a dream
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: smut • one shot
series: prequel/flashback that takes place before army dreamers!
notes: just now I was rereading the first chapter of army dreamers, and realised we never addressed how Thomas foreshadowed meeting y/n with his flower shop dream! so... we should TOTALLY revisit that... :P
warnings: smut, masturbation (m)!
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
army dream
It was that strange dream all over again.
The one he first had when one of the tunnel's support beams collapsed, knocking him unconscious.
Since that day he has had it countless times, maybe because it hasn't left his mind since that day…
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 young woman 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.
The young woman let out a soft gasp as she turned, eyes widening when she saw the mess she’d made.
Her mouth moved but he couldn’t quite hear what she said, her voice soft and sweet but somewhere distant.
He could see how delicately the sunlight illuminated her form, caressing her silhouette.
Thomas glanced down at the soil on his polished shoes.
He blinked again.
And then it was gone.
There was still dirt on his shoes, but he wasn’t in Small Heath anymore.
Thomas laid in his dirty sheet in one of the tunnels.
He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his hand over his face. He felt his heart race in his chest. For once he was alone, it was dark, just the simple oil lamp next to him gave off a dim light.
He tried to calm his throbbing heart and get the image of this woman out of his mind.
But it was no use.
She was all that was on his mind.
The forget me nots.
The feeling of comfort.
He could almost see her face when he closed his eyes.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting uncomfortably in the narrow space.
The air was thick, with damp earth and gunpowder residue, but all he could smell was the phantom scent of those fucking forget-me-nots.
His calloused hand moved almost involuntarily downward…
“Fuck.” He muttered the curse under his breath.
The memory lingered almost uncomfortably between the rhythmic drip-drip of groundwater seeping through the beams.
His fingers twitched again, the desire burning deeper in his veins now.
He could still hear faint sounds through the tunnel, the scrape of metal shovels, muffled voices.
It was dangerous, and stupid.
But, god, he couldn’t get her off his mind.
He needed the tension to ease.
With one last look around, he reached for his waistband.
He closed his eyes, thinking of it again, of her, about the dream.
The forget-me-nots, the soil spilled on his shoes, when he looked up he saw her silhouette, her figure.
A rough exhale escaped him as he gripped himself, tight, moving in slow strokes.
Her soft voice rang distantly in his mind, he couldn’t exactly hear what she was saying, but the illusion alone was intoxicating.
His teeth sank into his bottom lip to stifle any sound as pressure builds.
He could almost pretend the scent of the damp earth in the tunnel was the scent of the flower pots being filled, of her hands working to put the flowers in their new homes.
His head fell back, hitting the rough wood of the tunnel support.
The image was vivid, but it was the imagined sound of her soft voice that made his hold tighten and stroke faster.
The dream played out in his mind again.
The surprise in her eyes, the curve of her neck, the way the light seemed to caress her cheek.
He could almost feel the smoothness of her skin, the brush of her hair against his knuckles.
His breath choked in his throat.
Her voice rang in his ears, a faint whisper of his name.
He clenched his eyes shut, his breathing ragged as the words echoed in his mind
‘Thomas... Thomas…’
on repeat.
The rhythm of his movement picked up, the tension coiled tight within him, desperate for release.
The image burned in his mind, her laughter, her eyes sparkling, her body framed by sun and green.
The field was filled with wildflowers, their petals soft against her skin.
He could almost smell the sweet scent of summer grass, the warmth of her skin.
His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
The image of her lips curving up into that sweet smile.
God, how he longed to feel them against his own.
The ache in his gut grew, coiling tighter with each passing second.
He could almost hear the sound of the wind rustling through the grass, the faint buzzing of insects that filled the summer air.
In his mind, her scent was everywhere, a sweet, flowery fragrance that seemed to draw him in.
His hand moved faster, his breathing ragged and sharp.
His breathing stuttered as he released into his own hand, it felt like his whole world came crashing down onto him as the relief rippled through him.
He let out a ragged breath.
It was intense, overwhelming, and he leaned his head back onto the rough wood.
With a sigh, he pulled a piece of cloth out of his pocket, carefully cleaned himself up and tucked himself back into his trousers.
a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst hurt • 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: on your way home you come across a disgusting scene... which leads you not only into trouble but also to more questions
warnings: smut, slightly off-putting smut... we are processing some things... unprotected pinv, oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talking
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
filthy, disgusting, so ugly – part 3
Thomas looked… wrong.
