#Ada Thorne

[erotic-fvneral]

Ada Thorne Shelby (Peaky Blinders)

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Words: 9.5k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Yearning, Tommy being a grump, Rory being adorable, smut

You're back home in Birmingham, recovering and getting ready for another wedding. This chapter is all comfort, yearning and smut. Then, we're back to the gas pedal as the Changrettas emerge. Enjoy!

It had been three weeks. Three calm, steady weeks, something you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until it finally settled in around you like a blanket in the cold. 

You were still sequestered in Tommy’s room, but this time, you didn’t mind. The walls no longer felt like prison bars. The sheets no longer smelled foreign. And the silence was no longer the kind that came before the storm. It was peace, or something close to it.

That first week, Tommy tried hard not to leave the house. Outwardly, he acted like it was nothing, cool and composed. He made it seem like he just happened to have a few things to sort through at home. But you weren’t blind. You saw the way he moved a little slower in the mornings, how he lingered at the door longer than necessary. The way he'd straighten his cufflinks at the window just so he could steal glances at you from the corner of his eye.

Instead of rushing off to the betting shop early as he had in the past, he started bringing work home, ledgers, contracts, letters he dictated to someone named Lizzie, but insisted on reviewing himself. He set up at the desk in the corner of the bedroom, always within reach but pretending not to hover.

You’d pretend too, for his sake, closing your eyes and letting him believe you were sleeping while he sorted through papers, the quiet scratch of his pen the only sound between you. But you felt him. You felt the way the air shifted when he looked up from his work just to make sure you were still there.

Those early mornings had been hard. It didn't take long once you woke up for nausea to cramp your stomach, send you scrambling off the bed to the basin kept at your bedside for that purpose. Most days, it was just bile. You'd be sitting there on your knees, shaking and trying to get your stomach to calm. 

And Tommy... he stayed. There he was helping you off the floor, ready with a glass of water. It would be mere minutes before one of the maids would come in to retrieve the basin for washing, another came in with a tray with a light breakfast, served quietly like you were someone special. It hadn't taken you long to figure out that if you didn't at least try to eat something, he was just going to keep hovering. 

When encouragement alone wasn't working, and you were trying, he started bargaining with you. Tommy knew you wanted to get back into the world to see Small Heath again, to visit your mother or Rory. He didn't need to remind you of everything that had happened before. No one said much to you about it but the last people heard, you'd been handed over to the Shelbys on a coin toss. Then you just disappeared. Your stepfather beat your mother severely, and then she disappeared. Whatever had been done to your stepfather, and you knew neither Tommy nor Rory were telling you that, people saw something or heard about it. Rumors grew of what a mistake it was to cross the Shelby family. Then Rory became a Blinder, and tongues had to be wagging over that. 

You knew all of that. But Tommy would still reiterate how you weren't safe after all of that. Not until the wedding was announced and all of Birmingham found out that you weren't fair game. You were marrying the king of the city. You weren't safe until that was known, until you were protected by his name and his ring on your finger. Then he'd point out that the wedding could take place as soon as you were back on your feet. 

“Just a little,” he’d say in that low voice, nodding towards the tray that had been brought for you. “Once you've got something down, you'll feel better.”

Like he'd ever been pregnant before.  

But, damn him, he was right. By the end of the first week, the nausea wasn't an all-day affair any longer. The early morning nausea wasn't as bad either, but still there some mornings. Tommy always stayed right there just long enough to make sure something had stayed down. Then, and only then, would he head to the betting shop or whatever meeting waited for him. And that was after Polly shooed him out the door with one of her trademark sighs.

“She’s not going to wilt the moment you’re gone, Thomas,” she’d scolded more than once.

He didn’t argue. But you saw the look he gave Polly every time. That wariness in his eyes that hadn’t quite gone away since the day he carried you out of the church.

Nadya came by each day like clockwork. The woman was sharp-eyed and unbothered by anyone else’s authority in the house, not even Tommy’s. She looked you over and each time, she seemed a little more pleased with your progress. The grim expression she’d worn the first time she laid eyes on you, thin and hollow with worry, was easing. She still frowned at your weight, still clucked her tongue at hearing your appetite was faltering, but there was a new patience in her manner.

“It will come back,” she said once, almost gently, as she pressed a warm hand to your stomach. “The body remembers how to heal when it’s given the chance.”

Tommy never asked for a report in front of you, she always came by while he was off working. But you knew he spoke with her somewhere each day about your condition. Nadya would recommend fresh lemons for your water or tea to help ease the nausea so you could eat. The next day, they were served to you with every meal. 

But little by little, you were getting stronger.

You saw your mother each day and Rory most days, their visits helped you immensely. Your mother always came with something tucked under her arm, a bundle of mending from her shop, or some small project to keep your hands busy. She said it was for the sake of the shop, but you knew better. She knew you needed something to do, something to remind yourself that you were still useful. And you were grateful for it. 

Rory usually dropped by late in the day, just long enough to pull up a chair, arms crossed, easy as ever. He talked about fixing up the house where you’d both grown up, where he and your mother were living again, like it was a simple thing. Like reclaiming it would stitch up everything else.

“Got the roof looked at,” he said one afternoon, a little proudly. “They’re patchin' it up proper before the next winter sets in. Won’t have to worry about leaks.”

You looked at him carefully, fingers pausing where they smoothed a scrap of cloth in your lap. “Really?” you asked, softer. “You’re really okay out there?”

Rory gave you a look, one you recognized from when you were both much younger and he’d lie about a skinned knee just to keep you from worrying. But this time, there was no lie in it. Just a steady, quiet kind of certainty. “We’re good,” he said, nodding firmly. “Better than we’ve been in years.”

You exhaled slowly, grateful that your mother had healed and could do what she loved. Now she was protected by Tommy. You didn't know if anyone had come around asking questions, fodder for gossip. She wouldn't tell you that. But she'd never lack for money ever again, not if either you or Rory had any say. And Rory was doing well for himself. There was a satisfaction about him that you'd never seen before. Like he was now where he was always meant to be.

Rory nudged your foot gently with his boot, a crooked grin playing at his mouth. “House feels like ours again,” he said. “Feels like Dad’s still watchin' over it, somehow. Like it’s right.”

You blinked against the sudden sting in your eyes, swallowing hard. 

Rory never could leave a heavy moment alone for too long, and he added, "And you'd better get yourself well enough to come see it soon. Tommy’s not the only one expectin' you to listen to orders, y’know.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed quietly in your chest. To your mounting annoyance, Rory took every chance to drop some variation of the same warning, always casual, always with a smirk. “Eat somethin’. He’s already scary enough without you givin' him more reasons.” It was infuriating and endearing all at once. Rory, standing solidly behind Tommy’s back like a proper Blinder.

You raised a brow at him, lips twitching despite yourself. “What do you mean he’s scary?” you asked, voice light but curious. Before, yes, he'd terrified you. But now not at all.

Rory leaned back in the chair he'd dragged to your bedside, arms crossing over his chest like he was settling in to explain something you should’ve already known.“I mean he’s Tommy Shelby,” Rory said plainly. “The man carries a storm around with him. You can feel it when he walks into a room. And lately?” He gave a low whistle. “Lately it’s worse. Like he’s ready to tear the world apart if anyone so much as flinches wrong.”

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of the way your heart gave a little jump at the thought.

Rory’s gaze softened a little, catching the look on your face.“He’s not scary with you,” he added after a beat. “He’s careful... It's somethin' else to see.”

A small, unsure smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. You weren’t sure you deserved that kind of loyalty, from Tommy or from Rory. But you were starting to wonder if maybe… just maybe… you could try harder. You weren’t used to people looking out for you like that. It unsettled you a little. But it also warmed something inside you that you hadn't dared touch for a long time.

By the third week, thinking about Tommy’s hovering and Rory’s not-so-subtle suggestion, you’d started eating better. It wasn’t easy, not when the nausea still came and went like an unwanted visitor, but you made the effort. And Polly, ever sharp-eyed, noticed.

“Glad to see you takin’ better care of yourself, love,” she said one afternoon, pouring you tea with a certain approving glint in her eye. “You’ve got more than yourself to think about now.”

Tea with Polly became a ritual you looked forward to. Some days Ada came to visit from London, the baby balanced on her hip, bringing a brightness to the room that was hard to resist. She teased you gently, laughing about the joys and terrors of motherhood to come with dirty nappies, sleepless nights, and more love than you ever thought possible. And, slowly, you started looking forward to it too. You stopped seeing yourself as a girl caught between worlds and started imagining yourself as a mother. As his family.

It was during one of those easy afternoons that your mother arrived, flustered but smiling, a worn sewing basket in hand. You'd dressed today in one of Ada's dresses and came downstairs to the sitting room. A part of your efforts to get better. You straightened from your seat near the window, brushing crumbs from your lap.

“Mum? What’s all this?” you asked, eyeing the basket warily. 

Mary set the basket down carefully. “I’m here to measure you,” she said, her voice lighter than usual. “For all your new clothes and... your wedding dress.”

Shaking your head, you knew a moment of panic. “Mum, no. You don��t have to--”

She cut you off with a gentle look, the kind she used to give when you were small and stubborn.“It’s what Tommy wants.” Her hands stilled over the sewing kit. “He wants me to dress you like a proper lady in Birmingham. He’s paying for all of it.”

And knowing Tommy, he was also paying your mother very well for her efforts. 

Across the room, Polly and Ada exchanged a knowing glance. Ada’s smile softened, and Polly gave a tiny, approving nod, like they’d both known all along this day would come. It was a small thread of hope winding itself through you, and it had been a long time since you had any.

Now Tommy pulled you into his world, and he was dressing you for the part.

Ada grinned wide as she rocked her son gently. “He’s already started planning that wedding,” Ada said, winking. “Sounds like he’s planning a bloody royal coronation.”

That's when the realization hit you. It wasn’t just talk. Tommy wanted to marry you.  

Your mother opened her sewing kit, pulling out a measuring tape with trembling hands. She tried to keep you from seeing it, but you did. You saw the way her eyes were misting up.

“Stand up, love,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion that she was trying very hard to hide. “Let’s get these measurements before I get too weepy to see straight.”

You rose slowly, smoothing your hands down your borrowed dress, and suddenly felt the weight of the moment. As she worked, measuring your expanding waist, your arms, and the curve of your back, her fingers lingered longer than necessary, like she was committing every part of you to memory. Like this was a moment she never thought she'd get to see.

“I always dreamed of this,” she murmured as she measured your shoulders, her voice barely a whisper. “You, standing there, about to be a bride.” She glanced up at you, her smile wobbling but proud. 

You swallowed hard. Because you didn’t see it the way your mother did. You weren’t sure you were worthy of any of it, the protection, the future Tommy Shelby was giving you like it was something you deserved. Part of you still clung to the past, to the mistakes, to the weight of everything that had happened. You didn’t feel like someone to be cherished. So much of what happened had been your fault.

But your mother was happy and hopeful. So you didn’t say anything, you just smiled, and let her have it.

“I just wish Malachy could’ve been here to see it,” she said after a moment, her voice thick with old grief. “He would’ve been so proud of you, love.” The tape slid from her hands for a moment, and her fingers brushed your arm in a mother’s steadying touch, stronger than the ache that lingered between words left unsaid.

