2019)

“Who won’t text you back?” Eva asked noticing the rather forlorn way he looks at the message.

She knows he’d been seeing someone, and yet while he knows about her disastrous sex life, Eva doesn’t know jack shit about his beyond Grace the Barmaid, Lizzie and several other women Eva may or may not have also fucked.

“None of your business, Smith.” Tommy glared and she pouted.

It had been a bad idea to ask her out again, the drinks had been fine and she thought him a gentleman when he didn’t take her up on her suggestion of staying over at her place.

“I told you about my ex marrying my cousin and my ex who fucked all my friends, c’mon, Tommy tell me who’s the broad who’s place I need to trash.” The brunette reminds him.

They were friends now.

Eva was enjoying being single after her ex decided Franco was who she loved and Tommy had been in a relationship with someone whom he had hardly ever mentioned.

“Not a she, and no, you’re not committing a felony for me, Evie, but thanks anyway.” He said with annoyance and shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Ah so we’re more similar than I thought. So your guy broke up with you, then?” the witchy young woman guessed correctly going by the stony look he gets as he orders another drink.

“Yes, and before you ask. It was me not him.” The dark haired man loathed speaking about things like these and yet he willingly shared this with her, progress. “Won’t forgive me and I know you’d agree with him.”

“You got me there. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been there before. At least your ex is still alive to hate you.” Eva regrets her words the moment she said them.

She never told anyone about Leopoldo, nor how him learning about her and Antonia seeing each other behind his back led to the car accident that killed him.

She’d been displayed as his grieving girlfriend. Given flowers, comforted along with his family and crushed by the guilt of knowing she hadn’t truly loved him.

“Lucky me.” He grumbled bitterly and raised his whiskey in a toast. “Here’s to our shit luck, Evie.”

It is spring 2020 when Tommy and Eva elope to Cancun and welcome the pandemic as the newly elected representative of the Birmingham Hall Green.

Their exes remain unnamed and neither Shelby aware of how little the world is.

Its 2023 when two identical invitations arrived addressed to the both of them.

“I didn’t know you knew Alfie as well.” Eva mentions as he played with little Gabriel on the rug.

The look on his face says it all.

Alfie was the guy who dumped him for being a cheating asshole.

Same Alfie who was Aunt Florence’s baby brother.

There had been no malicious intent.

This is what Rose tells herself when Alfie learns she hadn’t removed Tommy Shelby from the guest list.

She had met him in passing once, when she found more than just a nice holiday at the Wandering Jew.

Then she came to know Tommy had been the heartless bastard who’d broken Alfie’s heart. Having disliked him from the start, knowing how awful he was had made her hate him.

Now she was seeing him in the profile picture of Alfie’s ‘niece’ Eva Smith-Riley who had sent her congratulations through Instagram.

Rose had met through zoom calls and FaceTime and once in person when Eva came to give them her good news.

‘Is it okay if I bring my plus one?’

It was then Rose had seen who the man she was married to was.

Then the bride to be did what everyone has done since the invention of social media has done.

She looked at every single photo of him in Eva’s profile, Facebook page, twitter and some tabloids that sprung up under her name.

They’d met at Birmingham U, they dated for approximately five months, married on the first of March in a lovely beach in Mexico and had a baby named Gabriel.

“Are you jealous of Evie, sweetheart?” Alfie Asks seeing the picture of Eva hanging out with some celebrity at a charity thing.

“No. It’s not that. Why didn’t you tell me Tommy’s her husband?” she shows him the next picture, Tommy Shelby smiling through the pain holding his one-year-old son next to Eva.

After the way he fucked things up with Alfie, Tommy resolved himself to be a better man.

“Because I didn’t know about it until she married the fucker and then I didn’t want to ruin things for her. He’s changed, or so it seems.” the burly man admitted knowing the hell that was going to be unleashed.

“For a man in love he looks like he’s in agony.” Rose points out thinking the worst of Thomas Shelby.

“That’s just his face, love, he can’t help it.”

And he had, not once has he strayed and while that took much work on his account, it had rewarded him with a woman he loves and a family he hadn’t thought he could have.

He should’ve told her about his past with Alfie, but he was afraid, not sure of what, but he was afraid.

Eva wouldn’t have judged him about it, not after she told him about Leopoldo, but Alfie was her friend.

