Can I request Tommy with a gentle, empathetic and sensitive reader please. It was an arranged marriage and he found out his new wife would cry herself to sleep over a book she read or just a cat. His reaction to someone who is completely opposite of him
Thank you in advance ✨
Tommy with a wife who's his complete opposite
A/N: Hey baby, thanks for the request!! I'm doing good and I hope you are too ❤️ I forgot to put on the requests post to specify if you want it as a fic or headcanons so I've made it sort of a mix of the two, hope that's okay anon. I made this blog to try and improve my writing skills and as this is my first attempt it isn't the best, so sorry about that lol. Hope you like it!! (this is set sometime around series 1-2 cause those are my fave)
It was an arranged marriage and to be honest... you weren't particularly thrilled by the notion of being married to Birmingham's most known and feared gangster. But you would do anything for your family and if your father decided that this is what would be best for securing the future of the family then you'd follow through on your part of the deal, even if it seemed like you and Tommy had absolutely nothing in common.
This was a couple months ago now and you had somewhat settled into your new life in Small Heath and with Tommy by your side, the two of you living in comfortable tandem. You had settled into a routine and life was good, or as good as it could be with the risk of being married to a Shelby.
He would buy you any book that you so much as happened to glance at and in turn you would patch up and sew back together any unfortunate pieces of clothing that got in the way of Tommy and his dangerous life style and work, fighting back tears and worrying at your lower lip as you did so. You may not quite understand why he was constantly putting himself in danger but he was your husband all the same and you had grown to love him as your marriage progressed
you would also force him to go and see an actual trained medical professional whenever he came home with said ruined clothing, as a dead husband is less than ideal and you have grown attached these last couple months
Your empathy and tendancy to cry over him when he got hurt was a shock at first but he quickly got used to it, he even tried to avoid getting hurt just so as to not have to see you cry over him
He may not say it outright but he appreciates everything you do and how much you care for him
He doesn't like to keep secrets from you but he doesn't share all aspects of work life with you as he doesn't want you to worry too much, but if being kept in the dark would worry you even more he'd make an effort to keep you in the loop
Your gentleness and compassion is a welcome contrast to his life from before you were apart of it, Tommy didn't know that he needed it before you
If there's one thing about Tommy Shelby, it's that he protects what's his and as his wife he treats you with the utmost care (especially if you have a tendancy to seek out the good in all people)
One night when Tommy (finally) came to bed he found you curled up in a ball on your side with your back to the door, tears gently running down your smooth cheeks
Unsure of what to do when confronted by your distress but still wanting to help, he'd rush to your side and scoop you up onto his lap, holding you close with your tear-stained cheek pressed against his chest and an arm thrown protectively around your shoulders. He'd cautiously rock back and forwards whilst his hand moves slowly up and down your back in what he hopes is a soothing motion. He's a little awkward and stiff but damn if he isn't fucking trying
He'd use his forefinger and thumb to tilt your chin up and force your eyes to meet his own before softly questioning you on why you were crying
"What you crying for, hmm love? Ruining your pretty face"
He'd say, wiping away your tears with his thumb
Upon hearing that the reason for your tears was a sad ending to one of the books he bought you he'd be a little taken aback and he would honestly have to suppress the urge to laugh
It all seemed rather silly to him that you'd cry over some words on paper
"Tommy it isn't funny, it was really upsetting" you'd hiccup out through your tears
he'd just shake his head and sigh, apologising, before pulling you closer, finally laying down on the bed with your legs intertwined
Tommy had hoped it would be a one of chance but when he caught you crying in bed again over the ending of Of Mice and Men, he very quickly figured that he'd have to adapt
Tommy developed a system for when you had your... shall we say moments, he'd sit down on his side of the bed with his back pressed against the headboard before he lifted you up and placed you in-between his legs
Sitting you so that your back was resting against his chest and you could feel his heartbeat
You would then explain to him the sad moments in your books as he softly hummed and nodded his head along to your words
And when he got tired from your quiet voice lulling him to sleep he'd pull you down with him as he laid on his side, caging you in against his chest with an arm around your waist
Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.
Words: 2,3k
TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.
Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.
It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.
Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.
Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.
But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.
From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…
Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.
Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.
You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.
The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.
The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.
The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.
“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.
“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.
“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."
"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.
"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.
The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.
You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.
Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.
“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.
“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”
“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”
“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.
“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.
One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.
Do it again.
Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.
His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.
His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.
His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.
The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”
The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.
Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.
Summary: Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy
Warnings: arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, reader leaves a message written in blood, smut, creampie, light degrading, oral smut (f receiving), overstim, p in v, let me know if I missed any
Notes: I made this text post about protective reader and decided to write it lmfao. I want Tommy with a feral woman. Thank you to @slut4thebroken for proof reading, encouragement, and suggestions💖
MDNI, 18+ only
You weren’t quite sure how it had happened.
Scratch that.
You knew exactly how it had happened.
Your father and Tommy had worked out a deal when Sabini had first started trying to intimidate your father. A bride in exchange for protection and both of them walked away with extra allies when the inevitable war against Sabini broke out. You’d protested the marriage at first, screaming that you were more than just a political pawn for your father to sell when he needed help, but it went through anyway.
You had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Sure, Tommy was distant and seemed obsessed with work, but you knew you could’ve ended up in a much worse situation. He treated you with respect, never let you open a door on your own if he was around, always had a protective hand rested in the small of your back, and… the sex was great.
Perhaps the thing you appreciated the most, was that he didn’t expect you to become the housewife you had feared you would be reduced to. You were your father’s only child, meaning when he died, you would become leader of his gang. You were a gangster the same way Tommy was and he seemed to realize that and respect it. You helped out with the daily runnings of the Peaky Blinders and helped with the daily runnings of your father’s gang at the same time. They both recognized your potential and weren’t afraid to use it.
It wasn’t until you were sitting in a family meeting about a year after your marriage that you realized you had grown to feel more than just okay with the marriage.
Tommy was a closed off individual and through the entire year you had been married, you felt like you were just starting to finally get to know the real him. You never pried because he never pried in your life. If you had general questions, neither of you were afraid to ask them, but anything more was left up for the person to tell. You had more questions than answers still, specifically about the matching scars on his cheeks, but you didn’t dare ask. He hadn’t asked about the scar that ran from your right shoulder blade down to your spine, so you didn’t ask about his scars.
It was a common occurrence for Esme, Ada, and Polly to sit with you at one of the desks in the betting shop, whispering things to you during family meetings to fill in any gaps and answer any questions you may have had.
“Alfie has informed me that the Sicilians are being provided aid by Sabini, in the form of cars and housing,” Tommy started, causing Arthur to let out a loud groan of frustration.
Before you could get dragged into hearing any more of it, you turned your head to Esme who was sitting next to you.
“Sabini’s a prick, I know that, but what has he done to us?” You asked quietly, your eyes still flickering back-and-forth between Tommy and the rest of his family as they spoke about what to do next.
Esme began explaining exactly what Sabini had done. How he and five other men came after Tommy in the dark of night, how he’d ripped out a tooth, sliced his cheeks, and beat him to an inch of his life.
The rage that settled inside of you was your first hint that you had grown to genuinely care for Tommy as more than just a friend and (amazing) fuck buddy. Your jaw remained clenched and set for the rest of the meeting, but as soon as the meeting was called to end, you wiped the look from your face and forced a calm expression to take over.
You stood up and walked over to Tommy, forcing a small smile to your lips,
“I’m not really feeling all that well. You go with your brothers for a drink, I’m just going to head back home, okay?” You said, meeting his eyes so he wouldn’t have a reason to not believe you.
Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to look for any sign you were lying. You had been fine that morning and fine two hours prior when you sat down for the meeting, but he had no reason to believe you were lying so he simply nodded, placed a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him, and kissed your forehead.
“I won’t be out long. Ask Frances for anything you need, okay, love?”
You nodded and the forced smile turned to a genuine one,
“I will, promise,” you told him before stepping away from him and waving goodbye to the rest of the family.
Yes. You had truly gotten lucky when it came to who you had been forced to marry.
The entire ride back to the Arrow House, you were silent and going over your plan in your head. You knew you’d have to earn Tommy’s trust back after this, but you didn’t particularly care. You were a force of nature on your best day. You were lethal when you were angry.
Once you arrived back, you immediately headed upstairs to yours and Tommy’s shared room. The marriage may have started off with the two of you in separate rooms, “I’m called the devil, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of monster. You can sleep in your own room until you’re comfortable sharing a bed,” but it didn’t take more than a couple weeks for you to eventually join him in bed.
Damn those blue eyes, full lips, and that jawline.
You grabbed a small bag and threw the first set of clothes you laid hands on into it, then, much more carefully, a dress. You grabbed everything else you needed and headed to Tommy’s office next.
I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry for lying, but I’ll be back.
You signed the note and left it in the center of his desk where you knew he would see it, held down by his ashtray.
As quickly as you had entered the house, you left it, getting right back into the car with the driver Tommy had employed for you. You told him the name of a hotel in London that you knew was just outside of anyone’s territory.
The drive seemed to pass by too quickly and soon you were saying goodbye to the driver and sending him home for the night. It was barely 7 in the evening when you got up to your room.
“If there is a God, please let me get through this. I’ll make it up to you… somehow,” you said quietly.
The beading on the dress swayed loudly around your body as you pulled the dress on. The pins in your hair seemed to be extra noticeable against your scalp. The straps on your shoes pressed into your skin more than usual. The blade held against your thigh and hidden by your dress seemed to refuse to warm up. Your left hand felt entirely too light with your ring missing.
You knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you. You’d worn this outfit before and it had always turned heads, which is exactly what you wanted.
You needed Sabini to notice you.
You greeted the cab driver politely as you stepped in and ignored the way his eyes seemed to follow you a bit too closely.
The doors of the club were held open for you and you made your way to the bar and took a seat, knowing you were just playing a waiting game now.
You could feel eyes on you. The wife of Thomas Shelby in Sabini’s club, hours away from Birmingham, far out of Peaky Blinders territory or her father’s territory. You stuck out like a sore thumb, even if you would have blended in during any other scenario.
It felt like an eternity passed before you finally saw the man that made your blood boil, but one glance at the clock above the bar told you it hadn’t even been an hour.
“You seem lost. I thought we had made it clear that your kind weren’t welcomed here,” Sabini said once he was in front of you.
A charming smile graced your lips and you looked up at him,
“My kind?” You questioned, playing innocent.
“Yes. Your kind. You’re the wife of Thomas Shelby and I don’t appreciate him ignoring the last warning I gave him and sending you-“
“I wasn’t sent here,” you stopped him, lifting your left hand and pushing a piece of hair that hadn’t fallen back behind your ear, “and I’m not really a Shelby or a Blinder, am I?”
His eyes were drawn to your hand and noticed the lack of a ring you wore and he quirked an eyebrow at you.
“Is that so? I was under the impression the two of you were lovebirds.”
You pulled your bottom lip between your lips and looked away, trying to come off as shy. When you looked back up to him, you hoped the look on his face meant he was intrigued and believing you.
“Perhaps we could talk about it somewhere else… somewhere private?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you did so.
Gods help you. The smirk he gave you made your stomach twist and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, but patience was something you’d adopted a lot of.
“Allow me to show you to my office then,” he said, offering you a hand which you forced yourself to take.
He guided you through the club and towards the back. Some amount of luck seemed to be on your side as his office was behind the stage and provided some cover for any noise you might make. Even more so as you noticed a window just large enough for you to be able to crawl out of.
Once the door was shut behind you, he sat down behind his desk and motioned for you to take a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side.
“Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Sabini said as he poured you both a drink.
“It was never paradise to begin with,” you replied, thanking him for the drink and taking a sip.
You had grown used to Tommy’s Irish whiskey and the bourbon he gave you wasn’t nearly as smooth going down.
“Was it not? From what I’ve heard, you two have quite the fairytale. Gang leader’s daughter married off to another gang leader, uniting two empires.”
“That’s not the way I see it,” you lied.
“And how do you see it?”
“A desperate father sold off his daughter to a desperate gang leader in an attempt for the both of them to gain more power and disregarded the woman’s wishes,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders.
“And so you’ve come to London for what?” Sabini questioned, wanting to hear you say it.
“Because I think we can help each other, Mr. Sabini,” you said, downing the rest of the bourbon and standing up.
His eyes followed your movements, his eyes trailing up your body before resting on your legs again.
“And how do you think we could help each other?” He asked.
You moved to stand in front of him, placing one leg over the side of his and straddled him, placing your arms around his neck.
“They trust me, Mr. Sabini. They don’t suspect me of anything,” you started. The shiver of disgust that rolled up your spine due to his hands trailing up the back of your thighs was one he apparently took as excitement as he gripped slightly at the backs of them, “I can tell you everything and, in return, I get out of my marriage once they’re all gone.”
“They don’t even realize the ticking time bomb they’ve got in their fingertips, do they?” He asked and a chuckle left your lips as a genuine smirk took over.
“They don’t…” you said, trailing your hands down his chest and then up your thigh, trying to make the move appear seductive. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife, “and neither do you, apparently.”
His eyes widened and he realized the trap he had walked into at the same time as you pressed the blade of the knife to his neck.
“I’d say that if you ever threaten my husband or our family again, you’ll regret it, but you won’t be,” you told him, unable to resist pausing for a touch of dramatic effect before adding on, “Never fuck with a Shelby.”
In the next second, you were quickly slicing the knife across his neck and flinching back as his blood coated you.
You knew your next move was morbid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It had been morbid for him and five other men to attack your husband when he was alone. It was morbid for him to rip out his tooth. It had been morbid for him to slice his cheeks. It was just as morbid for you to quickly and quietly clear off his desk, dip your fingers into his blood, and leave a bloodied message across his desk.
Revenge is a scorned Shelby
As soon as the message was written, you grabbed one of the coats from the coat rack and slipped it on, then crawled out of the window. The coat was long enough to cover all of the bloodied mess that was now your dress.
Sabini is dead.
That seemed to be the only thing you could think of as you were driven back to the Arrow House. It wasn’t the first time you had killed a man and you knew it wouldn’t be last.
But you hadn’t told anyone about this time. You hadn’t told anyone your plan, where you were going, or why you were doing it. You had also just started a war.
You weren’t surprised to see almost every light in the house still on when you arrived, and you made sure to slip the cab driver a little extra for the long drive.
You hadn’t risked staying in London longer than you needed to. You had gone into your hotel room, grabbed your bag, and promptly left, only taking the time to slip your wedding ring back on when you were in the cab.
When you stepped into the house, Tommy was in the hallway. All he saw as you stepped in the door was you, in another man’s coat, your wedding ring still on your finger, but your hair and makeup done much differently than it had been you had left.
You stayed silent as you stared at him with nervousness written on your face.
He put out his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for you to explain yourself.
Your silent explanation was to undo the tie on the coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing your blood stained dress.
“I need a fucking drink for this one,” Tommy grumbled, motioning for you to follow him. He guided you to his office and poured both of you a drink, handed you your glass, then sat down in his office chair. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Do you want the short version or the long version?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he looked up at where you still stood across the room.
Despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shrug his shoulders,
“Humor me. Short version first,” he told you.
“About a year ago I got married, and tonight I started a war.”
Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and running a hand over his face, “Long version.”
“About a year ago, I got married. Over the past year my husband has been nothing but a respectful gentleman, making it nearly impossible for me not to fall for him when you combine it with his fucking blue eyes that could bring the devil to his knees,” you started, feeling the hint of a blush creep into your cheeks, which you knew he noticed by the way his eyes flicked to your cheeks and then back to your eyes, “then today we had a meeting with his family where he mentioned Sabini. When I asked, his sister-in-law told me about what Sabini had done to him. About how my husband had been beaten to an inch of his life and brutalized, leaving him permanently scarred, and I knew I had to make the bastard pay.
“So, I lied to my husband and said I didn’t feel well. I went home, packed a bag, left him a note saying I’d be back, and went to London. I rented a hotel room where I changed into a fancy dress and did my hair and makeup, then I wrapped a knife to my thigh and slid my wedding ring into my bag and went to The Eden Club. News of a Shelby woman spread quickly and Sabini showed up to question me within an hour. I lied to Sabini, told him that I didn’t want to be a Shelby and that I had never wanted to be one. He took me back to his office and I sat on his lap and made him think I was about to cheat on my husband when I slit his throat and made sure he knew it was because of what he’d done to my husband. I left a message on his desk, went back to the hotel, grabbed my bag, and then headed back to our house.”
Silence filled the room for a long moment as Tommy stared at you. His eyes were unreadable as he watched you.
“What did the message say?” He suddenly asked.
“Revenge is a scorned Shelby.”
“Nothing about the Peaky Blinders?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t Peaky business,” you answered confidently, watching him just as closely as he watched you as he stood from his chair and came to stand in front of you.
“Was it not?” He questioned, taking the untouched glass of whiskey from your hand and setting it on the desk before turning back to stare you down.
“No. It was Shelby business, but not Peaky business.”
“Explain.”
“He didn’t just harm a Peaky Blinder. He harmed a Shelby, my Shelby.” Your gaze was unwavering as you held eye contact with him. You wanted him to know you meant your words. He was yours, and the protective touches on your back when you were in public and the way he intimidated and glared at any man who tried approaching you was all the proof you needed to know that you were his.
“So I’m your Shelby?” He asked as he took a step towards you and continued to do so until you pressed against the office door.
“Yes.”
“And that means you’re mine?” He questioned, his hands now pressed against the wall on either side of your head.
You could feel that you were walking into some sort of trap, but you didn’t have a way out of it right now. All you could do was be honest.
“Yes.”
“Then you should know something about what it means to be mine.”
“What’s that?” You asked, your breathing getting shorter as he lowered his face so it was level with yours.
In a second his hands were on your waist and he had you picked up against the wall with legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.
“My Shelby is to never come home wearing another man’s coat again,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.
You don’t know what reaction you had expected from him, but being pinned to his office door and him kissing you hadn’t been one you had thought of. Your shock wore off after half a second and you returned the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close.
“You’re not mad?” You asked against his lips.
“At you starting a war?” He questioned, leaning down and beginning to trail kisses hastily down your neck.
“Yes,” you replied, leaning your head back to give him more access.
“Livid,” he said with no hint of joking in his voice.
“This is quite the punishment,” you replied sarcastically. A moan fell from your lips as he nipped at your pulse point.
“Oh, I’m livid,” he said, looking up at you, “but also extremely turned on at the thought of my wife slicing a man’s throat over me and coming home still covered in his blood.”
You weren’t given a chance to respond before he was kissing you again. Your hands came down to his tie, pulling it loose before starting to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.
He didn’t bother setting you down, only turned the two of you around and walked you over to the couch in the office. He laid you down on it and then pulled the waistcoat off before leaning back down between your legs and kissing you again once. His lips started trailing down your neck again while your hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt.
“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teased as nipped at your skin again.
“You’re the one who pinned me to the door after I revealed I killed a man for you,” you replied in the same teasing tone as him. You undid the last button of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his undershirt following a second later.
He reached his hand to the side of your dress and unzipped it, pulling the fabric down your body while his hands grabbed hold of your underwear, stockings, and garters in the same move and pulled them off, leaving you completely naked underneath him.
He stared and looked over your body a moment longer before running his hands up your thighs and giving a gentle tap to your thigh,
“Up,” he said, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.
