The Platform Part 7 (Tommy Shelby x Reader)
Hi there! Thank you all for taking the time to read this little story. I love reading all your sweet comments! They make my day! I'm so sorry about the huge delay. I've been at uni which has sapped my entire soul and ability to have hobbies. This is the next part so I hope you all enjoy reading it. I'll try and post the next part in the next few days! Also I've tried to tag everyone who wanted to be tagged but I might have missed someone so just let me know! :)
Warnings: Bit of blood but nothing too crazy and some light smut
Part 7
(y/n) had been right; the winter was harsh. The wind was unforgiving. It cut her cheeks on her walks to work, and it froze her nose and made her bones ache when she was in bed. There were snow flurries that made her shiver and freezing rain that chilled her permanently; that not even a hot bath could solve.
In the dead of winter, her mother died. (y/n) got the call at work. She took two days off. One to organize the funeral and the other to attend it. Her mother had no friends, no remaining family. (y/n) buried her out in the marshlands alone and then it was over and done with. She felt nothing and she was ashamed. (y/n) remembered when she was younger how kind her mother was, but she had changed. The war had twisted her. The fear she had felt for both her kids had altered her. In the end, she wasn’t the same person. (y/n) didn’t even cry; instead, she went back to work.
She had handed off the Thursday deliveries to Evelyn, she was ecstatic. (y/n) had been worried that there would be some backlash, that Thomas would storm into the building and demand that she do her job, but it never came. She didn’t write anymore horse related articles. When Mr. Beavers asked about them, she just said that she assumed Mr. Shelby would contact them if he wanted anymore. But he never did.
In fact, she didn’t see him for weeks. And she was glad; she needed the distance. But there was also a part of her that was disappointed, and she hated that. She wished she was stronger, that she could just move on. But she was weak; she wanted somebody who wanted her. She wanted somebody to hold her and kiss her. But the truth was not just somebody…she was very weak because she wanted him, Thomas.
The knock came in the dead of night. It was a particularly cold one and (y/n) had carefully cocooned herself in several blankets. It took her a full five minutes to untangle herself. She wrapped her nightgown around herself and carefully walked down the hall to her front door. Her bare feet beginning to ache from the chilled wooden floors. Another knock against the door.
“Who is it?” She called out.
“Me.” And she knew who it was. She moved forward and opened the door a crack. He was leaning heavily against the door frame. His hair was skewed and something black was dripping down the side of his face.
“Is that blood?”
“Are you going to let me in, then?” But he was already pushing her aside.
“Here, sit here. Let me get something for the cut.” She pushed him into one of the kitchen chairs and ran to the bathroom for her bandages. When she came back, he was already beginning to unbutton his shirt. His jacket was discarded on one of the chairs. It looked as if he had foregone his vest for the day. (y/n) bustled over and took over unbuttoning the rest and pulling the shirt to the side to see a cut on the left of his rib cage.
She leaned forward to have a better look, “This isn’t that deep so no stitches.”
(y/n) disinfected it, ignoring the slight hiss from Thomas. Then she cleaned and patched it up. She grabbed a rag and cleaned off the blood from the rest of his torso. And she ignored the rippling muscles beneath his milky skin. Her eyes dutifully avoiding the tattoo above his heart and the smattering of hair at the base of his throat because those weren’t for her.
“You were a nurse.” His rough voice pulled (y/n) from her focus.
She didn’t respond and instead had a look at the cut on the side of his temple.
“During the war.” He continued, his voice rumbled through her empty flat, filled the gaping corners.
She replied with disinfectant and felt gratified when he jerked in the chair.
“Are you asking or telling?” She finally spoke after she finished rubbing away the blood from the side of his face.
When she looked into his eyes, she found them ready for her, welcoming her own.
“Askin’.”
“I was but I guess Mrs. Chestisen already told you.” The name soured (y/n)’s mouth and brought back the humiliation of the balcony, the anger she felt in front of the hotel.
Thomas swallowed and averted his gaze to something behind her. She carefully placed a small bandage over his cut.
“Finished.” She gathered up the supplies, but he took her wrist, turned her back to him so she was forced to look down at him and she did see the guilt, she could see the regret written in his eyes.
“(y/n), let me explain.” She pulled her arm out of his hand and turned away to put away the extra bandages leaving him in the kitchen. When she came back, he was standing, leaning against the counter, shirt open, hair tousled, and looking drained. She leaned against the opposite counter and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling both cold and exposed in her dressing gown. Thomas looked up at her as she came in and they both stood there in silence, watching each other. The loneliness of her flat pushed in on them.
“Why did you come here?” (y/n) asked when she realized Thomas wasn’t going to break. He was too stubborn.
He sighed, his chest caving in visibly now with his shirt open and he dropped his head.
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” He hissed at her, eyes alight and pinning her against the counter with their force.
He shook his head and carded a finger through his hair, “I was bleedin’ out. I was bleedin’, and I looked down at my chest and saw the blackness of it. I came here. I just came here.”
He threw his hands up in frustration, showing more emotion than she had ever seen from him, “And I though’ of you.” He swallowed, “I though’ of you, is all.” He whispered, eyes falling away to find some purchase on the kitchen table.
(y/n) was at a loss for what to do. She didn’t understand him. There was a part of her that was still frozen over from the incident at the party but another part of her was beginning to thaw. She wanted an explanation for that night because a small corner in her mind wanted to believe that it was a misunderstanding. That Thomas wouldn’t have done something like that, not to her.
