#Shelby America | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamypqulson · 2 years

Text

— counting stars

summary: you get stuck on the rooftop with none other than harriet hayes. perhaps she's not bad as you think she is. or perhaps she just looks really pretty under the moonlight.

pairing: harriet hayes x reader

word count: 2200

When back luck decided to stuck, it hit at the worst possible time. You not only felt as if you had an awful show, but now you were stuck on the root top with none other than Harriet's Hayes.

It was silly, really.

You were enjoying the after party when Matt sent you up to the roof to turn the lights on after the power had suddenly went out.

It was simple, you just had to flip the backup switch on.

But of course Harriet had to follow you up. She was bored, is what she had said. She simply wanted to get fresh air. But when she's your shadow nine out of ten times, you find her excuses somewhat hard to believe.

She always had to be around you. But she hated you. And you despised her too.

She didn't like that you were gay, and you didn't like that she tried to push her beliefs on you. Harriet's Haye's stupidly pretty face pissed you off to no end. And you hated that stupidly pretty dress that she was wearing tonight; it hugged her small curves in the best ways, and you just wanted to rip it off.

You wanted her to stop making you feel like this, like the only way you would only be able to feel her skin, and taste her lips would be in your dreams. Like you had to fight wars with her to keep your feelings down within.

"There's no cell service" Harriet had said.

"Could've told you that one" was your piqued response, and you banged on the door one last time before giving up.

"Maybe we can climb down."

"Harriet, I hate to break it to you, but we aren't in one of your silly little movies" you told her plainly, without even making an effort to look at her.

You sat down on the concrete block, and pulled your coat tighter around your frame.

"Okay well calm down. At least i'm trying to think of ways to get out of here."

"Yes, because your ideas have been so helpful" you replied sarcastically, and could see that you were getting a rise out of Harriet.

She took a seat beside you, and you moved your leg when her knee hit yours. You hated that a single touch caused shivers down your spine. "You don't have to be so mean to me. I just trying to help, okay?"

You looked away, you wanted to cry, really. Her voice slightly quavered, and you wanted to take it all back. But, you refused to falter your demeanor around her, so, you provided an act of kindness instead. "Harriet, take my jacket. Your freezing," because you could feel her ice cold arm against yours.

"What?" she turned her head to the side, and now her face was incredibly close to yours. All you had to do was lean a little further, if you were to have the courage. "No. It's freezing out. I don't want you to be cold."

"Well you're the one who has to film for a movie soon, so I don't want you to get a cold. My dress sleeves are longer than yours anyways."

You took your jacket off, and placed it over Harriet's shoulders, where she then put her arms through it. It was cold out. Freezing. But you would let yourself get hypothermia if it was the punishment for making Harriet comfortable.

She was still looking at you, you could feel it on the side of your face. You could hear her soft breaths in your ear, over the millions of cars down below you. "Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?"

"I just don't want you to be cold, okay? Just forget about it."

"Fine." She turned her head back to face the view of the city.

"Fine."

Silence spoke for a few moments before- "Okay but why don't you want me to be cold. You hate me."

"Harriet!" you sighed "I don't hate you. That's the thing, I don't hate you as a person, I hate the way you ridicule my life choices."

"Well-"

"Can we just try to find a way out of here? Please? I seriously can't take this right now. First a terrible show, now this" you said, and was sure that if the party was going to hear anything, it would've been that.

You stood up and the blonde then replied with, "A terrible show? I thought you were great tonight."

You looked her dead in the eye, and she saw something in them, a sort of softness that you have never offered her before, and then she continued, "I thought you were amazing, actually. Better than me."

"Then I must've been good if the Harriet Hayes is saying this."

"You know, you don't have to act like i'm this big bad celebrity all the time. I think we're equals. You're outstanding" Harriet told you, matter of factly.

"You are in a million different movies. Everyone always wants to see Harriet Hayes on their tv. If it wasn't for you, Studio 60 wouldn’t have been as popular as it is."

She stood up and held you hand. Her’s was warm, as she had been warming them up in the pockets of your jacket. "I think that they just aren't looking hard enough into you because they know you'll take off further than they can reach. They're assholes, but if they just payed attention for a moment, they would understand what i'm saying."

"I- Wow. Thank you, Harriet." You titled your head down to conceal the blush that had taken ahold of your cheeks, and then you cleared your throat. "Uh- um...maybe we should figure out a way out of here."

