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sneakyblinders · 1 year

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the drunk lunch

A/N: this one follows directly behind chocolate cake and followed by the greatest honor. i take no credit for the gif, i just imagine this is how he’d look towards the door during the night scene.

warnings: language, sexual themes (we run into a lil kink the mrs and Tommy have) , alluding to smut but no smut, alcohol, smoking, more grace. not canon. a part of my tommy and his darling wife au <3

Grace knew she needed to get close to you to get close to Tommy—to get close to what the company was doing. To get close to the guns. But she was struggling with finding out how to do it.

Every time you were in the Garrison, you were on Tommy’s arm, the two of you inseparable. You worked in the office together, and when Tommy had other business to attend to with his brothers, you stayed behind in the office, managing other projects on the legal side of things that he had asked you to attend to. He made sure you only dealt with the legal side of things, never wanting to endanger you. It often made you angry how he would not tell you of the other side of things, but he insisted he kept you in the dark for your own safety. In the event that people came around asking for information, you would not be able to give them anything, simply because you had no idea.

So one afternoon when you walked into the Garrison alone, Grace saw it as her opportunity.

“Mrs. Shelby!” She called out to you as you walked towards the stairs, where Tommy’s office is. He had asked you to grab a few files and bring them back to the betting shop office.

“Good afternoon, Grace.” You said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You—you may find this quite odd, but, since I’ve been in town, I haven’t made very many friends,” you threw her a compassionate smile. “And I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go to lunch one day. So we could get to know one another.”

Your jaw clenched, and her demeanor changed. She held a towel nervously in her hands. “I’m busy most days, Grace, but I could potentially find an opening.”

A smile crept on her face slowly. “Oh—okay. Just, let me know when you have time. I know of a new restaurant that just opened down by the docks on the other side of town.”

“I’ll get back to you.” You said, walking up the stairs to Tommy’s office.

That evening when you crawled in bed next to Tommy, you decided to tell him of the barmaids invitation. He was reading his book, nearly finished with it now, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Thomas,” you start, getting into bed beside him. He set his book down in his lap and looked at you softly. “The barmaid asked if I would go to lunch with her sometime.”

He dog-eared the page of his book before setting it down on the nightstand and reaching for a cigarette. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You pondered his question as he lit his cigarette. “No, not necessarily I don’t think.”

“Then what’s the problem, my love?” He asked, exhaling smoke.

You pulled the blankets farther up your body, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Nothing really, I suppose. I just find her odd.”

“You find most people odd, my dear.” He chuckled, taking another drag on his cigarette.

You knew he was right about that. “She said she didn’t have very many friends, and after I thought about it, I realized, I don’t really have very many friends here, either,” you said, leaning back against the headboard. “I have you and your family, and my family, who are miles away now, but I don’t think it’s the same as a friend who you can confide in, don’t you think?”

“What happened to Betty?” Tommy asked.

“She got married and hasn’t talked to me since. Not sure why.” You said, sad at the thought of losing a lifelong friend.

“Hm,” Tommy mused.

“Who is your closest friend?” You asked him, genuinely curious as to what his answer would be.

“Arthur.” He said quickly. “Arthur has always been my closest friend.” Your heart swelled. They did have a special relationship, the two of them. An interesting dynamic, certainly, but a good friendship. A solid brother bond. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have friends, Darling, I just want you to choose them for the right reasons, that’s all. We’re a powerful family and people want to get close to us for lots of various reasons, and I don’t want you getting hurt.” He said, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

“I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.” You assure him, curling into his side.

“Then go out with the barmaid. You can clear your schedule whenever you like. You have good connections with the boss at work,” he smirked, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray on his nightstand.

“I certainly do,” you smirk. “Did I tell you he bent me over his desk yesterday afternoon?”

“What a lucky bastard,” Tommy smirked down at you, before rolling on top of you and kissing you. You shrieked, a giggle escaping your lips as he tickled your sides. “What a lucky bastard I am,” he said, breathless as he began to kiss your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, your lips. “Gypsy fucking magic that brought you to me, you know that?” He breathed against your skin as you writhed beneath him.

The next day you walked to the Garrison around noon and unlocked the door with your set of keys. “Grace?” You called out. Grace came from the back of the pub, a surprised look on her face.

“Mrs. Shelby! I was not expecting you, is everything alright?” She asked.

You stand in the middle of the pub, feeling quite awkward. “I was hoping that I could take you up on your offer for lunch today.”

A smile spread on her face and she nodded. “Of course. I’ll need to be back by five, but I’ve got a lot of the work finished already.”

“Oh,” you wave her off. “Don’t worry about that, I already ensured Harry would be here by four to finish everything up in time to open for the evening.”

“Oh, thank you.” She said, “Let me just grab my coat.”

The two of you walked through town, each of you telling the other the basic facts about themself. Age, education, family.

You sat down at the table in the new restaurant and Grace ordered the both of you whiskey. You began to refuse it, but she put her hand up. “Nonsense, this is going to be a fun afternoon,” she said. You normally didn’t drink, you said Thomas drank enough for the both of you, and that was true. But that day, you drank. A lot.