From the window, Polly made a small noise, half sigh, half huff, as if to clear the lump from her own throat. “He sees it, Mary,” Polly said, her voice rough but certain. "A man like that, a father like that... he’s watchin’. Probably threatening Tommy from the afterlife to make damn sure he doesn’t screw it up.”

Ada snorted a laugh that she tried to smother against the baby’s hair. You had to laugh too. Somehow Polly made even the unbearable parts lighter.

Polly crossed the room with a purpose, snatching the tape measure from where your mother had set it down. “We’re not stoppin’ there, mind you.” She flicked the tape against your hip lightly, the way a woman might swat a child with a dishtowel, affectionate but commanding. “We’ll need the finest silk Birmingham’s got. And lace. Real lace. None of that cheap rubbish.”

Ada grinned over the top of the baby’s soft hair. “Better pick quick,” she said, teasing you. “Won’t be long before you’re really showin', and Tommy won’t want to wait.”

“Mark my words,” Polly added, her eyes dancing as she turned back to you. “He’ll want you married proper and soon. Before he has to commission a second gown to fit around that belly.”

The laughter that rose around you was warm, filling up a space inside you that had been empty for far too long. It wasn’t the perfect story you’d imagined once, long ago. It was rough around the edges, messy, and marred by everything you and Tommy had survived.

But it was yours.

It was then that you realized you weren’t as scared anymore. You weren’t just surviving anymore. You were wanted and loved. And soon, the whole bloody world was going to know it.

Your mother finished adjusting the fabric around your waist, then set her hands lightly on your shoulders. She stood there a moment, looking at you, not the dress, not the measurements, but you. “You’re gonna be beautiful, love,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Now let’s get to work,” she said with a wink, reaching for the fabric.

Tommy didn’t lift his head from the papers spread across his desk, but his pen stilled over the ledger. He’d been aware, keenly aware, that Arthur, John, and Rory hadn’t been talking about business for the past several minutes. Their voices had dropped, gone casual in a way that always signaled some topic not meant for the boss’s ears. He didn’t miss the way Rory’s glance kept sliding toward the door, or how John shifted in his chair, restless.

It was an improvement over the conversation about Angel Changretta. John had spent a good ten minutes growling about the Italian prick, voice sharp, words laced with venom. He’d rattled off a dozen reasons why he hated the man from his suits and hair, to the way the man talked and smiled. But none of it rang true. The real problem, the one John wouldn’t say, was that Lizzie Stark was seeing him. And John, even though he was still married to Esme, was jealous.

And then he heard his girl's name. His knuckles tightened around the pen. But still, he said nothing. Tommy learned a long time ago that some truths you had to let come to you. 

Then Arthur’s voice broke through, rough and unceremonious, dragging Tommy’s full attention like a hook under the ribs. “She’s lookin’ better,” Arthur said, tossing it out like a simple fact, but his gaze was steady. “Carried that sewing machine down to the sitting room all by herself yesterday. Smilin’, even.”

Without a word, he rose from the desk. He didn’t bark orders or look back. Just moved with that quiet, deliberate force that made men shift out of his way without thinking.

Behind him, he caught Arthur’s voice muttering low to John and Rory. "Christ, why’d I open my mouth..."

Tommy didn’t slow or even acknowledge then. Worried? Aye, he was. The thought of her overexerting herself, of risking her health and the child’s, twisted something sharp and brutal in his gut.

But beneath the worry, there was something else. Anger. Not the kind that burned wild and reckless. No, this was colder, deeper. Not directed at her, but at the world that had forced her to think she had to prove herself. To make herself useful. Even now and after he'd told her he wanted her to focus only on getting well.

She should’ve known she didn’t have to lift a bloody finger. She could’ve asked. He would’ve carried that heavy machine wherever she wanted it himself.

The last three weeks had been a slow kind of torture. Oh, things were better. She was back home, sleeping In his bed next to him, curled against his side with one hand curled protectively over her growing belly. She ate, if reluctantly and smiled sometimes. 

It was worse those first few mornings. The first time he saw her doubled over, hovering over the basin Polly found, he'd had to step into the hall for a minute. Not because he was angry or disgusted. Because he was helpless. He could command armies of men with a glance, could order blood to spill and cities to kneel. But he couldn’t do a damn thing to make this easier for her, to make her better. And it hollowed something out in him.

She’d wake up trembling, sometimes not even able to sit up without help. He learned early not to speak too quickly, not to crowd her. He'd just sit beside her, offering a cloth for her forehead, a hand at her back when she was sick. Sometimes, he sat behind her, letting her lean back into him. He'd started hearing from Polly that the sickness was going away during the day, and over the last few days, there were a couple of mornings when she wasn't sick at all. Polly told him that morning sickness usually didn't last the entire pregnancy and Ada, now that she was speaking to him again, backed up her statement.

It should’ve been enough to steady him. But it wasn’t. Every time he looked at her, Tommy saw the wreckage he’d caused. And for all his careful planning, all his power, he couldn’t undo it. 

Tommy hadn't slept much, even when she slept peacefully beside him. He hadn’t trusted anyone else to look after her, so he brought paperwork upstairs, spread ledgers and shipment manifests across the big oak desk in his bedroom, pacing between figures and the slow rise and fall of her breathing. He told himself it was about her health and that of the baby.

But deep down, he knew the truth. He couldn’t stand the thought of her needing him and him not being there.

And every day, as the shadows under her eyes faded, her body began filling out, and the little life they made grew stronger inside her, he knew he was more hers now than he'd ever been his own.

The chilly slap of winter's last wind caught his coat as he crossed the courtyard toward the house, boots hitting the stone with deliberate strides. Tommy pressed his palm flat to the mansion’s front door for a beat, steadying himself, before pushing it open. The weight of it all pressing against him, love, protectiveness... frustration. It wasn’t just about the sewing machine. It was about her mindset.

The door swung open with a quiet groan. Inside, the house was warm, firelight flickering along the dark wood paneling, casting soft gold over the walls. Voices drifted faintly from somewhere upstairs, likely Polly going about her day. He hung up his coat and cap, listening to the sounds of his household.

But it was the low, steady whir of the sewing machine that pulled Tommy’s gaze toward the sitting room. He found her there. Sitting by the front window where the afternoon light poured in, her head bent over the fabric, hands moving carefully, methodically. The damned machine sat like a stubborn old soldier between them, ticking and humming like it remembered it was alive.

She hadn’t seen him yet, wearing a dress he thought Polly had altered for her newly changing figure. Now he realized it was more likely she'd done it herself. It fit her lightly now, soft at the waist. She was still thinner than he wanted, but she looked a little more vibrant each day. The set of her shoulders was more relaxed than it had been when she returned.

Tommy blew out an exhale, battling relief and fury. There was maybe a little pride in there too that he couldn't have untangled if he tried. He stood there for a long moment, unnoticed. Just watching her. And then, because he couldn’t fucking help himself, he crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, the floor creaking under his boots.

She looked up sharply at the sound, eyes wide, then softening. It was that shy, unsure smile blooming across her lips. It nearly knocked him off his feet.

He stopped a few feet from her, voice low and rough with all the things he wasn’t saying. "You are supposed to be restin’."

She blinked up at him from the sewing machine, hands still resting lightly on the fabric. "I was resting," she said, almost sheepishly. "And then I wanted to finish this while the sun was still up."

She sounded defensive, but not afraid. It was an important distinction Tommy didn't miss. Still, he stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like he was approaching a skittish colt.

"Carrying that damn machine down the stairs?" he asked, a little firmer than he intended. "You could've called someone. You could’ve bloody well waited." It wasn’t anger lacing his voice. No, it was worry, stripped raw and sharp-edged.

Her smile faltered. "I didn't want to bother anyone," she murmured, glancing down. "Especially not since you're all doing so much for me every day."

Tommy crouched slightly in front of her, one hand braced lightly on the edge of the table beside the machine. "You're not a bother," he said firmly. "Not to me. Not to any of us... You're carrying my child. That makes you the most important person in this house."

Her eyes welled, but she blinked fast, looking away like she was trying not to make it worse. Tommy’s fingers reached out, gently gripping her chin and turning her face back to look at him. 

"Your life is different now," he said, quieter now but his frustration still bled out. "You don’t have to do everything by yourself or struggle. You don't have to work long hours to survive. Do you understand? As my wife, you're only concern is taking care of our children and--"

Tommy stopped himself before he could say it. Me. If he had said it, she would have taken it mean he expected her to be a good wife, supportive. And he did. But that's not where that thought ended and he needed to get those urges under control right now. He had to remind himself he couldn't have her right now.

He redirected his thoughts back to the other side of the problem. How she saw herself fitting into a new life. The weight of it, all the years she’d spent surviving with her mother and brother, settled between them. But Tommy wasn’t afraid of that weight. He meant to carry it.

She opened her mouth, maybe to apologize again, but he shook his head.

"No more sorries," he said roughly. "Do what I tell you. Just let me look after you. Yeah?"

She nodded then, looking contrite.

Tommy straightened slowly, tracing his fingers over your cheek. Motioning to the machine, he smirked. "Finish that," he said. "Then you’re finished for the day. Orders from the top."

And somehow, her soft laugh, eased the tension flooding him just a little. 

Tommy lingered there for a moment longer, watching her fingertips brush lightly over the fabric she’d been working on. The stubborn little crease between her brows was gone and her shoulders were relaxed now. Maybe he'd been a bit harsh, showing up like this. Maybe he should have trusted her to know her own limits.

But then again... maybe a reminder wasn't the worst thing. She needed to know nothing she did, not a stitch, not a sigh, escaped him. And if it made her think twice next time, made her more willing to lean on him instead of trying to carry the world alone, then maybe he'd start sleeping again. 

Nadya tapped lightly on the bedroom door before letting herself in, her satchel tucked under one arm. A wide smile already spread across her weathered face as she looked at you.

You had just finished a nap. You were sleepy all the time now. You shifted on the edge of the bed, trying to sit a little straighter. There was something about her presence, earthy and steady, that made you want to be stronger.

"You look better," she said, approval clear in her tone even before she set the bag down. "Your weight is better. There's more light in your eyes."

You smiled. You had fought for this recovery. Every mouthful of food that stayed down, every slow, careful walk down the hall, every quiet afternoon stitching dresses your mother and Polly brought to you by the basketful.

You were careful, though. Careful not to work late enough for Tommy to catch you still sewing. If he did, or if he even suspected you’d been there for hours, he’d assume the worst. Best case? He’d crouch down beside your chair, his voice low but firm, lecturing you with that razor-edged concern he couldn’t quite hide anymore. Worst case? He wouldn’t say anything at all. He’d just get quiet and that heavy, brooding sort of silence filled the whole room like smoke. And somehow, somehow, that was always worse.

So you were cautious. You were stronger now. But you were also smart enough to know that Tommy's patience, when it came to you, wasn't a bottomless well. It was a fierce, fragile thing, and you treasured it.

Nadya examined you. She checked your vital signs, your tummy, feeling for signs that everything inside was progressing the way it should. You held your breath without meaning to until Nadya’s mouth tugged into a small, approving smile.

"You’ve been doing everything I asked," she said, nodding with satisfaction. 

Your tension eased a little after hearing her assessment.

"You keep this up," Nadya added, straightening, "and you’ll be ready for that wedding soon enough."

