Xdncrkay

switch up your verbs (part one) ~

walked - hiked - moved - shuffled - toddled - sauntered - ambled - tiptoed - meandered - strolled

laughed - chortled - chuckled - giggled - snorted - guffawed - howled - snickered - shrieked

wanted - ached for - wished - craved - coveted - fancied - pined - aspired

ran - sprinted - galloped - scampered - bolted - trotted - dashed - raced - jogged

jumped - bounced - hopped - leapt - hurtled - vaulted - barged - bounded

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.3k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Terrorist attack, references to bloody violence and torture, a little angst.

Tommy is working home until after the wedding. A good thing when the Italians send him a strong message two days before the wedding.

The house was quiet the next morning. Tommy sat in the parlor with a drink in hand, jacket off, collar open. Anyone who didn't know better would see a man at rest, but his tight grip on the glass betrayed him. He scanned the room, the windows, the shadows, every few minutes. It wasn’t conscious anymore, but muscle memory and instinct. And he'd earned it the hard way.

On top of usual business, he was planning a goddamn wedding, dealing with the fucking Italians, and trying to keep his family from imploding long enough to get through the vows. Every move he made felt like he was walking a minefield in polished shoes. He wasn’t going into the office until after the wedding. He just didn’t trust the world outside these walls at the moment. Not when almost everything that mattered was inside this house.

Tommy was working from home, if you could call it that. Calling in favors, coordinating security rotations, and laying quiet threats using back channels. Watching over the woman he was marrying, the mother of his child. 

Thinking of last night had him smiling. Upstairs, she was still asleep, peacefully, if he’d done his job right. The thought of that grounded him. Her in his bed, wrapped in blankets and quiet, recovering from his attentions the night before. He hadn’t meant to keep her up so late. But once he got his hands on her, once she start begging for him, the rest of the world could’ve burned. The softness of her skin, the way she had looked at him without fear, those were the only things soft enough to make him pause.

Leaning back in the chair, he exhaled, not realizing until then he’d been holding tension in his chest for hours. If he could just get her in front of the priest, get her through their wedding day then maybe he could fucking breathe for real. 

Polly entered without knocking. Her arms were crossed before she said the first word.

“You haven't been here an entire day yet, and you’re already barking at John for dancing with her. Want to tell me what that was about?” Polly didn’t wait for him to answer. “Dragging her out of the room like that? In front of everyone?”

Her brows rose, watching him like she already knew the truth and was giving him one chance to own it. 

Tommy didn’t look up from his drink. “Handled it.”

Polly snorted. “That wasn’t handling. That was claiming, like some dog with a bone.”

He still didn't meet her gaze. “You have a problem with that?”

“I have a problem with the fact she didn’t know what she’d done wrong,” Polly said.

Tommy grabbed his cigarette from the ashtray and took a slow drag from it, exhaled through his nose. “It wasn’t her.”

“Then who was it?”

He didn’t answer.

Polly gave a bitter little laugh. “Christ, you’re unbelievable. Your brothers were teaching her to dance, and then you punish her for enjoying it?”

He shot her a look. “I didn’t punish her.”

“No?” Polly stepped closer, voice sharp. “Because dragging her out of the room without a word sure didn’t look like affection, Thomas.”

He stared at the floor, took another drag. He knew he wasn't getting out of this lecture, just like he knew he wouldn't enjoy it.

Polly’s tone softened, but not by much. “She’s young, and doing her best not to step wrong in a house full of landmines. She was laughing, allowing herself to have a moment. And you made her feel like she broke something.”

He kept listening.

“Jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You're so bloody afraid of losing her, you're scaring her instead.”

Tommy shot her a look. The kind of look that usually shut people down and dared them to say more.

But Polly wasn’t most people. And the problem was, she was right. And he hated that she was right because he was afraid. Not just of losing her, but of what that would do to him. It would prove that nothing he touched could be protected. That even love, even something good, couldn’t survive under his hand.

She made him feel things he didn’t know how to carry. Things he didn’t have tools for. And every time he got close, every time she let him in, those old instincts rose up. Pull tighter, control the variables, and lock down all the pieces before something slipped away.

But Polly saw it for what it was. She always did.

So he held her gaze, narrowing his eyes like he could will her to back off. But she didn’t. Polly had never been afraid of his silence. He knew she was afraid for him, and that made him feel exposed in a way nothing else could. 

Tommy looked away first, feeling Polly watching him closely.

“It wasn’t about John,” she said quietly. “It never was. You saw her laughing, and you panicked. Not because of John. Not even because of the Italians. You panicked because for a second, she looked happy... and it had nothing to do with you.”

Polly hit it exactly. He had panicked. It was her laughter, the unguarded ease of her entire being... and it hadn’t come from him. That’s what cut. He couldn’t explain it. Could barely even stand the thought of it. But in that moment, watching her from the doorway, he'd felt something twist in his chest. Jealousy, yes, but something else too. Something deeper.

Fear. Fear that she might start to build happiness without him. Fear that he was already too cold and sharp for her to love all the way. So he’d done what he always did, tightened the leash, took control, walked her out before anyone else could see the cracks forming.

And now Polly was sitting there, calling it for what it was. What could he say back?

“I get it,” Polly said, softer now. “You’re not used to anyone who isn’t afraid of you.” Polly stepped back and sat down across from him, keeping her tone level. “She’s not a soldier, Tommy. You can’t command her like one. You love her. That’s the whole point. And if you want her to still be smiling this time next year… you better learn how to let her breathe.”

Running a hand over his face, he stayed silent.

Polly reached for her cigarette case, pulled one out, lit it. She took a drag, then said it like it was an afterthought. “Also, your bride can’t dance. Thought you should know.”