You did as told though and sat up, leaving him enough room to lay on his back and pull you up to straddle him,
“Was killing a man not enough work?” You teased, not actually minding if he was going to have you ride him. At least it meant you wouldn’t be subjected to him teasing you when all you really wanted was for him to fuck you.
“That’s cute,” he said sarcastically, gripping your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his torso, “that’s not where you’re sitting tonight.”
The man was no stranger at using his mouth to make you see stars, but you’d never ridden his face before. You looked at him, the question obvious on your face.
“Seriously?” You asked even though you knew by his face that he was.
“Seriously. You were enough of a leader to go after Sabini, you’re enough of a leader to sit on my face. Up,” he repeated again while his grip on your thighs tried pulling you forward.
You did as you were told this time, shuffling forward until you were straddling his face. You weren’t given a choice of when to sit as his hands came to your hips and pulled you down, forcing your full weight onto his waiting mouth.
If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Thomas’ ability to use his tongue and lips in more than just outsmarting his enemies.
His tongue trailed through your lips, his hands keeping your hips in place, while his tongue slowly explored you at first.
It had only taken a couple weeks for you to crack and make the first move on Tommy, joining him in bed one night when you’d decided you could trust him, and you’d been insatiable and addicted to him ever since, though he never complained. He’d spent the first couple times figuring out every move that made you tick and every name that made your cheeks flush and used them to his advantage at every turn.
His tongue was a gift with the way he knew exactly how to use it. He dragged it up and down between your folds, drinking in every bit of your arousal before focusing on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and long drags.
Tommy’s hands on your hips began guiding them, silently instructing you to take control. You didn’t hesitate in going along with what he wanted you to do and began rocking your hips. One of your hands trailed to his hair while your other went to lay on top of one his that gripped your hip. You hadn’t realized the volume of your moans until you felt the vibration of his moan against your clit.
Your hips jerked at the added stimulation and he hummed against you purposefully, his eyes never leaving you as your hips sped up, chasing your own high. Within moments you could feel it approaching and your grip on his hair and hand tightened, moans of his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.
“Please, fuck,” you cried, whimpers falling from your lips, “Tommy, Tommy…”
Your high crashed over you a moment later and you felt Tommy’s movements begin to slow down as you rode out your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.
You went to move off of him, but his grip on your hips tightened at the same time that his tongue started speeding up again.
Your moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of over stimulation and you squirmed against him, but he didn’t let up. Your hips jerked as you tried moving away from him, but all it did was add to the stimulation.
You could practically feel him smirking underneath you as he continued on, watching as your eyes clenched shut and you relented yourself to letting him torture you so beautifully.
If it wasn’t for the way your body was on edge from not being given any type of break after your first orgasm, you might have felt slightly ashamed at the way he was able to bring you to your second orgasm so quickly.
And then your third.
Tears were freely falling from your face when he finally slowed his movements to a stop and helped you to lay down on your back.
He trailed soft and slow kisses along your thighs and stomach to help bring you back down to earth. When his lips reconnected with yours, you returned the kiss, letting your eyes fall shut at the surprisingly tender moment.
“Next time you want to start a war, at least let me know your plans,” he said, causing you to open your eyes and be met with a smirk dancing across his lips, “and don’t doubt my punishments.”
You could’ve smacked the smirk off his face if it wasn’t for the fact he had turned your entire body into mush.
“Think you can be a good girl and handle one more?” He asked.
Your cheeks flushed at the praise and his hands moved to his belt and pants, pulling them off after you nodded your confirmation.
Once the rest of his clothes had been removed, he gently lifted your legs and positioned himself between them. He was gentle as he pushed inside you, but the smirk on his face from the way your voice cracked when you moaned was obvious.
The stretch was familiar at this point, but it didn’t mean you didn’t need the moment he gave you to adjust. When you nodded your head, he started moving.
Tommy knew your body like he knew his own after your time together. His hips immediately changed position as he started thrusting, making sure to hit the spot inside you that added to the ways your legs shook underneath him.
He leaned down and placed his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss right as a moan parted through them. One of his hands came back to cradle the back of your head and his fingers tangled into your hair to keep you close to him.
His other hand went to one of your legs and pulled it up so it rested in the crook of his elbow, causing him to hit even deeper inside you.
The action caused you to let out a high pitched moan and you wrapped your arms around him. Your next moan broke the passionate kiss the two of you had shared while your nails raked down his back.
“Who do you belong to?” He asked, beginning to speed up the movements of his hips.
“Y-you,” you moaned out, your back arching underneath him.
“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” He repeated.
“Thomas Shelby,” you answered and dropped your head back.
“Good girl. You’re my fucking wife,” he moaned out. He sat up, using one hand to keep your leg up in the same position while his other hand went to your already over sensitive clit, “all mine. No other man gets to touch you, look at you, or even fucking think of you. It’s my cock that you’re whimpering over right now, and it’s the only cock you’ll ever be whimpering over again.”
“I’m yours, Tommy,” you repeated, your voice breaking as moan after moan fell from your lips.
“Then cum for me. Be a good Shelby wife and make a fucking mess on my cock just like how you made a mess of this war tonight,” he commanded.
You didn’t need any more encouragement from him as your fourth orgasm hit you, causing your back to arch again and your nails to run down his arms.
His moves start to become more sloppy and his pace sped up as he began to chase his own high, the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock only driving him closer to the edge.
“Want to feel you Tommy, please,” you moaned underneath him, “please, cum inside me.”
“Fuck,” he swore out. His hips pushing against yours as his high hit him and his arms came down to either side of your head again while he shoved his face into your neck, completely claiming you as his own while his cum filled you.
His hips slowed as he rode out both of your highs and your arms came to wrap around him, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his head you could reach.
Once the two of your breathing had slowed down to a normal pace, he moved to push himself up and your legs around his waist tightened along with your arms.
“Don’t. Not yet,” you said in a quiet voice.
“I’m going to crush you, love.” He placed soft kisses along your shoulders between his words as he tried warning you.
“I’m a grown woman. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you replied and began running your nails softly along the shaved part of his head, knowing the motion worked on him every time.
“Stubborn,” he falsely chided, but relented and relaxed back into your hold.
“Little late to the party if you’ve just worked that out.” Your reply causing both of you to chuckle. “Remind me to start more wars if it means you fuck me like that every time.”
His hand came down and gently slapped your thigh in response while a burst of quiet giggles left your lips.
“Stubborn and a brat,” he teased, sitting up again and carefully sliding out of you.
“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” you responded with a smirk.
“I don’t think of it that way,” he said as he stood up and wrapped his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you up into his arms.
“How do you think of it?” You asked him as he carried you across the hall and into your shared room.
“I think I’m lucky enough to be married to a woman who killed for me over a years-old attack even though we’d never even said that we loved each other.” He set you down in the middle of the bed before crawling in next to you and pulling you into his chest.
A bright blush rose to your face as he pointed out that you had never even said you loved each other, even though you had admitted to him earlier that you had fallen for him. You didn’t know how to reply immediately and you turned in his arms to look up at him, his arms staying locked around your waist.
He didn’t seem to expect you to reply though, because he leaned in to you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and sweet, as if he was trying to communicate what your actions had meant to him without having the words to say it.
“I fell for you, too,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I realized it tonight. The panic I felt to see your note and to see you come home covered in blood. The anger I felt over seeing you another man’s jacket. The way I felt when you revealed what you had done and why…” He trailed off, looking down at you and seeming to try and memorize every part of your face, “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours and you’re mine,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him.
Request: yes by @darlingsfandom - sent as a blurb request
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader
Summary: In which (Y/N) (Y/L/N) repays her employer in a way he wasn’t expecting.
Warnings: language, an almost bar fight (series typical violence)
Word Count: 1856
A/N: I wasn’t expecting this to turn into a full on story, but it did - thanks so much for giving me the inspiration to write this, Em! I’m sorry it took so long for me to share it. The prompts sent in are bolded in the story. Enjoy! :)
COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’d love to know what you think of the story!
Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!
"I put me order in first!" one drunken man yelled at the man standing next to him.
"Mate this isn't even what you ordered!" the other man replied. Both men's hands reached for the pint glass at the same time.
"How the fuck do you know what I ordered?!" the first man questioned, his now brows deeply furrowed.
"Because I was here when I heard ya say it!" the second man responded.
(Y/N) stopped the order she was working on when she heard the squabble start. "What's happening here?" she asked the men, hoping to get some insight on why they were screaming at each other.
"That's bullshit!" The first man was not backing down. The screaming matched continued without acknowledgement of (Y/N)'s question.
"I'll tell you what bullshit is...bullshit is when someone claims a drink is theirs without checking what it is!"
"I'll show you bullshit..." the first man growled through gritted teeth before lifting the glass and slamming it down on the bar top, making the glass shatter and liquid spread across the wooden surface. He then lifted the handle, that was so conveniently still in his hands, in a threatening motion at the second man.
Nothing good was going to come out of this.
"Enough!" (Y/N) exclaimed, trying to get their attention by slamming her hand down on the counter.
A sharp pain surged through her hand the second it hit the surface, but she was too caught up in breaking up the bar fight to check and see what the cause of it was. "You both need to stop acting the way you are or you'll be thrown out."
"You need to start pouring the right fucking drinks in the right fucking order!" the first man yelled right back at the barmaid. He quickly turned to face her, the sharp handle of the glass now being waved in her direction.
"You might want to think about what you're doing right now," (Y/N) said to him, speaking in a low, leveled voice to try and get him to see sense in that moment.
She had no idea how this was going to go down.
"Oi! What the fuck is going out here?!" a booming voice came from the right-hand side of the altercation. (Y/N) turned her head to see a glaring Tommy Shelby looking through the small window that separated the private snug from the rest of the establishment.
"It's getting handled, Mr. Shelby," (Y/N) said in a quiet, but assured, tone. She hoped he could see that she could handle these sorts of situations by herself without having him stop he was doing to step in.
Tommy looked at (Y/N) for a moment, processing what she said before surveying the situation. In a matter of seconds he was out of the snug and approaching the bar. Anger was starkly apparent in his features. "I want both of you out of this fucking pub right now. Continue this if you want, but it won't be in front of me." He spoke in an almost growl-like tone. (Y/N) had never seen his this angry before.
The men didn't try and argue with him. They responded to his demand with a quick 'yes, Mr. Shelby' before they hung their heads and exited the establishment.
Tommy turned his attention to (Y/N) once they were out of sight.
"Mr. Shelby I was going to..."
"Let me have a look at your hand, (Y/N)," Tommy cut her off, his eyes zeroed in on the hand of hers that was still resting on the bar.
"It's fine, it just...oh, shit," she stopped what she was saying when she actually saw her hand. The sharp pain that she felt was caused by what looked to be a shard from the broken glass becoming stuck in the side of her hand. "Fuck," she breathed out a sigh, looking around for a rag to try and stop the bleeding.
"Let me look at it, love," Tommy cut in on her search, hoping to stop it before she could cover the injury up.
"I'll go to the washroom and sort it out," she insisted, continuing to look for a rag, "and then I'll make sure to clean the counter."
"It looks like there's a piece stuck in it," he pointed out, disregarding the action plan she'd just laid out.
"Let me see it."
"It's fine, Mr. Shelby," she insisted.
"Let me help you, (Y/N).” He wasn't taking no for an answer.
"Ok," she answered with a breath, finally relenting and holding her hand out for him to inspect.
He looked at it for a moment before taking it into his hold and stepping ever so slightly closer to her.
The breath go caught in (Y/N)'s throat at their close proximity. One challenge of working for the Shelbys that proved hardest to her after all of this time was keeping herself composed around Tommy. There was just something about him that she couldn't quite shake from her mind. She had a crush on her employer.
As he took hold of her hand, he brought her forearm to rest between his torso on his own forearm, hoping that it would stabilize her injured hand more for him to have a better look at it. It did the trick...but it also got (Y/N)'s heart racing.
"Hold still, love. This might sting a little," he said to her as he readied himself to pull the shard out of the side of her hand. (Y/N) gritted her teeth and sucked in a breath in preparation, then let that same breath out as a hiss as Tommy pulled the glass from her hand.
"There…it's out," he announced, gently letting go of her hand so that he could throw the glass in the bin under the counter.
"Thank you," she smiled at him, appreciation clear in her expression.
"You're welcome," he answered, nodding once as his lips slightly curved upwards. "If anything like that happens again please come and find me. I'll handle it."
"I will," (Y/N) nodded, not even trying to fight him on it. She had no problem sticking up for herself, but she also wasn't going to argue with him wanting to handle any future altercations.
Tommy nodded again after hearing her response. He then watched her as she grabbed one of the clean rags to hold on the cut she'd gotten. "There's some bandages in me office...go and get one to stop the bleeding."
"I will. Thank you, Mr. Shelby," she smiled at him in appreciation before turning and walking to the part of the pub his office was located in.
(Y/N)'s smile was spread from ear to ear as she entered the Garrison on her next shift day. She did a quick search around the pub's main room before concluding that the person she was looking for was - hopefully - in the private snug.
She found him upon opening the door. He was sitting in his usual spot: the head of the table with his back to the bar. A quick glance around the room made her realize that his brothers, John and Arthur, were also present.
"Good morning, (Y/N). What can we do for ya?" Arthur was the one to greet her first.
"Good morning," she returned the greeting, smiling at the two men sitting in the booth before looking back at Tommy, "I, uh...I wanted to give these to you, Mr. Shelby," she said as she held her hand out in the space between her and her employer.
Tommy took a moment to look down at what she was offering him. There was no glaring emotion present on his face as his eyes returned to hers, and (Y/N)'d be lying if she said that seeing this didn't make her clam up a little bit. She was also able to feel Arthur and John's eyes watching the interaction, their gaze’s weight adding an extra intensity to the situation.
"You got me flowers?" Tommy finally asked her, his eyes falling down to the small bouquet that was grasped in her still outstretched hand once more.
"I...yeah, I picked them on my walk to work today. I wanted to offer a little thank you for your help the other day," she explained the reason behind her sudden gift offering.
"You didn't need to thank me, (Y/N). It was..."
"I wanted to thank you, Tommy-" (Y/N) rushed to insist, her words coming out before she could realize she was calling her employer by his first name, "I, er...I meant Mr. Shelby, I'm sorry..." she stammered out, trailing off as she felt herself heat up at the mishap.
Tommy kept his eyes trained on her, which only made her want to sink into herself more, a somewhat of an amused expression forming on his face. If anything, he found her actions at this moment endearing.
He let a few more beats pass before he spoke again (Y/N) was getting closer and closer to dropping the flowers and running out with each one. John and Arthur were watching on intently, like one would with a close sports match.
"I appreciate the gesture, (Y/N)," Tommy finally spoke, taking the flowers from her - still - outstretched hand. He took another moment to look at them...no one had repaid him for doing a deed in a thoughtful way such as this before. A part of him truthfully preferred the sentiment to any lumpsome of money he could have received.
(Y/N)'s nerves were becoming increasingly frazzled with each moment that passed. Is he going to comment on my mishap? Was he upset by it? Is he going to reprimand me for it? Maybe I should get out of here. Her trail of thoughts finally pushed her to act, and she finally broke eye contact with Tommy to look at the two other Shelby men in the room, hoping to let them know that she was addressing everyone now. "I'll be going to my position at the counter now," she informed them, turning on her heel to walk the short distance back to the door.
"(Y/N)," Tommy's voice stopped her before she could open said door. She sucked in a breath as she turned back to face him. "Call me Tommy from now on, eh?"
The way he said it made it sound like a question, but anyone would have been able to tell that he was not asking her if she could do so. A weird feeling coursed through her body as she heard his statement. She couldn't explain it, or put a name to the feeling, but it put a smile on her face.
"I will," she gave him an answer even though he wasn't expecting one, nodding her head slightly before she continued with the motion of opening the door and exiting the snug.
Summary: Tommy initially was trying to courtship Y/N when Grace broke the news of her pregnancy, so he had to step back and be responsible for his child. That was the only reason he decided to be there for Grace. Until one day he accidentally heard a phone call that would change everything.
Word count: 2,200
This was meant to be a request I got but somewhere down the road I decided to change it, no worries I’m still working on the request 🤭
Y/N took a step back to admire the Christmas tree she had been decorating for a few hours, she had a tight budget so going back home for the holidays to spend it at her aunt’s place wasn’t an option unfortunately. She had already made peace with the fact that she’d spend the holidays only with her grandma. Studying the tree it looked nice, she made a few ribbons and added faux pearls around it as decorations.
Tommy was fuming, he walked like a wild animal in a cage, his footsteps could be heard so loud even before he reached her door. It was so late now and unusual of him to show up like this. Specially after not having seen each other in months.
“What happene-” Y/N asked in confusion.
But Tommy wouldn’t let her finish her question, his mouth crashed hard against her lips taking her by surprise. The kiss was hungry and desperate.
One of his hands was holding her head in place while the other traveled down her back.
“You were fucking right…” he managed to say between heated kisses. “I heard Grace talking to someone on the phone, said the baby isn’t mine.”
His words made Y/N froze and she pushed him by the shoulders to look him in the eyes.
“What?!”
She had heard him, but she couldn’t believe his words.
“She tried to trick me into that husband infertility bullshit and she played her cards so well…until now.”
Y/N took a step back, trying to process this new piece of information. Her head was spinning.
She met him right after the Grace disaster, she knew all about his former partner and how she had left to go somewhere else but then she came back into his life, but he had only used her for revenge.
Tommy assured Y/N that with her he felt completely comfortable, that’s why he wanted to do things differently this time around. Their courtship actually started the right way from the beginning, he asked her out on dates, sent her flowers, walked with her on her way back home, he was truly a gentleman. He even started inviting her to the Garrison for a drink, sometimes in his office and other times at the betting shop, They were getting to know each other, but they weren’t officially a couple.
For a few weeks it was heaven, she was able to discover his sense of humor and how intelligent and interesting Tommy was. She still remembered so well when he kissed her for the first time, standing by her doorstep, Tommy cornered her between his body and the doorframe, his fingertips holding her chin while his other hand rested against the wall. It was tender and slow, it tasted like hope and she felt butterflies in her stomach.
She thought she found her chance to be happy with Tommy. But they were in the phase of getting to know each other and little did she know how things would change overnight.
Until one day he knocked on her door looking pale and so serious… she remembered it so well. She knew something was wrong right away.
And how wrong.
He confessed her then that the woman he had a one night stand with for revenge was pregnant with his child.
It took her several minutes to understand what that meant. Tommy would take full responsibility for that baby and the mother and that meant they couldn’t be together. Their relationship wouldn’t continue.
With a heavy heart she advised he shouldn’t leave the child unprotected and that the mother’s reputation would chase her all her life if she started showing without being married. Even though that she had feelings for Tommy, she couldn’t be the reason between he and his baby. And as much as he made his own rules, society wasn’t ready yet for a children to grow apart from their father, even if he didn’t love the mother.
At least they weren’t officially together when Grace announced her pregnancy, so it was supposed to be easier. Whatever that meant.
He apologized a million times, paced the room from side to side in an attempt to calm himself. But it changed nothing, he had to do the right thing and deal with the consequences of his decisions.
Tommy didn’t have feelings for Grace, she knew it, he was clear about that but she thought eventually after getting married and raising a child together she thought feelings would start to show up, that he’d fall in love with Grace and forget about her for good.
