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all-mirth-no-matter · 2 years

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Time After Time | Chapter Five

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You report for your first day back in the Shelby household, but things aren’t what you expected.

Warning: language, drinking, smoking, the shelbys are wild, tommy is a soft boi

ao3 Link | Catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 5: Broken Crown

Well, touch my mouth and hold my tongue, I’ll never be your chosen one. I’ll be home, safe and tucked away. Well you can’t tempt me if I don’t see the day.

The pull on my flesh was just too strong. Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs. Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie. ‘Cause when I open my body I breathe in a lie.

And I will not speak of your sins. There was a way out for him. The mirror shows not, your values are all shot. But oh, my heart was flawed, I knew my weakness. So hold my hand, consign me not to darkness.

— Broken Crown, Mumford & Sons

Showers were another luxury you realized you’d taken advantage of in the 21st century. God did you miss showers. If you ever got back to your own time, you’d never take for granted the access to hot water on demand again.

After a few months of living this way, you’d begun to get used to some of these daily adjustments. But on mornings when you had to hurry, the reminder of how easy your life used to be was painfully difficult to ignore.

You had reason to rush this morning, though. After alternating between pacing in your apartment and lying awake in your bed, you’d finally managed to fall asleep around four in the morning. Enough to get a full hour of sleep before your alarm clock started to chime.

That’s when the rushing began. You felt the need to dress miles better than you normally did for your pub shifts, which meant putting in efforts to manage your hair and find something clean and professional to wear and did you still have that lipstick that Ada gave you —

And you felt ridiculous for it.

It’s not like you were even starting a new job. It was the job you’d been doing for over a month now and you knew exactly what you were in for: hours of sitting cross-legged in Polly and Ada’s kitchen with books spread across the table with your back and neck bent forward. By the end of those days, your hair was a mess, your eyes were tired, and your spine was in serious need of a bulldozer to straighten your back out.

Either way, you allotted yourself a double take in the mirror before you head out before the church bells rang, grabbing your own coat along with the one Tommy had left without the night before.

You hugged the black cloth as you made the short walk down Watery Lane to the betting shop, your heartbeat rising the closer you got.

Why were you so nervous? This was ridiculous — you were so stupid.

But you knew why — you weren’t stupid.

Your skin was still buzzing from the way he’d lifted his hand to your face and ran his thumb across your cheek, his pointer finger tracing your jaw line as his hand traveled down to your chin. You had tried to speak, you think you even managed to breathe out a pathetic “what?” before his thumb lifted slightly to catch the bottom of your lip. For a moment you were certain that he was going to close the gap between your breath when the air between you became a blur. But you watched his tongue dart out to lick his own lips before his eyes snapped back up to yours, his wrist flexing away from your skin like it’d burned him.

He dropped his hand, then his head, before he retreated from your doorstep with a “see you in the morning” goodbye as if he hadn’t just dropped the bomb he had on you.

Thomas Shelby had dreamed about you.

In France.

Months ago.

He hadn’t even given you the chance to respond, to ask any further questions of clarity. Just touched your face and gave you that look that made you forget yourself — and then left.

That bastard.

You took a deep breath in attempt to steady your heart, shaking your head to knock some sense into you before knocking on the door.

“Oi, who the fuck is it?” You heard an unknown man’s voice shout from the other side of the door.

“How should I know?!” This time you recognized Ada’s voice, a smile tugging at your cheeks. “Open the bloody thing yourself and find out!”

You heard footsteps growing louder before the wood was flung open and a man stood in the doorway.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man had a thick mustache with hair in the same undercut as Tommy’s, but styled slightly different. His hair was lighter, longer, and thinner, and styled with some grease, combed toward the back of his head. Just glancing at him: his weathered skin, sharp chin, and worried brow, you’d assume he was closer to two decades older than you. But his eyes gave away his youth, and you guessed he was just a handful of years older than Tommy. He stood with his back straight in the doorframe, jaw clenched and head held high as he looked down at you — he reminded you of every bouncer you’d ever handed a fake ID to.

