Between loyalty and love
Parings: Reader x Platonic!Ada Shelby,
Summary: A forbidden love blossoms amidst the Shelby family's world, threatening to unravel a cherished friendship and expose a dangerous secret.
Warnings: Implied violence (typical of the Peaky Blinders universe), themes of illicit relationships, emotional tension.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Watery Lane as you and Ada made your way through the bustling market. The vibrant chaos of stalls piled high with fresh produce, brightly colored fabrics, and an endless array of goods usually lifted your spirits. Today, however, a knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. Ada had been uncharacteristically quiet, her usual easy chatter replaced by a thoughtful silence that felt heavy with unspoken meaning.
You tried to break the tension. "Polly was particularly feisty this morning, wasn't she? Went on a rant about the price of good tea."
Ada offered a small, distracted smile. "She did. And she's not wrong. But… I've been meaning to talk to you about something else."
Your heart did a small, nervous flutter. "Oh?" You feigned casualness, but your voice felt a little too high.
She stopped at a flower stall, her fingers tracing the delicate petals of a deep red rose. The scent was sweet, almost cloying. "You know," she began, her voice soft, "I've always valued your honesty. More than anyone else's, perhaps."
Your throat felt suddenly dry. "And I yours, Ada. You know that."
She finally turned to face you, her gaze direct and unblinking. "It's just… lately, you seem different. Distant, almost. And you've been spending a lot of time with my brothers."
A cold dread seeped into your bones. This was it. "We've always spent time together, Ada. We grew up together," you managed, attempting to sound genuinely bewildered.
"Yes," she conceded, her eyes still fixed on yours. "But this feels… different. More guarded." She picked up the rose, twirling it slowly between her fingers, her brow furrowed in thought. "Especially with Thomas."
Your breath hitched. You could feel the blood draining from your face. You tried to appear nonchalant, but your hands, you realized, were clenching into fists. "Thomas? What makes you say that?" The words came out in a rush, a little too quickly.
Ada finally met your gaze, and this time, there was no mistaking the knowing glint in her eyes. "Because I've seen the way he looks at you. It's not the way he looks at anyone else. And I've seen the way you look at him. It's not the way you look at a friend, not the way you look at me."
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant calls of the market vendors and the rumble of a passing cart. You felt utterly exposed, as if all your carefully constructed walls had crumbled in an instant. There was no denying it, no twisting your words. Ada knew.
"Ada…" you started, your voice barely a whisper, thick with unshed tears.
She held up a hand, stopping you. "Don't. Just… don't lie to me. Please." Her voice softened, a hint of hurt lacing her words. "You, of all people. I thought we told each other everything. Didn't you trust me enough?"
Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and stinging. The thought of hurting Ada, of breaking her trust, was a sharper pain than any fear of discovery. "I'm so sorry, Ada," you confessed, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "I wanted to tell you, I really did. But… it's complicated. And dangerous. You know Thomas. You know what he's like."
Ada sighed, a long, weary sound. She placed the rose back on the stall, her fingers lingering for a moment. "Dangerous? You think I don't know about dangerous, living with the Shelby family?" She gave a small, humorless laugh, a bitter edge to it. "So it's Thomas, then? My brother, Thomas?"
You hesitated, then nodded, a single tear escaping and tracing a hot path down your cheek. "Yes. It is."
Ada closed her eyes for a long moment, a slow, deep breath escaping her lips. When she opened them, her expression was unreadable, a complex mix of emotions swirling in their depths. "And how long has this... this been going on?"
"A few months," you admitted, feeling the immense weight of the secret finally lifting, even as a new kind of fear settled in.
She was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on something in the distance, perhaps seeing beyond the market, to the grimy streets of Small Heath and the life that had shaped them all. You braced yourself for her anger, for her disappointment, for the inevitable lecture about the dangers of getting involved with a Shelby, especially Thomas. But when she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm, almost weary.
"Does anyone else know?"
"No!" you said, shaking your head vehemently. "Absolutely not. Only you. And… us, of course."
Ada nodded slowly. "Good. Keep it that way."
You stared at her, utterly bewildered. "What? What do you mean?"
"I said, keep it that way," she repeated, her voice firm now, but not unkind. "Do you think I haven't noticed Thomas being… different lately? Less closed off, dare I say, almost… content?" She gave you a wry, knowing look, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "It appears you've managed to do what no one else, not even Polly, has managed to do for him."
A hesitant hope flickered within you, small but persistent. "So… you're not angry? Not completely?"
