peaky blinders imagines

second chances; tommy shelby

It wasn't often Tommy Shelby was nervous. He possessed more money than most men could dream about, ruled over most of England's metropolises, and caused common people to flinch at the mention of his surname.
Women, however, had recently become beyond him.
He'd first noticed you three months before he ever spoke to you. You caught eyes from across the busy street separating the Garrison from the secretary's office where you worked, giving him a small smile before disappearing into the building.
You didn't know it, but he was enamored immediately, grilling the Blinder who lived in the same building as you about your life and your interests, but he couldn't bring himself to speak to you.
It hadn't been the same since Grace died.
He hadn't been the same since Grace died.
He'd known he'd move on one day, that it would be what she would want him to do, but he couldn't charm women the way he used to.
Three times he walked across the street to your office and raised his fist to knock on the door, and three times he froze in fear and left, convinced that the widower in him simply did not understand what made women tick anymore.
His fascination with you began in May, and it wasn't till August that there was a brisk knock on the door of your office.
He smiled at you, but it was the blue fire in his eyes that caught your attention, and you had to shake yourself back to reality to hear him when he asked you to attend a lavish gala in London with him.
You'd accepted, albeit hesitantly, and your wariness only grew when the next day he sent round a Peaky Boy with six hundred pounds and a note in hand.
Buy yourself something nice.
-TS
So you'd taken some of the girls from the office out to shop with you, all of them squealing with excitement over helping you find a dress to impress a man who had the city in his fist.
It was nice, then, spending time with your friends, but it was another thing to be all alone, regarding yourself in the mirror with a critical eye.
You smoothed down the front of your dresss every few seconds, like a nervous tick, and frowned at yourself in the mirror critically.
Your nerves got the better of you and you shook your head at your reflection.
It was half an hour until eight, when he told you he would come pick you up in his car (a Bugatti, one of the more observant girls in the office had told you), and whisk you away to London for the evening.
Unceremoniously flopping down on your desk chair, you sighed and couldn't help but feel that you were making a mistake. You knew who the Shelbys were and what they did, and the cynic in you mocked the decision to spend an evening with one of them, as if you weren't knowingly putting your life in danger.
It was too late to call it off, though, because the same curt knock that had begun all of this sounded at your door, and it was time to face the music.
He was holding his cap in his hands when you opened the door, and met your eyes with a warm, genuine smile.
"Are you nervous?" He asked, seemingly reading your mind.
You nodded, too intimidated to speak.
"Don't be. You look...lovely. Truly."
He held out a hand to you and you took it, letting him pull you close and usher you out to the car.
If you didn't know better, you'd say he was blushing, running the back of his hand down your arm seemingly unconsciously.
What you didn't know-couldn't know-was that he was feeling things he hadn't felt since the night he watched his wife die.
Grace was with him always, of that much he was confident.
But she'd like you, he thought, giving you a faint smile as you leaned into his shoulder. At the very least, she'd be happy you were giving him a chance to be happy again.