You suspected this was Arthur, the oldest of the Shelby siblings. Before you could answer, a shriek came from behind the man in front of you. Ada emerged, pushing him aside and pulling you into the house before giving you a hug.

Despite your earlier nerves and trepidation, you melted into the hug and reciprocated. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed Ada’s kinship over the past few weeks.

“Ada, who the fuck is this?”

“Arthur, give it a fuckin’ rest, will ya?” Ada rolled her eyes, waving off her brother and confirming your guess. “This is Y/N”

“Ah, you’re the Y/N, eh?” another man walked into the room.

This one looked closer to your age, another similar hair cut as Tommy and Arthur, his hair shorter at the top than the other two, and his features were a little rounder, more boyish. John, you guessed again to yourself, noting that it wasn’t just his facial features that gave him an air of boyishness. He smirked and crossed his arms, his eyes looking you up and down without apology or shyness. He reminded you of some of the guys from your youth — cocky in an obvious, probably overcompensating, kind of way.

He smirked, “We’ve heard a lot about ya.”

“Shut up, John.” Ada rolled her eyes again. “Ignore ‘em, they’re just cranky because they have to be here so early.”

“‘s not right,” Arthur grumbled, grabbing the whiskey bottle from the mantle and pouring himself a drink. “Who even called this bloody meetin’ anyway? Pol?”

“Aye,” Polly’s voice came from around the corner as she entered the kitchen, tea kettle in her hands. “Now sit down, the lot of ya.”

And they did as she said, even if Arthur grunted between sips the entire time.

“What’s this about, Pol?” John asked, making himself comfortable on a bar stool, pulling out a toothpick and placing it between his teeth.

“We wait for Thomas,” Polly replied, pouring three cups of tea and passing one of them to you without giving you a second look.

“Screw Tommy,” Arthur gruffed, throwing back the remainder of his drink. “And if this is a family meetin’, what’s this broad doing here, eh?

“She’s our newest employee.”

Tommy’s deep voice turned everyone’s attention to the kitchen doorway, the man himself leaning against the frame, his eyes surveying the scene before landing on you.

God, your stupid heart and the way it made your breath hitch even the slightest at just the eye contact. It would be really helpful if you could remind your hormones that you weren’t a fucking teenager anymore and to get a grip.

You’d been in relationships before. Throughout high school you’d had crushes and boyfriends, you’d had your heart broken in ways only a teenager could understand. Then you’d gotten a little older, and had the more complex relationships that came with college life. Sex, commitment, betrayal — all things you were familiar with by this point in your life. Hell, you’d even been close to being engaged once when one particular long-term boyfriend after college had started talking about forever in a way that made your skin start to itch.

There had just always been that feeling that this wasn’t it in the past. Maybe it was commitment issues, maybe it was chemistry, maybe it was something outside of your control. But right now, with Tommy’s blue eyes peering at you, you couldn’t help but wonder…

Stupid, you shook your head. It was chemicals in your brain, you tried to reason. Bad boy syndrome — excitement of the unknown, of something new. That’s what this feeling was every time those damn orbs felt like they were piercing right through your soul.

You felt Polly rise from her seat next to you, causing you to turn your head away from Tommy. She moved to lean against the fireplace behind you out of your sight when Tommy began speaking again.

“If we agree to it, that is,” he added, tilting his head slightly as his eyes lifted back up toward his brothers. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. “You’ve already been informed of the ways Y/N has helped our family while we were in France. Polly has proposed that she continue her employment, and I agree. Do we have any objections?”

John and Arthur looked to each other before the former rose his hand. “She ain’t blood. We ‘ave a code. How can we trust her?”

“Come off it, John,” Ada groaned, rolling her eyes for the third time.

“Ada I’m serious,” he insisted, looking back toward you. “We know nothin’ about her.”

“I’ve already vetted her,” Tommy replied.

John scoffed, mumbling, “Yeah, I bet you ‘ave. How could she answer your questions with your cock in her mouth—“

“She is gonna smack you if you keep talking about her like she’s not sitting right here,” you finally spoke up, hating that everyone was talking about you like you weren’t sitting in the middle of the room.

