peaky blinders imagines

gfy; tommy shelby

Like a fool, you had allowed yourself to get excited about the night you had planned. Tommy had no evening work to do, so he wanted to drive into London and spend some time at his nightclub with you.
He'd gone so far as to send a peaky boy to your door with a large box containing the most expensive dress you'd ever seen.
He'd told you to be waiting for him at eight.
He'd sworn up and down he'd be there, and brushed off any attempts on your end to confirm he was really going to spend an entire evening with you.
You were typically far too stubborn to admit to being wrong, but Christ, you thought to yourself as you stared unblinkingly into the fire, you'd never been more wrong about a man in your life.
He was rich, he was a romantic, and he could make you believe whatever he wanted. Tommy made you feel like you were on fire and he was the only person on Earth who could douse the flames.
Trying to put your off-again lover out of your brain, you surveyed the room, smiling vaguely at the portrait of his son-who saw you more than he saw his father- and observing the bright and colorful candles that adorned the shelf above the fireplace.
The ticking of the brass clock atop the mantle, which had apparently been passed down through the Shelby family for three generations, seemed to be keeping time in a mocking tone.
Tick, tock.
He was meant to be here three hours ago.
Tick, tock.
He's done this before.
Tick, tock.
Maybe if his eyes weren't so blue you'd snap back to reality and realize he'll do it again.
You shook your head and stop up from where you were perched on the edge of a plush armchair in Tommy's sitting room. Shrugging your coat on, you marched as dignified as possible to the doorway, stepping out into the stifling air of a Birmingham evening.
The walk to your home wasn't long, no more than eight blocks, but you managed to fit half a year's worth of reflecting into the time it took to navigate the streets. It'd been six months that you'd been 'involved' with Thomas Shelby, and he had taken every care and precaution to prove just how little you meant to him.
He'd stranded you at expensive restaurants more often than you could count, he'd fallen into the arms of every woman that remotely resembled his late wife, and you'd been subjected to endless judgement at the hands of the wives of his brothers, who were fully aware he was not ever faithful to you.
You slammed your front door harder than was necessary, flicking on the lights and throwing your purse somewhere into your kitchen.
Sleep was futile and fitful that night, as you tried to ignore the ice-chipped eyes that flashed into your vision every time you closed your eyes.
You awoke earlier than usual, splashing cold water over your cheeks and stumbling into your kitchen to find a fully dressed and alert Polly Gray sitting at your table, tipping back one of your rickety chairs.
"Sit," she said, indicating the seat parallel to hers. You sat warily, figuring it was safer not to ask how she'd gotten into your home.
"He doesn't feel bad," she said directly.
"What?" You asked weakly, barely awake and convincing yourself if you acted like you didn't know what she was talking about, she'd miraculously say something you wanted to hear.
"Tommy," she told you firmly. "He doesn't feel bad. I mentioned it to him this morning, asked if he knew there was a pretty girl waiting in his front room for hours, he didn't say a word. Shrugged."
You sighed and finally let yourself make eye contact with her.
"My well-being is not so important to your nephew."
"And it never will be, so leave him in your past."
You found yourself incapable of a response, grabbing the edge of the table with clenched, tense hands and staring at the burn marks seared into the wood, a reminder of your many culinary mishaps.
Polly reached across the table to grasp one of your hands, and as you looked at the ornate rings decorating her fingers, you made a weak attempt at the relaxing, sitting back in your seat and offering her an apologetic smile.
"I love that boy like I'm his mother, but he is a goddamn fool and I refuse to let you suffer because of it. Rumor around the Garrison is he'll be sending a man around with some obscenely expensive piece of jewelry as an apology. Send it back, and never look that man in the eyes again."
Having said her piece, Polly left your home abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over but being sure to close the front door gently.
She was right; not half an hour after you'd finished breakfast, an extremely embarrassed peaky boy made his presence know, brandishing a diamond necklace.
"Mr. Shelby sends his regards and apologies," he told you, trying his best to smile.
"Tell him he can keep his regards and his fucking Sierra Leone diamonds," you spit. "Tell him I am well and fully done."
You slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, sighing heavily. Your outburst felt freeing yet damning, and you'd never been so conflicted over a rush of adrenaline before.
The next week and a half was one of the most peculiar you'd ever lived through, as every peaky capped man in the city actively avoided eye contact with you, and women tittered behind their hands as they strode by.
A new month began as you again inexplicably rose at dawn, and as you got dressed and ready for the day, you wondered if it was a sixth sense telling you when a Shelby was in your kitchen.
Tommy himself sat on the same chair his aunt had, hands clasped together and leaning ever so slightly forward, brandishing a warm smile when you walked in.
You were thoroughly taken aback but regulated your emotions as quickly as you could, returning the smile.
"Is there something you need?"
"No," he spat out quickly, before stumbling on his words; "Yes, well, I do need something but it is more of a whom."
"Care to enlighten me?"
"I need you."
The scoff that left you was more confrontational than you had ever felt in your life, but you had to admit it fascinated you to see Tommy slink back into his chair like a chastised child. He dug the heels of his hands into his closed eyelids, before sighing heavily and facing you again.
"Charlie's asked for you every single night. Think he cares for you more than he does for me."
The mention of his son threw you for a minor loop, memories of an always-cheerful boy squealing whenever you entered the room causing a pang in your chest.
"He doesn't- the boy's got maids but he hasn't got a mother."
"So it's for Charlie, then," you countered. "You don't need me, it's that your son misses me."
"No!" Tommy nearly yelled, slamming his hands down on the table. "Fuck, it's as if I've forgotten how to speak...I have learned only very recently that nothing I do will make my wife come back. And I have also learned that I am simultaneously benefitting strongly from and completely undeserving of your affections. I strongly believe I am a better man with you. Please give me the chance to prove that to you."
You regarded him for a long, silent moment as his hands weaved themselves together in a praying motion again.
"Alright," you said finally. He shot up halfway from his chair, arms partially outstretched in the beginnings of an embrace. You cut him off, hand in the center of his ribs, and continued.
"But if I ever have to spend another night wondering when you'll make time for me, you will have to learn to live without me."
He frantically pulled you into him, stuttering out half-apologies, and you nearly laughed as you remembered most of Birmingham lived in fear of the man groveling before you.