❝ army dreamers ❞
Historical Romance • Drama • Slow Burn • Family Saga • Crime Fiction
reading order:
→ prequel one shot – army dream
→ series one
→ series one – one shots
→ series two
→ bonus stories & extras
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PREMISE
The war is over, but for Thomas Shelby, peace remains an impossible dream. Haunted by the trenches and consumed by ambition, he has dedicated himself to building the Shelby empire, convinced that men like him are not meant for ordinary happiness.
Then he meets you.
To Thomas, you are something unfamiliar. Soft. Steady. A glimpse of a life he no longer believes he can have.
To you, he is everything your world is not. Chaotic. Thrilling. Alive.
What begins as curiosity becomes something far more dangerous, because the closer you get to Thomas Shelby, the further you drift from the life you once knew.
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CONTENT WARNINGS
This story contains themes consistent with Peaky Blinders:
Violence - Criminal activity - War trauma / PTSD - Death - Period-typical sexism - Strong language - Sexual relations - Drugs - Blood and Injury
Specific chapter warnings will be listed individually where necessary.
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change him? – ruin you.
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • slow burn
notes: thomas Shelby came back from war not long ago, you lost your brother in war not too long ago; he meets you and finds himself intrigued by the domesticity of your life that is so unfamiliar to him, (un)fortunately this goes both ways as you are pulled in by the thrill of the Shelby life
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chapter one – forget-me-nots
A/N: Yes unfortunately I am addicted to writing Thomas Shelby slowly fall in love and have conflicted feelings and very fortunately for you guys there will be more smut in this one... also more angst? I love S1 Postwar!Thomas... additionally we will be ditching the soft I can fix him reader, BECAUSE I CAN let a woman be violent sometimes no...?
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It was like he was in that strange dream all over again.
Thomas remembered it as clear as day, really. It hadn’t let him go since he had come back from the war. He hadn’t been the same since, as though he left his soul buried somewhere beneath the mud and bodies of France.
During the war, in one of the tunnels, Thomas and his men were digging, a support beam collapsed, knocking him unconscious.
He had a dream then, something he had put off as stupid nonsense his head had made up back then to escape the reality he was in.
But now? He felt like he was exactly in that dream.
He was back in Small Heath, walking down a quiet street, the sun was still out. A flower shop stood there, familiar, he had seen it before, but it hadn’t been open in a while.
Outside, a girl stood, arranging flowers.
She placed a pot of forget-me-nots onto a small wooden stool, which caused a bag of soil that was leaned against it to topple over.
Crash.
Soil spilled over his polished leather shoes and Thomas went still.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze, he blinked a few times, as if once again he had woken up from that dream he had. But now it was… real.
You let out a soft gasp as you turned, eyes widening when you saw the mess you’d made.
“Oh god– ” you breathed. “I’m so sorry!”
You grabbed a broom instantly, kneeling down to sweep the soul off his shoes.
Thomas didn’t move for a moment, stood frozen, not in anger but in … confusion? He couldn’t quite name the feeling.
Slowly his gaze turned to watch you kneel there, finger curls falling over one shoulder as you swept frantically, apologising under your breath.
Slowly, he lifted his hand, stopping the broom mid-sweep, which caused you to look up, half expecting to be shouted at by the man.
“I– I’m really very sorry, sir.” you said as you stood up again. “I can clean your shoes properly, no trouble at all. I really am sorry.”
Your eyes locked onto his, bright and sincere, he didn’t release the broom, nor did he say anything.
He just looked at you.
At the way the sun kissed your cheeks and caught that spark in your eyes.
Then, quietly, his voice broke the silence, low and rough.
“…Don’t be sorry.”
After a moment, his fingers loosened, letting go of the broom.
You let out a small, apologetic huff, a gentle smile returning to your lips.
“Were you hoping to buy something?” you asked. “I’ll give you flowers for free. Roses for your wife maybe?” You finished sweeping off his shoes, brushing your hands off on your apron before looking back up at him.
“…I don’t have a wife,” he said simply.
“Oh… I’m sorry,” you replied softly, quickly gesturing toward the shop. Today did not seem to be your best day. “Please, come in. I’m sure I can find something for you anyway.”
You opened up the door, pushing inside. Thomas hesitated a moment at the threshold of your shop.
With slow steps, careful, as if afraid he might break something he stepped inside.
The bell above the door chimed softly as it swung shut behind him.
His sharp blue eyes swept over rows of blooms, shelves crowded with colour and life, before settling on you. You were already busy among the pots and freshly cut stems, sleeves dusted with soil, expression warm as you turned toward him.
“What colours do you like?” you asked easily. “Would you prefer a bouquet, or a potted plant?”
He usually didn’t do flowers.
Has never bought any. Never felt the need.
The question struck him as… strangely intimate. Despite the fact that it was a rather simple question.
“…Blue.” he answered after a moment.
Not because it was really his favourite, he hadn’t thought about favourite colors in a while, but because blue reminded him of forget-me-nots.
And suddenly, they were all he could think about.
You hummed thoughtfully, pulling out a bundle of blue chicory before pausing. You tilted your head, studying them, then shook it with a quiet sigh.
“No… too much.” you mumbled, returning them to their place. “Just blue?” you asked again, leaning toward a cluster of hydrangeas.
Something almost like amusement flickered behind Thomas’s eyes when your nose scrunched in mild disapproval. It was gone as quickly as it came.
At your question, he nodded once, short and decisive.
His gaze followed your hands as you selected a hydrangea, its blue deep and calm. You turned it gently in your palms, considering it, then set three aside with a small nod of approval.
“Are you in Birmingham often?” you asked casually as you clip a few stems of pale blue delphinium.
Thomas looked a bit at the flowers around him, before answering in that low, steady voice of his.
“I live here. Small Heath. Born there.”
You glanced up, smiling. “Oh, that’s nice. I live just down the street from the shop, very convenient, really.”
You laughed softly to yourself, clearly more comfortable with conversation than he was.
“Hm… you’re really putting me to the test with all this blue,” you added with a chuckle as you dug through more options, adding blue salvia and poppies to the growing arrangement.
Thomas absorbed everything about you, your smile, the sound of your laugh, how easily you spoke to him like he was just another man off the street.
You added a few periwinkles, then paused.
“I’m sorry again about the soil,” you said, glancing up. “I still don’t know how that happened. Clumsy of me…”
You tilted your head, studying him and the bouquet like you were trying to decide if they belong together. Thomas stood perfectly still, hands tucked into his coat pockets.
“Hm… one last thing, I think,” you hummed.
You returned with a small bunch of forget-me-nots, tucking them carefully between the other flowers. Then you wrapped the bouquet in soft pastel-blue tissue paper and tied it neatly, adding a small card.
“May I ask your name?” you asked.
Thomas stiffened just a fraction.
“…Thomas.” he said after a moment. No surname. Just Thomas.
He watched your face as you wrote it on the card, wondering if your name will sound as pretty as you look when he finally asks for it.
You smiled. “Thomas,” you repeated, handwriting quick and neat. Then you held the bouquet out to him.
“And again – I’m really sorry about your shoes, Thomas.”
Thomas took the bouquet carefully. The tissue paper felt tender against his fingers, and the scent of blue flowers rose between them.
He lowered his gaze to the bundle in his hands: hydrangeas, delphiniums, salvia… poppies.
And right at the center, forget-me-nots.
Something tightened painfully in his throat.
Your smile didn’t falter, but your brows knit slightly as you studied his silence.
“Is it… missing something?” you asked carefully, clearly unsure how to read the quiet man in front of you.
Too late, Thomas realized his stillness had unsettled you.
“…No,” he said quietly.
“It’s perfect.”
Your smile softened instantly, a faint blush blooming across your cheeks.
“I’m glad,” you said, relief clear in your tone. “I hope that makes up for the earlier mishap…”
“…More than enough,” he murmured. Then, after a beat of hesitation, “What’s your name?”
“I’m y/n,” you said with a smile, also leaving out your surname, you weren’t one for formalities anyway. “It’s nice to meet you, Thomas.”
You offered your hand.
Thomas set the bouquet down on the counter and reached for you.
His hand was big and rough, but his grip was careful, almost gentle, as though afraid to bruise something precious.
“…Nice to meet you.” he said gruffly, and this time, he meant it.
You shook his hand, smiling.
“I hope you enjoy the flowers! If you keep them in a vase with water by the window, they should last about a week.”
Then you laughed softly.
“And if you ever need more… well, you know where my shop is now.”
Thomas nodded, absorbing your instructions. Keeping flowers alive for a week was the most domestic thought he’d had in years, he was certain of that.
He picked the bouquet back up and tucked it against his side, suddenly aware that he didn’t want to leave yet.
“…I’ll come back.” he said simply.
You let out a small, amused huff.
“I hope so,” you replied, moving back behind the counter to the pot you’d been cleaning earlier. “Have a good day, Thomas.”
He gave one last nod and turned toward the door. The bouquet rested securely against his arm, its blue hues catching the light.
The bell chimed softly as he stepped back into the streets of Small Heath.
pairing: thomas shelby x f!barmaid!reader
genre: bit of a slow burn
notes: legal age gap, power imbalance sort of, as we know morally grey characters, some period-typical attitudes
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MINORS DNI!! this blog and this fic are intended for 18+ readers only.