At some point she suspected Grace got pregnant on purpose and let the infertility issue drop so Tommy would step up for her child, like a prophesy he was caught up between his feelings for her and Grace’s unborn child, his sense of responsibility and lack of paternal figure won and Tommy took Grace under his protection, even heard they were planning a wedding after the baby was born. And in the end she was right, Grace had lied about the paternity and the mask finally fell.
“Talk to me, ey?” Tommy’s voice brought her back into reality.
“I knew she was fooling you.” She shook her head.
“Hey, look at me… let’s forget about that, yeah?”
“Just like that? And what about all the times I cried?” She slapped his arm. “What if you never found out about the truth?”
A lump installed in her throat, all of the things that could’ve happened crossed her mind.
“Let’s focus on what’s happening.” Tommy’s hand caressed her cheek carefully, he could see all of her emotions in her eyes. “I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I know deep in your heart you can’t hold onto to that forever.”
He was standing right in front of her, with his eyes full of hope, but also worried that it would be late for them, in the few months they got separated because of Grace’s pregnancy they cut all kinds of communication, and even though he still checked on her, Y/N knew it was for the best, they wouldn’t have an affair no matter what.
“So… you’re free?” She asked with her voice and her heart trembling, thinking of the possibilities.
“It’s over now, there’s no child and no woman between us.” Tommy assured her, his hands on her cheeks to force Y/N to look him in the eyes. “I ordered the maid to pack her bags, and the driver to take her somewhere else.”
He took another small step towards her, their bodies touching and their breaths mixing in the middle.
This new reality changed everything, yet somehow it all felt the same.
“It took me a couple of months to learn the truth, but all I need to know now is… do you still want us to be together?”
Even though they were alone, his voice was just a whisper, a secret between just the two of them.
The thought of her finding someone else crossed his mind, she was beautiful after all, no doubt a long queue of men would be happy to take his place. But could she give her heart away to someone else?
“What about the wedding?”
Although she tried to forget about him and didn’t want to know anything of their lives, she overheard the rumors, there was a big wedding planned for the next fall right after the baby was born.
“If the baby isn’t mine… why would I still marry her? The wedding is canceled. I know I messed up, but I need to know, if there’s still a chance for us?”
Tommy held Y/N’s hands in his, when he decided to step back from their courtship it broke his heart, he had been really looking forward to see where they’d go.
Tommy felt his heart beating hard, he really hoped learning the truth wasn’t so late for them.
“Yes. I do… do you want the same?”
Tommy released the air he had been holding in his chest, but instead of answering with his words, he let her know with his actions what he wanted.
Grabbing her head with both hands, he pulled Y/N for a slow kiss. He needed to believe it was really happening.
Feeling like he had been walking in the dessert for a long time, but he was finally home. He was finally able to do what he had wanted for so long.
Tommy decided he wanted to savor her slowly, without rushing, without hesitation.
There was nothing and nobody between them. Nothing that would keep them apart. Cherishing having her in his arms once more, he could taste her tears in his lips.
“Thank you, thank you.” He murmured against her mouth without breaking apart.
The kiss became more heated by the moment, it was intense and demanding, trying to make up for the lost time. As Tommy’s hand traveled down her thigh, she pressed both hands against his chest to stop him.
It was suddenly so much information in such a short period of time.
“Wait.” Y/N stated breaking the contact, Tommy stared at her disheveled hair and messed lipstick. God she was the most beautiful little thing. “I’m glad you realized the truth before it was too late… but you will have to talk to my grandma, she’s still mad at you.”
Tommy nodded profusely. “Will do.” And tried to kiss Y/N again, but she stopped him by placing a fingertip against his lips.
“And you’ll ask her blessing to ask me out properly again.” She stated firmly.
God he loved to see her like that, bossing him around it was such a turn on.
“Yes. Anything you want.” He tried to sneak his hands around her waist again.
“Who is that, Y/N?” Her grandmother asked from her bedroom.
Scandalized, Y/N covered Tommy’s mouth with her palms. “It’s Vanessa grandma, she needed something. Go back to sleep.”
Tommy used her distraction to pull her closer, he didn’t want to waste more time. Being away from her for a couple of months was enough.
“Ugh it’s past bedtime now, couldn’t it wait?”
Tommy chuckled when she tried to get away from his hands.
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” She tried to push him but it was impossible his hands were like a lock around her.
“Can’t wait for you to take care of me, love.” He wriggled his eyebrows and licked his lips all while giving her a mischievous look.
“Stop it!” She hissed, worried that her grandma would return. “You’ve to go.”
“No.” Tommy stated firmly. Scared that she’d change her mind. “I’m not leaving you again.”
“Tommy I mean for tonight.” Y/N explained, but he shook his head.
“How do I make you understand that I’m not going anywhere?”
“You can’t sleep here.” He stole another kiss.
“Fine. I’ll sleep in the car.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Y/N frowned seeing he was determined to do so. “Oh my God, you actually mean that.”
“I need you to understand how serious I am about us. You’re all that I need.” He could now see it all so clear, he was willing to do anything for her.
Because only when you really love a woman you’re able to understand.
And by just one look in his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth.
Y/N could hardly process what was happening. Their relationship ended right before it could even start because another woman was pregnant with his child, then they found out the truth, their engagement was called off, Grace was out of his life and he was able to finally do what he really wanted and not do something to please anyone else.
“What plans did you have for these days?” He whispered, still holding Y/N close.
Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. “Just grandma and me and I’m cooking a little dinner.”
“How about you and your grandma spend the holidays at my place? Think about it.”
The shock of his plans made her open her eyes wide. They were just starting over, how would they spend the holidays together? That was everything but traditional. What would people say? That one day he was engaged to another woman and the next one he brought home a different girl.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Tommy could read it all over her eyes. “And honestly? I don’t care, we’re doing nothing wrong and it’s none of their business.”
“Let’s take one step at the time, yes?” Y/N proposed feeling more worried about her grandmother’s reaction.
It was crazy to give in so easily, yes. But what options did she have? Pretend to still be mad at him or turn things over and be happy finally?
“Try to get some sleep.” He showered her face with kisses before grabbing his coat and walking outside. “Goodnight love.”
From the window, Y/N saw him climbing in the back seat, he was really going to sleep there!
That was insane, but it was a small sacrifice he’d have to do after everything that happened.
A/N: thank you for reading! I know in today’s world you’d say oh they could still be together while Grace had the baby or he could always take a DNA test, but remember back then those things weren’t possible and this story is based in that period of time… if you want to leave a comment your feedback is always appreciated! ♥️✨
Edit- please don’t come at me, it was just an idea that crossed my mind, the possibility of Charlie not being Tommy’s son due to the bad timing in the series 🫢🤔
Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.
Chapter summary: As you and Tommy wait through the night at the hospital, the weight of everything you've endured begins to surface. In the quiet, Tommy finally lets some of his guard down.
Word count: 5.6k
Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, emetophobia
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You’d forgotten how cold hospitals could be.
Not the kind of cold that came from air vents or tile floors, but the kind that settled in your chest, deep and still, the longer you waited. It had been over an hour since they took Finn behind those doors. Long enough for the adrenaline to wear off. Long enough for your hands to start shaking. Long enough for fear to start creeping in, quiet and heavy.
You sat in the stiff plastic chair beside Tommy, your knees pulled close, his coat still streaked with blood. No one had come out yet. No updates. No news.
You’d let go of his hand a while ago. Not because you didn’t want to hold it, but because your fingers had gone numb. Because he’d gone so still. Because neither of you had said a word since they wheeled Finn away.
Now, your hands were folded tightly in your lap, and his were resting on his knees—red-stained, motionless.
Arthur and John had joined you not long after. Arthur sat on the edge of his seat, jittery, his leg bouncing, fingers tugging at a loose thread in his coat. He hadn’t stopped talking since he sat down—not to anyone in particular, just letting words fill the space like they might hold the fear at bay.
“He was conscious when we got him out, wasn’t he?” Arthur said, not waiting for an answer. “He was talkin’. Cryin’ a bit. That’s a good sign. That’s normal for a kid. He’s tough, our Finn. Always has been. Remember when he broke his wrist fallin’ off that shed? Didn’t even cry then.”
John had taken to pacing again, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “He was breathin’,” he muttered. “They just have to drain the air or whatever, patch it up. He’ll be alright.”
Arthur nodded, fast. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”
Neither of them looked at Finn’s blood still dried on their sleeves.
You said nothing. Neither did Tommy. He hadn’t moved in minutes. He just sat there, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead like if he focused hard enough, he’d will the hallway doors to open.
Arthur kept going. “I mean—he’s twelve, but he’s Shelby, yeah? Got all of us in him. Kid’s tougher than he looks.”
John stopped pacing just long enough to scrub a hand through his hair. “Still shouldn’t have happened. What’re we going to do about Changretta, Tom?”
Your stomach twisted hard, nausea rising from somewhere deep, unshakable.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The sound of their voices—fast, nervous, angry—started to blur. Like you were underwater, or far away. You couldn’t hear them clearly, and you didn’t want to.
You stood quickly. Tommy’s eyes flicked to you, tracking your movement, but he didn’t say a word as you slipped out of the waiting room and down the hall, barely paying attention to the signs. The fluorescent lights overhead felt too bright, the floor too steady beneath your feet.
The door to the women’s bathroom creaked open when you stepped inside. You went straight to the sink, gripping the edge with both hands. Cold porcelain under your palms. Your reflection looked like someone you barely recognized, pale, streaked with dried blood that wasn’t yours, eyes dark and sunken.
You tried to breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.
Once. Then twice.
But it didn’t hold. The nausea surged, hot and sharp, and you turned just in time to drop to your knees in front of the toilet.
You were sick before you could stop it, your body tensing, rejecting everything all at once. It wasn’t just the fear or the smell of antiseptic in the hallway—it was everything that had been sitting in your chest since Finn's cries echoed through that phone line.
When it was over, you flushed the toilet with a trembling hand, then leaned back against the wall, the cool tile biting into your spine through your shirt.
You sat there on the floor for a moment, breath hitching, then pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. You tucked your head down, resting your forehead against your arms.
The quiet was deafening.
And then the tears came. Not with sobs or gasps or shaking shoulders.
Just silent, steady drops that slipped down your cheeks and soaked into your sleeves. You didn’t wipe them away. There was no point.
Everything hurt—your head, your chest, your heart. You were tired of blood. Tired of watching people you loved get hurt. Tired of pretending that holding it all together meant you were okay.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, curled in on yourself, knees to your chest, face buried in your arms. The tears had stopped falling some time ago, but you hadn’t moved.
Suddenly, you heard a knock against the door.
You didn’t respond. You didn’t have it in you.
Shortly after, the door creaked open, the hinges whining in the too-quiet space. The noise was followed by footsteps that were measured and careful, the soft scrape of boots against tile.
You didn’t look up, but you could tell it was Tommy before he even spoke.
You recognized the sound of him. The rhythm of his walk. And some part of you wondered what it said about you—that you could know him by the way he moved through a room. That even in silence, you could feel him.
There was a certain stillness he carried with him. The way he moved was controlled and deliberate. Like even in his most uncertain moments, he didn’t let the world see him hesitate.
You felt him pause just a few feet away, like he was trying to decide whether or not to come closer. The air shifted slightly with his presence.
He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t ask what was wrong, he didn’t fill the space with questions you didn’t want to answer.
He just stood there for a moment, watching you, his shoulders tense, his coat still streaked with blood, jaw tight like he was fighting the urge to reach for you too fast.
“I thought maybe you’d passed out,” he said finally, his voice low.
You didn’t lift your head. You just shook it once, barely.
“I’m fine.” It was a lie.
He stepped closer, slowly lowering himself to a crouch in front of you.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m am,” you tried again, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine—”
This time, your voice cracked. It was enough to give you away.
Tommy exhaled, quiet and tired, and then eased down beside you on the cold tile floor, coat rustling softly as he sat with his back against the wall. Once he was settled, he reached out and slipped an arm around your shoulders, careful and steady, giving you just enough time to pull away if you wanted to.
You didn’t. Because all you wanted was his touch—his comfort, something solid to hold onto after the weight of everything finally tipped.
You let him pull you in gently until your body leaned against his, your cheek pressed into the rough wool of his coat. It smelled like blood and smoke and outside air—everything that should’ve unsettled you, but didn’t.
Because it was him.
Your hands stayed tucked between your knees at first, trying to stay composed, to hold on a little longer. But then one of them moved, almost without thought, clutching lightly at the front of his coat, just above the buttons.
Like your body knew before your mind did—that you were safe enough to let go. That’s when the tears started again. There was no warning or build-up. Just quiet sobs that slipped out one at a time, your shoulders trembling slightly as you tried to keep your breathing steady and failed.
Tommy didn’t flinch. He just pulled you in closer, the grip of his arm tightening around you, the edge of his jaw brushing your temple as he leaned in a little more. His other hand came up and settled gently over your arm, anchoring you against him—warm, steady, like he was bracing you both.
“It’s alright,” he said, low and rough. “I’ve got you.”
You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Your breath hitched again, and the next sob was sharper, harder to swallow. You turned your face further into his chest, the coarse fabric of his coat rough against your skin. You could feel the dampness of dried blood beneath your cheek, smell the faint trace of smoke in the wool.
Your fists curled into the front of his coat, gripping it like it was the only thing tethering you to the room.
The tile beneath you was cold. Your knees ached. Somewhere in the hallway, a door opened and closed, but it felt a thousand miles away. Tommy didn’t move, he didn’t speak again. He just held you.
One hand rubbed slowly up and down your back, it wasn’t rushed or hesitant, just enough pressure to remind you that he was there. His breathing was slow, calm, like he was trying to get yours to match his.
Bit by bit, the shaking eased. The tightness in your chest loosened. The tears slowed. You were still curled into him, your forehead pressed against the side of his neck now, eyes sore and dry, your body heavy with exhaustion. But you could breathe again.
You shifted slightly, drawing in a deeper breath.Tommy glanced down at you, but didn’t speak. He just let his hand rest at the center of your back now, fingers still and warm.
You stayed like that a while longer, on the cold bathroom floor.
Until eventually, you lifted your head, your forehead brushing against his jaw as you pulled back just enough to look at him.
Your eyes were puffy, your cheeks damp and flushed, breath still a little uneven, but you weren’t shaking anymore.
Tommy looked at you for a long moment, saying nothing. His gaze searched yours. Then he raised one hand and gently brushed his thumb across your cheek, wiping away the last of the tears that clung there.
His touch was warm, steady, and careful.
“Tommy, I’m so tired,” you whispered. Your voice was raw, not just from crying, but from everything. From holding it all in. From staying upright when it felt like the world kept pulling people out from under you.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, really looked at you, like he was only now seeing how far you’d been stretched. How long you’d been carrying it without complaint.
“I know,” he said finally, his voice low. “I know you are.”
He let his hand slide gently behind your neck, guiding your head back to his shoulder. You didn’t resist.
You sat like that again, curled into his side, the two of you slumped against the wall in the quiet tile room. Just the sound of distant footsteps, the hum of fluorescent lights, and your breathing, slow and uneven, but steadier now.
Then, after a long silence, he spoke again.
“When this is over,” he said, voice barely above a murmur, “I’m taking you away.”
You blinked against his shoulder. “What?”
“You deserve a honeymoon,” he said simply. “A proper one. Just us. Somewhere quiet.”
“Where?” you asked softly.
“Anywhere you’d like,” he replied.
You didn’t respond right away. The thought of that—a version of your life where quiet existed, where you weren’t constantly waiting for the next knock at the door or the next ring of the phone—felt so far away it almost hurt to imagine.
“I promise,” he added, like he could sense your hesitation. “We’ll disappear for a bit. No business. No blood. Just you and me.”
You let out the smallest breath of a laugh—not because it was funny, but because it felt fragile. Like if you didn’t laugh, you might cry again.
“You don’t disappear, Tommy Shelby.”
He didn’t argue. Just gave a quiet hum, the kind that meant maybe I will this time.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said. “You deserve more than this.”
You looked up at him, eyes still swollen, voice rasping. “So do you.”
He didn’t answer. But his arm tightened around you just slightly, like he didn’t know what to say to that. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t believe it yet.
There was a long pause—thick with everything that had happened, and everything still waiting.
Then his voice dropped, low and rough, just above a whisper. “I’m sorry you married a Shelby.”
You didn’t move at first, just stayed there against him, your hand curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.
He wasn’t looking for a response. It wasn’t self-pity, and it wasn’t drama. It was just the truth, the way he saw it.
He didn’t pull away, didn’t brace himself for you to agree. He just let the silence sit between you like he’d already made peace with it.
But you turned your head slightly, just enough for your cheek to rest against his collarbone.
“I’m not,” you said.
He stilled for a second.
“I’m not sorry I married you,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no one else for me, Tommy.”
You felt him take a slow breath, deep and quiet, like he was trying to steady something inside himself.
“I never wanted anyone else,” you added. “Even when I was scared. Even when I’m still scared. You’re the only person I trust to keep me safe.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. His hand just stayed there against your back, the weight of it grounding.
Then he tilted his head down, resting his chin lightly against the top of yours. “Christ,” he murmured, voice thick, almost bitter. “I’ve put you through so much—too much.”
You stayed quiet, your eyes closed against the weight of it.
“You’re the first good thing I’ve ever had that didn’t have to be bought with blood,” he said softly.
His voice caught slightly.
“I couldn’t help but marry you. But I come with a curse. And now it’s yours, too.”
He let out a slow, shaky breath against your hair, like admitting it out loud cost him something.
“I don’t know how to be any different,” he said, so low you almost missed it.
It should’ve scared you, hearing him say it like loving him was a death sentence. Like marrying him had sealed your fate. But all you felt was a deep ache for him. For the boy who’d survived a war only to keep living inside it.
Your fingers curled lightly into his coat, and you stayed pressed against him, anchoring the both of you to that quiet space on the hospital floor.
“I know,” you whispered. “I’m not asking for different.”
He nodded slowly against your hair, and for a few seconds, it felt like that might be the end of it. But then, quietly, he added, “If you ever change your mind about that… I wouldn’t blame you.”
Your brow furrowed as you pulled back just enough to look at him. “Please don’t say that.”
He met your gaze, his face unreadable, eyes shadowed with something heavier than doubt, maybe expectation.
“I mean it,” he said.
You shook your head, firmer this time. “Don’t.”
Your voice wasn’t sharp, but it was steady. “Don’t make it sound like walking away is some kind of mercy. Like it’s something you’d expect me to do if I had any sense.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.
“I’m here, Tommy. I chose this. I chose you. So don’t push me toward the door.”
The words hung in the air between you. This time, he didn’t argue. He just looked at you like he wanted to believe you. Like maybe he could.
And he gave the smallest nod. Tommy didn’t say anything else. Instead, he shifted, pushing gently off the floor with a grunt and standing slowly.
He offered you his hand. You took it.
His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady, and he helped you to your feet with care, like you might fall apart again if he moved too fast.
Neither of you spoke as you stepped out into the hallway.
The waiting room hadn’t changed. John was still pacing back and forth, wearing a line into the floor, jaw tight and eyes darting toward the double doors every few passes. Arthur sat slouched in a chair, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed, but not asleep. Just worn out. The kind of tired that lived in the bones.
No one looked up when you walked back in.
Tommy led you quietly to the corner of the room and sat down in the nearest empty chair, keeping your hand in his.
You followed without hesitation, letting him pull you down beside him.
The moment you sat, your head found his shoulder, and he let it rest there without a word. He didn’t speak or shift. He just let you lean on him.
