Note: This is just an idea I had for a series, but! Please understand this my first time writing a reader insert which was not easy for me because of the use of you, your, n stuff. So if you see something off you can let me know, also it's always nice if you let me know you liked it! :) (Bc I have no idea if I should continue posting this or not, also English is not my first language!)
Tags: arranged marriage, contract marriage, slow burn, fluff, reader gets headaches from cigarette and cigar smoke (haha how will that play out in a period where almost everyone smokes right??), I don't really like Grace sorry so the reader won't either, language, reader in her early 20s, set around the end of season 1, (tags will be added as the story continues)
(Y/N) : your name
(L/N) : your last name
(Y/B/N) : your brother's name
(E/C) : eye color
Tiny summary:
Reader is from a business owned family in London, reader does not know she's being set up for a marriage by her family to Thomas Shelby. They send her to Birmingham with only part of the information to close the deal, not knowing she is a crucial part of the deal.
Your kitten heels met the stone platform of Birmingham’s b—well, it wasn’t really busy, to be precise. The train station looked deserted. You subconsciously pulled your wool coat tighter around your frame when a shiver ran down your spine. From the cold, you thought to yourself but felt as if somebody was watching you. In that moment a young man with a toothpick in his mouth, dressed in a long coat and wearing a cap, appeared out of the telephone booth.
“Miss (L/N)? We’d like you to come ‘ith us.” He stated while a group of men, in the same long coats and caps appeared behind him.
You eyed him suspiciously, “And why would I do that? Besides it’s rude to gang up on a lady like this.” You didn’t know where your confidence came from because your whole body went in a state of alarm. But before the young man before you could respond, your brother walked out of the train, yawning.
“(Y/N) why di- Oh! Our escort is here?”
(Y/N) looked back at the group of men, “You’re Shelby’s men?”
“In the flesh ma’m.”
“You’re looking at one yourself,” your brother grinned, “John Shelby! Thanks for meeting us here!”
Your brother’s familiarity was going to be the death of you someday when you saw John’s face flicker with annoyance.
He smiled despite himself, “ ‘elcome to Birmingham Miss and Mister (L/N). Now if you’ll follow me. My brother does not like late comers.”
As your brother while whistling a tune followed the men who placed themselves in groups around John and you and your brother, you were gathering your thoughts. You guessed the rumors about the Peaky Blinders were true when you were exiting the train station which was slowly coming back to life. Except that you didn’t really know why it was necessary that it was deserted in the first place. Did they expect trouble? Did they think you and your brother were trouble? Your father said you would be welcome guests since you were on the way to close a deal on some business negotiations about horse races.
You guessed your father was expecting to become an investor in Shelby's upcoming business, or maybe he already was since he sent you to finalize the talks. But something didn’t sit quite right with you. This whole business thing, you knew too little. Your father did give you a briefcase with the contracts and all necessary documents, but told you not to open it until you were in your accommodation in Birmingham. And why your airhead brother came all the way from America, you didn’t understand that either. Your brother told you something about gladly being away from his nagging wife, which made you recoil and smack his head. Oh well, you’d find out soon enough.
You were pulled away from your thoughts when you arrived at a pub named the Garrisson. You looked questionably at John who just smiled at you, “My brother’s coming with us.”
At that moment a slender man with his hair slicked back walked out of the pub while putting on his cap. He eyed the two strangers next to his brother, looking them up and down.
“This her?” He asked and John gave a small nod.
You frowned, ‘This her?’ This her what???
Your brother coughed awkwardly, and you knew that cough, something was up. But before you could inquire, John’s brother laughed obnoxiously, “She doesn’t know! Ohhh! She doesn’t know, oh wait- that’s not funny- the poor lass should know what she’s getting into-”
John grinned brightly in response at his brother and you just stared at them dumbfounded while your brother was panicking. “She will! By tonight! Don’t spoil it for her,” he gulped, “Please.”
You gave him a dangerous look, “(Y/B/N)- I swear to God- if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now-”
“You’re getting horse riding lessons!!!” He suddenly blurted out and it became silent between the pairs of siblings.
But soon, both Shelby's erupted in laughter.
“Yes- yes- that’s it,” your brother mumbled.
You were so dumbfounded you couldn’t think straight. You were in Birmingham, say, around less than an hour or so now, but you did not think this was a place to be taking horse riding lessons. Well, something was up but you decided to leave it since Mr. Shelby was waiting.
“I am not done with you,” you hissed at your brother.
As the taller Shelby brother was trying to stop laughing, he raised his hand to you, “I’m sorry for my manners Miss. Name’s Arthur Shelby, I’m the oldest brother.”
You shook his hand, “(Y/N) (L/N), pleased to meet you Mr. Shelby.”
“Well alright, time to go then, we’re going to be late,” John said as he started to move.
As you and the rest followed, you sighed and wondered how this business trip will end.
☾ Warnings: workplace romance/boss x assistant dynamic, jealousy, mutual pining, suggestive flirting, reader being a little inappropriate in front of men, men being dismissive/intimidating toward reader, Michael being possessive but restrained, Polly and Isaiah meddling, almost kiss, kissing/makeout, mild tension.
☾‧₊˚ ⋅ ───────────── ⋅ ˚₊‧☽
Michael Gray had learned quickly that a woman could ruin a room without raising her voice.
You did it often.
You did it with a pen between your fingers, a file tucked beneath your arm, and that look on your face that made men believe they had already won something from you when, really, they had given away half their hand before they even sat down.
Shelby Company Limited was full of men who thought themselves clever. Men with flat caps, polished shoes, bruised knuckles, and debts they tried to dress up as misunderstandings. They came into Michael’s office expecting him to be the problem. They prepared themselves for the sharp suit, the cold eyes, the Shelby name laid out behind a desk like a loaded gun.
Most of them did not prepare for you.
That morning, three men sat across from Michael with their hats in their hands and lies in their mouths. Michael listened without expression, leaning back in his chair, one hand resting near the papers you had placed before him. You sat to his left with your notebook open on your knee, writing only when it suited you.
The man in the middle, Mr. Lovell, had been talking for five minutes.
Michael knew this because he had been watching the clock.
You knew this because you had stopped writing three minutes ago.
“So, as I said,” Lovell continued, clearing his throat as though repetition might make his numbers less false, “the delay came from Camden. Nothing to do with us. We moved the barrels as soon as they arrived.”
You glanced down at the page in your lap.
Michael did not look at you, but he felt the shift all the same. You had gone still in that particular way you did when someone had said something stupid enough to interest you.
Lovell kept speaking. “Your men must’ve misplaced the receipt.”
“No,” you said.
The room settled.
Lovell blinked at you. “Sorry?”
You lifted your eyes from the paper. “No, Mr. Lovell. His men didn’t misplace it.”
Michael’s gaze moved to you then, slowly. He should have stopped you. He might have, had he not already known you were right.
Lovell gave a tight little smile. “I’m not sure this is—”
“The receipt was signed on Thursday,” you said, taking a folded slip from the file beside you. “By a man named Edward Pike, who I believe works for you, not for us. It says the barrels arrived at half past two. You sold them by six.”
One of Lovell’s men shifted in his chair.
You smiled at him.
It was not a kind smile, and that was the problem. Men often mistook your face for something soft until you showed them the blade underneath it.
“It was in an envelope addressed to Mr. Gray.” You leaned forward and placed the receipt on Michael’s desk, close enough that Lovell could see his own lie written out in ink. “So unless the postman has taken a sudden interest in bookkeeping, I’d say it’s ours now.”
Michael lowered his eyes to the receipt.
He did not need to read it. He had already seen it before the meeting. You had found it before breakfast, walked into his office, dropped it on his desk, and said, “He’s going to lie badly. Let him.”
He had let him.
Now Lovell looked at Michael, waiting for a rescue he had no right to expect.
Michael folded his hands over his waistcoat. “Pay what you owe by Friday.”
Lovell’s jaw worked. “Mr. Gray—”
“Friday.”
There was something in Michael’s voice that ended things. Lovell understood it. His men understood it. Even the office outside seemed to quiet for a moment.
You reached for your notebook again, as though nothing had happened.
Lovell stood. His face was unpleasantly calm, but his eyes stayed on you for half a second too long.
Michael saw it.
Of course he saw it.
He saw most things where you were concerned, which was becoming a problem he had no intention of discussing with anyone.
As Lovell buttoned his coat, you looked up at him with a pleasantness that did not reach your eyes. “Do be careful with the stairs on your way out. They’re terribly unforgiving when a man’s dignity gets heavy.”
The youngest of Lovell’s men made the mistake of choking on a laugh.
Michael’s pen paused against his desk.
Lovell left without another word.
The door shut behind them, and the silence that followed was not peaceful. Michael looked at the receipt. Then at the door. Then at you.
You were already gathering the papers into a neat pile.
“That was unnecessary,” he said.
You did not look up. “He signed, didn’t he?”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It usually is in business.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, watching you smooth the corner of a page with your thumb. “Men like that don’t enjoy being embarrassed.”
“Then they shouldn’t make it so easy.”
His jaw tightened, not because you were wrong, but because you never seemed frightened enough by being right. It was a dangerous habit, especially in Birmingham. Especially here.
