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evita-shelby · 2 months

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A Dull Party

Aka Eva/reader gets invited to the russian orgy and tommy gets pegged fic

Tommy x Eva/reader x Tatiana Petrovna

Cw: smut, nudity, unhealthy lifestyles, debauchery, a threesome, male receiving anal, pegging

Mdni/ 🔞

When he confessed to having considered sleeping with May, he should’ve known you wouldn’t just deny him sex until you felt better about it.

Tommy had seen the new lingerie and assumed you’d add salt to the wound by prancing around in it to remind him of your one rule.

If you fuck a whore, I will fuck a man before I leave. You hurt me, I will hurt you worse, Thomas Shelby.

This you had vowed with your hands wrapped around his prick to get your point across.

You promised him the world at a very low price, monogamy.

Easy, he’d been monogamous before. Greta had been the only woman he’d ever been loyal to until he met you.

And until he found himself alone with May lying about his marital status when she assumed he was unmarried, Tommy had never considered betraying you like that.

He hadn’t done it; he’d almost done it before you called telling him Arthur and Michael had been arrested and framed for Billy Kitchen’s murder.

You hadn’t known until you got it out of him when Tatiana Petrovna set her sights on you.

“The Duchess invited me to the orgy you neglected to tell me about, honey.” Your falsely sweet tone tells him he’s going to sleep in a guest room tonight. “Imagine my fucking surprise when I learned it from the Russian twat, dear husband of mine.”

“And have them leer at you and paw at you all night, I’m there for business, not pleasure, Evie.” He responds reminding you he doesn’t share either.

“So, am I, do you think you’re the only one of us involved in this mess?”

It’s not the end of the trouble, it is merely the beginning.

All the jokes die when the Russians demand you undress just as John and Arthur had.

Tommy’s this close to taking the offered vodka and making a poor man’s bomb out of it when she kneels and takes the knives in your garters sensually.

You keep your eyes on him with a wicked red smile as the Duchess continued her show, thinking you have a boring sex life.

The sapphire always looks better nestled between your bare tits, something he knows better than the affluent people here. If they knew the sort of games the two of you play, they’d throw a better party.

“Such beauty, you cannot even tell she gave him two children already.” The duchess caressed you, playing with your nipples and forcing everyone to see how she turned you on with the finesse of a maestro.

“These may stay on for now.” The mad woman reached the too short knickers made entirely with see through tulle and lace. “She won’t need them later, right, Mr. Shelby?”

Temptation in the flesh, so tempting Tommy briefly considers fratricide when his brothers are forced to see what only belongs to him.

They’re only half-joking, he’d told Arthur. This was a test of his commitment to the cause, a fucking cause he knows isn’t worth the money they’re getting.

“Your orgy would have been a failure if I didn’t lose every stitch of clothing, your grace. The last orgy I attended left me in such a state I left with one of my conquest’s underwear.” You answer for him driving the Russians’ attention back to you, you love being naked, a thing he only enjoys when it’s just for him.

Tommy has no idea if you are shitting with him, or you were as crazy as these fuckers are.

Both, your smile says, always both, darling.

You have not seen this sort of debauchery since you hosted a drug and alcohol fueled orgy during the summer solstice of 1918 to celebrate the Xochipilli and Xochiquetzal.

Of course, yours was much more tasteful and none were coerced, underpaid, and mistreated servants. No wonder the Communists were so thorough in their takeover.

The people stare and try to get your attention, but Tommy stakes his claim on you by refusing to let you wander away no matter what Tatiana tries.

“Once you marry a Shelby, you belong to them until you die.” Tommy said and the duchess believes him.

“The more the merrier then.” She said with that mad look in her eyes and allows you to dress again.

You’ve met people like her, drunk on their power and money until they die in a crash of pretty glass and blood on the cobblestone below a high balcony. In fact, you had aspired to be the beautiful and tragic creature dead on the ground.

But now your eyes have opened and the dense fog in your head has cleared.

And now that you’ve arrived at the stronghold with the jewels, you are even less impressed by these parasites with worthless titles.

“Couldn’t trust me to be professional, eh, Shelby? Had to bring your posh wife too?” Alfie is more interesting than the phony jewels they’ll offer.

“Oh, Mr. Solomons, can’t call it a party unless I am here, and I won’t be leaving until I get another Fabergé egg for my collection and have a good fuck in this dull party.” You bare your teeth through your smile, already tasting their fear in the air as they present you with paste instead of stone.

They just had to ask, didn’t they?

“It’s quite dull, much like the jewels, I am afraid. My husband won’t let me fuck anyone but him and now perhaps I shall punish him to be bored with me, dearest Tatiana.” You say lounging in only your tiny drawers and the sapphire now accompanied by a gaudy paste thing they tried to pass off as real.

“Might make an exception to share him with you, if you show me something that will make it worth the new lingerie.” You are resting your naked legs on your husband’s lap as you eye Tatiana, knowing exactly how you will get the night you came here for.

She wants to fuck your husband; all people want to. You don’t share, your selfish and spoiled ways from before the war have never left and you don’t plan to leave them now.

Now you were shown the only good place for an orgy in this old shell of a house.

The private chapel in all its glory.

Nothing gets you wet like mocking the god in whom you do not believe.

“Better?” the unhinged Russian noblewoman says as she shut the door behind the three of you.

And it was.

“Haven’t fucked a woman since ’18, and my dear husband refuses my offer of adding one to the mix, you know. Thinks I might leave him for her if he does.” A lie, Tommy just thinks it’s a test of his loyalty.

“And would you?” Tatiana asks, dark eyes glittering in the candlelight as you take the initiative and show your husband this is a one-time offer only.

One night to give into their fantasies with the Russian twat and leave him in a state where he will be glad you don’t share.

“Women are too wet for me; men are so nice and dry.” You giggle and pull her into a kiss relishing the way your husband looks on to this sordid entertainment.

Been so long since you’ve tasted lipstick and felt the softness of a woman against you. If the night ends better than it began, you might consider letting Tommy add May or even whichever woman crosses his path next have one taste of heaven before you send them to hell.

“Have you ever fucked a man like man fucks a woman, Mrs. Shelby?” the story of the priest in Tsibli forgotten in her need to appear much more interesting than you, who are nothing more than another dime a dozen wife.

Oh, how wrong she is, but you let her interest you as she reaches for a box holding the most beautiful set of dilators, carved to look like the real thing and one even resembled Tommy’s cock.

Even better it came with the harness you’d tried in Mexico, the one that let a woman fuck another with the wooden cock. A thrilling thing, the reversal of power where you are given the position of a man.

Something you have been dying to try out with Tommy after you discovered you were not the first to explore his asshole.

There is a clear no in Tommy’s eyes, but if this business were to go without a hitch, especially now that Tatiana wanted to change things up for the thrill of it, they must go along with it.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” You say repeating the words he told you when he convinced you to let him fuck your ass. You had enjoyed it, you were far more adventurous in bed than him, and those few times he wanted to do something different were never disappointing. “You can even fuck her to your heart’s content in exchange for this one little measly gift, my love.”

He nods as if he ever had a chance to say no.

Maybe if you hadn’t opened your wicked mouth the two of you would be pretending erotic asphyxiation was new and exotic. But you had and now you feel your toes curl at just the sight of Tommy fucking Tatiana against the prie-dieu and his most sacred hole exposed to your devilry.

Nothing you’ve done before can ever match up to this, you think as you fuck your husband as he rails the woman no longer speaking English at the merciless pace you’ve set.

A religious experience in every sense of the word.

“We’re never doing this again.” Tommy vows in Romani as you leave the place wearing someone else’s dress and the mink coat Tatiana gave you in exchange for your diamond encrusted knives.

“And we won’t, I promise.” You say knowing you’ll receive a perfect replica of Tommy’s cock and a harness tailored to your measurements once the Duchess leaves for Austria with her cut of the money.

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x wife! reader #tatiana petrovna #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #evacore #peaky blinders smut

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dandelionfool · 4 months

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#tommy shelby #tatiana petrovna #peaky blinders #digital painting #my art #spent longer on this than i planned to since it started out as just a sketch of tatiana #but evidently i am incapable of avoiding any opportunity to draw tommy so it turned into this instead

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tommygrace · 10 months

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All the women tried to seduce Tommy.

But for Tommy, women compared to Grace...