Tommy's gaze shifted, slightly unfocused, as her words hit him. He hadn’t noticed. He’d been too wound up, too busy seeing red. Watching hands and smiles. Watching John.

But not her. Not the way she clung a little tighter when the steps picked up. Not the way she glanced down at her feet. The hesitation in her laugh, not to coax but as a way to deal with embarrassment. She’d been trying to learn for him, and he hadn’t seen it.

And now Polly had tossed it out there like a lit match. It sat with him for a moment longer than it should have.

Polly stood, smoothing her skirt. “You’ve still got time to fix that. If you don’t, she’s going to walk into your first dance like it’s a public execution.”

Then she left.

He sat there for a moment with the weight of everything pressing down on him. The wedding. The Italians. The war he was orchestrating in shadows. But none of it mattered right now. And in all his calculating, he hadn’t accounted for one simple truth. She needed him. Not as the man who’d dragged her from the room, but the man she said yes to. The man who was supposed to love her, not watch her flinch under his silence.

She couldn’t dance. And he'd barely paid attention.

He’d teach her the steps, put his hands on her waist with patience, not possession. And maybe, if he did it right, she’d smile again. Not for Finn or John, but him.

He was already reaching for his jacket when he heard a knock at the door. One of the maids answered quietly, and a familiar voice followed, light, cheerful, cutting right through the tension in the air.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Here to see my daughter."

Mary stepped into the sitting room, balancing a cloth bag over one arm, carrying two other bags, and her coat was dusted with a bit of morning dew and determination. Her eyes landed on Tommy as he rose to help her with everything she was carrying. Her smile didn’t falter, though her brow lifted slightly.

“Well, it’s not the daughter I expected to find, but I’ll take the son-in-law.”

Tommy gave the barest smile. “Someone decided to sleep in.”

Mary clicked her tongue but didn’t press.

Turning her attention to the bundle draped over her arm, she placed it gently on the couch. “These are the rest of her new dresses you asked for. I just finished them last night.”

Tommy stepped closer, opened the cloth with careful hands. Rich fabrics, soft colors. Pale blues, soft greens, a deep plum he remembered choosing without a second thought. She’d look good in all of them.

“Looks like you got it just right,” he said, lightly impressed. “Stitching’s damn near perfect.”

Mary gave a small, pleased shrug. “We know how to finish things properly.”

She began folding the empty cloth wrapping when she added, almost offhand, “And I put together that list of shoes you wanted commissioned for her. My new helper is better at sketching than me, fortunately. Bram Sullivan's daughter said they should be ready within the week.”

Tommy looked up, brow drawing slightly. “You didn’t go over there yourself, did you?”

Mary snorted. “No. I sent everything with Rory.”

Tommy eased slightly at that, nodding once. “Good.”

She set down another smaller parcel near the sewing machine in the corner. “Just some small mending pieces. Thought I’d leave them here for her.”

Tommy frowned. “That new girl I hired for you, she not working out?”

Mary smiled at that, but it was a quiet, knowing smile. “Oh no, Irene’s lovely. Very sweet, talented. Thank you again.”

“Then why are you still bringing work for your daughter?”

That earned him a look. Mary straightened up, hands on her hips, her eyes warm but firm. “Because she grew up working. Just like you did.” Mary folded the now-empty cloth bag with efficient hands. “She’s not used to sitting idle, and never had the opportunity to do so, especially after Malachy died.”

“I’m at a place in life,” Tommy said carefully, “where I can have a wife who doesn’t have to do anything except take care of me and our children.”

Mary looked at him for a moment, giving him that same half-smile her daughter wore sometimes, like she could see straight through him. “You can have that,” she said. “But whether she’ll sit still for it is another thing entirely.” She looked toward the sewing machine again. “If I don’t leave her something to do there, she’ll go poking around the garden. Or the pantry. Or reorganizing your entire bloody house. I’m trying to keep her from climbing the walls.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “That’s your idea of rest?”

She shrugged. “My idea of peace. She’s like me that way, we need something to do with our hands.”

He leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, something like respect in his expression. Christ, I know exactly what that’s like.

Mary turned to her final bag and pulled out something smaller, a muslin pouch with a few round shapes wrapped carefully inside. “Lemons,” she said. “I’ll leave them in the kitchen for her.”

Tommy glanced at it. “She hasn’t had morning sickness in weeks.”

Mary smiled, but there was something gentler behind it now. “She’s nervous today.”

That made him straighten a little. “Why?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Mary tilted her head. “Nadia’s coming tonight. Checking up on her. Says she’s going to tell us if the baby’s a boy or girl. Something about a ring or a charm.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smile playing at his mouth. “Nadia will use her engagement ring. Dangle it on a strand of her hair or a thread, hold it over her stomach.”

Mary looked intrigued.

He continued, “If it moves in a circle, it’s a girl. If it swings back and forth, it’s a boy.”

Mary smiled. “Well, I’ve never heard that one.”

“You’ve learned something new, then.”

She nodded, genuinely curious. “I know very little about the Romani. Just the basics.”

Tommy paused. His voice softened just slightly. “There’s gypsy blood in my family.”

Mary's expression was thoughtful. “I guessed as much. From the way Nadia speaks to you. It’s familiar.”

He studied her carefully. “Does it bother you?”

Mary waved it off without hesitation. “Why would it? The Romani are good people. Malachy’s grandmother had gypsy blood, if I remember right.”

Tommy didn’t show his surprise, but a part of him that had stayed braced, waiting for judgment, waiting for that subtle shift in tone people used when they learned about his gypsy blood. But Mary like her daughter was accepting.