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chapter one — “Pretty name for a pretty girl”
It was mid day, some day in late winter. None that anyone would usually consider as notable.
The Garrison was filled the way it always was.
The smell of stale beer clung to the wood. Smoke drifted in pale curls beneath the lamps, their amber glow resting low against walls. Glass chimed softly.
Thomas Shelby entered the familiar scene. Despite his unceremonial entrance, the room shifted around him, as it always did. Shoulders straightened, voices lowered, glances slipped over to the man that effortlessly commanded attention.
He carried exhaustion in the lines of his face, a weariness that didn’t belong to him, not usually. Still, he said nothing. He never did.
His eyes moved instead.
They found you behind the bar.
You were new. He knew that much. Someone had mentioned it in passing, between meetings and horses and stacks of pounds. He hadn’t listened fully, mind with more important things.
But now…
Now you stood in the warm glow of a hanging lamp, wiping down a glass, the light caught in your hair like dust in gold. You moved with precision, aware of every patron, every call, every clink of crystal. There was something about you that… irritated his memory. Itched a spot in the back of his head that he hadn’t thought about in a while. Or at least pretended he hadn’t.
Grace.
He approached the counter, the wood cool beneath his knuckles as he tapped it once to catch your attention.
You looked up.
“What would I have to do to know your name, lass?” he spoke.
Mr. Shelby.
You had heard of him long before you ever set foot behind this bar. Everyone had. Warnings, whispers, don’t anger him, don’t stare, don’t ask questions.
You adjusted your apron, smoothing it down with nervous fingers. Your hair slipped over your shoulders as you lifted your chin, eyes bright despite the slight bit of nervousness that made your heart beat faster in your chest.
“I am Y/N…” you said gently, your sweet smile decorating your lips. “Y/N L/N.”
Thomas studied you in silence.
There was naïveté there. In the way you smiled. In the way you met his gaze without knowing what it meant to hold it. An angel’s face.
“Y/N,” he repeated, slow. Testing the shape of it.
“A pretty name for a pretty girl.” His gaze lingered on you, unapologetic. Taking in the curve of your waist, the line of your shoulders. You felt heat crawl up your neck.
“Thank you, Mr. Shelby.” you nodded, clearing your throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”
A man down the bar raised two fingers, gesturing that he would like to ask for another drink. You nodded to him automatically. You were good at this, aware, efficient, anything one could ask of a good waitress.
Thomas noticed.
“Whiskey,” he just said.
You nodded and turned to prepare it. Behind you, he slipped into the private room where Arthur already sat, newspaper spread wide across the table.
Moments later, you knocked.
“Your whiskey, Mr. Shelby.” you called from outside, creaking the door open gently.
Thomas sat beneath the low lamp, cigarette between his fingers. Arthur glanced up first, then Thomas. His eyes found you again, slow as before.
“Come in.”
You stepped inside, placing the glass in front of him. He took it, sipped, never once breaking eye contact.
“Can I bring you anything else?” you asked politely, eager to make a good impression.
Arthur, who had been watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow and his brother's reaction, leaned back with a knowing smirk. “Ohhh.”
“No,” Thomas said without acknowledging Arthur’s comment. “But you’ll stay.”
His voice was low, firm, not quite an order but close enough to make it clear you weren’t leaving unless he dismissed you.
“Mr. Shelby, I really should get back to-” you said, clutching the empty tray to your chest.
“Y/N!” the barman called for you, “Hurry up!”
Thomas’s jaw tightened, “Let the others handle it.”
Arthur coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
You hesitated, but reluctantly nodded, there was no arguing with the Thomas Shelby, at least not from what you knew about him. “Yes, Mr. Shelby.”
“Sit.”
You obeyed, sitting in one of the empty chairs, folding your hands neatly in your lap. Thomas’s eyes followed the motion, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes at your compliance. He took another slow, contemplative sip of his whiskey, studying you.
Arthur was grinning openly now.
“How old are you, lass?” Thomas asked.
“Twenty-four, sir.” you answered properly with a polite smile.
Too young.
Arthur couldn’t resist a comment, “Bit young, innit, Tommy?”
You blinked in slight confusion, “Too young to be a waitress?”
Thomas and Arthur exchanged a quick glance, before Arthur burst out laughing.
Thomas kept his composure, clearing his throat. “No. Too young compared to us.” He pointed between himself and his brother without taking his eyes off you.
“Is that an issue?” you asked softly. This job was all you had now, so losing it was nothing you were looking forward to, especially during your first week.
Thomas continued to study you. Your expression, choice of words, politeness. The innocence in your voice was almost cruel. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“I don’t think I do, Mr. Shelby.”
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before he gestured with the other, cigarette between two fingers. “It’s… experience. Maturity.”
You nodded, “I see…” you hummed, “If you’re asking if I’m married or promised, I’m neither.” you explained.
Thomas took another gulp of whiskey, quiet not, while Arther was clearly struggling to keep his mouth shut.
Thomas shot him a slight glare, knowing his brother, it was guaranteed that nothing good would come out of that mouth. He turned his attention back to you, “You’ve... had lovers?” he grunted, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.
You felt your cheeks heat up a bit, a rosy blush creeping at the side of your face, as you stood up promptly “I… I fail to see how that’s relevant to my job.” you said in flustered protest.
“Y/N!” came the call again, fortunately for you.
You opened the door, “It was nice talking to you, Mr. Shelby.”
Then you were gone.
Thomas cursed silently as you walked away, his mind feeling strangely foggy from the short interaction.
Arthur, on the other hand, chuckled heartily when the door closed behind you, “Smooth, brother!”
life and love
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • established relationship
series: army dreamers masterlist
notes: Thomas has a surprise for you, his now pregnant wife. And while you had a nursery in mind, you were not surprised to see your husband had something... bigger in mind.
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series two – one shots
home sweet home
The morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows and painted warm golden light across the floorboards, while the house remained quiet except for the soft clink of dishes as you prepared breakfast.
Lately, mornings had become slower, and everything about them seemed to carry a different weight now that your dresses fit differently, your body felt different, and each passing day made your pregnancy a little harder to hide.
Not that Thomas was letting you forget it.
You were standing at the counter when familiar footsteps crossed the room behind you, and before you could even turn around, two strong arms wrapped around your waist, or rather around the gentle curve of your stomach.
You smiled immediately.
“Morning, Tommy.”
He hummed against your shoulder, his hands settling over the small swell beneath your dress.
For a long moment he said nothing at all, simply stood there holding you, and you leaned back against him slightly while his chin rested on your shoulder.
You could smell whiskey, expensive cologne, and the faint lingering scent of tobacco that never seemed to leave him entirely.
“You know,” he said quietly, “there's a little Shelby in there.”
You rolled your eyes fondly.
“You say that every morning.”
“And every morning it's true.”
A laugh escaped you, and Thomas pressed a kiss against your neck, then another, then one against your cheek, until you felt him smile against your skin.
“I've got something to show you later.”
That immediately made you suspicious, and you narrowed your eyes.
“What did you do?” you asked suspiciously.
He kissed your cheek again and said nothing.
You turned slightly in his arms, because the lack of answer was somehow even more concerning.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see…” he hummed, far too pleased with himself.
“If this is about the nursery, I already told you we'll have to start putting one together.” you sighed, “We'll need a crib, blankets, somewhere for clothes.”
“And?”
“And a room.”
“And?”
“And if you're about to spend some ridiculous amount of money–”
He laughed quietly, and the sound made you stop, your eyes now narrowed further.
“What … did you buy…?” you asked.
His hands left you only long enough to reach into his coat pocket, and you watched curiously as he pulled out something heavy.
Metal glinted in the sunlight, and then he placed a bundle of keys on the kitchen counter, where they clattered loudly against the wood.
You stared.
Slowly, very slowly, you looked from the keys to Thomas and then back again.
“...Tommy.”
Thomas couldn’t help the grin forming on his lips, “Little gift for my wife.”
You looked back at the keys, puzzled, “Those are … house keys.” you pointed out.
“Aye.” Thomas nodded.
Your mouth opened, then closed again.
A house.
An entire bloody house.
You looked back down at the keys, and there were far too many of them for anything sensible, which meant front door, back door, gate, outbuildings, maybe stables, definitely stables, because you knew him.
Thomas stepped closer again, his hands finding your waist as he looked down at you with an expression that was unusually soft.
“You told me we'd need a nursery.” he said.
You looked up at him, still stunned.
“As it turns out, we'll need a bigger house for that.” he added, quite casually.
You simply stared, speechless for perhaps the first time in your entire relationship, and Thomas seemed to enjoy it.
He leaned down and kissed your lips gently, and when you still didn't respond, he kissed your cheek, then your forehead, then the corner of your mouth.
You looked down at the keys again, then at your stomach, then back at him.
Your eyes stung unexpectedly.
Thomas noticed at once, and his expression softened.
“Hey.” he mumbled, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “We're alright now.”
You swallowed hard.
“You bought us a house.”
“I did.” Thomas breathed with a soft chuckle.
“You bought our baby a house.” you said, a smile now unmistakably tugging on your lips.
Thomas gently rested one hand over your stomach again, then lowered his forehead to yours.
“Wait until you see it,” he murmured.
By the time lunch had finished, your excitement had become almost impossible to contain.