#tommy x grace #tommy shelby #grace shelby #grace burgess #may carleton #lizzie stark #diana mitford #jesse eden #tatiana petrovna

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thepeakygirl · 10 months

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Some of my top favourite Peaky Blinders looks from the Peaky women

Wish I had better quality photos of Grace’s peacock dress and Lizzie’s black dress from s6e5 because they’re stunning and deserved to be shown in better light

#peaky blinders #the peaky blinders #peaky blinder #bbc peaky blinders #lizzie shelby #lizzie stark #peaky fookin blinders #ada thorne #polly gray #gina gray #grace burgess #grace shelby #may carleton #tatiana petrovna #linda shelby

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thesoldiersminute · 2 years

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Peaky Blinders Season 3 | Episode 4

#peakyblindersedit #peaky blinders #thomasshelbyedit #thomas shelby #tatiana petrovna #tommy x tatiana #userrobin #userthea #usermandie #ryancoogler #userbecca #useraurore #henricavyll #underbetelgeuse #ceremonial #weloveperioddrama #perioddramaedit #perioddramasource #my gifs

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

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I'd do anything to make you stay (dark!Tommy x Reader)

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

Summary: First, she wished to leave, then she felt it was her duty to leave, then she was desperate to leave until she realised she was forced to stay.

Note: This was written for @noforkingclue and her 2.5 k celebration. Congratulations once again. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it! I tried my hand at dark! Tommy, but in a more conniving, subtle way and used the implicit prompt of "I'd do anything to make you stay" and the explicit prompt of "I have nothing I could offer you"

I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. This hasn't been beta'd so I apologise for typos or mistakes

Warning: Gun, manipulation, controlling behaviour, obsession (18/21+)

Wordcount: 5033 words

"So that means, I have to leave.", She announced, slightly out of breath from the strength it took to say these words.

For a moment, there was silence. Then it was Ms Burgess who spoke up.

"So we will have to find someone new?", She sighed in annoyance. "This hassle is the last thing we need with the wedding coming up."

Her tone made her swallow hard, turning her eyes to the floor.

"Grace, leave the girl be.", Mr. Shelby argued. His tone softened, when he returned to her.

"Congratulations.", He offered. "We wish you and your fiancé all the best."

His soft smile made relief wash over her.

"Thank you for letting us know so that we have time to plan in finding a replacement, even if we are sad to see you go. You are incredible with Charlie."

That was why they had hired her.

She wasn't a governess, and no nanny or nurse either. In fact, she was only a trained housemaid, but once Mr. Shelby had found out she had three younger siblings of her own, he had hired her as Charlie's caretaker, deeming her qualifications as a sister more important than those from some college or school.

Ms Burgess had disagreed at first, but the little boy had taken to her.

And now with Ms Burgess focussed on nothing but the wedding, Charlie grew ever more attached to her.

He was a beautiful boy, so soft and gentle. Other children raged with tantrums, but only ever cried when he was frightened, hungry or exhausted. He loved to be held and always tried to hold onto a part of her in return, her hair, her hand, the fabric of her clothes.

And he was getting strong fast.

Having to leave him would break her heart but before long she'd have a bunch of children of her own.

Mr Shelby had always been kind to her. Occasionally he would bend the rules or show the occasional kindness, like sending her a car to pick her up from the station after her day off, or keeping back a slice of blackberry pie only because she had once mentioned that she adored it.

Perhaps it was because she knew their secret. It was obvious, really. The way he held and watched the boy, who on paper was nothing but his fiancée's son, gave it all away. But it wasn't her place to judge so she didn't.

And she always greeted him with a smile whenever he would join her in the nursery or outside in the gardens, or when she would bring the boy to him before putting him to sleep.

This would have been the beginning of goodbye, only it wasn't.

When she visited home a few weeks later, she was met with the shocking news that her fiancé had married someone else and moved away with her to London.

The heartbreak was bad, but the shame was worse.

"I see.", Mr. Shelby said, when she sat in his home office in front of him, her cheeks wet as she tried very hard to keep her voice composed.

The sudden ending of her engagement meant she needed employment once more and it made her cheeks burn to ask for it.

Mr. Shelby sighed deeply, smoke escaping his lips.

"We have already found someone.", He mumbled, making her heart drop.

He was a good employer and paid well, but she couldn't blame him, could she now?

"However, the change wouldn't be good for Charlie. You may continue your employment here."

Relief made her sniffle once more.

"Now, now. No more of that, eh?", He insisted, getting up and walking around the desk.

From his own suit pocket, he produced his handkerchief and dabbed her cheeks gently.

"There. I know all too well how betrayal by someone you thought you loved hurts.", He said, his voice even softer than it normally was when speaking to her.

His hand lingered on the side of her face from where it had tilted her face upward.

It was so warm, and his eyes, those eyes the other servants claimed to be cold, were filled with nothing but compassion.

His thumb traced her cheekbone.

"But let me promise you this: while it is a hard lesson, it is a lesson you will never forget."

A lot of people had said a lot of things in the last few days, and she hadn't believed them. In a way, she didn't really believe that a man like him could have his heart broken too, but here he was, admitting it to her. And somehow she knew it was the truth.

He only removed his hand when Ms Burgess entered, visibly upset about some order of flowers.

Their wedding was shortly after Christmas and yet she wanted non-seasonal floral arrangements, which proved to be rather difficult.

"Congratulations, Mr Shelby.", She offered when she saw him in the corridor.

He turned in the spot, seeing her beam at him with the basket of clean laundry in her arm.

"What are you doing with that, eh?", He asked.

"Pitching in."

A lot of things had fallen off the edge in light of all the work that had to be done to make sure today would be absolutely perfect.

"That's not your job.", He reminded her.

Without another word, he took it from her hands.

"I'm glad to help. A lot of the maids are too busy.", She argued. "I'd feel awful if I didn't help at least a little bit."

Once she had placed the sheets in the large wardrobe in the corridor and the towels in the appropriate bathrooms, all absolutely perfect for the guests.

"I can take that now.", She assured him. "You are probably missed downstairs."

Mr. Shelby scoffed and shook his head.

"They can drink my champagne on their own."

So he followed her back in the nursery where she took over from Jane, the maid who had actually been supposed to take care of the towels. But she had been on her feet since three a.m. that morning so a little chance to sit and get a bite to eat was more than welcome.

"Sorry, Mr. Shelby.", She said at once.

"'s alright.", He assured her as he sat down on the other chair.

Still, Jane rushed to leave, leaving the three of them.

"Shall we show your father how well you are doing with your walking, Charlie?", She asked, kneeling down in front of the boy before turning to the father again.

"He can almost do it on his own."

Giving Charlie one hand of hers to hold, while the other was braced against the wall, he could hold his balance.

Then step by step, he moved forward towards his toy horse.

With a soft smile, Mr. Shelby crouched down too, opening his arms.

"Come here, Charlie!", He encouraged, making the boy change directions. That meant he had to abandon the safety of the wall.

Her hand went to his other hand, but Mr. Shelby shook his head.

"Let him try with one hand.", He instructed and so she did.

Charlie leaned heavily into her arm, but kept taking his steps, until he was in his father's arms.

"Well done. Now back again.", He instructed, offering Charlie only one hand to hold onto.

And once more Charlie made his way across the small space between them.

As she stretched out her hands, she glanced up and saw his eyes, focussed not on his son, but on her. And she smiled before focussing her attention back on that darling little boy.

The bad news came in the middle of chaos, although chaos seemed to be their constant state. Right after the wedding, the new Mrs Shelby was determined to start working on the foundation. While Mr Shelby’s money was the ticket into polite society, this work would keep them there, of that she was sure and so she poured every waking minute into it, and everytime she came to ask if perhaps she wanted to join her on a walk with Charlie or bathe or feed him, she was turned away. Some days, Mr Shelby saw him more than his mother did and that was saying something.

And so it was him she turned to, with the letter in hand.

He leaned back against the windowsill as he read through what her mother had written.

“How old is your aunt?”, he wanted to know.

“Thirty - six.”, she responded, wringing her hands.

“And now your mother wants you to go and help her?”

She nodded.

“She can’t possibly do the household chores with a broken hip, and rear four children, Sir.”

“No, she can’t.”, he said with a sigh before sitting down at his desk.

For a moment, he seemed to consider the implications, then he nodded.

“And you’d take that on? Four children and a household, all the while playing nurse?”

That wasn’t a difficult question at all.

“Of course, Sir! I don’t want to leave, but it’s family. That's what family is supposed to do."

Her words brought a hint of a smile to his lips.

“That is very kind of you.”, he told her, making her cheeks flush. “But the truth is, I don’t want to see you go. I think it would be bad for Charlie.”

All softness had gone from his voice and he met her gaze with the same determination she had seen him use with his brothers

She opened her mouth to argue, but he waved her off.

“But since I understand your situation, and the conflict it brings, I would like to make you an offer.”

Those demanding blue eyes met hers again and she shuddered in anticipation.

“I’ll pay for your aunt to hire some woman from the village to take care of her household and children. And I will increase your pay by 15% as I know you send all your earnings back to your family so that your mother won’t have to work so much. That increase would let her take another day off about another day a week, no? During that time she too can help your aunt.”