You rose from your chair and came around the edge of his desk to place the file in front of him. You moved too comfortably in his office. You always had. Since the first week Polly had brought you in and told him you would be helping him with ledgers, letters, and whatever else he was too proud to admit had begun piling up.
Michael had protested at first.
Polly had ignored him.
Now, three months later, he could not imagine the office without the sound of your footsteps outside his door.
That, too, was becoming a problem.
“You should let men like that speak themselves into trouble,” Michael said.
You rested one hand on the back of the chair opposite his desk. “I did.”
“You enjoyed it.”
At that, your mouth curved, small and unashamed. “A little.”
Michael looked away first.
You noticed. He hated that you noticed.
Before either of you could say anything else, the door opened without a knock.
Polly Gray entered with a cigarette between her fingers and no apology on her face. She took one look at you, another at Michael, and seemed to understand more than any person had a right to.
“Lovell looked as though he’d swallowed a nail,” she said.
“He came in choking on one,” you answered. “I only pointed it out.”
Polly smiled.
Michael did not.
“You see?” Polly said, crossing the room. “That one knows how to make a man hand over the truth and thank her for taking it.”
“She’s careless,” Michael said.
Polly glanced at him, amused. “She’s got nerve.”
“She makes enemies too quickly.”
“No,” Polly said, taking a drag from her cigarette. “Men make enemies when they realize they’ve been beaten by a woman they were too busy looking at to listen to.”
You took the finished notes from the table and tucked them against your chest. “I’ll type these before lunch.”
Polly watched you go with open approval. “Good girl.”
You paused at the door, giving Polly a warm look before your eyes shifted briefly to Michael. “Mr. Gray.”
Then you left.
The door clicked shut.
Polly took a drag from her cigarette. “You’ll grind your teeth flat if you keep that up.”
Michael reached for his pen. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No. You wouldn’t.”
“I’m trying to run a company.”
“You’re trying to look like you’re running a company.” Polly moved around the office as if it belonged to her, because in all the ways that mattered, it did. “She helps. You know she does.”
“She talks too much.”
“She talks when men need reminding that a woman in the room isn’t furniture.”
Michael said nothing.
Polly leaned slightly over the desk. “Keep her close.”
His eyes lifted.
There it was. That slight knowing edge in her voice.
“I already have,” he said.
“Yes,” Polly replied. “That’s what worries you.”
She left him with that.
For the rest of the day, Michael tried not to look through the glass panel of his office door.
It did not work.
You were at your desk outside, typing letters with your sleeves pushed up and your attention fixed on the keys. Men came in and out. Some spoke to you with respect. Others learned to. You smiled when necessary and sharpened when deserved. You handled papers, signatures, appointments, complaints, deliveries, and at least one bookmaker who arrived furious and left apologizing.
Michael watched all of it more than he should have.
He told himself it was because you were his assistant.
That was all.
Then Isaiah Jesus came in.
He had the easy step of a man who knew where he was welcome, which was almost everywhere, mostly because he never waited to be invited. He leaned one elbow on your desk, said something too low for Michael to hear, and your fingers paused above the typewriter.
Then you laughed.
Michael looked down at the ledger in front of him.
The numbers had not changed.
He read the same line three times.
Outside, Isaiah was still at your desk. You turned a page toward him, explaining something with your pen. Isaiah bent closer to see. His shoulder nearly touched yours.
Michael closed the ledger.
When he opened his office door, both of you looked up.
Isaiah’s grin was immediate. “Michael.”
“Tommy was looking for you.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“He is now.”
Isaiah’s grin widened.
You looked down at your papers, but Michael could see the amusement at the corner of your mouth.
Isaiah pushed away from the desk. “Right. Wouldn’t want to keep Tommy waiting.”
“No,” Michael said. “You wouldn’t.”
Isaiah passed him on the way out and dropped his voice just enough for Michael to hear. “Careful, mate. You’re starting to look obvious.”
Michael’s eyes cut toward him.
Isaiah only laughed and went out.
You were arranging your papers with an innocence that would not have fooled a dead man.
Michael stood in the doorway. “Bring me the Camden account.”
You looked up. “You already have it.”
“I want the other copy.”
“There isn’t another copy.”
“Then find one.”
You held his gaze for a moment, and he regretted it instantly, because there was something bright and entertained in your eyes that made him feel as though he had stepped exactly where you wanted him.
“Yes, Mr. Gray.”
You said it too sweetly.
Michael went back into his office and shut the door.
By half past six, most of the office had emptied. The low noise of the day faded into the street outside, into the distant rumble of hooves, engines, men shouting, and Birmingham breathing smoke into the evening.
Michael remained at his desk.
Work was easier than thinking.
There were ledgers to check, letters to sign, payments to arrange. He kept his head bowed, pen moving steadily across the page, though every now and then his attention snagged on the quiet outside his door.
You should have gone home.
You had not.
He knew because he could hear you moving around.
A drawer opening. A chair scraping. The soft, steady rhythm of you putting the office back in order after a day of men making a mess of it.
Then there was a knock.
Michael did not look up. “Come in.”
You opened the door with a file in one hand and your gloves in the other.
“I found the other copy,” you said.
Michael looked from your face to the blank sheet of paper you placed on top of his ledger. He recognized the joke and refused to reward it, though the corner of your mouth lifted as if you had seen the response he was trying to hide.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“So are you.”
The answer came lightly, but you were already looking past him, taking in the untouched plate near the corner of his desk, the cigarette burned too low in the ashtray, the line of ink where his pen had rested too long.
“Polly asked me to see if you’d eaten,” you said. “You haven’t.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, watching as you moved around the side of the desk with the same unhurried confidence you carried everywhere in the building. You did not ask permission. You rarely did when you already knew the answer.
“You keep a record of that now?” he asked.
“I keep a record of most things.” Your eyes dropped to the open ledger, and something in your expression shifted. “Especially when they become predictable.”
Before he could answer, you touched the page and turned it slightly toward him.
“You signed this in the wrong place.”
Michael’s eyes dropped.
You were right.
His signature sat neatly on a line meant for the client.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you looked at him, softer than before. “You’re not usually this careless.”
The words should have annoyed him. Instead, they settled somewhere beneath his ribs.
Michael rose from his chair.
It was meant to put him back in command of the room. It had the opposite effect. Standing brought him closer to you, close enough that he could see the faint crease between your brows as you studied him, close enough that the scent of paper and smoke seemed to disappear beneath something warmer.
You did not move away.
Michael’s fingers curled lightly against the edge of the desk.
“You shouldn’t play games in this office,” he said.
Your eyes flickered over his face. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“You know it is.”
The room felt too quiet.
Outside the glass, the rest of the office sat empty and dim.
Only you, standing too close to Michael Gray while he tried and failed to remember why that was a bad idea.
You tilted your head slightly. “I think you like having something to be angry about.”
Michael’s gaze dropped to your mouth before he could stop it.
You saw that too.
Of course you did.
The amusement faded from your expression, leaving something more careful behind. Not uncertainty. Never that. More like patience. As if you had brought him to the edge of something and were waiting to see whether he had the nerve to step forward.
Michael lifted a hand.
He did not touch you.
Not yet.
His fingers hovered near your sleeve, close enough that both of you seemed to notice the distance at once. His breathing had changed. So had yours. The office felt smaller than it ever had, and Michael, who had built so much of himself on control, found himself standing in the wreckage of it with you watching him kindly.
That was somehow worse.
He leaned in.
Slowly.
Not enough to kiss you. Not yet. Just enough for the intention to become impossible to deny.
Your breath touched his.
Then you stepped back.
Michael went still.
A small smile found your mouth, not triumphant exactly, but pleased in a way that made his chest tighten.
You picked up your gloves from the edge of his desk.
“Goodnight, Mr. Gray.”
Then you left.
For several seconds, Michael did not move.
The door closed behind you with a soft click.
His ledger remained open on the desk, his signature still written in the wrong place, the blank sheet of paper resting above it like a private joke.
He exhaled once, sharply, and turned away.
A minute later, the door opened again.
Polly walked in.
Michael closed his eyes.
“Whatever you’re about to say,” he said, “don’t.”
Polly paused, cigarette lifted halfway to her mouth. Her gaze moved from the untouched plate to the abandoned ledger to Michael standing behind his desk like a man who had just lost an argument nobody else had heard.
Then she smiled.
“Oh, Michael.”
He reached for his pen, only to realize he had no use for it. “I’m working.”
“No, you’re not.”
He looked up.
Polly came further into the room. “She left smiling.”
“She often does.”
“Not like that.”
Michael’s mouth tightened.
Polly’s amusement softened into something more serious. “A girl like that won’t stand around forever while you decide whether wanting her is convenient.”
Michael looked toward the door despite himself.
Polly saw.
“You think keeping your hands clean makes you sensible,” she said. “Sometimes it only makes you late.”
“I’m her employer.”
“And I’m your mother.” Polly tapped ash into the tray. “That hasn’t stopped me wanting to shake sense into you.”
Despite himself, Michael almost smiled.
Almost.