Ada let out another sigh, running a hand through her dark hair. "Angry? Perhaps a little. Hurt, certainly, that you didn't trust me enough to tell me sooner. But… I'm also worried. You know what he's like. What this life is like. It's not a fairy tale, is it?" She paused, her gaze softening, a flicker of genuine affection in her eyes. "But I also know you, and I know you wouldn't do anything without reason. And if Thomas… if he truly makes you happy, in that twisted way he has…" She trailed off, the complexity of her feelings evident in her expression.
"He does," you whispered, a genuine smile finally gracing your lips, though it was still tinged with uncertainty. "More than I ever thought possible."
Ada finally took your hand, squeezing it gently. Her touch was a balm, a silent reassurance. "Then I won't stand in your way. But," she warned, her voice dropping to a serious tone, her grip tightening slightly, "if he ever hurts you, if he ever breaks your heart, or if this… this goes wrong in any way, you come to me. Understand? You come straight to me, and we'll deal with him. And anyone else."
You squeezed her hand back, relief washing over you in a powerful wave, a lump forming in your throat. "I understand, Ada. I promise. Thank you. Thank you so much."
She gave you a small, knowing smile, a hint of her usual spark returning. "Just… be careful. And try to be a bit more discreet. You two aren't exactly masters of subtlety, are you? I've seen the way you two look at each other, even across a crowded pub. It's written all over your faces."
You chuckled, a genuine, joyful sound, the weight on your shoulders feeling significantly lighter. "We'll try, Ada. We really will."
As you walked back through the bustling market, the sounds and smells now a comfort rather than an oppressive weight, the world seemed a little brighter. The secret was out, at least to Ada, and her acceptance, however grudging, felt like a precious gift, a lifeline in the dangerous currents of the Shelby world. The fear was still there, a quiet hum beneath the surface, but now, knowing you had Ada in your corner, it felt a little less daunting. With her by your side, and Thomas… well, with Thomas, you felt you could face anything.
————
The pub was less crowded than usual that evening, a rare quiet that settled heavy in the air. You found Thomas in his usual booth, a half-empty glass of whisky in front of him, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance. He looked tired, the lines of worry around his eyes more pronounced than usual. Taking a deep breath, you slid into the seat opposite him.
He acknowledged you with a subtle nod, a silent invitation to speak. You wrapped your hands around your own glass, the condensation cold against your palms. "I need to tell you something," you began, your voice barely above a whisper.
He turned his head slowly, his piercing blue eyes finally meeting yours. "What is it?" he asked, his tone flat, betraying nothing.
"Ada knows about us." The words tumbled out quickly, leaving a nervous tremor in their wake.
A muscle in his jaw clenched, and for a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze intensified, searching your face for any hint of deception. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. You watched him, your heart hammering against your ribs, bracing yourself for his reaction. Would he be angry? Scared? Disappointed?
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "How?"
"She noticed," you explained, trying to keep your voice steady. "Said we weren't subtle. She saw the way we looked at each other." You omitted the part about her suspicions about his newfound "contentment," knowing he wouldn't appreciate the sentiment. "I didn't tell her anything directly, not at first. But when she confronted me, I couldn't lie. Not to Ada."
His eyes narrowed. "You couldn't lie? You risked everything, then, for a clear conscience?" There was an edge to his voice, a coldness that made you shiver.
"No!" you insisted, leaning forward. "I risked it because she's my best friend. And because she deserved the truth, Thomas. She felt hurt that I didn't tell her." You paused, choosing your words carefully. "She's also worried about you. About us. About this life."
He scoffed, taking a long sip of his whisky. "She's always worried. It's in her nature."
"She's worried about me," you corrected, meeting his gaze squarely. "About me getting hurt. And she only wants us to be careful. To be discreet."
He set his glass down with a soft thud, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth. He ran a hand over his face, a rare gesture of weariness from the usually unflappable Thomas Shelby. "So, she's not going to tell anyone?"
"No," you confirmed, relief washing over you that he was focusing on the practical rather than the emotional. "She promised. She just wants us to be more careful. And if anything goes wrong, if you ever hurt me, she said she'd come for you."
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "She would, too." He looked at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, perhaps a hint of respect, or even… affection. "You trust her, then."
"With my life," you affirmed without hesitation.
He nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression replacing the earlier tension. "Good. Trust is a rare commodity in this family." He paused, taking another sip of whisky. "And you, you trust me?"
The question hung in the air, weighty and profound. You met his gaze, your own conviction clear. "Yes, Thomas. I do."
He held your gaze for a long moment, a silent understanding passing between you. Then, he reached across the table and covered your hand with his, a rare, tender gesture that spoke volumes. His thumb rubbed a gentle circle on the back of your hand. "Then we'll be careful. For her. And for us."