You were three whiskeys in, and feeling good. You and Grace were at the table in the restaurant still, cackling about something ridiculous when she decided it was a good time as ever to start prying. You were loosened up from the alcohol, and she had thought she had peeled back enough of the getting-to-know-someone layers, making you more comfortable.

“How did you meet Tommy?” she asked as you took another bite of bread.

“Oh, I ran into him in London one day. Literally, ran smack into his chest and he dropped a bottle of whiskey he had just bought. It got all over his suit and my legs. I thought he was going to scream at me but then he just sort of–looked at me.” you say, a far away look in your eyes.

Grace giggled. “He sort of just looked at you?”

“Yes,” you said sighing dreamily, thinking of your husband. “And then he asked me to dinner.”

“Is he good to you?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” you nearly moaned, drinking the rest of your whiskey. “Terribly good to me. He’s ruined me for all other men.” you tell her and she clears her throat uncomfortably at your crudeness.

“What do you do for the company?” she asked.

“I keep the books, help with the numbers. Write letters for Thomas so he doesn’t sound like so much of an ass when doing formal business proposals.” you giggled.

“What exactly does your husband do?” she asked.

You stopped giggling, and miracle of all miracles, despite your rather drunk state, narrowed your eyes. “You’re asking far too many questions about my husband's work.”

Her expression fell. “I’m sorry, just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Grace Burgess.” you warn, signaling the waiter for the bill.

“Allow me, Mrs. Shelby,” she tells you, but your hand is quicker in reaching for the bill.

“Nonsense,�� you quip, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean it in that way, Grace,” you try to recover.

“No, it’s quite alright. I appreciate your generosity.” she says as you hand the waiter enough to cover the bill, and a generous tip. “Let me ensure you get back safely.” she says as you stumble standing up, legs feeling a bit wobbly.

“I think I should like to be returned to the betting shop, Thomas won’t be gone yet.” you tell her, and she nods, holding onto your elbow as she guides you through the streets of Small Heath.

You knock on the door of the betting shop, too drunk to remember which damn key opened the side door. “Oh, Thomas!” you say in a sing-song sort of manner.

Polly opens the door, a confused look on her face. “Dear God,” she sighs. “What did you do to her?” she asks Grace in an accusatory tone.

“What did I do? She didn’t have to drink three full glasses of whiskey!” Grace said.

“She offered them, Pol,” you tell her, your words beginning to slur together. “Pol, Pol, where’s Thomas, I need to see him,” you’re slurring your words together, eyes only half open.

“He’s in his office, love. I–I think he may be a little upset at you being so drunk it’s only four in the afternoon.” Polly said as you nearly fell into her arms, brow furrowed, eyes blazing with fury at Grace.

“He’s never upset with me for long, Polly,” you say, a grin spreading on your face. “A wife has ways, you know.”

Polly shook her head in disbelief at you, guiding you inside. Grace followed behind, closing the door gently. “Thomas!” you call again, growing impatient. Shortly thereafter, you hear heavy footsteps upstairs and the familiar creak of the office door opening. “There he is,” you sigh dreamily as he appears at the top of the steps. “My husband.”

A confused look crosses his features as he comes down the stairs. “What the fuck–” he mumbled to himself as you threw yourself in his arms.

“Thomas, I missed you,” you tell him. His eyebrows shoot up as he smells the whiskey on you.

“My love, what in hell have you gotten into?” he asks, taking you by the shoulders to look you in the eyes.

“I just went for lunch with Grace,” you tell him innocently, eyes wide. He eyes the barmaid, who is uncomfortably standing in the corner near the door, shifting her weight between her legs.

“I see, my love. Do you think you can go upstairs and lay on the chaise in the office? Wait for me a moment? Hm?” he asks you softly, rubbing your arms.

You give him a cheeky grin, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Will you fuck me when you come back upstairs?”

He let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’m afraid not my love, but I won’t be long. Go on, please.” he said. You pulled away with him, a pout on your lips.

“Thanks for lunch, Grace. I had a grand time,” you tell her before you wobble up the steps.

“I’ll go make sure she doesn’t break her neck.” Polly said, walking up the steps behind you.

Tommy eyes Grace angrily. “What the hell was she thinking?” he asks her.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Shelby. One minute she was fine, the next she was–several drinks deep.”

He narrowed his eyes. “She never drinks.”

She shifted uncomfortably again, heart beating quickly under his scrutinous gaze. “She did today, Mr. Shelby.”

“Curious that the first time my wife drinks since our wedding day is the first time she goes out with you, isn’t it?”

“I’m just simply trying to make a friend.” Grace told him, tone defensive.

“Well, next time you try and befriend my wife, do not, get her drunk.” he demands, wagging a finger at her. They both heard you wail Tommy’s name from upstairs and she blushed, embarrassed. “Don’t you have to be at the Garrison soon, Miss Burgess?” he asked, exasperated.

“Yes, I will be going now. I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby.” she stammered, walking out of the door. Tommy locked it behind her and watched as she walked down the street towards the Garrison.