She glanced toward the hallway. “I’ll try to come by again later tonight, see what Nadia says about this grandchild of mine.” She picked up her empty bag and headed for the door. "Giver her my love. I'd stay but Rory has men stomping all over our house doing the repairs." She laughed. "If they pull up any more floorboards without checking with me first, I'll be dragging them out by the ear."

And with that, she was gone like a spring storm, leaving behind lemons, dresses, and more for Tommy to think about than he was ready to admit.

Christ.

Mary didn’t waste time with pleasantries. But somehow, she’d walked in, upended his thoughts, and left again before he could find his footing. She was light, easy with her smiles. Unapologetic in her work ethic. And absolutely nothing got past her.

Two strong women, very different from each other, but the message was the same. His bride didn’t need protecting from the world half as much as she needed space to feel like herself inside of it. 

Tommy had been so focused on shielding her, on removing every possible threat, that he’d forgotten what it meant to let someone stand beside him, not behind him.

She grew up working. Just like you did. That was the part that stuck. He hadn't considered that, only seeing the softness, the sweetest parts of her he wanted to keep safe. But underneath all of that… she was strong and resourceful. 

And if he boxed her in too tightly, she’d wither. Just like he would.

It left him with much to consider.

You’d slept too long. By the time you stirred, the sun was already high, light pouring across the foot of the bed like it was mocking you. You blinked against it, stretched. There were sore points all over your body from what happened in his study, then in the bedroom. You smiled, sitting up slowly, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep and his scent on the pillow beside you. 

You scrambled into motion, washing up and slipping into one of your new dresses, tugging a brush through your hair with one hand while you washed your face with the other. You’d promised yourself you’d get an early start. There was mending to finish, things to tidy up, and Nadia was coming tonight, saying she could tell you if the baby was a boy or girl. You were excited and nervous, but you trusted her. But did you really want to know? Would she be right?

The sitting room was quiet when you passed it, so you skipped it entirely and headed straight for the kitchen. You needed something quick, just an apple to tide you over until dinner. You reached for a beautiful red apple in the bowl near the window, already mentally running through your to-do list, when a familiar voice caught you off guard.

“That all you’re eating?”

You turned, startled, the apple halfway to your mouth. Tommy was standing just inside the doorway.

“Tommy, I didn’t know you were home.”

He nodded, slow. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You smiled at him, surprised but happy. “Well, this is a nice surprise.”

He looked at you for a second longer than usual, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read something more than just your expression. Something about his stillness got your attention.

Was something wrong?

You lowered the apple slightly and stepped closer. “Why are you home?” you asked gently. “Did something happen?”

His gaze met yours, steady and quiet. “I wanted to be here.”

That caught you off guard.

He took a slow breath, voice low. “I didn’t want to be across town if something happened.”

You were surprised by his honesty, your heart tugging at the raw truth in his voice. He wasn’t here to check in, he was staying close to you.

Tommy's gaze dropped briefly to your hand, where your engagement ring caught the morning light. “Your mum said Nadia’s coming tonight,” he said. 

“Mum was already here?” You sighed. “I’m so sorry I woke up so late.”

Tommy shook his head, his gaze meeting yours. “Don’t be. You needed the rest.”

After everything last night, you certainly had needed your rest. 

You smiled, relaxing a little. “Nadia’s coming over to check on me. And… she’s going to tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.” You hesitated, then added, “If we want to know. Do you want to know?”

Tommy's gaze dropped to your hand resting on the counter, then to your stomach, and then back to your face. Something flickered behind his eyes, something softer than usual.

“If you want to.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he said, “But yes. I’d like to know.”

You nodded slowly, heart squeezing around the honesty in his voice. “Why?”

He gave a small breath of a smile, not quite looking at you. “Because the world’s already waiting for them. And I just… I want to picture it.”

That touched something deep inside you. You had no response to that.

Then he added, gently, “Your mum brought lemons for you this morning. Said you’ve been nervous about Nadia’s visit. When you get nervous, the sickness comes back?”

“It does.” You set the apple down. “I don’t know how Nadia can know that… if it’s a boy or girl. But she’s been right about everything so far.” Your fingers brushed the edge of the table. “What if she sees something else? What if she finds something wrong with him… or her?”

Tommy stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “If she thought there was something wrong,” he said firmly, “she wouldn’t be agreeing to do this.”

That pulled the air back into your lungs. You nodded slowly. “That makes me feel better.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then asked, “Is that all you’re nervous about?”

You hesitated. "No.” You glanced down, your fingers twisting. “I suppose Polly told you I can’t dance.”

His expression didn’t shift.

You gave a soft, sheepish laugh. “Well… yes. I’m nervous about that too.” You looked up at him, guilt bubbling up as your eyes met his. “And I’m sorry I danced with John. And Finn... I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t do it again.”

Tommy moved a little closer. And softer than you expected, he said, "You didn’t upset me. Not for dancing.” Reaching for your hand, his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You don’t need to apologize for laughing. Or forgetting yourself for a moment.” His gaze locked on yours, steady now. “But I would like to be the one who teaches you.”

You stared at him, touched by how gentle his voice had become. The sharpness from the day before had been replaced by something… tender.

Your fingers curled around his, your voice small but sincere. “You can teach me?”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You dance?”

That made him huff a quiet laugh through his nose. “I’ve been to a few weddings in my time.” Tommy gave a slight tilt of his head. “I manage well enough not to embarrass myself.”

You bit your lip, smiling despite yourself, but the nerves still fluttered in your stomach. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You won’t.” His hand was still wrapped around yours, steady and warm. But then he pulled back slightly and gave you a look. “But you’ll need more than an apple in you first.”

Wait. “What?”