And yet here they lay beside each other as the baby slept curled up between them.

“You should’ve told me, Tom.” She’s not angry, there is a hint of disappointment about her, but nothing has changed as he feared he would. “We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

“He’s your friend, sort of relative too. I don’t want you to miss it on account of me.” He could invent an excuse to stay, claim Gabe is too little for a sitter.

“Alfie is your friend too, we’ll hire a sitter for Gabe and you will come with me. I already told Alfie I’d be bringing you anyways.” She points out reaching to caress his face, a contrast to his words.

December rolls around, and Tommy finds himself fixing the black satin bowtie that matches Eva’s black evening gown exactly.

“Are you ready?” she asks softly, knowing how big of a step this is for him.

“Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be, Mrs. Shelby.”

[peakyblindas]

Summer Haze (Tommy Shelby x OFC)

Tommy visits Berkley House one summers afternoon, looking for Fawn and reflects on the woman he once called his.

Tagging: @evita-shelby @zablife

Tommy Shelby always felt unwelcome at Barkley House, He felt as if he’d jumped the fence and snuck into someone else's land and that at any moment he would be shot for trespassing.

“Fi here?” 

He asked, glancing around at the foyer of the house, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of him, Matthew Dormer tried his best to be nice to Tommy, but in his eyes, Tommy could see the hatred, he respected him for at least pretending, he supposed.

“Out in the grounds, shooting I think.”

How a girl like Fawn O’Hart ended up married to a man like Dormer, Tommy would never understand, he was all bright eyed and golden haired, he was raised with all the privileges Fawn and he never had, he was from a completely other world and at one time, Fawn would have spat on his marbled floors and threatened to burn this house down.

Dormer gestured with a paint stained hand, his fingertips were purple, stained, Did he know how stained his wife's hands were with blood? 

“If you go to the stables, Mel can help you saddle up one of the horses..It's far quicker and less muddy than walking.”

Tommy repressed a eye roll, Dormer was such a saint, taking on Fawn’s daughter, Melody, the girls Father was a American, died in a fire before she was even born, but Saint Matthew had officially adopted her when he and Fawn married, he didn’t even care she was half black, it was amazing he didn’t have a halo on his head.

“Aight..” Tommy cleared his throat “Thanks.”

Melody was a good girl, got her Mother’s good nature and wit, she was smart and loved horses, was a natural with them too.

“Uncle Tommy?” She asked as they trotted out of the stables 

“Yes, love?”

“Do you think I can train racehorses one day?”

“Of course, you’re a natural with ‘em, horses are good to folk who are good to them.”

“Mummy says you know a trainer, a Ms. Carleton.” 

“Yes I know Ms. Carleton, she trained one of my horses for me.”

“Would you introduce me to her?”

Tommy laughed, eleven years old and already making connections for future employment, she was Fawn’s daughter all right.

“Of course.”  

They rode in silence for a few minutes, before Melody stopped and Tommy copied

“Mum’s over there, I’m gonna take Galahad to the orchid.” She patted the horse's black mane “It was nice seeing you, Uncle.”

“You too, take care of yourself, alright?”

She nodded and smiled, it was Fawn’s smile, Dottie had inherited it too, As Melody rode away, Tommy found himself hoping that all Dottie had inherited from him was his eyes, God knows he had nothing else to offer her.

Fawn was behind a hill facing a lake, wearing a long black dress that fluttered in the midday breeze, Tommy watched as she raised a rifle and followed a flock of birds, before shooting, one of the birds fell to the floor, dead as a stone.

The wind caught in her hair, long and jet black, she walked through the grass, he remembered when they used to hunt pigeons.

God he loved her, more than anyone else he’d ever claimed to love, she was perfect in every way, she understood him more than anyone, she’d touched his soul with her bare hands and he’d stupidly pushed her away.

She picked up the dead bird and held it by its neck, she rested the rifle on her shoulder and turned, she saw him, and waved the bird, beaming from cheek to cheek, it hurt him to know he wasn’t the real cause of that smile, not really.

“Thomas!” She greeted “Fancy staying for dinner?”

“Of course.” He replied “No place I’d rather be.”

