You’re calling out a man’s name in your sleep, which deeply upsets your husband, Jeffrey. He even ends up waking you to start a fight because he’s never been more jealous in his entire life. Since he’s always away, the guilt makes him believe that you’ll eventually meet someone else and will divorce him.
You and your husband, Tom, decide to buy a ranch in the quiet outskirts of the city. You’ve always dreamed of having horses, and cows, and the space they deserve, so he makes your wish come true when he learns that a rich man named Jeremy is selling. But as soon as Jeremy lays eyes on you, he instantly develops a profound interest and desire, and since you’re about to be neighbors, he’s already planning a million ways to make you his. The first step is becoming business partners and maybe even close friends with your husband Tom.
You sat in the backseat, staring at the back of Alfie’s head. There wasn’t much to look at, just his hat, the curl of his hair, and a scattering of psoriasis. In an ideal world, he’d feel the weight of your gaze despite the lot of it - but your world was far from ideal. He faced forward, humming as if nothing at all had happened.
You considered pointing your glare to Ollie also but, to you, he seemed no less of a captor than you were. Driving the streets and picking up random women didn’t seem like a priority of his.
‘What are you doing here, Alfie?’
You fought the urge to lean forward, to push the question over his shoulders and into his ears. Demanding you get in, calling you names, following you in the first place. None of it sat well with you.
‘Not even a fucking thank-you, Ollie,’ he said to his driver, before lifting his chin to speak to you, ‘Where are those lovely manners you had before, hmm?’
‘What am I thanking you for?’
His eyes flicked to the mirror beside his window - you met them there, as harshly as you could, but he just looked back blankly; though his blank was nothing like Tommy’s. It was sharp, intense, penetrative. Firm enough to make you uncomfortable.
Ahhhh my heart, another kind of language was so good, please don't leave it as a one shot!
thank u im glad u enjoyed it!!! u know i was kinda playing with the idea of tommy going to trinidad to meet the reader’s family so if anyone wants to see that lmk!!!
ahhh thank u!!! i was totally stressing as ive never written a deaf character before but it was a good experience as it gave me the opportunity to really stretch my writing muscles and write without mentioning sounds, which is a lot harder than i thought it would be fjgndfjgndfjgndfj
Summary: You couldn’t speak the same way others could, but you still knew how to communicate.
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader
Words: 3906
Notes: Inspired by this post, although some alterations have been made. Reader is deaf and black. Mentions of the Trinidad Orisha religion. If I have gotten anything wrong or could improve in some areas, please let me know. Lots of fluff and goodness. It feels nice to write again.
Tagging: @blinder-secrets since she was the one who got the anon that inspired this. If you would like to be tagged in future tommy x reader one shots just lmk!
Small Heath was far too cold. You had been warned by your relatives that England’s weather was nothing like the kind you were used to in Trinidad, but you had assumed that the tales of the chill and lack of warmth were all exaggerated, your family is rather dramatic after all. But it became very clear that this wasn’t the case.
A shiver coursed through you as you buttoned up your coat, rubbing your hands together to make more warmth course through your veins, but it was feeble at best. While dodging other residents, you kept an eye out for The Garrison, the pub where your cousin, Mary, had recently gotten a job as a barmaid. The ease with which she was hired surprised everyone, as even back in Trinidad it could be hard for anyone non white to get any kind of position, no matter how small. But from what you had learned, the owners of the establishment didn’t seem to care about the origins of their staff, so long as they worked well.
Finally, you found the building, and only hesitated for a split second before heading in. It was reasonably packed, considering it was a Saturday afternoon, and you ignored the curious heads that turned your way and didn’t move. One thing you didn’t believe your family overdramatized was the small amount of black people in Small Heath.
Walking up to the bar, you nervously glanced around, looking for Mary. You had figured that finding her would be easy, but either she was hiding somewhere, or something was holding her up. You awkwardly sat at the bar, mindlessly drumming your fingertips along the polished wood.