He made his way back upstairs, to your shared office, where you were dramatically draped over the chaise, an arm over your eyes, crying. “What the hell, Pol?” he asked as Polly watched you in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous.” Polly said, annoyed. “Absolutely ridiculous, Tommy, how did you marry someone who cannot hold her liquor?”

Tommy shook his head. “She has nothing to drink about, Pol. Not a single thing. So why would she?”

“I’ll leave you to deal with her now.” Polly said. “I’m closing up and going home soon, see you tomorrow,” She turned to leave, but said over her shoulder, “Thomas, she did say Grace offered her all the alcohol. Don’t be too upset with her.” she said, closing the doors on her way out.

He made his way over to where you were laying on the chaise, body bouncing with the most dramatic sobs he’d ever heard in his life. “My love,” he said gently, kneeling down to be eye level with you. “Sweetheart,” he said gently again, tenderly touching your arm.

“What?” you asked, removing your arm from your eyes. “You’re mad at me.” you said matter-of-factly.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, my love I am not mad at you. Not at all, I just don’t understand why you would drink this much when you were out with a complete stranger.” he said. You shuffled to lay on your side, making room for him to sit down next to you.

“She insisted today was a day for fun, wasn’t she drunk, too?” you asked, squinting up at him.

He licked his lips, sighing as he reached for a cigarette. “No, ‘m afraid she wasn’t, darling.” he told you, holding the cigarette between his lips as he lit a match.

You wailed, the tears flowing down your face again. “I just wanted to be friends with her,” you say in between crying.

“My dear, there are plenty of women to be friends with, I assure you.” he told you, lighting his cigarette.

“Tommy,” you say, which catches his attention. You always, religiously, since the beginning of your relationship call him Thomas. He was never sure why, but you always called him Thomas unless you were cross with him, in which you called him Tom, because it was quicker to get out of your mouth when you were shouting. He looks at you, concerned. “Tommy, I think she wants to fuck you.” you tell him and he chuckles.

“She can want to all she wants, my love. I am all yours.” he says, pressing a kiss to your nose. “I have a few things to finish up and then we can go home, yeah?” he says.

“What’ll I do?” you ask, trying to sit up as he stands.

“Nothing, you just lay there and rest. Fall asleep if you can. Alright? Just lay there and look pretty, hm?” he says, and in your drunken state, much to his surprise, you listen.

A couple of hours later Tommy was finished with his work and was ready to go home. He picked you up from where you were asleep on the chaise and carried you down to the car. You faded in and out of sleep on the ride home. He carried you in the house and laid you in bed, taking your coat and shoes off carefully before sliding you into bed.

He went back downstairs, where Frances had prepared dinner for the both of you. “Evening, Frances,” he said, entering the kitchen where she was.

“Oh, good evening, Mr. Shelby. I’m just plating up dinner for you.” she said cheerily.

“Frances, is it alright if I eat in here tonight? Mrs. Shelby won’t be joining me, I’m afraid.” he said, motioning towards the small table in the kitchen.

Her expression fell. “Oh, of course, Mr. Shelby. Is she alright?” she asked, handing him the plate.

“She’s uh–a bit drunk.” he admitted, sitting down at the table.

“That uh–certainly is out of character for her, sir.” Frances said, selecting her words carefully.

“I agree, Frances,” he said, taking a bite of his food. “Please, will you join me?” he asked as he noticed she was starting to clean instead of eating her portion of the dinner.

“Are you certain, sir?” she asked.

“Of course. I am intruding in your space, after all.” he said.

She smiled softly, getting a plate of food for herself before sitting down across from him. “You’re not intruding, this is your home after all.” she laughs.

He shrugs his shoulders. “My wife went out with the new barmaid at the Garrison today.”

Frances looked at him strangely. “May I say something, Mr. Shelby?” she asked. Tommy nodded. “I have a very odd feeling about her,” he gave her a look as if to say, do go on. “The night where Mrs. Shelby organized the birthday party for you at the Garrison, she asked me to bring the cake a little earlier so it would be there when the two of you arrived for the evening. And so, of course, I did. But the barmaid kept asking a lot of questions. At first, I thought it may have been to just get to know people a little better, but then she started to pry about you and Mrs. Shelby. Asked if it was a marriage of convenience. I told her absolutely not, that the two of you are absolutely in love with one another, because, well, you are,” she laughed uncomfortably. Tommy’s cheeks flushed, thinking of the things this poor housekeeper had seen and heard in the short ten months he and his bride had been married. “And she seemed rather upset about that. About you two being in love. She said she didn’t believe that being in love lasted long. I told her that no, this love between you and Mrs. Shelby was different, and she got mad and asked me to leave. So I did.”

Tommy sighed. “Frances, why didn’t you tell me of this sooner?”

“I didn’t think it was that important, just silly female things I suppose; jealousy, you know.” she said, throwing him an apologetic look.

“Anything else like that happens, tell me, Frances.” he said, a dangerous tone in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby.” she says.

They ate the rest of their meal in comfortable silence. “Thank you for dinner, Frances. I will be in my office. Please, leave a plate out for Mrs. Shelby, I think she may be hungry when she wakes. Please don’t wait up for her though, Frances.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby. Goodnight.” she says kindly as Tommy disappears into his office for the evening.