Wedding. The word landed differently now than it had weeks ago. It felt less like a noose, more like a promise. You managed a small smile, though your heart thudded unevenly. Because ready or not... it was coming. And this time, you would walk toward it with your head held high. Or try to.

Once she was done, Nadya sat back in the chair beside the bed. She watched you for a long moment, weighing something. Then, with a small smirk, more sly than kind, she said in Romani-accented English, “You may resume relations with your husband... when you're ready.”

That had heat rushing to your cheeks. “I...” you stammered, looking anywhere but at her. "He'd probably be afraid he'd break me or something..."

Nadya chuckled, tucking everything into her bag. "Not for long. A man like that one... He looks at you like a starving man."

She laughed again when you buried your face in your hands.

“Best get your rest while you can, little one,” she said, winking as she headed for the door. “You’ll need it.”

And with that little parting shot, Nadya headed for the door, leaving you flustered but with some things to think about.

Tommy’s pen stilled again, tension bleeding into his shoulders as Arthur and John hovered outside his office, whispering like a pair of schoolboys afraid to poke a bear. Finally, with a sharp sigh, he barked, “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Arthur shifted uneasily, glancing at John like he was hoping his younger brother would do the talking. John didn't disappoint.

"Look, Tom," John said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. "We know the weddin’s close. Couple weeks, yeah? But at the rate you're going... you’re not gonna make it three more days. None of us fuckin' are."

Tommy had no patience for this. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"

Arthur opened his mouth, stalled as they walked into his office, and John just powered through, blunt as ever. "She's carrying your kid, mate. Pregnant women... they can still do things, you know? Put a man out of his misery."

Arthur winced like he'd been struck. John gave him a look that said what?

And that was exactly the moment Rory strolled in through the door, having caught just enough to stiffen like he’d been slapped. 

"The fuck did you just say about my sister?" Rory snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he marched right up to John. "Eh?"

Arthur put his hands up immediately, stepping between Rory and John. "Easy, lad. It’s not like that."

Rory’s eyes burned into John’s, jaw clenched tight. And while John would tell anyone he wasn't afraid of taking on Rory, his body language said otherwise. Rory grew more fearless and dangerous by the day.

John, for once, looked like he was regretting his lack of filter. "What I meant," John said quickly, "is that it’s...natural. Happens all the time. I should know, I've got four kids and one on the way. When the missus is far enough along and feelin' better, sometimes a man--" He caught Arthur’s glare and wisely shut his mouth.

Tommy, behind the desk, simply leaned back in his chair, his arms folding slowly across his chest, watching the chaos he hadn't even had to cause this time. Just watched Rory fuming and Arthur trying to calm him and John trying, badly, to explain himself. Watching them, he didn't feel anger or even irritation. It was something closer to... relief.

Even with all the chaos, the sharp edges and raised voices, the display of loyalty pleased him. Rory, stepping in like a man ready to throw fists for his sister’s honor. Arthur, clumsy but trying to defend her too. John, an idiot sometimes, but with the right heart underneath all that roughness. His family. His girl’s family now too. And it grounded him more than he wanted to admit. As he sat there behind the desk, he realized he wasn’t holding everything up by himself. What if he was allowed to look forward to the life they were building instead of constantly bracing for it to fall apart?

Still... he wasn’t about to let them see that softness. 

Clearing his throat sharply, he said, deadpan, "John, shut your mouth before the lad finishes what he started."

Arthur laughed, Rory huffed but stepped back, and even John gave a sheepish grin. And just like that, the tension broke.

Tommy felt something like hope. The kind of hope that scared a man like him more than any gun ever could. He'd always had something to lose, his own family, who were worth more than money, power, or even reputation. Now his family was expanding. The girl he loved and the child he hadn't even met yet. He had a brother-in-law who would bleed for him. He had a mother-in-law who looked at him like he was a decent man, even when he didn't believe it himself.

All of them mattered more than anything he’d fought for in Small Heath. He would burn the whole bloody world down before he let anyone take it away from him.

It was almost sunset, and he decided to call it an early day, grabbing his coat and cap and heading out of the betting shop. 

"Think about what I said!" John called after him. 

How could he bloody not think about it? 

As his girl regained her strength, his mind dove straight into the gutter. It had literally been months since he'd last had her, and no one but himself to blame. But his needs had started bleeding in far more often than he would like. Memories of when they'd been together, so many dirty thoughts of what he wanted to do with her. And as the days stretched on, with the added worry of returning her to health and the wedding coming up, Tommy knew he'd been the devil to deal with over the last couple of weeks to everyone, sometimes even a little impatient with her when he didn't need to be.

He found Nadya where she normally was at this time of day, enjoying a spot of tea in the shop her brother owned. Tommy leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded loosely across his chest, watching as Nadya packed away the last of her tools into her battered leather satchel. She glanced up, those sharp Romani eyes narrowing slightly in amusement.

"You wanted to confirm it with me, didn’t you?" she said, snapping the bag shut with a definitive thud.

Tommy’s brow furrowed, the faintest crease between his eyes. "Confirm what?"

Nadya smiled, a sly knowing smile that made him feel like a boy caught stealing sweets from a market stall.

"I told her today," she said casually, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "She’s well enough now. Even for those activities."

Tommy's face didn’t move, working hard at not reacting to her words. His body was a different story. "You think I need your permission for that?" he asked coolly.

"No," Nadya said simply, brushing past him toward the hall. She stopped, turning her head to pin him with a look both maternal and amused. "You’ve been patient with her. But you don't have to treat her like glass anymore."

Tommy stayed in the doorway a moment after she left, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. He could move carefully, quietly, plan every step a man took toward power and survival. But when it came to her, no plan had ever been enough. No timing ever perfect. No strategy ever foolproof.

He’d waited because she mattered more than anything else. Because her safety, her strength, her heart, they were worth more than the world he’d built with blood and iron.

And now, Nadya had taken away the excuse he hadn’t even admitted he was clinging to. It wasn’t fear, but reverence. It was the awful, aching knowledge that she wasn’t just another piece of his life. She was his life. 

Tommy straightened slowly, the familiar weight of resolve sliding back into his bones like armor. Straightening his cap, he exhaled hard, and headed for the mansion. He had no intention of waiting another minute.

Your mother had just left, taking the mending she'd brought you yesterday with her, all finished. Her business was thriving now that she was out from under the cruel yoke of her second husband and it turns out she really did need your help to get it all done. On top of that, she'd brought the first set of dresses she'd made for you at Tommy's request. You hadn't tried them on yet but they looked exquisite and you were excited to wear them. 

Polly and Ada were gossiping about John and someone named Angel while you held baby Karl on your lap. You heart melted at the way he reached for your fingers, how he giggled when you bounced him on your knee. It made you think you couldn't wait to meet your own baby. Would it be a boy? A girl? Would he or she be a happy baby like Karl?

They would if you had any say in it. 

When you heard the front door close, you assumed it was Rory. When he came to visit you, it was usually around this time. But when you heard the heavy steps coming up the hall, you knew they weren't your brother's. They were Tommy's and he was home early. When he reached the sitting room, he didn't wander in like he was joining the conversation. He came to a stop, his intense gaze fixed on you, and the baby on your lap. You smiled at him but he wasn't returning it. Was something wrong?  

You barely had time to set Baby Karl back into Ada’s waiting arms before Tommy marched straight for you, his hand closing around yours, firm and insistent. Not rough, but not leaving room for argument either.

"Come with me," he said, low and urgent, his voice vibrating against your skin more than your ears.

You blinked up at him, your heart giving a little stutter. His coat was still damp from the light rain outside, hair slightly mussed, tie a little loosened like he hadn't bothered adjusting it properly. His blue eyes, sharp and stormy, barely moved to Polly and Ada in acknowledgment before fastening right back onto you.

Polly arched a brow, giving you a smile over the rim of her teacup. Ada, smirking slightly, jiggled Karl on her knee like she'd seen this coming.

You opened your mouth to ask what was going on, only to be gently but firmly tugged to your feet, your words swallowed by the suddenness of it. "Tommy--" you started.

"Later," he said under his breath. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, an unconscious gesture, almost soothing, but the iron in his grip said otherwise.

Whatever this was, he wasn’t playing. He didn’t wait for your protests or offer explanations, just steered you toward the hall and out of earshot. And then you were alone with him.The soft creak of the mansion’s stairs underfoot as he dragged you in the direction of the bedroom. The low thud of your heartbeat grew louder, but he didn’t let go until you reached the door, and even then, only to open it and guide you inside. When the door shut behind you with a quiet click, you finally found your voice again.

"Tommy, what’s--"

But the look in his eyes, dark, determined, a little wild around the edges, silenced you all over again. Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just stood there for a long moment, staring at you like he wasn’t sure how to start -- like the words were trapped somewhere deep in his chest, behind walls he usually never let anyone near.

You shifted slightly, nerves twisting tighter. “Tommy…?” you said, softer this time.

He moved then, two slow steps forward until he was standing close enough that you had to tip your chin up to hold his gaze. Close enough that you could feel the faint tremor of restrained energy radiating off him like heat.

“I talked to Nadya today," he said finally, voice rough-edged but steady.

You blinked, confused for a second, then your heart skipped a beat as the meaning caught up. “Oh,” you managed, your throat suddenly dry as you recalled her parting remarks.

“She said you’re well enough now... " His gaze moved over you, at the way your hands slid up his chest, and something inside him softened. Not enough to stop him from stepping closer though. Not enough to save you from the way his voice dropped lower, dangerous. “She said I don’t have to be afraid to touch you anymore.”

You swallowed hard. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I knew you needed time,” he went on, softer now. His hand lifted, slow and careful, tracing over your cheek. "You needed to heal. To choose me again, if you wanted to.," he said, thumb tracing the line of your jaw, feather-light. 

The words punched through you with devastating tenderness. Your voice trembled when you spoke. “I didn’t stop wanting you, Tommy.”

His breath hitched, a sharp, wrecked little sound. He leaned in, forehead brushing yours, and you heard the smile in his voice when he whispered. "Then marry me soon, eh, love? Before I lose my fucking mind."

And you smiled too, because now there was nothing between you and him but truth. He caught that smile with a kiss before it could slip away. He wasn't rough or urgent, but his kiss was deep, like he was anchoring himself to you all over again. His hands framed your face, strong but trembling slightly, like he was holding something breakable. You felt him breathing you in, savoring the moment, not rushing it. So much hunger thrumming just beneath the surface, and he fought it back so you'd know this wasn’t just about possession.

When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing raggedly. “You tell me no,” he rasped, “and I’ll stop. Right here."

But you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you reached for him, fisting your hands in the front of his vest, and pulled him into you.

That was all it took.

Tommy’s control shattered like glass underfoot. Gone was the measured restraint, the careful distance. In its place was pure, raw need. He swept you into his arms effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all. You barely had time to let out a breathless gasp before he was carrying you across the room. There was no more distance. No more doubt. Just Tommy and you, and everything waiting to be claimed.

Tommy set you down on the bed with a gentleness that didn’t match the fire in his eyes. His hands lingered at your waist, just holding you there for a moment, almost like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Then, slowly, he sank to his knees before you. Carefully, he tugged loose the laces and buttons of your dress with a patience that had your heart flying in your chest, making you ache. His hands trembled, moved carefully like each garment he pulled from you was something sacred. Tommy undressed you like he was unwrapping a gift he never thought he'd receive or deserve. And when you were bare before him, vulnerable and all his, he didn’t rush to take.