Probably a minute later, you were pulled out of your nervous daydreaming by a pale hand being waved in front of your face. Startled, you looked in the direction of the hand, and saw a white man with piercing blue eyes, staring at you with a very unimpressed look. His mouth was moving, but his lips were also wrapped around a cigarette, making the shapes come out oddly and almost impossible to read. With no other choice, you only stared at the man, unable to find any way to communicate with him, while your face heated up.
Clearly agitated, the man’s brow furrowed, but his now lit cigarette was still in his mouth, and the smoke wasn’t making it any easier to comprehend him. Behind the man, you saw most if not all of the patrons watching. They seemed to be anticipating something, and judging by the looks on their faces, it wasn’t anything good.
The man’s attention was torn away from you by something, and when you looked in the same direction as him, to your immense relief you saw Mary. She was speaking rapidly to the man, her lips moving too fast for you to fully read. When she appeared to be done, she turned to you and began to sign.
That’s Thomas Shelby. He owns the pub. Her hands told you. He wanted to know what you were doing here since you weren’t ordering anything but I told him you were waiting for me.
Smiling, you signed a thank you back to her, as she turned back to Thomas Shelby to speak to him. When she was done she went around the bar and stood beside you, asking you via sign if you were ready to go.
You nodded and got off the stool. As you did so, you saw Thomas Shelby looking awkward, clearly unused to interacting with people who were deaf. Feeling bad, you looked back to Mary. Can you tell him I’m sorry about the confusion? You asked. I don’t want him to feel bad.
Mary raised an eyebrow, but she did what you asked, and when you looked at Thomas Shelby, he looked surprised. He exhaled smoke, and said something back to her.
He says it’s fine. Mary linked her arm through yours, and with one last nod to Thomas Shelby, she lead you back out onto the cold street, ready to show you around your new home.
Over the weeks, you learned more about Thomas and the rest of his family. Namely, that they were all gangsters. Their gang was called the Peaky Blinders, because of the razors they had in their caps.
Why do they keep blades in there? You asked, confused.
Mary and your aunt exchanged a look.
To blind people. Mary finally replied. That’s where the Blinder bit comes from.
Despite the fear that the Shelbys inspired in Small Heath, you had never come across their wrath. Admittedly, that was most likely because you spent your time with Mary rather than running in criminal circles. But although you had heard that Thomas Shelby was not a man to be trifled with, your interactions with him had always been pleasant. Initially he would have to get Mary to help, as he didn’t know any sign language, but after a while he started to carry around a notebook and pen, and you two would have conversations entirely through writing.
I can teach you to sign if you like. You wrote to Thomas just three weeks after your arrival. The two of you were seated at the bar, as Mary and the new barmaid, an Irish woman named Grace, helped Harry deal with the busy Saturday evening crowd. It would be a lot easier than using a pen and paper.
I doubt I’ll be any good. He wrote back.
No one is good at anything when they first start. You pointed out. Besides an intelligent man like you should be able to pick it up easily enough.
Thomas had appeared to be a little embarrassed by your compliment, but he relented and allowed you to teach him.
As he suspected, he found it difficult at first, not used to letting his hands do the majority of the communicating for him. But you remained patient and encouraging, breaking down every gesture as much as you could and going as slowly as possible. At one point you took his hands in yours, gently positioning them and his fingers the right ways. As far as you knew, no one else had ever dared to be so familiar with any Shelby, let alone Thomas. But he had remained calm, and watched as your fingers moved his, committing it all to memory until he could make the same movements with more clarity.
You’re a good teacher. Thomas signed slowly, still a little unsure.
A shy smile broke out across your face, as your heart fluttered like when you were a little girl and a good looking boy would look your way. And you’re a good student. You replied just as slowly, so that Thomas could keep track of your hands. I told you you could do it Thomas.
Tommy. He signed back, eyes planted firmly on his hands. You can call me Tommy.
What’s going on between you and Thomas Shelby? Mary raised a brow as she signed over breakfast, your aunt and uncle already out doing errands and working at the factory respectively.
Nothing. You replied. We’re friendly and I’m teaching him how to sign.
Mary pursed her lips, baring her teeth somewhat in a way that you knew was meant to show displeasure. He’s dangerous. Her movements were firm, just like her gaze. His whole family is. You’re going to get hurt.