John’s brow creased as he leaned forward in his chair, obviously angry at your outburst to him. You held his gaze with your own before his moved to look over your head. He cracked his neck before settling back down in his chair, avoiding your eyes for Tommy’s. You realized Polly must have made a face or something to make him back off, and your heart swelled once again at the gesture.

Ada poorly hid her chuckle in her fist next to you.

Still, you felt pretty blind sighted by this entire ordeal, and you were sure your expression showed it. Tommy’s eyes met yours before he went on, yours doing nothing to hide the daggers shooting his way for setting you up like this. He knew you’d be walking into this place thinking you had the job, not having to prove yourself again to the rest of his family.

Your eyes narrowed when you caught the muscle in his cheek flinch, the corner of his lip rising at your glare before he ran his hand across his face and went back to addressing his brothers.

“You boys have seen the work she’s already done for us. Y/N is educated and perceptive.”

Whether it was the surprise of seeing Tommy (nearly) smile at your death glare, or the vote of confidence, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks blush at the compliment.

“We can trust her.”

You began to smile.

“And if we cant, she understands the consequences.”

And immediately the smile dropped.

For a moment, you spotted pity in Ada’s eyes, like she’d seen exactly what those consequences have looked like. And she probably had.

Imagining someone like Ada or even Polly being that way was difficult for you. They were a little rough around the edges, sure — but at their core, you knew they both had huge hearts and believed in what was fair.

Tommy on the other hand — well, you were kind of conflicted. It was hard not to psychoanalyze him after your game. You tried not to, obviously a person was much deeper than their first (or second) impression. But he’d given you so much, you couldn’t help but begin to put the pieces together. He’d shown you a softness last night, one you believed wasn’t something he did very often or with the public. He made you feel safe, even when you’d been strangers in the cover of night — and he made you feel like you could be yourself for the first time since you’d awoken in this time.

On the other hand, the more logical side of your brain (the only part apparently that wasn’t affected by those damn hormones) knew that believing you knew everything about the man in front of you would be a massive miscalculation. You had to keep your wits about you no matter what, if you were to ever understand what you were doing here or how you could get back.

You didn’t know Tommy Shelby, you kept reminding yourself, no matter what the Twenty Questions game had revealed.

And you had no idea the kind of man he was.

He had warned you, sort of, that the Peaky Blinders’ business got gruesome. You pictured a scene of blades slicing flesh and beatings in the streets, of lifeless bodies tossed into the Cut…

You swallowed before rising your chin and nodding, your eyes meeting the two men appraising you.

“Shall we vote?” Polly finally said above you. “For?”

Two hands rose immediately before Tommy nodded. John exhaled through his nose before shaking his head, then raising his hand quickly.

“Arthur?” Polly promoted. “This family does everything out in the open. State your concern.”

The patriarch leaned back in his chair. “I don’t understand why we need ‘er. Things’ve been going just fine as is!”

“Things have not been going just fine as is, Arthur,” Tommy replied, his voice still calm despite the hint of condescension. “Even before France, we knew we were going to have to diversify our efforts and expand if we wanted to increase our income. The war put a pause on that and while Pol ran the business without a hitch in the meantime, the world is changing. We have to change with it.”

“It goes against our code—“

“They’re fuckin’ with our code!” Tommy finally shouted, his hand landing with a bang on the table, causing you to jump. “Just like those bastards on the lines! We ‘ave to take back what’s ours and make it so they can never shove us in the mud ever again! Eh?!”

The room didn’t respond. John’s gaze had fallen to the floor while Arthur’s glared at Tommy.

The middle brother exhaled, before straightening back up and running a hand across his face again.

“Y/N can help us take our first steps into the world of professionalism. Legitimacy. That, paired with drumming up new ways to earn money — they won’t be able to touch us.”

Arthur grabbed the bottle and took another gulp before huffing in defeat. “Fuckin— fine. Agreed.”

“Excellent,” Tommy replied dryly. “Y/N, with me.”

You rose up, still unable to find your voice through the whole charade, and followed Tommy through the door.