You had changed twice already.
The first dress had been too plain, and the second had somehow felt too formal, so eventually you settled on a light floral dress with tiny embroidered flowers climbing delicately along the sleeves and hem, the fabric flowing comfortably over the gentle curve of your growing stomach while a wide sunhat shaded your face from the warm afternoon sun.
You stood in front of the mirror one last time, adjusting the ribbon beneath your chin, when Thomas appeared in the doorway behind you.
A cigarette rested between his fingers.
He looked amused, “You ready, dear?”
You glanced over your shoulder, “I … think so.”
A short while later you found yourself seated beside him in the motorcar, with Chloe occupying the back seat and her spotted head occasionally appearing between the two of you.
The roads gradually changed as Birmingham disappeared behind you, your stomach was fluttering with nervous anticipation and you found yourself glancing at Thomas every few minutes.
He seemed unusually calm.
Which, naturally, only made you more suspicious.
Eventually the motorcar turned through a pair of large wrought iron gates, and the gravel driveway curved gently ahead before the house finally came into view.
The breath caught in your throat, and “Oh.” was all you could squeeze out.
The house was huge and elegant and built from pale stone, with tall windows reflecting the afternoon sunlight and climbing ivy crawling across parts of the walls while the grounds stretched out around it in every direction.
You couldn't even properly take it all in at once.
It was enormous.
Far larger than anything you had expected.
Far larger than anything you had ever imagined living in.
The motorcar rolled to a stop, and for several seconds neither of you moved, because you were both simply staring.
“Thomas, are you fucking serious?” you asked, almost sure this was a strange dream.
Thomas turned off the engine, “I am.”
A smile tugged at his lips, “I might never have been more serious.”
You laughed softly in disbelief.
“We'll have to have a lot of children to fill that house…” you chuckled
His eyes drifted briefly to your stomach before returning to your face, “We'll give it our best effort.”
You immediately smacked his arm, but he only grinned at you.
Then, he stepped out of the motorcar and came around to help you out, while Chloe launched herself onto the driveway and immediately began investigating every available bush.
Thomas offered you his arm.
You took it.
And together you approached your new home.
The front doors alone looked large enough to belong to a church.
And when Thomas unlocked them and pushed them open, you stepped inside and simply stopped.
The entrance hall seemed to stretch forever.
Sunlight spilled through enormous windows, a grand staircase curved upward before you.
You slowly turned in a circle, “Blimey this place is huge…”
Thomas only led you further inside, and room after room unfolded before you: a dining room large enough to seat half of Birmingham, a library lined with shelves, several sitting rooms, guest bedrooms, offices, and rooms you couldn't immediately identify, until you quickly lost count of them all.
Eventually Thomas guided you upstairs, and the staircase seemed endless as you climbed it, until at the top he led you down a long corridor and opened a pair of large double doors.
You stepped inside, the master bedroom unfolding in front of you.
It was beautiful.
Large windows overlooked the grounds, sunlight poured across polished wooden floors, and the room itself was mostly empty aside from a few pieces of furniture, yet somehow that only made it easier to imagine your own life inside it.
Thomas watched your expression carefully, he asked, “What do you think?”
You slowly walked further inside, looking around, “It's beautiful.”
His shoulders relaxed, then he crossed the room and opened another set of doors.
Sunlight flooded in through the open balcony doors and your eyes widened.
You felt your mouth fall slack again as you stepped out in awe. The warm afternoon breeze lifted the edge of your dress.
Beyond the balcony stretched fields, gardens, trees, and distant countryside so wide and open that the view seemed endless.
You simply stood there taking it all in.
Trees were scattered throughout the property, and patches of wildflowers had claimed corners of the garden, splashes of colour among all the green.
It was beautiful.
And impossibly large.
You heard Thomas step closer behind you, and then his arms slid around your waist, careful and protective, one hand settling over the curve of your stomach while his chin came to rest against your shoulder.
You relaxed immediately into his embrace.
For a few moments he simply stood there with you, looking out across the grounds, before he raised one hand and pointed.
“See that spot there?” he asked quietly.
You followed his finger to the area near a cluster of trees.
“We'll put the horses there.” he added, “There'll be enough room for stables.”
His finger moved elsewhere, “And over there.”
You looked again at a wide open stretch of grass.
“We will put… a swing.” Thomas explained.
You laughed softly, “A swing?”
“For our baby. A proper one,” he continued. “Not one of those flimsy things."
“A proper swing.” you chuckled, leaning back against him.
His arm lifted again, “There.”
You followed his gesture.
“A pavilion… with tables, chairs. So we can eat outside.” he said.
You laughed, and Thomas continued anyway.
“There'll be family dinners. Many of them.” he breathed against the shell of your ear.
You smiled, because the image felt so vivid, so real, that you could almost hear the noise of it already.
Thomas continued pointing across the grounds, speaking with an unusual certainty as he described gardens, a place for Chloe to run, space for children, more horses, more trees, perhaps even a greenhouse, a long driveway…
He spoke about it all as though he had already built it in his mind, as though he had spent countless hours imagining it.
Eventually he fell silent.
The breeze stirred your dress, and the world felt strangely quiet.
You turned around in his arms, and Thomas immediately looked down at you, his blue eyes seeming softer than usual, less guarded and less distant.
You studied him for a moment before shaking your head slightly.
“Are you really serious about all of this?” you asked quietly.
For a moment Thomas simply looked at you, and then one of his hands left your waist so that his fingers could gently cup your cheek, the familiar touch making your heart ache.
He smiled faintly, the one that belonged only to you.
“I've never been more serious about anything.” he nodded, his thumb brushing against your skin.
“You know that, don't you? So many things in my life have been temporary.”
His voice was quiet now, almost thoughtful.
“People leave. Things change. But this…”
He glanced briefly around the house, then down at your stomach, and then back to you.
“This is what I want… I love you more than anything.”
His forehead rested gently against yours.
You felt your chest tighten as all the fear, all the uncertainty, and all the memories of nearly losing him, of Epsom, of the grave, and of the nightmares seemed to drift far away for a moment.
There was only this.
This house.
This baby.
This man.
Your husband.
Slowly, you reached up and rested your hand against his cheek.
“I love you too.” you breathed, the words almost a whisper.
Thomas closed his eyes briefly, as though hearing them still affected him every single time, and then he leaned forward and kissed you softly.
the loving man
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: comfort • short story
series: continuation/one shot set in the au of my series 'army dreamers', I recommend reading it before coming to this but... if you're just here for the one time experience! feel free to stay!
notes: the immortal man!au, some soft happy immortal man age set shenanigans, I need to heal my soul after this... (also old Tommy oh lord..)
warnings: smut (yes again! let the old ppl fuck!), unprotected pinv, nothing out of the ordinary really...
does not include ANY immortal man spoilers! is completely made up!!
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how simple life can be with love
foaming at the mouth or so
Morning came slowly.
You stirred beneath the covers with a soft yawn, the early light filtering through the curtains in thin, pale strips.
Your body ached in that familiar, stubborn way, age settling into your bones whether you liked it or not.
You didn’t need to look to know he was awake.
You could feel him sitting quiet, hear the faint turning of pages.
Your eyes opened, heavy-lidded, and there he was…
Thomas sat propped up against the headboard, glasses low on his nose, a book resting in his hands.
Always careful not to wake you.
“Morning, love…” you hummed, voice thick with sleep, your hand finding his almost instinctively.
Your eyes drifted shut again.
He looked down at you.
There was something in his expression that hadn’t changed in all those years.
Something only for you.
Something softer than the rest of him.
His hand moved to your hair, fingers threading through it slowly.
“Morning,” he said quietly, voice equally rough with sleep. “Sleep well?”
You let out a small breath, shifting slightly before a sharp, familiar ache pulled through your back.
You winced, just faintly.
“Someone didn’t snore tonight,” you replied with a tired smile, your voice light despite the back pain.
Carefully, you shifted closer, lifting your head just enough to settle it into his lap.
“Lucky you, then.”
There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
He set the book aside without another thought, attention fully on you now.
His fingers continued their slow path through your hair.
“You know you’re starting to go grey, right?” he teased lightly, brushing through a few soft strands of greying hair.
You let out a soft laugh, glancing up at him through half-lidded eyes.
“You are grey alright…” you huffed back.
“Oi, that’s silver, thank you very much.”
His hand moved, fingers tracing along your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the faint lines time had left behind.
“Suppose we match now,” he added more quietly. “Been a while since we did.”
Your gaze shifted, catching onto something else.
His wrist.
The ink there had softened with time, lines slightly blurred, but still unmistakable.
The locket.
Your locket.
You reached for him, gently turning his wrist in your hands, studying it as if it were something new again.
Your thumb traced over it before you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the ink.
“Match like this?”
His gaze didn’t leave you.
“1920, hm…” you whispered, a quiet smile forming.
For a moment, the years seemed to fold in on themselves.
Back to something younger.
Wilder.
Dangerous.
But still the same.
“It seems like a lifetime ago,” he mumbled, his fingers lifting to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear with practiced care.
“A million lifetimes, even…” you chuckled, softly, “…with you.”
Your eyes had settled on his, and for a moment the world had narrowed to just him, just you, just the quiet bedroom.
Then you leaned in, closing the distance, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips.
