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prettypeppermint · 8 months

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the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)

for t. shelby. a continuation of 'amazing grace.'

You weren't speaking to him. And it was slowly driving him up the wall.

Not that you were normally a chatterbox in the face of Thomas Shelby; you rarely spoke to him unless you needed something. You were always more of a looker; your eyes bore into his from across the room whenever you overheard something you shouldn't have; you studied his slight quirks and subtle movements and stared blankly at his handwriting when verifying papers; you looked when nobody else did. In a sea full of heads, your eyes were always turned against the tide--snowy sea glass amongst pebbles in a blinding summer's ocean. He noticed your gaze when you thought no one did.

Sometimes, wisdom lies in silence rather than words. You knew that above all others.

Come to think of it, that night was the most you had ever talked to him directly since he'd known you. It was the most candid he’d ever experienced you. And he was frightfully prepared.

It wasn't the fact you weren’t talking that bothered him--more so the absence of your voice--something he never thought to irk him until he realized just how much he wanted you to spare him a whisper. He wanted to see you all worked up the way women get sometimes; he wanted to watch you unravel. But you were always so tightly bound.

It's been days since he kissed you--touched you. Thomas was a man of self-control, and he knew it was both the first and the last time he'd ever be selfish with you again. He didn’t know it, but he yearned to wade a bit longer in the satisfaction of knowing you were at least a bit frazzled by him. But you seemed as much out of place as snow in December.

He didn't like how you were added to his long list of tasks and responsibilities. He didn't like how you weighed down his shoulders.

Even with all the help you gave around these parts, you were always just a burden to his mind--the way you smelled of a place far away, the coyly cold shoulders you gave and the moles on your hips. He didn’t like it one bit.

Because now he was the one staring at the back of your neck, at the way your ringlets bounced in a manner almost comical against your serious face. Everything about you seemed to be a paradoxical phenomenon: your coquettish features that rarely spared a smile for anyone, your soft eyes that revealed hardened thoughts, your bouncy curls and the ribbons that sometimes adorned your braids and the lacy little ensembles that complimented your loveliness.

You were so ironically unapproachable. You never missed the quips and spare jokes about it: that people could sense your presence because the room gets cold, that a smile would sit prettier on your mouth than all those cigarettes.

You appeared unperturbed by the smog-capped skylines and rubble-ruined streets of Birmingham; all the sins of the city never wore wrinkles between your brows or sowed smoky wisps along your hairline. It was almost as if you were preserved in that eternal Kilkee ruralness--as if you brought a piece of the Irish coast with you to this Godless city. Farmer's daughter. Fisherman's treasure. You were outlasting and evermore. You were something of the sea.

"I said I needed fifty hand-copies of last month's inventory on my desk by this morning," Thomas breathed matter-of-factly, leaning against the door frame as you indulged in your morning smoke, an old whiskey in his hand. He liked the way your bare shoulders looked as they reflected the breaking dawn--the way the sun collected in your collarbones and made your hair shiny.

It was his turn to stand at the doorway. It was his turn to bear his weight at the threshold.

"I put them on your desk two mornings ago," you responded, matter-of-fact, “Perhaps you forgot to look under your arse, Mr. Shelby.”

Where along the line had he become Mr. Shelby?When did plain, old Thomas leave your vocabulary? He liked it when you called him that--just Thomas.

You never intended to sound so coy all the time. Aunt Pol like to say you were just a pretty girl with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind--sometimes to your own doom.

At that, Thomas tossed a hefty stack of unsorted paperwork on the coffee table you were sat at. He watched as your rosy elbows wobbled under the wood and ash flitted from your slim cigarette.

"You forgot these, Ms. l/n." he rasped blankly, trying to see through to your eyes from the back of your head.

Without looking at him or the papers, you stood up and took your time neatening them up before heaving the stack into your arms. As you passed by his figure in the doorway, you discarded your cigarette in his whiskey glass.

He was left staring blankly at the empty scene before him--one that was once fulfilled with your presence--a sense of longing boiling up in his core. It was out of character to be so subconsciously infatuated with the idea of getting a rise out of you. It was almost ridiculous.

Mr. Shelby seemed to be a master at pushing good things--good women--away.

"A bit harsh on the girl, don’t you think?" Aunt Pol piped knowingly from behind him, emerging from her watchful shadows once you had retreated to Thomas's office.

"No different than I've always been," he said, eyes still trained on the spot at the chair that was once yours.

"Don't take women for the fool that you are, Tommy. I see the way you've been eyeing her--picking her apart. I'll have you fucking another whore before you sink your claws into another girl with a bright path ahead of her."

"Her path ends here, Pol. No girl who ever got tangled up in Shelby business ever makes it to London."