“Mr. Shelby-”, she insisted breathlessly, “that’s too much to ask! I couldn’t possibly accept that!”

But he only shook his head.

“Don’t you worry. You just stay right here and tend to Charlie. The costs of letting you go would be far higher, to all of us.”

She tried to argue once more, but he wouldn’t have it and instead sent her off with a small smile, feeling dizzy from her luck.

It was awful. No, it was worse than awful. It was horrific.

Mrs Shelby had been so proud, so happy when it came time to leave for the foundation dinner, only to -

She hadn’t believed it at first, not even when Mary told her. Only when bit by bit, the Shelbys came home.

It took three days for anyone to spy Mr. Shelby.

There had been strict instructions from his sister that no one was to talk to him, not even to offer their condolences. He wouldn’t want that.

There was some comfort though, as Charlie seemed blissfully oblivious to everything, babbling and playing, giggling whenever she sung “This is how the Lady rides” and bounced him on her lap. She had been doing that when she saw him standing in the door and profusely apologised, with a burning face and a tightening chest.

It had been on the mourning of the fourth day. He was wearing nothing but a working man's shirt and old saddleworn trousers, his eyes red and his cheeks sunken.

The poor man had lost his wife and here she was making his son laugh until he was breathless.

It just wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right.

But instead of scolding her, of screaming or even striking her for her inappropriate behaviour, he had only ever placed a hand on her arm to sooth her, crouched down beside his son, stroked his hair and asked her to continue.

It hadn’t been easy, at least not until Charlie was laughing again, but when she brought him up again, he had thrown himself into her chest, his whole body trembling with giggles.

But Mr. Shelby hadn’t minded. Instead, he had only watched, his hand staying on her arm, his eyes on his son.

“You’re a Godsend.”, he had called her on that fourth day before leaving, the hand moving to cup her cheek. And then he was gone.

But he returned on the fifth day, and on the sixth and seventh and on every day thereafter, joining her in the nursery.

Sometimes, he’d hold his son, sometimes he’d help her dress him or hold him or feed him. Sometimes he preferred to watch.

But he always returned.

For weeks it went like this, and she was the only person apart from his son, sister and aunt that he talked to. And the only adult he looked in the eyes while doing it.

She had seen him shrug off his aunt’s hand on his arm, while his own found her shoulder or back, brushed against her fingers as they exchanged toys or clothes, just as he never really met his sister’s eyes, while they didn’t shy away from hers.

A godsend, he called her, a blessing, a stroke of luck, once even saying that she was the only thing that still held all this together.

She had tried to argue, but he had insisted. She cared for Charlie and that was all that mattered now. He hadn’t allowed her room for argument in that, and in his situation, she couldn’t blame him for putting his son above all others.

“Without you, all this would fall apart.”, he had said and she hadn’t even considered leaving, until it was her only thought- from one night to the other.

It was the noise that woke her, the shouting and slamming of doors.

Her eyes darted to the door that connected her small bedroom to Charlie's nursery, before she remembered that he was staying with Mr. Shelby's older brother and his wife.

Wrapping a scarf around her shoulders, she stepped out of her bedroom in search of the cause for this commotion.

In the chilly darkness of the corridor, she could hear them long before she could see them, arguing in the hall.

"Listen to me- eh!", Mr. Shelby roared, but stopped talking as soon as he heard her approaching.

She could see him standing close to the foot of the stairs, wearing crumpled trousers, his bare chest revealing tattoos she had never known him to have, his dark hair ruffled.

Her eyes followed his outstretched hand to a woman who was standing in the middle of the hall.

She had never seen her before but it wasn't difficult to place her, after all, a Russian Duchess as a houseguest made the rounds quickly.

She was wearing Mr. Shelby's coat and little more, her messy dark hair fell down her shoulders, her dark makeup was slightly smudged and her black eyes shone in the darkness.

"Oi,", he called out, "Back to bed, now!", He ordered and she was about to obey, when the Duchess laughed and stretched her arm out, and in it she held a gun, casually as if it was a pen.

All air was knocked from her lungs and she froze.

"You there, pour us a drink!", She insisted.

Her heart thundered in her chest, as she felt hawkish dark eyes locking in on her.

When her dark lips turned into a smile, she felt her stomach coil.

"No, get back to bed!", Mr. Shelby insisted.

Her eyes darted back and forth between them. She knew his word was final, but he wasn't the one with the gun.

"I told you to come here!", the Duchess snarled, her voice strained with impatience.

Her chest tightened as she felt frightened tears come to her eyes.

Her whole body trembled as she took a few uncertain steps forward, not daring to take her eyes away from the woman.

She had barely reached the middle of the stairs, when Mr Shelby stopped her, blocking her descent with his body as his hand found her waist, feeling her body tremble.

"Go to bed.", He told her. "Go."

"She has a gun.", She whimpered, blinking the tears away.

"You should listen to her, Tommy!", the Duchess giggled.

While glancing down, she saw her twirl her hair around the gun as if it was nothing.

"You know in Russia, the lady of the house took care to have pretty maids and ugly nannies.", She chirped, as if this was as casual a setting as a lesson in good manners.

It made her heart beat so fast she feared it would rip through her chest. Either that or give out forever.

But it was a desperate, almost painful hope that made her look up through teary eyes at the only other person in the room, the only person that might save her.

He’d tell her she was wrong, he’d take the gun from her, he’d make her stop.

Mr. Shelby's jaw tightened, but he kept his distance, his eyes following the gun.

"The only men who had pretty nannies were the widowers. That way there were no problems."

"Come on!", Mr. Shelby insisted, practically pushing her back up the stairs, while blocking the Duchess from sight, his hand burning in her back and arm.

But he couldn't stop her from hearing the other woman's venom.

"I do wonder why you hired your pretty little nanny far before your wife died."

"Go, go. It's alright.", He promised, as they came close to the top. "Go to bed. I won't let her bother you."

She ran the last few steps, and as soon as she was around the corner she pressed herself against the wall, but even that didn't still her trembling hands.

Move, she told herself. Go. Hide. Do as he said.

But her body had developed a will of its own, trembling like a leaf and frozen to the spot, as if all its strength was focussed on not crying out in fear or sobbing in desperation. She clasped a hand over her mouth and tried to calm her breathing.

She could still hear them arguing, the Duchess teasing and Mr. Shelby trying to calm her down.

"I thought it was me you wanted to dress up as her but it was that little thing up there all along.", She heard and her hand muffled her whimper.

It was as if the Duchess had ripped open a drawer of her memory and had spread their contents all over the floor, forcing her to pick them all up again, look them over and rearrange them.

Only on second glance, in this light, they all looked different, not explicit but doubtful.

He had always been a good and kind employer, but what if there was some truth in what the Duchess had said?

What if there even was a hint?

It wasn't right- it couldn't be right.

And she couldn't allow herself to be pulled in.

So she had kept an eye out, wrote her letters, a few to the announcements in the papers, and another to him to explain her reasoning.

It was easier to write than saying it to his face. But of course, she couldn't hope to evade him forever.

Mr Sheoby came while they were spending some time outside, sitting in the open air on a thick woollen blanket, both her and Charlie bundled up against the lingering yet fading winter cold.

The first flowers had begun to come out now, and not even this place could escape the wind of change that carried spring each year.

Beside her, Charlie was busy playing with the little wooden cubes, happily babbling to himself. That made it hard- harder than it should have been.

She heard the steps before she saw the shadow, easily identifiable to her. She still could not meet his eyes, even if it was rude.

When she didn't react to his satisfaction, he decided to clear his throat.

"Might I join?", He asked impatiently.

"Of course, Mr. Shelby. I'm sure you son would like that."

He sat down far too close to her for her liking, the fabric of his trousers almost brushing against her knee in the process.

Instead of paying attention to Charlie, he simply stared at her.

She didn't do him the favour of looking at him. She couldn’t. Her cheeks were burning with shame.

"I gather you received my letter.”, she whispered, taking a deep breath to brace herself for whatever was to come now.

"Good.", She said, staring straight ahead, to the trees and the river that lay beyond.

"I've decided to reject it."

He said it without anger, without malice. At best, he sounded annoyed that he had to deal with it in the first place, like she had somehow stretched the limitations of his patience with her request.

"You can't reject a resignation.", She insisted.

"Well I fucking do.", He said, sounding more exhausted than angry.

She took a shaky breath and focussed on the treeline. Her hands had begun to tremble again and so she clutched the fabric of her dress.

"I understand, you're upset and you have every right to be but you are needed here.”

“I want to leave.”, she insisted.

Her voice cracked and she glanced away, clutching a hand over her mouth.

But she refused to cry in front of him.

