• TOMMY SHELBY IMAGINES •

romance & tommy

"The idea of romance and Tommy Shelby don't go well together," I tell mum, the coffee shop we sit at is flooded with young folk who seem to be infatuated with one another. Intertwining my fingers, I shake my head watching as mum's eyes get wider and wider. "They just don't exist, they do not coincide."

She sighs, plopping a sugar cube in her tea. "I thought you two got into an argument of some sort." She murmurs, "That's why you asked to spend the day with me."

I reach out almost immediately, sulking the way I normally do. My mother is far too weary to be told the truth and somehow manages to create a story in her mind about things that are far from the truth. Like Tommy and I being in a heated argument, and only because of that, am I visiting her right now. Tommy and I aren't doing anything today, and seeing as this day fell on my day off, I decided to spend it with her. We are given heart shaped everything too, which is adorable to say the least.

"February 14th isn't a day of romance and passion for us." I tell her honestly, knowing he's out in the world up to his gangster ways. Valentine's Day isn't even a thought in his crooked mind, I'm sure.

I look around the coffee shop to see the mass amounts of roses on the tables belonging to flushed girls. I do wish I had gotten a little rose or something stupidly romantic like that, but that's only because I'm far too hopeless. In my ideal world, Tommy literally will wake me up with kisses, heart shaped everything, he'll be playful and boyish, romantic and cute. We'll bathe together, and hmmmm, perhaps he'll take a day off. We'll take lunch outside and have a picnic. And end the evening with a fine bottle of wine and hot sex by the fireplace. The thought makes me pinch my legs together, I lick my dry lips. A girl can dream.

"Plus," I rub her arm, my lips curling up, "I want to see you, mum."

She breaks into a smile.

I quickly catch the attention of the waiter who carries a handful of roses he attempts to sell. "Excuse me!" I call, watching as he turns his head. "Can I please buy two roses?" I reach for my wallet, mum calls for me to stop but I ignore her.

She blushes, I know that dad passed away three years ago, but I want to always show her the love I have for her. She smells the roses that are brought down to her, she thanks the waiter before thanking me.

"As did I, honey. Now tell me, how has your week been."

Tea comes and goes, and I don't think much about the day that'll go with Tommy. I end up home, full of scones and a ravishing rose tea. I went to the market and picked up some fresh meat and pasta to make some sort of dinner.

The moment I step into the house, the warm and soothing scent of husky and cigarettes escapes my mind as I smell strong meat cooking. I scrunch up my nose, approaching the kitchen. I pull off my coat, usually having one of the maids at my feet. I drop the coat on the dining table before entering the kitchen with narrow and cautious eyes. I almost want to reach into the closet and fetch a weapon before seeing his lean back and posh suit to me. He's got a wooden spoon in his hand as he stirs a pot, he curses various times and doesn't seem to have the thought to put the temperature on the stove down. I swallow, smelling the awful scent of burning meat, oil pops up at him and he uses the spoon as a weapon.

"Fuckin' hell!" He curses yet again, now pushing the pot off of the stove he spins around. "Fuck off!"

My jaw hits the floor, holy fucking shit. Thomas Shelby? Cooking? I can see his reaction is the same, he seems quite astonished that he's been caught and almost goes crimson. There is a cigarette in his mouth that is in desperate need of being put out, it's down to a shrub. Thomas, in all of his might, breaks into a smirk the moment I cover my mouth to stiffen out a laugh.

"How do you manage to cook for me every day?" He asks, putting the cigarette into the ashtray. "For fuck sakes."

"What are you doing?" I stutter, sounding like a total shrub.

"What does it look like?" He asks, letting out a cough, he emotions the cloud of smoke above us. "What does it smell like?"

I hold my breath, "I'm afraid if I say, it won't be true."

He puts a hand on his hip, the wooden spoon still in his hand. He looks like my nan when she'd cook us some amazing dinner and ask us what we'd think. I, again, helplessly, hold in my laughter.

"Why are you here?" I ask, I'm full of questions.

He raises his hands now, angry and upset. "I have all the bloody time in the world!" He says, throwing the wooden spoon in the sink. Ouch. He continues, speaking harsh and harmful words, words that seem to aggravate him even more.

"I don't know when my brothers got so fucking romantic, but John said he wanted to woo Esme for another kid, ya, and Arthur, well we all know Linda's got Arthur's balls, 'ey! They're fucking morons!" He curse again, this time walking across me to sit down at the dinning table.

I follow him like a puppy. Already wanting to peal off my clothes, I want nothing or no one else so bad.

"So I thought it would do this!" He points at the kitchen. "For you!" He points at me.

"Christ." I lean back on my heels, bringing my hands up to my hair. I look down at him, as he sits there annoyed. "I can help you cook if you'd like?"

"No." He replies with the shake of his head. Opening his arms, he invite me to hug him, and I do so without hesitating. My Tommy.

He rests his head on my stomach, I run my hands through his hair and moan lightly. He kisses me through the fabric of my shirt.

"All that I want is you." He tells me, I nearly faint. This is way better than any heart shaped anything!

Groaning, he presses his nose into me, "To be honest with you, ya, if we love each other, who the fuck needs Valentine's day, that's what these fucking people want." He points at the wall, and I grow concerned before remembering, Thomas is not the biggest fan of this world. "Why do we need a day to validate our love?!" He hisses, eyes narrow.

"Are you saying everyday is Valentine's Day?" I ask curiously, bringing his face up in my hands. I force him to look up at me. He does so, so I drop my hands and bring them to my shirt, slowly, I unbutton it and pull it off of me. I swallow, staring at him. "Because that's really the goal isn't it."

He smirks, grabbing the backs of my legs. "Is that the goal?" He whispers.

"Uh-huh."

Thomas pulls me to sit on his lap, and I look down before kissing his lips. His eyes flutter shut, making me weak. I roll my eyes back the moment our lips connect, falling in his mouth the way I do when I'm drunk. But right now, I have tunnel vision, and all I see is him.

Romance and Tommy Shelby, I reevaluate that entire calculation before concluding, I don't need romance. I just need him. Because he has his weird ways of expressing his love for me. Like keeping a bunch of guns in the house to keep me safe, or burning down the house in attempt to prove a point before giving up.

God. I've fallen in love with a total alien to this world.