“Explain to me,” And he turned to look at her as she spoke, jaw clenching, eyes shimmering under the dull kitchen light, “what happened that night.”
Thomas swallowed and swiped a hand over his eyes, “I knew Mrs. Chestisen might have known of you. She mentioned her son before. Your brother came up and I made the connection, same last name. I didn’t know she blamed you for what happened. I thought that you might have been happy to see her because…she might have known something about your brother.” His chest tightened as he let out another breath.
“I didn’t know that she would react like that. I didn’t know, (y/n).” He tapered off.
(y/n) rubbed up and down her arms trying to bring some warmth to herself, “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright, I believe you.”
Thomas exhaled and (y/n) subtly watched his abdomen contract, how the firm muscles rippled. He was distracting. She wished he would button up the shirt.
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“It wasn’t much of a surprise; she had been sick for a while.”
“Will you leave?” His eyebrows raised in question, his hands gripping the counter behind him.
“Leave?”
“Small Heath.”
(y/n) tugged her robe tighter around her, “Should I?”
And there was an unspoken question there. Should she bother staying for him. But she needed some kind of sign, a signal, or a hint that she wasn’t just delusional. That there was something meaningful between them.
“Where would you go?” His voice deep from emotion.
(y/n) shrugged and walked forward slightly to tidy up her kitchen table. She collected a few stray oranges and piled them all into the fruit bowl. With her movements her gown came slightly undone revealing a brief glimpse of her soft night dress, but she quickly covered herself up and glanced over at Thomas but from the darkness that slipped into his eyes he must have seen something of her nightwear. And whatever he saw, it drew him forward. The back of her thighs hit the wooden table as he neared her.
“Anywhere.” She whispered out between them. He reached forward to tug at her dressing gown, and it slipped open more fully, and his eyes swallowed her figure. Her night dress was a warm cream, but it did nothing to hide the shape, the gesture, the detail of herself and Thomas seemed to be appreciating that, deeply.
“I could go to London.” (y/n) heard the breathiness of her own voice and Thomas’s eyes snapped up to her lips but he did the opposite of what she expected. Instead of leaning forward he dropped to his knees.
“What are you doing?” Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly. Thomas looked up at her as his hand wrapped around her ankle. Then his hand began to move. Soft, light, teasing he dragged his hand up her calf and he leaned down to place a kiss on her shin. He pulled her leg forward to place another warm kiss on the top of her knee. Then another, another until he reached the hem of her dress. He looked up at her then. He didn’t ask but he looked and drew his hand up to push her dress further up, revealing the fullness of her thigh. Another kiss, another. And she felt herself react, the wetness between her thighs making itself known. She wondered if he could see it through the sheerness of her dress. He teased his lips over her skin, drawing patterns, and swiping his tongue out and it drove her crazy, made her breathless.
She grasped the edges of the table. He made her mind melt, his continuous movements. She found it hard to form any thoughts, let alone words, “You’re hurt, Thomas.” That was the best she could come up with.
“Don’t feel hurt.” He mumbled out against her skin. He moved further up, nudging the last of her dress up with his nose as placed more open mouth kisses. He had reached the apex of her thigh and if he just turned his head and leaned forward a breath, he would be right where she needed him. And her heart felt as if it was making a run for it as he did just that. He was so close. She could feel his breath against her core, and she knew there was no way that he couldn’t tell how wet she was. She could feel it dripping past her lips. And the hitch in his breath and slight rumble from his chest hinted that he could see it. He took one lick, a deep one that teased past her folds and her hips jerked at the sudden sensation.
Suddenly she gained some sentience and realized that this wouldn’t solve anything. Did she want this? Grab his hair and pull him forwards to devour her? Yes. Yes, she did. But he was bleeding out moments ago, he had hurt her before, humiliated her even if it was a mistake, and it was the middle of the night. It was happening to fast. So, it took all her effort to push him away and drag him back up to his feet. He was caught off guard, a bit dazed, his eyes wide with surprise and his lips just glistening from her wetness.
“What’s wrong?” His hands found her waist and she realized she had missed that feeling, the weight of them around her.
She shook her head, her hands gripping his biceps, to ground herself, “This won’t help anything. It’ll just make it more complicated.”
He looked at her. That indifferent, shuttered look began to fall over his face, “No, no Thomas don’t shut down. I’m just saying that I need to think. That I need to slow down. I don’t want to just be some fantasy of a memory fulfilled.”
He pulled her too him and leaned down to place a soft, feather kiss on her lips. She could just taste the hint of herself on him and a surge of desire pulsed through her, but she needed to be strong.
“You’re not a fantasy. You’re real. I don’t want you to regret it.” Her mouth twisted at his choice of words as she remembered what she had told him after the party. How she had regrated the platform, the balcony, the kisses, the moments, all of it. She turned away from him, releasing herself from his arms.
“Button up, it’s cold outside.” She grabbed his jacket from one of the kitchen chairs and brushed it off before holding it to him. He was silent in his acceptance. She walked him to the door and watched as he walked down the front steps before turning around and looking up at her. (y/n) shivered against the winter air.
He cleared his throat, “You’re not leaving then?”
(y/n) shrugged, “I don’t know. That’s why I don’t want to…to start anything that won’t be finished.”
Thomas looked down at his feet. He looked young in this moment of vulnerability. He looked very close to the Thomas she had been with on the platform.
His mouth twitched as if trying to fight against his own words, “Will you do the deliveries again?”
“Yes.” She whispered, her breath clouding in the air.
Part 6 ---- Part 8 (Coming soon...)
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