“She willin’ to whore for all of us, then?” Arthur yelled from the other room.

Your feet rounded in their step and an actual growl left your throat as you went to confront the older brother—

Tommy grabbed your shirt and pulled you back toward him before you could make it to the door. “Ignore him,” he insisted at your resistance, pulling you along with him as he continued to walk. “He’s just a sore loser.”

“He could have voted no, then,” you replied, crossing your arms as you shrugged out of his grasp, following Tommy on your own again.

“It would ‘ave been the stupid vote, and he knows it. He doesn’t like change, just needs some time to get used to ya.”

You followed him into one of the offices of the empty betting den and stood in the doorway as he grabbed a couple books.

“You can start with these. Catch up on what you missed starting with the oldest and work your way to today—“

“Why did you imply last night that I had the job if I didn’t actually have it?” you asked when your brain finally got a moment to breathe.

Tommy exhaled as he looked back up toward you, obviously exhausted already with having to explain his actions.

“That could technically qualify as a lie and we had a sacred handshake,” you added, his brow rising at the implication. You shrugged, “Was it just to catch me off guard? See how I’d react in the lions’ den.”

He hummed in amusement, moving to stand back in front of you. “I always honor my handshakes. I knew the vote was already three to two going in. They knew this was comin’, we just needed the formality of the family vote to sanctify.”

A reluctant breath left your nose as you considered his point.

“You didn’t have to,” he nodded down to the coat in your hands.

Without even giving it a second thought since you walked into the house, you realized you’d been clutching the article like a security blanket. “Oh, you forgot it last night.”

“Didn’t forget,” his voice grew soft again as he took another step forward. “Winter’s here, it’ll get even colder with the new year. You’ll need it.”

He peeled the coat from your hands, brushing against them softly as he did, before stepping away to hang it on the rack in the corner of the office.

You rose your brow. “Then why the excuse? You already knew where I lived, obviously.”

“It was late,” he shrugged. “You need to be more careful in this city, especially now. Here,” he pulled out a seat at the small table in the room.

“I thought you wanted to keep my employment a secret,” you commented, looking through the windows of the office. “Won’t people see me working in here?”

Tommy pulled out his cigarette case, grabbing a stick, and running it between his lips the same way he had the night before. “Shop’s closed, it’s a holy day.”

“Oh.”

He hummed, “We’ll have to figure out something more permanent for you in the future — Pol said she had you working in the kitchen with the doors shut.”

“Aye,” you felt the need to defend her for some reason. “No one ever bothered us.”

“Things have changed, I’d imagine, since the last time you were here. The place is busier than ever, we’ve had to extend our open hours, and we’ve had to increase security. I’d bet even a holy day wouldn’t keep ‘em away.”

His reasoning seemed sufficient enough for you to finally take the seat he’d pulled out for you. You took the opportunity to scan the room, “Who’s office is this, anyway?”

“Mine,” he replied without looking up as he walked over to the desk. You watched as he lifted some papers up to read, then lay them back down. “I’ll go grab your tea while you get settled.”

He left the room with his fists shoved in his pockets and his head downcast.

You took his absence as an opportunity to look around the office, curious what his workspace looked like. It was quite bare — a lamp, papers, and a bottle of something brown sat on the desk and a few pictures hung on the wall.

You recognized the portrait of King George V. It was weird to see a picture or hear reference of the monarch that wasn’t about the Queen. It was even crazier when you realized that Tommy would have been alive when Queen Victoria’s reign was still going on, and had since lived through one other monarch between her and who sat on the throne currently. Meanwhile, back in your time, Queen Elizabeth II had already outlasted Victoria’s rule and had been ruling your entire life.

Well, not your current life, you corrected.

You shook the thought away and continued to look around. It felt very… unused, you realized. Like the boys were still settling back into everything. You wondered how often Tommy had even sat in this seat since they got back.

On the desk laid the pocket watch you’d recognized from the night before, the name “Shelby” etched on the smooth side in cursive. There were papers similar to others you’d seen Polly write and review laid across the desk.