Polly turned to leave, then stopped at the door. “Don’t make her do all the brave work. It’s unbecoming.”
The next morning was worse.
You arrived on time, dressed neatly, hair pinned as usual, manner entirely unchanged. That irritated Michael more than anything. You placed his letters on his desk, reminded him of an eleven o’clock meeting, corrected a figure in the Birmingham account, and said “Mr. Gray” with just enough composure to make him question whether he had imagined the night before.
He had not.
He knew because every time you leaned over his desk, he remembered the warmth of your breath near his mouth.
He knew because you did not look at him for too long, and that was more telling than if you had stared.
By noon, Isaiah had appeared again.
Michael saw him from inside the office.
Isaiah came in carrying a paper bag from the bakery and wearing the expression of a man who intended to be a nuisance. He said something to you, held the bag open, and you peered inside. A moment later, you laughed and took whatever he offered.
Michael stared at the contract in front of him.
The words blurred.
Isaiah leaned against your desk. You spoke with him while still sorting papers, easy and bright and entirely too comfortable. He said something else, and you swatted his arm lightly with the folded schedule in your hand.
Michael stood.
He did not remember deciding to.
When he opened the door, Isaiah looked over at him immediately.
You gave Isaiah a look that told him to behave, though it only made him more pleased with himself. Then you took your notebook and walked into Michael’s office.
Michael shut the door behind you.
The noise outside dulled.
You stood near the chair across from his desk. “Is something wrong with the schedule?”
“No.”
“The letters?”
“No.”
“Then I assume this is about Isaiah.”
Michael walked behind his desk, needing the space. “He spends a great deal of time at your desk.”
“He has legs. I can’t do much about where he puts them.”
“This is a place of business.”
“Yes, I had gathered that from all the business.”
Michael looked at you sharply.
You did not smile.
That was when he realized you were tired of the dance.
Good.
So was he.
“He distracts you,” Michael said.
“No,” you replied. “He distracts you.”
The words landed cleanly.
Michael said nothing.
You stepped closer to the desk, your notebook held against your waist. “If you want to be angry with me, be angry with me properly. But don’t call me in here and dress it up as concern for the company.”
Michael’s hands rested on the desk. His fingers spread over the polished wood. “You think I’m angry with you?”
“I think you’re angry that I know.”
The office seemed to shrink around that sentence.
Michael could hear the faint clatter of typewriter keys outside, the murmur of men downstairs, the muted pulse of the city pressing against the windows.
He could also hear Polly’s voice from the night before.
Don’t make her do all the brave work.
Michael lowered his eyes, then lifted them again.
“I don’t like seeing him with you.”
Your expression changed slightly.
Not surprise. Not victory.
Something quieter.
“Isaiah?”
Michael’s jaw moved once. “Not just Isaiah.”
The honesty of it made the room still.
You held his gaze. “You could have said that sooner.”
“I know.”
“You nearly did.”
Michael’s eyes sharpened.
You set your notebook on his desk. “Last night.”
He breathed out through his nose, a humorless sound. “You left.”
“You stopped.”
“I was trying to do the decent thing.”
That made you soften, but only a little. “No, Michael. You were trying to do the safe thing.”
He looked down at the space between you.
Maybe you were right. You had a terrible habit of being right when he most wished you would be careless.
“I have spent months,” he said slowly, “telling myself this is not something I can want.”
Your fingers touched the edge of the desk. “And?”
“And it has not made a difference.”
You looked at him then as if he had finally given you something worth keeping.
Michael came around the desk.
This time, you did not move backward. You stood your ground, chin lifted slightly, eyes on him. He stopped close enough that neither of you could pretend he had called you in for papers.
“I don’t want men looking at you in this office,” he said. “I don’t want Isaiah making you laugh at your desk. I don’t want to sit in meetings and watch men mistake your nerve for an invitation. I don’t want any of it.”
You were quiet for a moment. “And what do you want?”
Michael swallowed.
For all his suits, his numbers, his ambition, his careful manners learned too quickly in rooms where blood still stained the floor, the answer left him less protected than he liked.
“You.”
The word did not echo. It simply stayed between you.
You looked at him for a long second, and then your mouth curved. Not in mockery. Not this time.
“You made that very difficult, Mr. Gray.”
Michael’s gaze dropped. “Stop calling me that.”
“I thought you liked things professional.”
“I’m finding professionalism overrated.”
A soft laugh escaped you, and this time it did not make him jealous. It loosened something in him.
He lifted his hand and touched your arm, giving you time enough to step away if you wanted to.
You did not.
His fingers slid lightly to your wrist. The touch was careful, almost restrained, but the restraint itself said enough. You looked down at his hand, then back up at him.
“Are you going to stop again?” you asked.
“No.”
Michael kissed you.
There was nothing careless in it, not at first. He kissed you like a man still trying to hold the last thread of his composure, mouth warm and firm against yours, hand tightening only when you leaned into him. Then your fingers found the front of his waistcoat, and something in him gave way.
He drew you closer.
Not roughly. Not gently either.
Enough that the desk pressed against your hip and the notebook slipped from the edge, falling open on the floor with a soft flutter of pages.
Neither of you moved to pick it up.
Your hand rose to the back of his neck, and Michael made a low sound against your mouth that he would have denied to his grave if anyone had heard it. You smiled into the kiss, and he felt it, felt the confidence of you, the impossible nerve, the pleased little victory of a woman who had known what he wanted before he had allowed himself to say it.
When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing differently.
Michael’s hand remained at your waist.
His forehead nearly touched yours.
Outside the office, someone laughed.
The sound brought the world back.
Michael closed his eyes briefly. “This complicates things.”
You smoothed the front of his waistcoat, though it did not need smoothing. “Most worthwhile things do.”
He opened his eyes.
You looked far too pleased with yourself.
“You enjoyed this,” he said.
“A little.”
Despite himself, Michael smiled.
It was small. Quick. Almost gone before it arrived.
But you saw it.
Of course you did.
A knock came at the door.
Michael stepped back at once, straightening his jacket with all the dignity of a man who had not just been undone in his own office. You bent to pick up your notebook, biting back a smile as he cleared his throat.
“What?” Michael called.
The door opened before he received an answer.
Polly stood there.
Behind her, Isaiah lingered in the outer office, trying and failing to look innocent.
Polly’s gaze moved from Michael’s slightly crooked tie to your notebook clutched against your chest. Then she looked at the desk, the papers, the two of you standing too carefully apart.
Her smile was slow.
“Am I interrupting business?”
Michael’s face hardened. “Yes.”
“No, you’re not,” you said at the same time.
Michael looked at you.
Isaiah laughed from outside.
Polly’s eyes warmed with satisfaction. “Good.”
“Polly,” Michael warned.
She ignored him, looking at you instead. “You’ll still have those letters typed by four?”
“Yes,” you said, wonderfully composed. “Of course.”
“Excellent.”
Polly stepped back, but before she closed the door, she glanced once more at Michael. “About time.”
The door shut.
From outside, Isaiah’s muffled voice carried through the glass. “Told you.”
Michael stared at the door as if he could set fire to Isaiah by will alone.
You gathered the rest of your things from his desk. “I should get back to work.”
Michael turned to you. “Y/n.”
You paused.
For once, he did not seem perfectly certain of what to do with his hands. One slipped into his trouser pocket, the other rested against the desk.
“This changes things,” he said.
You nodded. “Yes.”
“At work, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I still expect the letters by four.”
Your mouth twitched. “Of course.”
“And the Birmingham account corrected.”
“Already done.”
“And Isaiah can find someone else to bother.”
At that, you laughed properly.
Michael tried to look displeased. He did not quite manage it.
You moved toward the door, but stopped before opening it. When you looked back at him, the teasing had softened into something that felt almost private.
“Michael?”
His expression shifted at the sound of his name without the title.
“Yes?”
You smiled. “The next time you want to kiss me, don’t make me come all the way into your office first.”
Then you opened the door and walked out.
Michael stood there for a moment, listening as you returned to your desk and calmly began typing as though nothing had happened.
Outside, Isaiah said something that earned him a sharp word from you and a laugh from Polly.
Michael looked down at the ledger still open on his desk.
For the second time in two days, he had signed in the wrong place.
You’re imagines are so good! Love the character accuracy. Imagine the peaky blinders boys having a s/o who is super into self care, and wants to pamper them as well. Like skin care, body/scalp massages, baths, etc.
This is so cute i love it, i did it as kind of modern au centered because i feel like self care is probably way more varied now than it used to be?
Tommy
🌿I feel like he looks after himself and isn't going to be as opposed to this as you might expect a bloody-minded toxic masculinity gangster to be.
🌿Especially not the candlelit baths, the back rubs and anything else which involves close physical contact with you...
🌿Both 20s Tommy and Modern! Tommy are very serious men, their brain is always set in overdrive, his thoughts buzzing and whirring like a broken machine at all hours. He never switches off and you worry about him.
🌿"Ain't good for you Tommy, you're always lost inside your own head... Driving yourself crazy, you need to switch off every now and then... Let me help you..."
🌿 You know exactly the tone to take to get him to leave his work and come to you, oh so slightly suggestive, tempting... And when it comes to you Tommy doesnt have much resistance...