He gestured toward the apple in front you. “You’re not learning to dance on nothing but nerves and fruit. Sit down. Eat something real.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order, Mr. Shelby?”

He smirked. “It’s a request. But one I’d rather not have to repeat it.”

You laughed softly, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll eat.”

He nodded back, then turned toward the kitchen door. “I’ll be in the sitting room.” Then he paused, just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “Don’t take too long.”

You watched him go, his footsteps fading down the hall. You reached for the apple again, smiling softly as you picked it up. 

You were still smiling when the maid came hurrying into the kitchen, red-faced and flustered. A delivery man followed her carrying what looked like a massive arrangement of white lilies and red roses in a deep-cut crystal vase. The delivery man was broad-shouldered and barely making eye contact with you.

“He insisted he had to bring it in personally, miss,” she explained breathlessly. “Said it was too heavy for me to carry alone.”

You just stared at the arrangement. It was elegant and dramatic, towering on the kitchen table now like it was meant for a ballroom and not your quiet morning.

“I… wasn’t expecting flowers,” you said slowly.

The man set it down without a word and quickly turned to leave, head ducked low. Odd.

You moved toward the vase, something about it suddenly feeling too grand… too much. And then, you heard a sound. It wasn't loud but you could definitely hear it, a faint mechanical clicking.

You froze, hearing some commotion outside. The maid looked as stunned as you were when Arthur barrelled in through the back door.

His eyes were sharp on you. “Is it fuckin’ ticking?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. You stepped back as Arthur lunged for the vase, already yelling, "Tommy!" 

From the hallway, boots slammed against the floor. Tommy burst into the kitchen, saw the flowers. Saw you. Watched Arthur halfway out the back door already hauling the arrangement in both arms.

“Don’t move!” Tommy snapped to you. “Stay right where you are!”

Then he was gone, after Arthur.

You stood there with the maid, breath stuck in your throat. The silence was deafening for a few seconds. And then, a not-too-distant booming sound. The windows trembled and the dishes rattled on their shelves. The maid screamed and covered her mouth. You stood frozen, heart hammering in your chest.

That was when you noticed something on the floor at your feet. 

A cream-colored envelope that was delicate and expensive. Your name written on the front in fine, sweeping cursive. With shaking hands, you bent to pick it up, the scent of fresh flowers still hanging in the air. You opened it carefully. Inside was a folded page containing a long, winding obsessive love poem. You didn’t get more than a few lines in, the cadence of something that wasn’t a poem so much as a claim. 

You were shaking so hard, you dropped it. The letter and envelope landed softly on the table, the fine paper brushing the wood like it didn't come from a bomb meant to kill you. 

Your didn't immediately realize your hand curved protectively over your baby. You were still lost in what just happened, absorbing the fear of what could have happened. The house was eerily silent as smoke and panic drifted in through the back door that was left slightly ajar. 

Then the door slammed open. Tommy stormed in, eyes sharp and wild, breath tight like he hadn’t exhaled since the explosion. His gaze found you standing there, shaking with your hand over your belly. And everything in him seemed to snap back into focus.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head.

He crossed the kitchen in three strides, hands on either side of your face, scanning you like he needed proof. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked again, lower now, almost hoarse.

“No.” Your voice was just a whisper. “I’m okay.”

He exhaled shakily, forehead resting briefly against yours.

Then he saw the envelope on the table, the poem next to it. The name written on the front. Your name.

Picking it up the paper, unfolding it to quickly scan the writing on it. His fingers tightened the longer he held it. His entire body tensed. "You read it?”

You nodded faintly. “Not all of it. Just… just enough.”

You dropped your hand from your stomach as he looked at the page, not opening it, just feeling the weight of it in his hand.

“He sent it to you.”

You swallowed hard. He didn't need to say the man's name. You knew. It was Angel Changretta, or sent on his behalf.

Then you felt something strange and unfamiliar, your hands flew back to your belly, palms pressing flat. 

Tommy’s head snapped up. “What is it?” He was on edge already, raw from adrenaline. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak at first, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your heart. "He moved.”

You grabbed his hand, fast, certain, guiding it to the spot just below your ribs, your fingers trembling as you held his there.

“Right here. Just... just wait.”

He stilled, mouth slightly parted, the silence between you tightening. But it came again. The faintest flutter like a whisper under the skin. 

Tommy's gaze flew to yours, stunned. He looked like he'd been punched in the chest by something holy. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Arthur burst through the door, breathless with dirt on his sleeves. “She alright?”

Behind him, Finn came skidding into the room, his hair a mess, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened.

Arthur froze when he saw you both, your hands together over your stomach, Tommy’s expression somewhere between disbelief and reverence.

You smiled through the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. Still shaking, but more alive than you’d felt in weeks.

“I felt the baby move,” you told Arthur.

Arthur gave a short, stunned laugh. “I’ll bet you fuckin’ did. A bomb just went off.”

Before you could reply, Polly came rushing in from her errands, eyes wide, looking you over first, then Tommy, then the kitchen.

“What the bloody hell is going on?"

Tommy turned to her, still visibly reeling, hand still resting on your belly like he wasn’t willing to let go.

The chaos roared around you, shouting, questions, footsteps, confusion. But for one more breath, you and Tommy stayed still. Connected and in awe.

Arthur was talking, swearing about the bomb, demanding answers, but it all blurred. Polly’s voice cut in, sharp as ever, slicing through the noise with her questions, but even that barely registered. Finn was hovering uselessly by the door, looking between Arthur’s smoke-streaked coat and his soon-to-be sister-in-law.

And she was calm now, somehow glowing, like the moment had knocked everything loose in the world except her. 