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

Visitor (Tommy Shelby x OFC!Estella Holland)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x (OFC) Estella Holland

Warning: Slight Swearing, A Slap, Death, Talks of Death, Tuberculosis, Taking Herbs

Word Count: 0.9K

Synopsis: Tommy goes to bed in one place and wakes up in another. He isn’t sure it’s real.

Notes: Divider is made by the beautiful @firefly-graphics; I know nothing about gems, but I did google and read my mother’s gemstone book, so please don’t come for me. 

Tommy wasn’t sure how it happened. He went to bed in his vardo in the middle of nowhere and woke up in the middle of the forest, Estella, his beautiful gorgeous wife sitting beside a fire. His beautiful dead wife, the one Tommy had just laid to rest just two months ago. When he first saw Estella, he thought it was just another vision his war-damaged brain conjured up again, but when she hugged him from behind, Tommy felt her lips on his neck and smelled the flowers on her skin. He knew it was his Estella. 

“So this is heaven, eh? I’ve got to say I never really believed in such a place. The closest I ever got to believing was when we were together, but this, this must be it, if we are together again.” Tommy grabbed ahold of Estella around the waist and pulled her to his lap as she laughed. Her laughter was music to his ears, even years after being together. Estella threw her arms around Tommy’s neck as he placed his forehead against hers. 

“Every day we were together was our little piece of heaven, but this is permeant. You’re here because you needed me. Why did you need me, Tommy?” Estella nudged their noses against one another, trying to get her husband to open his eyes to look at her. Meanwhile, Tommy felt his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach. She had to be real and not a dream or a mirage. Estella felt so real. Tommy could feel the velvet fabric of the dress she was wearing against his palms.

“Tommy, why did you ask Esme for the herbs to make you go to sleep? Why did you need me so badly?” Tommy felt a cold soft hand brush against his face. It was ice cold. It was so chilling for them to be so close to the fire, and suddenly he felt his heart breaking again. But, of course, it was not real. It was never real, to begin with. 

Cold lips brushed against Tommy, pulling him from his never-ending thoughts. Tommy opened his eyes to the lips, kissing him every day and night with love and tenderness. Tommy knew this was his Estella, whom he loved and cared for. 

“It’s Ruby. She got tuberculosis as well. It already took you from me. I couldn’t save you and break the fookin’ curse. The doctors don’t give her much time, but I thought if I came to you, you could do something, Estella, she’s our angel, and I can’t lose her too. I don’t think the kids could take losing their sister too.” Estella pulled Tommy into her chest. It wasn’t often her husband cried. Currently was probably one of the handfuls of times she had seen it happen, and they all had to do with their children and her. She knew this was serious, her daughter was lying in a hospital bed dying, and her husband had almost died via herb ingestion to see her. 

“Here is how we’ll fix this, Tommy.” Estella pulled her husband's head back from her body so they looked each other in the eye as she wiped his tears away with the pad of her thumbs like he often did for her. 

“In my jewelry box is a citrine necklace. Please take it to Esme, have her charge it, put it on Ruby, and ask her to make a balm. When you see Ruby Tommy, you must promise to wear your mask. So kids can’t lose you too.” Tommy took a deep breath, like most times when trying to keep himself from fighting with his wife. 

“If it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go. The kids have Polly and Aberama. They do not need me.” Tommy’s face flung to the side as Estella slapped her husband's face. Then furious at him, she stood up and started to pace. 

“Don’t you dare say that our children do not need you, Thomas Michael Shelby. You are the only parent they have left! I fought so hard to stay for all of you. Tommy, I would still be there if I could, Tommy, but I can’t. So that means it’s up to you to be both the mother and the father. You need to be the one that bandages scratches, cuddles the monsters away, settles the disputes, eases the heartaches, and most of all, has the heart to hearts. It’s okay to go to Ada, my sister, or Polly for help, but you need to be the one to do this. You are their father. Act like it, and show them you care. Don’t be like our fathers.” Estella leaned to her knees before him with her hands in his, pleading with him, tears running down her eyes. 

“You will never be alone, Tommy, because I’m always going to be in your heart, because you promised to love me with all your heart, but the thing is, you couldn’t. You shared your heart with our beautiful baby boy Charlie and girls Josie, Ruby, and baby Eliza. They will always make sure you are never alone again, either.” Estella stood with Tommy’s hand in hers, yanking him to his feet. The bonfire had gone out. The air was suddenly freezing, colder than he remembered. 