He had returned it without hesitation.
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“Twenty years,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “Can you believe it?”
“I can…” you chuckled, leaning closer again, your nose brushing softly along his cheek.
His hand had drifted to your hip, thumb moving in slow, idle strokes as he looked at you properly.
The lines at the corners of your eyes, the silver threaded through your hair.
For a man who rarely allowed himself sentiment, he was dangerously close to it then.
The sharp ringing of the telephone had cut through the moment.
“Who calls at bloody eight in the morning…” you sighed, your eyebrows lifting into a faint frown.
With a quiet huff, he shifted away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Probably work,” he muttered.
You listened as he crossed the room, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight, and then the sound of his steps faded as he headed downstairs.
But before he could reach the phone, there was another voice.
“Hello?”
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he already saw her, your daughter, Lily, standing there with the receiver in hand.
She turned as she heard him, her expression shifting immediately.
“Dad!” she sighed in annoyance, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “I’m on the phone!”
Thomas raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
“I can see that,” he said, “And who’s calling at this hour, hm?”
Lily barely spared him a glance, “It’s Margot – she’s asking if we want to go to the cinema tonight, ugh!” she huffed, rolling her eyes before turning back to the receiver. “Yes, I so want to go– we should go out for a drink before!”
Thomas’ frown deepened at that.
He opened his mouth to shut it down. To say no.
But then he hesitated.
Because she looked like you.
Because she sounded like you, sometimes.
Because there was something in her… bright, stubborn, alive.
And he couldn’t quite bring himself to crush.
“Who’s driving?” he asked instead.
Lily paused, pressing the receiver against her chest as she turned back to him, her entire expression shifting in an instant.
“Can you drive us, Dad, pleaseee?” she asked, widening her eyes just enough, a hint of a pout pulling at her lips. “And then come pick us up– ”
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, already feeling himself lose ground.
“Lily,” he started, “you know I’m not fond of you girls going out drinking…”
“Please, Dad, I’ll even help with the horses today, please!”
That did it.
It always did.
His resolve cracked, just slightly.
“Fine,” he sighed gruffly.
“But you and your friends better not get too drunk. And, no later than two in the morning. Understood?”
She nearly dropped the receiver in her excitement before throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
“You’re the best, Dad!” she squeaked, already turning back to the phone. “Did you hear, Maggie?! This is going to be amazing!”
He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound softer than it used to be, his hand coming up to pat her back in a way that was still just a bit awkward.
Still very much Thomas in its own way.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?”
She nodded quickly, finishing her call before darting off upstairs again.
Thomas watched her go, shaking his head slightly.
Then he turned back toward the bedroom.
By the time he stepped inside, you were already sitting up, glasses perched low on your nose, a book, your favourite one, ‘100 wildflowers and where to find them’, open in your hands. You glanced up at him over the pages, curious.
“Hm?” you hummed softly. “Who was it?”
He moved toward the bed, the weight of the morning settling back into him as he sat down on the edge, letting out a quiet, weary sigh.
“It was Lily’s friend… Margot,” he said.
“They’re planning some outing tonight. Want me to drive them to the cinema… and pick them up later. Which means a bar.” he added dryly, giving you a look.
You only chuckled at that, eyes dropping back to your book as you turned the page.
“Are you surprised?” you asked, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips.
He scoffed under his breath, “No,” he admitted.
His gaze drifted back to you, watching you for a moment.
“You know… she’s got your damn eyes when she wants something,” he muttered.
After a moment, you closed your book and set it aside, shifting closer. Your head came to rest lightly against his back where he sat at the edge of the bed.
“So… you said yes, hm?”
You already knew the answer.
He let out another quiet sigh.
“Of course I did,” he said.
A faint shake of his head followed.
A soft laugh slipped from you, “So the usual,… wonder when you’ll finally say no to her for the first time.”
Your hand brushed over his back, “So… no time to linger in bed, I assume?”
He turned slightly at that, glancing over his shoulder at you, a smirk pulling at his lips.
“Oh, we’ve still got time…”
You leaned in then, closing the space between you, your lips brushing gently against his.
He met you without hesitation.
His hand came up to your cheek, holding you there as the kiss deepened.
His other hand moved, guiding you closer until you settled into his lap.
For a moment, the world narrowed again.
Just you. Just him.
And then….
A loud clatter shattered it.
Again.
“Henry, ew!” Lily’s voice rang from downstairs, followed by a sharp bark.
Thomas groaned softly against your lips, the sound low and thoroughly unimpressed.
He pulled back, resting his forehead briefly against yours, eyes closing for a second.
“Every damn time…” he muttered.
With a reluctant sigh, he stood, already turning toward the door.
You followed this time, a quiet laugh escaping you as you rose, reaching for your robe.
“Maybe that’s a sign this will have to wait for later…” you hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you passed him.
Together, you made your way downstairs, the house already alive with noise and movement.
“Dad!!” Lily called the moment you stepped into the kitchen.
Lily stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips.
Henry stood opposite her, entirely unbothered.
Behind him, his dog, Daisy, a young German Shepherd, half-cowered, ears tilted back, tail giving the smallest, uncertain wag.
Thomas stopped just inside the doorway, taking in the scene with a long, slow breath before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What on earth is happening now?” he asked.
You followed just behind him, one brow lifting slightly as your gaze moved between the two of them.
“Henry tried to give my favourite bowl to his dog to eat from!” Lily snapped, gesturing to Henry and Daisy.
Henry only shrugged.
Thomas turned his head slowly, fixing Henry with a flat, unimpressed stare.
“Henry,” he said, voice even, “you do not feed the dog from the family dishes.”
Another shrug.
“She likes it.”
Thomas exhaled, long and deep. Beside him, you bit back a quiet laugh.
Daisy let out a small bark.
You stepped forward then, your hand coming to rest lightly against Thomas’ arm as you spoke.
“We gave you that dog to train, Henry, dear… not to baby,” you said, your tone soft but knowing.
“Yes, Henry. The dog is supposed to be trained. Not spoiled.” Thomas added.
Henry only grinned, his hand moving to ruffle Daisy’s ears.
“But she’s cute when she’s spoiled.”
“Fine…” you clapped your hands together once.
“Everyone sit. Hop, hop. I’ll handle this.”
It was instinct.
Routine.
Something that had never quite left you.
You moved toward the counter, already reaching for the kettle, your hands slipping into familiar motions as though they’d done it a thousand times before, because they had.
For a brief second, your gaze dipped.
The small silver teapot charm at your throat caught the light.
Old.
Simple.
Important.
Then you glanced back over your shoulder.
Henry had dropped into his chair, Daisy settling at his feet now.
Lily sat as well, though not without a small huff, her fingers toying with the charms on her bracelet.
Thomas had taken his seat as well, leaning back slightly as his eyes followed you.
His gaze lingered for just a moment longer on you before shifting back to the table.
To the children, to the dog, to the life that had somehow grown around the two of you.
“Dad is driving me and Maggie to the movies tonight,” Lily announced, nodding toward Henry as if expecting a reaction.
Henry barely looked up, he was unimpressed and unbothered, never really one to hang around the city like Lily.
You were already moving toward the fridge, pulling out milk, cheese, and ham.
“Eggs, anyone?” you asked as you set everything down on the table.
Under the table, Henry already slipped Daisy a piece of ham.
Thomas caught it immediately.
“No feeding her at the table.” he said, voice firm.
Thomas’ attention shifted back to you as you moved around the kitchen, his expression softening almost unconsciously.
“Eggs sound good,” he said.
You had already started, cracking them into the pan.
“Don’t you have work to do today, our little newspaper boy?” you called over your shoulder to Henry.
Henry slumped immediately.
“Mum, it doesn’t start again until Monday…,” he complained.
Thomas glanced at him, one brow lifting.
“Newspaper boy?”
Henry sighed, as though burdened by the ‘many’ questions.
“It’s not a newspaper, it’s the local paper round. I get paid.”
Thomas gave a small, approving nod.
“At least someone in this house contributes,” Thomas said, his gaze flicking to Lily.
Lily stuck her tongue out at him without hesitation.
You slid the scrambled eggs onto plates, dividing them out with care before bringing them to the table.
You sat with them, brushing a few loose strands of hair from your face before reaching for the bread, already cutting it for Henry without a second thought.
Thomas watched you, shaking his head slightly, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“He’s sixteen, darling,” he said. “He can cut his own bread.”
But there was no real protest in it.
You scoffed lightly, glancing at him with quiet amusement.
“You can’t talk, love…”
At Henry’s feet, Daisy whined softly.
Thomas smirked faintly, buttering his bread.
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
Daisy shifted closer to him now instead, tail wagging.
“She knows who gives in first.” you huffed in amusement.
And then, without a word, he broke off a small piece of bread and dropped it discreetly to the floor.
Daisy snapped it up happily.
“Chloe always went to you as well, Dad,” Lily chimed in, almost absentmindedly.
The name settled differently.
You stilled for just a moment, something soft and distant passing over your expression before it warmed into a nostalgic smile.
“She did…”
“She had good taste, that dog,” Thomas said after a moment, softer than usual.
You chuckled softly, handing Henry his bread before leaning over to help Lily take some of the eggs onto her plate.
The morning settled into something easy after that, it was ordinary.
Comfortable.