🌿You probably have a really fancy bathroom with a sunken in tub, jacuzzi jets and all, which Tommy had built for you but which you always intended on sharing with him. I'm picturing this but with more house plants, more candles...
🌿 You put his favourite record on and soak in the tub with him, he holds you in his lap, definitely tries to take the vibe somewhere else
🌿But you are determined that this is going to be more than just a steamy afternoon of shower sex... You promised to help him relax and you're going to.
🌿 "Oh angel no... I don't need that..." he says when you present him with a facemask, its a sheet mask and he just looks at you all "we look like something out of a horror movie y/n" "yes but its going to make your skin feel heavenly..." "already heavenly love..." he smirks making you smile a little embarassed. "Well yeah, I mean you are..." you start but he just shakes his head, "was talking about you angel..."
🌿Tommys been through a lot and has a lot of pent up stress stored in his muscles, he doesn't realise quite how much trauma he's holding in his body until he starts to relax, and when he realises everything he's carrying with me, all these emotions he shuts out to survive, he panics a bit... He can't let himself unwind completely or he's sure he'll fall apart.
🌿So he tries to make up excuses to cut short your pamper session, standing up to get out of the bath, taking his face mask off with some excuse about having an important call that needs to be made...
🌿You're not stupid though, you know what he's doing and so with one puppy dog eye look at him, you beg him to stay just a little longer. And he can't say no to you when you look at him like that so he returns to you.
🌿You wash his hair and massage his head, you tell him to close his eyes and you treat him so delicately. He's never felt this kind of care before, this good goosebump feeling, the hairs on his neck standing on end at the slightest touch from you. He loves it.
🌿You give him a little face massage too, telling him to close his eyes, sitting in his lap and very gently, delicately massaging his temples, his cheeks and jaw. He didn't even know you could carry tension in your face like that but your touch is magic. And when you finsih it with a kiss pressed to his lips he pulls you in for a deeper one.
🌿 Tommy also likes to live the life of luxury, he always aspired to reach the levels of those higher social classes, he always wanted what they have and so when you beg him to go on a spa week with you he obliges. Its one of those things the rich do after all.
🌿He gets a taste for massages and takes you on many spa weekends. If he has a particularly troubling problem he needs to mull over he will often lie on his back in the sauna and think things through.
🌿Loves an ice bath/plunge pool because he's a fucking sociopath.
Alfie
🐻 Alfie has never had someone try to take care of him like this, he's not really used to having people take care of him at all but this is even more unfamiliar... As far as Alfie is concerned "self-care" is just "womans stuff ain't it"
🐻 "Well no Alf its not really, anyone can do it and well yknow... Youre always spoilin me aren't you," "rotten zieskiet, absolutely rotten," "well yeah, exactly... I wanna make it up to you, wanna look after you for once..."
🐻 He will argue, "But you see my little zieskiet thats just not how this works yeah, you and me yeah... You're my little girl ain't you," "yeah but..." "right, exactly right, you're my little girl and there ain't no buts about it zieskiet, I take care of you.. You don't want for anythin... You don't need to look after me, I do that myself right..."
🐻 "But Alfie," you whine fixing him with a pout and the most irresistible puppy eyes, "I want to look after you..."
🐻 So he lets you do it to make you happy... Of course he grumbles about it anyway, even if he's enjoying it. He can't drop his grumpy old man act now...
🐻 He lets you run him a hot bath, let's you use your essential oils, lets you wash his hair and condition his beard... On the condition that whilst you wash him you sing for him, something nice and sweet and low. When you're singing for him thats when he really lets himself relax, closing his eyes and feeling the heat from the water soak into him.
🐻He finds that he's able to relax and enjoy it but he can't actually admit to that, he rolls his eyes, tells you he's only doing it so that you'll stop hastling him about it, only doing it because it makes you happy...
🐻 But he secretly loves when you climb into the bath with him and massage his sore muscles, he loves feeling you comb your fingers through his beard and his hair.
🐻 Will not let you put a facemask on him, uses his beard as an excuse, also tells you he's got really senstive skin which is definitely another excuse... Five minutes ago he was pretending he didn't know what a skincare routine was, so how on earth he'd know whether he had sensitive skin or not you don't know...
🐻 You definitely teach this man the power and divine pleasure that is ✨moisturising✨ he gets dry skin and it gets worse when he's stressed so you teach him all about how to wash his face and how to moisturise properly, you make him promise he'll follow his routine every day, "happy skin means happy everything else..." you tell him and he just rolls his eyes and chunters away.
🐻 He will always insist you join him in the bath, he'll tell you he can't possibly relax if his little zieskiet isn't close by.
🐻 I feel like a lot of your self care tricks would be really good for his sciatica as well, relaxing when thats playing up, letting you take care of him. It's what he needs but it all has to be done under the pretence that its to make you happy and that hes the one looking after you.
🐻 At first he is definitely a little wary of letting you see him naked in a non sexual way, in a way where he is the vulnerable one and you're really paying attention to him... When you're not having sex being naked together makes him a little self concious, he thinks a massage will draw attention to his injuries ans scars, is worried you'll see him for the broken/breaking down man he really is
🐻 You tracing the ridges and lines of his scars, kissing them lightly when you're massaging him. Nuzzling into his neck and kissing him as your fingers trail the marbled scarring on his waist and his shoulder.
🐻 Theres one element of self care that Alfie really can get behind and thats meditation. He really enjoys sitting peacefully, letting his mind calm and settle, letting his thoughts wash over and away one by one. He believes it enhances his intelligence and insight, believes that by calming his mind he's making himself sharper.
🐻 He loves a hot stone bed more than he cares to admit but when his back is playing up lying on one of those feeling the heat relax his body slowly, its so soothing... He'll never go to a spa alone however, he always takes you as an excuse to be there.
Arthur
🍂 "You fuckin what? You're gonna make me feel better with some nice smells?"
🍂 Will not let you put "mud" on his face. "Darlin that's just fuckin wrong int it... Fuckin mud on your face? Like mud... From the ground..."
🍂 Arthur is completely baffled by the whole thing and honestly a little bit scared. It all just sounds like "girl stuff" stuff that his mates would take the everloving piss out of him if he admitted to trying it.
🍂 But you know Arthur, he might have that tough guy exterior, might come across as harsh and angry and well, rough... But underneath it he's hiding a delicate side, a side that you know would benefit from just a little self care.
🍂 You have to trick him into it, set some kind of trap because he won't conciously go near anything ylang ylang scented.
🍂 Is genuinely petrified of the shop Lush, crosses the street so he doesn't even have to walk past the front door. He's scared one of the shop assistants will lure him in with a polite hello and then drag him inside kicking and screaming, smothering him in all sorts of oils and bath shite. Once when you were just dropping in to buy a facemask he caught your hand and very very seriously told you to "be careful in there love, don't let anyone grab you" he even shuddered/had a nervous twitch as he watched you go in.
🍂 He doesn't know how to be taken care of, as the eldest son its always been his responsibility to take care of everyone else, he hasn't really been shown much love or care from many people. Most people are terrified of him, his brother who he should be closest to doesn't let him talk about feelings, and he's too embarassed about admiting "failure" to go to his aunt or anyone else for comfort.
🍂 From the first time you spoke to him you've been determined to show him that care. You looked at him, his nervous eyes, that lack of self confidence he was doing so well to hide, and you just thought "this is a man who needs a hot bath and a really good head massage"
🍂 But Arthur is so awkward and standoffish whenever you try to look after him. He hates it if you're "soft" on him because he thinks its imasculating and patronising. He finds it all so embarrassing and he'll go the most adorable shade of bright red whenever you so much as kiss his cheek.
🍂 The first time you suggest a nice candlelit bath he gets interested but thats because baths are literally just for fucking as far as he's concerned and he's dissapointed to realise that you have something else in mind.
🍂 Lots of protests, "y/n come on now we don't have to do this... This is just... I don't need to relax i am relaxed..." "Arthur you haven't been relaxed since your umbilical cord got cut..."
🍂 But once you're alone together in that bath he finally begins to relax. You tell him to close his eyes and at first he refuses or asks why. "Cause its better for relaxing..." "You're gonna do somet to me aren't you... Gonna use one of them fuckin mud potions..." "Promise I'm not..." you try to take his anxiety seriously but "mud potions" is a difficult thing not to laugh at.
🍂 He does his best to relax though and grows to love the feeling of your fingers in his hair, it really does feel like a weight being lifted.
🍂 His favourite thing is to close his eyes and lie back against your chest, the skin on skin contact, the steam and warm water doing wonders to slow his racing mind right down.
🍂 You give him hand massages a lot and he really likes learning how to give them to you too. You teach him where your pressure points are and he concentrates really hard on learning exactly how to take care of you too.
🍂 And sometimes when you're in the bath together you let your hand travel a little lower than usual, you let his idea of bath time win out.
🍂 You take him to a spa and he's so unnerved, he's worried he'll be recognised by someone and his reputation of being a ferocious gangster will be ruined. But he does like the sauna, trouble is it puts him in the mood for fucking...