"Definitely. I don't want to be spending the rest of the party up here."

And there it was again. She didn't want to be up here with you, she was simply being nice to put the tension and awkwardness on a halt for the time being. You knew who she really wanted to go spend her time with.

"Yeah, you would rather spend it with Matt. I know" you scoffed, dramatically.

"Well yes, because Matt was going to talk to me about my new skit" she said, and you felt as if the conversation previously, suddenly didn't happen. It was like she was an entirely different person whenever the thought of Matt would occur.

"Of course. It's always Matt."

“What is your problem with Matt? You know, you wouldn't be on the show if it wasn't for him."

"Oh would you look at that, Matt's my little fucking hero, getting me on this show, huh?"

"Gosh, it's like you're jealous" she slapped her hands to her side, and then lifted them up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Maybe I am."

"Then why are you even still here?"

“Because of you, Harriet, goddamn! It's like I can't get enough of you. Over Christmas break, all I could think about was you! I can’t go a single day without seeing your beautiful face, because I go absolutely insane. I need to hear you yelling at me over something stupid that I said, or to just feel you roll your eyes when I flip you off. I need that Harriet. I need you!"

She walked closer to you, her hand meeting your cheek. You flinched, figuring that she was going to slap you. You would deserve it, you thought.

She didn't. She didn't slap you. Her hand rested on the pink tinted flesh of your cheek. The warmth, mixing with the coldness of your skin. It felt nice. It felt like getting under a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate after playing in the snow as a kid. It felt like home.

"I'm in a new hell every time you get back with Matt. I can't stand it anymore, Harriet" you whispered, enough for her to hear. The moonlight made Harriet’s skin glisten, and you noticed that she, as well, was crying.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore."

"What-"

It was rare, the feeling. Something you've never felt once before. Something past that euphoric feeling that you get when you finally get to the top of the hill.

Harriet's lips felt soft against yours, and you felt greedy. You could taste the red wine on her lips, though she wasn't a single bit tipsy. This was Harriet's real decision.

And she wasn't very good at making decisions either. Never with Matt, nor with anyone she been with the time before that. She had always picked out the wrong ones. And they had never felt right to her anyways. This, this felt right.

However, greedy was an understatement. You were covering yourself in Harriet, and taking every piece of her to your grave. She was yours, for now, at least.

Withdrawing from her was quick, because you needed to breathe, and you hadn't even thought of it, as your brain had shut down and replaced it with everything Harriet.

"I don't wanna watch the Matt and Harriet show anymore. I wanna be one of the stars." She knew exactly what you meant, because she had felt the same way when you brought in your new girlfriend a while back. She was long gone now though, because all you could ever see in her eyes was a glimpse of Harriet.

Harriet, with her forehead still against yours, said, "We can make our own show. Together."

"Then you have to promise you won't cancel it on me."

"I wouldn't dare" she breathed against you "I don't think I ever want that door to open now, though."

You laughed, "Yes, if it didn't feel like it was below zero degrees out."

"Then let my body heat warm you up." She sat down, and then put her arms out for you.

You laid against her, not worrying that your hair would be messed up, because Harriet made everything feel a bit okay. "Do you think anyone is ever going to find us up here?"

You shifted against her so you could lay on her chest, used as a pillow. And for her arms, as a blanket would, covered you tightly.

"No, because sometimes it feels like it's just you and I in this world” she said.

"Even when I'm mean to you?"

"Even when you're mean to me. But I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore."

"It never should've been. I'm sorry. I feel terrible, and if I knew that this was the ending, then I never would've acted like that" you said, sympathetically.

"I threw my belief’s in your face, and made you feel awful about yourself, just to suppress my feelings for you."

"Sometimes people do crazy things when they're in love."

"They do."

Overtime, you ended up falling asleep on Harriet. She stayed awake to make sure you would be okay in the coldness, and to see if someone would come to the rescue.

Though by now, she figured the after party was just about ended.

She kissed the top of your head when she felt you begin to shift, and then you stretched out your limbs.

"Still up here?"

"Still up here." She confirmed, and your body shivered harder. You weren't properly dressed for this, but in your defensive, you were expecting to get stuck on the roof.

"Honey, your shaking so badly. Take your coat back."