Aunt Pol glared at his nape before leaving him there, sinking in his own wallows.

~~~

"Where're my copies?"

"I threw 'em out."

A moment of silence pulsated through his blood and rose to his brain. He had found you sitting and smoking in your usual spot, merely thirty minutes after his most recent orders. He slowly walked up to your lax frame, still dawned in your silky, lacy little thing of a nightgown.

"I trust that you know those were Mr. Kimber's papers, Ms. l/n," he rumbled lowly--dangerously, "Papers I won't think twice about having you dig through the trash for on the street in nothing but your slip."

"You've done worse," you responded calmly, taking another draw of your cigarette. Recently, you've been blowing through more than your daily 6, and he never failed to notice the little things.

He stepped even closer, his hands buried adamantly in his pockets so they wouldn't reach out for you. Why was loving Grace so easy, and loving you felt like a sour seed in his stomach? As if it would burrow holes in his organs and infect his blood until you did something about it?

"You're gonna get me those papers or I'll have you thrown out to the streets after happy hour."

With that, you stood abruptly from your chair and walked with brisk strides toward the wastepaper bin at the leg of the center table. You plunged your hand into it and pulled from the depths of millions of cigarette butts Thomas's precious Kimber papers. You slapped them on the table riddled with ash and peanut shells and flipped through each page for him, fully filled out and stamped with fresh ink.

Then you climbed atop the table, standing precariously on the splintering wood in your dainty, red dance heels so you could have the upper hand for once.

"You don't get to disrespect me because of your fragile, faulty, little boy of a heart. You don't get to disrespect me because I have an ounce of self-preservation in the face of a man with the power you have. And you don't get to disrespect me, because I am y/n l/n, and I don't work for men who lead with the brain in their cocks." It came out eerily steady, unlike any rage he'd ever been at the receiving end of before.

It was like a flash of soundless lightning; you were gone as soon as it happened, having stepped down from the table to retreat to your sun-spotted, smoke-stained corner. And he was left with the storm that came afterward, soaked in an alien feeling that hadn't made itself quite known to his heart yet.

But much like how most things rear their ugly heads at night--drunkards emerging from their taverns and whores from their brothels--Thomas Shelby's ugly little things were no exception.

Night changes a man; it shrouds him in regret and urges forced down throughout the day and lust unravished.

Night made Thomas hungry.

And so he found himself watching over your sleeping form folded at the waist and draped across the table you've been sitting at the entire day, where you've done nothing but stare out the window and let the smoke abuse your lungs. Your cigarette, now a measly stub, was still haphazardly pinched between your tired fingers. He found that smoking didn't suit you--it tainted your rosy face that otherwise emulated an ethereal countryside purity. The Irish foreshore was still fresh on your cheeks.

In sleep, you reverted to the girl you were born as: simple and lovely and kind as a bird.

He felt the sour seed growing.

He slipped his hand around your wrist and maneuvered your body onto his back with ease before carrying you to his room where he set you down on his sheets. His hand instinctively reached for the pipe on the nightstand, but it trembled before tightening into a fist that fell limply at his side.

What he hadn’t known was that you both experienced night terrors, but as he lay awake on the floor next to his bed with your writhing and moaning frame, it became abundantly clear.

He wondered what was haunting your conscience and digging its way into your sleep. Maybe you've been through a few wars of your own. None that men would know, anyway.

As his mind continued shifting and shuffling, he felt a warmth press into his back; you had stepped off the bed and laid down on the cool, dry planks next to him--back to back and facing away from each other. He could feel your silk stick to your sweat. Time froze, and within that time, so did the nightmares.

Seconds drawled into minutes before it all became a blur as shadows morphed into stories on the moonlit wallpaper. It stretched and stretched.

"Do you want to know what I dream of at night?" you slurred, breaking the industrial silence. Your voice was thick with an unrestful break from the world.

When Thomas didn't respond, you continued: "I dream of my home in Ireland: its salty mist and green softness all around. I'm standing there, on a plain, looking out over the ocean. I'm smiling. And each time the tide hits the rocks and recedes back into its basin, I see something emerge from the salt onto the rocks. They're people--bodies--their skin so bloated and fermented from the salt I can't even recognize them, but it feels like I should. Like I know them. And I'm stuck on this plain, trying to make out the faces of my mother and sisters and brother as they keep piling up. Over and over and over. I can't stop it. Because the tide always ebbs. It gets closer and louder, and I'm still smiling. And I pray I wake up before it gets to me and I'm the one on the rocks, rotting and unrecognizable. And I feel awful for it."

Another silence spanned, and Thomas realized he was foolish to ever wish it away. Because silence was how you both communicated. Silence was the language only the two of you were fluent in. Silence bridged the gap that words created. Silence was what he wished for when he heard the shovels chipping at the wall night after night.

"Thomas, you love me." It was a mere whisper, as if you too were scared of ending the silence--the gift of time.

"I love you," echoed Thomas. It was so low and so guttural, as if sprouting from that very sour seed that--within the span of the night--had grown into something pulpy and bittersweet instead.

With that, you both dozed off. And Thomas woke up without the sound of the shovels.

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thehardy-boys · 8 months

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The Platform (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Hey! Its literally been like forever but I've had some time to myself and actually written something. This was not requested or anything but I just got inspired with all the new content recently. Anyways, pls enjoy. It's a series so there will be more parts to the story.

Warnings: Sadness, negative thoughts, flirting if you squint (In the future -- smut 😏)

Part 1

(y/n) hadn’t planned on ever coming back.

“I’ll put your tea here then mum. Alright?” (y/n) spoke fairly loudly so the elderly woman could hear. She was nearing eighty and she had lost most of her sight and hearing. She was a ghost nearing on a corpse. But there was no one else to look after her. As these kinds of responsibilities usually fall on the women, the daughters, they fell on (y/n) just the same.

“I’m heading to work. Mrs. Iona will check in on you from time to time, alright?” The bedroom door was almost closed when she heard the slight mumble coming from the shriveled woman.

“Not supposed to be here. Don’t want her here. Take her away.”

She paused only for a moment suddenly hit with a wave of the past. The tide so strong it almost pulled her into its murky depths. But with the door closed and the sight of her mother taken away (y/n) turned her back and softly made her way out of her mother’s house.

She waved to Mrs. Iona as she shut the front gate and walked back down the street towards the main road. Her shoes already collecting the terrible coal dust.

She hated it here. The heavy air that the sunlight could never quite penetrate which resulted in the town being in a constant gloom. It made her skin crawl. The unhappiness was crippling. The drunkards already stumbling around the street at eleven o’clock in the morning, the starving children running back and forth, the haggard mothers one step closer to the grave and the dark alleys that were haunted with glistening knives, illegal pistols, and razor-sharp caps.

Get me out of here. Get me out of here. (y/n) screamed internally but she only pushed open the heavy wooden door of the newspaper agency and kindly greeted Mrs. Kelley the receptionist before making her way to the back of the building and sitting down at her desk. Another day. More editing. That was her lot in life: never to be the one writing and creating but only a ghost in the machine, a minion behind the scenes.

By the end of every long day at the newspaper house the words would blur into one huge muddle. She’d pack up her small bag, wish a good night to her boss Mr. Beavers, and head home. Her eyes would be sore and her brain throbbing with a headache. But that was just Small Heath, barely living.

(y/n) felt that she had something missing. She knew she had it when she was younger because of all her memories. The vibrancy of the trees she climbed, the scent of baking in the kitchen, the damp fur of their pet dogs after a rain storm. Everything was so vivid back then and full. Her eyes open and wanting, now she was shuttered, fragile, and tired. Her knees often ached and her neck sore from hunching over papers all day. She was decaying, slowly.