Tommy’s hand was still there, resting on her stomach. Where the tiny life they made had moved beneath his fingers. 

He should’ve been shouting orders. Calling for weapons. Demanding to know who the fuck let a courier walk a bomb into his home.

But all he could do was stare at her. She was alive and breathing, eyes shining with fear and relief and something impossibly soft. And their child had just reached out from inside her, if only for a second. I’m here.

Tommy’s throat was tight. He didn’t typically believe in signs, but that had been one. And for one strange, fleeting breath, he didn’t feel like a man balancing a kingdom on the edge of a knife. He felt like a father, and a lucky one.

You looked up at him like you could feel what he was feeling, and for a second, he nearly let it all crack open. 

Arthur swore again. Polly snapped something back. Finn was pacing like a stray in a thunderstorm. It was too much, and it needed to be dealt with. 

Time to move. He turned toward the others, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “I want the man who delivered it. Find him. Bring him to me alive.”

Arthur straightened instantly. “Already done. Liam was right on his heels.”

Tommy gave a short nod. Good.

He turned to Polly. “Get Nadia here. Now.”

Polly nodded. “Already on her way. Mary too.”

Tommy looked to Finn, who was still fidgeting like a nervous dog. “Go find Rory. We need to double the guards. Now. No one gets near this house unless they’re on my list. Not deliveries or guests. No one.”

Finn bolted off without a word.

Tommy’s chest rose and fell, slow. Turning back to her, his gaze dropped briefly to her stomach, then back to her eyes.

Quieter now, but not soft, he said, “Come with me.”

And when she nodded, he placed a hand gently at the small of her back, guiding her out of the kitchen, away from the wreckage and shouting. His other hand was still clenched tight, and he didn’t immediately realize it. The shouting dulled behind them. Arthur and Polly still barking at each other. The maid still crying into her apron.

But as soon as the sitting room door shut, it was like the silence had weight. Tommy turned toward her. She watched him, eyes wide but steady. He sat down slowly in the chair near the fire, pulling her onto his lap so he could hold her. The letter in his coat pocket felt heavier now, like it was dragging at the lining. Like it could burn a hole straight through to his ribs.

“Someone sent that to me,” she said quietly. “They wanted me to open the page and read it until...” 

His arms tightened around her. She wasn't wrong. 

“They wanted me to die.”

No. No, not just die or disappear.

“They wanted me to lose you,” His voice was barely above a whisper. "To lose my child."

And that was what finally cut through everything. All of his plans, none of it mattered. Not if she had been standing one step closer. Not if Arthur had been a second too late.

His mind had barely started to fill in the gaps, and already it felt like suffocating. She leaned into him for comfort, for protection for her and the child she carried. 

His child.

“They won’t get another chance,” he muttered. And he meant it. Every syllable pressed through gritted teeth like a vow carved in stone.

He knew who it was. The Italians. The way Vicente had spoken. The way the tension had shifted after the meeting in the betting shop.

They knew he was staying home, that he wasn’t across town in his office. They knew the flowers would be delivered to her, a harmless wedding gift. They’d timed it to the hour.

They wanted him to see. To hear the blast from another room. Find her body, their child, scattered across the floor before he ever made it down the stairs.

It wasn’t just an attack. It was a fucking message. A warning dressed up as grief waiting to happen. It wasn't about wanting her gone.

They wanted him broken.

But they’d miscalculated. Tommy hadn’t lost her or the baby. And now he’d make sure every last man tied to that delivery, every thread that led back to Angel, to Vicente, to the Changrettas was pulled until it bled. The rage was simmering now, low and cold. The kind that burned slowly and permanently. 

The sitting room door flew open. “Where is she?”

His girl rose on shaking legs when Rory stormed in like he was ready to fight the whole world with his bare hands. His hair was wind-tossed, boots still muddy, like he hadn’t even stopped to think before running. His eyes landed on her, still alive and whole.

“Jesus Christ,” Rory breathed. “I heard the blast... Someone said it came from the house...”

He crossed the room in seconds and pulled her into his arms before Tommy could say a word. Held her so tightly it looked like he didn’t trust the floor to hold her upright. 

Tommy didn’t interrupt, letting him have that moment. Rory needed to see for himself that his sister was still here. Still breathing.

Rory pulled back, hands on her shoulders, eyes scanning her face. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

She smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

He looked down at her belly. “The baby?”

Her voice softened. “I felt him move.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward her, but he didn’t say anything. It was the second time she’d said him. No it, and she said it with certainty.

That froze Rory in place. His face crumpled for just a second, before he blinked fast and cleared his throat. “Alright...  Alright, good.”

Tommy rose from the chair and took a step forward, his voice sharp again. “She’s safe.”

Rory turned, eyes flashing. “Tell me who sent it.”

“I already know,” Tommy said. “And I’ll deal with it.”

Rory didn’t move. “Then let me help.”

“No,” Tommy said firmly. “You go in swinging, they disappear too fast. I want them to feel this for what they tried to take from me. From you.”

Rory hesitated, breathing hard. But then he nodded. A soldier’s nod.

Tommy looked at him evenly. “Stay with her until Polly gets here. Then find me. I'll need you.”

Then to her, his voice dropping, softer. “Don’t leave this room until I return.”

He turned without another word, already thinking two steps ahead, already planning the first stone in the avalanche.

The study still smelled faintly of smoke from the fire, though it had long since burned down to glowing embers. Tommy had just finished washing the blood from his hands. He’d changed shirts. His cuffs were clean now. But the storm hadn’t passed. It had just gone quiet.

Arthur, John, and Rory were already in his study when he walked in, each of them tense, waiting. 