As much as you were concerned for Harriet, you still listened because you were too exhausted to argue.

While you put your jacket back on and buttoned it up, you breathed in deeply. Harriet's scent had already consumed this jacket, and made it feel much cozier than before.

While you did this, Harriet banged on the door a few more times. If nobody were to hear you both now, then you would be here until the morning.

It was when you were dozing off again, that you heard you name being called. In a rather aggravated tone.

"Yeah?" You said, not giving much to open your eyes and look at her.

"Did you ever try pushing the door?"

"No...why?"

"Because, y/n, it's a fucking push door. Not a pull door. It's been open this entire time!"

With that, your eyes shot open, and you raced over to Harriet. The door, was in fact, open. But if you were being honest, you didn't regret any of this. Even if you were going to wake up with a cold tomorrow morning.

"Oh..."

"Oh my god" she laugh breathily. "I can't even be mad at you with that face, either."

You smiled harder, your eyes squinting though the sleepiness to look at her. "Let's go, you goof. How about you just stay at my place tonight?"

"Would love nothing more, baby."

You walked right past her, feeling her beam brightly, and stare at you with heart eyes bigger than the moon.

If it weren't for your forgetfulness, you wouldn't be going home with her. So really, neither of you could actually be mad. You would take a cold over having to spend another day without kissing Harriet.

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fortheloveoffanfic · 2 years

Text

Miss America

Thomas Shelby x Reader

A/n- Gonna start putting summaries so y'all don't have to go in blind lol A/n 2- re-posting because tumblr hates me

Masterlists

Summary- After Grace's passing, Thomas falls into an entanglement with his friend, and the wife of a business partner; a fading American beauty queen. Two years later, Thomas is ready to whisk Y/n away from the shackles of her loveless marriage but she might not be so ready to leave. Warnings- mentions of character death, angst.

The gravel driveway that led to the ivy adored walls. The ivy adorned walls of a stunning manor that had been in the Hargrove family for sixteen generations, its current occupants being Henry Hargrove the fifth and his second wife, a young American. A stunning, young American- Thomas always felt that that part was a crucial part of describing her.

He remembered when he first met her, it was at the beginning of his partnership with Henry- who was interested in using his textiles business to export liquor during the Prohibition. Thomas had ventured to the gothic Victorian manor for his second meeting with Henry, who had just returned from New York with the new Mrs. Hargove- before the old one had even started packing her things. She had been introduced with utmost pride, his beauty queen wife, and admittedly, Thomas had been a little jealous.

What could an old man like Henry give an energetic, young pageant queen?

Despite his irrational jealousy though, Thomas had kept his distance; he had just married Grace and couldn’t have fathomed being with anyone else. His attraction to Y/n was fleeting, he was convinced of it and in those blissful months as a newlywed, every time he saw her at parties or dinners, with Grace on his arm and her on Henry’s, Thomas had tried to ignore the way she toyed with the diamond pendant drawing attention to her neck while they spoke and the way her crimson lips made the most alluring ‘o’ when she was listening intently. As best as he could, he’d blocked Y/n out in any other way that wasn’t purely platonic.

Of course, his friendship with Miss America, as he’d affectionately dubbed her, had caused a bit of contention in his relationship with Grace, though he'd religiously promised his wife that all he needed was her.

All he needed was Grace- but then she’d been taken from him and suddenly Thomas was lost.

He’d tried to find himself in liquor and drugs. He’d gone searching in his son’s eyes. But nothing had worked, there was still a hollow space, something missing. Someone missing.

Simultaneously, Henry and Y/n’s marriage had started going to mud; there were rumors of Mr. Hargrove hiring whores in London while the now lonely Mrs. Hargorve was dabbling in cocaine.

And then somehow, their messes had collided.

They’d often confided in each other, but it was at a dinner party at the Hargroves’, about eight months after Grace’s passing that Thomas and Y/n had drunkenly traded their most closely guarded plights; Henry had grown “absolutely lackluster” in bed, she suspected that he was expending all his energy with the prostitutes and had become cold towards her, while Thomas had simply disclosed that he was lost and angry. Somehow, those confessions had stirred the idea that maybe they could find something in each other; he’d hungrily lunged for her gin stained lips and she had pawed at his clothes. His arms had kept her so close, her legs encircled around his hips that kept him to her- for a while, neither of them felt so alone.