He took a moment to just gaze at you. His hands skimmed your hips, your thighs, your arms, everywhere with a slowness that set your nerves alight. Like he was memorizing you, tracing every inch he’d nearly lost, branding it to memory. His palms were warm and rough, a contrast that made you shiver under his touch.

"Jesus Christ,” he murmured, voice wrecked and raw, as his hands cradled your slightly swollen belly. His thumb brushed in slow, trembling strokes over your skin. “You're beautiful."

Tears stung the backs of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You didn’t want to cry right now. Not when he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

When he leaned up, pressing his mouth to your stomach with aching tenderness, you released the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. He breathed you in like a vow and all you could do was tremble, caught in the gaze of those ice-blue eyes. 

When Tommy finally moved to join you on the bed, it was slow and careful. He shed his own clothing without flourish. Shedding layers until it was only skin against skin, heat against heat. Pulling you up the bed, his body covered yours, but he didn't crush or overwhelm. He surrounded you, and you wound yourself around him like a vine. He was warm, his weight on you felt so good. 

"Tell me if I hurt you," he whispered fiercely against your ear. "Tell me and I'll stop."

You shook your head, breathless already. "You won't." You trusted him with everything.

Tommy kissed you again, slower this time, coaxing rather than claiming. His hands never stopped moving over your body, tracing your shoulders, your breasts. His heated lips followed after, teasing your nipples until they ached. His mouth blazed a trail down to your tummy, lower... When his mouth covered you, you sucked in a breath as your hands slid into his hair. No matter how much you begged, pleaded with him, he took his time with you. Your hands clutched in his hair, your back arching wildly, as he took a long taste of you, working you up. Just the sight of it would be burned into your mind for the rest of your life. The view of his head between your thighs, the way he was grinding himself into the mattress as he did. He kept you dancing on the tip of his tongue until you came, your breathy cries filling the room. And you were beyond any place where you were worried about who could hear. 

Your eyes were closed, you were just trying to breathe when he moved back up to you, his kiss smearing the taste of your own desire across your lips. His hands were running up and down your hips and thighs, short nails raking across your skin as he went. It sent chills through your body, had you trembling beneath him. It took you a moment to realize, he was trying to keep himself under control. 

You opened your eyes in time to see him take himself in hand, his knees pushing yours apart. Tommy started pushing into you and it stung at first, it had been a while. But he moved with such care, slow, watching your face the entire time for any sign of distress. When he reached the end of you, his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were squeezed shut like he was holding back the entire fucking world just to make this good for you.

"I've got you," he rasped. "I swear to God, I've got you."

Tommy started moving, slowly, capturing your hands with his, lacing his fingers through yours. Your thighs cradled his hips and he buried his face in your neck, brushing hot kisses in the hollow below your ear. His breath was hot on your skin and your heart pounded in time with his. 

"Saw you with Ada's baby in your arms," he rasped near your ear, making you shiver as he moved in you. "It was all I could do not to fucking come right then and there..." His thrusts were firm now, a little faster. "I can't fucking concentrate... Not with a piece of me growing inside you. You have any bloody idea what that fuckin' does to me?"

One hand slid between you, his fingers seaching through your folds until he found your clit, zeroing in on it with strokes that were maddeningly delicate. One hand free now and you just used it to hang onto him as he changed how he touched you, learning what took you apart when you didn't know yourself. 

"Once this child is born," he went on, his deep voice and dirty words pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion, "I'm going to breed you again. Fuck another baby into you... Keep you full of me... I want everyone to know... who you belong to."

You came again on his cock, his voice sending you flying this time. Your walls fluttering around him as he drove on inside you, filling you over and over. All you could do was hold on, your cries muffled into his shoulder. 

When he finally reached his end, a deep sob pulled from his chest. You loved seeing him like that, so lost in you that his eyes were closed, his full lips parted as his breath came in a rush along with yours. You held him, moving with him as he finally finished, pumping himself into you in a frenzy. 

Some minutes later you were dozing. Tommy rolled onto his back, gathering you against him without hesitation. He pulled you onto his chest like he needed you there to breathe. His hands didn’t stop moving, slow strokes down your spine, careful sweeps along your arms, his thumb brushing the back of your hand where it rested against his heart. You felt it beating, strong and steady beneath your palm. You wondered if he could feel yours too, wild and tender, tangled up in him.

For a long time, neither of you said a word, but the silence was safe and warm. Eventually, you shifted slightly to look up at him, your cheek still pressed against his skin. His eyes found yours instantly, and what you saw there-- it wrecked you. No walls or armor up, just him. 

You saw the question in his face before he could ask. "That felt wonderful," you whispered, needing him to hear it.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Good," he said hoarsely.

You rested there for a moment longer, feeling the way he tucked you even closer. His hand slipped to your stomach again, his thumb tracing lazy, absentminded circles over the faint curve. It made something inside you ache, soft and fierce all at once.

“You’re tired,” he murmured, voice lower now, rumbling against your ear.

You nodded slightly, unable to lie to him. It had been a long day, a beautiful one. But it had worn you thin.

Tommy shifted carefully, pulling the covers up around both of you. He moved you with him until you were fully tucked against his side, your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around you. You felt him settle, the tension drained from his body.

As you drifted, heavy and content, you heard his voice again, rough and tender, threading through the dark. “You’re my wife now. In every way that matters. And soon, you'll be mine by law... And no one’s ever takin’ you away from me again.”

It wasn’t a threat, but a truth. Pure and simple. As certain and unshakable as the earth beneath you.

You pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart where a ring of black sun rays were tattooed to his chest, and closed your eyes, letting sleep pull you under. You didn't have to run now, and you were no longer afraid.

You were exactly where you belonged.

You stirred slowly, the cool weight of morning pressing against your skin. For a moment, you were alone in the warm cocoon of sleep, until you shifted, and the faint sound of breathing, steady and controlled, reached your ears. Your heart skipped. When you turned your head slightly,  there he was. Tommy, fully dressed, perched at the edge of the bed like he had all the time in the world. His jacket slung over the chair. His cap on the bedside table. His elbows rested on his knees, head tipped slightly toward you, just watching.

You didn’t even think. Half-asleep, your hand reached blindly for the shirt he’d worn the night before, crumpled in the sheets, and pulled it on over your bare skin. It hung off you, swallowing you up, sleeves draping past your fingers.

When you glanced back at him, Tommy’s mouth twitched, the ghost of something darker and tender all at once glinting in his eyes. He didn’t say a word at first. Just let his gaze move over you, slow and possessive, like he was memorizing the sight.

“You love me yet, eh?” His voice was rough silk. A little cocky, but a little unsure. And it cut through the quiet of the bedroom like a match to kindling.

You gave a breathless little laugh, barely a sound, and pushed yourself up on your elbows, the shirt falling loose around your shoulders. 

Before you could answer that, he moved, pulling something from the pocket of his coat. It was a small black velvet box that he flipped open between his hands, holding it toward you. Inside, nestled against dark satin, was a shiny, new ring that was just beautiful in its simplicity. It was heavy gold framing a single deep emerald accented by a ring of tiny diamonds.

Tommy’s voice, when it came, was low. A little raw. “Marry me. Not ‘cause you owe me and not ‘cause of the child. Just because it’s you and me. And there’s no one else for either of us.”

For a second, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. And then, without thinking, without a doubt in your head, you just launched yourself into his arms. 

Tommy caught you with a grunt of surprise, one arm locking tight around your waist as you nearly knocked him backward on the bed. His other hand cradled the back of your head like something priceless. No  more hesitation or second-guessing. When you finally pulled back enough to see him, tears blurring your vision, you nodded fiercely. So hard it made him huff a quiet breath of laughter against your forehead.

Carefully, he slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking fingers, his thumb brushing your knuckles after like he didn’t want to let go. He kissed you then, slow and deep, taking his time. And when he finally broke the kiss, when he tucked you against him, holding you there like the last piece of something he never thought he’d have, he murmured against your hair. “Gonna need my shirt back, love.”

The smile that bloomed on your face hurt in the best way.

You were his. And somehow, impossibly, he was yours too.

@outlanderuniverse

@alyssajunelle

@gothic-chinadoll

@sparda1234

@mrsnms

@alexakeyloveloki

@theinheriteddutchess

@wiseyouthingluencer

@lovinglimerence

@goldensunflowe-r

@andydrysdalerogers

@hellfirehopeless

@wantedby-larry

[tragicsiblings]

Sophie Rundle as Ada Thorne | Peaky Blinders 6.03 "Gold"

[agentidiot]

more peaky + textposts or something

[zablife]

Shelby Christmas Spectacular

Summary: The Shelby family and their friends gather for a memorable Christmas party.

A/N: Written for @little-diable Chi's 17K celebration. Two lines in bold are borrowed from the Christmas scene in The Godfather. I admit I deviated from the x reader requirement so I hope that's okay. I wanted to find a way to honor all my moots' lovely OCs. (See the end for credits.) Fair warning this might be the worst thing I've ever written, but at least it was made with love 🤍

Warnings: drinking, cursing, mention of a weapon, mention of illness, hint of nsfw

Frances had been right suggesting the enormous Christmas trees in each room of the Shelby home. Something in her caring nature had sensed the change in Mr. Shelby’s spirits leading up to Christmas Eve. Now her preparations were being praised by Tommy’s partner, Lucy, who went room to room admiring the ornately decorated boughs. She did raise a concern over the candles on the tree in the parlor, wondering if it might be best to extinguish them before John's lot began running circles around the tree. However, she thought better of it knowing Tommy’s trusted man, Don would be standing nearby. 

The gentle giant was a comfort to them both this past year and she trusted him implicitly with the protection of their home. Nothing very bad could happen to you with Don by your side, Lucy thought, recalling the days when he’d saved Tommy from himself when she couldn’t.

As she passed through the hall, a servant delivered a telegram on an ornate silver tray. "Who do you know in Hong Kong, ma'am?" the girl asked with awe struck gaze. Lucy plucked the card from the curious maid, squinting at the small type. Having a grand time. My wife and I will return in January." She read the last line once more in a haze of disbelief.

"So he married her?" Tommy rumbled with satisfaction, pleased to hear his cousin was finally settled with the witty and well-connected Mei Chang. Wrapping his arounds Lucy, he gave her waist a gentle squeeze of appreciation he too had someone loyal by his side.

Lost in their own world, they scarcely noticed the click of Polly's high heels against the polished wood. That is until her voice rose sharply behind them. "Married?" she cried.

Lucy attempted to hide the telegram, but Polly captured it between her fingertips at the last moment, reading the lines that exposed her son's secret.

"Thought that's what ya wanted, Pol," Tommy remarked, only to watch the lines of her face crease in despair.

"I wasn't there, Tommy," she noted sadly.

"We'll have a party as soon as they return," Tommy assured her, glancing tentatively at Lucy who was doing her utmost to bite her tongue. She was perhaps the last person one might expect to give a party in Michael's honor, but the placation seemed to soothe Polly so she didn't object.

There was no time to consider the proposal now anyway, Frances brightly announcing the youngest Shelby siblings, twins Sylvie and Sonya, were on the line from London. Any lingering sadness vanished as Polly practically sprinted into Tommy's office to be the first to speak with them.

