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The Duchess of London (2)

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, drugs, blood, gore, fighting, guns, fluff.

A/N: Wrote the first part damn near a year ago! Wanted to finally finish it off. Please know that another part is highly unlikely! No beta. Enjoy! Credits to the gif artist.

Thomas Shelby ends up on your doorstep three months later.

Technically, it was the door of the Gentlemen’s Club, Adonis, where you helped to manage the talent and had a few stocks invested in.

If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would’ve missed him entirely. Tommy remained seated in the back of the room near the door, one leg crossed over the other, fingers delicately grasping the rim of a glass. It was a talent of his, being able to blend into a room seamlessly while still maintaining a sense of distinctiveness. You couldn’t lie, the thought of seeing him again taunted you day after day. Thinking about his plump lips on yours, hands pressing against your neck-

A throat clears. “I believe it’s your turn, Duchess.”

You blink a few times, returning to the present. Sir Donald Chesnut fixes you with a stare, pool stick tapping the floor impatiently.

Giving him your best innocent smile, you nod and saunter around the table. There were two of his stripes left compared to your four solids. The men who gathered to “watch” all gawked as you bent over the velvet lined table, dress straining against your backside. You’re sure to milk their attention for all its worth, a teeny frown sprawling across your face as you stand back up.

“Must I repeat the rules of the game for you, miss? See those colored balls? You have to hit them into the holes. Do you understand?” Donald taunts, voice barely masking his mockery.

You smile and shrug. “Gee, I just can’t seem to decide which one to hit, they’re all so pretty!”

A few in the audience chuckle at the perceived naivete. Thomas takes a swig of his drink, watching your hands carefully.

“Let me assist you then.”

Donald pushes up against you, hands helping to position yours correctly. Upon steading them, you attempt to hit one of your balls but fail to do so. You jerk back into him as you laugh, hands fanning at your cleavage.

“I’m not even sure how I got the other balls in, must be a lady’s luck.” you comment.

“Sure.” Donald nods, already gearing up for his next shot. He sinks his two remaining balls with ease but misses the eight ball by a hair.

“Oh! You almost had it. Maybe I can catch up.”

“Good luck.” Donald tuts, hands grazing your ass as he passes behind you.

The act drops immediately and you get to work cleaning up the table. The balls clinking against each other before they sink into the pockets fills you with such pleasure you fight hard to maintain your poker face.

The eight ball lays just a few inches away from the right corner pocket, albeit at an odd angle. If you weren’t careful, it was an easy shot to miss and you didn’t want to give this fucker a chance to win. That didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun with your prey.

“Are you gonna call it?” Donald asks.

“Eight ball, middle right pocket.

Donald huffs out something that sounded like a mix between a snort and a sigh. “No fuckin’ way. You can’t make that!”

You don’t take your eyes off of him as you station yourself off center to the ball, cocking the pool stick until the weight of the wood feels comfortable in your hands. Sucking in a small breath, you let the stick slip through your fingers as you exhale. You could feel everyone else in the room hold their own collective breath as the ball pings around the table, making haphazard patterns until it slowly nears the pocket.

The eight ball all but comes to a complete stop before it finally drops into the pocket, the white ball close behind. You refuse to move, afraid that any sudden shift could cause the other ball to fall in behind it.

The ball edges you as it nears the pocket but you release a sigh of relief as it comes to a halt. You don't dare celebrate openly, just smile and wink at Donald, who was turning more red by the minute. Murmurs fly and papers shuffle as the men protest about their lost money.

Thomas finally approaches you as the others file out of the room, for sure in search of ways to better their bruised egos.

You don’t pay him any mind as you rack the balls up.

“You look like a professional.”

“You can too. Would you like to learn how to play?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I can keep steady hands.”

You hum in response, eyes shifting up to meet his. “That’s unfortunate.”

He is quiet as he comes to stand in front of you, hands reaching up to brush against your cheek. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

You pour Tommy another glass of whiskey before settling on the plush cushions next to him. The office space you acquired wasn’t as glamorous as you’d hoped it’d be but it provided a sense of solace where you could conduct business without hosting unwanted people in your home.

“So, is this a visit for pleasure or business? Perhaps both?”

Tommy knocks back his drink, throat bobbing as the cool liquor coats his mouth. “Marry me.”

You sputter out a laugh, shaking your head. “Pardon me?”

“I need you to marry me.”

“No,” you hold out a hand to stop him as you notice that he’s reaching into his coat pocket. “Have you gone fucking mad?”

“I need to form an alliance with the Elephants and this is the best way in.”