"I understand.", He said, surprisingly gentle. "I understand your wish to leave, but I can't let that happen. So I'll let you draw up a number, any number, and I will see it in your account or your family's account by the end of the week. As high as you like. You could set them up for life if you want to.”

She felt like the ground had shifted under her once more and she was falling again.

"I am not a thing to be bought and paid for.", She hissed. "I am a person and as a person, I have the right to decide and I have decided not to continue my employment here."

With you.

He stared at her with that unreadable expression of his, those cold, unyielding eyes burning into her soul.

"Are you finished?", He asked, sounding almost bored once more. "Good."

She felt her heart clench as his words.

"I won't allow you to abandon Charles and that's the end of it.", he merely stated.

"It's not yours to allow!", She said a little louder than she had intended, her voice thinning as her resolve slipped more and more.

Charlie's head peaked up and he looked to her, his own summer sky blue eyes staring at her.

"I will leave, Sir, and never come back.", She told him.

His jaw muscles tightened as he stared at her profile, his piercing gaze burning itself into her skin just like the memories of that night that burned themselves into her soul.

"I have to go now, but when I return, we talk."

"There is nothing to talk about.", She whispered as he got to his feet.

"We will talk when I return tomorrow.", He said sternly, before walking off.

Only Mr. Shelby didn’t return.

She had her suitcases packed and went down to the kitchens to retrieve the sandwiches Mrs O’Sullivan had promised her for her journey when she heard the whispers - Mr. Shelby was dead, beaten to death by thugs in the street.

It had shocked them all to their core, leaving them in paralysed uncertainty, and her in tears not for the man, but the little boy upstairs. Both parents dead within months was a harsh fate to suffer.

The truth had come later, in the form of Mrs. Thorne who had told her the truth of it. Mr Shelby was very badly hurt and might die. When she found out of her plans to leave, she had begged her to stay given the seriousness of the situation. Once they knew what would become of Mr. Shelby, they could decide what to do about a replacement.

And so she stayed, for Charlie’s sake. Otherwise he’d be left entirely without any constant person in his life and she couldn’t do that to him. But she should have done.

She had agreed with Mrs Thorne that she would stay until a decision for her replacement could be made and that meant until Mr Shelby was well enough to look through candidates again, which he actually began to do.

Once she saw that, she made preparations to leave in two weeks time.

Five days before her departure, he called her into his office.

"Have you found a new nanny for Charlie?", She asked, after sitting down across from him just like he had bid her.

Mr. Shelby shook his head.

"There's not much time left before I leave.", She told him.

His response came ever calm, ever cool.

"You won't leave."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Mr. Shelby, we've been through this.", She said.

Too many times.

Slowly, Thomas Shelby turned back from the window and faced her, nodding towards a dark red file on his desk.

"What is that?", She asked.

"Take a read.", He said, leaning back and observing.

She felt her heart thunder as she reached for it, fearing for whatever would be found inside, but to her surprise it was a letter of enrolment to one of the best schools for young girls in the country, a school of higher education with excellent recommendation and frightening prices.

This letter was confirmation between the school and Mr. Shelby that the payment for the full enrollment of her sisters until their respective ages of graduations had been paid for.

She stared up at him wide-eyed but before she could form any response he nodded towards the folder.

“Keep reading.”, she demanded.

She turned the page and skimmed the words.

Next, she found another letter, this time to a name painfully familiar to her, a name she had heard all her life and one she had up to this point associated with kindness and generosity, with understanding of their situation.

It was the name of her landlord, or rather the man that owned the land her family lived on and farmed.

And unlike the previous letter, this deal had been sent and answered, confirming that the ownership had been transferred from him to Mr. Shelby, with an agreement not to inform the tenants and asking what was to be done about it- if they really had to remove them from the property.

The authentic signature was like a stab to her stomach and the blood in her ears began to rush.

As she had read, Mr. Shelby had moved across the desk to lean against it.

"You see that there are two ways this can go?", He asked, calmly, as her chest began to tighten.

Her lip began to tremble and she forced her burning eyes shut.

“As long as you stay here, your sisters will be taken care of. Your mother won’t need to pay a dime in rent while I will make sure they have every comfort and renovation they could possibly want. Or…-”

He needn’t spell it out.

His hand found her shoulders in an almost reassuring manner, as if he was the source of her comfort and not the sole cause of her troubles.

He took the file from her shaking hands, placing it back on his desk amongst countless others- another box ticked business deal completed.

"I knew you'd understand."

The way he sounded, filled with not just pride but relief, made her sick to her stomach.

He continued holding her shoulders between his hands as if to ease her tension, letting her look out at the vast lands of the Arrow House Estate. She had once liked the fact that one could look for miles and see nothing.

"You belong here.", He told her as if it was meant to assure her.

"Please, Mr. Shelby.", She whispered, whimpered even as her tears began to fall.

“It’s not right. It’s just not right. Let me go home. Please.”

He only sighed in response, so she tried once more. She had to.

“There are a thousand women like me, better suited to the task. Please Sir, think of your wife. She wouldn’t want-”

His grip tightened so suddenly it made her wince as he pulled her up to stand, spinning her around to face him.

She saw anger flash in his pale blue eyes, and froze as he placed a single fingers on her lips.

“Don’t.”, he said softly, and yet she wasn’t so foolish as to miss the warning that lay in them.

“You know this is for the best.”, he assured her, gentle once more as he began to stroke the tears from her cheeks.

When she shook her head, he held it between his hands until she couldn’t do so anymore.

"Why me?", She dared to ask, forcing the words out through trembling lips. “I have nothing I could offer you. Please!”

He seemed almost amused by her answer and gave his response in the way one would talk to a child.

"Because you are untouched by all the dirt, by all the filth. No blood on your hands. You are so pure."

She didn't feel pure now.

She felt filthy, body and soul.

Hot tears began to spill once more and instead of being appalled or angry, he pulled her into a tight, almost comforting embrace and let her cry, while gently stroking over the back of her head.

I should have left long ago, she thought bitterly, her fingernails digging into the palms of your hand. I should have left when you were weak and wounded and dying. I should have left and never looked back.

But she hadn’t. She had been too weak, too soft. And now it was too late.

"I know you're upset.", He soothed. "But I think you understand too. You know this is what's best for everyone. After all, I couldn't have you breaking Charlie's heart."

End.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

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@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @alex-in-the-wilderness @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #dark! tommy shelby #dark!tommy #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #dark!tommy shelby x reader #dark!tommy x reader #dark!thomas shelby x reader #tatiana petrovna #dark!tatiana #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #valentineswritings #peaky blinders #i'd do anything to make you stay

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retomvel · 2 months

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this might be one of my favourite shots in the whole of peaky, she just looks so beautiful

#peaky blinders #tatiana petrovna #gaite jansen #also the back of tommy's head

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peakycobblers · 1 month

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“I watch Peaky Blinders for the plot!”

The Plot:

#peaky blinders #polly gray #lizzie stark #esme shelby #grace burgess #linda shelby #ada thorne #jessie eden #tatiana petrovna #may carleton #based on a similar post by @jomarch-wannabe #that post is like this one but with the men #my ladies

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sneakyblinders · 1 year

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this line of work pt 1

A/N: this will be part 1 of a few part mini series (read part 2 here!) featuring tommy and bee aka our darling couple <3 (keeping it as one part would've been far too long.) warnings: blood, violence, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, angst, language, alcohol, tommy kissing women he shouldn't be. not canon. a part of my tommy & his darling wife au <3 7.6k words. i take no credit for the gif!

1957

Tommy slammed his palms down on his desk, rage boiling in his blood. He walked to the front of his home office, towards the door. Several maids were dusting, conversing quietly between themselves. “Where the fuck is my wife?” he yelled.

They looked at each other, panic coursing through their minds. “We’re not sure, Mr. Shelby, we haven’t seen her since this morning,” the older of the two said softly.

“Well, go fucking find her and tell her to come here now!” he yelled, storming back into his office, slamming the door, making everything in this corridor of the Shelby Manor rattle.

The maids scurried off down the halls, rushing to find Bee. They find her in the kitchens, elbow deep in kneading a loaf of bread. ��Mrs. Shelby,” the younger maid said breathlessly. “Mr. Shelby is upset, he says he needs you immediately.”

Bee’s brow furrowed, checking the time. Only ten thirty. What has happened. She goes to the sink and washes her hands. “We can have one of the bakers finish that, Ma’am,” the older maid said, eyeing the nearly finished dough.

“No, no I’d like to finish it myself,” she tells them. “I love doing it. Thank you for finding me,” you tell them, throwing them a sympathetic smile.

She makes her way down the halls to her husband's office and pushes open the doors. His face is red with anger, and by all the smoke in the room she guessed he’d gone through about three cigarettes in the time it took the maids to find her.