“I love you, Thomas Shelby.” Tommy started to look around as he began to notice the forest around them was getting darker and darker. 

“I love you more, Estella.” one last lonely tear slipped down Tommy’s cheek as Estella kissed him, whispering in his ear.

“Wake up, Tommy.”

[redahlia-writes]

peaky blinders masterlist

* contains explicit smut (my entire blog is 18+) - masterlist

tommy shelby

no grave can hold my body down. | series | ao3 only *

because the longing needs the leaving / and the loving needs the bleeding. | series | ao3 only *

[sneakyblinders]

superstition - modern!tommy shelby x ofc

A/N: hello! this is something i've had brewing in my mind for quite some time! Modern!Tommy Shelby x ofc, Amandine. Based in southeast Louisiana. (If you ever have the opportunity to go... please take it. It's one of the best places on earth.) If you're wanting some ambiance, or getting the vibe of the story... take a listen to this ambiance music on Youtube! warnings: language, cheating, sexual themes. not canon. an au.

1998–Southeast Louisiana

“You know what you’re getting yourself into, don’t you, Thomas?” Polly asked a pink cheeked teenage Tommy as he stumbled in the backdoor, tucking his shirt back into his pants. 

He licked his lips, sweat running down his back. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“That girl, Tommy,” she paused. The ceiling fan whirred, kicking away the leftover smells from dinner. The heat. “Amandine,” Polly shuddered. “Her family is dangerous. Her grandmere is a seer, you know.” 

Tommy nodded. He did know. “I love her, Pol,” he said, straightening his back. 

Polly chuckled. “You’ll see what someone like Amandine Theiriot does with love.” 

2011–Southeast Louisiana

The restaurant bustled. Dishwashers were running furiously, line cooks and waiters bickered over a particularly fussy patron. Amandine rolled her eyes. The heat was overwhelming. July in Louisiana was brutally unbearable, and a heatwave made going into the kitchen every day damn near impossible. 

“Dine!” Gio, the sous chef called out to her. “Dine, there’s somebody here fer ya!” 

Her eyes wandered tiredly to the man in the corner. Her man. “Tommy?” she breathed quietly. So quietly she wasn’t sure if anybody but herself heard her. 

He didn’t smile at her. All joy was gone from his eyes. His lips were in a firm line, hands in his jean pockets, his military backpack slung over one shoulder. The kitchen staff moved out of Amandine’s way as she made her way to Tommy, moving in a trance-like pattern. 

“You’re home?” she asked. He smelled like the bayou. Faintly like aftershave. Smoke and whiskey. He’d not come directly here. 

“Here I stand,” he drawled, the deep baritone of his voice sending a chill down her spine like only he could. 

“I waited,” she said gently as desire filled his eyes. 

“I see,” he responded as she reached out to touch his cheek–touch a scar she hadn’t seen before. “Let’s go home, baby,” he said, her touch filling him with the deepest sense of belonging he’d felt in nearly eight years. 

The staff mumbled under their breath as their head chef walked out for the night, dinner tickets be damned. 

Amandine sensed a darkness in Tommy’s spirit. A darkness that wasn’t there before the war. Before Iraq. She guessed too many tours would do that to a person. Her heart felt heavy as he drove them through the windy southeast Louisiana streets, back to their once shared home. Before the war separated them. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. 

The bayou, their home, was dark. There weren’t too many streetlights on these two lane roads leading them to their home. The home they’d purchased at eighteen and nineteen before the world went upside down. 

Tommy drove his truck, the truck Amandine had been using the last seven years, up their gravel driveway, the motion sensor lights at the top of their home kicking on. It looked a little cleaner than when he had last seen it seven years ago. 

The garage was the entire bottom floor, two flights of stairs leading to the house above. In the swamp, a house on stilts, or raised houses, are normal to aid in air circulation and prevent flood damage when the inevitable hurricanes blasted through the swamp. Tommy tiredly dragged his legs up the steps, Amandine following behind him. 

He fumbled with his keys, finding the right one for the front door and unlocked it, shocked when he saw the difference in the house. “You fixed it up?” 

She smiled softly. “Yeah,” she looked at him nervously. “Daddy and Grandpere and the boys helped. Thought you might like it,” she said. 

He let his dusty backpack fall to the floor with a thud, closing and locking the door behind them before he pushed her up against the door, crashing his lips to hers. 