Home.
Then, almost out of nowhere…
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Lily asked, looking between you all. “I mean… for Dad’s birthday?”
He looked up, almost as if he’d forgotten entirely, caught off guard for a brief moment.
“You’re not planning me a big party, are you?” he asked, a faint wariness slipping into his tone.
You glanced up from your plate, just for a second, feeling that flicker of being caught, before smoothing it over effortlessly.
“No,” you said lightly. “We would have told you, don’t you think?”
Lily’s eyes flicked to Henry.
Henry, as always, said nothing.
His gaze narrowed slightly as it moved between the three of you.
Lily and Henry both looked away immediately, feigning innocence.
You didn’t.
You only offered him a soft, far-too-sweet smile.
“I guess we’ll have to wait for tomorrow then, won’t we?” you said gently.
You simply lifted your teacup, taking a slow sip, your eyes glinting over the rim.
The rest of the day passed quietly.
Henry and Daisy disappeared outside, playing and running about.
Lily stayed with Thomas in the stables, helping where she could.
You moved through the house, tending to small things, letting the quiet settle around you.
Eventually, you stepped outside too.
The garden welcomed you with soft sunlight and the faint scent of earth and hay. You sank into a chair, book in hand, a small glass of gin resting between your fingers.
It was peaceful.
You turned a page, smiling faintly to yourself.
Across the yard, in the stables, Thomas worked with one of the horses.
The afternoon light spilled in through the open doors, catching on dust in the air.
His hand moved over the horse’s flank, steady, assured, his voice low as he murmured something.
The horse stilled.
Listened.
Trusted.
Thomas glanced up then, drawn by the faint creak of your chair.
His gaze found you easily.
“Wow… she’s so pretty,” Lily said softly, her hand resting against the horse’s neck.
She meant the animal.
But the way Thomas looked at you, it could have meant something else entirely.
His gaze lingered a moment too long.
“I was talking about the horse, Dad,” Lily said, rolling her eyes as she gave the mare a fond pat.
“Of course you were,” he replied dryly, not even bothering to look at her again.
His attention was still on you.
He turned back to the horse, running a firm but gentle hand along her neck.
“She is beautiful.” he admitted gruffly.
And he meant it.
Just… not entirely about the horse.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“Eugh, Dad, you’re such an old horse…” Lily snorted.
Thomas gave her a dry look.
He finished up with the horse, closing the stable door with a final pat.
“We’re done,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “And if you’re going out, you’d better get ready. Unless you plan on going like that.”
He gestured vaguely to her state, stained pants, tangled hair.
Lily groaned, already turning toward the house.
As she hurried off, you called after her, “Take off your shoes outside!”
Then your gaze shifted to Thomas.
Thomas already started walking toward you.
He stopped in front of your chair, reaching down without asking, stealing your glass.
You pulled a face immediately.
“Tommy…! you reek of horse– and that’s my gin!”
He only chuckled, completely unbothered, taking a long drink.
“Oh, stop grumbling,” he said, lowering it again. “It’s just a bit of horse. You know better than anyone how I smell at the end of the day.”
He sat himself on the arm of your chair, nudging you lightly with his hip.
You feigned annoyance, waving a hand at him.
“Tommy–” you laughed, but your body betrayed you as you leaned into him anyway, your head settling comfortably against his side.
He only smiled at that, soft and satisfied, setting your glass aside before his arm came around your shoulders.
He pressed a slow, absent kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in.
“You love it.” he teased quietly.
“I love you, Thomas. That’s different…”
“Dad! Go get a shower and get ready! You can’t drive me to the movies like that!” Lily’s voice rang out from inside the house.
Thomas sighed, tipping his head back with his eyes closed.
“God, a man can’t even have a moment with his wife anymore…” he muttered dryly, before raising his voice.
“I’ll shower when I’m damn well good and ready, young lady!”
“Dad– ugh!”
You laughed softly, pulling away just enough to stand up.
“I was going inside anyway, dear,” you said, glancing back at him.
He looked at you for a second, before pushing himself up with a quiet exhale, rolling his shoulders.
With a small sigh, he offered you his arm.
“Might as well,” he muttered. “Before she comes out here and drags me in by the ear.”
You smiled, slipping your arm through his, and together you went inside.
Later, he had showered, changed, and driven Lily and her friend to the cinema.
By the time he returned, the house had settled.
Quiet.
The kitchen stood empty when Thomas stepped into it.
You were likely upstairs, curled into the bed, a book in hand, or simply resting.
But something else caught his attention.
The back door that lead from the kitchen into the garden was slightly ajar.
And just outside it…
Henry.
Half-hidden, a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling lazily into the evening air.
Thomas stopped in the doorway, one eyebrow lifting.
He leaned his shoulder against the frame, watching for a moment.
“You know your mother will kill you if she catches you smoking,” he said casually.
Henry jolted, the cigarette nearly slipped from his fingers as he coughed, startled, turning toward him with wide eyes.
“Dad– I–”
“You really are testing your luck,” Thomas muttered, voice low, more amused than anything else.
Henry straightened slightly, trying to recover what little dignity he had left.
“I– I am old enough… and you and Mum smoke all the time–” he shot back, lifting the cigarette to his lips again.
Thomas let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
“Your mother and I,” he said dryly, folding his arms over his chest, “are grown adults.”
His gaze lingered on Henry’s face, on the way he tried not to cough, not to flinch.
“So,” Thomas added, one brow lifting, “when did this start?”
Henry hesitated, just for a second, before shrugging.
“Uncle Arthur said it’s fine.”
Of course he did.
Thomas exhaled a short laugh under his breath.
He looked back at Henry just in time to watch him take another drag, too deep this time.
Henry choked on it instantly, coughing into his fist.
Thomas didn’t even try to hide the amusement now.
“Yeah,” he said flatly, “very convincing.”
Henry’s cheeks flushed red, as he stubbed the cigarette out far too quickly in the ashtray.
He pushed himself upright, already entering the house again.
“Whatever.”
Daisy scrambled up after him.
“Night, Dad.”
Thomas watched him go, “Goodnight, kid,” he called after him, softer now.
He stood there for a moment, then entered the kitchen, flicking off the light, the room falling into shadow as he turned toward the stairs.
The house creaked softly beneath his steps as he made his way up.
He pushed open the bedroom door.
And there you were.
Curled beneath the blankets, glasses perched low on your nose, a book open in your hands again.
Something in his chest softened.
He stepped inside.
“Caught Henry smoking.” he said rather casually, dropping onto the edge of the bed with a quiet exhale.
You didn’t even look up.
“Mm. Guess we know where he gets it.”
He scoffed lightly.
The room settled again, warm and still, as he shifted beside you.
You moved instinctively, making space, your body fitting against his like it always had.
The blanket followed, pulled partly over him as you tucked back into your place.
“When are you picking Lily up again?” you asked, eyes still on the page.
He glanced down at his watch, a small sigh slipping from him.
“Two hours.”
He leaned back into the pillows, one arm settling around you, pulling you just a little closer.
You shifted slightly against him, and when he glanced down, he caught that subtle little smirk on your lips.
Like you were hiding something.
His eyes narrowed faintly, suspicion creeping in beneath the calm.
“…What?”
“Hmm…” you hummed, flipping another page of your book.
“You know, I thought I maybe just… maybe… have a present for you before your big day tomorrow.”
Thomas’ suspicion narrowed more, but now some curiosity was mixed in with it.
“A present.” he repeated, tone skeptical.
You tugged a bit at the blanket, shaking your head as you put your book away.
“Oh me…? Never…”
“Liar.” Thomas said flatly but he couldn’t help the edge of his lips twitching up.
The glimmer in his eyes betrayed him now, curiosity fully overriding his suspicion.
He shifted closer, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her.
“So… what kind of ‘present’ is this then?”
“Now wouldn’t you like to know…” you hummed, leaning a bit closer now.
You gently fidgeted with the blanket again, it fell off your shoulder, revealing a tiny bit of the rose coloured lace strap.
His mouth immediately went dry at the sight, a wave of heat and hunger rising in him.
He swallowed hard, eyes flickering back up to meet yours.
He reached out, pulling the blanket off you completely, his gaze roaming hungrily over your form.
“You’re trying to bloody kill me, aren’t you?”
“Too much for my old man?” you hummed.
It didn’t matter that you had wrinkles now, your stomach holding stretch marks from when you had been pregnant, his breath still caught in his throat, his eyes darkening with hunger at the sight of you.
“Thought you’d like it..” you said, sitting up a bit, legs falling open as your hands traveled between them.
You bit your lips, eyes finding his again.
“Like is a fucking understatement…” he mumbled, voice thick with desire.
He sat frozen fro a moment, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself for a moment, despite how much he wanted to rip that thing off you.
His eyes drank you in, enjoying every moment, as your other hand came up to push one strap off your shoulder, teasingly so.
“Do you remember the one I wore to the Garrison opening, looked almost like this don’t you think?”
Your hand between your legs moved in slow circles over your clit through the wet fabric.
“Fuck.” he cursed, eyes locking onto the slow movement of your fingers.
He remembered that night vividly. Young and reckless, the bit of lace you flashed him had driven him so mad he didn’t have the patience to wait until you got home. Cramped into the bathroom of the pub, your lace had been this beautiful coral rose color…
just like this one now.
