Oneshot Requests (Open)

(Peaky Blinders) Thomas Shelby x Reader

The night hadn't dragged on as slowly and painfully as they often did. Perhaps it was the attention you got from all the prim and proper noblemen who would murder for the opportunity to bed you if only their wives would let them, or if only they knew word wouldn't spread. Or perhaps it was your cousin's good mood that was contagious. Or maybe the constant frown that Mr. Mosley wore the entire evening, which only left his features when he was listening to himself speak. 

You had sent a few of your maids his way and hoped they would entertain him, but he wasn't taking the bait. 

Or maybe it was the presence of Mr. Shelby, your new drinking companion, and a wildcard. His presence you didn't hate at all. In fact he had been on your mind through the evening and into the night, as the guest list had halved, and only those too lecherous, or too drunk to leave had been left behind. You wondered if he had taken your offer to find a quiet spot with one of the girls and unwind, or if he had been another that resisted your temptations. 

As the night waned, Primrose Blackwood, an old friend, and one of the very few people that you like spending time with, got your attention as you bid a good night to a group of guests at the main hall. A promise of snow, and a continuation of the party was a temptation you wouldn't refuse. A few moments after you went into one of the study rooms, cocktails in hand, and snow ready on the table, you heard someone call out your name at the doorway. Not a lot of privacy in your own home, but this intrusion you did not mind.

"Ah, Mr. Shelby," you smile, beckoning him over with your hand, "Come, meet my friend, Mrs. Blackwood. We grew up together. If there's anyone that can tell you a few actual truths about me, that's Prim," you raise your cocktail glass toward your friend and Prim raises it back to you.

"Mr. Shelby," Primrose says, standing up and offering her hand, "A pleasure. y/n was just telling me about you."

"Only the good and boring things," you add with a chuckle.

The answering smirk on Mr. Shelby's face would make any woman swoon, but you've grown accustomed to it. You've been playing this game for months.

"I thought you've left your own party, but I see I was mistaken," he says, stepping into the room. He takes Prim's hand and kisses it, though his eyes never leave yours.

Your gaze does not falter, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, as all sorts of thoughts buzz in your mind. Thoughts you'd need to purge, and soon. 

Prim giggles slightly, though she greets Mr. Shelby with the posture of a true lady. She doesn't sit back, though, as if taking a cue.

"You are welcome to partake, we are just getting started," you say to Mr. Shelby, leaning in your armchair, a hand gesturing to the coffee table in front of you. 

"And I am welcome to leave," Prim says with another giggle. 

"Oh, no, please stay," You are quick to try and stop her, but your friend is already at the doors. 

 "I am inviting myself to leave," she smiles, "One taste is enough for me this night, and I'm sure my husband will be looking for me soon," with a theatrical sigh, she raises her glass again, "Goodnight Mr. Shelby. Bye y/n." 

He takes the empty seat that your friend leaves behind, undoing the buttons of his jacket so he can get comfortable — it looks as if he has no intentions of leaving any time soon. You can't help but notice that, and trailing your finger next to the lines of snow, you smile, "Join me?" You say as you offer a rolled-up piece of paper to your guest.

You notice his hesitation for the briefest second before he places his glass down and plucks the paper from your fingers. But then it is gone and Mr. Shelby takes a hit of the snow with the practise of someone who had done it before, despite his love for more melancholic temptations.

When he is done, you take the slip of paper, lean over and snort a line yourself, the pleasant warmth barely enough to make you blink. You'd need many more lines to feel any different.

"I'm surprised you haven't taken up my offer. None of the servants caught your eye? I guess I should invest in new hires," you smile.

A dry chuckle echoes through the room, as your guest leans back on the sofa, "For the record," he motions a hand at the door to the hall, "I was on my way to taking up your offer when I happened to pass by and decided this was the better place to be."

"I see," you smile, "Then I am not that bad of a hostess after all." 

You wonder how many of your guests are still left to enjoy your party. Some are hiding in the back rooms no doubt, but you wouldn't round them up. Your staff is well instructed. They would let them have their fun and then escort them on their way before dawn. Mr. Shelby would have been well taken care of, but it seemed that he was interested in you as much as you had been interested in him. 

"Well then," you say as you stand up from the armchair, crossing over to the sofa and sitting next to Mr. Shelby, taking your drink with you, "I do apologise for the distraction. I will make it up to you." You say, then sip on the mixed drink, keeping eye contact. "I'm sure that me and my vices will prove less interesting than the companionship you might have had, but I'll do my best to entertain you."

He shifts his drink to his other hand and stretches an arm across the back of the couch as you sit down, angling himself towards you. "I don't doubt that you will," he murmurs from behind his own glass before taking the last drink. Setting the whiskey aside he places his hand, cold from the glass, on your thigh.