The room was quiet, save for the low hum of fluorescent lights and the soft scuff of John’s boots across the linoleum floor.
Tommy hadn’t moved since you sat down. His arm stayed looped loosely around your back, hand resting at your side, his shoulder firm and warm beneath your head.
You hadn’t meant to close your eyes. Just a blink, a breath.
But exhaustion crept in all at once—the kind that didn’t just live in your body but buried itself deeper. Behind your ribs. In the quiet places you didn’t often let anyone see.
You hadn’t slept since before the phone call. Before the blood. Before everything spun sideways. So you let yourself lean in a little more.
His shirt still smelled like smoke and iron. You could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth of him beside you, grounding.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, your body softened, and your mind slipped.
Tommy felt the shift in your weight, subtle, warm, and trusting. He glanced down just once, eyes tracing the edge of your face, the way your hand had curled lightly in your lap.
And then he leaned his head back against the wall and stayed perfectly still, keeping watch.
…
You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep, only that it wasn’t long enough.
The fluorescent lights still buzzed above, and the chairs still dug into your back, but something had changed. Movement. Voices.
You blinked awake slowly, disoriented, the weight of sleep still clinging to your limbs. Then a gentle hand touched your arm.
Tommy was already sitting up straighter, his hand steadying your elbow as you pushed upright, groggy and heavy-limbed.
You looked around, confused for a second, until you saw the nurse standing in front of you both, a clipboard in her hands and tired eyes that had clearly delivered this kind of news more times than she cared to count.
“Finn Shelby,” she said gently. “He’s stable for now. But it’s going to be touch and go over the next day or so.”
Your stomach dropped. Tommy’s jaw shifted beside you, but he didn’t speak, just nodded once.
“The bullet collapsed his lung,” she went on. “We inserted a chest tube to relieve the pressure and gave him a transfusion to get his vitals back up. He’s sedated, but… he’s fighting.”
You nodded too, your throat tight. “Can we see him?”
“Not yet,” she said. “He’s still in recovery. But soon.”
She offered you a kind, tight smile before retreating back through the doors she’d come through, leaving you two alone.
You sat back slowly, your hands in your lap, still feeling the shape of sleep pressing behind your eyes. “Where’s Arthur and John?” you asked, voice hoarse.
Tommy leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I sent them home about an hour ago. Nothing more for them to do here.”
He looked at you for a beat, then said quietly, “I was going to ask if you wanted to go home.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You already know my answer.”
He gave a faint nod, like he expected it. Like he knew better than to ask but had to try.
“There’s not much we can do here,” he said. “Except wait.”
“Then we wait,” you replied, folding your arms around yourself. “I’m not leaving him.”
Tommy didn’t argue. He just sat back, silent again, eyes drifting toward the hallway where they’d taken Finn, and waited with you.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
The silence didn’t feel strained, just heavy. Tired and shared.
You sat with your arms folded, your eyes fixed on the same hallway Tommy was watching. Occasionally, the intercom buzzed. A distant cough. A squeaky wheel from a gurney passing somewhere out of sight.
Tommy leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, one hand absently turning his wedding ring around his finger. The motion was slow, unconscious.
You glanced over at him after a while, then back toward the hall.
And finally, quietly, you said, “You know this is the most time we’ve spent together, just the two of us, since the wedding.”
Tommy’s hand stilled on the ring.
He looked at you, eyes tired but focused.
“I know you all warned me. But this wasn’t exactly how I imagined it,” you added, lips quirking slightly despite yourself. “At least not right off the bat.”
He let out the softest sound—half a breath, maybe the start of a laugh. Or just disbelief.
“Right,” he murmured. “Wish I could say the same.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “You think we’ll ever get that honeymoon?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with something unreadable in his expression—like he wanted to say yes but wasn’t sure it was fair to.
Finally, he said, “I’ll make sure of it. One way or another.”
You nodded once, quietly. “I know you will.”
You glanced at Tommy’s hand again, still resting on his knee, the wedding ring glinting faintly in the light.
“You’ve been twisting that ring around for twenty minutes,” you said gently.
He looked down at his hand like he hadn’t even noticed.
“Didn’t realize I was doing it,” he murmured, then paused, longer than before.
Then, quietly, almost like it slipped out without permission, he sighed. “I hate hospitals.”
You looked at him, surprised by the subtle vulnerability.
“They’re too quiet,” he added. “Too clean. Smells the same no matter where you are.”
He didn’t have to explain. But he did anyway. “France was full of places like this. Tents, basements, bombed-out buildings with too many beds and not enough time.” He paused. “Same lights. Same sounds. Same waiting.”
You swallowed and shifted closer without thinking, your shoulder pressing lightly into his.
“I know,” you said softly. You reached down and gently took his hand.
His fingers closed around yours without hesitation.
“I used to pretend it didn’t bother me,” he said after a long pause. “Would light a cigarette, lean against a wall, act like I was above it.”
You glanced at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes.
“Didn’t matter how many times I did it. The smell always came back. The sounds. Sometimes I’d walk into a room like this and swear I’d been there before. But I hadn’t. They just all look the fucking same.”
You squeezed his hand, gently. He was talking more than usual. Not out of comfort, but because he trusted you enough to say it out loud.
“Every time I walk into a place like this, part of me braces for the worst,” you admitted. “Even if it’s not my blood on the floor.”
Tommy turned his head just enough to meet your eyes.
“Me too.”
It was just two words, but it said enough. You both understood that kind of wiring, how war taught your body to expect grief before any sort of hope.
You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes for a second.
“I just want him to be okay.”
Tommy’s grip on your hand tightened slightly.
“He will be,” he said.
And this time, he almost sounded like he believed it.
…
The hours passed slowly.
The kind of slow that made every second feel heavier than the last. Nurses came and went through the hallway beyond, but none of them stopped. The rain outside faded to a light mist. The waiting room thinned out. Somewhere along the way, a clock ticked past four in the morning.
You didn’t sleep again. Neither did Tommy.
You both sat in the same chairs, your hands still loosely entwined, your shoulders touching. Occasionally, you shifted. Stretched. Stood to get a drink of water and came back. But neither of you ever went far.
It was just after five when the nurse finally returned.
She was the same one as before, calm, efficient, and kind-eyed.
“You can see him now,” she said gently. “One at a time, for now, please.”
Your eyes met his. There was a quiet weight in his expression—relief tangled with exhaustion, worry with something harder to name.
You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.
“Go,” he said, gently.
You hesitated, searching his face. “Are you sure?”
He nodded once. “You go first.”
There was no question in his voice. Just a quiet certainty. Like he knew you needed it. You gave a small nod and touched his hand briefly before turning to follow the nurse. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway as she led you through a set of quiet double doors.
“He’s stable,” she said as you neared the room. “Still sedated. You can sit with him for a bit, but keep your voice low.”
You nodded again, your heart climbing up into your throat. Then the nurse pushed open the door. The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped into the room.
It was dim, lit only by a single lamp near the bed and the faint blue glow of machines lining the wall. The steady beep-beep of a heart monitor was the only sound.
Finn looked so much smaller in the hospital bed. His skin was pale, washed out by the fluorescent light overhead. His curly hair was matted to one side, and a thin tube ran beneath his nose, attached to the oxygen supply. Bandages wrapped around his chest, peeking out from the edge of his gown. One arm was hooked up to fluids, the other resting limply by his side.
He didn’t move. But he was breathing.
You took a slow, shaky step forward.
There was a chair pulled up near the bed, and you lowered yourself into it carefully, eyes never leaving his face.
“Hi Finn,” you whispered, your voice catching despite yourself.
He didn’t stir. You didn’t expect him to. But it still made something twist painfully in your chest.
“I’m here,” you said softly, brushing your fingers gently against the back of his hand. His skin was warm. “I’m here, and I’m so sorry, Finn…”
There wasn’t much more to say. Nothing that could fix what had already happened.
So you sat with him. You sat and listened to the monitor beep, watched the rise and fall of his chest, and held his hand like it could anchor both of you to the room, like it could bring him back just a little sooner.
You stayed like that for a while, hand in his, eyes watching every small rise and fall of his chest like it might suddenly stop if you looked away.
There was no clock in the room, but time passed in the slow, aching way it always did in hospitals. Minutes stretching into something longer. The quiet humming of machines and the occasional shuffle of footsteps in the hallway were the only signs that life was still moving beyond the walls.
At one point, Finn’s fingers twitched slightly under yours. Just a flutter.
You held on a little tighter, even though he didn’t stir again.
Eventually, you leaned back in the chair, your body aching from the tension that had never quite left. You glanced over at the door, then gently released Finn’s hand.
You stood, brushing your fingers over his blankets one last time before quietly slipping out of the room. Tommy was still where you’d left him, standing against the wall outside, hands in his coat pockets. He looked up the second he saw you.
“He’s okay,” you said quietly, voice raw from disuse. “Still out, but… he’s warm. Breathing.”
Tommy didn’t ask questions.
He just gave a small nod, then stepped past you toward the door.
You turned with him, meaning to sit back down, but before he could disappear inside, a different nurse at the end of the hallway called softly to you both.
“We’re not supposed to do this,” she said, approaching softly. “But you can just go in together. As long as you keep it quiet. We’re not too strict about that sort of thing when it’s family.”
Tommy looked at you, silent question in his eyes. You nodded once.
He turned back toward the door, and you followed close behind as he pushed it open. Finn looked just the same as you’d left him, except now the sight of him didn’t hit quite so hard.
Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the relief of knowing you weren’t holding the weight alone anymore. Tommy moved first, pulling the second chair closer to Finn’s bedside. You did the same, taking the one you’d left earlier. For a moment, neither of you said a word.
His elbows rested on his knees, eyes locked on the boy in the bed like he could will him awake just by being there. You reached for Finn’s hand again and held it loosely in both of yours.
The room hummed with quiet.
Then, softly, you spoke. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Tommy didn’t look at you right away. Just exhaled slowly through his nose.
“He’ll be okay,” he said eventually.
You nodded, even though his hesitation made your stomach twist. You stared at Finn for a long time, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Then, quietly, you added, “It’s hard for me to talk about it… what Campbell did.”
Tommy’s eyes flicked to you, but he said nothing.
“But I think about it all the time,” you said. “Every single day.”
Your voice didn’t shake. It didn’t need to.
“It’s in the corners,” you added. “That fear. I’m trying to learn to live around it, but I don’t think it’ll ever leave.”
Tommy’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t want that for Finn,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “I don’t want him to feel haunted like that. Like someone can reach out of the dark and take everything from you in a second.”
You looked back at the bed.
“He’s just a boy, Tommy. He shouldn’t have to live like that.”
Tommy leaned back slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and for a moment, the hardness in him cracked.
“I know,” he said.
You looked over at him, studying the way his fingers rubbed at his temple, the furrow in his brow that hadn’t eased since the call came through.
“He won’t,” Tommy said, more certain this time. “We’ll make sure of it.”
You wanted to believe that. Needed to. But you also knew the world didn’t always work that way—not even when you fought like hell to protect the people you loved.
The room had fallen back into silence. Just the steady beeping of the monitor and the soft, rhythmic sound of Finn’s breathing.
Until it changed. It was subtle at first—a twitch in his fingers, a shift in the way his chest rose. Then a faint sound, like a breath caught in his throat.
You straightened in your chair, eyes snapping to his face.
Another sound. A murmur—barely audible, slurred and broken.
“...Wha–”
You were already leaning forward, fingers brushing his hair gently back from his damp forehead. His skin was warm, slightly clammy.
“We’re right here, sweetheart,” you said softly, your voice warm and low, instinctively maternal in a way you hadn’t planned for. “You’re alright. Just rest.”
His eyelids fluttered, eyes struggling to open. They didn’t quite manage, but he shifted again, mouth moving like he was trying to form words that wouldn’t come out.
“Shh,” you murmured, smoothing your hand over his curls. “You’re safe now.”
Tommy had stood the moment he heard Finn speak. He stepped closer, silent, but you could feel him there—hovering and protective.
Finn mumbled again, unintelligible, his head turning slightly toward the sound of your voice. You leaned down a little more, your hand resting lightly on his cheek.
“You’re in the hospital,” you whispered. “I’m here, Tommy’s here. Everyone’s okay. You’re safe.”
His brow twitched, like he was trying to make sense of it, but his body stayed heavy against the bed.
Finn mumbled something again, but then his face went slack as he drifted back under. He was too tired to stay awake, but still holding on.
You didn’t pull away right away. Just kept your hand on his cheek, as if to reassure both of you that he was still there.
synopsis : After constant pressure from Polly, Tommy finally gives in and goes to see a therapist … though he’s not happy about it.
A/N : Here you go, guys … Part 2 :) As always, I have no idea what to think of it, but oh well... I just hope you enjoy it. Lmk what u think, and if you’d want this to turn into a series or smth. English isn’t my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.
THE SECOND TIME Thomas Shelby walked into the office, he looked just as reluctant as the first. If anything, there was a slight edge of irritation about him now, like he was here because he’d lost a bet.
He looked different too.
He still had the same sharp cheekbones, the same heavy wool coat, the same cigarette rolled between his fingers — but there was something else. A tension in the way he carried himself, something coiled tight beneath the surface.
You noticed the bruises on his knuckles the moment he walked in.
Split skin. Faint swelling. Deep purple seeping beneath the surface.
But you didn’t comment.
You just tilted your head toward the chair, the same one he’d occupied last time.
He hesitated for half a second, then sat.
“You came back,” you remarked, pen poised over your notepad.
He exhaled sharply, barely a sigh. “Polly made me.” Then, after a beat, he added, “And I was already in town.”
Which meant he had no real excuse to avoid it.
You nodded, scribbling something down. “How was your week?”
His mouth pulled slightly at the corner, something between amusement and exhaustion. “Same as always.”
You arched a brow. “Which means?”
He leaned back, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. The match flared, its sharp scratch loud in the quiet room. He took his time inhaling before answering.
“People talk. People drink. People want things from me.”
You let your gaze drop to his hand again. The bruises. The tension still coiled in his fingers.
“Rough day?” you asked, tone neutral.
His eyes flicked up, unreadable but unimpressed. “You could say that.”
You just nodded. No more questions. Not yet.
Silence stretched between you, thick but not uncomfortable. You waited, watching, knowing he’d fill it when he was ready.
Tommy wasn’t a man who responded well to direct questioning, especially not when he was like this. He needed space to say things in his own time, in his own way.
Finally, he sighed, running a hand down his face. “We had a bit of trouble with a family called the Lees.”
“I see.” You glanced at his hands. “They didn’t take kindly to you, I assume?”
Tommy smirked faintly. “Nobody ever does.”
He stretched out his fingers, looking at his own hands like they belonged to someone else. “It’s always the same. They come at us, we go at them. People act surprised, but it’s just how it’s always been.”
“Because of your background?”
His gaze flicked up to you, sharp, measuring. “You mean because we’re gypsies?”
“Yes.”
Tommy exhaled slowly, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. “It’s not just about that. But yeah… it plays a part.”
He tapped the unlit cigarette against his knee.
“People don’t like people like us. The coppers, the rich bastards in their suits, even some of the ones who drink in our pubs. Doesn’t matter that we’ve been here for years. Doesn’t matter that we fought for this country. We’re still what we are.”
“And what is that?”
His jaw tensed slightly. “Outsiders.”
You studied him for a moment before responding. “Your mother —was she an outsider too?”
Something flickered across his expression. Not quite pain, but something close.
“She was … like us.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “She used to say things were better when we were on the road, before we settled. Said when we had wagons, we had freedom.”
“And what did you think?”
Tommy hesitated, tilting his head slightly. “I was a kid. I liked the horses, liked running through the fields, the smell of wood smoke at night. But I never thought it’d last.” He glanced at her. “Nothing ever does.”
You nodded, tapping your pen lightly against your notebook. “You said she used to say that things were better before. Is that how you feel about your own life? That things were better before?”
He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Before what?”
“That’s up to you.”
He leaned back slightly, considering. Then, he exhaled through his nose. “Before the war, yeah. Before everything turned to shit.”
“That’s normal.” you met his gaze. “Your brain was wired to adapt to survival. The war changed the way your mind processes everything — danger, safety, even time. That’s why nothing feels the same now.”
Tommy watched you, unreadable. “And what do you suggest? That I start painting? Take up knitting?”
You smiled faintly. “I suggest you start understanding what’s happening in your head instead of pretending it’s not.”
When he didn’t respond, you continued.
“When we experience trauma, especially repeated trauma like war, our brains go into survival mode. We stop thinking about long-term consequences and focus only on immediate threats. That keeps us alive when we’re in danger, but when the danger is gone, our brains don’t always know how to switch back.”
Tommy’s jaw tightened. “So what, you think I’m still in the trenches?”
“In some ways, yes.”
His fingers twitched slightly. He was listening, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
You leaned forward slightly. “Have you ever heard of hypervigilance?”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“It’s when your brain stays on high alert even when there’s no immediate danger. You scan for threats without realizing it. You sit with your back to the wall in a pub. You notice exits in every room. You don’t sleep properly because your brain is waiting for something to happen.”
Tommy’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.
“That’s why people who come back from war feel like the world is moving too fast and too slow at the same time. It’s because your brain is still in survival mode.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “That’s a nice little theory, but — ”
“It’s not a theory, Mr. Shelby. It’s science.”
You continued to tap your pen lightly against your notebook.
“When you were fighting, your body was flooded with adrenaline every day. That’s what kept you alive. But now, when things are quiet, your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. That’s why you drink more. That’s why you get into fights. Because, whether you realize it or not, you’re chasing that feeling again.”
Tommy swallowed slightly, fingers still against his knee.
“You said before that things don’t feel loud enough.” She tilted her head slightly. “That’s because your brain got used to the volume being turned up all the way. Now that it’s quiet, it doesn’t feel real.”
He didn’t respond. Just sat there, staring at a spot on the floor.
For the first time since you met him, he looked truly ... unsettled.
Good, you thought. That meant he was listening.
You leaned back slightly. “I know you don’t like the idea of talking to someone, but you’re not the first man to sit in that chair feeling like this. And you won’t be the last.”
Still, silence.
Then, finally, Tommy exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I don’t need fixing.”
“I know.” You nodded. “But you do need to stop running.”
He lifted his gaze to yours.
Then, after a long moment, he stood.
He didn’t say anything as he reached for his coat, pulling it over his shoulders.
But just before he reached the door, he paused.
Without turning around, he muttered, “Same time next week, then.”
And with that, he was gone.
When Thomas got home that evening, Watery Lane smelly like coal smoke and damp earth.
The street was quiet, save for the distant barking of a dog and the occasional murmur of drunks staggering out of the Garrison.
He pushed open the door, stepping inside the cramped but familiar house. Dim candlelight flickered from the sitting room, casting long shadows against the walls.
Polly was waiting for him, perched in her usual chair, cigarette in hand. The amber glow of the tip pulsed as she took a slow drag.
“You went,” she said, not looking up.
Thomas sighed, shutting the door behind him. He shrugged off his coat, wincing slightly as his knuckles brushed against the rough fabric.
“You gave me no choice,” he muttered, making his way to the small drinks cabinet.
The whiskey sloshed softly as he poured himself a measure.
Polly exhaled smoke, finally meeting his gaze. “And?”
He took a sip, savoring the burn before answering. “And nothing. Same as last time.”
She tilted her head, watching him closely. “You talked?”
