King Of My Heart (Thomas Shelby x OC)

Chapter 1

Idk I'm low key hyperfixating on peaky blinders right now and Tommy is hot, what can I say.

Also I already had an OC who would just work with him, I couldn't resist.

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Nigel was new to both Birmingham and the staff of the garrison. He'd arrived and settled in Birmingham all of two months ago and taken a job at the pub a little over a week ago. Nothing about it was glamorous, but Nigel hadn't expected it would be when he'd taken off and moved to Birmingham of all places; he'd known it would be hard, but it was partly why he chose the city. He knew no one would think to look for him here.

He knew he stood out somewhat, with skin a shade or two darker than most other patrons and staff in the bar, dark hair that was slightly overgrown, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up as he brought a tray of drinks to a table of raucous men and handed them out, content to ignore and be ignored.

When the door opened and cold blew in, Nigel glanced up, his eyes lingering for a moment as he realized who had walked in. He'd come to know about the Peaky Blinders on his second day in the city, and he'd become more intimately aware of them on his first day of work.

Luckily he had the brains to keep to himself, but sometimes it was hard not to stare when Thomas Shelby pushed his way into the pub.


Nigel expected him to head for the private room off to the side. It was occupied often, and Nigel had only briefly seen inside through the window that opened behind the bar as he handed a bottle through to a man named John. Nigel had been glad when the man didn't give him a second look.

Surprisingly, Thomas settled into a corner booth of the main room, and that was enough to make Nigel realize he'd been standing still too long. He was meant to be working.

Sticking the now empty tray beneath his arm, he hurried over to the bar and slipped behind it, a rather prominent limp in his step. Picking up a towel he wiped at his hands, planning to head into the storeroom, Harry had instructed him to find some fresh bottles earlier, but he'd been too caught up to think about it until now.

Tossing the towel across his shoulder, he turned, only to freeze as he realized that Thomas Shelby had walked up to the bar with a cigarette between his lips and a well-made suit.

"Bottle of whiskey, bring it to the table," he said, the words only slightly muffled with the cigarette.

Nigel glanced over at the storeroom, once again pushing the task to the back of his mind as he nodded. "As you say, Mr. Shelby," he replied, turning slowly on his heel to grab a bottle from high up behind the bar. He could hear the click of Thomas' shoes as he returned to the table, but he got the sense that the man was staring at him.

It wasn't a good thing to draw the attention of a man like that, Nigel knew from experience.

His eyes darted briefly over, and he confirmed his suspicion. Thomas Shelby's eyes, almost startlingly blue, were locked onto him as the man exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Swallowing thickly, Nigel balanced a glass and a bottle of whiskey in one hand as he pushed out from behind the bar and strolled over to set it down.

Thomas' eyes had darted down to his leg; Nigel was sure of it, but for once he wasn't surprised. People always tended to look when they noticed the limp.

"Your whiskey," he commented blandly, hesitating for a moment before he started to turn away again.

"Pour it, will you?" Thomas said, and Nigel froze.

It wasn't a strange request; it was his job, but this was Thomas Shelby, and Nigel didn't want to linger. Still, he turned around to pick up the bottle again, pulling off the top with a pop so he could pour the man a glass.

"Harry just hired you?" Thomas asked, blowing out another puff of smoke, though he was surprisingly considerate enough not to exhale toward Nigel; instead, he'd blown it across the table toward the empty seat across from him.

Nigel set down the bottle, a bit of whiskey dripping from the rim down the neck. "About a week ago, the old bar hand quit on him, and he needed someone fast," he replied, knowing he'd been lucky to get the job, and so far he hadn't had any complaints about his work. He doubted anyone here would hold back if they did have complaints.

"You're not from Birmingham," Thomas said; he said it like a statement, and it was, but Nigel heard the underlying question as he took a small step back from the table.