PEAKY BLINDERS IMAGINES

Thomas Shelby - 'Business and Bloodlines'

The night was thick with smoke and tension, the kind only Birmingham knew how to cultivate. Tommy Shelby stood in the alley behind the Garrison, knuckles bloodied, shirt collar torn. His breathing was steady though his mind roared with thoughts — business with the Italians had turned south again. He should have known.

Opposite him, a man twice his size staggered, blood dripping from a split brow. The others — Arthur, John, Isaiah — were circling, keeping any reinforcements at bay. It was supposed to be a warning. Quick, clean, decisive. But nothing with the Shelbys was ever neat.

Tommy wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, cold eyes narrowing.

"You should have stayed out of Birmingham," Tommy said lowly, voice like a blade dragging across stone.

The man growled, lunging forward. Tommy side-stepped smoothly, delivering a sharp punch to his ribs. The man collapsed to his knees with a grunt, gasping for air.

Arthur clapped Tommy on the back. "Sorted," he grinned. "Fancy a drink?"

Tommy shook his head, pulling his cigarette case from his pocket, the silver slick with blood. His hands were just steady enough to light it.

He inhaled deep — the only thing keeping the rage from splintering out of him completely — when he heard hurried footsteps pounding against the cobblestones.

"Tom!" It was Finn, his voice cracking with urgency. He skidded into view, wild-eyed, chest heaving. "It's Y/N — it's the missus — she's in labour!"

The world around Tommy, grim and vicious, screeched to a halt.

"What?" His voice was sharp, disbelieving. "It's not time yet—"

"Doesn't matter," Finn panted. "Doctor says it's early. She's askin' for you. Screamin' for you."

Without another word, Tommy tossed the cigarette aside, bolted toward his car. Blood still stained his hands and he didn't care. He didn't even look at the crumpled man moaning behind him. Business could wait.

Arthur shouted something after him, but Tommy was already sliding into the Bentley, slamming the door so hard it shook. The engine roared to life beneath his trembling hands.

The streets blurred past in a mess of gaslights and shadow, the car careening through the winding streets toward Watery Lane. His heart thundered louder than the motor, louder than the storm rolling over Birmingham's black skyline.

"Hold on, love," he muttered under his breath, pushing the car faster, faster.

When he skidded to a stop outside their house, Polly was already waiting on the porch, arms crossed tight across her chest, face carved from stone.

"You're bleeding," she snapped the second she saw him.

"I don't care," Tommy growled, pushing past her.

Inside, the house was chaos. The midwife bustled between rooms. Ada was wringing a cloth out in cold water, her face pale.

And then he heard it — your voice, broken and desperate, calling for him.

"Tommy!"

He didn't hesitate. He took the stairs two at a time and burst into the bedroom.

You were lying there, sweat soaking your hairline, hands clutching at the bedsheets. Your face twisted in pain and fear, eyes searching wildly until they found him.

"Tommy," you gasped, tears streaming down your cheeks. "You're here—"

He was at your side in an instant, gripping your hand tight, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm here," he rasped, kissing your clammy forehead. "I'm right here, Y/N. I'm not going anywhere."

Your fingers dug into his hand as another contraction racked through you, your body trembling.

"You're early," he whispered brokenly. "You weren't supposed to be early."

You gave a strained laugh between cries. "Babies don't give a damn about your schedule, Mr. Shelby."

The midwife barked orders over her shoulder. "She's progressing fast. If you're staying, hold her hand and don't faint!"

Tommy growled low in his throat. "I don't faint."

But Christ, he felt like he might. Seeing you in so much pain twisted something deep inside him, something that no fight or bullet ever could.

You clung to him through it all — every cry, every broken sob. He brushed the hair from your face, murmuring words meant only for you, promises he could only pray he'd be able to keep.

"You're doing so well, love," he murmured, voice thick. "So bloody well. You're the strongest person I know."

Hours blurred into minutes, or maybe minutes into hours — Tommy couldn't tell anymore. Time didn't exist. There was only you, the agony etched into your features, and the crushing helplessness swelling in his chest.

Until, finally, a cry split the air.

Sharp. Beautiful. Angry.

You collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing in relief as the midwife lifted a tiny, wriggling baby into the air.

"A boy," she announced.

Tommy couldn't breathe. A boy.

He barely realized he'd fallen to his knees beside the bed until you were reaching for him with trembling hands.

"Tommy — look," you whispered.

The midwife placed the small bundle into your arms, and you both stared down at him. Tiny fists waving, face screwed up in a furious little scowl that looked, absurdly, just like his father's.

Tommy swallowed thickly, tears stinging his battered face.

"He's perfect," you breathed.

Tommy leaned closer, his hand — still bruised and bloodied from the fight — hovering uncertainly over the baby's head. You smiled tiredly and shifted, making space for him.

"Go on," you encouraged.

With shaking hands, Tommy cupped the back of his son's head, cradling it gently. The baby blinked up at him, confused and furious at being pulled from his warm world.

"Hello, little man," Tommy murmured, voice cracking. "I'm your dad."

The baby gave a shrill cry in response, and Tommy chuckled wetly, brushing a kiss over his son's forehead.

Polly appeared at the doorway, her eyes wet as she took in the scene. Arthur hovered behind her, peering awkwardly inside.

"It's a boy," Tommy announced hoarsely, lifting his head.

Arthur whooped and slapped the doorframe. "Little bruiser, just like his old man!"

You laughed weakly, tears still streaming down your cheeks, and Tommy leaned in to kiss you, soft and reverent.

"You scared the life out of me," he murmured against your lips.

"You scared me, too," you whispered back. "Coming in here covered in blood, smelling like smoke and whisky..."

Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by it all — the mess, the chaos, the blood, and now... the overwhelming, heart-aching love.

"I'm here now," he said. "And I'm not going anywhere."

He slid into bed beside you, careful of your sore body, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other around his son.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Tommy Shelby let the world outside the door burn. Business, enemies, debts — none of it mattered.

Not tonight.

Tonight, it was just you, him, and the little boy who would carry the Shelby name into a future Tommy was suddenly desperate to see.