He smirked, shaking his head. “I answered questions.”
Polly sighed, leaning back. “And how long do you think you can keep that up?”
“As long as I need to.”
She scoffed. “You think you’re clever, Thomas, but that woman — she’s not fucking stupid. She’s not one of your men. She knows when you’re dodging.”
He swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the way the candlelight caught the amber liquid. “Doesn’t mean she’ll get more than I want to give.”
Polly studied him for a long moment, then flicked ash into the tray beside her. “And what exactly do you want to give, eh?”
Thomas didn’t answer right away.
No, he downed the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a quiet clink.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.
Polly hummed, a knowing look in her eyes.
She stood, brushing past him on her way to the kitchen.
“You’ll figure it out,” she said, disappearing down the hall. “Whether you like it or not.”
Thomas stayed there for a moment, then, with a quiet sigh, he poured himself another drink.
The following week, Thomas Shelby walked in without hesitation.
No reluctance this time, no irritation.
If anything, he looked resigned, as if he’d already made peace with the fact that he’d be here again.
But there was something else too.
A heaviness in the way he carried himself. A deeper tiredness lining his face. The same cigarette between his fingers, the same wool coat draped over his shoulders, but his shoulders looked heavier today.
You noticed the fresh cut along his cheekbone, a thin line of red just starting to fade. The bruises on his knuckles were darker now, healing but still visible.
He sat without waiting for an invitation.
You didn’t comment on the cut, nor the bruises.
Instead, you simply noted, like a mantra. “You came back, again.”
Tommy scoffed lightly. “Against my better judgment.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Here I am.” He exhaled smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling. Then, after a pause, he muttered, “My aunt said she’d send Arthur instead.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And that convinced you?”
He smirked, just barely. “Arthur talks too much.”
You let that sit for a moment before glancing at his hand, the one holding the cigarette. He noticed.
“No fighting this time,” he muttered preemptively.
“Then what happened to your face?”
His smirk deepened slightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you believe me if I said I walked into a door?”
You gave him a look. “No.”
“Well, then.” He took another drag, exhaling slowly. “Let’s just say not everyone in Birmingham is thrilled about the Peaky Blinders expanding.”
You made a note, then met his gaze again. “And how do you feel about that?”
Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “What is it with you and feelings?”
You didn’t respond, only waited.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s not about feelings. It’s about business.”
You tilted your head. “Business doesn’t bruise your knuckles.”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
He hated being asked like that, yet instead of staying away, he kept coming back.
Maybe it was because you intrigued him, or maybe he just liked the way you made sense of him, how you saw him in a way others didn’t.
Thomas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied the cigarette between his fingers, like he was weighing his words.
“Sometimes business requires persuasion.”
“And sometimes persuasion is just an excuse.”
That made him pause.
His gaze flicked up to meet yours, sharp as ever. But instead of snapping back, instead of deflecting, he just watched you, considering.
Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re a persistent one.”
“I have to be. Otherwise, men like you wouldn’t come back.”
Another pause.
Then, to your surprise, the faintest glimmer of amusement crossed his expression.
“Is that what I am?” he murmured. “A man like me?”
You tapped your pen against the notepad. “You tell me.”
He smirked, but it was softer this time. “You really think there’s a way out of this?”
“Out of what?”
His jaw tensed. “The way things are. The way things have always been.”
You watched him carefully. “That depends. Do you want there to be?”
Tommy held your gaze for a long moment. Then, for the first time since he walked in, he looked away.
“I don’t know.”
Honest.
Uncharacteristically so.
You nodded, jotting something down before setting your pen aside. “Then maybe that’s something we should figure out.”
He didn’t answer. Just sat there, cigarette burning between his fingers, gaze fixed on the desk in front of him.
Then, Tommy stirred, breaking the stillness.
“You know,” he said, his voice a bit more distant now, “I’m heading to the races tomorrow. You’d think a man like me would get tired of it, but…” He trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line.
“You’re going to the races?” You echoed, raising an eyebrow.
It was an odd way to shift the conversation, but not unexpected.
For all his layers of business and violence, Tommy Shelby was still a man with his routines, his vices, his escapes.
He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah,” he muttered, sounding almost casual, but you could hear the undertone of tension, the same tension that always surrounded him like a cloak.
“And you invited someone?” You probed further, your curiosity piqued.
He hesitated, just for a beat, before the words left his lips. “A woman,” he said, then smirked, though it was more to himself than anyone else. “Grace. The barmaid at The Garrison. Thought it’d be good to have a little company.”
He was waiting for your reaction, but you didn’t let it show. If anything, you appeared... uninterested.
Surprised, yes, but mostly indifferent.
"Grace?" You said, leaning back in your chair. “And what makes you think she’s the right choice?”
Tommy’s lips quirked into a half-smile, though it was brief. “It’s not about right or wrong. She’s been around long enough. Thought I’d take her out, see how she handles herself in a crowd.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly, picking up on the layers beneath his words. “So, you’re testing her?”
Tommy’s smirk softened, his gaze flicking over to you for a brief moment. “Maybe. Or maybe I just need someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.”
You knew better than to dig into Tommy’s words too deeply.
There was always more beneath the surface.
But you couldn’t help but wonder, what was Tommy really looking for in Grace? What did she represent to him?
“Well, I hope she’s ready,” you said, tapping your pen against the desk idly. “The races are never just about the horses.”
Tommy gave you a look, a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place. “They never are.”
He stood, moving toward the door with the same fluid grace he always had. His coat swished as he turned, looking back at you.
“Same time next week?” He asked, though his tone made it clear that it wasn’t a question.
You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Same time.”
Tommy lingered for a moment, a strange silence hanging between the two of you.
He adjusted his cap, slipping back into the cold, calculated Thomas Shelby you knew all too well.
But what came next was something you weren't prepared for.
"Your name is Y/N L/N. Daughter of F/N and M/N L/N. You live in Small Heath, just outside Watery Lane. You studied in France. You were a nurse during the war. You have two siblings. Not married, not seeing anyone. You go to the apothecary every Friday, and that’s how you met my aunt.”
Your eyes narrowed, but he continued, as if reciting a poem, his tone detached and matter-of-fact. "I know everything that goes on in my town, Doctor. And you better keep everything from our meetings to yourself."
Your hands tightened around your leather notebook, the pages flipping nervously. You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself before responding.
How the fuck did he knew all of that ?
“I took the Hippocratic Oath. Everything my patients say stays strictly within this room.”
“It better,” he muttered, colder than ever, sending a chill through your spine.
With one final glance, he turned and walked out the door.
It was only then that you exhaled, the tension in your chest releasing.
Pairing - Thomas Shelby and Reader - Part 2 Part 1 here
Warnings- 18*, swearing, violence, sexual content
I do not consent to my work being copied.
Tommy’s hair was wet from the rain, thick droplets ran along his cheekbones. Whilst he continued to wash his hands in silence, his shoulders tense. Even through the candle light, you could see how grazed his knuckles were. Turning, he poured a generous measure of whiskey. Pushing it towards you.
Polly moved out of the way, clearly understanding Tommy’s plan. Crossing the room, he stood behind you. “Where’s Freddie?” You whispered, breaking the tense atmosphere. But without answering, Tommy reached down from behind you. Taking hold of your wrist, his cold fingers wrapped around it.
“Can you relax for me?” He asked you, instantly bringing back a memory….
Flashback- Six Years earlier
“You trust me, Y/n?” Tommy asked, his lips brushing over yours. The movement so sensual. Your head tilted up to capture his kiss, not wanting his lips to leave yours. Wanting him to be moulded against your body.
“Yes,” you had panted, as his thumb ran over your clit. Applying the smallest amount of pressure. God… you were so wet… you hoped this was normal. Your legs were already quivering, you were nervous but felt safe with him.
“Just relax for me, love, I’ve got you, you sure you want this, ey?” He asked again, you knew he had a lot more experience than you did. But you wanted this, you wanted him to be your first.
“Yes…” you breathed out, almost moaning. “Yes, I want this, I want you, Tommy,”
Present Day-
“Yes,” you answered, tilting your head to look up at him. His brow was creased, he looked worried.
“Keep your eyes on Ada, yeah… and trust me,” he ordered and you obeyed.
Feeling him slowly lift your arm, trying to relax, trying to fight against the pain. Tommy moved your hand to behind your neck, so your arm was bent. You knew what was coming, tried to prepare for the pain.
“Ada, get the whiskey ready,” he stated, holding your arm into the position.
Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. In the same instant, Tommy pushed the front of your shoulder. Pulling your elbow back. You screamed in pain, but then felt some relief. Snatching the whiskey, you drained the glass, before coughing.
"It's done..." he stated releasing your arm, letting out a sigh he crossed the room.
Strong hands gripping the side of the kitchen unit, as he leant forward. Head bowed against his chest, Ada and Polly exchanged a look. You were unsure what to do now, what to say. Should you ask about Harry? Did you care?
And where was Freddie? He hadn’t answered your question.
Reaching for your coat, you decided it was time to leave. "You ready to go, Ada?" you asked, pushing yourself up from the table. Using the weight of your “good” arm. Tommy's head spun around so fast, you were amazed he didn't snap his neck.
You held out a hand to help Ada up from the chair. She looked tired, dark circles formed under her eyes. Their baby was due in less than a week.
"No," Tommy warned, his voice suddenly loud. "Y/n, you stay here," He changed the tone of his voice, face softening. “Please … just… you can have my bed. I can keep you safe,”
Hours later, you lay wide awake in Tommy’s bed. Trying to block out the aches radiating through your body. Surely you should be numb? Where was Harry? Would he be waiting for you, when you got home in the morning? Would he be sorry ....or angry that Freddie knew?
The soft creak of the floorboards had you sitting upright. Staring expectantly at the door, which slowly opened. Breathing increasing, a head peering around the corner.
“Just me,” Tommy spoke, holding a cup in his hand. Which looked so small in comparison to his large hands. "Thought you would still be awake," he spoke, his voice low, handing you the cup.
He sat on the bed staring at the door, rolling his shoulders back. Your eyes drifted to his scraped knuckles, in the moonlight. No one would tell you what happened. They had clearly gone after Harry.
"When I was twelve..." he began, still staring at the door. "I was woken up in the night, me mother and father having a blazing row... another one," he scoffed. You knew his parents had a rocky relationship, to say the least.
“Could hear me mother screaming through the walls, he liked to use his belt on her," He briefly looked over to you, then back to the door. He must have been so scared. "Fucking pathetic excuse of a man..."
“Arthur came in here to fetch me, we had to do something, Y/n," He shook his head slightly, "We had to stop him, we were scared kids, so fucking scared he was gonna kill her,"
Sitting up, you rested your free hand on his forearm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "We raced downstairs, there was fucking smashed pots, me mother was covered in blood. And he didn't stop, he wouldn't have... he was too fucking far gone. In a fit of anger, pissed, as always,"
Closing his eyes, he rolled his neck, trying to shake of the memory.
"Oh Tommy," you sighed, putting your cup down, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Harry would kill you, if he could see you now. Tommy's touch was comforting, it felt so natural.
"I got the broomstick, beat him off," he continued, "Arthur pulled me mother away, Finn was screaming. It was bloody chaos, Ada and John were hiding behind the sofa,”
"Then what happened? Was you Mum ok?" you asked hopefully.
"She ran to Pol's, but then.... he turned on us, he was stronger than us. Beat me and Arthur black and blue, and he never fucking changed, Y/n.... Never," Tommy explained, leaning back against your touch.
"Just like he won't," he warned, tilting his head back.
Noticing the tears streaming along your face. You sat back, trying to calm yourself. You knew why he had told you that story. His mother... that could be you.... the kids... they could be your kids. Of course you didn't want that.
You wanted a loving home, a doting father for your children. No fighting and raised voices. No reason for them to be scared. You wanted love, was that so hard to find? Again... You just wanted someone to love you back. To hold you, and tell you that they loved you with every fibre of their being.
That they would always protect you.....
“So what was it this time, ey?” Tommy questioned, anger back in his voice.
Any sign of the raw emotion, he had just exposed to you was long gone. He had shook the childhood memory away, and was back to cold Tommy.
Rolling your eyes, you shook your head slightly, backing away. "How can you sit there and judge me? After what you just told me?" you asked, through a sob. "You don't know shit about my life, you made that choice remember?"
Fuck... there... you had blurted it out. Did you say that out loud?
Oh... you did....
"I made that choice?" he repeated, emphasising the I. "What choice was that, eh? To go to war? Come back and pick up... where..."
"We picked up plenty of times if I remember correctly, until you got bored," you snarled, pulling yourself from the bed.
Why had you agreed to stay here? Standing, Tommy tried to block your path. Holding his arms out to try to reach you, you dodged passed him. Still holding his blanket.
"Fuck, Y/n... is that what this is about? Cos we fucked?" he scoffed, "I'm sorry.. I," he grabbed your hand, entwining his fingers in yours.
"You know I fucking couldn't stay away from you. And it just wouldn't work .. it would never ..."
"Yeah? Was that all I was? A fuck? Someone to pass the time?" you sniffed, god... you were so hurt. Why did you keep opening yourself up? Just to be hurt again?
“You do a good job of avoiding me, at every opportunity now!" You yelled at him, pulling away from his grasp.
"Yeah?" he scoffed, running his tongue across his lips.
“That why you put up with this shit, is it? That why you allow him to do this to you?" he gestured to your face. "Harry.. is a fucking prick, he's no good for you, Y/n. You deserve so much better,"
"Do I?" you asked, with a tilt of your head, your eyebrows shooting up.
Awaiting a response. Wanting him to fight for you, to tell you he would take care of you, he would love you. Put a ring on your finger.... but you got nothing ....
"Just get out of my way..." you snarled.
Leaving his room, you slammed his door and headed towards Freddie's house...
You irritate Thomas the most, even though you are his best friend.
The silence of the office pressed on my ears. The dim light of the lamp spread lazily across the desk, where your head - yours - rested among the chaos of documents.
You hadn't slept last night. Insomnia had clawed at your temples, gnawed at your nerves, and now you were haunted by the weight of fatigue.
You came here almost on autopilot. Thomas rarely objected to your presence, especially since you'd been linked for years-a friendship tested by time and gunpowder. You'd been in this office more often than at home, and now you were sitting at his desk with your hands folded under your head, trying to get a few minutes of peace.
The door opened without a knock. You didn't even flinch, too tired to react.
- What the hell is wrong with you? - Thomas's voice cut through the silence, soaked in the slight hoarseness of a man who smokes more than he should.
You opened your eyes slowly, lifted your head, and looked at him with the same tiredness that the world looked at you with.
- Didn't get much sleep," you mumbled lazily, dropping your head in your hands again.
Thomas came closer, clearing an ashtray and a couple of unnecessary papers off the table, and sat down across from you.
Thomas stepped into the office, the smell of tobacco and expensive whiskey slightly displacing the stale air
You didn't move, didn't react to his appearance, continuing to lean half-asleep on your arm.
He stopped beside the table, his cold, attentive eyes searching your face. In the dim light of the lamp, the dark circles under your eyes were visible, the tension in your features all too apparent. You looked like you hadn't slept in days.
Thomas frowned. He knew you too well not to notice that something was wrong.
Without a word, he leaned closer, and then, with the same relaxed, almost lazy confidence he'd always had, he pinched your cheek. Not hard-more in a teasing way, as if checking to see if you were conscious at all.
- Don't you even speak? - His voice was low, calm, but there was a slight sneer in it. - You look exhausted.
You barely moved, opening your eyes, but you couldn't even find the strength to be indignant. Only sighed, lowering your head back down.
Thomas grinned, looking down at you.
- If you're going to sleep in my office, you might as well lie back," his fingers slid lightly to the back of your neck, covering it with a warm palm.
A barely perceptible movement, and your head fell gently into his lap. The fabric of his pants was warm, pleasant to the touch, and the hand that was still on your head slid lazily through your hair, lingering in a hesitant gesture.
You were too tired to protest. Maybe on another day you would have pushed his hand away, maybe even snickered in response. But now... now the warmth of his palm and his steady, barely perceptible breathing were the only things that seemed real in this endless, hazy sleeplessness.
You moved faintly, and then, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face against his stomach. The fabric of his vest was slightly rough, smelling of tobacco and something tart, faintly sweet-perhaps whiskey, perhaps something strictly his.
It was nicer this way. Calmer. To feel him near, to feel his warmth, to let himself forget, if only for a moment.
Thomas paused for a second, as if assessing the situation, and then slid his fingers lazily down your back, as if casually.
- I'm not saying what? - his voice sounded low, vibrating slightly beneath your cheek.
You didn't answer right away, only inhaling his scent deeper, gripping your fingers a little tighter on the fabric of his shirt.
Tommy stared down at you in silence, studying your features with the same nonchalance that had been his shield for years. But you knew him too well. You knew that this calmness hid a familiar anxiety that he was in no hurry to bring out.
He ran his fingers gently through your hair, running them through the strands with an unexpected gentleness. The gesture seemed machine-like, but there was more to it than he was willing to admit.
- You haven't slept at all? - His voice was steady, but you still sensed the same underlying concern in it.
You inhaled the scent of his clothes deeper, smelling tobacco, whiskey, and something subtly familiar. The fabric beneath your cheek was slightly rough but pleasant, and his hand in your hair moved lazily, soothingly.
- You look like death," he added dryly, still sliding his fingers through your hair.
You snorted, not even thinking to lift your head.
- Thanks for the compliment, genius," you mumbled, lazily pressing your fingers into the fabric of his vest.
Tommy hummed, the corners of his lips trembling faintly. He continued to run his hand over your head, moving as slowly as if he didn't realize what he was doing.
- You're welcome," he replied calmly, his palm covering your back.
You reached your hand to his cheek, sliding your fingers lazily over his skin. The movement was relaxed, almost absent-minded, like you weren't fully aware of what you were doing.
- Maybe I should sleep with you more often. - You muttered, not opening your eyes. - You're warm, and you'll make me fall asleep faster.
Tommy sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, and then, without another word, he picked you up and sat you on his lap. You didn't resist, just made yourself comfortable, resting your head against his shoulder. You were even more comfortable now, his warmth enveloping you, making your eyelids feel heavy.
He slid his gaze over your face, pressing his lips together. You were blunt, often saying things that others would think twice about. And that annoyed him. It wasn't because he wasn't used to you - in all the years of friendship, he already knew you intimately. It was just that your careless antics sometimes made people think too long about the meaning of your words.
Like when you'd once languidly told Arthur that he had the best shoulder to sleep on.
Tommy only snorted then, but if one looked more closely, one would have noticed his jaw tense.
And now you're throwing those words in the air again without thinking about how they sound.
- Is that so? - he stretched out, his voice sounding lazy, but his gaze remained attentive. - I'm being used, then.
His hand continued to stroke your back, moving in a slow, measured motion. The gesture was hardly caring, but Tommy wouldn't admit that out loud.
- Yes," you said with the same directness, not thinking about the consequences.
Tommy froze for a second, his jaw slightly tense and his fingers nervously clenched on your thigh.
This woman was unbearable.
You always said things as if you didn't realize their double meaning, or you did, but you didn't care at all. Tommy couldn't tell whether it was your carelessness or the ease with which you managed to throw him off balance that annoyed him more.
Sometimes he thought the only way to deal with you was to just throw you out the window.
Perhaps on another day he would have done so. But today... Today you were tired, half asleep, your weight barely felt in his lap, and your breathing was even, calm.