The delivery man had been delivered to him alive. Liam had caught him not far from the edge of the city, already trying to vanish into the sprawl.

He’d been brave. Tommy would give him that. But bravery had its limits.

The man now lay unconscious in the cellar, bleeding from the mouth, tied down and silent because Tommy had taken his tongue after receiving his confession. And before that, he’d taken everything else he needed.

Stepping into the room, he shut the door behind him. “It was Vicente Changretta.”

They already knew but he just wanted to say it. 

John crossed his arms. “Their people are saying that we disrespected him in the betting shop.”

“Tommy threatened him,” Rory muttered from the corner. "They should have listened."

Tommy moved behind the desk, his gaze shifting to the half-empty glass he hadn’t touched since midday. “Vincente wanted to make a statement.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said darkly. “So do we.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “After the wedding.” His words were cold and final. “We bury them.”

Those words lingered around them in the silence of the room. 

Rory’s gaze met Tommy's. “Tell me when.”

John cracked his knuckles, smirking. Arthur still seemed shaken from the bomb incident earlier. 

Tommy took a seat and leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette. His rage had been fed, and his hands weren’t shaking anymore.

But he had one last thing to do tonight.

You were sitting in the parlor with your mother when the door opened gently and Polly stepped in. “She’s here,” Polly said, her voice softer than usual.

Nadia followed, her scarf slightly askew, her cheeks pink from the cold and exertion. “Apologies,” she said with a warm smile. “I was helping a girl that was too young with her first child. It took longer than expected.”

You smiled. “You’re not late.”

Your mother, still shaken from earlier, watched you like you could disappear any moment. Like she didn’t trust that the danger was over just yet.

Polly guided Nadia in as if she were royalty, though there was nothing grand about the way Nadia moved. She walked purposefully to you, brushing a hand along your shoulder briefly.

“You look very good,” she said kindly, not mentioning what had happened. No one did.

You gave her a grateful smile. “I felt him move.”

Her eyes lit with a knowing gleam. “Ah, so he’s already making his presence known. Typical Shelby.”

Polly smiled at that. 

“You said him,” your mother added quietly, trying not to smile but failing.

Nadia crouched in front of you and began her usual checks, measuring, feeling, asking how you’d been sleeping. When she pressed her ear to your belly, her earrings swayed gently, brushing your gown. 

You exhaled slowly, relaxing under the rhythm of it all. 

Nadia straightened, her hands still resting gently on your middle for a moment longer. Then she smiled, certain. “Everything is as it should be,” she said.

Your heart flew in your chest. “Really?”

She nodded. “The baby is healthy, getting stronger. It's position is where it should be.”

Your mother let out a breath beside you, one hand pressing to her heart like she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her own lungs hostage.

You smiled up at Nadia, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes now, the good kind. For the first time since the explosion, you believed it.

“Would you like to know?” she asked softly. “If it’s a boy or a girl?”

Before you could speak, a voice came from the doorway. “Yes.”

You turned your head. Tommy was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable but focused entirely on you.

You nodded. You hadn’t said it aloud until now, but if he believed in this, you could too. 

“Alright then,” Nadia said, standing.

She motioned gently for you to rise, then guided you over to the chaise lounge by the window, helping you settle back into the cushions.

“Recline just a bit,” she murmured. “Good. Hands here, relax your shoulders.”

You did as she said, nervous and excited now for an entirely different reason. 

Then, with that same calm grace, she looked toward the doorway.

“Mr. Shelby,” she said, her voice gentle but sure.“Come here.”

Tommy straightened slightly from where he’d been leaning, then crossed the room, and stopped beside you.

Nadia held out her hand. “The ring?”

You slipped your engagement ring from your finger, and it suddenly felt so light, so strange, not to have it there. Polly provided a long black thread from her coat pocket, of course she had one, and your mother cut it to length with the scissors she kept in her pocket.

Nadia tied it to the thread Polly had given her, her fingers moving with quiet precision.

Tommy remained close. Leaning over the back of the lounge, he took one of your hands in his as he watched. You felt his presence without having to look for him.

Nadia positioned herself at your side, the ring dangling above your belly.

And then... it began. Her hand, you noticed, was completely still. But the ring began to move. First barely. Just a quiver of motion. Then it grew more defined, not in circles, but in a clean, deliberate line, back and forth. Side to side.

You stared, lips parting. Her hand wasn’t moving. How could it be moving on its own?

Your breath caught. "What does it mean?"

"A boy," Tommy's voice was gente.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “I knew it.”

Your mother gasped softly beside you. Polly smiled.

Nadia nodded, calm and sure. “Yes,” she said. “You did.”

While Nadia worked at getting the thread off the ring, you sat up with Tommy's help. When your gaze found his, you saw something in his gaze that hadn’t been there all day. 

Peace.

Nadia packed up quietly, offering a parting smile as she slipped your ring back into your hand. “A strong boy,” she said again. “And a strong mother. I'll be by next week.”

You squeezed her hand gently in return, too happy to speak.

Your mother stood then, brushing a hand along your arm. “I should get home,” she said softly, though you could see in her eyes she didn’t want to go. She’d been more frightened than she let on, maybe even more than Rory. You hugged her tightly, whispered that you were alright. That everything was alright now.

Nadia and your mother left together, Polly seeing them to the door with a nod that promised she'd keep watch over the house for the rest of the night. But she didn’t come back.

And then it was just the two of you. The quiet settled in like a blanket. The tension that had held tight through every moment of the day slowly eased from your shoulders as you sat there on the chaise. Your hand drifted over your belly.

Tommy lowered himself to one knee beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. His hand smoothed over your belly. 

