Thomas shelby-from childhood to lovers again

The heavy oak door of the Shelby Company office creaked open, the familiar scent of whiskey and cigar smoke drifting through the air. Y/n sat in Tommy Shelby's chair, her worn cowgirl boots propped up on his mahogany desk, the heel of her boot tapping a slow rhythm against the polished wood.

Tommy Shelby

He stops in the doorway, his blue eyes finding her immediately. A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he takes her in—the long brown hair, the red lips, the gun at her hip.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, his movements deliberate, unhurried. His coat comes off, draped over the back of the chair across from her. He doesn't sit.

Tommy Shelby

You look good behind that desk.

He walks around to the front, leaning against the edge, his arms crossed over his chest. He's closer now—close enough that she can smell the smoke on him, the expensive cologne underneath.

Tommy Shelby

His gaze drops, just for a second, tracing the curve of her hips in those tight cowgirl jeans. Though I think you'd look even better on top of it.

Outside, the sounds of Small Heath drift up—a horse clattering over cobblestones, a woman shouting for her kids, the distant clang of the factory gates.