“Why don’t you help yourself, love?” you hummed, tearing him from the memory.
Thomas let out a sharp breath through his nose, “Help myself?” he repeated, voice as rough as gravel.
His self-control was gone entirely, in one swift motion, he yanked you closer. Thomas lips found yours in a kiss, hungry, possessive, desperate, all at once.
His hands roamed over the lace now like a starved man, one gripping the thin lace by your hips, the other digging into the soft flesh of your chest.
He broke the kiss only to trail rough nips down your throat and collarbone as his fingers finally slipped beneath the lace, finally finding how wet you already were for him.
You let out a soft sound at his touch, your legs falling open for him without protest.
“You think you can still handle this?” you teased.
He may be old, his body not as strong as it used to be, but this… this was something he’d always be good at.
“Don’t push your luck, love” he rasped before his fingers pushed inside you.
“You know exactly what I can handle…” he purred into your ear.
You let out a muffled gasp at the feeling of his fingers inside you, “Tommy…” you let out.
His head turned to capture your lips in another hungry kiss, nipping at your bottom lip.
His fingers pushed deeper, a groan leaving his own lips as he felt the way you clenched around his fingers.
You let your hips buckle against his fingers, your hands clawing at his chest, “Love…” you moaned, “Please… I– I just want you…”
Thomas let out a ragged breath at your plea, his body responding physically to your words.
“Fuck…” he muttered roughly, finally yanking his shirt off, tossing it aside.
His belt came undone in a sharp pull, pants equally discarded somewhere off to the side.
“You want me?” he repeated in a low hiss, his hands grasping impatiently at the lace on your lips, it gave away under his rough hands like it never stood a chance.
“I’ll give you what you ask for, sweetheart.”
In moments you were under him, the underwear coming off you with a sharp rip.
“Tommy–!” you gasped, a bit disappointed that your new underwear was already ruined but he left you no time to form a single thought after.
Thomas didn’t leave himself a chance to tease you, to draw this out like he wanted. The second he saw you underneath him, he couldn’t help but line himself up with your entrance.
He didn’t make you wait, didn’t even try to be gentle, all his thoughts vanished the moment he felt your slick heat and he sunk into you with a deep groan.
He leaned down to catch your mouth in another rough kiss, you leaned into it, holding his face with both your hands.
“Christ, you’re perfect…” he breathed against your lips, voice rough with need. “You’re mine, love, always mine…”
Soft moans tumbled from your lips, he wasted no time to adjust himself, hips meeting yours in deep thrusts that told you exactly how much he had been waiting for this since the interruptions this morning.
Thomas’ fingers tangled roughly in your hair, as he kissed you like a starved man, his other hand bracing beside your head to keep himself stable.
He could feel you all around him, your hands on his face, your legs wrapping around his waist, you. All of you.
And it was perfect, this connection you still held.
He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Look at me, love, wanna see you” he gritted out, voice tight with need.
Your eyes focused on him immediately, lips slightly parted, staring into those cold blue eyes that only seemed to soften for you.
“I love you…” you whispered between moans.
Thomas’ leaned into your touch on his cheeks, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the cold metal of your wedding ring.
“I love you too.” he whispered back, his movement turning harder, deeper, chasing that pleasure for both of you as his eyes fell onto yours again.
You felt pleasure pool in your stomach at his words, and thrusts.
You let your head fall back into the pillow, trying your best to keep your eyes open, gaze on him through halflidded eyes now as moans left you much more freely now.
His head came rest besides yours, his form hovering above you as he kept thrusting into you, you felt his rhythm falter, likely his knees suffering from the position but your relentless moans spurred him on.
You felt the pleasure inside you building and a few thrusts later you came undone, beautifully so. His name fell from your lips like a prayer as your orgasm hit you.
The way you fell apart around him, eyes locked on him as you unraveled so perfectly, it undid him completely.
He moved through it, his thrusts slowing as he moved through your climax together, his forehead dropped completely to your shoulder and a low groan left him as he came inside you.
You both tried to catch your breath, and a certain warmth filled your stomach, not only because of his relief but also the love that still made butterflies tingle in you.
You let out a content hum, pressing soft pecks to his cheek, nose brushing over his skin.
“Bloody hell..” he muttered hoarsely after a moment, voice rough but laced with that quiet affection.
His hand lifted to brush damp hair off your forehead, before pressing another kiss to your temple.
“You’re going to kill me one day..” he panted.
“Hm, I mean, that is one way to go for sure..”
“Cheeky.” he mumbled.
For a moment he was silent, enjoying the simple intimacy of the moment.
Then he shifted off you, and falling into the mattress with a groan as his body reminded him he wasn’t a young man anymore.
You let out a soft chuckle, “Are your knees alright, love?” you asked, carefully pulling the discarded blanket up a bit.
Thomas gave a wry smile, reaching for his cigarettes on the bedside table.
“I’ll live…” he muttered, stretching one leg as if to prove a point.
“I’ve had worse..” he added, even as he winced the slightest bit at the ache.
You sat up a bit, the lace bra was still half on you, as he never fully took it off, so you clipped it open and tossed it to the floor next to the bed.
Thomas lit his cigarette, sucking in a sharp breath of nicotine to calm his pounding heart.
“You’ve been shot before, so I am sure you’ll survive aching knees…” you hum, leaning to rest your head against his shoulder.
Thomas chuckled, his hand coming to rest around your shoulder.
“You’re got a point there, Mrs Shelby…” he whispered against your hair.
You settled into his embrace, cuddling into his side, a soft smile formed on your lips, even after many years being called ‘Mrs Shelby’ did something to you.
“Don’t forget you’ll still have to pick up Lily…” you reminded him with a yawn.
Thomas let out a slow irritated smokey breath at the reminder.
“Right…” he muttered under his breath.
He shifted slightly, pulling you closer.
You squirmed a little in his tight grip, turning away from him slightly, you caught a glimpse at the clock.
“Oh and… happy birthday, Tommy..” you smiled.
It was already way past midnight.
Thomas’ breath stilled for a moment, the cigarette sitting between his lips as he glanced over to the time.
It had ticked past midnight, not that it really mattered, not at his age.
Another year older…
“Thanks, sweetheart.” he rumbled, arms tightening around you.
“Finish your cigarette, love” you said, kissing his jaw before sitting up.
Then you sat up, your hair a bit of a mess, a few red marks left behind along your neck and collarbone.
You picked together Thomas’ clothes for him, laying them out on the bed again so he could finish his cigarette and get ready in peace.
Thomas rolled to the side to face you, cigarette burning away between his fingers as his eyes followed you around instead.
After a few moments he really had to get ready now, so he pulled on his clothes while you now settled back into the warm sheets.
“Drive carefully, love…”
Thomas let himself linger in the moment a fraction lumber, reaching down to kiss you. “I will…” he murmured against your lips. He deepened it before pulling back reluctantly.
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: dad Thomas you can fix me, girl dad Thomas please you can fix me... also my shingles meds are making me very dizzy and I have not slept because of the itch... so I wrote this in a certain state of mind... so excuse whatever this is...
also if you like it there will be a part two of Thomas cheeky birthday... idk yet
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a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: comfort • one shot
pre-notes: continuation/one shot set in the au of my series 'army dreamers', I recommend reading it before coming to this but... if you're just here for the one time experience! feel free to stay!
notes: you come home from celebrating your first successful market with your more-or-less-business partner John, as per usual with the Shelby brothers, it didn't stay one drink and you come home late...
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
one shot – drunk and tired
It was late.
Thomas had been sitting on the couch for what felt like hours.
A cigarette burning slowly between his fingers as his eyes stayed fixed on the papers scattered across the side table.
He was trying to work, as he usually did these days at this hour.
He had a lot to prepare, to work out after the entire Kimber ordeal.
Now with Shelby Ltd. a lot more opened up for them, opportunities in the city, the capital.
But… today it felt impossible.
The clock ticked on the wall.
It was already 2 am.
Then…
The door finally opened.
Thomas was on his feet instantly.
You stumbled in, the door clicking shut behind you a little louder than you intended, your balance just slightly off as you turned.
And then you saw him, already standing in the doorway of the small entrance hall.
“Hey, Tommy…” you giggled, a soft, tipsy smile spreading across your face as you tried, very poorly so, to steady yourself.
“Where have you been?” he asked immediately, his tone stern but not without concern.
You didn’t quite catch his frustration, not fully.
Instead, you smiled, trying to look far more composed than you actually were.
Thomas took a few slow steps toward you, his gaze sweeping over your face.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
“You’re drunk.” he simply stated, blunt and certain.
You twirled a strand of your hair, swaying a little as you tried to argue.
“Oh, come on… I’m–” you hiccuped, the word catching in your throat, “I’m not–!”
You slipped off your coat, reaching to hang it up, but it slipped from your fingers, falling uselessly to the floor.
Thomas watched the whole thing, unimpressed.
“You’re slurring your words, love,” he said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you can’t even hang up your own coat.”
You huffed softly, bending down to grab it again.
Though instead of hanging it properly, you just tossed it toward your shoes, which you also kicked off carelessly.
“I’m maybe a… bit tipsy…” you admitted with a sigh.
Then you turned back to him, taking the last few steps towards him.