He fixes you with that stare and for a moment you’re sucked into his abyss, thinking about the possibility of becoming Mrs. Thomas Shelby but as quickly as the thought comes, it fades. This wasn’t your fight and you found it hardly fair that you were being used as some sort of pawn. You were familiar with his antics and knew that anyone being used by the Shelby clan typically resulted in death. As it so happens, you were pretty fond of your life at the moment.

You stand up from your seat abruptly, pacing back and forth. “I can’t marry you, Tommy.”

“I know it’s not an ideal proposal but you’ll have full control over the wedding details-”

Stopping mid pace, you turn to face your childhood friend. “What, did the war fuck with your hearing? I said I won’t marry you.”

Tommy drops his head, reaching back inside his pockets in search of a cigarette. He gets up to lurk near you, admiring the sour look on your face. “Is this how Marcus turned you down, eh?”

You swallow thickly, resisting to meet his gaze. Of course he knew about Marcus, he knew about everything and then some. The all knowing Shelby’s with their endless amount of dirt, ready to throw it on anyone who stood in their way.

“I don’t know to whom you are referring.” you lie, terribly so. Tommy could hear the pained yearning in your voice.

“Marcus Toussaint, old money from the Toussaints of France. Made their fortune from coal. He’s the youngest of four brothers, the only eligible bachelor left. You two met in Egypt, he was financing an archeological dig and you were there on holiday. Nights spent filled with mutual lust and passion, I assume. He buys you an estate in the Mediterranean, where you spend the majority of the summer.”

Your eyes slip close at the mention of Egypt, a time where you felt you could truly be yourself and not be on guard all the time. Marcus was delicate, thoughtful. He never questioned you about your past and was very encouraging about you wanting to pursue artistic hobbies. He was the one who taught you how to play pool.

“Unfortunately, your summer was cut short when he was forced to return home and he decided to take you with him. He wanted to make you a part of the family but they knew all about you and decided that a two dollar whore from the slums of Brimingham who made her living spending long nights in the beds of men she did not know was not good enough for Marcus. You try so hard to fit in with that crowd, prancing around in your fancy gowns with your nose held up so high that you still can’t smell the shit on your shoe you’re tracking into their houses.”

A rage you had learned to smother was bubbling beneath the brim of your being, a feeling you had never thought would be directed toward Tommy. You knew what he was doing, plunging a knife so deep into your heart and twisting until he got what he wanted out of you. It was all a mistake. You have been used over and over all your life. You were not going to be used by him, even if it cost you your life.

You lick your lips which have since gone dry, forcing your face to return to stone. “It’s always a delight to see you, Mr. Shelby. Travel safely.”

With that, you turn on your heels and exit the room in silent fury. A pair of observant eyes watch you from the stairs above, then switch to regard the back of Tommy as he leaves a few minutes after you.

You normally spent most nights at the club but decided it’s worth it to leave and blow steam off at home, your head a jumbled mess. Everything Tommy said was true but what he didn’t know is that Marcus had told you his family made prior preparations for him to marry the daughter of a tycoon and that he had no say in the matter. You were silly enough to believe him.

You were so caught up in what had just occurred that you hadn’t noticed you were being followed until a hand clamps over your mouth, a black hood shoved over your head.

Tommy watches absent-mindedly as the young woman slips back into her dress, dancing leisurely to the music coming out of the bar a few blocks down. The window was cracked and she was thankful, having put up with enough of Tommy’s smoking. He was on his third cigarette since they finished fucking and she was sure by the time she actually left, he would have finished half the pack.

There’s a knock at the door and the woman stops to look at Thomas expectantly. He doesn’t move an inch but jerks his head near the sound. The woman is cautious as she opens it but cracks the door wider when it’s revealed to be a bellhop.

“Delivery for 317.”

The woman grabs the silver covered platter and thanks the boy. She smiles as she brings it over to Thomas.

“Did you order me something special?”

“No.”

His bluntness doesn’t deter her, she simply shrugs and searches the vanity for her earrings. Tommy takes the lid off to uncover a note folded in half.

The Royale. 8pm.

The hood is snatched off unceremoniously and suddenly you’re in the storage room of a butcher shop, in a chair with your hands tied behind your back. Some of the girls you used to run with when you were younger surround you, with Bobbi aka Big Red at the center.

You give your best smile. “Ladies, are we starting a sewing circle? Book club? I hear Agatha’s new mystery is to die for.”

The first punch comes from Janie on your left. You rock your jaw, hands straining against the rope. “I take it that you didn’t like the novel.”

The second one is from Georgiana. The bitch. To think you were there for her when she found out her husband was screwing her sister.

After the fourth punch, this one to your gut, you were beginning to get fed up.