It was a mess of clothes and sloppy kisses, but they made their way to the bedroom where they devoured one another. 

The next morning they woke up next to each other for the first time in seven years. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between the two of them the night before, causing them to fall asleep with their backs to one another. Something had shifted–something had changed. 

“So,” Amandine began the next morning, sun streaming in through the slats of the blinds. “Who was she?” she asked. 

“Who was he?” Tommy asked, reaching for a cigarette on his nightstand. 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” she said, sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. 

“Deal,” he said nonchalantly, exhaling smoke. 

“Vincent Camponi,” she said. She could faintly see his jaw twitch in anger. 

“Grace Burgess,” he said, mind wandering to the blond he fell in love with at war. The one who had almost cost him his life. 

“Will you go to her?” Amandine asked. 

“Can’t,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “The curse,” he exhaled. “The bond,” he said, holding up his palm, the faint scar from where they’d joined themselves together in Gypsy tradition so many years ago. 

The curse he referred to, was also cast that night they made their vow. That if anything should separate them, they would be dually cursed for the rest of their days. Bad luck following. Their children would be cursed. Their families would be destined for doom. Their businesses would decline and their money would disappear. 

“Where’s Della?” he asked to change the subject. 

“With Mama and Daddy,” Amandine said. 

“Let’s go get her. No sense in keeping us all apart for any longer than we have to, hm?” he said, stubbing out his cigarette and walking to the shower. 

“Yeah,” Amandine said softly. “No sense in that.” 

[amysteryspot]

I want a divorce - Thomas Shelby x OFC

A/N: This is something I’ve been playing with for a long time, and wanted to share with you. Don’t know if something will come out of it, but I liked this little piece so... hope you enjoy.

Some warnings before we start: this is set on season one’s last episode, after they’ve taken down Billy Kimber, probably around the scene where Tommy and Polly are talking and drinking the champagne at the Garisson. There’s references/implied cheating, it doesn’t get down into details though.

Please, do tell me what you think of it.

Tommy watched her holding the baby in awe—their baby, he almost couldn’t believe it. Despite having given birth just a few hours ago Laura looked so beautiful, a goddess in his eyes.

She was sitting on their bed, leaning against the pillows propped up on the headboard. Their daughter, Ava, wrapped in a creamy colored blanket and securely held in her arms. Laura caressed the baby’s cheek, gently, with the point of her index finger, a smile gracing her lips for a brief moment.

“You’ve gone to see her.”

The statement took him by surprise, but not more than the hardness in her eyes. He wasn’t expecting a confrontation that soon, not when she was still exhausted from the birth, not when she still had their daughter in her arms.

“She’s gone,” he announced, simply, trying to avoid the subject.

“I want a divorce.”

Tommy froze, breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, astonished.

“You can’t be serious,” he protests, and then adds more firmly, “She’s gone, Laura.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you went looking for her when I was here, screaming in pain, giving birth to our daughter alone.”

Laura didn’t raise her voice; she didn’t need to. Tommy felt like his wife had just slapped him across the face.

She continued, “I won’t force the guilty of keeping a broken marriage together on our daughter. I won’t raise her to know that her parents only stayed together, in a loveless marriage, because of duty. No child deserves it and no child of mine will suffer it.”

“Our marriage isn’t loveless.”

“Isn’t it? Who are we kidding, Tommy? We are not the same since you came back. We are not the same since you left. Whores in France, Lizzie when you came back, now the barmaid, who will be next?”

“One whore in France,” he argued, “And I told you that Lizzie was a mistake. I’ve never fucked Grace.”

“Probably out of guilt, because you wanted to. She wanted to, you both made that quite clear.”

“Laura, be reasonable…”

“I am being reasonable. I’m doing what’s best for me and our daughter.”

Ava wailed at the slightly raise in her mother’s voice and Laura shushed the tiny baby quickly, before returning his attention to him again.

“Polly wanted to go after you and Grace, after the races. I said to her that there was no use, that I wouldn’t give you an easy way out of your responsibilities, but the moment she placed our daughter in my arms I knew, Tommy. I knew that I had to put myself first because I have to take care of her and she will learn from me that no man is worth your happiness.”

.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @internalmess3 @theshelbyclan @giowritess @peakyxtommy @caelys