At nearly ten o’clock, you still hadn’t awoken and Tommy was sitting in the family room in front of the fire, sipping his whiskey, smoking a cigarette and reading his book. His suspenders hung off his shoulders, the braces hanging down to his thighs, his cufflinks and sleeve garters long discarded, sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms and the first few buttons undone on his shirt. He had just removed his shoes when he heard a knock on the front door. He hoped that Scout, your faithful protective canine, hadn’t heard, and much to his dismay, she did. He heard the clack of her nails as she came down the steps, and the low growl deep in her chest as she approached the front door. Her ears were peaked, fur on the back of her neck sticking straight up.

“Scout,” he whispered, taking his gun from the holster on the table next to him and padding over to the front door, trying to walk slowly so as to not slip on the freshly waxed hardwood floors in his socks. Scout’s attention did not waver from the front door for a moment. Tommy peered out of one of the side windows that flanked the double doors on either side and saw the late night visitor. Grace.

“Down, Scout,” he commanded the dog, who sat obediently behind him, still on high alert. He apprehensively opened the door, gun in his hand. “Miss Burgess,” he greeted.

“Mr. Shelby,” she said, a little too cheerily for this time of night. “I just wanted to check on your wife. She was a little–worse for wear when I last saw her.” she laughed softly.

“Little late, Grace,” Tommy rasped, Scout growling behind him.

“May I come in?” she asked, rubbing her arms. “It’s a little cold.”

He opened the door a little wider, against his better judgment. “Shouldn’t have come, then.” he let her slide past him, Scout standing immediately and letting out a vicious bark.

“Down, girl.” Tommy commanded, tucking his gun in the waistband of his pants, against his lower back.

“She’s a beautiful dog, Tommy.” Grace said, reaching her hand out for Scout to sniff. Scout apprehensively approached her, sniffing her hand before growling at her again.

“She’s my wife’s dog.” Tommy said, stroking Scouts back, hoping it would tame the low grumbles she was emitting. “I trust a dog's instinct, y’know?” he said, eyeing Grace carefully.

“Yes, they are very trustworthy animals.” she said.

“My wife is upstairs, asleep, hopefully still even after that loud bark,” he said, eyeing Scout, who looked up at him quizzically. “You shouldn’t be here, Miss Burgess.” he said, squaring his shoulders. “How did you know this was our home?”

“Your wife told me where you lived today. She said it was grand, but I didn’t think it would be this grand.” she chuckled nervously, eyeing the crystal chandelier that hung above them in the foyer. They stood awkwardly in the foyer before Grace said, “Well, your wife said you were a gentleman, but I don’t think a gentleman would let a lady wait this long and not even offer her a drink.” she smiled.

Tommy’s expression remained cold. “I’m a gentleman to my wife, and a bastard to all else, Miss Burgess. That is something you should know.”

She approached him apprehensively, carefully calculating her actions. “Don’t you ever wish sometimes, you could be a bastard to your wife, Mr. Shelby?” Tommy froze, as she approached closer. “Don’t you miss that old life you used to live?” she asked. Scout stood up, ears attentive as she heard the bedroom door squeak open. Grace froze in place as Tommys eyes widened in disbelief at the barmaid's words. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Shelby.” she continued, reaching out to put a hand on his chest.

“Thomas?” you called out, voice heavy with sleep, rubbing your eyes. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light and you froze when you saw Grace standing in such close proximity to your husband, her hand falling to her side slowly upon seeing you.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” Tommy said gently.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask Grace, who quickly backs away from Tommy.

“I came to check on you.” she said quickly.

“How did you know where we live?” you asked, confused.

“You told me at lunch, silly.” Grace said, giggling nervously.

“I don’t remember that,” you say to yourself quietly.

“I’m sure you don’t remember much, you were quite drunk.” Grace quipped back, moving to approach you. Scout let out a harsh bark that made your ears ring, head already pounding. Scout moved between you and Grace, teeth bared.

“I think it’d be best if you go, Grace.” Tommy said with that tone in his voice that, if the situation weren’t so odd, would have you on your knees in front of him in a matter of minutes.

“I think so too.” Grace said, gaze never leaving you. “Goodnight,” she said as Tommy opened the door for her and slammed it behind her, locking the deadbolt.

“How odd.” you muse aloud as Scout went over to the window, growling the whole way that Grace walked down the driveway.

“Odd indeed, my love.” Tommy says, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you to the kitchen, where he warmed your food up for you.

You were quiet, mind whirring with questions, assumptions. He brought the warm plate of food over to where you were sitting at the table in the kitchen. “Thank you,” you smile weakly up at him. He sits down across from you, forearms on the table. “You look tired.” you observe.

“I am,” he admits, reaching for a cigarette.

“Why was she standing so close to you?” you ask, eyeing him, every insecurity coming to the surface.

Tommy sighed, not meeting your gaze. “I don’t know. She was–saying something about "don't I wish I could go back to my old life’.” he said lowly, lighting his cigarette.

“And what’d you say to that?” you asked, tone dark.

