Imagines For Me & You

Biscuits: Thomas Shelby- Peaky Blinders

Thomas Shelby & killer!teen!Reader, platonic/work relationship

You deal with a body and Thomas interrupts.

TW/CW: Murder, poison, fear, fucked shite.

Word Count: 937 words

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An iron ring played in their hands. Twisted and twirling it around, they rubbed it in some spots, staring off into space. They had taken it from a man they'd killed. They thought about the look on the young police officer's face as he began to choke, the cyanide in the almond biscuits taking effect. It wasn't the first time they'd ever killed, but it was the first time they'd ever taken a souvenir.

They liked the ring, it was a simple band inscribed with a year on it. 1863. The ring was made and inscribed before the young man had been born. It could have been a birth year. Maybe a wedding year. Something like that. They looked down at it, still twirling it in their fingers.

They tossed it in the air. If they caught it, they'd keep it. If not, they'd throw it away.

Reaching out for the ring, it slipped through their grasp and clattered to the wooden floor. The sound rang out in the dead silence of the apartment. It rang around several times before finishing its song. The decision was made; the ring would have to go.

They plucked the ring up. The metal was warm from their playing. It gave an almost human, flesh-like feel.

They walked back to the tiled kitchen and stared.

If the poor lad had stopped nosing around, he may have still been alive. Sadly, he didn't. The killer felt a tinge of pity for the boy. He likely had just gotten the job. If the police thought sending someone fresh to nose around them would prevent more police officers from "disappearing", they had another thing coming.

Placing the ring back on the body, they went in search of something to put it in. If they cut it up, it'd be easier to put in boxes and dump. But a rug or blanket could do the job just fine.

A knock came at the door.

They froze in their search. Looking at the door, they raised an eyebrow in questioning. It was too late for someone to be paying a social visit.

Pulling the body into their arms, they dragged it out of sight.

Another knock came, this one more urgent.

Grunting with effort, they said, "One moment!"

They plopped it down and closed the bathroom door behind them, sighing with relief.

Making their way to the door, they wiped off anything that could have gotten on their clothes and plastered a smile on. Opening their front door, they were greeted by the icy eyes of Thomas Shelby.

"Oh, good evening, Mr Shelby," they said, still smiling. "Is there something you need? I thought I had finished everything for the day?"

"May I come in?" His voice was never warm or friendly, but it seemed to chill the already cold atmosphere.

They stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. Mr Shelby took off his hat, crumpling it in his hand. They closed the door behind him.

"It has come to my attention that a series of police officers have been seen entering your flat," he said. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

They thought for a moment. Sighing, they said, "I suppose I was going to be found out one way or another."

What they didn't say was I'm glad it was you rather than someone else. You're someone who can be reasoned with.

Mr Shelby raised an eyebrow at the younger cop killer.

"Come along, follow me," they said.

He obliged.

The two killers stopped in front of the bathroom door. Mr Shelby, reasonably, gave them the side-eye.

"I didn't have time to, uh, take care of it before your impromptu visit," they said, explaining as they opened the door.

Mr Shelby was greeted by the body of one of Birmingham's officers. His mouth hung open at the realization of what they had been doing.

"He hasn't been dead for more than half an hour," they said.

Mr Shelby swallowed hard. "How are you planning on getting rid of it?"

"Eating him."

Mr Shelby gave them the most curious 'what the fuck" look.

They gave an awkward laugh. "That was a joke. That certainly didn't land," they said. "I was going to dump him somewhere no one would find him. Not for a while, at least."

He nodded, looking back at the body. "He's far too big for you to handle on your own."

"I know. I was thinking I could chop it into bits and pieces. Put them in boxes or bags and throw them away. Something like that."

"How many?" he asked. "How many have you killed?"

"What? Police officers? About 18, maybe 19. Not entirely sure. I don't really count them. If they start nosing around my business or you Shelbys, I tend to get rid of them," they said. They gave a short laugh. "They always fall for the almond biscuits. They never think about biscuits. Wary of the tea, sure, but never the biscuits."

"I've had your biscuits," he said.

They nodded. "Yeah, but not the poisoned ones. Wouldn't do me any good to use them on ya."

Mr Shelby had a newfound appreciation for them. 18, maybe 19, officers dead. Killed by an 18-year-old with a lot of poison and a penchant for murder and crime.

"I'll send some boys to take care of this," Mr Shelby said, gesturing at the body.

They smiled. "Thank you, Mr Shelby. Though, I'm certain I could take care of it on my own."

"I'm sure you could."

They nodded, joining him in staring at the body in awkward silence.