A tear came to her eye as she listened to their cheerful greeting which sounded very far away. "I'm sorry I couldn't make the last performance of the year," she apologized, thoughts drifting to their graceful form en pointe.

"It's alright, Pol," Sonya assured her softly.

"We've been so busy with rehearsals, we wouldn't have had time for a proper chat anyhow," Sylvie added.

"I'm coming in the new year then and you'll tell me all about playing Odette, hm?" Polly hummed.

"I ...erm...wasn't chosen as Odette," Sylvie revealed, failing to conceal the bitter disappointment in her voice.

Polly's head snapped up at that moment, ready to battle with the ballet master she longed to torment each time he snubbed her nieces in favor of another dancer. "I'll make a call," she promised, fingers subconsciously stroking the flick knife in her pocket. "No, Pol!" the girls replied in unison.

Polly could only chuckle at their solidarity, knowing they'd have her head if she interfered. They hadn't changed a bit from their days running thru the fens as wild reckless wains who abhorred being told what to do.

"Alright," Polly conceded, relinquishing the knife's handle. "I'll stay out of it so long as you two keep out of trouble. Do you hear?" Even as she said it she didn't believe they would, especially during their upcoming break when they would likely spend their nights in clubs. "No galavanting with Chi!" she added sharply.

"We won't," they replied in static monotone, tired of the lectures about their friend who had been deemed a bad influence after John and Arthur learned of her penchant for priests and professors.

Wishing them a happy Christmas, Polly passed the phone to Tommy who undoubtedly wanted to be sure they'd extended an invitation to tonight's party to Alfie and his wife Rose. Another chorused reply came down the line in one long exasperated sigh. Apparently it was a great insult to suggest they shouldn't have been trusted with the task.

Tommy rolled his eyes as he selected a cigarette from its case, allowing them to playfully berate their older brother about his lack of faith in them. Wishing them well for tonight's performance, he ended the call, eyes drifting toward the cars arriving in a long line down the front drive.

Of course Ada would be the first to appear, her glamorous new style on display for all to see. He smirked to himself as he took in the sight of her bright red lipstick specially ordered in New York and shipped to Boston by the caseful now that she could afford it. His sister had dressed to impress this evening and he was curios to see who she'd chosen to escort her when he nearly choked at the sight.

Her old friend Irene stepped from the car moments later, arm wrapped snuggly beneath Ada's gloved hand as they ascended the steps of Arrow House. "Are they..." Tommy began.

"Together?" Lucy offered, meeting Tommy at the window. She only shrugged at the question, uncertain of the details, though she quickly made a note to find out.

The car no one seemed to be able to place was the expensive Bentley, a newer model which put Tommy's to shame. As Bonnie and Vano passed, a long, low whistle rose from their mouths in appreciation of such a fine automobile.

"Don't you be lookin'!" Johnny Dogs scolded as he followed in their wake. "M not just gonna be lookin'," Vano whispered as he jabbed Bonnie in the ribs. His eyes roved the emerald green paint and polished chrome accents, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Nodding politely to the driver now exiting the car, he thought of nothing but a carefree joy ride later when no one would know he was missing.

He might have thought the car was impressive, but his jaw dropped at the sight of who exited moments later. A strikingly beautiful woman with tan skin and dark hair adjusted a scandalously low cut gown beneath her fur.

"Who is that?" he asked Bonnie.

"That's Eva Nelson and you best not look at her either, dinlow!" Bonnie advised, averting his gaze as Jack Nelson glowered at them. "He'll take a garrote to your balls for less," he gulped.

Vano only chuckled in reply, the cloak of youth and stupidity providing ample protection against Bonnie's warnings.

"Thought you were here to see Evie?" Bonnie remarked, watching his friend carefully.

"I am," Vano replied, straightening his jacket to impress Mr. Shelby.

As they reached the front door, they were quickly parted by a large slobbering animal barreling toward Tommy. As the enormous mastiff left a shining trail of saliva in puddles along the carpet, his owners followed behind with wide smiles.

"Tommy!" Alfie called out, arms outstretched in cheerful greeting, his cane nearly bashing Bonnie on the head.

"Alfie," Tommy barely acknowledged, preoccupied with the whereabouts of the dog. "And Cyril," he added with a slight start to his voice and a wince upon hearing the crash of something breakable in the next room.

"We couldn't bear to leave him alone for the night. I hope you don't mind," Rose commented with airy nonchalance. "Besides we know how fond you are of him." It was clear by the barely concealed grin of impish delight she knew that to be false. Alfie couldn't help the roar of laughter upon seeing Tommy's reddening face only made worse by the appearance of a distraught Evie.

"Dad, my ducks!" she shrieked, waiving her hands in perplexed gesturing which told him nothing of the flapping and honking created in Cyril's wake.

Momentarily distracted by the half-eaten wheel of cheese in Evie's hand, Rose began to snicker. They were full fledged giggles by the time Polly came rushing in to chide the teen. "For fucks sake, Evie, put that back!"

In a failed attempt to hide the cheese behind her back, she felt Polly tug her arm away to assess the damage. Noting the prominent teethmarks gnawed savagely into the rind, Polly cast a horrified glance at Tommy who was pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off an inevitable headache. He would need more than the one permitted drink to get through tonight, he thought.

After Arthur had been found drunk in the stairwell earlier in his Santa costume, he'd promised Lucy to stay sober in order to chaperone. Now the job would have to fall to nurse Charlotte as Tommy urgently motioned for a maid to bring him three fingers of whisky.

Then he called for another at the sight of Finn stumbling from a nearby closet, Santa suit around his ankles and striped underpants on display for all to see. "What the fuck are you doing, eh?" Tommy asked in exasperation, assuming Finn had shirked his duty in favor of more amusing activities. "Pull your trousers up, there are children here," he hissed at his younger brother.

Clutching at the fuzzy red material, Finn retorted, "It's the bloody kids who pulled 'em down. What did Esme put in those cakes?" Just then a chorus of war whoops erupted down the corridor, a sugar fueled search party giving chase. Finn scrambled away as they rounded the corner, continuing to hunt their uncle in manic delight.

Alfie escorted his wife into the drawing room with Rose clutching at her sides, wheezing through tears as she told her husband she'd found a new appreciation for Christmas festivities.

Jack and Eva Nelson were not as amused by the scene before them, Eva making snide comments about everything from their pitiful decorations to the lack of champagne. Jack didn't attempt to correct her, hoping to stay on her good side long enough to fuck on Shelby's desk later. A literal and figurative fuck you to his former business partner.

Blissfully ignorant to the scheme being concocted before him, Tommy leaned into Polly to discuss another pressing matter. "Pol, there are some people here not on the list." He eyed Luca Changretta, wondering when his old enemy had snuck past his guards.

As he approached the uninvited guest, he quickly realized Luca wasn't alone. A petite blonde with a slight baby bump took Luca's hand, her warm smile melting the ice in Tommy's cool stare.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Emily Changretta," the woman announced cheerfully. "You have a lovely home," she complimented her host.

"Thank you," Tommy managed with a tight smile. Turning to Luca he asked through gritted teeth, "And why are you in my home, Mr. Changretta?"

Luca shrugged as he attempted to apologize for the business with Solomons last year, a gesture Emily insisted upon to clear the air before their child was born. He stumbled as he chose his words, the act of humility quite unfamiliar to him. "Anyway...I come baring gifts to show there's no hard feelings on my end," Luca confided, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Misreading the gesture, Tommy pulled his revolver from his side at lightning speed. Seconds later he heard another gun cock beside him, realizing Don had been watching in the shadows.

As the crisis unfolded, Emily shielded her bump with an ear piercing shriek. She watched as Luca raise his hands into the air, a good natured chuckle tumbling from his lips as he assured her, "It's okay, honey. They don't trust nobody." He instructed her to remove a small box from his pocket and she did so with trembling hands. Holding it up for Tommy to see, Luca lightly shook the contents with a taunting smile.

Tommy could only sigh in relief as he holstered his gun and gave Don the signal to stand down. Reflexes sharp with lingering adrenaline, Tommy deftly caught the box as it came sailing through the air at him. As it clicked open an expensive set of gold engraved cufflinks sparkled back at him from the velvet lining and he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Just tryin' to help you dress better," Luca said with a wink. Tommy's jaw clenched at the old insult resurfacing. It was clear Luca would never tire of making jokes at his expense.

Apparently that wasn't the only thing he had in mind to annoy Tommy, having brought a Sicilian business associate with him as well. Stefano Spinietta was a loathsome man who wore too much hair pomade and reeked of pungent cologne which lingered in every room he passed through. He also boasted endlessly about his family's importance and a girl back home desperate to become part of it.

As Lucy became the fifth person to hear his speech, she rolled her eyes and whispered to her horse trainer May, "I'd wager a tenner that Nina despises him more than I do." Needing a break from the head splitting boredom of the self important little man, Lucy went in search of better company. She felt a bit guilty leaving Ethel and May to chat with him, but knew they were more than capable of handling the pretentious weasel with their caustic wit.

In no time she found Ada and Irene, the women showering her with compliments on her new velvet green dress. "Please thank your mum for me, Irene. She really outdid herself this time," Lucy requested.

"She's the best dressmaker in Small Heath," Irene agreed.

"I think you both share that honor," Ada reminded her with a proud grin. She never tired of discussing Irene's gift for working with fabrics, even if the woman was too modest to admit her talent.

"Have you seen the dress Arthur bought for Heaven?" Irene asked, changing the subject to something other than herself.

"She looked stunning until Arthur vomited down the front," Charlotte replied, joining the conversation and the party for the first time that evening.

"Charlotte! I'm so sorry Tommy saddled you with Arthur tonight," Lucy apologized. She quickly filled a cup with punch and offered it to their employee turned close personal friend.

Charlotte dismissed the notion with a soft laugh. "It was no trouble. "Minding Arthur is like minding a sleepy kitten," she assured Lucy, clinking their glasses together in a show of solidarity.

"Not like Tommy then?" Lucy joked, everyone now thankfully able to laugh at the times Tommy had cursed and thrown things at the woman tasked with helping him walk again.

"God, Tommy was more like a savage lion!" Charlotte quipped, earning a hearty laugh from Lucy.

"Still is!" Lucy added jovially.

The women had hardly noticed Heaven appear, despite the stark contrast of her flowing white hair in a sea of brunettes. She had fashioned a new outfit out of the clothes she packed for the next day and somehow looked even more stunning than when she arrived.

"Heaven's back!" Ada exclaimed, waving her over to them.

Making her way through the crowd, Heaven appeared anxious and a bit out of place until they realized why. In her right hand, she awkwardly held the wrist of a little boy shivering of cold and clutching a stuffed toy to his chest.

Knowing that Heaven never knew what to do around children, Lucy took the lead. "Who have you got there?" she asked, looking down at the small child with a look of pity. His clothes looked far too thin for the weather and his teeth chattered loudly despite the gramophone playing a spirited jazz tune.

Heaven only shrugged, releasing the boy's hand as Lucy bent down to have a chat with him. "My name's Lucy. What's yours, love?" she asked in a warm, welcoming voice.

"Isaac, ma'am," the polite child replied, shifting his weight as he grew nervous with the attention of so many people.

"And who have you got there?" she asked, pointing to the toy he was squeezing beneath one arm.

"Mr. Giraffe," he sniffed before falling silent once more.