“I didn’t have the chance to say anything, you came down the stairs.” he said, exhaling smoke.

“So what would you have said if I didn’t?” you asked, raising your voice.

“I would’ve said fuck no.” he told you, expression serious, lips in a tight line, eyes not leaving yours.

You angrily stared at him for a while, breathing irregular, rage building. “Just as much as I am yours, Thomas Shelby, you are mine.” you tell him, jaw clenched.

“You’re absolutely fucking right,” he ground out. You stand up, taking your plate to the sink, mumbling that you weren’t hungry. He stalks over to you, turning you around, your back against the counter, a hand around your throat. “I am all yours,” he says slowly, his face close to yours. “And you are all mine,” he presses his forehead to yours. “For fucking ever.”

“Thomas,” you let out a breathy moan, a pool of heat forming between your legs. He had done this before–and it had both tested your trust in him and solidified the knowledge that he would never do anything to actually hurt you. Every ounce of strength and self-control he had in his body and mind was put to the test, and adrenaline coursed through your veins. You could see the lust in his eyes as he moved closer to you, crushing you further against the counter.

You had done this a few times since you had been married–this game of trust and brute force. You didn’t think you would enjoy it as much as you do. The first time it happened, it was by accident. The second time, you intentionally provoked Tommy, telling him you wanted to see the darker side of him, that you were tired of being treated like porcelain. He warned you it could end badly, but you were so lost in lust, you told him you didn’t care. Afterwards he held you, cleaned you up and whispered loving praises in your ear. You shook for a quarter hour after the second time the two of you played this game, your body wrung out from pleasure, all of your energy gone.

“I will never betray our love, do you understand?” he asks through gritted teeth, pulling you back in this moment. His grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly, just the way you liked. You were thankful Scout was asleep at the front door, not wanting this moment ruined.

“Yes, Thomas,” you moan, and he releases his hold on your throat to hold your face in both of his hands, his lips crashing to yours in a searing kiss. The kiss is teeth and tongue and lips and he’s swallowing your moans as he begins to tear your clothes from your body. His hands move to grip your backside and you throw your legs around his waist and he carries you up to bed for the night.

The next morning, you wake up and Tommy isn’t in bed with you, which is odd. You roll over, groaning at the discomfort you feel in your limbs, assumedly from being tangled up in him all night. When you go to wash, you notice bruises across your skin and smile softly to yourself, thinking of the previous night's activities. You deeply enjoyed all parts of who your husband was, and allowing him to bare the darker parts of himself to you only made you love him all the more. The strength he summoned daily to overcome that darkness filled you with a sense of pride for what a good man he is. What a good man he is to you.

He knocked on the bathroom door and you opened it, wearing only your dressing gown. You were toweling off your face from where you had just washed it. His fingers ghosted over the bruises he left on you, a downcast expression on his face. “I’m sorry, my love.” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t be sorry,” you tell him, shooting him a naughty grin. “I quite enjoyed it.”

“Mm,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you. “That’s a good thing I suppose.”

You gasped when he pulled away from you, noticing a mark you had left on him, just underneath his collarbone. “Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry!” you giggled as he moved to inspect what you had discovered in the mirror.

A disgruntled sound left his lips. “Well, Mrs. Shelby, guess we’re both marked as one anothers for the foreseeable future, hm?”

“You went to their house?” Inspector Campbell ground out at his meeting with Grace the next day.

“I had no choice.” she replied softly.

“You have every choice!” he exclaimed, surprising himself with how loudly he said it. “If you can’t get close to the wife, and you can’t seduce Thomas, how exactly do you plan to get the information we need, Grace?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I can do this, Mr. Campbell.” she said.

“I trust you know what you are doing. These are dangerous people.”

“I am aware!” she snapped at him. “I was aware when I was met at his door by a gun and a dog that was eager to tear me from limb to limb.” she said, jaw clenched. “I was close last night, he was vulnerable. And his brother, the one who is really the one in charge of the Garrison, he’s easier to get information out of. More trusting.”

“Then by all means, get as much information out of him as you can, Grace. But you must link all of this to Thomas Shelby.”

“I will!” she insisted, growing frustrated at the man's lack of confidence in her.

“Of course you will.” he said, demeanor softening. “I just don’t want you harmed is all.”

“I was trained for this. Now I’m running late.” she said, turning the corner and disappearing into the streets of Birmingham.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tom shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peakywomen #sneakyblinders #my au <3

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sneakyblinders · 1 year

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a ring & a viscountess.

A/N: you wanted it so here it is! the engagement story/a story of Tommy & the Mrs early days together! I still am undecided on giving her an official name don't hate me! warnings: sexual themes, language, alluding to smut but no smut. not canon. a part of my tommy & his darling wife au. I take no credit for the GIF! 3.4k words.

The phone at Watery Lane rang early one Friday morning. Thomas had just left for Charlie’s Yard, and you were alone for the first time that day. Your brow furrowed, curious as to who it could be.

“Hello?” you answered the phone, trying to shake the grogginess from your voice. Thomas had kept you up rather late the night before.

