peaky blinders imagines

dirty handprints on white cotton; finn shelby

The house you two lived in was far too small.
So small, in fact, that labeling it as a 'house' was fairly generous, but you and Finn liked to play family and so the tiny cottage on a side street on Small Heath became your home.
You'd been living there with him for four months now, and though it was a struggle sometimes, what with Isaiah dropping in unannounced at all hours and the phone ringing off the hook with invariably a message from an older Shelby brother informing Finn someone was trying to destroy the family again, you'd never been happier.
Christmas time had rolled around, as it inevitably did, and Polly had, in the absence of an invitation, bustled over to your house in the middle of the day to inform you Christmas dinner would be at noon at her house.
"We'd love to have you, darling," she said, laying a hand on your arm and smiling before calling slightly louder, "Finn can come as well as long as he plans on confirming that he'll be marrying you sometime in the near future!"
"Leave me alone, Pol!" You heard from somewhere in the back rooms, blushing while Polly gave you a knowing look.
"He'll do it soon enough," she told you. "Lord knows he doesn't stop talking about you."
You shook your head and she laughed, patting your shoulder and leaving.
Finn came in a few moments later, grimy and dusty from attempting to clean the chimney.
-
He'd insisted on undertaking all of the handyman jobs around the house, telling you he was the man of the home and a real man never hires another to do a job he can do himself. You'd laughed at him at the time, but he seemed determined to prove to you that he could manage it, painting the walls of the kitchen and fixing some piping issue with the sink.
"S'not just men's work I want to do, though, this little shithole's gotta be a proper home," and so six Mondays after you'd moved in, he brought home a tabby cat he'd found on the street.
You named him George, and he promptly became very fat under your care.
It was sweet, in a way, how determined he was to prove he could run a little household with you, but there were dark tones which undermined the yellows and pinks of your cheery day to day life.
Four weeks after you moved in, some petty street criminals had tried to take advantage of the small white house on the end of Seventh Street, breaking and entering in the middle of the day.
Finn was the only one home, and you came home three hours later to two dead bodies in the kitchen. He was very matter of fact in calling Johnny Dogs and asking him to cart off and burn the corpses, but he'd collapsed that night, crying hysterically.
At first, you thought it was out of fear for his own life but no, he told you, it was out of fear for yours.
"When I'm not home," he had implored, "you gotta double bolt the door and keep the windows shut, alright?"
You nodded and he exhaled loudly in relief, cradling your jaw with shaky hands and kissing you lightly.
Playing house was all well and good when it was Finn hugging your waist and telling you about his day while you stirred dinner, and mending his shirts while he watered the little plants on the windowsill, but neither of you had lived alone before, and the prospect of idiots who didn't know not to cross the Shelby's taking advantage of that was enough for him to place a large knife in the bedside table.
He hid it under a collection of Shakespeare's works, and though he couldn't read, you'd spent many an evening reciting Romeo and Juliet to Finn, who'd lean over and kiss your shoulder whenever a particularly romantic part came up.
-
He seemed not to care that the dress you were wearing was white, pulling you into a kiss and leaving two brown handprints on your waistline.
"Ignore Pol," he said, forehead against yours, "she don't mean anything by it."
"Would it be so bad?" You asked, toying with his collar.
"What, marrying you? No, of course not. I'll make you my wife on my own terms, not Pol's."
You frowned at him and he couldn't resist an amused snigger, asking if you really thought he'd live in a house with you and spoil George the cat with you if he didn't intend on being your husband?
You shook your head at that and he grinned gently, telling not to "forget that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, y'know?"
You smiled and he kissed you again, before walking back into the sitting room and calling "Polly won't say it, but she'll be mad if you don't bring a dish!"
"I can make canned peaches!" You yelled back, and he laughed hysterically.
-
It was Christmas Day, and you and Finn were both trying to get ready in the same, cramped bathroom.
It took a fair amount of compromise to try and get all dressed up in such a small space, with you doing up his tie and him clasping your necklace.
The room behind the mirror was barely enough for one, so you jockeyed for room, crouching to brush on blush while he put gel in his hair above you.
You were all colliding elbows, trying to apply mascara while he shaved the tiny amounts of stubble that had appeared overnight.
You had a lot more to prepare than him though, and eventually he just stood back and watched you powder yourself and apply lipstick with a smile on his face.
After a while, you noticed he wasn't shaving anymore and turned to him apologetically, telling him you'd make room.
"Nah," he said. "Just like to watch you. Makes me feel domestic and all of that."
The smile you gave him was brighter than the shiny ribbons on the gifts under your tree, and as he absentmindedly stroked the ring box in his pocket, he figured he'd clean as many chimneys and kill as many men as he needed to ensure you'd be his forever.