“(y/n)!” Her head popped up from her desk at the sound of her name. Polly Gray was making her way towards her. She was as formidable as (y/n) remembered. She rose up to return Polly’s hug.

“Mrs. Gray, It’s so nice to see you!” Polly squeezed a bit tighter. The warmth of her body rubbing off onto (y/n). She welcomed it. It had been so long since she had received any kind of touch.

“When the hell did you get back?”

“About a year now.”

“A year!? A whole year and you didn’t bother to drop me a line?” Her outrage wore the mask of humor but (y/n) could tell there was genuine worry, genuine hurt lurking behind it.

(y/n) shook her head in apology, “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to come back here and then a lot happened and I’ve just been so busy Mrs. Gray. I’m really sorry.”

“No, I know (y/n). I heard what happened. Awful stuff. I had no idea you were here dealing with it all. You should have asked for help.”

(y/n) began to shake her head and ward off Polly’s offer when her boss’s door opened up behind her.

“Ah, Mrs. Gray and Mr. Shelby do come in.” He gestured warmly into his office.

Polly rubbed her arm before stepping inside.

A tall man had been standing behind Polly. (y/n) hadn’t noticed him in the frenzy of the greeting but she didn’t need an introduction. Nobody in Small Heath did. He was just as the ladies described him at the grocers she went to weekly: cold, inscrutable, foreboding, and dangerous.

(y/n) had lived in Small Heath only until she had turned thirteen and then her family had moved away. Her father had been close to Polly and consequently (y/n), over the years, had played with the young Shelby brothers. (y/n)’s older brother had gotten along well with Arthur and if she concentrated hard enough, she could remember playing hide and seek with Thomas and John Shelby. But it was all so long ago, and she realized she hadn’t seen any of them in over fifteen years. And yet she knew it was Thomas. She knew.

She wondered mildly if he remembered her, “(y/n) (l/n).” That was all he said with a quick nod he passed her by not glancing back and nor did she.

Polly left first and, on her way, reminded (y/n) to drop by. An hour or so later Thomas came out, as well. (y/n) was neck deep in the upcoming Sunday issue so she barely registered the figure standing next to her desk.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby! Did Mr. Beavers ask me to get you any forms?” She pushed away her paper hurriedly and stood up.

He shook his head slowly and continued to stare at her, hands deep in his pockets.

She tilted her head as a question, and he only shrugged slightly.

“I was trying to remember why you left, all those years ago.”

(y/n) sat back down. A flicker of fear coursed through her at the reminder of their family’s departure. A broken window, her father’s bruised face, and her mother’s hands constantly trembling.

“It wasn’t my decision; it was my parents.” She didn’t look up at him and instead pulled her papers back towards her. She didn’t want to sift through all those years. She could barely make it through the present.

He must have sensed the finality because he bid her good day and left but his stare stayed with her all day and even into the night. The frostiness of the blue. The condemnation they held for humanity.

Mr. Beavers explained the next morning that they were starting a partnership with Shelby Limited. They would be expanding their sports column to include more articles on the races. Mr. Beavers excitedly described the hope for a few informative articles on the intricacies of horse racing, training, and breeding. But it wasn’t just about horses Mr. Beavers went on, being attached to Shelby Limited allowed them an easy avenue for new stories and information. It was a ready-made news source.

“All this in exchange for what?” (y/n) asked.

“We give Mr. Shelby’s races publicity and well…occasionally we would publish or not publish certain articles for the company.”

(y/n) crossed her arms, “So they can censor us? What stops them from completely taking over the paper? What if next week they decide they don’t want the Theatre column? Evan and Nate would be out of the job.”

Mr. Beavers frantically shook his head, “It’s not like that, not like that at all. I know Mrs. Gray and I trust her. The company is not interested in that kind of control. I mean we’re only a small agency, (y/n).”

And thus, the partnership began and now not just (y/n) felt the steely stare of Mr. Shelby, but the entirety of the agency did.

It started slowly but Thomas began to come by once or twice a week. It was usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (y/n) learned from Mr. Beavers that they were working on a contract. She would here the tell-tale sound of expensive shoes on the marble floor and know even without looking up who it was. Thomas Shelby walked with such authority in his three piece suits all the young ladies at the agency were already gossiping about him during their lunch breaks. But (y/n) kept her distance.

She had always been an outsider in Small Heath. The community never welcomed her family, something to do with their Jewish ties. And now, after returning, people were even more wary. (y/n) could tell there were whispers behind her back. She ignored the fake apologies about the missing invitation when she caught her colleagues out for a bite to eat all together. It didn’t bother her, not really.

“Mr. Shelby, Mr. Beavers will be right out. His previous meeting’s running a bit late. Please sit down if you’d like.” She gestured to the few arm chairs by the window. He only nodded and sat. He lit his cigarette and did what he always seemed to do around her, stare. And she ignored him in favor of the monumental stack of paperwork in front of her.

“How much do they pay you here?” He asked out of the blue. His deep voice easily cutting through her concentration.

She looked over, “Minimum wage.”

“For all that?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

(y/n) shrugged.

“You edit, organize, design, and manage each issue and only get minimum wage?”

“I’m not in a position to be picky, Mr. Shelby.” She bristled a bit.

He took another drag and let the smoke column upwards. He did look beautiful with the sunlight streaming in behind him. It caught the contours of his angular face and she thought yeah, I think I get it now.

He cleared his throat and sat back satisfied her attention was now on him, “Don’t you remember me?”

“Yes. I mean we were just kids.” She shrugged lightly.

“We met on the platform.” He took another inhale of his smoke, “After the war.”

(y/n) blinked.

“Yes, we did.” Her throat had gone dry.

He opened his mouth to continue but “(y/n)! I need the consumer reports.” It was Evelyn from the market section. Her plump red lips perking up at the sight of Thomas. (y/n) had the feeling Evelyn already knew he would be here; the reports weren’t needed until the end of the day.

“Yes. Here they are.” (y/n) sifted through her desk and handed over the packet.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Evelyn asked. She played with a few loose strands of her hair.

“Oh. Uh-Mr. Shelby this is Ms. Lowe. Ms. Lowe, Mr. Shelby from Shelby Limited.”

“Ever so pleased to meet you, sir.” She placed a sneaky hand on her hip and shifted her weight a tad to conform her body into an elegant pose.

And she was attractive (y/n) had to admit. She was young and full of vigor. Her hair always done to perfection and makeup never smudged. She looked like a movie star. She looked like a woman all men would fall head over heels for. (y/n) inwardly cringed. She could only imagine what she must look like next to this creature of beauty.

But when (y/n) looked over to see Thomas’ reaction, he seemingly hadn’t stopped looking at her. Only when their eyes met did Thomas glance over at Evelyn and give a slight nod.

“Mr. Shelby! Please come in, come in! I do apologize about the delay!” Mr. Beavers rushed out and hurriedly greeted the businessman.

After the door closed Evelyn let out a huff. She handed back the packet to (y/n).

“I don’t even need these. I just wanted him to get a look if you know what I mean.”

(y/n) gave a small smile hoping to be rid of the superficial woman but she had one last request.

“Put in a few good words for me, will you? He always comes by your desk. Just drop in a few hints?”

(y/n) sighed and re-organized a few papers, “I’ll try my best Evelyn, but I can’t promise anything.”

A few hours later, Evelyn really did come and collect the consumer reports but lucky for her the office door opened and the two men appeared.

“And wonderful (y/n) here will get the correct form for you to sign Mr. Shelby. Let’s organize a convenient day for her to drop the upcoming issue down at your office weekly.”

Evelyn who was too quick easily swooped in without any hesitation, “I can help, Mr. Beavers. You know that I have a much more open schedule than (y/n). I’d be happy to deliver the issue.” She smiled blindingly.

(y/n) just sat there watching the whole thing unfold. In fact, she was actually grateful Evelyn was sticking her nose into it because she didn’t want to see more of Thomas than she already had these past few weeks.