Just when everything had started to feel like it was falling apart, they’d held each other together.

Just like that, he wasn’t lost anymore. Still angry and aching, but not lost, not when they were together. When she looked into his eyes the noises in his head went quiet, every time her fingers grazed his body, it felt like she was stitching him back together and sometimes, just being with her was enough to convince Thomas that things weren’t all that bad.

Sometimes, a voice in his head insisted that it had been Y/n all along- he tried to not listen to that one too often.

Just months after that night Thomas had made a habit of venturing to the Hargrove manor when Henry was away for extended periods, usually on business trips; like that weekend, just after he’d left for the U.S on business.

“Miss America,” Thomas rasped upon entering the drawing room. She was actually five years past the title, but the pet name always brought a smile to her stunning face.

She was sitting at the grand piano in the drawing room, hands on the keys but not playing anything, instead looking out the window. “Mr. Shelby,” Y/n managed a faint smile as she turned to regard him- ever since the shine of her marriage had started to wear off, she’d lost that brightness that she’d had when they first met. The sparkle in her pretty eyes had dimmed, the broadness of her grin had become reserved and her cheeks rarely warmed. “How was the drive?”

“Good,” Thomas shrugged indifferently, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled over to where she sat.

“And Charlie?” She licked her lips, removing her touch from the polished, ivory keys and shifted a bit more on the bench so her legs would be slanted.

“He’s good,” finally closing the distance between them, he sank down on the mahogany bench next to her, their knees brushing, “What were you playin’?”

“I wasn’t,” Y/n dismissed, “I was just…..well, I was gonna play, but then I heard your car come up.”

“Good ears, eh?” He joked and she giggled softly, a rare sound. He often reckoned that she deserved someone that could make her laugh more, someone better than Henry, who’d seemed to have forgotten what he had. Someone that wasn’t him either, because lord knew that Thomas couldn’t appreciate her the way she deserved.

But still, he wanted her. Thomas figured that he might actually need her.

“You know,” she sighed softly, her smile down turning, “He’s in New York for the next few weeks, he didn’t even ask me to go with him.”

Thomas huffed, “Did you ask?”

“Why would I?” Y/n shifted her gaze to meet his, “He doesn’t want me there. I saw his papers in his office before he left. He's taking some other woman, Bethany,” licking her lips, she shook her head, “Maybe I should start packing,” she joked dryly, “For when he brings his next wife.”

Reaching out, Thomas touched her jaw, running his thumb along her lower lip, “You think, eh? What makes you say that?”

Y/n shrugged, “That’s what happened the last time he went to New York, he came back with me,” pausing, she reached for a little containment left on top of the piano, and a lighter next to it. Sliding out two cigarettes, she handed one over, lighting the tip of hers before passing him the lighter, “I didn’t even know he was married,” she drew in a long pull before exhaling heavily, “Until we got here and he told that bitch to get packing,” she scoffed a quiet fit of humorless laughter, “She hates me, told the neighbors that I was a prostitute, or whatever.”

Thomas smirked, despite hearing the sorrow in her tone, “Can you blame her?”

Y/n snorted, rolling her eyes, “No,” again, she moistened her lips and her lashes flitted as her expression turned to one of amused intrigue- her emotions, he often thought, were like a wildfire in summer, unpredictable. “What would you do if he told me to leave?”

Thomas’ brows arched and he huffed, and when she put the lid down over the piano keys, he propped his elbow on the surface, “Me?” He probed incredulously and she nodded thinking for no more than a couple seconds, he eventually offered with conviction, “I’d take you for myself.” He would, in a heartbeat, without even thinking about how it would affect his dealings with Henry- Shelby company was the one manufacturing the liquor in their arrangement anyway, Thomas was sure he could find another guise to get the stuff into America.

Laughing at his wording, she reached for the ashtray sitting at the top of the piano, snuffing out her cigarette, “Take me?” Y/n teased, “You’d like an American wife, Mr. Shelby?”

Putting out his own smoke, Thomas leaned in so their lips were barely a centimeter apart, “I want Miss America for my wife,” he professed, adding a moment later, “Why don’t you come be my wife?”