He points a finger at Bee. “Why the fuck,” he starts, tone low and dangerous. “Would you keep something like this from me?” he asks, waving a piece of paper at her.

Bee’s brow furrows, confused. “What is it?” she asks, not taking his meaning, not sure what he’s accusing her of not telling him. She tells him everything.

“Don’t fucking play that with me!” he yells, slamming the piece of paper down.

Her blood begins to boil, walking over to him and taking the piece of paper from his desk. Sloppy handwriting was scrawled on the page, a request for a meeting with the two of them, regarding your youngest daughter, Claire. It was signed by a “Paul Davidson”. “I don’t know who this man is,” she tells him, eyes wide. “What’s wrong, Thomas?” she asked him. His back is turned to her.

He whirls around, furious, hands slamming on his desk. “What’s fucking wrong, is I know our daughters tell you everything. You knew Claire is in correspondence with a man, so it is beyond fucking me, why you would fail to mention that the man who is pursuing our daughter is a fucking no good gangster from Liverpool!” he seethes, jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might chip. “You have some things to explain to me.”

She stood up straight. “Thomas,” she told him, lips in a tight line. “I have never once, in all the years we have been together, kept something from you. I have always been honest and forthcoming. I did know Claire was in correspondence with a man, yes, but I did not know who he was. She didn’t tell me. So,” she told him calmly, setting the piece of paper down on the desk. “Pull your head out of your ass, which is the only logical explanation I can think of for the way you’re speaking to me,” she told him, lips pursed. “Do not come anywhere near me until your head is firmly back on your shoulders and your temper under control. You will not speak to me in this way. I will talk to Claire,” She told him, voice firm.

Bee walks out of his office, slamming the door and walking up the steps to their youngest daughter's room leaving her husband staring blankly at the door before falling into his chair with a sigh.

Bee didn’t bother knocking, she knew Claire would be awake and dressed. She was her father’s child in that regard. “Knock, please?” she said, tone annoyed as she turned to face her mother from her vanity table.

“I’m not in the mood for formalities,” Bee told her harshly, eyeing Claire in the mirror as she adjusted her earrings. “You have some explaining to do.”

She wrinkled her face. “About what?”

“About some man named Paul Davidson writing your father,” Bee says, and the color drains from Claire’s face.

“He did?” she says, not meeting her mothers eyes in the mirror.

“He did, and your father is furious,” Claire closes her eyes and sighs, resting her forehead in her palm. “So unless you’d like to face the wrath of the king, I suggest you start talking,” Bee tells her sternly.

“I didn’t know he was a gangster at first,” she admits, turning to face her mother. “I met him at the fair, and he won me this box,” she tells Bee, pointing to a heart shaped, crystal box. “We’ve been writing ever since.”

“He’s taken with you, then?” Bee asks, sitting on the foot of her bed.

“I suppose so,” she says shyly.

“Cut the shit,” Bee sneers. “Your father is three steps away from asking Johnny Dogs to bring the car around and take him to Liverpool today. Start speaking plainly, now.”

A tiny bit of fear flashed in Claire’s eyes. She typically didn’t have to be this stern with her children–Tommy typically shouldered the unpleasant parts of parenthood for the both of them, something she was grateful for. The oldest two were nothing like the twins, who were nothing like the youngest two. Each of them were very different sets of children, which had proved to make parenting very difficult for her and Tommy. But Claire and Anthony… they were different children, requiring a much stronger hand than the older four.

“He’s–he’s been here,” she tells Bee and rage flashes through her eyes, mouth dropping open. “He’s snuck in the evenings, when you and Daddy are riding in the pastures or at the Garrison dancing,” Bee’s mouth dropped open further. “Nothing’s happened!” she hurriedly says.

“Bull shit!” Bee yells, eyes wide. “Claire, I was not born yesterday, please.”

“We haven’t had sex, if that’s what you’re worried about! He’s a good man, Mum!”

“I don’t care if he’s a good, bad or awful man, I am upset that you didn’t tell me as soon as you knew! You know about your father’s history with these things,” Bee tells her and her face flushes in embarrassment. “And if he found out he was in this house, he’d cut him from throat to crotch,” Bee adds.

“Please, don’t tell Daddy,” Claire pleads with you, walking over to where she sits. “Please, Mum, he’ll be so upset.”

Bee looks her in the eyes. “Claire, I have never kept things from your father and I certainly won’t start now. I will have to tell him, and I am not sure I can persuade him to change his mind on what he intends to do to Paul.”

Claire shakes her head. “You can always change Daddy’s mind! You just have to look at him and he folds!” she tells her mother.

She wasn’t wrong, usually. But this time–this was different. “Claire, Darling, I am afraid this might be a little different.”

“How?” she asks, tears in her eyes.

“This is concerning your safety. Your father got out of that line of business for a reason,” Bee explains.

“Yes, because you threatened him!” she exclaimed.

Bee sighed. She wasn’t wrong again, but she was missing important details. “Yes, I did threaten him, but do you know why?” Claire shook her head no as Bee pulled the skirt of her dress up her legs, revealing a nasty scar the size of an American half dollar on the side of her thigh. Claire winced, seeing the bullet wound scar. “That was a bullet meant for your father that I took,” Bee says, dark eyes flaming in anger. “And that is why I threatened him. He almost died, several times because of that life, Claire. I almost died. You never had to experience it because he was out of it by the time you were born–and it almost killed him to get out of it, but he did. So I hope you understand why wanting to run to a man who still lives that way is a slap in the face to both of us.”

Claire swallows the lump in her throat. You turn to walk out of the room, but she stops Bee. “Mummy, please! What if this is my chance to have a love like you and Daddy do!” tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

Bee’s voice does not waver as she tells her, “Not everyone gets our kind of love, Darling. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

That evening at dinner, the air was tense, Tommy still not having apologized for his outburst to Bee. She’d excused herself and gone upstairs and bathed, spreading her favorite lotion over her body and pulling a light blue nightgown on. It was long with lace trim and a deep neckline.

Bee sat at her vanity, spreading Ponds on her face when Tommy entered your shared room, face filled with fatigue. “Hello, Gorgeous,” he rasped, walking slowly over to his wife, gently putting his hands on her shoulders, bending to press a kiss where her neck met her shoulder.

“Thomas,” she addressed him sternly, avoiding the effect his kisses still had, even after all these years.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her skin, pressing another kiss into her shoulder. “Please, talk to me,” he whispered. “You know I can’t bear it when you’re upset with me.”

She turned around to face him. “Don’t ever speak to me that way again, Thomas.”

He shook his head. “I won’t. I know you don’t keep things from me, I’m just so angry with her,” he says. Bee stands to her feet and begins to work at removing his cufflinks. He looks down at her, wondering how in the hell she’d put up with him for this long.

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to tell you,” she says, setting his cufflinks down on her vanity and moving to unclasp his sleeve garters. It was 1957, he could get tailored shirts, but he said he quite prefers the garters. She likes them, too. “They met at the fair and have been writing ever since,” she took a deep breath. “She has, apparently, snuck him in here when we’ve been out,” his eyes snap to hers, an exasperated look on his face. “She tells me nothing has happened.”

“Oh fuck me,” he mumbles, turning away from Bee, running a hand down his face. “This is a nightmare,” she refrains from chuckling at her husband's distress. “This is recompense for all the terrible things I thought about you when we were courting, isn’t it?” he asked, a hand on his hip, the other arm extended out towards the wall, palm open. He looked so tired. “Fuck where did we go so wrong with these youngest two? They’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”

Bee walks over to him and removes the braces from his shoulders while he unbuttons his shirt. She fetches his sleeping clothes from the drawer and hands them to him. He shucks the rest of his clothes off, pulling his comfortable clothes on. He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for a cigarette. She climbs on the bed behind him, fingers starting to massage his shoulders. He melts into her touch.

“She wants to have a love like ours,” she whispers to him and she feels his body sag as tears threaten to spill onto her cheeks.

“I want all our children to have that,” her husband tells her in a small voice. A voice so small she almost didn’t recognize it.

“I do too, sweetheart,” she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders, hands resting softly on his chest. “We certainly have set the expectation for love rather high, hm?”

Tommy sharply inhales. He reaches back to touch her thigh. The one with the nasty scar. The nasty scar that she would wear as yet another symbol of love and devotion. “Do you remember that day?” he asked.

She replied, “How could I forget?”

It was April 6, 1924. The Shelby Foundation’s first annual fundraiser gala. Everyone who was anyone was there. The entire family attended, dressed in their newest and finest clothes. The alcohol and food flowed freely, the best live music in the country was hired and paid well that evening. It was hosted in the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. Bee wore a beautiful pale yellow gown to offset the dreaded Russian sapphire Tommy had given her a few nights before. The dress cascaded over the growing bump of their second child.