Not just tired.
There was something on him.
On his sleeves. His collar. His hands.
Blood.
Not yours.
“Where did you go?” you asked, your voice careful.
He didn’t answer immediately.
He just stood there, looking at you like he was searching for something.
“Took care of something that needed taking care of.” he just said, his voice made it clear that there was no room for asking.
A door closing on a conversation you didn’t want to open anyway.
You nodded.
You didn’t ask.
“Lizzie is sleeping in our living room.” you informed him, voice quiet.
“Good.” he nodded once before stepping closer.
His eyes dropped to your hand.
To the cigarette.
To the tremor you couldn’t quite stop.
“You alright, love?” he asked, voice hoarse.
You swallowed, nothing about this night fit the definition of ‘alright’.
Your throat still felt… wrong.
“I… I don’t know.”
It was the only honest thing left.
You took another drag, slower this time.
“You should… you should go clean yourself up.”
You nodded vaguely toward him, toward the blood, toward everything he dragged back in with him.
He looked down, like he had forgotten it was there.
“I will in a minute.” he brushed it off.
His voice was gruff, but softer underneath.
You didn’t respond.
Your leg kept bouncing on the floor.
Fast, restless, like your body was trying to run while the rest of you was stuck.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
You didn’t even realize you were doing it.
He did.
Of course he did.
Another step closer.
Then another.
Until he was right there in front of you.
“Y/N… look at me, love.” he insisted.
You didn’t, not at first.
Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, on anything that wasn’t him.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette.
You felt… untethered.
Like you were floating just slightly outside your own body, watching yourself sit there, watching your hands, your breathing, your stillness.
Like you were waiting for someone to tell you what comes next.
He stepped closer again.
Close enough that your knee almost brushed his leg.
Close enough that there was nowhere else to look but up at him.
And still, you hesitated.
Because you didn’t know what he would see when you did.
Or worse…
What you would see in him.
“Y/N… please. Look at me, goddamn it.”
His hand came up,and settled beneath your jaw, tilting your face upward.
Your eyes snapped to his.
And suddenly you were there again.
Not in the alley.
Not in the bathroom.
Here.
With him.
You leaned into his touch before you even realized you were doing it.
Your breath caught as your gaze locked onto his.
“There you are…” he breathed, voice a whisper.
Your chest tightened painfully, something rising up inside you.
Too many things at once.
For something that made sense after everything that didn’t.
His gaze flickered over your face.
“Y/N…” His voice dropped, “I need you to promise me something.”
His grip shifted, tighter, more certain.
His eyes never left yours.
“Anything.” your voice came out soft, immediate.
Your trust sat between you, like something exposed and fragile and absolute.
Something flickered across his face at that.
It almost looked like it hurt him.
His fingers pressed just a little deeper into your skin.
“You can’t ever tell anyone about this… ever.”
You nodded, then leaned into his hand again, seeking something solid, something grounding.
His thumb dragged once across your lip, slowly and carefully.
“And you need to promise me somethin’ else…” he added.
His voice was thicker now. Strained.
His fingers trembled where they held your chin, the grip almost too tight, almost bruising.
But it grounded you in a way.
Kept you there, kept you from drifting somewhere else entirely.
His gaze moved over your face, something frantic and unsteady behind his eyes.
“Promise me you won’t ever leave me.” he whispered.
An odd promise.
But maybe he knew more about what you were about to go through, than you yourself did.
“No matter what happens.”
You nodded.
Slowly, you pushed yourself up onto unsteady feet and fell into an embrace with him.
You didn’t care that he was damp, that his shirt clung to him, that there was blood on him.
His arms came around you holding you impossibly close.
His face buried into your hair.
He smelled like smoke and sweat and iron.
It didn’t matter.
You tipped your head up just enough to press a soft kiss to his lips.
Your hand came up, brushing gently over his cheek.
“You should get cleaned up…”
“I know…” he muttered. “But I don’t want to let go of you.”
“Thomas…” you breathed, your forehead resting against the side of his neck.
You could already feel it.
Your clean skin no longer clean, his mess transferring to you.
Like you were ‘dirty’ all over again.
“I’ll help you,” you said softly.
Your hand found his, guiding him.
He didn’t argue.
The moment the bathroom door shut behind you, he turned you back toward him.
Like he needed to see you again, properly.
His eyes searched your face.