🍂 Doesnt like a steam room, he feels too vulnerable in there because its dark and steamy and he gets claustrophobic not being able to see so well. If you go into the steam room he will stand guard outside so that nothing bad can happen to you in there.
🍂 You teach him lots of different breathing exercises and try to get him into stretching. They're such effective ways of relieveing tension and you know they'd do him the world of good. But he's not very flexible and he just grumbles. He is however astounded by how bendy you are and will often ask you to show him certain poses just so he can get a good look at you.
🍂 He does try to remember the breathing exercises and they do actually really help him with his ptsd.
John
🌼 I feel like John would be down for doing facemasks with you, you painting his face with some ugly green clay mask, him painting yours with a glittery gold one, taking silly selfies with you.
🌼 He definitely strikes me as a "splashes face with cold water and dries it on an old tshirt" kind of skin care routine boy but you're determined to change his primitive ways.
🌼 He also definitely loves a spa day and you two frequently dissappear to some fancy spa retreat for the weekend.
🌼 Loves a steam room/sauna combination, especially when you join him, theres something really sexy about watching you lie on your back in a bikini, lit up by the dim orange glow of the sauna. That musky essential oils smell lingering in the air... The little beads of sweat on your breasts as your chest rises and falls... "Lie down John, stop starring at me you're supposed to be relaxing..." "Oh I'm relaxed flower don't worry about me..."
🌼 Loves a massage, especially when you go all professional on him with the essential oils. When you get him to lie face down on the bed and climb on top of him to massage his back. Feeling your hands all over him, feeling your legs straddling him...
🌼 You know what else is a good stress reliever love? An orgasm.
🌼 You put cucumber on his eyes when he's in the bath and he immediately thanks you for the snack and eats it. You're speechless, how do you even begin to tell him thats not what thats for.
Bonnie
🍀 Perfectly happy to be silly with you and will let you do whatever you want to him if it makes you happy... So he lets you work out his skin type and prepare the perfect face mask...
🍀 Actually sometimes he'll acompany you out into the forest to find the berries and plants you need to make your little self care rememdies with, its a good excuse to spend time with you and he finds it incredible how knowledgeable about plants and herbs you are...
🍀Does point out that this facemask you've mixed up for yourself is just a really fancy overnight oats recipe... Does eat a spoonful and imediately regrets it wincing and spitting it out.
🍀 It does take quite a lot to convince him that self-care isn't the same as make up and stuff, he's always telling you not to "buy into all that wellness shite" because its just a new capitalist method of getting your money off you...
🍀 And you know, he's not completely wrong, but self care isn't just about buying stuff and you have to try and teach him that before he'll really let you show him stuff. Showing him how you make natural face masks, moisturisers and bath salts does help this process.
🍀 He has to take care of his body for his boxing and he's no stranger to a sports massage, actually more often than not he's the one trying to get you to let him give you a back rub... Whenever you offer he always starts on you, squeezing your shoulders, telling you you seem tense. He's such a smooth talker you don't even realise he's derailed your plan until he's smoothing warm lavender oil over your back, working your muscles skillfully. And when you do realise you don't want to ask him to stop.
🍀 After his fights you want to take good care of him and you always insist he spends the following day with you, relaxing... You spoil him with a hot bath to sooth his sore muscles, scented candles and nature sounds asmr music, massages, he even lets you put a hair mask in his curls.
🍀He's always been torn about things like spa days, hes always thought they were something for posh people, wives of men who play too much golf... But again, he'll do anything if you ask him enough times, so he comes with you one day and he's adorably awkward and hesitant about everything.
🍀 You pick his treatments for him and he really really has to trust you because he's not sure what an "all over body sugar scrub" is but it sounds, intimidating? Afterwards when you ask for his review he just grins, "I'd have liked it more if it was you in there with me..."
🍀 Ultimately though Bonnie's idea of self care is a day in the woods, or by a river with you. Somewhere peaceful, quiet. Lying back against a tree trunk with you in his arms.
🍀 "Really dove, takin care of my girls what makes me feel good, enough with your scented candles now eh, let me look after you, it's not like i ain't good at it..." he says whispering the last sentence in your ear, kissing your neck as he starts to massage your shoulders.
🍀 You're literally never winning this battle sorry.
Isaiah
🐀 Will roll his eyes when you suggest a self care night, calls it your "hippy dippy bullshit" teases you and asks if you're going to do his birth chart whilst you're at it... "Maybe I should Si, might find out why you're such a snide git eh?" You'll probably regret flashing him that cheeky smile.
🐀So aye, he's not exactly easy to convince, he has the same opinion on self care as most the other men... That its girls stuff, that it ain't manly to smell like lavender and camomile.
🐀But, a little wine, a few candles and a hot bath... You with your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers massaging his scalp gently... Whats not to like about that... He really likes how close it makes you feel, the connection between you strengthening.
🐀Thats more to do with the fact he's being vulnerable with you and his vulnerability is being met with care and love, rather than down to the fact you've sugar scrub massaged his back and legs.
🐀He will let you do facemasks with him but it will come accompanied by many threats, "you tell anyone about this mousy and I promise you you'll regret it..." but you're not scared of him and so you tease him with the threat of telling his touch guy gangster friends all the time. You start getting your own way much more often.
🐀I think he probably enjoys the tension of letting you shave him with an open razor blade, i don't know if this counts as self care so much as just a personal hygiene thing but either way, its a very intense and intimate experience and you're the only person he trusts to do it because you're so gentle and delicate with it that you never cut him.
🐀He fancies himself a social climber and enjoys the status of being able to "treat his girl to a relaxing weekend away" he definitely enjoys taking you to spas and baths, but he tends to let you go off for all the fancy treatments and just enjoys swimming in the pool and relaxing on the stone beds or in the sauna.
🐀Another man who needs to be taught about the power of moisturising. His skin gets dry and you buy him moisturisers and give him little face massages. He's much better at remembering to do his little skincare routine than alfie is because he cares a lot about the way he looks.
🐀"Fuckin drop it with the meditation shit love, i go to church I say my prayers, I don't need to do deep breathing to cleanse my soul..." he just won't do it, won't try your stretches either because "I go to the gym don't I, yogas for girls love..."
🐀Pulls stupid faces at you when you put cucumber on his eyes.
Michael
☘️Out of all the men he takes care of himself the best. He already has a skincare routine, has several serums he uses too.
☘️ So it doesn't take much to convince him of other self care activities. However, don't you dare call it self care. "Look I'm all for lookin after meself like i just don't see why we've got to give it some soft girly name now..."
☘️ He really loves being pampered, kind of likes being treated like a king... His cousins take the piss out of him for it but he doesn't care... "Don't really see whats embarrassing about having my girl massage me back after work... Don't it make me more of a man that I've got a woman who's obsessed with me..." you never let it slide when he talks about you like that but you also know why he's doing it. He's just trying to get his cousins off his back.
☘️ Would probably spend every weekend at the spa if he thought he could get away with it. He likes to throw his cash around and receive special treatment.
☘️ He really really loves a salt scrub and he's a secret fan of a facial too.
☘️He's never the one to suggest that the two of you have a self-care evening together but you can always tell when he needs one and he never refuses your offer.
☘️You have a mini spa built into your house, a sauna and a hot tub, sometimes when you're having once of your self care nights you find yourself next to him in the hot tub, your mood changing.. Your mind drifting to other things, but when Michael is relaxing he's relaxing and theres no disturbing him.
☘️"Not now love eh, later maybe..." his little spa is sacred to him. You're astounded because he must be the first man to turn down the offer of a hot tub fuck.
Request: “Can I request a Tommy Shelby x daughter where she goes to a nightclub on her 18th birthday, and he, Arthur and John follow her to make sure she’s alright” - by Anon
A/N: Day four Non-Stop August! This is an old request that had been sitting there for a while since my hiatus, and I was only too happy to get to it now. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this one, so thank you for the idea!
“Okay bye Dad!” You yell as you shrug your short fur shawl on top of your shoulders. You’d almost reached the front door and thought you’d hit your timing perfectly, but the signature abrupt yell from your father had you looking up and cursing the sky. So close.
“I don’t think so, come in here.” You grumble and stomp your heel at the door for effect before you shuffle your way into the living area. What you found was not an unusual sight, your father, Thomas Shelby, smoking a cigarette with your uncles, Arthur and John. When you appear in the doorway you’re met with absolute silence. Tommy finishes the large puff he’d been taking, blowing it out nonchalantly and shaking his head as he did.
“I don’t think so.” You raise your eyebrow defiantly and shrug your shoulders.
“You don’t think so, what?” You catch Arthur hiding a smirk out of the corner of your eye, but know better than to stand down to a stare off when it was your father involved.
“Get changed, you’re not wearing that.” You looked down to assess yourself.
You had gone and bought yourself a new dress for your birthday, with permission of your father of course, and that was what you had put on. The garment was a deep green and completely covered in sequins right down to your midthigh, where the hem of the garment ended and the delicate fringing that reached your knees began. You knew the piece was a little on the racy side of things, with a v neck line that showed off more of your cleavage than you had ever dared before. You weren’t purposely trying to upset your father though, and had the good sense to put on a pair of fine fish net tights underneath and the black fur shawl that hung around your shoulders.