"Hello, Mr. Giraffe, what brings you all this way?" Lucy asked the toy animatedly.

Eyes flicking down to the well loved friend he always carried, Isaac confessed, "He's here to see Mr. Shelby. We need to ask a favor for my mum."

Lucy stared up at Ada and Heaven who only returned quizzical looks. None of them had ever seen the boy before and they certainly didn't know of his ailing mother, bed ridden back in town. However, the toy now looked familiar to Ada who gently asked to see it.

As Isaac held the one eyed friend to her patiently, she gasped at the recollection of Tommy donating it after Florence left home. The child was indeed telling the truth that he knew her brother. She nodded determinedly to Lucy, taking Isaac by the hand to see Tommy.

He was a brave lad, asking Tommy for help without tears and was swiftly rewarded with treats and the company of the other children. He settled in beside them as Emily taught them card games, whispering her best tips for counting cards. By the end of the evening Isaac was driven home with a belly full of cake and a doctor to see to his mum.

Waving goodbye from front steps, Tommy and Lucy stood arm in arm beneath a star filled sky. They sighed in unison, the long day wearing on them both.

"It's been quite a night, hasn't it?" Tommy recollected, too tired to think of the guests still lingering inside or the enormous mess to be cleaned after Cyril chased Evie's ducks through the lower level of the house bringing a couple of Christmas trees crashing down.

"And we've Michael and Mei's wedding breakfast to plan," Lucy pointed out.

Tommy hummed in recognition, no further words spoken between them. Lucy merely offered the comfort of her presence without the need to fill the silence. However, internally she was going over Frances' unofficial count of the mayhem: 12 guests too drunk to drive, 11 frantic maids to serve them, 10 pound missing from the safe, 9 bottles of whisky consumed, 8 stolen hubcaps, 7 smashed vases, 6 traumatized ducks, 5 suspiciously sticky piles of paperwork in Tommy's office, 4 men in need of stitches, 3 carpets needing cleaning, 2 overturned trees with broken ornaments and 1 ruined Santa suit.

She vowed not to think of it all now. Not when she'd yet to have a dance with Tommy. So she gently guided him inside to sway beneath a sprig of mistletoe. Resting her head on her lover's shoulder, she leaned into his strong frame with a contented sigh.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Tommy asked.

"Me? Oh, just you," she admitted with a giggle.

"Was tonight everything you wanted?" he inquired thoughtfully, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

She nodded slowly, grazing her cheek against his shirt front. "Everyone together and no fucking fighting?!" she exclaimed it like the miracle it was.

"We pulled it off," Tommy announced, leaning in for a celebratory kiss.

The tender moment was soon interrupted by Arthur's rough voice and the sound of mud caked boots sliding on hardwood. Still half drunk, Arthur staggered into the room. Pushing his hair from his forehead, he grumbled, "Fookin' kids!"

"Who, Arthur?" Lucy snapped.

"Isaiah and Vano are fightin' in the garden, Tom," Johnny Dogs finished the thought as he poked his head around the door frame. "Somethin' about Evie," he shrugged.

"Fuckin' hell," Tommy huffed, striding out to confront his daughter's suitors.

"Daddy, wait!" Evie cried out as she heard him stomping down the hall toward the back door. She grabbed hold of his coat tails, attempting to halt her father and his infamous temper.

"It was nice while it lasted," Lucy commented, holding up the hem of her gown to rush after them.

------------------

"It's rubbish isn't it?" Cillain asked, peering over the script he'd been reading aloud for the past twenty minutes.

A snort of laughter erupted from across the sofa, Clara's hand clapping over her mouth to stifle her giggles. "I didn't want to say anything..." she began before Cillian cut her off with a hearty laugh of his own.

"You didn't have to," he noted, tossing the pages aside as he pulled his wife into his arms. Cocooning her in his warm embrace they sat for some time silently considering the confidential pages of the Peaky holiday special.

"Steven’s taking the piss surely," Clara said as she thumbed through the pages of new characters and scenarios never once mentioned in the show. "It reads like..." she attempted to find the least offensive term to describe the disjointed work.

"A screwball comedy," Cillian offered.

"I was going to say fever dream," she confessed, looking up at her husband's striking blue eyes to determine how serious he was about the project.

"I know what you're thinking," he smirked, taking her chin in his hands. "But we'll hire Brummie to polish it for us and it'll be grand."

Clara gave him a worried look, "Isn't she the one who likes to bring out Tommy's dark side? I'm not sure I want to live with you whilst you channel him!"

"What about the American?" he asked with a deep sigh.

"K? I do enjoy the sentimental moments she creates," she remarked wistfully. "But I don't know why you're disregarding the other projects you've been sent. The romantic comedy about the tattoo artist with purple hair or the drama with the Kurdish Italian academic?"

However, he hadn't quite been listening, another thought suddenly stealing his attention. “You know, if we did this holiday thing, Marianne would be perfect for Lucy,” he mused, thinking of the enormous success of his friend's recent play and her rave reviews.

"You're actually entertaining the idea?" Clara asked hesitantly.

"Well I don't have to decide tonight. Let's forget about it for now, yeah?" he suggested, eyes growing heavy. "I want to enjoy the peace and quiet while we have the house to ourselves."

"A silent night," Clara agreed with a nod, leaning in for a deep kiss that would surely distract them both.

-----------------

Credits:

Brummie (as herself) @brummiereader

Charlotte (Tommy's nurse) @toms-cherry-trees

Chi (as herself) @little-diable

Clara Murphy (Cillian's wife) @cillmequick

Don (Tommy's employee and lover) @the-makingsofgreatness

Emily (Luca's wife) @darklydeliciousdesires

Ethel (May's gf) @shelbydelrey

Eva (Jack's wife) @evita-shelby

Evie (Tommy's adopted daughter) @novashelby

Heaven (Arthur's wife) @call-sign-shark

Isaac (boy from Small Heath) @garrison-girl-08

Jiyan-a.k.a "the Kurdish Italian academic" (Cillian's love interest in Shadow of the Sea) @lunarubra

K (as herself) @runnning-outof-time

Lucy (Tommy's partner) @mischievouslittlecreature

Marianne (Cillian's theater protege) @look-at-the-soul

Mei (Michael's wife) @vivianleighwishesshewasme

Mr. Giraffe (Florence Shelby's stuffed toy) @teenwolf-theoriginals

Quinn-a.k.a "the purple haired tattoo artist" (Tommy's love interest in Misadventures) @moral-terpitude

Rose (Alfie's wife) @justrainandcoffee

Stefano (Sicilian bastard) @peakyswritings

Sylvie & Sonya (Tommy's twin sisters) @pacifymebby

Vano (a gypsy boy travelling with the Golds) @wonderlanddreamer

------------

Tag List:

@alanadetigy 

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@theshelbyclan

@red-riding-wood

@elenavampire21

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@everythingelseisextra

@stilestotherescue 

@helen06dreamer

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@tremendousstarlighttragedy

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@copinghex

@margaret-morriss-secrethideout

@hecatemoon87

@ryecosse

@dandelionprints

@cillianmurphyfanatic

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@mrsarnasdelicious

@justlulu

@rangerelik

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

@babaohhhriley

@literishdegree99

@padfootdaredmetoo

@smailaway

@aesthetic0cherryblossom

@allie131313

@xiluvfictional-men

@mrs-bellingham

@duckybird101

@writers-hes

@neonpurplestars89-blog

[duahauuoplanh]

he's gone now but he said he'll come back. but they all say they'll come back!

[thegarrisonpub]

Peaky Blinders | 4x01

[goldenpashie]

i drew the shelby siblings as kitties…. they’re kinda serving lackadaisy tbh

[borgialucrezia]

TOMMY: where's arthur? LINDA: he went for a walk down the river. he said he's not good at farewells so he's decided to go and catch a trout instead.

peaky blinders — 6x06 created by steven knight

[novashelby]

Join Me in Celebrating WLW this June

For the month of June, I want to celebrate love and the beautiful women of our most loved franchise. I spent some time thinking about not only how I could do it, but how I can encourage others to join me. For the month of June, I will be posting a short something daily celebrating WLW love. In addition, I invite you to take part in a fun collaboration project. I would like to make a book(masterlist) of beautful WLW stories, drabbles, and edits of Peaky Blinders women and their lovers(xreader/OC).

How it will work:

I want to make a book which will look like a master list. You will write a one shot, drabble, or create a moodboard, and post it on June 25th. For any writing, I want it to truly celebrate love and affection. So, I would ask that you stick to fluff oriented themes. You are more than welcome to write smut, but definitely focus and tune in on the emotional aspect. Same for Moodboards.

The work will be entirely yours and 100% credited to you. I will simply link it to an index, properly crediting you. I only ask that you clearly state that it was part of a collaboration and tag me. One, for I can find it and two, for we can really zoom into the fact that this was a community effort. I, however, take no ownership of your work.

To join, just DM me and let me know. I will remind you June 15th. I also ask that you please, please do not blow me off. At least message me that you are unable to commit. I won't be mad.

Specifics:

All work, visual and written, cannot be AI generated. They all also need to be created separate from any multi-chapter/on going series. Please no previously written entries as well. I would really love this to be disconnected from anything previous.

For one shots, they do not have to be long. I consider one-shots anything 750 words and above. Drabbles, I consider 100-749. I know those are not the traditional 'rules', but that is what I go by.

For Moodboards, feel free to use any template you'd like! You can find many on Canva. You can also create your own.

You can use any Peaky lady below~

Lastly, I ask that you kindly proofread. I am not fussed about a typo or anything, I just have a personal pet peeve when people disclaim that they didn't proof read.

Aside from that:

Please properly tag, use proper warnings, and if it's not a whole lot to ask, please add a gif or edit for a header/banner. <3

Other than that, I am not fussed.

End thoughts:

On the 26th, I will create the "book" and properly tag everyone. You can feel free to ask me all and any questions. I will tag them #peakyblinderswlwcollab . The slots will look as such: One Shots(xReader): 15 slots available as of 05/25 Drabbles(xReader): 10 slots available as of 05/25 Moodboards(xReader): 10 slots available as of 05/25 One Shots (xOC): 7 slots available as of 05/25

You can feel free to submit up to 1 entry for each category.

Above all, I hope everyone feels excited and inspired, and will have fun taking part in this project. I know that I am pretty excited. :)

I want to stress that everyone and anyone is welcomed to join. We don't have to be mutuals or friends or anything. We don't even have to be following each other. This is open to everyone 18+.

Tagging some people that may be interested or wouldn't mind sharing the project. No pressure on either end.

@wonderlanddreamer @evita-shelby @zablife @vivianleighwishesshewasme @cillianmurphysdimples @cherrycilly @starklizzie @birdaquarius @brummiereader @ennui-whimsy-and-me @copinghex @lau219 @runnning-outof-time @rei-is-still-here @darklydeliciousdesires @rozmrazaradelfinow @theshelbyclan @fiercelittlemouse @mrsmalfoyshelby @thatcrazyblonde57 @bewitchedcryptic @kmc1989 @beastofburdenxo @darlingsfandom @pucktato @peakysgiri @murderousginger @mothhball @jvalentinesworld-cokes-hyna @toobusyshrimping @lavender-haze-01 @pacifymebby

[graythursday]

the shelbys always have the most relaxing holiday get-togethers :)

[unknowntoyou2205]

Make it to Christmas (pt 3/3)

Make it to Christmas masterlist

The funeral for y/n was short and sweet. They decided to do a traditional gypsy funeral, knowing how much y/n loved their past life. Only the family joined, with their heads bowed throughout the ceremony, no one spoke, too afraid of what would come out if they tried. The town knew of the Shelby’s loss, and felt sorry for them. Despite the chaus they caused, no family deserved to lose a young one.