The question seemed to shock her as much as it did himself; he couldn’t believe that a proposal had just come so thoughtlessly, but he did know that he was holding his breath for a ‘yes’. Even if he was possibly damaged beyond repair, and still holding a firm grip on Grace’s memory, Thomas knew that the thought had crossed his mind a few more times than he’d prefer to admit.

He actually thought about it quite often, what it would be like if he didn’t have to wait for her husband to leave town so he could touch her. How peacefully he’d sleep next to her. What it would feel like to be happy again.

Knowing she deserved better didn’t stop him from hoping she'd settle for less.

Even if he couldn’t give her what she deserved, he could give her his best. Money, a home, a family and love.

“You’re insane,” she dismissed with a chuckle, closing the short gap separating them so she could press a lengthy peck to his lips, “Ask me again when you’re being serious, and maybe I’ll give you an answer.”

Taking gentle hold of her cheeks after they parted briefly, he kept her face close to his, “I’m always serious, love,” not giving her a chance to respond, he kissed her again, the endearment significantly more impassioned that time. One of her hands cupping his neck glided to his back, curling into the fabric of his dark suit.

“I want to show you something,” she teased softly, forehead still pressed to his and the tips of their noses still touching, “Upstairs.”

“Show me something, eh?” Thomas grinned at her mischief.

“Show you something,” she determined before adding, “Its silk, and your favorite colour,” her tone adopted a sultry edge, and momentarily, Thomas let the thoughts of his brash proposal slink to the back of his mind, “I also want you to do thing to me....upstairs,” catching her lower lip between her teeth, Y/n pulled away a little to meet his eyes, the fiery glint in hers coupled with the thought of what she wanted to “show him” acting as more than enough to stir Thomas.

It didn’t matter how many times they’d been together, being with her always sparked the same thrill. Her presence was always exciting, her touch never failed to make him feel alive. To the rest of the world, he was a walking dead man, with her, there was air in his lungs and fire in his veins. Thomas suspected that it was something of the same for her; he had seen her way her mind wandered when she was with Henry, it often translated to a sadness in her eyes and a chip in her smile- but when they were together, he could have sworn she was the woman he’d met a couple years earlier.

As she stood fluidly, moving around the bench, Y/n offered her hands and Thomas claimed them readily, letting her lead him out of the room and up the stairs.

2 weeks later Dressed in nothing but her Japanese silk robe, Y/n leaned against the window sill with a cigarette perched between her fingers, waiting for Thomas to finish up in the shower. He’d only recently returned from Arrow House and was planning on staying with her through the rest of the week. She could tell that splitting his time was starting to become complicated, he needed to be near his business and his family, but wanted to be with her- she wanted him to be with her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Y/n knew that there was an easier way to make that happen, he’d asked her twice more since that day in the drawing room to leave Henry for him, but she hadn’t given him an answer.

She didn’t think she had one.

On one hand, her marriage had been reduced to a farce; she and Henry hadn’t touched each other in months and Y/n was pretty sure that he hardly ever gave her a second thought. They never traded more words than lifeless dinner table conversation and she didn’t think she’d ever been unhappier than when she laid next to Henry at night. But on the other, she’d left behind her family and home for him- before Henry, Y/n had planned on settling into New York’s high society after winning the country’s biggest pageant, but then they’d met and he’d swept her off her feet within the blink of an eye, so part of her did love him. Part of her would always love him-it would always hope that he’d leave his expensive secrets behind and just come back to her.

And then of course, there was the fact that Thomas was still obviously wallowing in the memory of his late wife. It had barely been a year so really, she didn’t blame him, but Y/n also couldn’t help the nagging thought that she was just a distraction. A body to fill a space, something to take his mind off the grief that he hadn’t properly dealt with. What if becoming Thomas’ wife simply meant signing herself up to be ignored by another man.

She loved Thomas, she truly did, but her affections for him could never be enough to douse thought doubts. The only reason Thomas had ever even sought refuge in her arms was because he was drunk and lonely.

“Miss America,” a rasped, Burmmie drawl startled Y/n out of her thoughts as a pair of arms came around her, pressing her back to a hardened chest. She always liked that nickname, it was something special between them and she adored that whenever he said it, he was thinking of only her- it made Y/n feel important, like she mattered.

“Mm,” she smiled faintly, tearing her gaze away from the picturesque view of the backyard so she could angle her neck awkwardly and get a look at Thomas, “Tommy,” she giggled when he pressed a lingering peck to the side of her head.