“I absolutely am wearing this, you said I could buy a new dress.” Tommy’s eyes slightly widened at your statement.
“And that’s what you bought? When I said a dress,” he said your name in his signature parental scolding tone that you had grown accustomed to over the last 18 years, “I meant a dress, not whatever scraps of fabric they could find at the shop.” You let a very unbecoming whine escape your lips at his scolding that had both of your uncles laughing.
“This is what everybody is wearing.”
“Well, no Shelby would be caught dead in it, you have the family name to uphold I’ll remind you.”
“Oh c’mon Tommy,” John piped up, “it’s her 18th, let the girl have some fun.” You smiled over at John, the uncle you could always count on to have your back on matters such as these. You often put it down to him being the youngest of the three and having a little more of a party streak than what you ever imagined your father had.
A honking from outside pulled your focus, looking at the door quickly and then back at your father.
“That would be Helen, and my cue to leave.” You walk over to a still complaining Tommy and press a kiss onto his cheek, his stern gaze not wavering at the gesture.
“I still wish you’d have let me tell Ada.”
“There’s no way I’d have let her come.” You yell from the hallway. You scoop up your beaded black clutch from the hallway table and yell a goodbye to the three men, hearing an array of ‘be careful’s’ and ‘don’t drink to much’s’ follow you out the door. You shake your head at your worrying family. They’d been the same way ever since you’d been a little girl, and although you didn’t really think they’d stop as you got older, a girl could dream.
Another honk from the car pulls you out of your thoughts and has you running to meet the ever impatient Helen, who looked stunning in a red tiered fringe number.
“Happy birthday!” Your best friend squealed, pulling you into a bone crushing hug once you were seated in the back with her. Helen was your best friend and two years older than you, so she had been more than delighted when you’d asked her to be your guide around town for the night.
If you’d have been any other teenager you would have been sneaking in to clubs years ago, but your father kept a close eye on you. And as much as you liked to play the rebel, you had listened to your father when he’d said people would know who you were and know that you’d have been underage.
So here you were giggling with your friend as she popped a bottle of champagne for the car ride, chauffer taking you to your first stop of the night.
*******
You were sweaty, tired, and more than a little tipsy, but that was not stopping you as you and Helen continued to dance, flailing your legs and arms around to the beat of the music.
You were currently in club number four. You’d lost track of the time after club two, too happy and giggly to be caring about such trivial things.
Helen motioned behind her, wordlessly telling you that she was going to grab you both another drink each. You nodded happily, pointing to where you were stood to indicate you’d be right here.
The song changed when Helen had reached the bar, slowing down to a tempo that had the men and women who had previously been bopping suddenly pulled in close and swaying. You were about to exit the dance floor and join Helen at the bar when a tapping on your shoulder had you pausing and turning.
There stood a man who was a complete stranger to you holding out his hand and looking at you with a smirk on his face. On any other night you’d have said no, but it was your birthday, and you felt like enjoying this night to the fullest.
You accepted the dark haired mans hand, and he swiftly pulled you in so your bodies were pressed firmly against one another. The hand you’d taken stayed holding yours while the other placed itself at a respectable height on your waist.
“Richard.” He stated simply as your hand went to rest on his shoulder after it had snaked it’s way up the length of his arm first. You replied with your own name, a coy smile on your face as you did. The smile and gesture brought a larger smile to his face as he leant down to your ear to ask you a question. The words got lost in translation as you noticed someone at the bar talking to Helen that pulled all of your focus.
At the first club you’d thought you’d noticed the shaved side of a ginger head in passing that looked suspiciously like Uncle Arthur. At club two, a tweed flat cap that looked like it belonged to Uncle John, and at club three you could’ve sworn you’d seen your father at the door as you’d entered, smoke billowing from his mouth.
Now, there was no denying it. Sat at the bar talking to Helen was indeed your father and it made you furious. A small excuse to Richard had you leaving his question ignored as you broke from the embrace and high tailed it to the bar before Tommy could notice. As you got behind him you caught a snippet of their conversation.
“Of course I’ve been looking out for her Thomas, I would never let anything happen.”
“Oh yeah,” he said accompanied by a scoff, “is that why she’s on the dancefloor right now with some creeps hands all over her?” He whipped his head to where you’d left Richard to prove his point, where his eyes widened in panic at no longer finding you there.
“Looking for something, or should I say, someone?” Your voice had him frozen on the spot, stuck in the knowledge that he’d been caught in the act. When he finally turned to look at you, he saw you stood there with your hands on your hips and the signature Shelby annoyance plastered on your face.
“Look darling-”
“Don’t ‘look darling’ me Dad, what the hell are you doing here?” His mouth, that had been hanging open upon being interrupted, snapped shut as you could see the cogs turning in his head, trying to figure out how he could explain his way out of this.
“Alright so his name is Richard Quinn and he works at the offices in town. Now I reckon that…” You spun around to find Arthur standing there, obviously having not noticed your presence until he had dug himself in too deep.
“Thank you Arthur.” Tommy’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he pulled out a cigarette with a sigh.
“Oh so you’re spying on the people I talk to as well? Stalking not enough for you lot?” Both men refrained from speaking as you stood there shaking your head at them. “Right then, I’ve had it.” Quick as a flash you scoop up your belongings that Helen had been sitting by and march to the door. Once outside you lean up against the building and take what was supposed to be a grounding breath of cold air.
You thought you could feel yourself calming down until you noticed John Shelby stood on the opposite side of the wall you were on, debating whether or not to hide or stay put and hope for the best.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You march towards the Shelby who now knew that he’d been sighted as he tried to act casual by leaning against the brick. “You know Dad and Uncle Arthur is one thing, but I thought you were better than this Uncle John.” You spit out with an accusatory finger pointed at his face. He had the good grace to look sheepish at least, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took your scolding. You stepped out to the edge of the footpath and raised your hand in an attempt to hail a taxi before your arm was pulled out of the air.
“If you want to go home we’ll take you. We’re heading the same place after all.” John’s calm did nothing to quell you into agreeance, instead you ripped your arm out of his grasp and raised it again, trying to catch the attention of an upcoming cab. You smiled to yourself when the car pulled over, feeling victorious in escaping your meddling family of Shelby’s.
You celebrated too soon, as the door you’d just opened was slammed shut by your father, who leant in the passenger seat window and told the driver to jog on.
“You’re coming home with us.” When Tommy saw you still stood, fuming, in the same spot when the other three had made moves to head towards their car, he stormed over and grabbed you by the crook of the elbow, pulling you along behind him.
“Let go of me Dad, I’m not a child.” You state, even as you thrashed and tried to remove his grip like a petulant kid. He spun around to look at you, a fire in his eyes that stilled your movements.
“The second you stop acting like a child I’ll stop treating you like one, now get. In. The car.” His words were clipped and punctuated, making you get into the back seat without another word. You knew when you’d lost, even if you did slam the door once seated.
The car ride was silent and filled with smoke, as Tommy and Arthur sat smoking in the front and John sat beside you with a cigarette between his lips. You’d been holding back until now, but it felt like the silence had gripped your throat and squeezed, forcing tears out of the corners of your eyes as you gazed out the window. You tried to wipe them away before they were seen, but John caught you in the act.
“Awh c’mon kiddo, it’s not that bad.” He shuffled over closer to you, pulling you into a side hug so that your head rested on his shoulder as he rubbed your arm up and down. The tears continued to fall as you sat there embarrassed, with your father looking at you in the rear view as he drove and Arthur occasionally turning to catch a glance.
“I’m 18 now you three. How long before you trust me?”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Arthur finally spoke from the front, “we just worry.”
“We know better than most that there are bad people out there darling. Our worrying got the better of us.” You sniffled on John’s shoulder raising your head with a final wipe of your eyes as you looked at your father.
“I know that Dad, but you can’t go following me around everywhere. You’re going to have to trust that I have the good sense enough to watch out for myself. I am a Shelby after all.” That had your uncle’s releasing a laugh, but your Dad simply held your gaze in the rear view as the car rolled to a stop outside your house. You took the silence as your cue to leave before the others were dropped home.
As annoyed as you still were with them the ride had calmed you down, so you leant forward to place a kiss on Arthur’s cheek, before repeating the process with John and getting out of the car.
“I love you guys,” you said through the open car window, “even when you piss me off.” Your uncles laughed again as you walked to the drivers door where Tommy sat looking at you as you placed your hands around the edge of the completely open window.
“Head inside darling, we’ll talk more in the morning.” He placed one of his large hands over both of yours, giving them a tight squeeze before releasing them. You leant in and kissed him on the cheek, smiling at him before saying your goodnights and heading to the door.
You turned right when you were about to head inside, seeing the car was unmoving, as you thought it would be until you closed the door. You gave a small wave that was reciprocated by two, John instead raising his hands and blowing you a big kiss. You went in and sure enough heard the car engine start mere moments later.
Your conversation with them was far from over and you knew it wouldn’t be easy to get it through to them that you were officially an adult now. But at the end of the day you were still glad to have been born into that dysfunctional family.