Tommy had nearly made the two of them late, unable to resist how beautiful Bee looked–her hair done perfectly, lipstick a light pink, only meant to accentuate the natural color of her lips. He’d made love to her sweetly, taking his time devouring every inch of her, whispering sweet words of praise and adoration in her ear. Afterwards he helped her redress, and the two of them nearly ran down the steps of the Manor to get to the car to make it to the city in time.

Bee had been proud of this party she’d organized. Hundreds of people were there to donate to the Shelby Foundation, a cover organization which Tommy intended to funnel money through for some business he was in contract with the Russians about. He had promised her, after she’d yelled at him for using the city's poor and abandoned children as a marketing tool for financial gain, that he would donate a portion of his own income to the orphans of the city.

People flocked to Bee and Tommy, congratulating them on the new step in Tommy’s career, and thanked Bee for the beautiful party that she organized. They congratulated them on their second child, many people not knowing about her pregnancy until that evening. Tommy beamed with pride when people would comment on how beautiful Bee looked that night. His wife. It was her who did all of this. It was her who motivated him to be more, do more. It made him hungry for success. Crave it. Prove to all the sorry bastards who told them he would never have it all, that he could have it all. And she was by his side, doing it all with him.

The Duchess, Tatiana, approached them. “Mr. Shelby, please introduce me to your wife, I have heard much about you!” she eyed Bee, a girlish grin on her face.

“Duchess Tatiana Petrovna, my wife, Mrs. Bee Shelby,” Tommy said, eyes dull as he tried to avoid the eye contact the duchess was giving.

Tatiana held her hand out and Bee shook it, smiling at her. “How do you two know each other?” Bee asked, eyeing her husband, who gazed down at her lovingly.

“Mutual business, that’s all,” he told her, hand on the small of her back.

Bee was called away to speak to a woman about a cash donation and after, Tommy came to find her. “Darling, you look beautiful–” he started.

She waved him off. “Why was she making eyes at you?” She asked him, anger rolling in her belly.

“The Russian deal,” he began, holding her hands in his. Bee nodded. “She is one of the people I am in contact with. I have to work with her on this. Unfortunately they have requested that she seduce me as a part of the cause, which,” he held up a finger to her lips. “I have told her it is pointless, to which she immediately replied that it made sense that her attempts would be futile after seeing you tonight,” he leans in towards her. “Darling, she says this necklace is cursed,” he whispers. “Please, take it off.”

She laughed slightly. Bee never understood some of the superstitions Tommy believed. Curses, witches, fortune tellers. She knew it was a part of his heritage, things he and Polly held close, but had never experienced them the way he had. “What will you do with it?” She asks as he reaches behind her neck to unclasp it.

“Throw it somewhere far away from us,” he says, pecking your lips.

At that moment, a waiter stops in front of the two of them, several paces away and pulls a gun from behind his towel that was draped over his arm. “Thomas!” She gasps. Tommy drops the necklace as she reaches her arms around him to throw both of them down on the ground, trying to be as careful as she can about her belly; the man screams something along the lines of ‘For Angel’. Out of the corner of Bee’s eye she sees Arthur tackle the man to the ground, the gun firing right before Bee and Tommy land to the ground, searing pain shooting through her leg.

There are screams of terror that echo off the walls of the museum. John, Finn and Michael scramble over to the gunman, several of them holding him down while others find objects to throw at him.

Polly runs to Bee, lying on the ground in Tommy’s arms. He’s screaming for someone to get an ambulance. Polly runs to the phone, pink dress trailing behind her. “My love, my love, stay with me, yeah? Please, please don’t go, please,” Tommy begs her. Her hand reaches up to grab his wrist as she writhes in pain in his arms. Her legs felt sticky from the blood pouring from her thigh.

“Thomas,” she manages to get out.

“Please, don’t leave me here,” he begs her, tears in his eyes.

She didn’t remember much after that.

Bee woke up what felt like days later, in a hospital room, Tommy rushed over to her bedside, grabbing her hands with his, pressing urgent kisses to her knuckles. “Thomas?” She croaks, throat dry.

“My darling,” he cries, tears spilling over his cheeks onto her hand, her lap. “My love, my love,” his shoulders are heaving, eyes rimmed red from a lack of sleep and an abundance of crying.

“Water,” she croaks. He reaches for a pitcher at her bedside and pours her a small cup, bringing it to her lips. He wipes away the little bits of water that gather at the corners of her mouth with his thumb. An intense pain in her leg shoots through her, making her wince. “My leg,” Bee says, tears in her eyes from the pain. She moved to put a hand on her belly, and it was much flatter than she last recalled. “The baby,” she said in a panicked voice.

“You were shot,” he explains, smoothing her hair back from her face. “The Italians–you remember that mess?” he asked. She nodded. “They tried to kill me the other night and–you got in the way,” he said, more tears spilling onto his cheeks. “The doctors had to sedate you,” he continued. “Had to get the baby out,” he says, choking back tears. “She’s here, she’s small and weak but she’s fighting.”

“What did you name her? When can I see her? Are you alright?” She asks, rattling off questions one by one, trying to see if a bandage adorned his body anywhere.

“I am shattered, my love,” he says. “It should be me,” he tells her, chin trembling.

“I would do it again, Thomas,” she tells him weakly.

He shakes his head. “What did I do so right to deserve you, hm? My perfect angel, my perfect wife,” he says, pressing another kiss to her knuckles. “I love you, I love you,” he whispers it to her over and over. A chant, a prayer, a reassurance to himself. It’s the last thing she hears as she drifts back off to sleep.

A week later, Bee was deemed well enough to return home, with baby Katherine in tow. There was a large group of people congregated in the foyer of the Shelby Manor, which Frances was trying desperately to tame. Tommy’s entire family gathered, everyone arguing and screaming at one another as to who would get the biggest ass chewing from Tommy. Bee’s family simmered in silence, seething with a deep hatred for this life, for this man who dragged her into this.

Tommy brought Bee in the back way, carrying her up the steps to their shared room, handing the baby off to Frances. He ensured she was comfortable, fluffing every pillow twice and putting plenty of blankets and books within her reach. “Don’t move a muscle out of this bed unless I’m here to help you,” he told her, wagging a finger.

“I won’t, I won’t,” she told him, exasperated at her husband already.

“Get some rest, I'll tame the crowds,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Bring your family up in an hour and a half,” she told him, eyeing the clock. “I have something to say to them.”

He nods. “Okay,” he tells you, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Anything you say, Darling. Just say it and it’s yours.”

Tommy descended down the stairs, hearing his family screaming at one another. When he reached the foot of the stairs, Bee’s sister, Emile, nearly flew across the foyer at him, a harsh slap landing on his cheek.

“You bastard!” she screamed, fists hitting his chest. “Look what you’ve done to her! Are you happy? Are you happy you’ve successfully ruined the best thing in your life?”

Everyone went quiet. Edward, Bee’s brother, pulled Emile from Tommy, a sobbing heap. “No one wants to get the call we did, Tommy,” he says.

Tommy nods. “I know,” he says before turning towards his family. “Michael, Polly, I’d like to speak to you,” he said, motioning towards his office.

Arthur and John gave each other a look, Ada raised her eyebrows. Polly and Michael struggled to keep up with Tommy’s pace as he walked through the halls of his home towards his office. He flung open the heavy doors, inhaling the familiar scent. He sighed as he walked around his desk, filled with papers, letters, and various correspondence that had come flooding in over the last week and a half he had been away.

“How is she, Thomas?” Polly asks nervously, sitting down across from him. “How’s the baby?”

Tommy exhales, pulling a cigarette to his lips. “She’s tired and in pain but she’s home. The baby is weak and small but she’s fighting. She was four weeks early.”

Michael cleared his throat nervously. “Will she be able to keep her leg?”

Tommy lit his cigarette. “Dunno yet,” he said, hands shaking at the thought. He spoke to them regarding their end of the business. “After all this business with the Russians is over, we’re going completely legitimate,” he tells them.

Michael nodded his head. “It’s for the best, Tommy,” he said. Polly agreed.

“Alright, meet me up by our chambers in about an hour and a half. She wants to see all of you,” he said. “Send Arthur and John in.”

Arthur and John slowly stalked in, right as tears threatened to fill Tommy’s eyes again. He eyed the wedding photo of you on his desk and thought of your sister's words. He had ruined you. He had known all along he would be your demise.

“How is she, Tom?” Arthur asked.

Tommy looked up at them, anger pouring from his eyes. “She’s fucking fine.”

“We uh–we cut Angel Changretta,” Arthur told him. “Finished ‘im off. In the hospital last night.”

Tommy nodded. “Good,” he lit another cigarette. “Find the old man and bring him to me,” he thought for a moment. “Does he have a wife?” They didn’t answer him, but by the looks on their faces, he knew the answer. “Shoot her and bring him to me alive. I want to do it myself,” he said, jaw set tightly.