Your hands found his chest, brushing lightly over the thin fabric of his nightshirt, your touch warm and unsteady as you tilted your head up to look at him.
“Hello, handsome…” you hummed in amusement.
Thomas’s brow lifted slightly, his hands settling firmly against your hip to steady you before you could lose balance.
“A ‘bit tipsy’, huh?” he repeated dryly.
“I’d say you’re more than a bit tipsy, love.” he went on, his voice low, but there was something like relief in it.
He tried to stay annoyed.
He really did.
But the way you looked at him made it impossible.
A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips before he could stop it, his head shaking slightly.
You pouted for a second, like you meant to argue.
Then you sighed dramatically.
“Fine… I’m hammered…” you admitted, and let your forehead drop against his chest.
Your arms barely found their way around him before you relaxed there, all your weight leaning into him.
“Why are you still … up at this hour though, Tommy…?” you mumbled.
His hand moved slowly up and down your back, gently caressing you.
“Couldn’t sleep.” he said gruffly. “I was waiting up for you. You were supposed to be back hours ago…”
You shifted slightly against him, humming, your eyes already growing heavy.
“I told you… we’d have a drink with John and Arthur… because of the new… motor car market… thing…” your voice trailed off.
“You should sleep, Tommy…” you sighed, a yawn breaking through the sentence.
He huffed softly, “You’re in no state to be giving me advice, love,” he said, “You can barely string a sentence together.”
He guided you toward the couch, one arm steady around you as you stumbled the few steps, before he sat and pulled you down with him, settling you across his lap.
You melted into him instantly.
A soft sigh left you as you adjusted, your hand lazily brushing over his arm, your fingers tracing muscle, veins, scars and ink until they found the tattoo on his wrist.
The locket.
Your locket.
Your touch lingered there.
He had gotten it for you, a locket, the same locket you had on your hip.
“So… sorry I came home so late…” you mumbled, quieter now.
His gaze dropped to you, whatever irritation had been left in him faded completely now.
“It’s alright…” he said, gentler than before.
His hand continued its slow, steady rhythm against your back.
“Just next time… let me know, yeah?” he added softly. “So I don’t worry.”
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.
You shifted again, leaning up just enough to press a few clumsy, affectionate kisses along his cheek.
Your breath was warm, whiskey, gin, and whatever else the two Shelby brothers had deemed ‘reasonable’ for celebration.
“Can we go to bed now…?” you asked, another yawn pulling at you.
“Alright, love,” Thomas huffed, “Let’s get you to bed.”
He shifted you gently off his lap, guiding you upright as he stood with you.
“Can you walk by yourself,” he asked, one brow lifting slightly, “or do you need me to carry you?”
“Hmmm… nooo, I can’t walk…” you sighed, like it was entirely obvious and he should have known from the very start.
Thomas let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as his arms came around you again without hesitation.
“Course you can’t,” he muttered, amused.
He scooped you up off your feet, bridal style, holding you easily as he started toward the bedroom.
“Lucky for you, I’m here to take care of you… even when you’re drunk off your ass.”
“I’m not drunk off my ass, Tommyyyy…” you giggled as you leaned into him.
Again you pressed a few soft kisses against his cheek, “I loveee you– I love, love you!”
“Yeah, I know.” he huffed, as he set you down carefully on the bed.
“You’re absolutely drunk off your ass, love,” he said, sitting beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair.
“But I love you too. Even as a drunk mess…”
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Can you help me take my dress offff…” you mumbled, words slurring together as you turned your face into the sheets.
Thomas sighed quietly, but there was no real resistance in him.
His fingers found the zipper at your back, careful as he tugged it down.
“Lift your hips up, love.”
You barely did and he helped take the dress off.
“Thank you…” you mumbled into the pillow.
“And my make up… and toothbrush…?” you added, voice small and hopeful.
He shook his head again, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re really testing me now, love,” he said, standing again. “But fine.”
He walked into the bathroom where he took your cloth that you usually used to take off your make up and your toothbrush.
He dampened the rag slightly before returning to you.
His touch was gentle as he wiped away the smudged makeup, careful around your eyes.
As he was done he passed you the toothbrush.
“Here. Brush your teeth before you pass out, you drunken princess.”
You smiled sleepily, taking it from him and doing your best to brush your teeth.
When you were done, you sank straight back into the pillows, completely done.
A soft yawn slipping from you as you nuzzled into the fabric.
“There, did that satisfy every drunken whim of yours, love?” he teased, his voice low but affectionate, even after his earlier annoyance.
Thomas watched you for a moment.
Then he reached down, pulling the covers up properly around you.
You nodded slowly, reaching up to lay your hand on his arm.
“You’ll… lay down with me, no?” you slurred a bit.
“Don’t stay up late again… you work so much…” you added quietly.
“Of course I’ll lay with you, love,” he said, squeezing your hand gently.
He slid under the covers beside you, pulling you close.
“And don’t worry about me working too much,” he tried reassuring you.
“I’ve got responsibilities, love. You know that.”
“I am… your respos… sinibility… too…” you mumbled.
“You are my responsibility, love,” he said gently. “And I don’t take it lightly. But sometimes… my work demands more of me. You know that.”
He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours. “But no matter what… you’re the most important thing to me.”
You smiled, hand rising to brush gently against his cheek, fingers lingering there as your eyes met his.
“Promise me?” you whispered.
He could never say no when you looked at him like that.
“I promise,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.
“Now… get some sleep, love,” he said after pulling away.
“You’re going to regret all this whiskey in the morning.” he teased.
You let out a small, content sigh, leaning against him as your eyes drifted close.
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
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@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: dangles this in front of you, no no your fixation this is not over yet!
change him? – ruin you.
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • slow burn
notes: thomas Shelby came back from war not long ago, you lost your brother in war not too long ago; he meets you and finds himself intrigued by the domesticity of your life that is so unfamiliar to him, (un)fortunately this goes both ways as you are pulled in by the thrill of the Shelby life
warnings: implication of depression
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
chapter twenty-three – good women go to heaven
The day after she left your house, your mother couldn’t shake the feeling sitting in her chest.
She had tried.
Tried to busy herself with the usual things, cleaning, folding laundry, preparing tea.
But the image kept returning to her.
Your kitchen.
That man standing there.
The revolver lying on the table beside his cap.
And you… standing between them, your voice quiet and pleading.
Your mother sat at the small table in the house she shared with your father, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.
She had already lost one child.
Henry’s photograph sat on the mantle across the room. The uniform he wore in the picture still looked too big for the boy he had been when he left for the war.
The boy he would always stay.
Your mother’s eyes lingered on the photograph longer than she meant to.
Her son had died in war, when he had so much else in life to accomplish. To see. To live.
Now her daughter was standing with a man who carried a gun into her little kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The thought twisted painfully inside her chest.
Now she sat there wondering if that had been a mistake, to leave you there with him.
Your father sat in the other room reading the newspaper, unaware of the storm building quietly in his wife’s mind.
She could lie.
She could keep the secret.
But the thought of it weighed heavily on her.
Your father believed in order, in the law.
And she had seen enough in your kitchen to know you were standing somewhere far outside the lines of what would be seen as acceptable.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
She stood up suddenly.
“I’m going to the church,” she called softly toward the other room.
Your father just nodded, not looking up from the paper.
Outside, the sky was grey and low, the streets damp from rain.
Your mother walked slowly toward the small church down the road.
The doors creaked quietly when she pushed them open.
It was empty.
She stepped forward and sat down in one of the pews near the front, folding her hands together.
‘I already gave you my son, lord’ she thought bitterly.
She bowed her head.
“I don’t know what to do…” she whispered out loud finally.
“My daughter… she’s involved with people she shouldn’t be.”
Her hands tightened together.
“I can’t lose her too.”
The words cracked slightly as they left her mouth.
She closed her eyes.
“I can’t lie to my husband either… Please, lord, give me an answer, I can’t… I can’t do it on my own anymore…”
The heavy church doors opened quietly behind her.
She didn’t turn, but just bowed her head lower.
“Please, lord, why won’t you hear my prayers anymore?” she asked quietly.
Someone moved down the aisle slowly before slipping into the pew directly behind her.
The wooden bench creaked faintly beneath his weight.
Your mother startled slightly, but kept her gaze ahead.
Only after a long moment did she glance over her shoulder.
When she saw him, the color drained from her face.
Thomas sat behind her, gaze fixed ahead, past her.
His voice was quiet, almost respectful.
“I’m sorry to disturb you in church, Mrs. L/N,” he said.
She stared at him for a moment, the conflict already visible in her tired eyes, but she spoke anyway, “Just Ava is fine…”
Being referred to by her last name always left a bit of a strange taste in her mouth.
Instead, his gaze drifted briefly toward the altar before returning to her.
“I imagine you’ve got questions, Ava,” he said.
Her hands tightened together.
“You were in my daughter’s kitchen…” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And there was a gun on the table.”
“Yes.”
The honesty of it seemed to shake her more than if he had tried to deny it.
Her voice trembled slightly.
“My husband… he’s a good man. He keeps our city safe.”
“I know the type.” Thomas nodded once, making no remark about his distrust and unfavorable opinion in the police.
“I can’t lie to him,” she continued softly. “But I can’t… turn my own daughter over to the police either.”