Because you knew that you’d always have them at your side, no matter what.
I'm gonna add a little twist, but its still cute nonetheless
Fic below the cut
Bonnie was instructed to wait outside by Y/n, left with the knowledge that she was supposedly just grabbing something really quick before she were to meet him outside again. His curiosity got the best of him, however, when she hadn't returned for a good twenty minutes. He pushed open the door lightly and poked his head into the Shelby home. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and no one appeared to be in the room, so he pursued his quest in finding Y/n.
"Y/n?" He made himself known as he looked around, deciding it was ultimately best to wait in the sitting room rather than snoop elsewhere. "Y/N, love, are you ready?"
He earned a reply, yet, not quite the one he was expecting.
"Mummy's busy."
Bonnie whipped his hear around, then down to meet the eyes of a small girl. "Well, whatever might your name be?"
"Elizabeth Shelby." She struggled only slightly to get the words out, her tiny voice chipper yet soft. "Do you know mummy?"
"...Is Y/N your mummy?" The girl nodded. "Then yes, I do know your mummy. She and I are supposed to go have dinner soon, but as you said, she's busy."
"You can play with me 'til mummy is no busy!" Bonnie chuckled and nodded, accepting the invitation of the small bundle of joy beaming up at him.
So they played, Ellie showing him her favorite books and toys, requesting that he read to her, then play, then read, and the cycle went on. Y/N took some more time, but it didn't matter to Bonnie, as time seemed to fly as he played with the mini-her. Pretty soon, he found himself in the arm chair across the fire, quite drowsy, with little Ellie sat in his lap, drooling away to Dreamland. He wanted to the same, but the only thing that kept him from doing so was knowing he had to wait for Y/N.
Just as he thought his droopy eyes would betray him, a door atop the staircase clicked open. "I'm so sorry for taking so long, I- Oh." Y/N paused, a smile slipping upon her face at the sight. "I see you've met Ellie."
Ship: Thomas Shelby x Reader
Characters: Thomas Shelby, Billy Kimber, Ada Shelby, Polly Shelby, Finn Shelby, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, mentions of Freddie Thorne
Warning(s): mentions of blood, war, and violence (obviously), maybe a slow burn?, forbidden romance, inner conflict, heartache, rebellion. Intended smut. In this chapter there is a bit of time skipping; only 3 times I believe.
A/N: Choice Bit of Calico was slang in the 1920s for a desirable woman. The prologue to this series can be found HERE and Chapter One can be found HERE. This is the first time I’ve written a fic in, like, a year. That also means I haven’t written since Helen McCrory passed away, so I was feeling EVERY feeling whilst putting my whole heart into this one. Enjoy!
Synopsis: You are the sibling of Billy Kimber. Living with him in London, you heard of nursing classes offered at a church in Birmingham near where you and your older brother were born. It was during World War I and you wanted to do something to help the soldiers from your country as well as the allied countries. Living in your childhood home until you were sent back to London to work at the Veteran’s Hospital, you never forgot about the firey brunette who wanted to do the same as you. Keeping in touch, you both wrote letters back and forth until one fateful day you find yourself back in Birmingham, bags in hand, to take care of an ailing family member. Who knew the moment you got off the train your whole life would change?
Laughs filled the parlor as you and Polly caught up, her face never in a scowl which was usually transfixed on her features with the three brothers back from war. You had assumed correctly that they were running amuck, causing Polly to hop back into her motherly role that she lightly retired though never fully rid herself of since Ada and Finn were both around. Speaking of Ada, Polly had told you of the rebellious phase the young woman has currently found herself in. “She thinks she is sneaking out swiftly, but I can hear the pads of her feet hit the wood! Does she think I’m daft?” The woman’s voice came out exasperated as her hands toyed at the rim of her teacup, her head leaning back against the molding of the chair she rested in. With your lips kissing the gold trimmed teacup as a pause, you took in Polly’s comments and connected the dots with the miniscule number of details that Ada had sprinkled in her notes to you.
“Well,” you pause as you place the cup down on its twin coaster, “maybe since her older brothers are back, she feels like she isn’t free to express her femininity and her freedom? I can relate to her struggle since I too have my older brother always breathing down my neck.”
Tilting your head, you tried to play the devil’s advocate. That was a dangerous game to play within the Shelby household, but Polly didn’t seem to mind. However, the brothers who were being mentioned were lurking around the corner as not to be spotted. With a cigarette pursed between his lips, the blue eyed man clenched his jaw before pressing his head back against the wall he rested upon. Something about you set all of his alarms off, the anxiety filling his stomach as he felt kicks and warmth within it. The sensation wasn’t new but it hadn’t been felt in a while and, like a bloodhound hunting for its owner, Thomas was going to sniff you out.
“Yes I know, darling, but Christ. You would think she would at least confide in me since I struggled the same as her. Whatever she might be doing, this family has a target on its back and we need her to be safe.” An earnestly spoken Polly leaned forward and placed her warm hand on your knee with a soft smile. You understood that look. The look of familial love, the type you longed for ever since Billy stopped seeing you as his kid sister but rather another thing in his life to worry about like you were a task. “But she will be grateful you’re here. Maybe then she won’t pussyfoot around and actually help with the family. Speaking of,” rising from her chair, the woman brushed her skirt out before turning to the doors of the parlor, “I think we owe you an explanation of what is going on. You were probably confused by the eyes on you as you came to the house.”
Before you could respond, the door that you and Polly stood by swung open. A scowling Thomas stood in the doorway, steam practically coming out of his ears as his eyes darted between you and his aunt. “Pol, what do you think you’re doin’? Not introducin’ Y/N to what I think you’re about to head to.” His voice was gruff and dark, filled with warning which would’ve sent you into a spree of apologies if he was your brother talking to you. “That’s strictly family business. That’s up to me an’ I don’t feel like she can be trusted to know that.”
Confusion and a bit of anger overtook you as you furrowed your brows at the older male whom towered over you, how dare he talk to Polly like that. Before his aunt could even muster a reply, you stepped forward and crossed your arms over your chest in defense. “Thomas, is it?” A sickly sweet tone dripped from your lips, the tone Polly knew all to well. It was the one you would use on the men at The Garrison when they tried to insinuate that only whores show up alone there. The tone that she admired in you, it signified your will to pull apart the stigma around women being seen as mere objects for men and weak minded. She knew by this point she couldn’t stop you which resulted in her raising her brows to her nephew and pursing her lips. The telltale Polly face that signified to the man that he fucked up royally.
“Well, Thomas. When you and your brothers were away serving in the war, which I am grateful for seeing as we are no longer missing your lovely intelligence from this society, I helped Polly out with making sure everything was in order like I stated before. I even made sure to dress you and your brother’s beds just incase you were sent home that day. I helped Ada with the ever-present anxiety that your absence caused. I know bringing this up is not fair to you or your brothers but with me back in Small Heath, I will be around here more often so you must get used to my lovely presence. One that, for no reason in particular, you seem to despise though I just met you all of an hour ago.” Pressing your hands into the material of your dress, you rid yourself of any anxiety and frustration you had held before letting go of the breath you held. “I would like to know why men with flat caps stared at me with venom and lust as I walked up your front steps and why your flat caps,” pointing to the hats with shiny tips at the lip that hung on pegs in the hallway, “look just like the ones I saw as I walked over from my flat to yours.”
Thomas, though never one to show emotion through his facial expressions, seemed visibly shocked. Observant, he noted of you, taking your words into account as he pursed his lips just like Polly did moments before. His blue orbs gazed between his aunt and you once more before raising his brows at Poly as if to say ‘well go on and tell her then.’ Though reluctantly, the man knew that if Polly vetted for you, you were someone who was loyal enough to let into their lives though he wasn’t fond of newcomers. Especially ones that were already so close to his family.
With a hand on your shoulder, Polly explained to you the reason of the men with razors in the brim of their caps and the protection around their house. The air seemed to grow tense in the house as she and her nephews guided you to the hidden room of their house. The bidding room. Holy. Shit. Monaghan Boy. “So you do horse racing as well?” Tilting your head inquisitively, you look between Polly and the business in front of you. Of course Polly knew who your brother was as did Ada. That was something you couldn’t hide, especially over 4 years of knowing the pair. With a knowing glace, you knew Polly would keep your family name a secret as to not cause your head possibly being blown off by the hot-tempered men who acted on impulsivity. “Interesting. I don’t have much knowledge of the topic,” that wasn’t a lie. You wanted nothing to do with what your brother did seeing as he ran a gang that has caused more than one death scare, “but if you ever need help, I’m quite good at arithmetic. Got all exemplarities on my exams all my life in the topic.” That was your olive branch and Arthur noticed it from across the room, his eyes now focusing on the small group as he stood.
“Pol, don’t we need another accountant to help out with our expenses? Maybe this lass can help out? I mean you say she’s part o’ the family, why not make ‘er one?” Arthur’s words shock seemingly everyone in the room, eyes darting between eyes, John sitting in the back corner with a smirk as he rolled his toothpick between his teeth. Thomas looked absolutely livid at the idea, going to speak with a wild look in his eyes before being cut off by a shrill gasp. Ada.