You frowned. I’m not a child Mary. You reminded her. I can look after myself.
Ever since you were a little girl, everyone in your life coddled you, partly because you were the baby of all the grandchildren, but you knew it was mostly because of your deafness. You grew up under several pairs of watchful eyes, your mum’s being the most attentive. She would always hold your hand when you were younger, and even when you grew and watched your peers steadily gain more independence, you remained sheltered and tucked underneath the seemingly ever growing wings of your family. It was touching, and done out of concern and love, you knew that. But it was still stifling. Outside of your family you had no life, never being allowed to go anywhere unattended. The boat trip to England alone sent your mum into nervous hysterics, and it was only after you swore to her that you wouldn’t leave your cabin, no matter what, barring an emergency, that she allowed to go and be with relatives. It had been a giant leap for both of you, and you weren’t about to let anyone hinder your growth any longer.
And besides, Mary’s concerns were totally unfounded. While the rest of Small Heath, including your family, cowered in the long shadows of the Shelbys, you could confidently stand in the same light as them. It hadn’t taken Tommy’s family long to learn of your existence, and when they had they opened their arms to you. John and Arthur reminded you of your male cousins back in Trinidad, always getting up to some kind of mischief with little care for the consequences, just for a laugh. Of course this would leave their aunt Polly, a matriarch who appeared to be cut from the same cloth as your great-grandmother, having to discipline them and try to right whatever they wronged. Out of all the Shelbys, she was the one you feared the most, knowing how great her influence with her nephews and niece was. But she seemed to have taken a shine to you, and treated you with nothing but kindness. Ada was the same, always asking you to tell her about your childhood in Trinidad, which to her appeared to be a paradise. Little Finn had been shy at first, but he soon followed his family’s lead and became very open and warm towards you. But out of all of them, Tommy was the one you were friendliest with, the one you considered your closest friend. Which was a double edged sword in and of itself.
It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy Tommy’s company or his friendship, but after nearly two months you were finally willing to admit to yourself that you wanted more than that. From an objective standpoint, it was easy to see why you had fallen for him. Despite his reputation, Tommy was nothing but kind to you, patient when it come to answer your questions about Small Heath and England as a whole. And he made you smile, which was a trait you had always looked for in people. If they could make you happy, you wanted to be around them. If they could only make you sad, you refused to speak to them. But you had never expected to find someone who was able to do both so effortlessly and without knowing.
The problem was that you knew, or at least you felt you knew, what kind of woman Tommy wanted, and needed. And that woman was not like you. That woman could hear, and didn’t need to rely on the accuracy of someone’s hand movements to communicate with them. She was born in Britain, and didn’t have the label immigrant dangling above her. But above all she was white. Like sea foam, pearls, rice. Not the colour of dirt after a heavy rainfall.
Like Grace.
You didn’t know much about Grace. The two of you never interacted, and Mary had little to say about her. You knew she was Irish and that she could sing, and that was all. But you knew she was pretty. The kind of pretty you had seen idolized, and had grown up wanting to be. And you knew she liked Tommy.
No one had explicitly told you this, but no one had to. You were observant, and could see the wistful looks she gave Tommy, the way her gaze would linger on him long after he had turned away. You pitied her a little, knowing what it was like to have the object of your affections be oblivious to them, to you, and not know what to do about it.
Grace likes you. You told Tommy while the two of you were tucked away in the private booth reserved for the Shelbys and their friends and guests.
And? Tommy raised a brow. I fail to see what that has to do with anything.
Do you like her? Be honest.
I don’t fraternize with employees.
Not even the pretty ones? Your lips quirked into a slight smile.
Why do you think I don’t hire pretty ones?
You grinned, playfully smacking Tommy on the arm.
(And tried to ignore the surge of hope that suddenly risen out of your chest.)
It had been three months since your arrival in Small Heath, and Tommy had decided to take you to the races. You had never been to the races before, as gambling was heavily frowned upon in your family. The general attitude was to leave the fate of your finances in your own hands, and not in the hands of bookies. Of course you could always call on Orisha to help, but it was ultimately up to you. But this wasn’t a day out to gamble, it was a day to enjoy yourself, experience a part of Tommy’s world.