“That is true, Mr. Beavers. Evelyn has a bit more time on her hands these days.”

The boss was beginning to make the face of agreement before, “I’d like Ms. (l/n) to be the one making the deliveries.”

And there was no room for argument with Mr. Shelby.

“Of course, whatever works best for Mr. Shelby. Let’s say every Thursday?” Mr. Beavers heartily clasped the man’s hand and then beckoned Evelyn into his office for a round up on the recent reports. (y/n) didn’t miss the venomous look the other woman shot her.

(y/n) opened her desk drawer and took out the mentioned form that needed the signature.

“Just here, Mr. Shelby.” She held out a pen for him without bothering to look up. This turned out to be a bad idea because she jumped in surprise as he partially leaned over her to sign the paper. He smelled of oak and whisky. He carried the scent of the past.

She remembered seeing his eyes in the sea of green uniforms on the platform. And she knew. She just knew. After all those years. She had walked towards him. He stood there waiting for her. His beautiful blue eyes. That beautiful face.

“(y/n) (l/n).” He had said her name then with such certainty like it was law. Like it had some kind of divine meaning and not just a jumble of letters.

“Is that all?” He asked setting the pen down.

She cleared her throat, “Yes.”

She expected him to be on his way, but she looked up when she never heard the retreating footsteps. He still stood next to her one hand on the back of her chair. Looking down at her.

“Did you not expect me to remember you?”

She clenched her jaw, “Why would I expect you to remember me?”

He furrowed his brow and walked away.

Part 2

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hagarsays · 6 days

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Cillian is out here looking so fine as always🫡😳🫣

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crowleying · 2 years

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Tommy's Smile | m! reader

Date: 06.10.2022

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x m!reader

Reader’s pronouns: he/him

Words: 2.120

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Characters: m!reader, Tommy Shelby, Polly Gray, Ada Shelby, John Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Harry Fenton

Genre: Romance

Length: Oneshot

Warnings: Internalized homophobia, mention of war, mention of injury (nothing descriptive)

Requested: No

Prompts: No

Summary: Polly knows you and Tommy have been in love with each other for years, so she decides to take matters into her hands.

A/N: It's my first time writing for Peaky Blinders and with a male reader. I’m sorry for the requests still waiting in my inbox, my inspiration is all over the place.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct any mistake and I would love to know what you think about it. If you like my works, please like and reblog them. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I posted a List of prompts, so check it out! Let me know if you would like to be tagged in my works.

IF YOU LIKE MY WORKS, PLEASE REBLOG THEM

Masterlist

Ao3

[ID: a gif of Tommy Shelby smiling. End ID]

After the war, everything had changed. The men that had come back weren't the ones that had left. They were haunted by nightmares; they drank a lot more and smiled a lot less, especially Tommy. He used to smile all the times, so bright every room would light up. Now, however, he rarely ever did. At first, Polly had even thought he wasn't smiling at all, but then she started noticing. The first time it happened was just after she had scolded him in his office. As she was leaving, you walked in and greeted her. She had almost missed the childish, amused smiles you and his nephew had exchanged then, so similar to those you used to share back when you were fifteen and you had managed to do something mischievous. From then on, she kept a close eye on the two of you, but you were too lost in each other to notice.

You had grown together. You would always play together and were joined at the hip since you were little kids. You were like a son to Polly. She and your mother used to joke about the fact that if they called one of you, both of you would appear. Polly was convinced you were two bodies sharing one soul. She was sure of it when you started to fall for each other without even knowing. You were young back then, and she thought you would have time to get your shit together and admit your love to the other, so she didn't say anything.

When Tommy announced his intention to volunteer for the war, she had looked at you, expecting you to join him, and you were already standing, looking at Tommy.

"I'm coming too," you had said, when what you really wanted to say was "I'm coming with you, I'll follow you anywhere, Tommy." The two of you had been so lost in each other's eyes that Polly was sure you didn't even hear when John and Arthur said they would come too. She had prayed for all of you that night and every night and day until the day you came back.

The day you had left, while the women and little Finn hugged the Shelby brothers, Polly had taken you to the side at the train station to ask you to take care of Tommy, and taking care of him you did.

In France, you didn't let anyone come between you. A month in and every officer knew you two weren't to be separated. You would make sure Tommy was eating and would share cigarette after cigarette with him when he couldn't sleep. You still gave him reasons to smile. And you saved his life.

You were shoving him out of the way before even realizing what was happening. You didn't die that day in Tommy's arms, but it did change your life. As you were hit by the bullet aimed at Tommy, he was hit with the realization that life was too short to spend the entirety of it trying to ignore his feelings for you.

He didn't listen to any of the people who told him he couldn't stay by your side the whole time you spent in the hospital. He was finally left alone when John and Arthur convinced one of the officers that he would be of no use on the field if you weren't there by his side.

When you woke up in the middle of the night after the surgery, Tommy was there. And hidden by the dark, he kissed you for the first time.

Keeping your relationship hidden when living in such close quarters with so many people hadn't been easy. Coming home had meant you could finally kiss and hug and fuck. Nobody knew about your relationship, but you didn't mind and you understood why Tommy didn't want anyone to know. You respected that but dreaded the day people would start to get suspicious and he would have to marry some girl to avoid the rumours.

You had no idea someone suspected of your relationship, but Polly noticed it all: smiles, fleeting touches, glances, winks. She never thought she would see his nephew wink or you blush like that. You were Tommy's smile. You clearly made him happy. So she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that her nephew had yet to make a move on you. It seemed like her intervention was needed.

It was the end of the day. You were sitting on Tommy's desk, laughing at something he had said. He was lounging back in his chair, relaxed as he could only be around you. A cigarette was being passed between the two of you.

Polly barged into the office. You jumped up from your spot and Tommy straightened in his chair.

"Thomas, a word," she demanded, barely acknowledging your presence.

"I'll see you later at the Garrison," you said quickly to Tommy, before disappearing quickly out of the door without even waiting to see him nod.

You were always included in family meetings, and your opinions were held in high consideration, but you didn't want to intrude on Tommy's relationship with his aunt, not when Polly was like that.

Tommy's eyebrows arched as he watched Polly carefully, trying to understand what had gotten in her this time. He slowly killed his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Polly," he started cautiously, but before he could continue, his aunt spoke.

"When are you going to put an end to this foolishness, Thomas?"

Tommy's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about, Pol?" he asked, trying to sound more nonchalant than he felt. He leaned forward a bit. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, bracing for the impact. He knew the moment would come, sooner or later, when he would have to choose between you and his family. But the time was here and he wasn't ready. He would never be.

"Don't play dumb, Thomas, you know what I'm talking about... This," she gestured to intend the relationship between the two of you.

"I don't follow," he said.

He took a cigarette from the case you had given him before the war. It had seen everything you two had gone through. He stroked the cigarette on his lips before setting it between them. The motion always made you weak. He lit it up to keep himself busy and try to calm down. There was no way she could know. she had to be talking about something else.

"You two are grown men. I didn't say anything when you were young. I thought you just needed time to figure things out, but it's been a while and nothing has changed."

He slowly exhaled the smoke, giving up all hope she could be talking about anything else. "How long have you known?"

