• TOMMY SHELBY IMAGINES •

not yet

"I'll hold 'im." Thomas retorts. "I'll hold him all the time, y/n."

"No." You pout. "Not like just holding him, that's easy. No, this means skin to skin the moment the baby-" you flush. "Exits me?"

Without thinking, Thomas laughs, sitting up and shaking his head. "I'll be at Garrison celebrating-"

"No, you'll be by my side." You tell him, instructingly. "The first few hours of the babies birth is most important, Tom."

"Are you mad?" His face twists. "I love you, so much. But I will not be in the delivery room, with you."

Going back to the book, you point at a random line. "Missing your sons birth will be detrimental to his health and well being!"

"For fuck sakes!" He yells, running a hand over his face. "I saw a bit of my neighbour Margret's birth when I was a kid, y/n. The blood, the fucking blood!" Thomas already feels queasy. He swallows hard. "I can't-"

You sniffle right before your eyes well up. The thought of him missing your birth makes you get extremely emotional. It's something you never expected to feel, after all, you're a strong independent woman. You learned after years of not having friends or proper family, to hold in your emotions, and never come off as weak or vulnerable. But bloody hell, the son you carry holds all of your emotions in a basket filled with holes. You're a pregnant ball of emotions.

Even the slightest things trigger you: dead animals you've been fed for dinner. The thought of your childhood. Thomas leaving you for work. The little booties Aunt Pol bought for the baby had you belting cries all night long. And the worst of them all, music. You can cry and cry and cry to the sound of music. Or laugh the night away. It really just depends on your crooked moods.

"Fuckin' hell-" Thomas moans, wrapping his arms around you. He's going to kill Ada for bringing you this book.

"I just-" Yo gasp, in full hysterics. "I know-The boy-Isn't. I know you're not happy about us-" You continue to gasp for air. "I know you don't want the-Baby but, Thomas-" Again you gasp, latching onto him. "I know, you're scared. I-I'm scared too!"

"Shhhhhhh." Thomas squeezes his eyes shut, wishing you'd just calm down. But the last time he asked to calm down, you threw a frying pan at his head, luckily he ducked. "I'm sorry, love." He whispers before kissing the side of your neck. "I'm insensitive at times."

Thomas takes a line from right out of Arthur and John's handbook of getting out of sticky situations with the wife.

He kisses the side of your neck again before pulling back to wipe away your damp face. "Don't cry love. I'll be there-"

You're still catching your breath. "You-" Gasp. "-Will?"

"Yea, I mean. Yes. O-of course I will." He kisses your tears away. "I'll be there. Whatever it takes, I'll make sure I'm here for the delivery of our boy." He presses his hand over your belly and smiles sweetly at you.

"Promise?" You breathe.

He nods. "I promise."

2 Weeks Later

You're in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you Tommy, singing softly as the baby does summersaults in your tummy. You feel a pain unlike any other before water trickles down your legs. Inhaling sharply, you look down at the little puddle of water before blinking rapidly.

"Holy hell." You whisper, before looking around frantically. You turn off the stove and swallow. A maid, a maid, yes, you need a maid. So, waddling from the kitchen to the common room with your slightly wet clothes do you grab the attention of a maid.