“Uh, Tom,” John began. “Mrs. Changretta was a teacher at our school.”

“Yeah, she’s a good woman, Tom,” Arthur continued.

Tommy narrowed his eyes at them. “Then if she’s a good woman, she’ll go to heaven, eh, Arthur?” Arthur wouldn’t meet his gaze and neither would John. “After this business with the Russians is done, all legitimate business will take priority, and everything illegal will be phased out,” he announced. Arthur and John’s necks nearly cracked to look at him.

“Since when?” John asked, indignation in his voice.

Tommy slammed a fist on his desk, rage boiling over. “Since my fucking wife, took a bullet, meant for me!” he screamed, eyes icy. “She wants to see you all soon so fuck off before I shoot the both of you myself,” he says dismissing them.

John and Arthur eyed the floor. “Come on, John,” Arthur says quietly.

“Yeah, yeah alright. Always second class now, eh, Arthur?” John sneered over his shoulder as they walked out of the office.

If they thought Tommy’s outrage was difficult to handle, they had no clue of the wrath they were about to face.

Everyone gathered in the hallway of the Shelby Manor that housed Tommy and Bee’s chambers. It was a sacred wing of the house no one really ever dared enter unless they wanted to subject their senses to their voracious lovemaking. Tommy had gone in to check on her a few moments before, telling her if she wasn’t feeling up to it, he would tell them all to come back later.

“No, no I want to get this over with,” she said. He opened the door to their room as she laid in the bed, feeling rather small. “Get in here, all of you,” she said, her voice making her sound larger than she felt. “You too, Ada,” she said, noticing Ada lingering in the doorway. Tommy stood with his family, ready to face his wife’s wrath alongside them.

“You look good, sis,” John offered.

“Shut the hell up,” she snapped. Everyone’s eyes widened. “I would like to know,” the tone of her voice was dangerous, no one having heard this side of her before. “When it was, that we decided to make war over who a secretary is stepping out with in her romantic life? Hm?” her jaw was set, lips in a straight line. “Because last I checked, unless there is something any of you would like to admit to me or your wives, none of you have had any kind of hold on Lizzie Stark in years,” Tommy, Arthur and John shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “So I am unclear on what the reason was that one of you blooming fucking idiots, decided to cut Angel Changretta!” She roared. “Someone answer me!” Bee screamed, head pounding. “Do any of you really think a turf war over a whore-turned-secretary is worth our lives? This isn’t the way it was five years ago! We all have children now, families we have to think of!” she yells, tears in her eyes. “So in saying that, you,” she points at Tommy. “Will call off the rest of this fucking mess with the Italians,” her finger moved to John. “And you are going to make a treaty with them, and you!” she points to Arthur. “Are going to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.”

They all eyed her with wide eyes. John chuckled nervously. “By who’s orders?”

“The woman who may not get to keep her leg, that’s who.” she says, tone deathly. “Get out of my house, you all disgust me,” she waves them off. “And!” She shouted as they turned to leave. “If I can keep my leg,” she pointed at all of them. “The first thing I am going to do when I am able to stand is call all of you in for a meeting and kick all of you in the shins. Twice. Get out.”

They all hurried to file out of Tommy and Bee’s chambers, heads down.

Tommy spent weeks groveling at his wife’s feet, taking her scornful looks and hateful words. Guilt ate at him every moment knowing it should be him in her position. He would do anything to reverse the roles. She had wailed and cried, wanting to see the baby, wanting to hold her. Tommy insisted she was too weak still, which created more tears and resentment.

One night during a particularly bad spell of pain, she gripped his shirt, tears and fire in her eyes. “If you do not get out of this life, Thomas, I will take our children and leave. They cannot live like this. And neither can I.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said, terror filling his eyes.

“I mean every word, Thomas. I didn’t sign up for this.” She winced in pain.

“You knew what I was when you married me and you still chose to walk down the aisle and say your vows. You saw me long before our vows and you still wanted me. You don’t get to back out now,” he snarled.

She shook her head. “I didn’t sign up to take bullets for my husband who’s idiotic family makes war over who a secretary steps out with.”

No one had heeded her warnings of ending the war with the Changretta’s, and the family lived on the edges of their seats day by day. Bee was a sitting duck, waiting for the moment someone was bold enough to approach their home and attack her.

Tommy’s eyes filled with hurt at her words. “What can I do?” he asked, anger subsiding to fear.

“Get rid of her,” his wife snarled, grasping at her leg.

The next morning, Tommy walked slowly into the betting shop, approaching Lizzie’s desk outside his office. “Lizzie,” he said softly. “I need to speak with you,” he eyed the other secretaries who were trying their best to not listen in to what he was saying.

Lizzie looked up at him quizzically before standing to her feet and following him into the office. He shut the doors behind them.

“Sit, please,” he told her, reaching for his bottle of whiskey. She sat down.

“How is Bee?” she asked nervously.

Tommy shook his head. “Don’t speak of her,” he nearly whispered, pouring himself a glass full of whiskey.

Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Is she alright?”

Tommy chuckled, bringing the glass to his lips. He swallowed half the glass in one go, setting it back down on his desk with a thud. “No, Lizzie, she isn’t. She hasn’t seen her son in nearly three weeks, and she has yet to hold her baby girl. They cry for her every night. Her family is ready to drag her back to London and she has cursed my name every day since she woke up. She is not alright.”

Lizzie looked down at her hands in her lap. “I tried to tell Arthur, at that party at the Manor a few months back. I loved Angel,” she said softly.

Tommy planted both his palms firmly on his desk, shoulders broad, the fabric of his suit jacket straining against his frame. His eyes darkened. “You were literally,” his eyes narrowed at her in hatred. “Sleeping with our enemy.”

“There was a truce! It had been in effect for years!” she argued back.

“Yeah until John got wind of it! The truce was over after that, Lizzie! You’ve left me with no choice!” he shouted.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Lizzie,” he sighed. “I have to fire you.”

Her jaw dropped. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?” she asked. “They killed the man I loved!”

“And his people nearly killed the only good thing in my life!” he shouted, face red. “And she is moments away from leaving me as soon as she can because of all this now please, don’t make this harder than it has to be!” he yelled.

She stood up, her hips pressed against the front of his desk. She reached a hand out to touch his face, and he had to stop himself from leaning into it. “What has she made of you, Tommy?” she asked him, sympathy dripping from her voice. “What power she holds over you,” she mused aloud, thumb rubbing gently against his cheek. “The power all women wish to hold over the man they love,” she shook her head softly, tears running down her face. “What has she made of you?”

She dropped her hand from his face and walked out, Tommy’s head drooped to hang between his shoulders. He sank into his chair and sobbed.

A doctor's appointment a week later confirmed the good fortune of Bee being able to keep her leg. She was still on crutches and unable to walk for extended periods of time, but her prognosis was good. Tommy was elated at the news, sliding the doctor a few extra pounds, to which she rolled her eyes. She was finally allowed to hold the baby, and she spent most of her waking hours in her room with the baby, admiring her small features.

For the first time in their marriage, she’d subjected Tommy to separate bedrooms. She tossed and turned throughout the night and constantly felt the need to stretch, and somehow, Tommy always got in the way. And she was still mad at him.

He looked at her like a kicked puppy when she’d told him she had asked Frances to make up the spare bedroom and had hobbled down the hallway, closing the door before he had a chance to fight her on it.

He missed her. He understood her anger, her frustration, but dammit he missed her. Missed hearing her voice. She only ever really spoke to him when it was absolutely necessary. He missed her laugh, her lips on his. Missed falling asleep next to her, eating dinner with her and Peter. She’d taken to eating dinner earlier, before he got home most nights. The loneliness he thought he had long left behind him began to seep back into his bones.

So when Tatiana made her arrival at the Shelby Manor, he was weak.

He had returned from an outing with his brothers, a day of hunting and discussing plans for the rest of the Russian deal. He had delivered the news to his brothers that their father, sorry son of a bitch he was, was dead. A part of him was relieved, another part sorrowful. He returned, and his heart lifted when he smelled a familiar perfume—Bee’s. He thought she had come to greet him in his office.

His face fell when he saw Tatiana, the Russian Duchess in his chair. “I came to inquire about your wife, Mr. Shelby,” she said, eyes wide, tone laced with seduction. “It was a terrible thing that happened to her at your beautiful event, truly.”

“She hates me, but she’s alive. Which I will take,” he said, leaning against a bookcase as she stood up to fetch him a glass of whiskey.

“She will not hate you for long, no? Perhaps a little while, but once you cover her from head to toe in diamonds she will forgive you,” she smirked, walking dangerously close to him. “I went to Paris and found her perfume. I liked it, and I thought you might too, Tommy,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him, dragging her fingertips across his chest.