Before the first race even began Tommy took you to the stables to see the horses. You trailed after him, excitedly bouncing on the balls of your feet. Everyone parted like the Red Sea when Tommy approached, and after speaking with some of the groomers and jockeys, the two of you were left alone with the horses.
With each horse you grew more and more excited, and you stroked them all and fed them and even brushed their manes. For such big creatures, they were very docile, and seemed to lean in to your touch, gently brushing the side of your face with theirs. You grinned and patted their necks when they did so, feeling your heart swell.
There’s someone I want you to meet. Tommy nodded towards the back of the stable, leading you away from a very handsome calico stallion who seemed to have taken a rather big shine to you.
Right at the back of the stable, was a stall holding an absolutely beautiful horse. Their coat was shiny, and the colour of brown sugar. The mane was lustrous and soft, feeling like silk against your fingers. A pair of big, soulful eyes looked into yours, and you found yourself utterly breathless.
What’s their name? You asked, still gazing into the horse’s eyes like they held the secrets of the universe. For all you knew, they probably did.
Oshun.
You were finally able to fully break away from Oshun, and stared at Tommy. You had never heard of a horse being named after an Orisha, let alone a race horse. The fact that Tommy had thought to use the name of an Orisha astounded you. He wasn’t the spiritual type, and while he had been curious about the religion you had grown up with, he never really showed more interest than that. You looked back at Oshun, and before you could stop yourself you started to cry.
What’s wrong? Tommy was at your side in an instant, wide eyed and frantic. Should I change her name?
No it’s not that. Somehow, you were able to get the signs out, even while trembling. I didn’t expect this is all. You smiled, blinking to make your vision clearer. It’s… Your hands paused, as you tried to search for the right word. No one had ever left you feeling so lost. It was exhilarating. Sweet. It was the best you could come up with.
I’m glad you like it. Tommy smiled. Come on, the race will start soon.
That was the first time you ever bet on a horse. And, as luck would have it, Oshun won by a whole league, leaving everyone other horse and jockey far behind her dust.
It seemed that no matter what you do, your family will always see you as helpless.
Unbeknownst to you, Mary had informed your aunt and uncle of your friendship with Tommy, who in turn told your mum. This resulted in your mum sending you a letter that seemed to vibrate with her hysteria, demanding that you return home at once and leave all thoughts and memories of Tommy behind. Except your mum didn’t call him Tommy, she only referred to him as ‘that boy’. When you showed Mary and your aunt and uncle the letter, all three agreed with your mum, and said they would be willing to pay for your passage back to Trinidad.
This had infuriated you. You told them, as firmly as you could with your hands, that you would be doing no such thing, that Tommy was a good friend, and that there was no way you would be leaving Small Heath.
If your mother wants you to go back you will go back. Your aunt responded, frowning with a furrowed brow. She knows what’s good for you.
I know what’s good for me! You argued back, your hand movements more forceful than usual. My mum hasn’t even met Tommy she doesn’t know him like I do.
Thomas Shelby is a dangerous man. Your uncle interjected, looking just as grim and dour as his wife. Everything he touches is stained with blood.
Then how come I’m not bleeding?
Because he knows how to use people and get what he wants from them. Mary’s gaze was cold, and her movements left no room for argument, at least in her mind.
What could he want from me? I’m just an immigrant with no fortune I have nothing to offer him. You exhaled sharply through your nose, feeling your anger and frustration rise in you like a tidal wave.
What does any man want from a naive girl? Especially one who trails after him the way you do. Mary’s lips were pursed, but in her eyes you could see concern and worry, even fear.
But you were no mood to entertain any of those fears. Feeling your face heat up, you signed as steadily as you could, trying to not shake with rage. None of you know anything about him. None of you know him the way I do. He’s a good man-
Enough. Without waiting for you to finish, your uncle stepped forward, towering over you. You are going back to Trinidad and you are going to forget Thomas Shelby ever existed just like he will do with you.
Tears of anger pricked at the backs of your eyes like stinging jellyfish, but you refused to let them fall. The only way I’m going back is if you force me onto a ship. You declared, with a bravery you never knew you possessed. And if you do that you’ll have to tie me down because if you don’t I will throw myself off and swim back to Small Heath or die trying.