“I’m glad you’re both alright,” he said finally, his voice rougher than it had been earlier. “You and our son.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache in the best way. There was a light in his eyes now, faint but real. And though you knew he was still making plans, still thinking about retribution and protection and all the weight that came with being Tommy Shelby… none of it was in his voice just now.

And you didn’t want to remind him.

Glancing toward the fire, then back at you with a faint smile, he said, “There’s just one more thing to do before bed.”

You smiled. “What?”

He stood, extended his hand. “I promised to teach you to dance.”

Your breath caught as he offered you his hand. And for just a second, you thought back to that first night when he'd led you away from Arthur. He'd offered you his hand and walked you over to the bed in the other apartment... Even then, you realized that something in you had trusted him.

And now? Now you trusted him with your life, the life of your son. 

You took his hand, and he led you gently to the center of the room.

“It’s just a step,” he said. “Then another. Follow me.”

You nodded, your heart fluttering in your chest.

He went over the steps with you slowly, patiently. You practiced the motions once, then again. He made it seem so simple.

Finally, he pulled you a little closer. One arm around your waist, one hand in yours. And then he began to hum. Soft and low, a tune you didn’t recognize but somehow felt like you’d always known. His breath was warm against your ear, you shivered. You loved the low timbre of his deep voice. 

But you didn’t trip or look at your feet. You were dancing with him.

And in that quiet room, no war at the windows, no shadows creeping under the door...

You were happy. You smiled up at him as you slowly moved together.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless @wantedby-larry @mariaenchanted @moonbeamott @thetamtam9 @ayeeeitsmiracle @atlas-of-a-human-soul

Derek choked and coughed, as he slowly slid away from the wreckage, his head spun-and he knew that blood dripped down his head, yet he couldn’t feel the pain.He blinked the black spots from his eyes, as his headlights illuminated the slowly drifting snow,The man’s blood left gleaming droplets in the expanse of white.  

The car had hit black ice.He had been clutching the steering wheel in a death grip.  

Too fast.Derek had been driving too fast.  

“Er-ic?”his voice broke, and he struggled to stand, his son had been in the passenger side.Derek managed to stand and he stumbled to the wreckage of the car,”Oh,god pleas-e. I kno-w I don’t deserve him-m but  plea-se…”his heart pounded through his chest and tears were flowing freely.”Pl-ease don’t tak-e him!”  

He gripped onto the crushed roof, and he looked through the broken window.His knees gave out, and his head swirled.A cry of anguish broke from his lips.Eric was dead.The awkward angle of his neck told Derek not to search for a pulse.The salesman knew that he should call for help, but he let himself slid down into the snow.  

He willed the cold to take him.  

me, with a vague plot idea, 1 (one) character name, and an outline that consists of mostly question marks:

kiss me with your eyes closed - kiss prompts

prompt list by @novelbear

pulling away and their faces are all flushed and they hear nothing but the sound of eachother trying to catch their own breaths

grabbing them by their waist and tugging them closer to deepen the kiss

^ maybe it catches the other off guard and they let out a little noise of surprise (much to the amusement of their partner)

cupping their cheeks and giving them a peck on the nose or lips

smiling into the kiss (it's gonna do it for me every time)

or if they smirk a little whilst doing it oh my god

they're lying on the bed, one on top of the other just planting kisses alllllll over their face. all over.

just going at it and suddenly they're being picked up and placed on the counter (or whatever surface is near)

laughing out loud when one of them makes any noises accidentally

one is shorter and they just plant a soft kiss (or kisses) along the taller's jawline

gentle. forehead. kisses.

a first kiss: one just goes for it so fast that the other doesn't realize what's happening at first. then they're like "oh shit"

^ but they slowly melt into it, let their eyes close, and kiss back

back hugging and the one in front just turns around to press their lips against the other's

those kisses that start off short and sweet, but things just naturally escalate

whispering words of admiration and love between a kiss

one is on the other's lap, holding their face between their hands, kissing them and instantly forgetting everything else in the room with them

those kisses that are just passionate from the start, they wrap their arms around their partner's neck or waist, being dipped back slightly.

after a heated session, they admire their flushed partner and softly place a peck on the cheek.

when they're holding hands and one just brings them up to their lips and places a kiss on their fingers.

haechan (verb): to be terrifying

“I’m not going to be offended if you don’t say it back,” they said softly. “I love you. No pressure. You don’t need to panic about it.”

“It really doesn’t bother you if I don’t say it back yet?” 

“Three words don’t define us. We were happy before I said it, I don’t need anything more from you than what you have already given.”

They kissed them then. Didn’t know if that was love, but maybe that didn’t matter.

LULLABY

about a late night konbini run with nagi makes him reflect on how much he loves you

ft. nagi + f!reader

you’d done the impossible: lure nagi seishiro out of bed.

the sound of your text notifications wakes him, and he blearily reads over your requests for him to take you to the konbini down the street, dotted with doe-eyed emojis. getting up in the middle of the night was such a pain, but so was being without you. when you greet him outside with a sweet smile, wearing the hoodie he left at your house last weekend, he thinks that getting up was worth it.

the sleeves are long enough to nearly cover your fingers, cuffs rubbing against his skin as you hold his hand, swinging your arms lazily in between your two bodies. the buzz of cicadas and the scuff of his shoes against the sidewalk as he drags his feet are the only sounds until you let out a little yawn.

“are you sleepy?” he glances at you as you bump into his body, head resting against his arm.

“mhm,” you nuzzle closer into the fabric of his shirt. “you’re rubbing off on me.”

he wouldn’t mind that. he imagines what it would be like to fall asleep next to you in the familiar comfort of his room, and how your hair might look when you first wake up. would you let him kiss you awake, or would he have to brush his teeth first?