The house was silent during the festive period. Y/n’s presents had been left under the tree, Pol not letting anyone touch them, even though no one tried. They were a small part of her, even if she wasn’t present. The young girls room hadn’t been touched since that night, the only thing moved was the bedding which y/n had stained that night, and Ada had cleaned up the droplets that had made their way down the floor. Finn had tried sleeping in there one night, but in a fit of rage Tommy had shouted at him, telling him he wasn’t to go into that room again. Arthur and John wouldn’t go to the family home, not wanting to step into a home that wouldn’t have the laughter they used to love.

Christmas eve dawned on them quicker than they would of liked, and Tommy couldn’t help but grit his teeth as he sat in the living room, remembering the years when y/n would be jumping around, excited to see what would be brought to her this year. She always asked for a doll of some sort, and a wooden gun to be like her brothers, and each year she got one, each time they grew in size. The fire blazed with the two children’s stockings still hanging above them. Even Finn couldn’t get into the Christmas spirit, with everything around the time reminding him of y/n. The two youngsters would usually be outside around now, running around with the other kids before they were called in to get ready for midnight mass. It was the one mass y/n enjoyed going to, loving to see the baby lying in his manger, surrounded by the animals, men and his mother.

That night was quiet, and each room was filled with tears. Tommy lay awake on his bed, smoking a cigarette as his thoughts spiralled. He refused to allow the tears in his eyes to fall, rolling the cigarette between his lips every now and then. Y/n’s last few moments rolled through his head, and he frowned, remembering what she had said. ‘Under the bed’. With confusion surrounding him, Tommy decided to go into his little sisters room.

It was eery as he stood in front of the door, knowing that even when he walked in he wouldn’t see y/n, curled up in a ball on the bed. Trying to prolong the unavoidable rush of emotions, Tommy slowly turned the handle before creeping the door open. The place still smelt like Ada’s perfume which the eleven year old  had sneakily took from Ada’s room, her older sister knew where it was but never acted on it. Looking around, the Shelby gangster could see pieces of paper thrown around, crayons and pencils scattered around the place. Not wanting to stay long, Tommy crouched down, looking under the girls bed to see an old biscuit tin underneath. Presuming that’s what the young girl was insinuating, Tommy grabbed it before heading out of the room, leaving the door open.

-------

Christmas morning was quiet in the Shelby home. Usually there would be a squeal in the early hours of the morning, before each person would be awoken by two children jumping on top of them, screaming it was Christmas. This year, Finn didn’t see the point in getting up, waking each person up. It didn’t feel right to do it on his own, so instead he waited until he heard the sound of footsteps before opening his door. Ada smiled sadly at the young boy who just stood in the doorway, before opening her arms, pulling him into a hug. Polly woke up to the sound of soft sobs, and couldn’t help the few tears that fell herself, feeling how bitter this day was going to be.

Few words were spoken as each family member sat at the kitchen, waiting for their toast to heat up. Usually Pol would make a fry up, but with her little helper not around, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. John and Arthur showed up shortly into the morning with their wives and Johns kids, but only a hello was spoken, until they made their way into the living room.

Finn hesitantly walked towards the tree seeing the small amount of presents that were around, one less pile was evident in the room. Ada’s breath caught in her throat as Finn handed out the presents, all evidently seeing one less name written on their presents. The adults tried to make Christmas somewhat normal for the kids sakes, but even they knew something was wrong. The rooms attention was drawn to Tommy as he cleared his throat.

“I know this Christmas is a tough one, just last week we said goodbye to our angel, but I know that she would want us to try celebrate it.” Tommy gruffly stated, standing up to the drinks cabinet. “Tommy, what are you doing?” Ada asked, confused on why each adult was given a glass of Sherry, the children moving out of the room. “To y/n.” Tommy spoke, holding up his glass. “Our darling sister.” Arthur spoke, holding his glass high. “Never forgotten.” Pol finished with a nod, before clinging the glasses together.   

After downing the small amount of Sherry, Tommy grimaced at the taste before moving to the tree. Eyes watched him as he leaned down from behind, taking up an old biscuit box before placing it on the table in front of him. Recognizing y/n’s writing, Polly looked up at her nephew, squinting her eyes at him.

“What is this Tommy?” Polly asked, tears filling her eyes. “Before y/n died she told us under the bed. Now I didn’t think much of it until last night. And I found this.” Tommy tapped the box, “Ada, get Finn.” “What is it Tommy?” John asked, eyeing the box carefully.

Tommy waited until Ada came back in with Finn behind her. The youngest Shelby looked around before sitting on the ground by Arthurs feet, who tapped his head in comfort as the young boy stared at the box on the table. Breathing in deeply, Tommy opened the lid, before taking out some papers that were inside.

“Y/n always loved drawing, even when she got sick she used all her energy to dray. I never knew why until now. She made each of us a picture, with a little something on the back of  each.” Tommy explained, moving to hand out each of his siblings and Polly a sheet of paper. “Her last gift to us.” John stated, and he hung his head, not sure how to react. “Something to remember her by.” Tommy nodded, before taking a seat by the fire once again. “She was always such a thoughtful kid.” Ada spoke fondly. “Y/n you angel.” Polly smiled, looking down at the picture in her hand. “Some people make the world special, just by being in it.” Arthur read from the back. “Describes y/n to a T.” Arthurs wife spoke with a smile, placing a hand on her husbands back. “She was special.” Finn spoke tearfully, and Arthur rubbed his head gently. “Marry Christmas y/n.” Polly whispered, bringing the picture of an angel close to her. “Our angel in the sky.” Ada smiled sorrowfully, looking down at her own angel picture.

Christmas 2024 masterlist

[staiyn]

Peaky Sliders?

did someone ask for more peaky blinder memes? Sorry if not accurate or some

Firstly gifs that caught my attention today

Sorry not Sorry for some of these

[tragicsiblings]

[agentidiot]

peaky blinders characters as cursed cakes

tommy

arthur

john

ada

finn

part 2 part 3 part 4

[jelly-rei]

Finding Delilah (Part 5)

<Part 4

Part 6>

Summary: Comfort, memories, and choices collide.

A/n: A lot of things happen in this chapter, so I hope it doesn’t seem too messy…

Word count: 3.3k

Content includes: Abuse, Casual anti-romani racism, mentions of death and murder

1917

“How many times did I say not to talk with those dirty gypsies!” Malcolm’s father roared as he whipped the boy with his leather belt, hitting against the tough skin of his freckled back. Malcolm looked behind at his father and said behind gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

“She’s not dirty, Papa! She’s a good girl…She don’t mean any harm!”.

His father lowered his belt and took one good look at the angry red welt on Malcolm’s back. “Sit down boy,” he instructed. His father placed a hand on Malcolm’s back making him hiss at the painful sting. Maybe it was guilt that crept across the old man’s face—or something like it. He couldn’t seem to meet his son’s gaze. Malcolm relented and sat stiffly next to his father as he was told, looking down at the floor, fiddling with the seam of his trousers waiting for what his father would say next.

“Now, you know why Papa gets really angry when you talk and play with people you don’t know….” His father’s voice faltered, trailing into the thick, suffocating air.

Malcolm bit down on the inside of his cheek, “But Papa…she’s not people…I know her”

Delilah wasn’t just anyone. She was his light. His sanctuary. The only soul whose laughter stitched something broken inside him back together. Malcolm would never allow anyone to speak ill about Delilah. She was his escape. And the only girl who’s energy made him smile. Her happiness made him happy. And that was all he needed.

“Her family are a bunch of gypsies for goodness sakes boy!” He bellowed, his face grimacing, causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen.

The insult hit harder than any belt. Malcolm shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

“Why does that matter Papa? You go to the same church as her Aunt and help those same gypsies that you spit on! Mama was a gypsy, so what do you have to say about that?!”

“Well look where that fuckin got her!”

Malcolm stared in disbelief at his father’s words, at his audacity. His mama had passed away from a sickness two years ago. He hadn’t known exactly what sickness had hollowed her out, but he remembered her pale skin, the blue veins mapping across it like rivers, the way Nolan had sat by her bedside everyday—changing her dressings, feeding her broth—while their father disappeared to do God knows what.

His mother had the palest skin like snow. Eyes sunken like a beautiful worn sculpture.

“What does that mean?” Malcolm choked out.

“Your mom was cursed, boy. Magic. Cursed by her own fucking community”

“How do you know Papa? Why would they curse her?” he demanded to know.

“Some of them heard about what I did, and I guess they didn’t like that” His father shrugged nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the cause of the problem. The whole situation that caused them to move to Small Heath in the very first place.

Malcolm sat back down and raked his fingers through his hair. His mother was a whore, Nolan was a known thief. Malcolm always knew that his family wasn’t really favoured by others back in his hometown. Never knew that the hate was so strong enough to kill someone.

His father was a criminal, constantly on the run from the law. Not sure what crime it was that led to his father threatening everyone in the village that he would kill them if they opened their mouths. But all Malcolm knew that it must’ve been horrible. The only people in the family who seemed to know about his father’s crime were his mother, Mary, and Nolan. And Nolan…he always looked like he'd seen it all.

“What did you do Papa…what did you do that made them so mad? Why’d they take it out on Mama?” Malcolm questioned with his head in his hands, fingers pressing deeply into his temples. Whatever the answer was, Malcolm knew he would still keep his mouth shut, and go on with whatever his father told him to do. He was always a Papa’s boy. He was always praised for it.

“What I did is none of your business. We came all the way here to make a name for ourselves. In here, we are no longer criminals”

Malcolm figured it was useless to try and ask and pry any further. It was clear that his father was never going to tell him and that he was probably going to die never knowing. He was just confused and wondered why it was his mother that was dragged into all this. Why his mother got the other end of the stick. Nolan once told him before he went to fight in France, “You can always reject your father, but you’ll always have your mother’s blood”. Malcolm never understood what that meant. Even now after Nolan had passed. People are always quick to blame your mother for how you turned out. So maybe whatever his father did, the village couldn’t take out their anger at him, out of fear of what he would or could do, then his mother would be the next choice.

“One more question Papa…”

“What now?”

“How long do I have to keep calling myself Malcolm?”

Delilah’s home, 1934

The lights were dim and the air was quiet back at Delilah’s humble abode. She lived in a small two story terrace building on the edge of Small Heath. It was much quieter here, slightly fewer gangs walking around, but still a walking distance from Saint Judes Church and Watery Lane. Her family had strongly advised her to move away from Small Heath when she mentioned that she wanted to continue living there. Everything happened there. Her whole life began there. It felt like she was letting go of everything she ever held on if she moved elsewhere. And Delilah didn’t like to let things go.

“You can’t stay here Dilly,” Polly urged.

“But Polly…I can’t seem to let go of Small Heath”, Delilah whispered.