You moved to walk back to the table when something different caught your eye — the edge of a weathered photograph was peaking out from under a stack of papers. Your hand reached forward to pull it out, pausing for a moment when you realized how invasive you were being. But curiosity trumped politeness as you carefully pulled it out enough to see a face in the photograph.

A girl — a beautiful girl, with dark hair and full lips sat regally posed in the photo, a white hat on her head.

You realized then that you hadn’t even considered if Tommy were involved with another woman. You knew he wasn’t married, Ada would have mentioned it along with John — but it could have been completely possible that he was seeing someone, even now.

A part of you felt strangely betrayed by that thought. Tommy was not yours — you hadn’t even kissed — hell, you hadn’t even spent more than a handful of hours with him. So why did the thought of him and this woman in the photograph together leave you feeling more jealous than any other relationship you’d ever been in?

There was writing on the photograph in the corner still covered by the papers. You pulled it out further and saw the date first: 1914. There was more writing under, possibly a name that could identify the woman —

The sound of a throat clearing caused you to jump. “Shit—“ you gasped, your eyes meeting Tommy’s in the doorway of the office, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. “You scared me, again.”

He looked down at his desk, and you knew he could see the photo.

“I’m sorry,” you began. “I don’t have an excuse. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No,” he finally said, walking into the office and handing you your tea cup. He rounded the desk and dropped the book. “You shouldn’t have.”

He snatched the photo and shoved it into a drawer before sitting down at the desk and opening the book he’d brought in.

Taking that as your cue to get to work, you felt like a little kid who’d just got caught stealing candy as you sat back down at the table and began to work.

It was awkward at first, with your mind still lingering on whether Tommy was mad and who the woman was — but eventually you found yourself lost in the familiar books.

Even though it’d been a couple weeks, and Tommy hadn’t been exaggerating on how much more business they’d been doing since they all returned, you found again the rhythm that you’d nearly perfected and fell back into it with ease.

For the gambling business, it was mostly a matter of quality control. Half the time there weren’t even any issues with the books. The rest of the time it was just some mathematical human error or laziness of the notetakers part. And only a small percentage of the time was it actually something nefarious — someone thinking they could skim a little over time or using a pattern of betting that was trying to cheat the system.

The family books had always been a bit more simple. Either people were paying, or they weren’t.

But now you knew a little more. You understood the potential consequences that would happen to those who you reported. And while you had no love either way for the betting side of things (who were you to say how people spent the money they earned around here, especially since you’d come to realize that this, boxing, and soccer were some of the few forms of entertainment), you couldn’t help but ponder on the other side of the business.

You thought about people like Harry and Mrs. Tully who were paying the Shelbys for… what, protection? Protection against who? you couldn’t help but wonder. And to those who decided they no longer wished to give the Shelbys their money, what happened to them? To that list of names Tommy had showed you the night before?

You couldn’t help but wonder how Harry and Mrs. Tully had even began paying them for this service in the first place — did they go to the Shelbys for help, did they ask for this? Or was it something forced on them? A ‘pay us to keep you safe, or we’ll hurt you ourselves’ kind of business exchange?

Your eyes flickered up to look at Tommy for the first time in hours. He was in a similar position as you — back bent forward as he scribbled in that book of his. His hand thread through his hair as he contemplated something.

You pictured what a Tommy Shelby of your day would look like, sitting in an office surrounded by the luxuries of 2018. You imagined his hair grown out on the edges, hair parted to the side and combed over in a fancy quaff, a tailored suit in a rich navy blue color with a gaudy gold Rolex on his wrist and a cigar between his fingers.

Even like this, in 1918, Tommy still looked wealthier than most people in this town. He looked like a King amongst men — the King of Small Heath collecting taxes from the townsfolk for living there. You couldn’t help but wonder what contribution the Shelbys made in return — what did they do with the money? As far as you could see, it wasn’t going back into the community. At least taxes (sometimes) fixed roads.

“You got something to say?”

Tommy’s voice startled you, and you realized that you’d been staring at him as your thoughts consumed you. He was looking back at you, his brow rose in question. Part of you wondered if he could hear your thoughts — or if you’d accidentally said something accusatory out loud.