Before any of them could form a response, you fled from the house.
It wasn’t until you were at least a block away that you finally let yourself cry.
As she was Tommy’s horse, Oshun was kept in the Shelby stables, so that was where you went. You let yourself into her stall, wrapping your arms around her neck and weeping against her face.
To her credit, Oshun didn’t react badly. Just turned her head to gently nudge you and nip at your hair. That only made you bury your face against her more.
You weren’t sure how long you spent crying, but it felt like an eternity, and was only broken when you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. You jumped, and immediately pivoted on your heel, only calming when you saw that it was just Tommy.
What’s wrong? He asked.
Before you could stop yourself, a new wave of tears overcame you, and you furiously rubbed your eyes with your hands, trying to calm your breathing.
Tommy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.
You clung onto the back of his suit jacket and continued to weep into his shoulder, too distracted to really revel in the feeling of being in his arms.
Once you had calmed down somewhat, you pulled away, looking up at a still concerned Tommy. You told him everything; the disapproval of your family, the demands for you to go back to Trinidad, the fact that your family seemed to be unwilling to let you grow.
I may not be as old as Mary but I’m still an adult. You pointed out with still trembling hands. I can make my own decisions. If this one turns out to be a mistake they should let me discover that for myself and let me learn.
A brief pause passed between the two of you.
Finally, Tommy unwound his arms from your middle, and held his hands up. Do you think this is a mistake?
No. You didn’t even have to think before you answered. They don’t know you Tommy. I do. And I like what I know.
That was the closest you had ever come to a love confession to anyone in your whole life. The realization of that hit you very suddenly, and you couldn’t think of anyway to rephrase what you had said.
I want to meet your family.
Your eyes widened and you nearly choked on your spit. Why? They detest you.
Only because they don’t know me. If they do want to hate me I would rather they do it with sufficient reason.
The two of you stared at each other, and you could tell Tommy was serious, which left you feeling nervous.
And you’re important to me. Rather uncharacteristically, Tommy’s hand movements became more hesitant, like when he was still learning how to sign. I… He trailed off, furrowing his brow as he looked down at his hands, biting his bottom lip.
You what?
Tommy hesitated. I don’t know how to say it. You never taught me.
Try to mime it out. You suggested, grateful for the slight deviation.
With shaking hands, Tommy pointed at himself. I. He hesitated, not sure where to go next.
You can do it. You encouraged. Don’t be scared to mess up. Of course that was like asking Tommy to not breathe, but you had to try.
Tommy’s hands came together over his chest, where his heart would be. And then he pointed at you.
Love you.
I love you.
After a stunned silence, a grin broke out across your face, an you covered your mouth with your hand to try and hide it.
Did I do it right? Tommy asked, looking frantic. Do you know what I was trying to say?
You answered Tommy by kissing him. With your arms around his neck, you pressed your mouth against his, moving your lips in ways that were utterly foreign to you. But you soon had help as Tommy put his arms around you again, and kissed you, using his mouth to show you what to do.
When the two of you pulled apart, Tommy smiled softly at you. Did I do that right?
You did it perfectly. That’s exactly how you sign it.
Grinning, he held your face in his hands, his forehead gently pressed against yours.
You gently placed your hands atop his, the way you had when you were still teaching him how to sign.
A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?
B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?
C: What character do you identify with most?
D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?
E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?
F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?
G: Care to share a favorite crack fic?
H: How would you describe your style?
I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?
J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].
K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?
L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?
M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?
N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?
O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters?
P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)
Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?
R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?
S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?
T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?
U: A pairing you might like to write for, but haven’t tried yet.
V: A secondary (or underrated) character you want to see more of in fic?
W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?
X: A character you enjoy making suffer.
Y: A character you want to protect.
Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?
Okay but Tommy falling for a Deaf or Mute woman and her teaching him the BSL of the time cause BSL was still evolving in the 20s and 30s. Just her taking his hands and showing him. And his first proper sign is 'i love you'
blakekathryn
jbbartram-illu
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
ellievsbear
snowghoul