“You need to move somewhere better, my love, your heart needs peace and Small Heath gonna give you that”

She knew that Polly meant well and was trying to help with her anxiety. Delilah was always weary and paranoid of something happening to her or anyone else in her family. It got to the point where her paranoia had caused her to be awake at the latest hour of the night, walking slowly to her siblings room, opening their doors hauntingly slowly, worrying that something might happen to them.

Ada would lift her blanket and invite her in and hold her tight, letting her know that she’s okay. “Come here Dilly, lay with me, see I’m right here…I’m okay”.

It always scared Arthur the most when she would peek at his door, but he always reassured her as well. “Bloody hell Delilah…You scared me. I’m alright, love”.

John never questioned it and would sit outside on the dining table, distracting her with meaningless conversations.

Oddly enough, Thomas never flinched. Maybe it was because he never slept and was just as paranoid as her. He shared the same fear, always hearing the sound of a pickaxe picking on the back of his wall. Delilah would always invite herself onto his bed, hugging him tightly and he would do the same. He had quickly learned that squeezing her tightly was effective in making her racing heart beat at a gentle pace.

Her home was warm. Not much furniture that filled the space. She liked it that way, not much clutter, especially since her mind was already very much cluttered with thoughts all over the place. Her bed was placed perfectly where the sun would shine through the window but wouldn’t glare directly into her eyes, but instead, bath her in its golden rays. Delilah didn’t do much at home. Her routine consisted of waking up, sometimes she would have breakfast, call Ada and Tommy, and sit on her couch until she would get tired and fall asleep.

She lived alone and didn’t, if not, never had anyone over at her home. But this was going to change because Ada had called a day ago while Delilah was preparing to go to sleep.

“Evening Dilly, are you free tomorrow?—of course you are, you’ve got nothing to do anyway”

Delilah scoffed at her sister’s snarky comment, “Well if taking care of Izzy counts then yes, I am very busy”.

“No, feeding and sleeping with that ginger cat of yours does not count”

Delilah laughed, her siblings never did like her ginger cat, Izzy. Arthur called it a dangerous thing because she bit him once and he now has a grudge. When John was still alive he would call her lazy girl, which wasn’t necessarily wrong. Tommy didn’t even want to be near it.

“If that’s the the case the no, I am not busy tomorrow”

“Good, I’ll be coming over tomorrow. No reason, just figured I wanted to see my cute little sister, mourn, and drink wine while we talk about our wonderful family”

Ada strutted through the busy streets with her large fur coat. Her makeup was elegantly done as always, red rogue perfectly making her lips stand out. She clutched her handbag and walked past the crowd. Ada had an aura and energy around her that made others turn their heads at her when she walked by.

Knock knock knock. She waited patiently for her little sister’s arrival. Soon later, Delilah slowly opened the door and immediately brought a smile to Ada’s face.

“Ada!” Delilah squealed as she yanked her sister inside by her arm.

Ada gasped but quickly balanced herself back on her feet and crossed her arms around her chest, looking at Delilah with that same look she always had. That “I missed you like crazy” look.

“Morning Delilah, I’ve missed my little sister,” Ada said with a playful raised brow as she wrapped her arms around Delilah’s frame.

Delilah assisted Ada to sit on the armchair and went to the kitchen. Ada removed her fur coat placing it on the coat rack, before sitting down comfortably.

“Wine or Whiskey?”

Ada scoffed at the question.

“Whiskey is for heartbreak. Wine, now that’s for grief”

Delilah was amused by that statement. It reminded her of a time where one of Tommy’s friends, or something like that, told her that Gin was for the melancholy and Rum was for violence. But she didn’t have any of those, so it was either Wine or Whiskey. Though wine was usually used for toast and celebrations while whiskey was more for numbing the pain, there was no use in numbing a pain that would never go away. So instead we commemorate it. And Polly was a person to celebrate.

Delilah poured the drink into their cups and they both raised a toast, “To Polly, one hell of a woman she was” said Ada. Delilah nodded and took a sip of her wine.

“That she was”

As they drank, Ada wrapped an arm around Delilah’s shoulder and layed on it. Ada took a deep breath and released a deep sigh. One that dissolved all the weight in her chest. Delilah let her eyes close shut gently. Just having Ada—her only sister, here with her was enough to anchor her back to the ground beneath her very feet. Delilah didn’t know that all she needed to remind her that she’s still real was for another human being to hold her hand and say, “I see you”.

“You know I’ll always be here with you right Delilah?” Ada blurted, her fingers lovingly brushing down Delilah’s brown curls.

Delilah melted into her sister's arms and grunted.

“I’ll remind you that you’re my little sister, and a very special woman in my life, if you go missing, be it physically or spiritually, I’ll never stop finding you”

Silent tears fell from Delilah’s eyes, Ada’s warm hands brushing circles on the small of her back. Ada's eyes flickered upward to the photo of Polly and John in his uniform framed very nicely near the fireplace. Delilah took the pictures from their rooms after they passed away.

“That's a nice picture of them you have there”

Delilah wiped her hot tears away, “Mhm…I don’t want to forget what they look like. I’ve already forgotten what Mom and Dad look like. And Malcolm…”

The mention of Malcolm’s name made Ada sit up straight. “Malcolm? wasn’t that your boyfriend as a kid?”. Delilah swatted Ada’s arm and Ada giggled playfully.

“No he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was just a really good friend of mine back when I was 9. I don't know why, but I have really bad memory. I seem to have forgotten what he looks like already…”

Ada shrugged, “Well it was 17 years ago, that is a long time, Dily”.

Delilah nodded and sighed. She realised that she was starting to forget faces when she couldn’t even get an image of her mother in her head when asked what she looked like. All she could remember was that she had beautiful blue eyes and a voice soft like a feather. And John, she almost forgot if he had brown or blond hair, or if he had freckles on his skin.

So for Polly, she promised she would never forget what she looks like. Polly had beautiful brown curls that she never failed to style so beautifully, every tie and every hairpin fit so perfectly. She had eyes that commanded and hands that could make a man crumble. Those same hands that soothed all her siblings to sleep

“I miss Pol, Ada”

“I miss her too love, let’s just sit here together and talk about her okay? I have all day”

Lucas Woods was wandering around Saint Jude’s Church. Everyone in Small Heath always joked about how Father Woods never leaves the Church. How his soul is stuck there. If you needed someone, you could bet your last penny that Lucas Woods would be there, sitting gracefully on a pew, staring off into the distance.

When the Church was empty—which was always the case, he walked out and found himself at the back of the Church. An overgrown grass patch with wildflowers, and an oak tree in front of him. The oak tree was calling for him to lay underneath it. For once, he felt his chest tightening and his heart telling him to just lay down and let the grass settle on him. Lucas made his way to the tree and hesitantly lowered his body down onto the grass. The tree leaves and long branches sheltering him from the blazing sun. He felt the tight strings stitched into his heart loosening slightly as he rested.

He must’ve fallen deeply asleep because he didn’t realise that there was another person who had been watching him as he rested.

“Delilah?”

Delilah’s eyes widened and she shook her head, “Oh, Oh! Lucas I’m so sorry! I was just walking around here and saw you laying down and thought something had happened to you…” she sputtered.

Her genuine concern was something that Lucas loved about that girl. He could not help but smile at her trying to explain herself. He blinked awake, sunlight shining in his eyes.

“That’s alright Delilah, I was just sleeping. Sorry to worry you my dear”

Delilah’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red. Lucas scooted a little to the side and patted on the empty space next to him. As soon as she sat next to Lucas she could feel the tension in her shoulders relax. Lucas was looking off into the distance as he always did and Delilah was staring at him once again. He just looked so unexplainably at peace but so tired at the same time. The way his eyes had heavy bags but the way his skin was reflecting off the sun so breathtakingly. She always thought everyone she saw was beautiful. And Lucas was beautiful. So painfully beautiful.

Lucas turned to face Delilah and gave her a warm smile, catching her off guard. “Is there something on my face?” he teased. Delilah laughed, “No Lucas, it’s just that…” she reached her hands out as she spoke, and her fingers rested ever so lightly on his textured skin. Lucas watched—feeling his heartbeat quicken and his face warming up slowly but he found himself never wanting her hands to leave.

“Just what, Delilah?”

“Just that you look so beautiful”

His eyes locked onto hers, a mix of surprise and vulnerability reflected in his gaze. As she touched his face, a gentle warmth spread through his body. He remained silent, unsure how to respond to the sincerity in her voice. The word "beautiful" hung in the air, unfamiliar yet deeply touching. For a moment, time seemed to pause, with only the sound of their quiet breathing filling the space between them. His silence wasn't indifference; it was the quiet reverence of someone hearing something beautiful for the first time.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” he mused.

Delilah didn’t respond. Instead, she just let her hands rest on his skin. She didn’t need him to believe her words. But she always felt that she needed to let others know just how beautiful they looked. She couldn't help but be captivated by the unique features of everyone she met. Each person's face told a story, and she found herself drawn to the distinct qualities that made them who they were. With an infectious enthusiasm, she'd often blurt out compliments, her words spilling from a genuine place of admiration. "You're so beautiful," she'd say, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. The way someone's smile lit up their entire face, the quirky shape of their eyebrows, or the radiant glow of their skin—each trait was a masterpiece in her eyes.

“You’re beautiful yourself, Delilah”

Delilah smiled sheepishly at his compliment. Hiding her face in her hands. “Goodness… Lucas, I'm so sorry” she chuckled.

“You just look like someone I once knew,” She muttered.

HMP Birmingham, 1934

The guard didn’t even look him in the eye when he unlocked the cell door.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he muttered.

Michael Shelby stood from the narrow bed, smoothing the wrinkles from his worn shirt. His expression sharpened with suspicion—he wasn’t expecting anyone. Not yet, anyway. His boots scraped against the cold floor as he followed the guard through the dim corridors, passing faces he no longer bothered to remember.

In the visiting room, a single man sat at the far end, hands folded neatly in front of him. He was young, but the way he carried himself made him seem older—like something gnawed away at him from the inside out. His clothes were modest and neat. The kind you wouldn’t glance twice at on the street. Michael slid into the chair opposite him, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. The stranger lifted his head, pale eyes meeting Michael’s without much urgency.

“You’re the visitor?” Michael asked, one brow lifting.

The man simply nodded. No name. No pleasantries.

There was a long pause, just the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Michael drummed his fingers against the table, impatient. “Well?”

The man spoke, his voice low, almost bored. “Your wife made arrangements. She’s paid well.”

Michael leaned forward slightly. “Arrangements for what?”

“To take care of Thomas Shelby.”

The words hung heavy between them. Michael’s jaw tightened.

“No”

The visitor tilted his head, studying him the way one might study a flickering candle, wondering how long it would last.

Michael’s voice was steady. “I kill Thomas Shelby myself. But Arthur goes first.”

The man said nothing, only tapping a finger lightly against the edge of the table. As if he had heard the same thing a hundred times before. Michael went on, voice hardening, “Arthur’s a rabid dog. If I don’t put him down first, he’ll come straight for me. It has to be him first. Then Tommy.”

At last, the man gave a small nod. “As you wish, Mr Gray” he said easily, like the outcome was none of his concern. He stood, smoothing the front of his coat, preparing to leave. But just before he turned away, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“I hope you don’t regret your choices,” he said softly. Then he was gone, slipping from the room with the same soundless efficiency he had arrived with, leaving Michael sitting alone beneath the flickering overhead light, feeling—for the first time in a long time—very, very cold.