"Years. You were sixteen and no matter how many girls tried to win you over, you only had time and eyes for him."

"He was my best friend!" he spitted through gritted teeth.

"One day, after you had spent the whole afternoon together in your room doing God knows what, you came to me and asked what was the difference between friendship and love, Thomas. Do you remember?"

He nodded slowly and cursed himself. If Polly knew, other people might find out. You were in danger. He needed to make sure you were safe, and then he would think about Polly.

Before he could spiral, Polly spoke again. "When will you grow a pair and just tell him you love him?"

He was surprised, to say the least. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand to stop him. "I know you are afraid people won't respect you anymore if they find out or that someone will try to hurt him to get to you. All I'm saying is you can be open with your own family, Tommy. He deserves this, and you do too."

He closed his mouth, then opened it again. "What if Arthur tells someone when he is drunk, eh? What if little Finn goes around telling someone thinking it's no big deal?"

Polly shook her head and smiled gently. "Do you really think you can hide that forever? With the way you look at each other? I don't think so, Tom."

She turned to leave, but before she could, Tommy's voice stopped her in her tracks. "Is this your way to say you approve?" he asked.

She looked at her nephew and for a moment she saw the sixteen years old he once was, with those big blue eyes, that were your damnation, wide, looking for approval. She smiled and left.

That was a lot and completely unexpected. Tommy fell back into his chair and ran a hand over his face.

When he walked into the Garrison, Polly was already there, sipping a whisky at the counter. He nodded at Harry to have his whisky in the private room. He didn't notice you sitting at a secluded table, uncomfortably close to a girl John had introduced to you upon your arrival. However, when he saw you weren't in the little room with his brothers, he panicked, already expecting the worst.

"Where is he?" he demanded. His brothers stopped laughing at something, to look at him confused and worried. "Who?" Arthur cautiously asked, irritating Tommy further.

"Your lover is sitting on the other side of the room with a girl your brothers so kindly introduced to him," Ada piped up from her spot, a fake smile on her face and her arms crossed. Her eyes bore into him. She knew too. Damn, the women of that family.

Arthur and John's faces were comically confused.

Tommy stormed out of the room and spotted you. Your head snapped up when you heard the door bang open. Your eyes widened as he made his way over to you with long steps. He looked unstoppable and scary. That was probably what anyone else saw when they laid their eyes on Tommy Shelby. Everyone was looking at him, trying to understand what was going on. Harry winced behind the bar, already picturing the place after the fight that would very likely take place there in a matter of minutes.

Ada, John and Arthur had followed their brother out of the room and had stopped at the door to see what would happen.

He came to a stop in front of you.

"Tommy," you uttered, trying to find the words to explain the situation. You had tried to convince John that you didn't need help finding a girl, but Shelbys would never take no for an answer.

"Mister Shelby," a sickly sweet and flirty voice interrupted the staring contest. The girl next to you leaned forward to introduce herself to your boyfriend, whose complete attention was on you. He pushed her back into her chair. She let out an outraged cry, but he ignored her in favour of grabbing the front of the suit you were wearing, one you had bought together, and pulled you into a kiss. You didn't hear the gasps and murmurs coming from around you. You relaxed and your hands fell to his hips. You kissed him back until you both needed to breathe. You gave him the brightest smile, winning one back.

He wrapped an arm around your hips and turned towards the onlookers.

"This man is mine, and if any of you fuckers tries to take him away from me or says something nasty about him, I'll cut you personally."

The room was so silent you were sure you could have heard a pin drop.

"By order of the Peaky fookin' Blinders!" Arthur roared from the other end of the room.

Polly and Ada smiled.

"Fucking finally, Tom!" John chimed in, grinning. And just like that, the tension in the room dispersed.

"Harry, open that bottle of champagne!" Arthur boomed, making Tommy laugh. You loved seeing him so happy and carefree. You promised yourself you would do everything you could to make sure he would always be like that.

You two made your way over to the private room to join the other Shelbys on the celebration. John patted your back. "Welcome to the family."

"Are you implying I wasn't part of it before?" you asked, pretending to be offended.

"No, of course not, you know..."

"Relax, Johnny boy, I'm just messing with you." You pulled his cap down his face, making Ada laugh.

She pulled you into a hug.

Tommy and Polly observed the exchange amused. "You were wrong about one thing," Tommy told her. His eyes didn't leave you.

"What's that?"

"We've been together for some years now."

She looked at him surprised. "Thomas Michael Shelby, you..." She slapped his arm, making him laugh.

"Let's make a toast," Arthur said, after filling the glasses and handing them around. Tommy wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

"To Tommy finally getting his shit together." Ada raised her glass and you laughed.

Tommy kissed your temple.

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red-wolfs-world · 2 months

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#Cillian Murphy Thomas shelby

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wandawiccan60 · 2 years

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🎶COLD FEET PLAYLIST🎶

Thank you to @zablife for making be apart of this fun music playlist exchange. It was a bit hard for me to choose what songs to put that represent this wonderful story I read. I normally hear mostly Gothic music, Rock music, etc but I mostly am open to anything but I felt these songs were a good fit for this awesome story.

The story I was given was “Cold Feet” by @twvstedsouls which is a Thomas Shelby X Fem Reader and it was very intense but a gripping story that I was happy to read and fell in love.

Just giving you all a heads up that there is a WARNING 18+ ONLY!!! tag so please readers be warned if your under 18 please Do Not Proceed please⚠️⚠️⚠️

But please everyone enjoy this playlist and story for your eyes and ears to enjoy you all have a good morning, evening, or night wherever you are in the world 🙌🏼🎼🥰 🎶

🖤>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>🖤

🩸”Bad Blood” By Alison & Eric Arjes 🩸

🩸 ”We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow” by SOKO🩸

🩸 ”Dead In The Water” By Ellie Goulding 🩸

🩸 ”Scars” by Brennan Savage 🩸

🩸 ”Kill For You” By Skylar Grey🩸

#zablife playlist exchange #zablife prompt list #zablife recommends #thomas shelby x oc #Thomas Shelby x Fem #fanfic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy thomas shelby #Thomas Shelby peaky blinders #thomas shelby #music playlist #by order of the peaky blinders #cold feet

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allie131313 · 2 years

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My sister just sent me this TikTok and said “You”😂😂 literally accurate 😂

#cillian murphy #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #cillianmurphy #peakyblindersedit #cillian murphy thomas shelby #cillianmurphy/thomasshelby #meme #light of my life

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stillinracooncity · 8 months

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that feminine urge to read something that makes you cry, get angry, scream, laugh like a hormonal teenager, turn up the heat, feel like the most unique and beautiful human being on earth. *sighs*

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lovelybucky1 · 6 months

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Treat Me Wrong

Kinktober Day 16- Degradation Kink

warnings: AFAB!Reader, manipulation, gaslighting, cheating, sex work, roleplay, spanking, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, 18+ minors DNI

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

“I think we should break up,” you say.

Tommy’s face twists in anger and confusion. “Where’d you get that idea?” he asks.

This is exactly why you want to break up. He’s so dismissive and he doesn’t respect you. He’s sitting relaxed in his chair like you didn’t just suggest ending your relationship. Why is it so difficult for him to care about you?

“I’m not happy!” you say.

Tommy scoffs in response. “You live like a princess. What else could you possibly need?”

“Love and attention,” you huff.

“Christ,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you a child? Do you really need me to attend to you all day to be content?”

“Not all day, Tommy. Just sometimes. What's the point in even having a lover if you won't spend time with them?"

"You act like I have a lot of free time to waste. I'm a very busy man."