“Well?”

“No,” you answered quickly, before taking a deep breath. “I mean, yeah, but I feel it’s not my place to ask. I haven’t earned the right, I don’t think.”

Tommy exhaled as he leaned back in his chair, grabbing the bottle and filling a glass. “That means you drink, right?”

Your brain buffered for a second, realizing he was referring to your game from the previous night. “I believe we already reached our quota last night. Unless you’d care to start what you finished last night… or start again—“

“Does it have to be all or nothing?” He shrugged, ignoring your comment as he walked the glass over and took the seat across from you. “I quite liked the game. In my experience, it’s rare to ask a question and feel you get an honest answer.”

You felt the muscles in your cheek tighten at the notion of a 1910s gangster enjoying the game of Twenty Questions. You wondered how he’d feel about Never Have I Ever…

“She was someone from before France.”

Your eyes flickered back toward him, realizing that he’d mis-identified your musings. Not wanting to scare him off from sharing, you went with it, letting your curiosity win out once again.

“I don’t talk about her.”

You nodded, “Understood.”

Tommy cleared his throat, “You, uh — you never mentioned if you were… If there was anyone…”

“No,” you replied, your fingers on the glass.

He hummed in consideration.

“I was, um,” you cleared your throat, trying to drum up the courage to ask what you’d actually wanted to know. “I was actually just wondering — the family business. I know people around here pay you for protection. But what other services do you offer?”

His brow creased, “‘d’ya mean?”

You wished you’d thought through exactly what it was you were asking before you’d opened your big mouth. “For the town, I mean. For the people. I get the muscle aspect of it, but what’s the incentive for people to pay you for your protection?”

Tommy took a drag of his cigarette as his brow furrowed. “And you think, what? We shouldn’t be charging ‘em? We should do it out of the kindness of our hearts?”

“No—“

“If we weren’t here,” he leaned forward, pointing his cigarette at you, “there would be others. There have been others. Worse.”

“I believe you,” you urged, leaning forward in kind to make sure he knew you were listening intently. “And no, I don’t think you should just give it away. But I think hoarding money turns people into something they never wanted to be. It has the power to corrupt in ways that could turn you into worse.”

Tommy took a deep breath, leaning back into his chair before lifting the stick to his lips. “Pol always said to buy our popularity, if we can afford it. What do you suggest?”

You exhaled, shrugging. “Cleaning the streets for a start. Providing jobs. Looking into charities or children’s homes, I don’t know… I just believe that ‘protection’ isn’t just making sure people are afraid of ya. It’s making them feel safe — to grow, to contribute, to add to the collective. The more you give, the more you get.”

You threw back the drink, hoping that would put an end to your ramblings.

“But strategically,” you added, your brain and mouth moving faster than your attempt to quiet them. “I’m not saying to give everything away over night. You need a plan, you need projections —“

“We need more income,” Tommy added. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’ve been doing some research on other businesses — the Birmingham Boys and other organizations in London. I think the key lies in the races themselves.”

“Fixing races?”

“Aye, something like that. It’s dangerous though, we’d have to start small. And once we start, we have to be prepared. There would be no integration, it’d be domination.”

You nodded, your mind running with the gambit of other possibilities. “What about factories? The BSA seems to be booming since the war end, maybe there’s some kind of opportunity in there? Or alcohol? With the prohibition in America—“

Tommy chuckled, “Fools errand. That’ll never pass.”

Your mouth opened to counter, but snapped shut, realizing you were about to say too much again. He watched you carefully as you did this. You waited for him to press you on it, but he put out the bud into the tray on the table and stood up.

“I have someone I have to go meet,” he finally said. “Try to finish as much as you can by the end of the day. Ada will try to come in here and chat, but see to it that you don’t stray for too long. We have somewhere we’re going tomorrow.”

“We?” You asked, your brow rising.

He nodded, walking to the door and calling out behind him as he left, “Dress warm. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

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#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #mine #time after time #fanfiction #next chapter is in the works!!#lolz I love finding errors after I publish #not the twenty million times I proof it beforehand

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