“Ah, bloody hell,” a voice from the other line cursed. “Good morning, my darling! I’ve just had a phone installed at the estate and I’m trying to figure it out–” there was some scuffling on the other end. “That’ll be all, thank you,” you could hear her say to some butler in the background. “And I figured this was as good a time as any to call you and demand you bring that gangster you’ve found yourself infatuated with to dinner at the Estate.”

It was your great grandmother, the dowager viscountess of the Pearson Estate. “Mimzy,” you start.

“No! I will have none of that. My dear, I am dying, over ninety now, and I must meet this man you deem worthy of your affections.” she tells you.

“You’re not dying, Mim,” you chide, rolling your eyes.

A pause on the other end of the line, feeble breathing. “But I am, dear. The doctors did not give me good news last week. Please, come see me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Alright, I will discuss it with Thomas when I see him this evening.” you promise her.

“Phone me when you know you’re coming so I can have the rooms ready.” she tells you.

Your stomach was in knots when Thomas returned home to the Shelby family home on Watery Lane that evening. “Evening, darling.” he says, pressing a small kiss to your cheek before heading straight for the stove, starving after a long day.

You’d made stew and potatoes, two of his favorites. “Hello,” you say quietly, nervously fiddling with your hands as he scoops his bowl full.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyeing you warily.

“Thomas, there’s something I have to tell you,” you say as he sits down at the table. His heart begins to beat faster, unsure of where this conversation was going. “Something about my family I’ve never shared.”

“Alright,” he says, angling his body towards you. “Tell me, darling.”

“My mothers grandfather was a viscount,” you begin slowly as his eyes widen. “But due to–circumstances, the title and fortune has been disrupted from the family line,” you continue, Thomas’ brow furrowing in confusion at your vagueness. “But my great grandmother still holds the title and the estate until her death, and she called this morning and asked that you and I go to see her. She is dying, and would like to meet you.”

Tommy sat back in his chair, eyes looking past you, processing this large amount of information you’d just dropped in his lap. “Alright, we’ll go.”

“We will?” you ask in shock.

“Of course, but,” he stops, leaning in towards you and taking your hands. “Tell me the story.” he smiles at you, a knowing smile. A smile of: tell me what you didn’t want to say when you first dropped this on me, my love.

You smiled before launching into your story. “My great grandfather, the viscount, was forced to marry my great grandmother. They had a loveless marriage. So loveless, that my grandmother brought a footman who she was undoubtedly in love with from her parents home in Kent to the Estate. They had a lifelong affair and it was never really known if my grandfather’s father was the viscount or the footman,” Tommy’s eyes widened as he ate his dinner. “My great grandfather had many affairs with the maids. And so, my grandfather, seeing the turmoil that his mother endured from being forced to marry someone who she was not in love with, vowed he would only marry for love. And he did. He married my grandmother, and they were married for forty years before she passed away, and he made sure every one of his children married someone they loved. Now in doing that, of course, the estate is no longer destined to be in our family line, it will go to some cousin or something, but my mother says she doesn’t care. She would rather have happiness than the whole estate. And I agree.”

Tommy set his spoon down in his now empty bowl and leaned towards you. “So what you’re telling me is–” he takes your hands in his. “If we get married, it’s because you’re madly in love with me?”

You smile. “Yes, Thomas.”

“Good,” he tells you, reaching down to the bottom of your chair and pulling you closer to him. “Because my darling, I am madly in love with you.” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply.

The next Friday, you and Thomas set out for the Estate. You had phoned Mimzy, who was elated that you were coming. She said the rooms would be ready by the afternoon and requested that you both join her for dinner that evening. And she specifically requested a meeting with Tommy alone before dinner. Tea, to be exact.

“Thomas, she can be rather harsh,” you warned him.

“I can handle it, darling, I can,” he promised, squeezing your hand, refocusing on the winding country roads in front of him.

An hour later, the Pearson Estate came into view. A large, red brick building, surrounded by gardens in the front, rear and sides. Your heart quickened. It had been years since you had been here. The last few times you’d seen Mimzy, she had made the trip to London to see you and your family.

Nigel, one of the few butlers who remained, assisted you in getting out of Tommy’s car. “It is wonderful to see you again, m'lady,” he said.

“Nigel,” you said softly, looking the older man in the eyes. “I’m so glad you’re still with Mimzy.”

“I am fortunate she has allowed me the honor of residing here still.” he said, flashing you a small smile.

“Thomas,” you called out to Tommy, who was looking up at the building, squinting into the sun. “Thomas, this is Nigel, the head butler. He has been with Mimzy for decades,” you gush. “Nigel, this is Thomas Shelby, my uh–” you stammer at what title to give him. Love interest is too sterile, boyfriend is too childish, and fiance undetermined.

“I’m her fiance.” Tommy said, offering his hand to Nigel to shake. Your eyes widen in shock. Not so undetermined.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Shelby. Right this way, I will show you to your rooms.” Nigel said, leading the way through the hallways.

Tommy observed everything with wide eyes, hands clasped behind his back. “How will I remember how to get around?” he joked, a faint smile on his lips.

You smile. “I’ll help you.”