“What’s on your pretty mind, eh?” Taking the cigarette from her, one arm staying around her waist as he drew in an extended drag. Blowing the smoke away from her face, Thomas awaited her response and Y/n chewed on her thoughts for a bit longer, shifting her gaze to the window once more.

“I’m thinking…..” She trailed off, suddenly bashful; she could usually tell him anything, it had been so long since there were secrets between her and Thomas. That specific thought though, felt all too personal, it was something that she probably hadn’t even fully accepted herself; the thought that she’d made a mistake. “I…..it was never like this, with Henry- we were never like this.”

“What do you mean?” Confused, he prompted her to go on.

Y/n shook her head, trying to find a way to actualize what she’d been thinking, “We were never…..I used to think we were in love. I thought he loved me…..but I don’t think he ever did . He liked that I was interested, and he said all the right things so I fell in love with him. And even if I tried so hard to keep things the way they were in the beginning; the beginning wasn't like this. I was always just….a young, pretty girl,” casting her head down, she frowned. “But there are always gonna be younger girls. Prettier girls, better girls-”

“Not for me,” Thomas interrupted, handing over the cigarette so she could have a pull, I mean, younger, yes,” he teased and she laughed, “But not prettier, not better. Just you….Miss America.”

Handing over the dwindling cylinder again, Y/n smiled softly. They were just words, almost the same kind that had brought her to England, but from Thomas, perhaps one of the country’s most untrustworthy men, they felt genuine. “I’m sure you tell all the nice girls what they want to hear,” she shuffled away from his embrace, bending her head to hide the sadness of her smile.

“I do,” Thomas quipped thoughtlessly, putting the smoke out before turning to face Y/n as she headed for the four poster bed at the center of the room, “But I tell the ones that I love what I need them to hear.”

“You know, where I come from, we don’t trust men like you,” Y/n sank to the bed, propping her weight on hands pressed into the mattress.

“You shouldn’t trust men like me no matter where you go, love,” Thomas warned lingering at the window, clad in his boxers with his hair still drying.

Y/n hummed, appraising the way he looked with the morning sun shining around him, like he was some kind of corrupted messiah coming to lead her away from the heartache. “Yeah, well, I trust you.”

He licked his lips, “Then come with me-”

Y/n sighed heavily, “Tommy-”

“That’s it, eh?” Thomas shook his head, knowing what she was going to say before she even say it, “I’m never going to get a fucking answer from you,” he seethed, suddenly upset.

“It’s not like that,” Y/n defended-she did want to go with him, she loved him, but she didn’t want to take another risk and have it lead to another mistake. Besides, part of her did still love her husband…..or maybe, what she felt was really towards the idea of their great, so-called love story. “Just-”

An urgent knocking on the bedroom door intruded on their conversation, “Mrs. Hargrove?” Y/n recognized the voice as that of one of the senior maids, “Ma’am, I don’t mean to interrupt, but your husband is coming up the drive.”

Standing abruptly, Y/n trotted over to the bedroom doors, yanking one side open, alarming the middle aged woman on the other side, “What the hell do you mean he’s coming up the drive. Did he call to say he was coming back?”

“No, ma’am,” still startled by her fury, and glancing over Y/n’s shoulder to see Thomas still in the room, tellingly unclad, the maid clumsily rattled off, “He didn’t even call for the chauffeur, he’s come in a car none of us recognize. He’s almost here.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Y/n tried to think quickly and just then, she heard the front door open, “Alright, thanks,” she exhaled shakily, shutting the door after dismissing the woman. “We can’t let him see you in here,” was the first thing out of her mouth as she turned towards Thomas, and she could pinpoint the exact moment where his anger turned to disappointment and then back to anger again.

Moistening his lips, he shook his head, hesitating only for a few seconds before starting to get dressed. “Alright,” he hissed, tugging his trousers up before pulling on his long-sleeved undershirt. “Fine,” he was practically finished in about three or four minutes and after Thomas harshly shrugged on his shirt, haphazardly closing up the buttons he gathered his gun belt, waistcoat, jacket and shoes in his arms. “Call me when you want to fucking feel pretty again,” he spat, brushing past her.