“Alright, does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“You’ve gotten too big for your britches, that’s what.” Big Red finally speaks up. She took over operations when the leader you knew, Mary, got locked up. Operations almost went to shit but you had to hand it to her, Bobbi knew how to run a tight ship. She wasn’t as popular with the women and laid down stricter rules. Several of which you had broken.

“I don’t have time for riddles, Bobbi.” you chide.

Bobbi snaps her finger and Georgiana brings a chair over so that Bobbi could sit in front of you. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, missy. When Mary put me in charge, I swore I’d keep her seat warm until she got out.”

You tsk. “Last I checked, you squeezed your fat ass in her chair.”

That earned you a hard punch. You needed to dial it back if you wanted to keep your face intact.

“You’ve been fucking one of the Shelby’s.” Janie purrs, popping her gum obnoxiously.

“Not just any Shelby, Thomas Shelby.” Georgiana tacks on.

Big Red makes a motion with her fingers and the clucking chickens get quiet, always obedient for their mother hen. “You know fraternizing with a family like theirs is off limits. Do you know what could happen to us if you were caught with him? We struck a decent deal with Sabini and the last thing I need is for you to jeopardize everything we’ve worked for because you wanted to get your cunt licked.”

You knew that a few girls were messing around with some men who worked for Sabini but you didn’t realize it had gotten so deep. Outside of Thomas and his boys in Birmingham, Sabini had the next biggest family in the area with a huge control over land. It wasn’t like anyone was stealing from them but nothing hurt men more than a broken heart and bruised ego.

“Well, since you like spreading your legs for dirty men like Thomas, poppet, you’re gonna do us a huge favor and use that pretty little face of yours to sway him into staying another night in London. Get him to this location,” Bobbi stuffs a slip of paper down your bra. “We’ll handle the rest.”

Big Red puts your cheek tenderly before snapping her fingers. Georgiana and Janie descend on you like vultures and the only sound echoing through the room is muffled grunts of you getting your ass kicked.

Thomas flips out his pocket watch once more.

8:22pm.

It was unlike you to be late but he figured it was for good reasons. Women and their unnecessary grooming. Growing up around Ada and practically being raised by Polly got him used to being late for certain functions. The waiter enters again and Tommy is ready to refuse another offer on refilling his glass but stops once he sees that you’re being escorted in.

You were mesmerizing. Your body was wrapped in red silk, the material caressing your figure in all the right places. White gloves covered your arms up to your elbows and the front of your dress drapes downward in a cowl design, showing a sufficient amount of cleavage to leave the wandering eye wanting more. To complete your ensemble, you wore a tilted hat with a veil to cover the majority of your face.

Thomas is a gentleman as he stands while you enter, only returning to his seat once you sit on your own.

“You’re late.”

You cock an eyebrow. “And yet, you’re still here.”

As if the waiter was eagerly awaiting for you to take your seat, you barely have time to set down your purse before the first course is brought out. It looked decadent but your stomach was still rolling from earlier. You weren’t sure when your appetite would return.

Thomas doesn’t touch his food either. “So, I take it you’ve changed your mind.”

You take a long sip of wine, swishing the red liquid around the glass before knocking the rest of it back. “Something like that.”

The cigarette makes an appearance. He lights it, waiting for you to continue.

“Look at us. Both came from nothing and here we are. Eating at the finest restaurants, wearing the finest clothes, sitting at tables that otherwise we would’ve been shooed from. And for what? Money?”

Thommy nods, almost as if you’d ask a rhetorical question. “Yes. Money, power, control. I’m taking care of my family just like you would take care of yours.”

“I have no family.” you state, voice a whisper.

“That’s why I’m asking you to be a part of mine.”

The door to the private room swings open and the waiter appears, yet again.

“For fucks sake!” Tommy yells at the poor fellow.

“My apologies, Mr. Shelby but your other guests have arrived.”

Tommy steals a quick glance at you. “I don’t have any other guests.”

You don’t dare turn around in your seat as the echo of numerous footsteps sound off, trailing from the hallway until they reach the dining area.

“Well, well. Looks like the gang's all here.”

The voice sends a chill down your spine. Amelio Sabini. He wasn’t head honcho but far enough up on the food chain for it to mean something.

Tommy clears his throat and puts out his cigarette. He doesn’t stand.

“What? No warm greeting for me or my brothers? Alright then.”

The vultures descend on the table, squeezing in where they could and kicking their feet up. You recognize some of the women on their arms from the club.

“Amelio. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

“Really? Cause if I remember correctly, we were invited. I know you didn’t start eating without me, Tommy. That’s bad business.”