He sighed softly, still squeezing your thigh, then slowly loosened his fingers and went back to the soft, lazy movement of his palm on your back.
- God damn it," he muttered, shaking his head. - You're going to drive me to my grave someday.
You frowned, looking at him with slight suspicion, but then a cheeky smile touched your lips.
- How do you know that's not my target? - You stretched lazily, lifting your head slightly to look into his eyes.
The cup of his patience was already nearly full.
That damn girl... She played with his nerves too easily, too quickly finding buttons that made him either irritated or sighing heavily, trying not to strangle her right now.
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at you with a long, testing look, then pressed his lips together and pulled you a little tighter against him, as if trying to figure out if this conversation was worth continuing or if it was better to keep silent for the sake of keeping his own peace.
- Did you ever think that sooner or later I wouldn't be able to take it? - His voice was quiet, almost lazy, but there was a subtle threat in it.
You only grinned, making yourself comfortable, as if he wasn't holding back from shaking you good. to give you a good shake.
- One more word, and I promise I'll hang you upside down and watch you suffer," he muffled, tsking your hair off your shoulders.
You didn't even flinch when his fingers slid down your neck, gently tucking the strands back. You just smirked, feeling him exhale irritably.
What can I say, he offered to cut them short.
Time passes, people change, women cut off their hair, and you... You're still walking around with that long damn hair.
And it annoyed him.
Not because he found it impractical, not because he thought you'd be more comfortable with a shorter haircut.
He just wasn't going to admit that he liked that hair.
To another woman, he would have easily complimented it. Maybe even allowed himself something more soothing. But not you.
He knew how it would end.
Your sly grin. Your words, spoken with that damning tone:
"Does the big boy love my hair that much?"
No. He wouldn't give you that opportunity.
You didn't take your gaze away from his eyes, as if looking straight into his soul. There was no fear in that gaze, not even a hint of remorse. Just lazy interest and a drop of something barely perceptible, but annoying as hell.
Then you slowly, almost lazily, ran your palm over his cheek.
- Good boy," you said quietly.
The silence in the room was instantaneous.
Tommy froze. His eyes went wide, like he wasn't sure he'd heard you.
- What the fuck? - He asked quietly but clearly threatening, his fingers tightening on your shoulders.
You only smirked, and then, out of spite, you laughed loudly. Your laughter echoed around the room, and it finally broke his patience.
- I swear I'm going to strangle you," he muttered, starting to shake you by the shoulders.
You were still laughing, not trying to break free, and he gritted his teeth harder and harder until he realized that the only way to stop it was to just let you vent your devilish energy.
But damn it, next time he'd really throw you out the window.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, reaching closer, as if instinctively seeking his protection. Your movements were slow, almost unconscious, as if you were afraid that if you did it too quickly, he'd pull away, break the moment.
Thomas didn't move.
You pressed against him, tentatively, as if testing to see if he would allow it. Then, finally surrendering to fatigue, you rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of his vest.
He was strong. Warm. So... alive.
You exhaled.
- I know... I love you, too," your words came out quieter than a whisper.
Thomas froze.
His whole body, which until then had been tense as a compressed spring, suddenly stopped resisting.
You weren't kidding.
This time there was none of your usual sarcasm, none of the snide tone or the easy, lazy mockery with which you usually threw him off-balance phrases.
No.
You sounded different.
Quiet. Tired. Almost lifeless.
Thomas closed his eyes.
Shit.
He wasn't good at this. Didn't know how to handle moments like this. Didn't know what to say, what to do.
But his body responded faster than his thoughts.
Slowly, as if surrendering to something inevitable, he leaned over and, without thinking, buried his nose in your shoulder.
His breath was hot, and his hands, which had recently been nervously gripping your shoulders, were now stroking your back. Slowly, lazily, as if trying to reassure you that everything was okay.
The room was silent.
Only the even, calm breathing, only the barely perceptible movement of his fingers, only your shared warmth.
The Brother That Always Wins | Tommy Shelby x Reader
Request: yes by @kpopgirlbtssvt
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader, with hints of John Shelby and Arthur Shelby trying their hand at flirting with the reader
Summary: (Y/N) is oblivious to the fact that three of the most powerful men in Birmingham are interested in her. When it's all said and done though, the brother that always wins, wins.
Warnings: language, drinking, terribly written flirting
Word Count: 4350
A/N: this story turned into an absolute ride, one that I enjoyed much more than I thought I would. It’s a bit of controlled chaos…I hope you’re ready for it. Enjoy! :)
I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!
Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!
"The fuck are you grinnin' for?" John Shelby asked as soon as his brother, Arthur entered the snug. He couldn't help himself, his older sibling's grin was able to be seen from a mile away.
"I just helped the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen in me life," Arthur proudly answered, his chest jutting out slightly as he spoke.
"Helped in what way, eh?" Tommy questioned, his one eyebrow raised. He'd been reading the newspaper and keeping to himself, only half-listening as John talked away about whatever, but he couldn't deny that he was interested in what Arthur had to say.
"I bet you he just stood there and gawked at her!" John chimed in before Arthur could respond, a smug grin on his face.
"I did not!" Arthur snapped back at his younger sibling, sending a glare his way, "I had a bloody conversation with her and all!"
"What happened?" Tommy asked another question, slowly losing his patience as he waited.
"So she was walkin' with a box, right? A big ass box...one that's too big for a lady like her to be carryin’. But she was walkin' with it. And so I was watchin' her from across the road, because she was goin' the same way I was. We must've walked for some time, how long I don't remember. Anyways, she gets to this one stretch and she trips...loses her fuckin' balance or something. All of the things in the box go flyin'. So I did what any man does and ran 'cross the street to help her. We put all the shit back into the box and then when she looked up at me, I thought I was gonna die on the spot. She was so fuckin' beautiful, lads. Shy, and sweet, and just fuckin'...gorgeous. I swear to you that if she would've..."
"Get on with the story, Arthur," Tommy interjected into Arthur's tangent, making him snap out of the attraction-riddled daze that he was quickly slipping into.
"Yeah, right," Arthur nodded, shaking his head slightly as he tried to recall where he was. "She was actin' so shy and thankin' me for helpin' her clean the stuff up that I couldn't but just be, fuckin'..."
"Arthur," Tommy said in a warning tone.
"I'm gettin' on with it," he brushed his brother off before continuing, "I couldn't help but not want to leave her. So I asked her where she was goin' and she said to the school. That was out of my way, but I didn't fuckin' care. I carried her things to the school she went on with thankin' me again. She was so fuckin' gorgeous and...shit, boys, I think I might be in love," he finished up his story, continuing on with it despite the scoffs or stiffled laughter coming from his brothers.
"You said she was going to the school?" John asked a question once it was clear that Arthur was finished with his story.
"Yeah...she's a fuckin' teacher, mate. Even better," Arthur grinned.
"Did you get her name?" John asked another question.
"Course I did!" Arthur responded like it was obvious.
Silence fell in the snug then, the three men looking between each other. John waited on bated breath for a few moments before it became obvious that Arthur wasn't going to say it without being prompted. "What was it?"
"(Y/N), I think it was," Arthur recalled, his answer making John choke out a weird sound, one that seemed to be a mixture of a scoff and a laugh. "What?"
"She's Katie's fuckin' teacher, mate!" John exclaimed, his declaration making Arthur's eyes widen. "She is fuckin' gorgeous, I'll tell you that," he then agreed with Arthur, a wide grin now plastered across his face.
John and Arthur then went about talking about her after Arthur prompted his younger sibling to tell him all that he knew about her. Tommy sat in his chair, half reading the paper and half listening to their conversation. He couldn't deny that he was intrigued by his brothers' stories, and everything they said about her made him want to go and meet her for himself even more.
"Can I help you?" (Y/N) (Y/L/N) asked the man that she swore appeared in her doorway out of nowhere. He was dressed in an expensive looking three-piece suit with an equally as expensive looking overcoat over top of it, as well as a peaked cap atop his head.
"I'm looking for (Y/N)," the man answered.
"You found her," (Y/N) smiled, setting her book down on the desk to give the man her full attention. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"I was directed to you by the front office. They said you're in charge of the donations?"
"That depends...if you're looking to donate to the building, you'll need to speak with our headmaster, but if you're looking to donate directly to the children, you can speak to me," she explained with a smile. She was proud to have been named the head of the board that made sure the children in the school had the tools they needed in order to thrive in the learning environment.
"I'm looking to donate to the children."
"Then you're in the right place," she chirped, "you can come over here and we'll get into the details of it," she said then, waving him over to her desk.
He finally entered the room, and as he walked over, (Y/N) felt the commanding aura that swirled around him. It wasn't one that made her scared, but rather one that filled her with intrigue.
"Can I have the name for the donation?" she asked once she had a piece of paper and a pencil ready.
"It's Thomas Shelby," he answered her, watching as realization sparked in her eyes. He couldn't help but think that Arthur was absolutely right - for once in his life...she was absolutely gorgeous.
"Shelby? I have a student whose last name is Shelby."
"Katie?" Tommy questioned, even though he already knew who she was talking about.
"Yes!" (Y/N) happily answered, "Katie's such a lovely girl. Who is she to you?" she couldn't help but ask.
"She's my niece," he shared, his words making her nod in understanding.
"What sort of donation would you like to make, Mr. Shelby?" she asked then, the pencil ready in her hand.
"I'd like to make it so that all of the children in the year you teach have whatever they need to excel in their classes," he answered, speaking in a nonchalant tone.
"Oh...my goodness," she gasped, stopping what she was writing as the weight of his statement finally clicked in her mind.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, it's just that..." she trailed off, unable to put her thoughts properly into words, "no one has made such a generous donation before."
"I like to make sure that others benefit from the wealth I've gained," he told her in an assured tone. Well that was one of the reasons why he'd made such a donation.
"I...uh, goodness, I don't even know where to start," she confessed, still genuinely baffled by his generosity. "Usually I'd go through with the person donating and we'd make a list of where the funds can be allocated, but with your overwhelming donation, I'm not sure I know what to do first," she added, a sheepish smile present on her face when she looked up at him again.
"It's nothing you'd need to have done in a hurry," he told her, showing that he wasn't upset by her unsuredness.
"I'd hate to waste your time now and make you wait..." she trailed off, biting on the end of the pencil as she tried to think of some ways his funds could be used.
Spending time with you would not be time wasted, Tommy thought to himself just as an idea came to mind: "what if we go for dinner at the end of the week? You can have time to think of ideas and you'll share them with me then," he proposed, his eyebrows raising slightly as he awaited her response.
(Y/N) took a moment to think about his proposition. It'd certainly be a good idea for her to have more time to think about it, and she couldn't say that she'd be opposed to having dinner with this man. "Dinner sounds nice," she gave her answer after a few moments had passed, "I'll come prepared with good ideas," she assured him with a smile.
"I'm sure whatever ideas you'll bring will interest me," Tommy told her, nodding once before he took a step back towards the door.
"Thank you, Mr. Shelby. It's a great pleasure to have you working with us," (Y/N) smiled, still truly overwhelmed by his generosity.
"The pleasure's mine, (Y/N)," he couldn't help but let a smile break onto his lips as he looked over her one last time. They said their goodbyes then, and Tommy exited the school. He was genuinely pleased with the fact that she'd agreed to have dinner with him. It was certainly a step in the right direction with her.
John Shelby entered the school that his children attended two days after his brother did. He was unsuccessful in finding someone who could help direct him to the room he wanted to visit, but thankfully found the woman he was looking for as she walked towards the main doors from down a hallway.
"Miss (Y/L/N)!" he called to her, hoping to get her attention.
To his luck, she heard him. "Can I help you?" she asked with a smile, one that made John feel like he was going to go weak at the knees.
"Yes. You're my daughter's teacher. Her name's Katie Shelby. I wanted to ask how she's been doing in class," he told her the reason behind him being there. Truthfully he couldn't care less about Katie's performance. School wasn't something he was ever interested in, but if it meant he'd be able to talk to an utterly gorgeous woman, he'd give the performance of the century.
"Oh Katie!" (Y/N) answered, her smile growing wider as she recalled one of her students, "she's amazing...such a pleasure to have in class. She's always working hard and staying on top of her assignments," she then gave him a run down on his daughter's performance.
John nodded as she spoke. He had no shame in the fact that he was only half listening to her answer; being too preoccupied with drinking in her appearance. Silence fell between them then as that topic of conversation passed quickly. John didn't want her to leave just yet, so he scrambled for another talking point. "I heard that you met my brother, Arthur, the other day," he said then. It wasn't his best choice of topic, but he hoped it would keep her around. His hopes fell when a look of confusion formed on her pretty face. Shit, John...save yourself here! "He, uh...he told me that he helped you with one of your boxes...?" he ended his statement like it was a question, hoping that she'd show some sort of recollection.
Realization did appear on her face, but the sentence that accompanied it was one that left John confused: "oh...it seems I've met two of your brothers," she informed him, effectively making him wear the same expression she had moments ago. She took the time to explain then: "Thomas came in a few days ago to arrange a generous donation to aid the children who come here."
Fucks sake. John couldn't help but sigh internally. Tommy had already sunk his paws into the territory John thought he'd have a leg up in. "Oh he did?" he decided to play it cool, hoping that his aggravation didn't bubble up to the surface.
"He did. The other teachers and I are all so thankful for the contribution," (Y/N) answered, her smile telling John that he was doing well at masking how he was really feeling.
"Well I'm happy to hear that," John stated, running a hand over his face as he tried to think of a way to divert the conversation away from Tommy. "I can't say enough how happy I am that my daughter has a wonderful, smart, caring teacher like yourself," he said then, deciding to go the compliment route. There were many other things he wanted to include while referring to her, but he didn't want to overdo it.
"Awe thank you, Mr. Shelby. As I've said before, Katie is such a pleasure to have in class," (Y/N) accepted the compliment with grace, a bashful smile forming on her face.
Silence fell around them for a few beats before John spoke again: "you're probably wantin' to get home, so I should probably go," he stated, nodding his head back towards the main doors of the school.
"Oh yes, it's certainly been a long day," she answered with a nod.
"I'll see you around sometime then," John began to say his goodbyes.
"You certainly will," (Y/N) sent him one last smile before John turned and exited the school.
John was thankful to see the majority of his family sitting around the main table of the betting shop when he entered it that evening.
"Where've you been, John Boy?" Arthur asked, everyone's eyes following John as he made his way to an open chair.
"I just left the school," John answered, his face straight as he spoke.
"The school?" Arthur questioned.
"Something happen with one of the children?" Polly asked, her brows furrowed.
"No, everything's fine with them," John quelled her concern.
"Why were you at the school then?" Polly asked another question.
"Ah I know...you were tryin' to see the hot teacher, huh?" Arthur chimed in before John could answer, a grin now present on his face.
John shot a glare in his brother's direction, slightly annoyed by the fact that he was a little too anxious to know. But with all of the eyes in the room on him, he figured he may as well give up. "Yeah, I went to see her."
"Did ya talk to her?" Arthur eagerly asked.
John didn't miss Polly's eyeroll before he answered his brother: "yeah, I did...and I was told that Tommy already went and talked to her." He couldn't help but glance at Tommy from the corner of his eye, seeing if his statement roused any type of reaction from him.
"Why would you have gone to talk to the childrens' teacher, Thomas?" Polly was the one to ask, her eyes now zeroed in on him.
"She told me that he wanted to make a donation to the school," John offered more information, a sour tone still present in his voice.
"Tommy," Polly sighed, bringing her hand up to her forehead.
"We've arranged to have dinner one of these upcoming evenings to discuss it further," Tommy nonchalantly shared more details of his meeting with (Y/N).
"Bloody hell, Tommy," Arthur grumbled, a frown on his face as he shook his head. He'd have no chance in hell with her now.
"Why was this not brought up in a family meeting?" Polly asked a sensible question, seemingly unaware of the brothers' reason behind their responses.
"Because I have decided that we need to start putting back into the city," Tommy answered, an authoritative tone laced into his voice.
"And you thought that the school would be the most logical place to start?" she quirked an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"You're putting yourself into places you shouldn't be...if this blows up in your face, I won't be here for it," Polly spoke in a firm tone, showing her distaste for his decision.
Tommy held his gaze on her, an uninterested look present in his eyes. He didn't quite care what his aunt had to say about this, he was going to continue on how he saw fit.
Polly held his gaze, waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she rolled her eyes and let out a scoff before turning and stalking over to the door. She stopped before she could grab the handle, abruptly turning to look at the three men sitting at the table. "If any of you make her cry or so much as hurt a single strand of hair on her head..." she paused, pursing her lips as she shook her head slightly, "you will have hell to pay." Her voice was flat, but her tone was serious, and she let no one respond before she opened the door and exited the betting shop.
"Ms. Gray, it's so nice to see you again," (Y/N) said with a smile as she found the older woman standing in the doorway of her classroom. "Is everything ok with Katie? We missed her in class today."
"Katie's fine," Polly quelled the teacher's worry, "she was feeling ill so she stayed home."
"Oh, ok. I hope she gets better soon," (Y/N) offered her regards with a smile, one that Polly reciprocated. "Is there something that you need?"
"Yes," Polly didn't beat around the bush, "my nephew, Tommy, came to speak with you the other day..." she began, trailing off in hopes that (Y/N) would continue.
"Yes, he did!" she took the bait without question, "he made a very generous donation, and then suggested we have dinner to work the smaller points of it out."
"And how did that go?" Polly asked with raised eyebrows.
"Very well," (Y/N) smiled in response, "the children are already benefiting from the money he's given. It was very kind of him to do this."
Nothing Tommy Shelby has done was done just for the sake of 'being kind', Polly thought to herself as she mentally scoffed at the younger woman's statement. "I'm happy to hear that the children are benefitting from it," Polly said in response, keeping her thoughts on her nephew's intentions to herself.
(Y/N) smiled in response, completely overjoyed by the kindness of the Shelby family that she was oblivious to even the mere thought of Tommy having other intentions behind his decision to donate. Nothing else was said then as the women exchanged parting words.
(Y/N) smoothed out her dress as she reached the doors of the establishment. She hoped that the outfit she chose didn't make her over, or under, dressed for the occasion. With a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and opened the door, the sounds of chatter and music smacking her in the face. She entered the pub with a smile, hoping to quickly find a familiar face.
Of course one of the Shelbys quickly found her at the door. It was their re-opening party after all, and a beautiful woman like (Y/N) was most certainly not going to go unnoticed.
"Oi, you came!" Arthur was the first of the brothers to spot her, and a big grin was plastered across his face as he moved over to greet her.
"Yes! This place looks lovely!" she answered, smiling as she looked around the room.
"We made sure to get the best of the best," he boasted, his grin still present. "And speakin' of the best...can I offer one of the best women I've seen a drink?" he smoothly transitioned, his one eyebrow raised as he looked at her.
"I'd love one, thank you," she answered, smiling at his kindness.
"Come on then," he stated, offering her his arm so that he could lead her to the bar.
She accepted it, walking over to an open seat so that he could go around the bar and get her a drink. She thanked him again when he set it down in front of her, and just as he leaned up against the bar, ready to chat with her, Isiah came to him with a matter of business. He left her with a slight frown and an 'excuse me, love,' before going off with the younger man. (Y/N) sat by herself, sipping her drink and enjoying the revelry around her. She wasn't alone for long though.
"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)...I didn't think I'd see you here," shock was present in John Shelby's voice as he came up beside her.
