The clock hit 11 PM and the calm of Watery Lane shattered under the growl of engines and screech of tires. The Shelby brothers—Arthur, John, and Finn—stepped out of the house in unison, sharp-eyed and alert. What they saw in the drive, however, didn’t call for weapons.

It was him—Tommy Shelby, dressed in black like the reaper himself, coat billowing in the cold wind, cigarette tucked between his fingers. And beside him… her.

Leaning against a sleek Ford Mustang Mach 1—the exact one Tommy had imported and gifted for her birthday—stood YN.
Black t-shirt clinging to her frame, grey cargo pants, Nike Air Forces, no makeup, and hair loosely tied back. Built like trouble—thick thighs, wide shoulders, lean muscle under soft curves, eyes sharp with an edge of innocence. She looked like a goddess with a right hook.

And Tommy?
He wasn’t just standing beside her.
He was standing with her. A quiet possessiveness in his stance. A calm storm.

Behind them, his men filtered in and out of the mansion, arms full with bags—shoes, jackets, records, books—her things.
She was moving in.
And the brothers had never seen her before. Until now.

---

Arthur (whispering, tilting his head):
"Oi… is that her? That the one he's been sneakin’ off to see?"

John (low whistle, nudging Finn):
"Fuckin’ hell. Look at her. Built like she could beat the shit outta half the Blinders."

Finn (grinning):
"I think I’m in love."

Arthur (glaring at Finn):
"Shut it, she’s Tommy’s. You wanna live past tonight?"

Tommy turns slightly, catching their stares, his voice cool but firm.

Tommy:
"Stop gawking. Say hello, or fuck off inside."

He flicks the cigarette to the ground, then turns to you, eyes softening in a way that made grown men nervous. His hand grazes your lower back—possessive, subtle.

Tommy (low, only for you):
"You ready, love? It’s your home now. Anyone’s got a problem with that… they’ll answer to me."