Reaching for his arm, she winced when he jerked away, “That’s not what this is,” she sniffled, “You know-”

“No, I don’t fucking know!” He raised his voice and she jumped, heart still pounding at the worry that they might get caught. While she blinked her tears away, Thomas trudged out of the room, knowing the house well enough to be able to slip out on his own without getting caught.

Swiping at her face, a frustrated sob escaped her bare lips and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to try, and fail, to keep the rest of her tears at bay. That wasn’t how she wanted things to go between them and Y/n didn’t want to even think of Thomas being mad at her. She should have just said yes- she wanted to say yes- but the whole thought of taking another chance was just so frightening.

But if she didn’t, she’d be stuck.

“Oh, you aren’t dressed yet,” a voice determined behind her, and hurriedly drying her face, she spun to face her husband.

“Henry, darling,” she tried to smile, trying to hide her heartbreak. Swallowing thickly, she casually noted, “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Peeling off his tweed jacket, he shrugged, “The deal fell apart,” despite her efforts being completely ineffective, Henry didn’t seem to notice that she’d been crying, or maybe he just didn’t care, “New York is full of…..fucking air heads.”

Her frown deepened, “I’m from New York.”

He hummed indifferently, “Right, yes.” Without any real haste, he continued getting undressed and it was a little peeving that he hadn’t noticed that she was wearing fine silk gifted to her by another man, “I’m going to take a shower, then……go down to the office.”

Go down to the office, at some point, that had become code for going to see whatever whore he was favoring in the city.

Suddenly it hit her- the only reason he’d come home was to freshen up for her, a woman who he paid for sex. It wasn’t to check on his wife, he didn’t even seem interested in having a conversation with her.

She never felt as invisible as she did when she shared a room with Henry. She never felt as desired as she did when she was with Thomas

Rooted to the spot, Y/n waited for Henry to finally head to their bedroom’s adjoining bathroom before hustling out of the room, intent on catching Thomas before he left. She’d had enough; enough of being ignored, enough of thinly veiled insults, enough of pretending that familiarity equated love. It was alarmingly obvious that Henry was never going to show more interest above using her as a body in a room so he wouldn’t have to talk to himself and while she hardly had an idea of what life would be like with Thomas, Y/n quickly decided that she had to at least try.

In just the red, silk robe, she hurried through the manor, eventually bursting through the back door that led to a secondary area where the cars were washed. It was where Thomas usually parked, so no unexpected guests would see him there and then start rumors- he was steadfast in the belief that some things should be kept private while Y/n simply wasn’t comfortable with the idea of stories about them making the rounds.

The gravel poked at the bottom of her feet through the thin slippers and as Y/n ventured towards the shed attached to the house, she called out to Thomas, hoping he hadn’t left yet. “Tommy!” She glanced around, noting that the front of a black car was peeking out from under the shed, “Tom- you’re still here,” she gasped, finding him at his car. He was more dressed than he had been upstairs, now wearing his shoes and waistcoat.

His only response was an irritated grunt as Thomas slipped into his gun belt before reaching for his jacket and Y/n slumped her shoulders. Naturally, he was still mad at her and she couldn’t blame him- she was mad at herself for not having the gall to leave Henry sooner.

“I don’t know if you’re just looking for…..” Slumping her shoulders, Y/n sighed and scrunched her nose a little, “A mother for your son, or someone to fill a space that she left,” she sniffled, “But if you still want an American wife,” Y/n shook one shoulder, “Then…..”

Thomas weighed her words, slipping his hands into his pockets as he contemplated. After a couple minutes, he stepped away from the car, looking at her with firm curiosity, “I want Miss America.”

Blinking quickly, Y/n swallowed thickly; part of her hated that she was signing on without giving the prospect of life with a grieving man much consideration while another part hated even more the idea of heading back upstairs to a man that couldn’t have cared less about her. Besides, she felt things for Thomas that she hadn’t ever felt for Henry, and even if he was not the best at showing it, she knew with firm conviction it was the same from him.

People never just touched each other the way he touched her.

Kisses that sweet were once in a lifetime- they had to be.

It was so rare to know someone loved you by just the way it felt when you met their eyes.

“Then you have her.”

****

Tagging- @alreadybroken-ts @cloudofdisney @datewithgianni @thelightnessofthebeing @captivatedbycillianmurphy

#thomas shelby #cillian murphy #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #cilian murphy x you #peaky blinders #miss america

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