His way of having excuses for everything make you feel like you're going insane.

"You have enough time to spend with prostitutes," you say bitterly. This makes Tommy perk up. "I know you go to see them after work and lie to me when you get home late. Why do you bother stringing me along if you'd rather pay for your companionship?"

Tommy chuckles darkly. "That's what this is about, eh?"

"Why the fuck are you laughing, Tommy?"

He stands up from his chair and crosses the room to stand in front of you. He places one hand on your hip while the other holds his cigarette. The smoke swirls in front of your face, the pungent smell burning your nose.

"You're jealous of my whores?" he asks smugly.

"What do they have that I don't," you ask angrily.

"I have certain needs that they satisfy."

You scoff and push his hand off of you. "We're together, Tommy. You should come to me to satisfy your needs, not step out on me."

Tommy rolls his eyes and grabs ahold of your wrist. "What I need isn't appropriate for a high society woman like yourself."

You furrow your brows in confusion, but no matter what he's talking about, you want to be able to provide it for him. "You don't get to decide what's appropriate for me or not. Besides, you'd know that I'm very adventurous if you ever took the time to actually be intimate with me."

He blinks slowly at you and licks his lips, then smirks devilishly. "You want me to treat you like one of my whores?"

"Yes, Tommy."

"Right." Tommy stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the side table, the turns his attention back to you. Both of his hands are on your hips now, holding you firmly. "You promise not to get upset?"

"Why would I get upset?"

Tommy fights back a smirk. "Because I tend to be a bit... harsh."

"Harsh?" you ask.

"You said you want me to fuck you like a whore. A dirty, cheap, used up whore that's only good for taking cock. Is that right?" You hesitantly nod. "Then until I'm finished, that's exactly what you're going to be. I'm only going to stop if you tell me to, otherwise I'm going to have you just like I have them."

"Okay," you breathe.

Tommy steps away from you and sits back in his chair. "Take your dress off," he instructs.

You find it a bit odd that he's just watching instead of also getting undressed, but it does make you feel better that the prostitutes he visits don't get to see him naked.

You strip piece by piece until you're bare in front of him. He stands up again and looks over your body, occasionally prodding and groping you.

"Turn around," he says, voice low. You do as he says and you allow yourself to be moved over to the couch. Tommy pushes you so you're bent at the waist over the arm rest, bare ass on display.

Tommy continues to grope you; he slaps your cheeks, spreads and slaps them, and teases at your folds.

“Wet already? Didn’t think whores got off on their work,” he says.

Without much prep, he shoves two fingers into your cunt. Like a true whore, you take them easily. He opens you up by scissoring his fingers inside you. He's going quickly, not bothering to take his time and make it pleasurable for you. You suppose he pays for his own pleasure, not yours.

"Already loose too. How many others did you have today?" he asks. When you don't answer him, he delivers a slap to your ass.

"N-none," you whimper.

"Sounds like business is slow."

He pulls his fingers out of you and wipes your wetness on your thigh. He then moves to press his hips against yours, allowing you to feel the bulge in his slacks. He grinds up against you shamelessly, making you feel even more humiliated now that he's simulating fucking you while he's fully dressed.

"Tell me you want my cock," he orders.

"I want your cock," you parrot with a whine in your voice.

"You can be more convincing than that," he says with a slap to your ass. "Be a good whore and beg me to fuck you."

You take a deep breath. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad... Mr. Shelby," you add for good measure.

That seems to please him, because he moves away from you far enough to pull his cock through his fly. He rubs the head through your folds, teasing your entrance with it.

"I'm not going to catch anything from fucking you raw, am I?" he asks, though he knows the answer.

"No, sir," you reply.

You're glad he bent you over like this, because that means he can't see your embarrassed face and you don't have to look into his intimidating eyes.

"Mm, good."

He pushes inside you, not gently but he doesn't aim to hurt you. Once he's fully seated inside, he begins to thrust before you're ready for it. You gasp in surprise, but you're helpless to do anything but take it.

"Didn't think pussy so cheap would take me so well," he groans. His hands grip tightly on your hips and he slams you back to meet each of his thrusts. His cock bumps against your cervix uncomfortably, but it feels best for him when you take it all the way, and that's the only thing that matters.

With each thrust, you make a punched out little moan. Tommy, however, is silent above you, save for a bit of heavy breathing. It isn't until you arch your back and really start putting on a show that he speaks up.

"Like a fuckin' professional, eh? I should come to you more often. Y'know, my woman's a real bitch sometimes. Never lets me fuck her like this. Thinks she's too good to get bent over. Has so many opinions, too. But you're a good woman; quiet, tight," he leans down, draping himself over your back to speak into your ear. "Obedient."

You can't help but moan at his filthy words, despite how degrading they are. You shouldn't find your lover talking badly about you so arousing, but you cant help it.

"She gets so mad I cheat on her but I think she'd understand if she felt this cunt for herself. 'm gonna marry her and fuck her full of babies to keep her busy while I give the real good stuff to you."

"Fuck," you whimper and immediately regret it.

"You like when I talk to you like a whore? You like getting fucked hard like I don't love you?"

It's rare that Tommy says he loves you. So rare, in fact, that you often doubt if it's true.

"Yes, yes," you gasp. "I love you."

"Mm," he hums. "Save it for when I'm not paying you."

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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captivatedbycillianmurphy · 4 months

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New pics of My Irish Angel!

#cillian murphy #thomas shelby #cillianmurphy #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #cillianmurphy/thomasshelby #cillian murphy thomas shelby #peakyblinders #thomasshelby #i love you cillian #oppenhiemer #i love cillian murphy

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prettypeppermint · 2 months

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amazing grace.

for t. shelby a prelude to 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

“My, what a dear sight: Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinder and founder of Shelby Brothers Limited, fucking a whore on the same desk he signs business deals on.”

Your languid body, draped with the tender silks of your night slip, leaned against the door frame. The strong oak plowed against your supple shoulder and tugged at the pink lace pooling in your clavicle. A slim cigarette drooped like a petal from your rosy fingertips which rested near your naked thigh.

You watched, unamused, as Thomas repeatedly rutted into the thing, his eyes staring directly into yours. Despite the dimness of it all--of the sex-stained chamber and the way the dying lamps made the room appear dipped in oil--his sharp, diamond eyes still cut through the haze.

You took a quaint draw of your cigarette and fixed your gaze on the girl, tilting your head at the way she convulsed and thawed into the mahogany. You pushed yourself off the frame and let yourself in, crossing the threshold into sin.

Your bare feet made slow steps across the dry panels and stopped in front of her. You used your hand free of the cigarette to pet the crown of her head, smoothing down her jostled, earthy locks.

You shushed her softly, quietly, though it came from a dwelling deep within your heart. Your fingers tightened at her roots and pulled her head up so you could see her disheveled face. "You're a pretty one," you stated, observing the way her nose sloped perfectly into her cupid's bow. Her shaky, glossy eyes could barely keep your gaze as they kept rolling to the back of her head. Obscene moans and small cries escaped her bobbing throat.

You took another puff from your smoke. "I know you think you've caught a big fish, but really--Thomas Shelby isn't any less a minnow than every other man in this Godless city when it comes to pretty lasses like you." Your voice was befitting of the night--quiet and something of the tide.

You traced her tear-stained cheek with your thumb. "Do you know why you're here, bent over his work desk in the first place, love? It's because the last pretty thing that wandered into Mr. Shelby's trousers put all our heads on the line--right after her own, pretty little blonde one."

Immediately after the last sour-coated words left your lips, the girl burst into a million ecstacies, and Thomas gave her one last soundless pound before leaving her empty and hollow on the nippy wood.