"I decided to stop in and see what all of the talk was about," she smiled at him.
"Well we're certainly happy to have you here," he grinned at her, trying so hard not to give her a once over. "Say why don't you come and share a dance with me?" he suggested.
"Oh, I couldn't," she turned down his offer, her shyness creeping in.
"Come on...a quick dance wouldn't hurt," he didn't quite give up hope.
"I'm rather terrible at dancing."
"You've not seen me dance then."
(Y/N) bit her lip to conceal her giggles, surprised with how forward he was.
"Come on..." John coaxed her, hand outstretched in her direction. She was hesitant, but accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the floor. "Just follow my lead and you'll be fine," he said, assuming the position before he began to lead her in a similar dance to what the other partygoers were doing.
(Y/N) couldn't help but smile as she danced around the floor with John. She certainly was having fun, not really thinking about what she looked like or what others thought. John couldn't believe that he was dancing with one of the most beautiful women in the room.
They danced for about two songs before (Y/N) excused herself, wanting to go have a seat. John allowed her to go, deciding that he'd go into the snug and check on Finn - who he knew was sneaking stronger drinks than what his brothers originally told him he could have.
(Y/N) found a newly opened seat at the bar as soon as she came to it. She was bummed that her drink had been lost, but she didn't need to worry about that for too long.
"You made it," Tommy Shelby's voice came from her left, making her turn slightly to see him approaching her from behind the bar.
"I did, thanks for inviting me," (Y/N) smiled at him, "this party's amazing!" she commented, glancing around the room.
"It is," Tommy agreed once she focused on him again, "can I get you something to drink?"
"Please," she smiled kindly at the offer, watching as he went about grabbing a bottle from the shelf. "I wanted to also thank you, again, for the dinner and the donation. The children have already gotten some of the supplies that we've received, and they're loving them," she shared some information once he came back with a glass for her.
"That's good news," he nodded, taking a drink from his glass then. "You know I was thinking maybe...maybe you and I could have dinner again, without the need to talk about the donations this time," he proposed, watching her intently as he waited for a response.
(Y/N) couldn't stop her eyes from lighting up at his suggestion. She had a lovely time with him at their first dinner. "I'd like that," she answered with a smile.
"Figured we could get to know each other better."
"That would be lovely," she agreed, giggling slightly at the fact that he was practically reading her mind.
The two then went about planning the dinner, agreeing on a time and place. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel giddy when he suggested a restaurant that was far more classy than the first place they'd met. If she wasn't excited before...she certainly was now.
As they spoke more, Polly Gray kept a close eye on them from across the room. She'd been watching the brothers all evening as they tried their hand at her. It became clear to her, though, that Tommy had ended out on top as she watched them converse at the bar. She could easily tell from how (Y/N) was invested in their conversation, giggling and leaning closer to him when he'd speak, that what he was doing was being received well. John and Arthur wouldn't have much of a chance now.
-One Year Later-
Slowly, Tommy lifted the veil up to reveal (Y/N)'s smiling face. He draped it over her head and let his eyes dance across her features, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt the joy radiating from her.
"We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) and Thomas Michael Shelby," the officiant began, commanding the attention of everyone in the church.
Ever since the evening of the party at the Garrison, (Y/N) and Tommy found themselves wrapped up in a whirlwind of a romance. Tommy proposed after five months of them being together, knowing that he wasn't going to find another woman like her. They spent five months being engaged and doing a great amount of traveling - it was the summer holiday for (Y/N), so she was able to follow Tommy wherever he went. Now they were standing at the altar in front of a great number of guests who were anxiously waiting to see them pronounce their love for each other.
Well...two of the guests weren’t exactly anxious. John and Arthur sat on Tommy's side of the church, watching as the ceremony commenced. Both were happy for their brother, but they'd be lying if they said that they weren't bummed that it wasn't them up with (Y/N).
Everyone stood up and celebrated as the officiant pronounced Tommy and (Y/N) 'man and wife', and they shared their first kiss as a married couple.
"As always..." John started, elbowing Arthur in the ribcage as they both clapped for their brother, "Tommy gets the girl, and we've gotta sit back and watch."
Arthur couldn't help but snort as he heard what John had to say. "You're right, John boy," he agreed, shaking his head but nonetheless continuing clapping.
No matter what happened, or how hard John and Arthur tried to get ahead, Tommy would forever be the brother that always wins.
Summary: The sweltering month of August 1907 saw the fair come to town and the start of a summer romance between you and a blue-eyed boy cut short when your family and travelling entourage moved on to the next village. But when fate brings you back together, the great war of 1914 and it's lasting effects fractures your blossoming relationship, driving you both into the arms of another with their own selfish wants and ulterior motives. Will Tommy ever be able to leave his troubled thoughts in the trenches where they first emerged and find his way back to you, his summer love?
Warnings: PTSD, descriptions of war, angst, violence, murder, smut, mutual pining.
Authors Note: This series will include pre-war!Tommy, wartime!Tommy and post-war!Tommy with many depictions of PTSD and the lasting effects it has on someone's daily life and relationships that some readers may find triggering. Please review the warnings before reading.
Having a relationship with the leader of the Peaky Blinders was complicated in a world full of business and dark secrets, but that didn't mean the love between you was weak. One night in the Garrison pub, however, everything changes, and the next day Thomas Shelby accuses you of something that will change absolutely everything between you, and the consequences will be so severe that not even in your worst nightmares could you have imagined the betrayal and disappointment you will feel for the man you swore to love forever.
𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱: A mini-series full of emotions, anguish, betrayal, weapons, ghosts of the past and broken hearts. Mentions of sensitive topics such as miscarriage, suicide and murder.
Plot: Y/N has a new, secret boyfriend who she meets up with late in the night to avoid judgement from her parents as he is not quite what they would want, but perfect for Y/N in pleasing all her needs.
Content: Smut, age-gap, pet names, secrecy, oral (m), rubbing (m & f), car sex, riding, dirty talk (m & f), huge daddy kink, no protection, Tommy sounds kinda pervy but romantic too
(Modern day Thomas Shelby in this story)
Laying in my little white bed, I kick my feet and grin at my screen while I text my new boyfriend, Thomas. I’ve met him through the internet and have met with a few times late at night when my parents were asleep.
I couldn’t have them find out I had been seeing a man almost 3 times my age. I was freshly 18, and still a child to them. They’d never understand what Tommy and I have. He was tall, and fit. And each time I’d see him he’d wear the type of suits he wore to work. Perfectly tailored to his figure, and always smelling rich and manly. There was no way I could keep my hands to myself when I was with him.
Most nights I’d run out to his car in the dark and we’d drive around the city to an empty road where he'd kiss, and caress me until the sun rose. His lips were always so gentle. And during the day I’d sneak away from everyone to text him.
{“I miss you”}, I texted while smiling and giggling like a high school girl. I mean technically I was, so it made sense.
Just seconds after a new message pops up on my screen. {“I miss you too my girl ;)”}
{“how was work?”}
{“Ah, it was fine, just boring office stuff. Nothing interesting.”} Thomas sent while sitting alone in his house, still in his work clothes and also grinning to himself.
{“Can I see you tonight?”}
{“Won’t your parents be home, baby?”}
{“Please daddy… I need you”}
Thomas chuckled to himself, {“Haha baby, don’t do this to me. I really want to come and touch you but I don’t want you getting caught”}
{“When my parents go to sleep I can sneak out and come meet you. No one will see me”}
{“Oh baby, you’re just tempting me. You know I can’t resist feeling you… I’ll be there tonight.”}
{“Ok thank you daddy, I’ll see you soon”}
I sent the message with my cheeks a flustered shade of pink. I quickly jumped up from my bed and changed into nicer clothing and quickly applied makeup on my smooth face. It was getting late anyway so I’d get ready now.
Thomas too got up and grabbed his car keys. He loved how I begged for him, and how I’d do anything just to see him. And soon enough he arrived outside my house. He was nervous for me, but couldn’t wait another second longer to touch me.
{“I’m here love. Whenever you’re ready”}
{“Coming daddy”} I quickly replied and quickly ran down the stairs to the front door.
When I came outside, Thomas was leaning against his expensive car with that handsome smirk he always got when he saw me. I quickly ran to him with my short dress flowing in the wind and brushing against my thighs. I wrapped my body around him in a tight hug, and inhaled deeply his rich scent and felt his toned chest through his shirt.
“Oh my princess…” He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “Come on baby.” He led me to the passenger seat and opened the door for me.
We drove around through the dark empty roads. His big hand lightly rubbed my bare thigh with intimate caresses. Slowly I began to slide down in the seat making his hand go higher and higher between my legs. He got the hint and trailed his hand up my dress to gently tickle me through my thin, lacy pantries.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him from beside me as he rubbed me with his finger. I bit my lip and whimpered at his touch. He looked over to me, his eyes scanning from my shivering legs up to my baby doll face.
“You’re such a cute girl… couldn’t wait to see daddy, couldn’t you?” He asked with his voice so smooth, and silky on my ears.
“Mhm,” I nodded, looking down between my legs at my growing wetness for him.
Eventually after several minutes driving through the quiet streets, Thomas parked at the end of a dead road. There was nothing but trees and darkness all around us. Thomas turned off the car and turned to me.
“Give daddy a kiss.” He leaned in closer to me, moving his hands up to hold my face. I instantly fell into him and my lips latched onto his hungrily. Sweet little moans escaped my lips each time they’d separate even the slightest.
Thomas pulled back to look closely at my face. With his thumb he traced my bottom lip, and in return I kissed his skin lovingly like a little puppy. “Such a good girl… you know exactly how to please your daddy, hm?”
I nodded, continuing to kiss his thumb and over his whole hand. My submission was more than obvious for him. There’s nothing I’d not do for him.
I pulled my lips away from his hand and Thomas leaned back to get out of the car. I watched him outside just briefly before he got back into the car in the backseat. He sat right in the middle with his legs spread and his bulge showing through his dress pants.
“Come here.” He sat back, watching me with amusement as I crawled to him. “Good girl… Crawl to daddy.” His voice was low and sensual, making my legs shiver.
In the backseat I straddled Thomas’s lap and looked into his blue eyes that I could barely see in the dark, but I could feel the lust in them.
My hands felt around on his muscular chest and unbuttoned his shirt as my hands travelled lower and lower down his torso. His skin beneath was hot, and smooth and the hair on his chest, and below his belly button made my panties wet as I touched it. His legs spread wider, and his pants grew tighter. I felt as his hardening cock poked and rubbed me through my pantries. It made my mouth water.
I moved to the side on the leather seat next to him and looked up into his eyes while I eagerly undid his pants. His hips moved lower into the seat and his head laid back against the leather. He felt his cock just aching to be touched, and sucked.
“That’s good baby, keep going.” He groaned under his breath while I pulled his big, needy cock from his pants. My eyes glared up into his while my face and lips slowly lowered to his hot, wet skin. I kissed and licked at his pink tip like a little kitten while making eye contact the whole time.
Thomas petted my silky hair while looking down at me with admiration, “My good baby… pleasing your daddy so well,” He groaned to the feeling of my lips hungrily sucking and kissing on his tip. His hand gripped in my hair and he tilted my face up to look at him while he pushed my mouth down the length of his thick cock. He groaned and cursed while I loved on his sweet, sensitive skin. I needed to give daddy more and slowly bobbed my head and sucked in my cheeks around him. “Hmh… god… just like that baby, just like that.”
I sucked and swallowed him like it was the last thing I’d ever do. I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. He tasted so good, and making my daddy feel good was all that I lived for.
I pulled my mouth up from his dripping cock with a pop when he tugged on my hair. “Come.” He patted his thigh and I obediently sat up and straddled his lap. “Let daddy see that little pussy…” He was voice rough and hot in my neck and he lifted the straps of my pantries off and down my hips. I leaned back and let him strip me until I was completely naked on his lap, sitting and waiting for the attention I craved.
“So cute,” He whispered glaring down my body and between my legs. His fingers slipped between my legs and slowly he rubbed my wet clit in gentle circles.
I was so sensitive from my growing arousal, and my sweet sounds and whimpering just encouraged him more.
His fingers felt so perfect, rubbing faster and harder. I grind against his fingers eagerly spreading my wetness all over his hand. “You wanna cum?” He asked with his breath hot in my neck.
“Mhm… Mhm daddy, please”
“Cum on my cock… rub it.” He turned to lay back onto the seats and I sat on his cock against his lower stomach. My wet lips stroked his length, and my clit rubbed against his smooth veiny skin. I moaned and whimpered all sweet and desperate while I rubbed my pussy on him.
Tommy gripped my hips, “fuck…,” he groaned with his head falling back. My soft lips were practically milking him and filling his stomach with precum. And eventually, I came with loud needy moans, and my fingers digging into his chest. His cock was absolutely throbbing by now and was bigger than it's ever been.
“Oh, that’s such a good girl…” he praised sitting back up on the seat, me still on his lap. Tommy’s hands reached up into my hair holding my face close to his. We kissed sloppily while I sat and lowered myself down onto his aching cock. It filled my little hole so perfectly. Made purely just for him, as he’s the only one who’s ever used it.
My hands held onto Tommy’s bulky shoulders, and he lifted his hips to forcefully thrust. My high pitched moans were in sync with his quick movements, and echoed throughout the car. The windows fogged and the air around us got hot and humid.
Tommy’s lips sucked and kissed at my neck leaving his mark of property. My fingernails dug into his back and shoulders while trying to muffle my pleasurable whines in his hot neck.
“Yes… Yes!” I yelled pounding my hips down onto him. “Daddy!” My body trembled and grew weak. Thomas took control using all his strength to buck his hips up against mine, his cock reaching deep inside.
Thomas’s hand held tightly onto my plump butt, moving me up and down. Both of our skin grew damp with sweat and arousal. The movement between us got sloppy the closer we got. Neither of us had a proper thought but the feelings in our bodies. Everything between us with our bodies and lips, it went so fast like time hadn’t existed. Nothing existed when he and I were together, nothing but each other.
And eventually over those last few, sloppy thrusts, Thomas’s cock shot his hot cum deeply into my cervix. His hips bucked up into mine forcefully which broke me into spilling my fluids onto his lap. I held onto him tightly as the sensitivity grew and faded and as our bodies began to slow down to a stop.
I breathed heavily with little whimpers escaping with my exhale. I could feel Tommy relax and soften while still inside me. And before we moved we took the time just holding each other and gently kissing with the little energy we had left.
I could feel the love Thomas had for me from the way he’d caress my bare hip and kiss me ever so gently. There was always a difference between him -in the way he acted- before and after sex, but I loved both sides equally. He was rough and dominant but also gentle and romantic. And in the end he’d drive me home and kiss every inch of my face before I’d go back inside to sleep peacefully.
“I love you my sweet girl,” He’d say each time.
And from me, “I love you too, daddy.” With a kiss on his cheek.
Midnight Interlude
You try to convince Tommy, your husband, to come back to sleep.
Gone with the Leaves
Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.
Silent Night
Set the Christmas before World War 1, Tommy and you share a special moment on the front steps of Watery Lane.
All The Things We Don't Say
An anthology of your life with Tommy, from friends to strangers to lovers, and all the little moments in between.
Things That Go Bump in the Night
You ask your husband Tommy if he believes in ghosts. The answer might surprise you.
Good Taste
The country wives make fun of your sapphire necklace. Tommy finds a way to cheer you up.
Utterly Thoughtless
On your wedding night, Tommy begins acting strange. Something is on his mind.
Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.
Chapter summary: As you slowly heal, you begin to feel at home again, surrounded by family and laughter. All the while, Tommy knows your future together is just beginning.
Word count: 5k
Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch.
A/N: Ayyy, no gallbladder, new me! Thanks for the kind messages, those were so nice to read once the anesthesia got out of my system. And thanks for being patient for this next chapter, enjoy!
--
Tommy made space for your pain like it was something sacred. He didn’t flinch away from it. He didn’t try to fix it with rushed words or smother it with false promises. He just stayed close– quiet, constant, steady in a way you hadn’t even known how much you needed until he gave it to you without asking.
He noticed things before you even said them. The way your hand drifted toward your temple just seconds before the ache began to pulse behind your eyes. The way your fingers curled against your ribs on the bad days, subtly, protectively. The way your breaths would catch, shallow and uneven, whenever the room got too loud or when a door slammed too hard, dragging you back to places you didn’t want to be.
Sometimes you didn’t even realize it yourself– how your posture stiffened, how your eyes unfocused, how your hand trembled slightly at your side. But Tommy always did. And somehow, he never made it feel like weakness.
He simply got up, fingers brushing your forehead, muttering, “Sit down I’ll get your tablets.”
You were growing dependent on the way he moved through a room now– quieter, softer, like the very air around him had adjusted to make space for you. He never hovered, never made you feel suffocated. But he was always there, just close enough for you to lean into if you needed it. His touch came gently, never rushed, fingers brushing lightly over your back, his hand coming to rest against your shoulder, thumb grazing slow circles into your skin until your breathing slowed.
He didn’t ask questions when you winced. Didn’t press when your hand drifted to your temple in quiet discomfort. He simply adjusted, dimmed the lamps, turned down the radio, sat beside you in silence until the pain passed. Or he’d get up, fingers brushing your forehead, muttering, “Sit down, I’ll get your tablets.”
And you found, over time, that it wasn’t just the medicine or the rest that soothed you– it was him. It was the way he kept showing up, again and again, without needing to be asked.
Without ever once making you feel like a burden.
You stopped trying to hide your pain, your fatigue, and your bad days from him. You didn’t pretend you were fine just to avoid the flicker of worry in his eyes. Because the truth was, you’d come to crave that tenderness, the way he tucked you under his arm at night, pressed kisses to your shoulder in the dark, murmured things into your hair like “You’re alright now,” and “I’ve got you.”
And he did.
Slowly, you’d started easing your way back into work. Not full shifts– just a few hours at a time, usually when the Garrison was quiet. Harry never pushed. Polly had all but sworn she'd throttle you herself if you overdid it again. But it was Tommy who was always there, without fail.
Even when he had other business to tend to, he found a reason to be nearby. Sitting at the end of the bar with a paper in one hand and a whiskey glass he barely touched. Sometimes he stayed behind the scenes, speaking to Harry about stock or deliveries. Sometimes he just stood quietly near the doorway, arms folded across his chest, eyes on you like a sentinel.
He never said it outright, never hovered too close, but you always knew he was watching. And somehow, that made all the difference.
Because there were still moments when the noise in the pub grew too loud, when laughter and clinking glasses blurred into one hollow sound, echoing in your ears like the roar of a tunnel. There were moments when someone’s voice snapped too sharply, when a glass dropped, when a door slammed too hard. There were moments when your vision blurred and the world went distant– when your hands froze mid-motion and your breath hitched in your throat.
But Tommy always saw it.
He didn’t need words or confessions. He knew the signs now, the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers clenched too tightly around a glass, the way your eyes lost their focus for just a second too long.
He’d appear beside you before you could even try to brush it off.
Sometimes it was just a hand brushing the small of your back. A low voice in your ear: “Let's get some air, love.”
Sometimes it was the press of a glass of water into your palm, the grounding weight of his fingers over yours.
And sometimes, on the harder days, he’d take the tray from your hands without a word and simply say, “Time to go home.”
You never argued anymore.
Because you knew better now– he wasn’t taking something from you. He was giving you a place to rest. A home amidst the chaos.