“OH MY LORD!” The sweet girl that you knew all those years ago came rushing towards you, her bag and fur flung to the ground as she wrapped her long, pale arms around your figure. “Y/N You’re here?! Are you visiting? Why didn’t you tell me?” Slapping your arm playfully, the brunette then took count of the situation. The bidding room, you and Polly, Thomas, Arthur, and John. Oh god. “What did you lot do?! Did you fuck with the Kimbers?!” The joy you felt disintegrated as eyes snapped to you.
Been fighting with my sheets
And nearly crying in my sleep
Arthur stared at the ceiling, his hair falling into his face, sticking to his sweat-sodden forehead as he tossed and turned. You lay beside him, sleeping soundly, your chest rising and falling with each gently breath as you let out the occasional soft noise in your slumber.
Yes, I'm battling that well-taught gripe
The most restraining type
Groaning, he pushed his hair out of his face, squeezing his eyes shut in a bleak attempt at forcing himself to sleep. But the remnants of your perfume wafted up to his nostrils as you turned onto your side, facing him as you wriggled closer to him, your sleeping form attracted like a moth to flame to the heat radiating from his body.
You should have racing stripes
If you weren't asleep, Arthur would've assumed you were practically torturing him on purpose, but he knew from your gentle snores that you were definitely asleep.
Letting out a shaking breath, Arthur cast his mind back to the vague dream that had gotten him so worked up in the first place...
The way you keep me in pursuit
Sharpen the heel of your boot
And you press it to my chest and you make me wheeze
In his dream, you had been dressed up to the nines in a daring combination of black leather and red lace, complicated straps twisting this way and that over your breasts, thighs, hips... your chest had been heaving, the globes of your breasts spilling out from the red lace trim of your outfit as you panted at the feeling of Arthur rubbing his cock against your clothed cunt...
Then to my knees you do promote me
Arthur had awoken to find himself rutting against the mattress like he had done as a randy teenager, and he almost sobbed at how close he was. Normally, he wouldn't have minded finishing there and then, but he hadn't had you in ages thanks to business, and he wanted the first release he had to be deep inside you.
I'm pinned down by the dark
A-N-I-M-A-L
"Arthur... why're you still up?" you mumbled, lifting your head slightly from his chest. Gulping, Arthur looked down at you, eyes adjusting to the darkness and just about making out your sleepy eyes and messy hair.
"YN... love... bloody 'ell," he grunted, tugging you closer. "Need you, darlin'... if you'll have me, fuck..." he breathed, words all jumbled up.
"Oh, Arthur," you sighed, already feeling your lower belly clench in arousal. "Of course I'll have you," Groaning, Arthur tugged you on top of him and you gasped as you brushed against his straining erection. "Christ, Arthur, you're so hard..." you moaned, voice still a little raspy from sleep.
"I know," Arthur said, and together you managed to tug and shift your underwear, albeit clumsily in the darkness.
Makes my head pirouette
More than I won't be willing to confess
D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S
whimpering softly as you slid down onto his cock, sheathing yourself fully and clenching around his hardened length. Arthur hissed, eyes rolling and head tipped back as he felt your warmth, your wetness, your tightness wrap around him, squeezing him in the most delicious way. "Fuck... good girl, YN, ride my cock," he grunted, teeth gritting as your nails scraped down his chest as you tried to find something to grip onto. "That's it, hold onto my shoulders..." you whined, nodding as you began to roll your hips in a figure-of-eight, eyes screwed shot as you felt him stimulating your sensitive depths.
The light it fidgets through
The thoughts'll soon revert to you
About as bashful as a tribal dance
The first and final chance
And cause the audience
Of frighteners and fiends
Divided up into two teams
When the acrobat fell off the beam
She broke everyone's hearts
Once fully adjusted, you abandoned your gentle grinding motion, opting for a shallow bounce. Arthur licked his lips, watching as you tossed aside your nightshirt, baring your breasts to him. Illuminated by the moonlight, he could see every dip and curve, every ridge and edge and he grunted, reaching his large hands up to palm at your breasts, squeezing at your nipples, pushing your breasts together and kneading at the soft flesh, plucking louder and louder groans out of you as your hips began to stutter.
I'm pinned down by the dark
A-N-I-M-A-L
Makes my head pirouette
More than i would be willing to confess
D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S
D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S
The most unsuitable pet
It's been long enough now so let's
Make a mess, lioness
I'm pinned down by the dark
I'm pinned down by the dark, oh
D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S
A-N-I-M-A-L
D-A-N-G-E-R-O-U-S
A-N-I-M-A-L
Arthur grunted, suddenly grasping you by the thighs. You squealed as he flipped you over so that he was on top, but you had little time to complain as he flung your legs up towards your chest and began pounding into you, hair falling into his face and eyes flashing with a delicious mixture of passion and desperation. He let your legs go and you suppressed a cry into your own hand as your other arm wrapped around his neck, your legs around his waist, allowing him to hit deeper and deeper. His name fell like a muddled chant from your lips, increasing in pitch and volume until Arthur closed his mouth over yours, enveloping your lips in a searing kiss. "You'll wake the whole of bloody Birmingham, love," he teased, though his voice was strained.
"Arthur, please," you whimpered against his mouth and he groaned at your plea, pressing his forehead against yours.
"Come for me, YN," he rasped, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he too neared his end. With a broken cry, you came hard, the spasming of your channel dragging Arthur over the edge too. You whimpered as you felt your inner wall get coated with his release. Gasping for air, Arthur pulled out and rolled off you, pulling you close to his chest as you shuddered. "Fuck..." he groaned. "You're too good to me, YN,"
You smiled softly, nuzzling into his chest. "Hmm... you too," you mumbled sleepily. "Now go to sleep, you. Round two in the morning- if you're lucky,"
Trigger Warning(s): Mention Of Death, Cursing, Violence
Pairing: (Later on) Thomas Shelby x Red (Female Reader)
Red heard of him through spies carrying information about his past, his relations to certain people like Elizabeth Gray and Grace Burges. Before the meeting with Thomas Shelby could start a woman in her thirties asked to meet with Red. She didn't state anything other than the fact it was important they talked.
"I want to know who you are" Polly asked her, crossing her arms sitting across from her.
"Is there anything particular that you wanted to know about?" Red asked her raising an eyebrow, "I'm also curious as to know why you want to know"
"I know about the spies you have paid to watch us,"
"To watch, gather information and to compile a file on each one of you. I'm not here to kill you, I'm here to gather information to know the best way to approach you." She took a long sip of her tea, "I'm Red by the way, it's nice to meet you"
"Nice to meet you Red, I'm Polly Gray"
"Is it Miss or Mrs. Gray?" Red asked her wanting to remain as polite yet direct as possible.
"Mrs. Gray would be preferred"
"Well Mrs. Gray, my employer and I had the idea that we would like to see if we could come to an agreement to share information. Kind of like an alliance of sorts."
"That's why you paid 25 pounds to deliver those letters straight to him"
"I thought it would be a great idea at the time. Not that I had any strict orders in how to get them to him anyway."
"I'll make sure he'll know what you're up to."
"You make it sound nefarious Mrs. Gray."
Red spoke to Mrs. Gray for far longer than she anticipated. She didn't realize how much time had passed until it was time for her to head home.
"Thank you for the tea Mrs. Gray. I had a nice time talking to you."
The conversation with Polly Gray would be something worth remembering, as it is something that went on repeat as Red walked home that night. Galina's plan would go off without a hitch or scratch or bump that night.
While Red spoke to Polly, Galina was speaking to Thomas and during that time. Galina agreed to let Thomas speak to Red. Red being the internally important piece of the puzzle that "needed" to be "figured out".
The day came around sooner than Red would have liked, as a message from her boss, Galina came in saying she needed to be down at the Garrison at Eleven Thirty that morning.
"One day you won't have to knock on the window so damn loudly." She said to the raven, "One day I might give you a name too"
This raven started following Red while she stayed in Norway on her assignment there and continued to follow her ever since. Until recently that one raven became two.
"You found a friend and yet you both decided to stay with me. I hope you two know what you signed up for."
Red walked over to the Garrison thinking "I hope those birds aren't following me, I wouldn't want to be the poor bastard that sees that today."
"I almost thought you wouldn't show up" Thomas Shelby said to her making Red jump a little.
"Give me more notice next time" is what she thought but didn't say aloud. "You said to Galina that it was important. So here I am, I'm Red by the way."
"I know, your boss told me already."
"Well, then you should also know why we're here then."
"I want you to be present in the meetings with your boss from now on."
"Before you get too far ahead, I want you to know that we have done our research ahead of time and any new information will be passed onto you as soon as possible. I have an archive outside of city limits that has the information that you might want now or in the future."
"Anything else before I continue?"
"Other than that, you're protected by us from this point forward I'll my people here, there and almost everywhere your people are. Always good have backup when you need it, Mr. Shelby." Red smirked, "that's all I have to say about it"
"Why help us?"
"I'm sucker for helping people, even cute ones like you."
Red left that meeting with Thomas being more confused than he was before it started. She was direct in the compliment to him, thinking "Well, I'm right, he's cute as fuck and I want him to know it too"