You let go of her head and it dropped to the desk--as if she craved its cold companionship.

Your eyes found Thomas's.

"So this is who you are now? A whore fucker is no more than a whore, himself, y'know."

"Who I fuck"--he zipped up his knickers and took a swig of Irish whiskey left out from the morning on his desk--"concerns no one. Least of all you."

You slowly snubbed your cigarette out on his expensive, lacquered desk. "Don't get cute," you said, pulling out a couple extra shillings than girls like Lizzie are used to seeing after a long day. You stretched at her unbuttoned collar and pressed them into her bra. "On you go, love. Don't come back.” You said the last part mainly to yourself, but it didn't go unnoticed in the weight of the room. You loathed her life for her.

A minute sigh, heavy with something dire and secretive, escaped Thomas's nose as the lax girl collected her stray garments from off the floor and flitted out of the room. He never looked at her, though she seemed to burn for it.

Thomas leaned the small of his back against the edges of his desk, staring off at something distant in that vacant way he always does.

"It seems as though everybody in the city respects Thomas Shelby except yourself,” you said.

You never called him Tommy, and you never would. Nicknames are for kin and lovers, and he was just pristine, clean-cut Thomas.

He didn't respond. He didn't move save a subtle tensing of the muscle in his jaw. You made your way next to him, propping yourself up on the desk. Your legs dangled in the air as the hem of your slip rode up your thighs. He passed his whiskey glass over to you without sparing you even a glance, and you took a sizable swig.

Since it was evident he wouldn't be doing much of the talking, you started up.

"Men are weak. They get dumb in the head when anything with a cunt passes by. A primal urge--makes you animals." You looked at the wooden wall and imagined you were seeing the same thing he was as he stared right through it. A moment of silence--a hidden breath--hitched and made the room swell--the wood crack.

"I loved Grace, too. In my own way," you continued softly, matter-of-factly. You handed the glass back to him. He could tell you've had a little too much already. "I saw something in her that I had been chasing my entire life. It made me admire her."

"And what's that," his voice croaked, raspy from the silence that grew familiar to his throat's walls--like a tumor.

"She had love." Slowly, as if unfolding like a picture, you began to see the invisible landscape Thomas saw in the grain of the walls. "It made her strong. Gave her something to fight for, and then later something to lose."

This, Thomas realized, was the most you've confided to him in years. You looked so vulnerable, so lush in your unguarded, slightly slouched form. He saw glimpses of your Irish youth in your tired yet glistening eyes.

You were never a predictable woman.

A silence spanned and stretched at the air in the room. The more it did, the hotter you got.

"I've never had that, Thomas. And you should be grateful you did for at least a little while, because even if you fail at your multiple hands and end up rotting in the canal, you would have died a man who knew love. So stop slouching and moping and fucking sorry whores and get back on your feet."

He didn't like the way curses sounded coming from your mouth--from that pretty little voice. Your usual mellow demeanor had faltered for the first time in front of him.

You didn't wait for him to hand you the glass this time, as you swiped it out of his grasp and downed the last ounce of amber fire. "You're Thomas fucking Shelby. But right now you're just pathetic."

At this, his hand clasped around your slender neck, almost simultaneously with his lips as they crashed into yours. He repositioned himself between your legs so his knee could pry and tease at them. His callused hand was strong and warm as it crept from your throat to that sweet nook between the back of your neck and the bend of your jaw. His fingers cupped your cheek and raked through your freshly washed hair. Your slip had collected in a wrinkle of crests at your hips and you subconsciously waited for your exposed thighs to be seared with his radiating palms. But he stopped himself. He pulled away. And yet again, there was that vacant distance.

"Don't tell me about not knowing love. I loved Grace the way you've always loved me." His voice was so low you had to furrow your brows to make out every word--every syllable--so that you could ensure you weren't going crazy. "I see it. Every day. I fuckin' feel it every time you look at the back of my neck. You love me. And you're filthy for it."

For an impossible measure of time, you saw him for something he wasn't.

His thumb swiped past your chilled earlobe, bringing your forehead to his. "She sang these songs. And I heard in all of them your stories."

You wanted to shoot him. And kiss him. And kill him. Hell, you just wanted him.

"But I could never have you. No, not when you put on such a tough act with a face like that and make a mess of yourself and everything else--messes I needed to clean up and protect you from." With this, he gave your face a little shake with his hand still embedded in your locks.

It was impossibly gentle and genuine and moronic. It was simply just impossible.

His whiskey-licked breath stung with every lap he took at your salted wounds. You both stayed like this until the ticking of the clock became jilted and painful.

You looked into his wayward eyes one final time, swallowing a heavy sigh before slowly slipping off the table, past his burning body and out the door.

It was as good a goodbye as any.

All humans have ever needed was love, so why is it that when it's finally within the palms of our hands--no matter how much we cherish it, kindle its erratic flame, breathe life into it--it always seems to betray us?

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thehardy-boys · 8 months

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The Platform Part 2 (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Thank you all for your responses to my first part! You all are so lovely and supportive! Here's part 2 and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Nothing...not yet.

Part 2

For the rest of the week (y/n) worried that she might have offended him. Was she supposed to think he would remember her? Was it an insult to his memory to assume he didn’t? She racked her brains for hours in the dead of night only to feel foolish for even caring. It wasn’t like they had ever been close. They played together when they were kids but then she left. And yes…after the war that moment on the platform as she sifted through all those men, all those men with death in their eyes, for her brother. But that was it.

The Thomas she remembered was a quiet, thoughtful boy. He had a wild imagination and was always coming up with new games for all of them to play. (y/n) didn’t know who this man was now. Small Heath feared him. They feared the Peaky Blinders. And (y/n) was sad to admit she was fearful of him too.

Come Thursday afternoon she gritted her teeth before knocking on his office door.

In and out. That’s all. She repeated to herself.

“Come in.”

He looked up from his paperwork when she walked in. (y/n) did exactly as she had practiced numerous times in her head: she walked over and placed the drafted issue on his desk and said, “Is there anything you would like me to tell Mr. Beavers?”

Thomas stubbed out his cigarette bud and sat back with a sigh. He watched her as she stood like a statue in front of his authoritative desk. She could feel his eyes like a physical touch. She watched as the danced all over her face, her hair, her neck but no lower.

“Have a drink with me.” He got up and turned his back to pour two glasses of whiskey.

“No, thank you. I’m still working Mr. Shelby.” She shook her head as he held out the glass.

He set it down on the edge of the table and took sip from his own.

“How’s your mother?”

(y/n) was taken aback. She stood there for a minute processing his question.

“My mother? She’s sick.”

Thomas nodded, “And you’re looking after her? That’s why you came back?”

“Yes. One of the reasons.” She felt bewildered. What was this?

“What were the others?”

“I don’t understand Mr. Shelby. My reasons for returning are entirely my own.” Was this some kind of interrogation?

She watched him down the rest of the glass and clench his jaw at the sting. Thomas remained standing but slowly walked around to the other side of the desk. But as soon as he came within an arm length of her, she took a step back. It did not go unnoticed. She watched as his eyes flickered towards the distance she had created.

“I’ve heard things, that’s all.”

“Heard things? Gossip, you mean?”

He made a noncommittal noise.

“Well, it’s no one’s business. Keep believing the gossip, I don’t care if the people here spin tales.” (y/n) knew she was being a bit to hostile, but she came in hoping to just throw him the issue and leave and now he was putting her through a round house of questions.

He raised his eyebrows at her tone, “Polly’s just worried.”

She turned her head, so she didn’t have to look at him anymore, “That’s very kind of her but I’m fine. If that’s all, Mr. Shelby?”

“How about after your work?”