Your bad days didn’t vanish overnight. Instead, they faded, slowly, soft around the edges like an old bruise, tender but no longer sharp. The kind of healing that didn’t announce itself, but made itself known in the quiet, everyday ways. A morning without nausea. A shift without a headache. A night without waking from a scream caught in your throat.
It had been a little over two weeks since the attack when you got your stitches out at home.
You’d refused to go back to the hospital. You’d been adamant, stubborn, insisting you could handle it yourself. Tommy had argued, of course. Said it wasn’t safe, that it should be a doctor. But you’d seen the way his jaw clenched when the word hospital left your mouth, the flicker of something haunted behind his eyes. Maybe he hated the thought of going back there just as much as you did. Maybe that’s why, after a long stare and a muttered curse, he finally relented.
You sat in front of the fireplace with a clean towel laid across your lap, the small surgical scissors set neatly beside it. Tommy hovered behind you, tense, arms crossed, while Finn fidgeted nervously beside you with a bottle of antiseptic and trembling hands.
“You sure about this?” Tommy asked for the fifth time, the tension in his voice betraying his calm exterior. He stood stiff behind you, arms crossed, brow furrowed with that ever-present concern he tried so hard to keep tucked behind his sharp edges.
“Positive,” you said firmly, though your voice came quieter now. You reached back to pull your hair aside, fingertips brushing over the row of delicate stitches near your scalp. The skin was still tender there, faintly bruised, the area around it pink and healing.
“Do it like I showed you,” you said gently to Finn, trying to inject some reassurance into your tone– for his sake more than yours.
Finn nodded, eyes wide with concentration as he held the small scissors in trembling fingers. His brows were drawn tight in focus, lips moving in a near-whisper as he muttered each step to himself like a prayer. “Just one snip… then the next… hold steady…”
His hands were gentle, careful, each movement slow and deliberate as he leaned in. The first snip made your jaw clench, a sharp tug of discomfort rippling through your scalp– but you didn’t flinch.
Tommy’s hand found your shoulder. It was solid and grounding. Not pushing, not pulling, just there. A quiet presence, steady as stone. His thumb brushed once against the fabric of your shirt, a silent question wrapped in the gentlest of touches: Are you alright? Do I need to stop this?
But you didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You were holding steady, and so was he.
Still, he didn’t move far. He hovered behind Finn like a sentry, sharp and still, his eyes locked on every movement with unrelenting focus. Watching every cut with hawk-eyed precision, his jaw clenched tight, shoulders taut with barely contained tension. His fingers twitched at his sides, like it was physically painful not to take the scissors himself. Like he was counting every heartbeat between snips, each one a test of his patience, his trust, his control.
Every breath you took, he tracked it. Every flinch, every wince, every flicker of discomfort in your face– he saw it all. And though he didn’t say a word, the protectiveness rolled off him like smoke from a slow burn. Fierce. Quiet. Unshakable.
The ordeal wasn’t painless. Some stings still made your eyes water, sharp and sudden, biting deeper than you expected. You clenched your jaw through them, fingers gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles ached. One stitch tugged too much and you cursed under your breath, a quiet hiss of pain slipping out before you could stop it.
Tommy’s hand tensed instinctively on your shoulder, his thumb brushing a soothing arc into your skin, like he wanted to absorb the sting himself. Finn froze for a second, eyes darting to Tommy’s, and you caught the flicker of panic in his face.
But you nodded, gave him a small, tight smile. “It’s alright, keep going.”
So he continued– slower this time, steadier.
It was bearable. But more than that, it was yours. Your threshold. Your moment. A quiet reclamation of something that had been taken from you, torn from you in the dark. You hadn’t had control over much lately, but this… this was something you got to choose. To do on your terms.
When the final stitch fell into Finn’s palm, he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. “That’s all of them,” he said quietly, pride and relief tangled in his voice.
You nodded, swallowing the thick lump in your throat. A faint sheen of sweat clung to your brow, your pulse thrumming in your ears. And for just a moment, your spine softened, your body leaning instinctively back against Tommy’s chest.
He caught you without hesitation, like he’d been waiting for it. His hand slid to your upper back, warm and solid, anchoring you in place. His other arm came around you gently, cradling you in a loose but protective hold, steadying you before you even realized you’d needed it. You let your head rest there for just a breath, just long enough to feel safe again.
…
Later that evening, the house felt warmer than it had in weeks– not just from the fire crackling in the hearth, but from something else. Something lighter. Something whole.
You were curled on the sofa with a cup of tea in your hands, the ache in your head a dull hum rather than a sharp throb. The tension that had clung to your shoulders for so long seemed to have loosened just a little, the heaviness in your ribs easing with each passing hour.
Across the room, Finn was in the middle of animatedly retelling the story to Arthur and John, hands gesturing wildly as he reenacted every snip of the scissors.
“And I held the scissors just like she showed me, right? And I made sure not to cut too close–.”
John leaned back, raising a brow. “And you’re proud of this, are you?”
Arthur barked out a laugh. “Jesus Christ. You really let an eleven-year-old near your head with a pair of scissors?”
You lifted a brow over the rim of your tea. “He’s nearly twelve.”
“Oh, well then,” Arthur deadpanned. “That makes it so much better.”
John nearly choked on his drink, grinning over the rim of his glass. “Thought you had more sense than that, Doc,” he teased. “We pegged you for the clever one.”
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your smile betrayed you.
“Next time,” John added, “just hand him a bone saw and tell him to take out your appendix out while he’s at it. Our Finn’s like a proper surgeon now.”
Tommy, leaning in the doorway with a cigarette between his fingers, exhaled slowly. “She insisted,” he said, his voice dry but laced with a quiet fondness.
Arthur gave a mock sigh, shaking his head. “Stubborn and reckless. She really does belong in this family.”
You chuckled softly, the sound settling in your chest like a balm. There was something comforting in the noise, in the way they bickered and teased and filled the room with something that almost felt like peace.
And God, how badly you wanted to belong to it. To all of it.
To the way Ada rolled her eyes fondly when Arthur got too loud, to Polly’s sharp glances that said more than most people could with words, to the way John always seemed to carry a joke on the tip of his tongue, even when the world was heavy. To the way Finn beamed under their praise, soaking in every bit of it like sunlight.
You wanted to be part of that rhythm, that mess, that strange, beautiful chaos that somehow still managed to feel like home.
A family bound not just by blood, but by something deeper. Something forged in the fire and hardened by loss. Something you’d never had before, not really.
And when you looked across the room– when your eyes met Tommy’s, still watching you through the curl of cigarette smoke, you knew he saw it, too. That want. That ache to belong.
His mouth curled slightly, barely-there, but just enough.
You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way his eyes softened. In the way his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for you. In the way he always had a place ready beside him, whether it was at the table, in a quiet room, or in the heart of everything that mattered.
Dinner was easy. Warm. Polly dished out stew and bread, filling everyone’s bowls with that same stern affection that made you feel more like a family than a gang. The table was cluttered with mismatched cutlery, chipped mugs, and laughter that carried through the cracks in the walls. It was the kind of evening that warmed the walls from the inside out. The fire had been stoked again, wine poured freely, and Polly had even allowed herself to lean back in her chair, half-smiling as Ada recounted something sharp and clever that had happened at work.
Now, everyone had settled into the living room, plates cleared, laughter lingering in the air like smoke.
Tommy stood near the mantle, a glass of whiskey in his hand, letting the quiet hum of conversation wash over him. He wasn’t speaking much. He didn’t need to.
His eyes were fixed across the room– on you.
You were curled on the couch, legs tucked up beneath you, a blanket draped across your lap. Arthur and John were telling some god awful story about a pub brawl years ago– half of it likely embellished, the other half completely fabricated, and you were laughing. Fully, properly laughing. Head tilted back slightly, eyes squinting, a hand pressing gently to your ribs from the lingering soreness, but laughing all the same.
And just like that, a knot inside his chest loosened.
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it there for so long, weeks now, maybe longer. The weight of watching you fight through the pain, through the nightmares, through the quiet moments when you thought no one saw you falter. He’d been bracing for the worst, living half on edge since the day he carried you out of that basement.
But now, watching you smile like that– he felt something soften inside him.
It wasn’t just relief. It was gratitude. Fierce and quiet and overwhelming.
His fingers tightened slightly around his glass, anchoring himself to the present moment. To the sound of your voice mingling with his brothers’. To the way your eyes lit up when you leaned toward Finn to nudge him with some teasing remark. To the way you fit here, like you always had, like you always would.
Polly caught his gaze from across the room. Didn’t say anything. Just raised her glass slightly and gave him a knowing look.
Tommy finally wandered into the room, quiet and unassuming as ever, settling beside you on the arm of the couch. He didn’t say much, just let his hand brush gently over your shoulder before placing a light kiss to the top of your head. You leaned into him instinctively, your body curling closer beneath the weight of his touch. That small contact settled something in you again, like a thread stitching itself back in place.
Later, after everyone had gone home, and the house had settled into a quieter hum, you stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking out into the now-empty living room. The fire was a soft glow now, flickering low. Tommy was there, leaning back in his armchair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his shirt a little rumpled from the evening.
You walked toward him, barefoot and tired, but lighter than you had been in weeks. He looked up when you approached, reaching out a hand without saying a word.
You took it. He pulled you into his lap, arms curling around your waist, your legs folding into the side of the chair as you rested your head against his shoulder. His fingers found your ribs, just above where the bruises used to be, his touch featherlight, reverent.
“No headache tonight?” he murmured, voice low against your temple.
You shook your head, your fingers playing gently with the buttons of his shirt. “No. Not tonight.”
“Good,” he said, and you felt the tension slip from his body, just a little. “That’s good.”
You sat like that for a while, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. No ghosts. No shadows. Just warmth and breath and the slow, steady rhythm of healing.
When he finally carried you to bed, you didn’t flinch. You just let yourself lean into him, safe and at ease in his arms.
The room was dark except for the glow from the hallway, and he didn’t bother switching on a light. He set you down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as you slid beneath the covers. He climbed in behind you, settling in close, wrapping an arm around your middle like it was second nature now.
You melted into the warmth of him, your head resting against his chest, your fingers idly toying with the fabric of his shirt. You were already slipping into sleep, eyelids heavy, breath steady, when you thought you heard it– something quiet, barely above a whisper.
“Marry me.”
You didn’t move, didn’t respond. Maybe he hadn’t even said it at all. Maybe it was just the echo of some distant dream, a thread of longing spun into the quiet.
But the words lingered in your mind, warm and weightless, curling beneath your ribs.
Marry me.
Your heart fluttered, soft and full. You imagined it– what it might feel like to be his wife. To belong to him in every way. To wear his name like a promise, to wake up every day and fall asleep every night beside him, knowing you were his, and he was yours.
The thought settled gently around you, a hazy comfort.
And as sleep pulled you under, you let yourself believe it– just for tonight.
…
You woke the next morning to a soft, hazy light creeping in through the curtains. You were still curled against him, his hand resting over your stomach, breath slow and even beside you.
That dream– you remembered it now, vague and hazy around the edges. You’d dreamt of him holding you close, whispering something warm against your ear, something that made your chest ache even now. God, you’d dreamt that he asked you to marry him. It had felt so real. So impossibly soft. You’d drifted off with that wish pressed into your bones, aching in your chest long after sleep took you.
For a moment, you just watched him.
The early morning light filtered faintly through the curtains, casting a soft glow over his features. His lashes rested against his cheeks, long and dark, the faintest shadow of stubble dusting his jaw. That familiar crease between his brows lingered, even in sleep– a quiet reminder of the weight he always carried, even when the world was silent.
You let your eyes trace him, every line, every detail etched into your memory. The curve of his mouth, the slight parting of his lips, the way one hand still rested possessively at your waist beneath the blanket, fingers curled as if he feared you might disappear in the night.
Your heart ached with something quiet and full– something that swelled in your chest, too tender to name. And then, gently, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Soft. Careful. Reverent.
His lips twitched beneath yours, just slightly.
You smiled faintly to yourself and kissed him again, just a whisper against the edge of his jaw, where his stubble grazed your skin. Then a third, slower kiss to the hollow just below his cheekbone. You could smell the faint trace of smoke still clinging to him, the warmth of his skin beneath your lips.
Another kiss, featherlight and lingering at the corner of his mouth again, and this time you felt his breath catch, subtle, but there.
His hand shifted at your waist, fingers flexing lightly. His brow twitched. Then his eyes opened, just barely.
“Morning,” you whispered.
Tommy blinked slowly, still pulling himself into wakefulness. “Morning.”
You hesitated, then gave a small, sleepy smile.
Tommy shifted beside you, then, groaning softly as he wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you gently into his chest, burying his face against your neck. You laughed under your breath as your hands found his shoulders.
Then his voice came, low and gruff from sleep, brushing against your skin.
“You know,” he murmured, “how you mentioned not being part of this family last week.”
You stilled slightly, eyes lifting as your heart kicked in your chest. His arms tightened around you just a little, and he leaned back enough to look at you properly, his hair tousled, eyes heavy-lidded but clear now. Focused. Sure.
“I want you to be,” he said simply, earnestly. “I want you to marry me.”
You stared at him, lips parting, breath catching in your throat.
And then, after a long beat, you whispered, “Wait… did you ask me that last night?”
Tommy let out a quiet, sheepish chuckle, brushing his fingers through your hair.
“I did,” he said. “You were half-asleep, barely conscious.”
Your heart thudded, full to the brim.
“I thought I’d dreamt it,” you murmured, eyes searching his. “I thought I just wanted it so badly it bled into my dreams.”
Tommy’s hand cradled your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek.
“Well,” he said softly, lips curling faintly, “lucky for you, you’re the one person I don’t mind repeating myself for.”
Your breath hitched softly at his words, a small laugh catching in your throat– half disbelief, half emotion.
His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of you in this exact moment.
Then he shifted, just slightly, just enough to sit up a little straighter, one hand still cupping your face while the other slid to rest over your heart, grounding and steady.
“I want you with me,” he said quietly, the weight of his words filling the soft hush of the room. “Not just in this house. Not just in my bed. I want you beside me in everything. Always.”
You swallowed, lips parting– but no words came. Your eyes burned again, but this time it wasn’t fear or shame or pain. It was warmth. Fierce, aching love.
“Marry me,” he murmured.
You stared at him, heart pounding so hard it was all you could hear.
“I don’t have a ring yet,” he added, a flicker of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. “But I’ll get one. Hell, I’ll get ten if you want.”
You let out a tearful laugh, your hand sliding up to rest over his where it still cupped your cheek. “Tommy…”
“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, steady as stone. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”
There wasn’t a question anymore– there didn’t need to be. You leaned forward slowly, resting your forehead to his.
“Yes,” you whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
His eyes slipped closed for a moment, his jaw flexing slightly like he was anchoring himself in the sound of it. Then he pulled you in, into a kiss that wasn’t urgent or rushed, just full. Full of everything he didn’t have the words for.
When he pulled back, his smile was small but real. “I still think you’ll be the death of me,” he said quietly, voice rough with affection. “But at least I’ll die happy.”
…
The rest of the morning passed in a dreamlike haze, full of quiet smiles and lingering touches, kisses that never quite felt long enough, and soft murmurs exchanged between warm sheets. You couldn’t stop catching his gaze, couldn’t stop replaying his words in your mind. It didn’t even feel real yet.
By evening, the house was humming with life again.
Tommy had insisted on hosting everyone for dinner– “just a quiet night,” he’d said. But the long table in the dining room was anything but quiet now.
The scent of roasted meat, garlic, and freshly baked bread filled the air, wafting from the kitchen where a special meal had been prepared, “proper food,” as Arthur had called it with a grin when he’d first walked in. Every detail was taken care of, cloth napkins, polished silverware, flickering candlelight softening the room. It was simple, but elegant in that unspoken Shelby way, comfort laced with pride.
Laughter bounced off the walls before dinner even hit the table. John and Arthur had already started in with their usual antics, arguing over which one of them could drink more before the food came out, while Finn, still with a boyish grin, tried to referee and ended up getting teased by both.
Ada lounged with a glass of wine in hand, her legs tucked up beneath her as she rolled her eyes at her brothers but smiled all the same. Esme had made herself comfortable near Polly, the two women deep in conversation about something that made Polly raise a brow and shake her head in mock disapproval.
Tommy had kept a steady eye on everything all evening, but not in the usual watchful way. Tonight, there was something softer about him– something looser in his shoulders, more content in the set of his jaw. His hand never strayed far from yours, brushing your back as he passed behind you, pulling your chair out, filling your glass. His touch lingered. Like he couldn’t quite believe it either.
The food was passed around the table– platters heaped with roasted vegetables, bowls of buttery potatoes, glistening meats carved and served with care. Everyone talked over each other, laughing between bites, telling stories from the week. You couldn’t remember the last time the house had felt so full, so light, so alive.
And then, just as plates began to empty and the noise reached its comfortable peak, Tommy stood.
The room quieted almost instinctively– half out of habit, half out of curiosity.
He held his glass in one hand, his gaze sweeping across the table, but his eyes landed last, and longest, on you.
“Thank you all for being here,” he said, his voice even, but there was a note of warmth there that wasn’t always present when he addressed a room.
There were a few murmured 'of course' and 'always' in return, but Tommy raised his glass slightly higher.
“I wanted to host a proper celebration,” he added, his voice steady now, but touched with something unspoken. His gaze locked with yours. “In honor of my soon-to-be wife.”
A stunned hush passed over the table for only a moment– then it erupted.
John let out a loud whoop, raising his glass in the air so quickly he nearly sloshed it onto Esme. Arthur stood up halfway just to reach across and thump Tommy on the back.
“’Bout bloody time!” he grinned.
Polly gave you the kind of look that said I knew before either of you did, and raised her glass elegantly with a soft smile. Ada’s grin was wide, genuine, her eyes flicking between you both with open warmth. Finn, cheeks flushed and grinning ear to ear, looked like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to clap or not– but did anyway.
The table echoed with toasts and laughter, glasses clinking, voices overlapping with well-wishes and teasing jabs, but all you could do was look at Tommy. At the way he looked at you like you were the only one in the room.
Somewhere down the table, Ada leaned toward Polly, her voice low but not nearly quiet enough to go unheard.
“Well, I suppose we’ve got a wedding to plan now.”
Polly gave a small, approving nod, sipping from her glass. “Not suppose, Ada, we do. And if it’s going to be done, it’ll be done properly.”
Ada grinned, eyes glinting. “Properly, meaning you’ll take over and boss everyone around.”
Polly didn’t even blink. “Exactly.”
You caught the exchange, a laugh slipping out before you could help it. Polly glanced at you knowingly, lifting her glass again with a subtle wink that only made you smile wider.
Tommy’s hand slipped beneath the table, finding yours again, lacing your fingers together like he’d done it a thousand times before.
And as the table buzzed with talk of dates and dresses and where the hell they were going to seat this person and that one, you leaned in just a little closer to him, the sound of his quiet laugh brushing your ear.
It was chaos. Loud and unfiltered and so beautifully full.
“Cheers,” he said softly, just for you.
You didn’t speak, just smiled, eyes shining, and squeezed his hand back.
And for the rest of the night, even as laughter carried on and stories were told and another bottle of wine was passed around, that moment stayed etched between you.
A quiet promise in the middle of the noise.
A beginning wrapped in warmth.
Henry Cavill |Pietro Maximoff Fics @pietroxreader - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