“M’lady, your room, as it always has been.” Nigel said, opening the door to what was always your room when you came to stay at the Estate. It looked untouched, which was typical of Mimzy. Never ruining a good thing, is how she liked to think of it. “Mr. Shelby, your room is down the hall a ways, please follow me.”

“Thomas,” you call to him gently. “I’m going to rest for a little while, I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yes, my love.” he tells you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before following Nigel down the hallway to his room.

Tommy had a few minutes to freshen up before he was to meet the dowager viscountess for tea. He shaved, combed his hair, reapplied aftershave and cologne and ensured his shoes were cleaned from driving.

Nigel appeared at his door a few minutes before his appointment to lead him to the tea room.

“This way, Mr. Shelby,” Nigel said, escorting Tommy once more through the halls of this grand estate. Nigel knocked on a set of double doors, waiting to hear a response before opening them. “M’Lady, Mr. Thomas Shelby.”

Tommy walked through the doors apprehensively, met with a small and frail old woman. “Thomas,” she said, almost in a sigh. She stood up. “It is a pleasure to meet you, please, come.”

He approached her, kissing her hand as she held it out to him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.” he said genuinely.

“My Bee speaks very highly of you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her.

“Bee?” he asked curiously, the pet name you’d introduced yourself to him with making his heart swell.

“Aah yes, a–a pet name of sorts I gave to her when she was just a little girl. She used to love to go out with her grandfather, my son, to the beehives. It just sort of stuck I suppose.” the older woman rambled on.

“She never told me of the hives.” Thomas said, making a mental note to tease you about it later–and to chide you for never telling him the origin of your nickname.

The viscountess let out a disgruntled “Hmph,” before sitting back down.

The ladies maid, who he had heard Nigel call Hilda, poured them each a cup of tea before excusing herself out of the room.

“Thank you for your invitation,” Tommy said, the awkwardness settling in.

“Well, as I am sure my Bee told you, I am dying,”

“Yes, she did, I am very sorry to hear it, Ma’am.” Tommy said sincerely.

“Please, call me Opal.” she waved him off.

“Yes, Opal.” Tommy smiled at her.

“But yes, Thomas, I am dying, and I wanted to see for myself this man who has entranced my youngest great-grandchild. She is my favorite. But don’t tell the others in the event you see them before I die.” she rolled her eyes. “I hear you’re a businessman of sorts.”

“Yes, I am.” he responded proudly.

“And I hear your business involves some dark activities.” she said, eyes clouding over with darkness.

“It is the nature of all business at one point or another, is it not?” he responded.

“Let me see here,” she said, picking up her glasses and a piece of paper. “Bookmaker, racketeer, gambler, gangster, gang leader, smuggler, vandal, and decorated veteran of the British Army,” Tommy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Does that sum it up, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy looked Opal in the eyes before saying confidently, “It does, Ma’am.”

She slammed her piece of paper down on the table next to her, sitting forward in her chair. “And you have the gall to disrupt her simple, successful life and bring her to ruin for what reason, Mr. Shelby?” Thomas started to open his mouth, but was cut off. “She is a good girl, a good, honest, smart girl who would make any normal man very happy. She is beautiful and her spirit is a good one and I will not see that spirit ruined and tainted by the darkness you allow and welcome into your life. You put her at risk every day that you are with her, and I am not fond of you inviting her to live with you prior to even a formal proposal, it’s terribly improper,” the dowager viscountess was trembling, anger coursing through her veins. “I will ask you, Mr. Shelby, and you have one opportunity to answer this question, and one opportunity alone. Why would you risk ruining her life?”

Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat. “It is because I love her very deeply, Ma’am. For all the reasons you said yourself. She is bright and beautiful and the happiest woman I know,” he chuckled to himself. “She makes me a better man and my life has been far richer with her in it. I do not deserve her, but she is everything to me.”

Opal sat back in her seat, struck with Tommy’s words. “That is one of the most romantic and thoughtful things I have heard a man say in a long time, Mr. Shelby,” she said, eyes softening. “But I still think it’s improper that she is sleeping in your room with you.”

“It’s uh–more cost efficient than her keeping her flat.” he said, bringing his tea cup to his lips to prevent the viscountess from seeing the smirk on his face.

“I suppose it is but doesn’t the proper order of a courtship matter in this day and age?” she asked. “And I may be old but I am not stupid, I know if she is sleeping in your home, you have laid with her, so I certainly hope you plan to make her your wife.”

Tommy nearly spat his tea out at the older woman's frankness. “I do, Opal. I plan to make her my wife soon, actually.” he said, bringing a small blue velvet box out of his pocket. He opened it, revealing a large and beautifully cut diamond on a gold band. The viscountess smiled.

“Well done, Thomas,” tears came to her eyes. “I am glad that my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren can marry for love.”

“That is due to your sacrifice, and I thank you.” Tommy told her, putting the ring safely back in his pocket.