“I’m sorry?” Thomas had leaned back against the desk crossing his arms.

“After your work do you drink?”

(y/n) still was unsure of where this line of questions was heading.

“Come to the Garrison to have a drink,” he cleared his throat, “with me.”

Her heart betrayed her by missing a beat, but she ignored it stubbornly. No this wasn’t going to happen.

“No, I’m sorry Mr. Shelby. You’re technically my boss now. I don’t think it’s appropriate.” Before he could argue she left. Her heart jack rabbiting all the way back to the office. She was ashamed to admit she was scared he would run after her with his razors, spin her around, and threaten her, or force her to join him. No such thing happened. The day went on. She stopped by her mother’s on her way home. Nothing changed. The old woman was just one day closer to the end.

(y/n) spent the night thinking of the broadness of Thomas’s shoulders. Silly girl. She berated herself. Silly girl.

(y/n) was a loyal worker. If she was given a job, she would do it. And that’s why every week she dutiful went down to the Shelby Limited offices and dropped off the issue. Thomas never asked for another drink. He would sometimes give her a message for Mr. Beavers but that was it. No more questions. No more interrogations.

One Thursday he had pointed out a packet of papers on the coffee table he wanted her to bring to her boss. She walked over and leaned down to flip through the contents, trying to assess how much time it would take to process. As she straightened up, she flinched at his sudden proximity; he had been leaning over to have a look, as well.

“Sorry, Mr. Shelby. I didn’t hear you.” She admitted softly trying to regain control over her heart.

(y/n) took a small step back. He took a step forward. Her eyes widened and she glanced down at his feet then up to his face. But he never gave anything away. She took another step back and he followed with his step forward. His eyes fixated almost violently on her face. One step back and one step forwards.

“Mr. Shelby…” She began with a slight tremor that she hated herself for.

“Are you afraid of me, (y/n)?”

She watched him bite the inside of his cheek subtly. He was calculating. Analyzing. Waiting.

“Yes.” She admitted softly.

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He looked angry but he turned around and walked all the way back to his desk and fell into his chair.

She grabbed the packet and left. Not looking back. Never looking back.

The next Thursday she careful placed the issue on his desk and he hadn’t even bothered looking up.

She cleared her throat, “Mr. Shelby, I can give this responsibility over to someone else. Ms. Lowe would be more than willing to take over.”

His head shot up, “Are you that afraid?” His question was accusatory.

“No, no. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Thomas snorted placing his pen down, “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby. I am. I just – over time I’ll become less afraid.” And she meant it. The truth was she wasn’t so afraid of what he had done, of his illegal dealings but more afraid of what she wanted him for. Afraid of how he haunted her mind at night and her day dreams.

“I don’t want Ms. Lowe.” He said while drowning her to death in his eyes. And that was that.

Life didn’t change much even with this new additional Shelby connection. Small Heath was still an unhappy place. (y/n) was still tired. Her mother still mumbled and hissed for her to leave and (y/n)’s head still hurt every day after leaving work.

Only because Evelyn had been pestering her non-stop did she bother to say anything.

“Ms. Lowe wanted to know when the next singing night would be at the Garrison.”

“Ms. Lowe?” Thomas furrowed his eyebrows. He always remained sitting at his desk when she dropped the issue off now, kept his distance and she was thankful. He was much less intimidating this way.

“Yes, Ms. Lowe. The woman you met before, blonde hair, red lips, single.”

He raised his eyebrows, “What about her?”

“What I just said.” (y/n) huffed a laugh at Thomas’s purposeful obtuseness. It was an annoyingly endearing trait that she remembered from when they were kids.

Thomas quirked his lips slightly and (y/n) was astonished to admit that she hadn’t seen him smile once seen she had met him all those weeks ago. Then again, the war changed everyone. He had that look in his eyes same as her brother, that all those men had. The look of absence. The missing piece. Something taken.

“You can tell her there’ll be one this Saturday.”

“Great, now she can finally leave me be.”

“She’s botherin’ you.” His cigarette case opened with a click. He offered her one, but she declined.

“She has quite the crush on you. She’s been asking me to drop hints. Although don’t tell her I point blank told you or she’d have my head.”

He took a long drag while watching her.

“A crush?”

(y/n) nodded.

“Why don’t you come with her on Saturday?”

(y/n) scrunched her nose, “I don’t really get along with her, but I’ll tell her the day. Can I tell her you’ll be there?”

He blew out the smoke, “No, no I won’t be there.”

It was the following week when (y/n) encountered another face from her past. She had entered Thomas’s office before realizing that he wasn’t alone. Another man was sitting in front of the desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Shelby. I can come back later.”

“No need. We just finished.”

The other man had turned around upon hearing her voice, “Bloody hell! (y/n) (l/n). I can’t believe it.”

John Shelby walked over and pulled her into a tight embrace. He was all muscle now. (y/n) remembered how soft and sweet he was as a kid, round face, and chubby cheeks. Always running after her and helping her climb up the trees out in the wild. His face still carried that mischievous twist.

“John, It’s so nice to see you, again.” He put her at arm’s length to have a good look at her.

“My god. You’re an absolute stunner, (y/n). Thomas was right.”

“John, remember what I said about the meeting this evening.” Thomas’ voice was close behind his younger brother and there was an edge to it, a warning.

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you ‘round (y/n). Don’t be a stranger, now.”

“Of course not, John.” She chuckled.

Then she was left with the other brother, “Here’s the issue, Mr. Shelby.”

He took it from her and tossed it on his desk without look at her, in fact he wasn’t meeting her eyes at all. Thomas methodically went about taking out and lighting a cigarette. His silence was beginning to unnerve (y/n).

“Is there something I can report to Mr. Beavers?”

“I want to do a few pieces on horses.” He gestured vaguely, “I want a few articles on their nature, their training, their value.”

He blew out a puff of smoke and walked over to one of the sofas. He gestured to the opposite one. (y/n) followed his suggestion.

“Is that something people are interested in reading about?”

“I’ve frequented the race tracks for several years now. The more people ‘round here who feel like they have an understanding of horses will be more likely to make a bet. It develops a market.”

(y/n) shrugged, “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. I’ll tell Mr. Beavers to assign someone.”

“I want you to write it.” He pointed to her with the same hand that held his burning cigarette finally meeting her eyes. The shocking blue of them always caught her off guard.

“Me?” She was in disbelief, “I don’t know anything about horses! Besides, I’m a general editor not a writer.”

Thomas scoffed, “I know that you write about half the articles in that paper already. Mr. Beavers told me.”

(y/n) averted her gaze to the beautiful oil painting of a horse on one of the office walls. She sighed.

“I still don’t know anything about horses.”

“I’ll arrange a time I can take you out to the stables. I’ll show you ‘round the horses.”

(y/n) sat there just staring at him. She just couldn’t understand. What was his angle? What did he want? She rubbed her forehead. It was just another chore.

“Alright, Mr. Shelby. If that’s what you think is best. I’ll tell Mr. Beavers.”

She got up to leave but he leaned forward and snagged her wrist. She stopped moving immediately and looked over at him. His hand was gentle around her arm. It was loose enough for her to shake him off. He was surprisingly warm. She saw him looking into her eyes, waiting for her fear, a flinch, a tremor, and she was certain if he saw it, he would let go immediately.

“What do you think of John?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You treat him differently. You’re not the same as you are with me.”

“I – well, he’s younger than me and he’s not my boss. I remember practically babysitting him when we were kids.” She shrugged, “It’s just different.”

His face remained a perfect mask of indifference.

“Maybe you don’t understand how you look, Mr. Shelby.” (y/n) tried again.

“How I look?” His eyebrows raised.

“Like you’d rather be anywhere else than here. You’re very serious, Mr. Shelby. It’s hard to feel at ease around someone like that.”

His hand slipped off her wrist, “I’ll let you know when I can take you to the stables.”

(y/n) hesitated for only a moment. It wasn’t her responsibility to make Thomas Shelby feel good about himself.

Part 1 ---- Part 3

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