He sipped his whiskey. “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, eyes betraying his words.

“Could’ve fooled me, Mr. Shelby,” she giggled. “If you won’t fuck me then what will we do tonight together?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

He drank until he was thoroughly drunk that night—for the first time in a long time. The Duchess was giggly, stripped down to her slip and bra. He had told her stories of Bee. Goofy, silly stories. Stories she’d probably die of embarrassment if she knew anyone other than Tommy knew.

He had told her the story of when Bee had woken up in the hospital, how she’d told him she would take the bullet for him again. Tears welled in his eyes, whether from the alcohol or the overwhelming urge he had to run to her, he couldn’t tell. But in that moment, Tatiana leaned in and kissed him.

He allowed his lips to meld against hers for a moment before snapping to his senses, pushing her away. “I—I cannot betray her in this way,” he said.

Tatiana looked at him through her lashes. “You really love her?”

He nodded his head, wiping her lipstick from his lips. “With all I am.”

She jumped up, grabbing his gun and running towards the stairs. Running after her, she skipped towards Tommy and Bee’s bedroom. “Let me show Mrs. Shelby!” She giggled, turning a corner a little too sharply and sliding on the hardwood. She giggled a little louder, causing Sara to pop her head out of the door down the opposite end of the hallway in the children’s wing.

“Go back to bed, Sara, please,” Tommy pleaded, running after the Duchess.

Sara’s eyes widened as she shut herself back in her room. Tommy heard his bedroom door creak open and a frustrated grunt from the Duchess. “Where is she, Tommy? Thought she might like to see me,” she said, pulling his suit jacket closer around her shoulders. He wondered to himself when she had managed to pull that on.

“She wouldn’t, she’s fast asleep by now and she’s a bear when she’s woken up, please, let’s go back downstairs,” Tommy pleaded as she began to empty bullets from the chamber of his gun. “What’re you doing?” He asked.

“Something we do in Russia,” she said breathily, turning the chamber before setting the barrel back in place, cocking the gun back and lifting it to her temple.

“Don’t do this, please,” Tommy said, a hand out towards her.

“It makes me feel alive!” She said, finger on the trigger, squeezing.

“No!” Tommy screamed, wrestling the gun away from her. He knocked the gun from her hands, and as he did, she grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards her, the gun clattering to the floor. She pulled him flush against her, their bodies toppling over onto the bed, her lips crashing against his.

“Oh, Tommy!” She gasped when he pulled himself free from her grasp, his hands on her throat—squeezing—tightly. “How did you know?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He removed his hands from her throat with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want you,” he snarled, standing up.

She giggled. “Only have eyes for your wife, hm? Is that because of guilt, duty or do you really love her that much?”

Tommy stood in the middle of his room, panting, staring at her in disbelief. Neither of them had heard the door creak open further, Bee standing in the doorway on her crutches. “Answer the question, Thomas,” she demands.

Their necks snap to look towards her and Tommy’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Mrs. Shelby! I was hoping to see you!” Tatiana beamed, walking towards Bee.

She lifts the crutch from your good leg up towards Tatiana, the end of it pressing into her bare stomach. “Don’t come a millimeter closer,” she tells her, jaw clenched. Tatiana stops, the elated expression in her eyes falling. “Thomas, answer the question.”

“Sweetheart, I—“ he stammered. “You know it’s because I love you,” he tells her, taking a step towards you. Bee turns away to walk back down the hall. “Fuck,” he grinds out, following behind her. “My love,” he pleads, cutting her off from her path to her room. “My love, please listen to me,” he says as she lets a crutch crunch down on his foot. He let out a pained yelp as she continued to walk. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says.

“I am still in this house, Thomas! If you want to fuck another woman, how about you do it when I’m at least not in it, hm?” She tells him, slamming the door in his face. His heart sank when he heard her turn the lock.

“Darling! Darling, please. Please,” he croaked, throat dry from all the yelling. He slid down the door, sitting down outside the door.

Hours later, the corridors of the Shelby Manor were dimly illuminated by the orange glow of sunrise. His back was stiff, legs aching. His only source of heat was Scout, who had settled down next to him sometime in the night after the Duchess had fallen asleep in your shared bed. He heard little footsteps pattering down the hallway. “Daddy?” His son, Peter, called.

Tommy sat up, wiping the drool from the side of his mouth. Scout grunted, shifting her position on the floor. “Hello, son,” Tommy said.

“What are you doing out here? Mummy’s in there,” Peter said, pointing to the door.

“Yes, well, Mummy is very upset with me, so she doesn’t want to see me right now,” Tommy explained, straightening Peter’s pajamas. “What’re you doing up?”

“I had some scary dreams last night,” Peter explained. “You were shouting in my dreams.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold knowing what Peter heard weren’t dreams. He pulled his son close to his chest, pressing a kiss against the top of his head.

After safely tucking Peter back in his bed, Tommy returned to his bedroom, where the Duchess lay in your shared bed naked. “Good morning,” she nearly purred, stretching her limbs.

“Get out,” he barked.

“Waited for you all night,” she said again.

“Get out!” He screamed.

She looked at him, gathering her clothes from the various corners of the bed. “Remember, Mr. Shelby,” she whispered. “You may kill the priest. You have my permission.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what scared him more—not remembering the conversation she was referring to, or the look in her eyes.

Bee’s rage was boiling over—a new sort of rage she didn’t realize she had the potential for. It was Tommy’s fault she was in this position and he was inviting other women over to have an affair under the same roof.

A bitter seed had been planted in her heart after she’d regained consciousness enough to remember everything. The love she’d harbored for her husband had turned to enmity. Bordering on hatred. She hated the feeling, but couldn’t shake it. She was almost dead.

She’d refused to open the door that morning before he went out for the day. Refused to acknowledge him. Refused to speak to him.

It would haunt her as one of her greatest regrets.

Bee received a phone call from Ada. Panicked. “Bee, Bee, oh, please, please, you’ve got to help me!” Ada screeched into the phone.

“Ada, Ada what is it?” Bee asks. It had been nearly two days since she’d seen Tommy with the Duchess.

“It’s Tommy—he’s—oh, Bee, I don’t know what’s happened to him. He’s in the hospital his skull is cracked and he’s bleeding out of his ears and nose and—“ she rambled on, tears and sobs making it difficult for her to be understood. “Just please, please come here, please,” she sobbed.

“Where is he?” Bee asks.

Ada tells you which hospital. “Please come, Bee. I know you’re angry with him for all this but he won’t say a word unless it’s your name, please,” Ada cries. “What if he’s dying?” She asks.

“I’m coming, Ada. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Bee tells her. She yells down the hall for Frances, who comes running. “Please tell Simmons to get the car ready, I have to go to the hospital.”

Bee walks as quickly as she can manage through the halls of the Birmingham hospital, the cries of patients making her heart beat a little faster than it probably should have been, seeing as she was still recovering herself. Panic had overwhelmed her on the drive to the hospital. Worry. Worry that if her beloved was dying-she would have spent his last few days being cross with him for something that should have been forgiven already. Guilt ate at her.

She found Tommy’s room, Ada sitting in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand. His face was bruised and bloody, eyes swollen and his entire body soaked with sweat.

Tears fill her eyes immediately. “Thomas,” she breathes, hobbling as quickly as she can over to him, pain shooting through her heart, her leg, her mind. “Oh, my Darling, my sweetheart, what happened?” She asks, sitting on the edge of his bed, cupping her hand to his cheek softly, fingers immediately sticky from the blood.

“My love,” he manages to croak out. “Is it you?”

“Yes, yes, Thomas, it’s me,” she says, taking his hand, running his fingers over her diamond ring. He often ran his fingers over it absentmindedly, knowing every curve and prong. “It’s me, I’m here now,” she tells him. He takes her hand, his grip weak.

“You’re here?” He says in a small voice. A voice so small she almost didn't recognize it.

“Yes, I’m here,” she says. She looks over at Ada, confused at the glassed over look in his eyes.

“He can’t see,” Ada said through tears.

“Thomas,” she cries, tears spilling down her cheeks, some falling to his chest.

“Eh, no crying, please. Don’t be angry with me, eh?” He says weakly.

“I’m not, I’m not, Sweetheart, I’m not,” she cooed. He shakes, body cold and clammy to the touch. “Are you cold?” She asks.

“No,” he grunts. “‘M hot,” he tells her, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Okay,” she says, reaching for a cloth on the side table, soaking it in the cool water. She gently runs it over his forehead, gently moving to his face, wiping the sweat from his skin. “Just rest, my love, please,” she tells him gently.

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly.

“I won’t. I won’t, my love, I promise,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his hand before he falls unconscious.

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