“Y/N…” His voice was rougher now, uncertain in a way he rarely allowed.
“You don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t have to… not after–”
“I’m helping you wash up,” you interrupted gently, “And cleaning myself again. That’s all.”
You turned from him before he could argue, reaching for a cloth, turning on the tap.
The water ran steady.
He said nothing after that, he just unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting it fall to the floor.
“He… didn’t… He didn’t touch you, did he?”
You shook your head, almost absent.
“Not ‘like that’…” you said, you didn’t linger on it.
Instead, you turned back to him, lifting the damp cloth to his neck.
Brushing carefully at the dark stain there.
Thomas just nodded in response, there was nothing to say.
Nothing that needed to be said now anyway.
His eyes closed for a moment as he tilted his head slightly, giving you better access.
The cloth dragged from his neck to his shoulders, over his arms, down to his hands.
Your motions were careful.
Your gaze drifted up to his face as you worked, unfocused, distant.
You scrubbed at his knuckles, at the dried blood.
He watched you the entire time.
In the dim light of the bathroom, it almost felt… intimate.
Too intimate, considering what still clung to both of you.
Then his gaze shifted to your face.
To your eyes.
Hazy, unfixed.
“Love…” he said softly.
Your hand stilled.
You looked up at him properly then, blinking once, like you’d been pulled back into yourself.
“Yes?” you asked quietly.
His hand came up, slower this time, more careful than before, cupping your cheek.
“You sure you’re alright?” he asked.
Obviously you weren’t, but the question was more so… about how alright one can be in this situation.
You leaned into his touch instinctively.
The contact sending a faint, strange warmth through you.
Not the usual one.
It was something you couldn’t quite name.
You nodded, “Yes…”
Your hand dropped slightly, and you stepped closer without thinking.
“Are you alright?” you asked in return, your voice just as soft.
He exhaled, the sound heavy from his throat.
His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers settling there, holding you carefully.
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly.
But he pulled you closer anyway, until there was barely any space left between you.
His eyes searched your face again, “You look a little… distant.”
The way his hand rested at your neck made something in your stomach twist.
“I just feel… wrong,” you admitted quietly.
The word hung there, incomplete.
And before you could think it through, your lips brushed against his.
The contact made him still for half a second.
“Wrong?” he repeated, voice rough now, his forehead coming to rest against yours.
You didn’t answer.
You couldn’t.
Instead, you leaned in again.
This time the kiss was deeper.
Less hesitant, more searching.
Like you were trying to find something solid in him, something familiar to drown out everything else.
The kiss made his head spin.
He pulled you closer, a little too firm, a little too rough.
You leaned into him, the cloth slipping from your fingers and forgotten entirely.
Your hands found his bare chest instead.
He let out a low sound against your mouth, the feeling of your hands on him sending a rush of heat through his body.
His grip shifted, hands moving over you, restless, until they settled at your hips, guiding you back until you met the edge of the sink.
The cool porcelain pressed faintly against you as he leaned in again, deepening the kiss.
After a moment, you pulled back just enough to breathe, your chest rising unevenly, your head light, spinning.
Not just from him.
Something still felt wrong.
But this…
this dulled it.
“Thomas–” you breathed unevenly against his skin.
He stilled, just slightly, his breathing rough as he hovered close, his forehead nearly touching yours.
His hands didn’t leave you, still firm where they held you.
You slowly let go off him, turning so he now stood against the bathroom sink.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, to ask what you were doing but the words died in his throat as you sank to your knees in front of him.
There was something off in your eyes, conflict between desire, confusion, fear, want, so full of emotion as you looked up at him.
His hands instinctively moved to your hair, fingers tangling in your locks as he looked down at you.
“Christ, love…” he rasped, the sight of you on your knees made his pants uncomfortably tighter.
You dragged your tongue over his clothed crotch, “I want to feel you…” you breathed.
You wanted to feel something.
Him.
His fingers tightened in your hair, his hips jerking forward slightly at the feeling of your tongue through the fabric.
"Fuck, You..." He growled, his voice thick with lust and concern.
“You sure? After tonight–”
You interrupted his words before he could finish them, “Thomas, Please.”
His thumb dragged over your bottom lip.
It passed your lips into your mouth and you lapped over his digit before sucking gently on it.
The way you said his name, the way your tongue brushed over his finger, your eyes fixed on him, it was driving him insane.
“God damn it, fine..” He croaked, giving in, his fingers gently gripping your hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so worked up.