She looked away from him, towards a small photo on the table to her right. It was an old, old photo of a young man. “This was my Phillip,” she said, a faraway tone to her voice. “That,” she pointed to an oil painting behind Thomas, “Was the viscount. Witford. Phillip was a footman that my parents employed at their estate in Kent. We fell in love as teenagers, and I could not bear the thought of not being near him. So, when my parents married me off to the viscount, I insisted that as a gift to my new household, I brought the best footman in our home. My parents reluctantly conceded, and I was forever grateful. Oftentimes I would pretend in my own mind that Phillip was the viscount and all of this was ours. He worked here until he died, a few years after the viscount did. I have never felt more lonely in my life.” Questions whirred in Tommy’s mind. “And to answer the question I know is in your mind, I do believe my son was Phillips' son. They are built alike, and far too similar in nature for it to be a coincidence.”

They continued to speak until the dinner bell rang, and you descended down the stairs for dinner. You were wearing a pale yellow dress, one Tommy hadn’t seen you in. He took your hand as you reached the end of the stairs, eyes softening as he smiled at you. “You look beautiful.” he told you, causing a flush to break out across your face and neck.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, eyeing him nervously. “How did tea go?”

“It went well.” he smiled softly, the ring burning a hole in his pocket.

Dinner went well, Thomas following the brief rules that you had told him about fine dining manners on the car ride.

“My Dearest Bee,” Mimzy said, when she stood up to retire for the evening. “This is a fine young man you have found and I like him very much. Goodnight to the both of you.” she smiled slightly before she walked out of the dining room towards her quarters.

“I’m not tired yet, can we go for a walk?” Tommy asked you, coming up behind you from where you stood at the window, his hands on your hips, lips on the side of your neck.

“That would be nice,” you say, eyeing the night lights that Mimzy had installed outside in one of the gardens. “Come with me.”

You lead him through various hallways that all looked the same to him, and out a side door that led to a garden. It was illuminated by small lights leading to a swing by one of the small ponds on the property. The frogs were croaking, bugs buzzing. It felt like a true spring evening from childhood.

He walked in silence next to you, nerves building. You finally sat down on the swing and Tommy picked up a couple of stones, skipping them across the surface of the pond. You giggled. “I never could manage to learn how to do that.”

He chuckled. “John would always get so mad because I could get mine to go farther than his.”

You settled back into a comfortable silence before you thought to ask, “What did Mimzy want to talk to you about?”

Tommy dug his hands in his pockets. “She wanted to ask– wanted to ask why I would risk ruining your life.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He turned around to face you. “She wanted to know what a gangster like me,” he walked towards you. “Wants with a smart, beautiful girl like you,” He dropped to one knee in front of you, pulling your hands into his. “And I told her that I love you deeply, so deeply that I want to spend the rest of my days with you,” he pulled the box out of his pocket, willing his hands not to shake. “My Darling, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

Your hands flew to your mouth, covering the shock that spread across your features. “Thomas!” you exclaimed. “Thomas, yes! Yes!” you held out a shaking hand and he slid the ring on your finger. He stood up, and you stood up with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him.

When he pulled away, he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you. Tears pricked at your eyes and you couldn’t help but kiss him again.

The next morning, you woke up with Tommy in your bed, smoking a cigarette, eyeing you lovingly as you came to consciousness. You’d brought him back to your room last night, Mimzy’s rules be damned, and ridden him until you both were exhausted from the day and from pleasure.

Your legs ached as you stretched for the morning, the sunlight threatening to stream in through the curtains. “Good morning,” he rasped, stubbing out the last of his cigarette and rolling in towards you, pulling your body into his.

“Good morning, Mr. Shelby,” you giggled, his cold hands on your sides. “You’re cold.”

“Always cold, Dearest.” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his hands dipping between your legs.

“Thomas,” you stifled a moan. “The servants will be awake, we can’t risk them hearing,” you chide.

“I once heard that they were paid to not hear things, as well.” he drawled low in your ear, turning you on your back and crawling atop you.

“Thomas, did you bribe the staff?” you ask, hands on his chest.

“I may have given them a few extra pounds to let us sleep past nine,” he smirked before disappearing beneath the blankets.

You were certain some things were heard, there was no way they weren’t. With the way Thomas pleasured you, it was nearly impossible to keep quiet. You’d known no other lover in your life but you were certain you were ruined for the prospect of any other lover not living up to these standards that Thomas had set.

You smiled to yourself at the thought. Tommy caught you smiling and asked, “What are you thinking about?” as he tied his tie.

“Just that I’m certain you’ve ruined me for any other man.” you smiled.

He smirked. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re getting married because you’ve ruined me for all other women,” he tucked his tie into his waistcoat. Thoughts of you beneath him, above him, kneeling in front of him whirred in his mind. He willed those thoughts away, needing to ensure he had a clear head to meet the viscountess for breakfast this morning.

You smiled at him as he pulled his jacket on, coming up behind him and smoothing the fabric down over his shoulders. “You’re very handsome, Thomas.” You looked at your reflection in the mirror. A minor flush crept across his cheeks. “Are you embarrassed by my compliment, Thomas?” you ask, standing in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he looked at you, hands on your hips. “Just not used to hearing things like that is all.”

You smile softly at him, cupping his cheek with your hand. “Well get used to hearing it, Thomas, because I’ll tell you for the rest of our lives.”

And tell him, you would.

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