“What’s bad business is discussing it in front of the women. You lot,” he points to the scantily clad girls. “Out.”

The girls all cling to their men, throwing each other nervous glances. You envied them just a little. To be pretty and clueless. It wouldn’t get them very far though.

Amelio gives a signal and they suck their teeth, sulking back out into the main part of the restaurant. You attempt to walk out with them but a goon keeps you firmly in your chair.

“Where are you heading off to, puddin’? You’re the main dish.”

“I take it you’re acquainted?” Tommy asks but you hear the condescending tone laced in the question.

“She’s the one that invited us. Knows the Royale is my favorite. Have you tried the raspberry and chocolate souffle?” Amelio gives a chef's kiss. “Eccellente!”

The men squabble as you mildly disassociate, understanding that this was going to end in one of two ways: you live or you die. And if you did die, Big Red was gonna get what’s coming to her, that’s for damn sure.

Your small break from reality is abruptly ended when the cold metal of a pistol is shoved into your hands.

Your hands graze the gun, a once familiar object now feeling foreign.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Amelio coos. “Let’s not draw this out any longer, eh? We all know how this ends. I don’t want to draw this out any further. Va bene?”

You nod your head slowly, steadying your grip on the weapon. You aim the gun directly at Tommy, unblinking. “Sorry it had to happen this way.”

Tommy gives a half shrug. “Likewise.”

You’re quick to pull the trigger and watch as the bullet whizzes by Tommy’s head and glides straight into the neck of the waiter. The platter in his hands falls, the Beretta masked as the “souffle” tumbling to the ground.

And just like that, the room cascades into a full out battle. Tommy wastes no time in grabbing his own gun and you throw yourself into the heat of action, taking out two more of Amelio’s men before you get clipped in the left arm. You throw yourself down on the ground in search of cover.

Arthur and the other Blinders crowd in from the kitchen, helping Tommy to clear out the room. Finn is careful as he drags you towards the back door, where a car is waiting.

“We can’t just leave them there!” you scream through the searing pain.

“They’ll be fine, trust me!”

Before you could argue your point further, the doors to the car get slammed shut and you’re whisked away from the scene.

Making it back to a small office Tommy owned was nothing short of a miracle. You had never seen or been a part of such a gunfight. However, it wasn’t the shooting that pissed you off.

“I know this was your idea.” you murmur, wincing as Tommy pours more alcohol in your wound.

“I told Big Red to persuade you, didn’t know that meant leaving you with a bruised eye.” Tommy says, double checking to make sure he cleaned the graze thoroughly.

You shake your head. “She’s got it out for me, apparently. You could’ve just asked-”

“I did ask you. This was reassurance.”

You pull away from his touch, a disapproving look etched into your face. “It’s like you don’t even trust me! We’re cut from the same cloth, remember?”

Tommy puts away the whiskey, reaching around you to grab at the gauze. He wraps it around your arm tenderly. Satisfied with his work, he takes a pack of smokes out of his pocket, tucking one between his lips.

He saddles up to where you’re perched on his desk, spreading your legs to stand between them.

“I never doubted you once. There were things that needed to be in place and I wanted to make sure it happened.”

The deep pools of his eyes drag you under and once again, you find yourself pulled into his orbit. No matter how hard your gut alerts you to the dangers of falling in love with Thomas Shelby, you ignore the blaring alarms and steel yourself. He wasn’t like the others, happy to parade you around on their arm like some sort of trophy. You had a mind, a working spirit that was hard to break and a reputation to uphold. You didn’t want to be the dainty, seen but not heard wife.

You wanted to be his equal.

Plucking the cigarette from his lips, you take a quick puff from it, exhaling slowly. “I should go.”

“I’ve arranged for John to take you to the hotel. We didn’t have much time to grab clothing from your place but I can have Pol take you shopping tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“You got me a room?”

Tommy chuckles slightly at the question, demeanor unwavering as he takes a small metal item from his pocket, flipping it in-between his fingers like you’ve seen him do many times before with a coin.

“I got us a suite.”

You stare at the key, understanding that it signified much more than a cozy night in. Accepting this key and going to see him meant that you were tethering yourself to a man you swore was just casual. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that level of commitment.

He pries your hand open, setting the room key in it before closing it gently. Nearly forgetting how to breathe, your eyes flutter close as Tommy seals the deal with a kiss.

He runs a lone finger down your cheek, his own lips plump with the sheen of your affections.

“My proposal still stands.”

Tommy says nothing else as he exits the office, doors groaning in protest at his departure. You open up your hand again. Would you still remain the Duchess or become a Queen?

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