You undid his pants, pushing them down enough to expose his hard length to you.
You carefully took it in one hand, lip brushing the tip as your tongue licked at it.
He swore under his breath, gripping the edge of the sink, watching you, his body tense with need.
He wanted you, needed you.
Your mouth fell slack, letting his cock enter your mouth slowly.
His breath escaped him in a sharp hiss, his head falling back.
You tried to push him further in, but you almost choked on his cock.
He cursed again, louder this time, his hips jerking forward slightly before he forced himself to still.
You pulled back gently, sucking in a breath of air before you let your tongue drag across his entire length.
His hands found your hair again, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he fought the urge to just take over and fuck your mouth.
“Easy,” he breathed, his voice rough and uneven.
“Just take what you can, love.”
He bit back a groan as you took him deeper, your warm, wet mouth wrapping around him perfectly. His fingers tightened in your hair, just enough to guide you a bit.
You let him, your head was spinning, eyes slightly watery but looking up at him.
“Fuck…” He rasped, his voice strained, his cock twitching against your tongue.
You moved your tongue over his tip as he pulled back a little bit, before letting your mouth slide over him again.
“You look so goddamn beautiful like this…” he groaned, his hips rocking slightly into your mouth.
Spit pooled at the corner of your mouth, a muffled sound escaping you, it only fueled the fire in him that made his self control slip further.
“You want me to take over?” He gritted out, his eyes lowering to look into yours.
“You want me to take the lead and show you how I like it?”
You could barely nod before you felt his grip in your hair tighten.
A small, satisfied smirk curled on his lips, “That's my girl…”
He pulled your head back by your hair, separating you from his length for a moment.
“Open that pretty mouth for me,” he rasped.
You did as he asked, sucking in a few shuddering breaths, before letting your jaw fall slack.
The way he talked spurred the adrenaline and arousal on.
It made you feel good in a way.
He wasted no time, the moment you obeyed, he guided your mouth back onto him, sliding himself in slowly at first, savoring the wet warmth of you.
But it didn’t take long for him to start moving your mouth up and down his cock at a faster pace, his hips rocking shallowly to meet your mouth.
You felt him hit the back of your throat a few times, the feeling made you almost gasp for air, but you pushed it down.
He was mesmerized by the sight of you, your eyes watering slightly, your cheeks flushed.
His thrusts grew rougher, deeper.
You let him fuck into your mouth, the lack of air had your head spin even more.
His hips stuttered, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he groaned.
He didn’t give you a chance to pull away nor a warning, not that you seemed inclined to.
You felt your head being pushed down, eyes watering, as your nose nearly touched his stomach.
With a final, deep groan, he spilled into your mouth, his body shuddering as he held you there, panting heavily.
You choked around his dick, the feeling making something twist deep in your stomach.
As he loosened his grip, you pulled back immediately, gasping for air, your face flushed and lips glistening with spit.
He took a moment to just stare at you like this, his chest heaving with his ragged breaths.
You looked wrecked, and he loved it.
“You okay, love?” he rasped, still panting, his eyes roaming over you.
You nodded, swallowing thickly.
“Yeah–” you nodded, as he slowly pulled you up from your knees.
You pressed your legs together, almost surprised at the wetness pooling between your thighs.
“You’re trembling, sweetheart…”
You looked up at him, eyes still shiny, fixed on him as if his voice had torn you from another thought.
“I’m wet.” you said almost bluntly.
He pulled you in a bit tighter, a sly smirk on his lips.
“Oh, I’m aware, sweetheart. Believe me.” He leaned down to your ear, lowering his voice, his own breath still a bit rough.
He had you almost pinned against the sink now, his arms on either side of you, trapping you.
You leaned in, lips searching his again, your body tingling and burning in ways you had never felt before.
“Such a needy little thing,” He breathed against your lips.
He had you bent over the sink in a matter of seconds, his body pressed against you from behind, caging you in.
His gaze darkened, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror.
“Look at you…”
You looked at your reflection, at his behind you, at how his hands dragged over your body, coming down to push up your nightgown.
One hand wandered beneath the fabric, caressing your thigh.
His palm slid higher, the skin of his fingertips skimming over your skin, rough and calloused.
You let out a shuddering breath, your body felt wrong and hot and too much all at once, your eyes fixed on his in the mirror.
His hips pressed against your backside, letting you feel just how hard you’d made him, again.