Her eyes shone faintly with unshed tears that burned hot in the corner of her eyes.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Thomas watched her carefully as her head sunk a bit, like the suffocating world was folding her in.
Then he spoke again, “Your daughter means a great deal to me.”
“Does she?” she asked, only half convinced, but the honesty in his words made it hard for her to deny.
“More than I could admit in most places,” he confessed.
“But I give you my word,” he added quietly. “I’ll take care of her, whether you approve of it or not.”
Your mother lifted her head gently, looking at his face as she searched for the truth in it. Or perhaps reassurance.
“And the things you do… the life you live,” she said. “That will not harm her?”
Thomas didn’t answer immediately, instead he leaned back slightly, letting out a slow breath.
“The world is a dangerous place… a cruel one.” he said finally.
“I think you, out of all people, should know that very well.” Thomas said, it made her stomach twist and turn heavily at the implication.
Silence settled between them, as your mother stared toward the altar again, eyes reddening with the sudden small tears that left her eyes.
“I cannot throw my daughter to the dogs,” she sniffled, “And I cannot lie to my husband.”
Thomas leaned forward slightly again.
“Then you’re a good woman,” he said quietly.
His voice was calm, comforting.
“Good women worry about doing the right thing.” he added.
She looked down at her hands, tears blurring her vision at the edges.
“I cannot go on like this…” she admitted.
Thomas’s gaze flicked briefly to the cross above the altar.
“You’ve already suffered enough,” he said.
“You lost your son in the war. You’ve raised your daughter. Protected her as long as you could.”
He paused.
“You’ve done your duty.”
The words seemed to settle heavily in the quiet church and in her chest.
“And good women go to heaven.”
Your mother’s shoulders trembled slightly.
She closed her eyes for a moment, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
“I only want my children to be safe,” she whispered.
“And I promise you… I’ll see that she is.” Thomas said.
Your mother nodded slowly.
After a moment she stood.
Thomas remained seated as she walked past him toward the door.
She paused briefly beside him.
“Take care of her,” she said softly.
Thomas nodded once.
“I will.”
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
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a/n: COULDNT RESIST THE URGE TO POST BC YOU LOT ARE SO AMAZING AND SUPPORTIVE...
a/n 2: AVA is y/n's mother, NOT ADA, as in Ada Shelby, Thomas sister
change him? – ruin you.
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst/comfort • tensions • slow burn
notes: thomas Shelby came back from war not long ago, you lost your brother in war not too long ago; he meets you and finds himself intrigued by the domesticity of your life that is so unfamiliar to him, (un)fortunately this goes both ways as you are pulled in by the thrill of the Shelby life
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
epilogue
By the time Thomas woke, the light spilling through the curtains was far too bright, far too high in the sky to be early. He groaned slightly as he shifted, the healing wound in his side pulling tight beneath the bandages.
The bed beside him was empty.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, blinking the sleep and the haze away.Then his gaze flicked to the clock.
Past noon.
“Right…” he muttered under his breath.
You were probably already at the shop.
That’s what he told himself.
You had been working extra hard recently, almost as if a bit of the light had found its way back into your life.
He dragged himself up, dressing slowly, pain flaring now and then through his side.
By the time he stepped out into the street, cap pulled low and coat thrown over his shoulders, he was already planning the rest of his day, seeing he had slept through most of it, most of the pain.
The walk to the flower shop was familiar, now a routine, almost. He expected to see you through the window before he even reached the door.
But when he got there…
He stopped.
The shop was dark.
The sign in the window read CLOSED.
Thomas frowned, stepping closer, peering inside.
Nothing.
There was.. nothing in the shop anymore. No plants, no flowers, no pots.
No you.
His jaw tightened slightly.
That wasn’t right.
He pushed the door open anyway, the bell above it chimed as it always did as he stepped inside.
“Y/N?” he called.
Nothing again.
His chest tightened, just slightly.
His gaze dropped, catching on the small pot just by the entrance.
Forget-me-nots.
He turned abruptly, exhaling sharply through his nose before turning back toward the door.
Your house.
You had to be there.
He made his way there, but the closer he got, the worse the feeling became.
Outside your house, a motor car was parked.
Filled with boxes, pots, plants…your things…stacked neatly like they were being… moved.
Thomas stopped dead in the street.
His expression shifted instantly, his eyes narrowing as something cold slid down his spine.
He pushed through the gate without hesitation, boots heavy against the little path.
“Chloe–” he said as the dalmatian came to run towards him, barking happily, tail wagging like nothing in the world was wrong.
Thomas dropped to one knee automatically, his hand finding her head, scratching behind her ears.
“Where is she, eh?” he mumbled, more to himself than to the dog.
After a moment, Thomas was up again, knocking against the front door.
Impatiently he waited about two seconds before deciding that this took too long.
He pushed down the handle but it didn’t budge.
Locked.
“Fuck.” he cursed and stepped back, already moving before the thought fully formed, heading around the side of the house to the kitchen window, the faulty one.
The one he’d used before.
With practiced ease, he forced it open and pulled himself inside, ignoring the protest of his wound as he dropped into the kitchen.
You turned at the sound of him breaking in, you were standing in your kitchen, holding a box of garden tools in your arms.
“Oh,” you blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Thomas..?”
The relief hit him so fast it almost made him dizzy. Or maybe that was the many movements he shouldn’t be making with a healing bullet wound.
For a split second, he just stood there, breathing, taking you in like he needed to make sure you were real.
But the feeling didn’t settle.
Because the lorry was still outside.
Because you were still … packing?
“Why’s your shop closed?” he asked, stepping closer now, “Why’s there a lorry outside your house?”
“Are you leaving?”
You blinked a few times, in disbelieve he would even think that.
“I was–” you began but you were cut off.
“Oi, Y/N, where d’you want me to put the–”
John stopped mid-step in the doorway, a box of brightly colored bouquet paper in his arms. His eyes flicked between the two of you.
“Thomas?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows, this was… nothing he expected to find.
“Someone better start explaining,” he said, it rarely happened that Thomas was this confused.
You exhaled, setting the box in your hands down with a soft thud.
“I sold the shop.” you said simply, like that would explain everything.
It didn’t.
“–With the help of John,” you added, glancing briefly toward him.
“What…?” Thomas said in sheer disbelief, “You sold the shop?”
John shifted slightly, adjusting the box in his arms. “I thought it was stupid at first too, but–”
You cut him off, already stepping forward, your fingers wrapped around his hands.
“I bought the motor car outside!” you said, excitement breaking through everything else.
That made Thomas blink again in disbelief.
Once.
Twice.
“You bought a bloody… car?” he asked, softer than before.
You nodded quickly, your smile widening.
“I’m moving the shop into it,” you explained, a bright smile on your lips, “A mobile flower shop, if you will… I can go to all the markets, set up there and reach even more people!”
Thomas stared at you.
At the way your eyes lit up.
At the way your whole face changed when you talked about it.
“You’re bloody insane, you know that?” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it now.
“I couldn’t quite do it on my own,” you added, softer now. “So I asked John for help.”
John huffed a quiet laugh behind you. “Had a couple conditions, mind,” he said. “First… Esme gets to help with it, you know women and… their past times…”
You rolled your eyes.
“– and second,” John went on, glancing toward Thomas now, “when we’re in thick trouble… we use the car. Move men. Guns. Whatever’s needed.”
You nodded once, completely unbothered.
“Considering I’m a Shelby-to-be,” you said lightly, a small grin tugging at your lips, “I think that’s a fair deal.”
Something flickered across Thomas’s face at that.
Shelby-to-be.
His jaw shifted slightly, and he looked at you for a long moment before shaking his head, a soft breath leaving him as that smile finally broke through.
“So you and John are partners now, eh?” he said, one brow lifting in mock disapproval.
You stepped closer, closing the space between you without hesitation, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt as you leaned up.
“Oh, come on,” you murmured, brushing a quick, teasing kiss against his lips. “You know you don’t mind it.”
Before he could answer, you were already tugging at his hand.
“Come on,” you said, bright again, pulling him toward the door. “I’ll show you!”
“Watch out!” John called after you. “She’s a horrible driver still!”
Thomas huffed under his breath as he let you drag him outside.
The sunlight hit you both as you stepped out, and you turned immediately, gesturing proudly toward the motor car parked out front.
“Ta-da! My own motor car!”
Thomas folded his arms across his chest, studying it for a moment.
Then his gaze shifted back to you.
He stepped forward, closing the distance, one hand coming to your waist as he pulled you gently against him.
And then he kissed you.
“Fucking brilliant, you are,” he breathed against your lips.
You smiled into it, your hands settling against him, your eyes bright as they lifted to meet his.
“I try my best, Tommy…” you teased softly.
A quiet laugh left him, real, low and warm, one that you had almost never heard before.
“Try?” he smirked, his forehead brushing yours. “Darling… you succeed.”
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
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a/n: yeah thats it for now!! I hope you guys had so so much fun reading this, I'm very happy for my many readers that seemed to enjoy it! I worked a lot on this fanfic and I am happy with how it turned out!!
please leave ALL your opinions and criticisms in the comments!! I love reading them 🩷
I even have an extra post where I explain ALL the references and "easter eggs" of literally everything in the fic but idk if I will post it... lmao
if you all love it and I am motivated I will continue this pair and maybe make some more posts or even start a new series of them!!!