“what are you thinking about?” you look up at him, arm threading around his own.

“you.” he says, always so honest. something flutters in his stomach when you give him that smile he loves so much, leaning up to kiss his cheek. he uses the position to pull you closer to his side, letting you lead him through the sliding glass doors of the store.

nagi trails behind you as you grab a bottle of his favorite lemon tea, following you to the back of the store. he rests his chin on top of your head as you decide what you want, hands slipping into the pockets of your hoodie to hug you closer to his chest. the lights hurt his eyes, lingering sleepiness only encouraging them to fall closed.

even when you wiggle out of his grasp to go to the register, he keeps himself comfortable, hand sneaking into yours and leaning against your side. he doesn’t mind the cashier’s lingering gaze when he nuzzles into your hair, stuck to your side as you leave the store.

“wanna eat here? walking’s such a bother.” he squeezes your hand. he isn’t ready for you to leave him yet. you hum a reply, sitting down on the edge of the sidewalk.

he lets out a sigh as he sits down next to you, close enough for his thigh to brush yours. he pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening up his game as you grab half of your fruit sando from its plastic wrapper, whipped cream and strawberries between soft, squishy bread. he opens his mouth, and you hold it up for him to take a bite.

you take yours next, looking around as you chew. a stray, fuzzy dandelion catches your eye, and you pluck it from the crevices of the concrete, holding it up next to his face.

“it looks like you!” you smile, ruffling his hair.

he blinks at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to shiver when your fingers skim his cheeks as you tuck the stem behind his ear, leaning your head against his shoulder.

the soft breeze caressing his skin and your warm, comforting presence is like a personal lullaby, gently weighing down his eyes and guiding him closer to sleep.

he looks down at you and thinks he couldn’t have been met with a prettier sight. your long eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, squished cutely from where they rest against his shoulder. the light from the store’s sign glows against your skin, and he can smell your sweet shampoo from how close you are. your flyaways tickle his neck, and he itches to smooth them down with his fingers.

you’ve been in the opposite position so many times before, and he wonders if your heart beats just as fast as his is right now when he’s the one laying on you. maybe one day, he’d get to see you like this in the golden light of morning, shining through his blinds, rather than in the dim moonlight, with concrete digging into his ass uncomfortably.

he blinks when his phone vibrates; he was so distracted by you, he died. he swipes the game closed to rest his head on top of yours, intertwining his fingers with your own, pulling them onto his lap.

maybe he can convince you to spend the night with him and finally get the answers to all of his questions. 

he sighs as he thinks of how much of a pain it’s going to be to walk home, even more sleepy now than he was before. you hold up the last bite of your sandwich to his mouth, and his lips brush against your fingertips as he takes it.

he whines when your warm body leaves his side to stand up. contact with you was addicting; he couldn’t get enough, and if he could, he’d never be without it. you start to gather your wrappers, looking at him expectantly when he doesn’t move. 

“carry me?” he raises his arms to you. “it’s only fair. you made me come all the way out here.” 

“did you forget you’re 190 centimeters, sei?” you grab one of the large hands outstretched to you to pull him up, his body practically limp as you help him to his feet. as soon as he’s standing, he drapes his entire body across yours, hands cradling your waist.

“seishiro,” you whine out his full name, and he hides his face in your neck. “nagi.” he kisses below your ear, nose grazing your jaw.

“i don’t know who that is,” he mumbles, and he feels the goosebumps raise on your skin against his lips. “only know sei.”

“sei,” you reach up to rub his head. your tone drips in sugary sweetness, and he laps every word up. “please get off of me so we can walk home?”

“don’t wanna.”

you sigh, hand falling out of his hair. “fine. guess i won’t be able to sleep over then. we’ll be stuck here all night.”

you feel the drag of his eyelashes against your neck as he opens his eyes. “really?”

when he straightens his back, he’s met with your pretty smile, just for him, and he knows it’s the last thing he wants to see before he falls asleep tonight, and the first thing he wants to see when he wakes up tomorrow.

he slides his hand into yours once more, energy renewed as he pulls you toward his apartment. he slips your intertwined fingers into his pocket, warming you up as the nighttime chill covers the two of you. his eyes are lidded, limbs heavy, but he pushes forward. the walk home wouldn’t be too bothersome if he had you with him, especially if at the end, he’d be snuggled next to you in bed.

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It was strange, how something so beautiful and fun could be so deadly. Laying there on your back, you watched in silent wonder as the beautiful little white flakes fell from the sky, continuing to refresh the stunning white coat that blanketed the world around you. 

The flakes had long since stopped melting the second they touched your skin, and no longer did your body ache painfully from the cold. Instead you were filled with a strange numbness that was slowly creeping up into your mind as well as your body. 

You knew it was a bad thing, you knew what it meant. But still, you couldn’t help but hope that you would pass peacefully… that the pain was finally over.

You couldn’t quite remember what had brought you out here anymore, your brain too fogged to remember anything other than the sting of betrayal and the hollow aching loneliness that had followed. You had searched for hours, trying to find a way back, but that had turned into nothing but a blur of pain and confusion too. 

You didn’t even remember laying down…. or perhaps you had fallen.

The faint crunching of snow made you force your eyes back open weakly, your mind sluggishly trying to remember when it was that you had closed them in the first place. Much to your surprise, someone was kneeling beside you, their voice sounding muffled and distorted in your mind, as they tried to speak to you.

You tried to respond to them, you really did, but your mouth had long since grown numb too, only your eyes capable of sluggishly blinking up at the stranger, trying to get their features to come into focus properly.

You had the strangest feeling that they weren’t human.