His fingers trailed up higher, brushing against the soaked fabric between your legs,
“You’re drenched.” he noted almost matter of factually, his fingers pressed against your clit through the fabric.
You leaned back into him, eyes falling shut for a moment.
“What were you thinking about, huh? Tell me.”
The words made your head feel both entirely clear and dipped in that thick haze again.
You didn’t know what you were thinking about, or didn’t know how to name it.
The warmth.
The blood.
The lack of air in your lungs.
You let out a quick breath.
Your hand came down to take his other hand, which wasn’t resting between your thighs, brought it up to your neck.
You didn’t say anything.
But the implication was heavy.
He felt you guide his hand to your neck, his fingers wrapping around it almost automatically.
His thumb brushed over the column of your throat, feeling the beating pulse beneath the skin.
He leaned in, his lips against your ear.
“Do you want me to take control, sweetheart?”
Control in a lack of control.
Control in giving your control to him.
You nodded, your body hot and cold at the same time, tingling.
You felt his hand on your neck, not yet squeezing.
His thumb rubbed small circles into the soft skin of your neck, his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror.
“I see…” he murmured, his teeth grazing your ear, his nose brushing against your hair.
Your breathing became more ragged, increasingly desperate as you felt the adrenaline slowly wear down.
You wanted him to squeeze your throat.
To make you feel something.
Anything.
His grip tightened slowly, fingers pressing firmly against your throat, just enough to make you feel it.
The pressure.
The restriction.
The hint of danger.
You felt your head immediately spin as an odd sort of fight or flight chased through your body as he choked you.
It made your body tingle again.
Your eyes snapping open.
He could practically feel how much you were getting off on this.
The way you reacted to him.
To his grip on your neck.
“You like that, don’t you, sweetheart?” he whispered.
His fingers continued to work between your legs.
You let out a choked moan as his fingers brushed through your wetness, your hips twitched into him.
You needed more.
More friction.
More him.
“Please…” you let out quietly, voice faltering with the lack of air.
Your head spun.
Eyes half-lidded staring at your reflection in the mirror.
In a twisted way, it made you even wetter.
His hand was tightening against your neck as he felt your press back into him.
He knew exactly what you needed, and he was going to give it to you.
But not yet.
He wanted to see just how far he could push you, how much he could make you beg.
“Please what, sweetheart?”
You felt your eyes water again, the loss of air made your thoughts melt together, like you couldn‘t form a full one anymore.
“You’ll have to be a good girl for me and use your words. Tell me what you want.”
You couldn’t say another word, air not reaching you anymore.
A sharp ringing in your ears tuned out everything but your pathetic attempts at breathing.
Thomas was a patient man, but the sight of you was pushing buttons he didn’t even know he had.
Your head spun so much you were sure you were going to pass out any minute now.
He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. He leaned in, his lips against your ear, his voice a low rasp.
“You want to breathe, sweetheart? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
His fingers tightened slightly around your throat.
You nodded gently, “Please.” you croaked out, small and weak, your vision of yourself in the mirror blurred.
With your words, he loosened his grip just enough to allow you to gasp in a ragged breath.
The oxygen rushing back into your system made you even more dizzy than the lack of it.
He watched your gasp for air, your body slumping over the sink, trying to catch your breath.
He could practically feel the heat radiating off your body, his body pressed up against yours.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke, “Feeling better, sweetheart?”
You nodded, still dragging in breath after breath.
Thomas let his hips jerk forward instinctively, pressing against you harder.
You were warm, soft, the only thing between him and you now was your underwear.
His eyes locked on yours in the mirror, "Good."
His hand slid around your throat again, holding it tight, but not enough to choke yet.
Thomas pushed your underwear aside, slowly guiding himself inside of you.
He groaned at the feeling, the way you took him so effortlessly.
His grip on your throat tightened, pulling your back onto him as he thrust in deeper, burying himself inside you fully.
You had to go onto your tiptoes to let him fully enter you, leaning back against his chest as his hips slammed into you.
You felt... weak,
odd,
and it made you wet.
He watched you in the mirror, the way you looked.
You were his, all his, and he was the one you trusted enough to let yourself let go, to take away your control.
“Look at you…”
His eyes roaming over your reflection, drinking you in as he moved within you.
“So goddamn perfect, darling.”
You felt wetness pool between your legs as he fucked into you, so wet you felt it run down your thighs.
You bit your lip as you looked at him.
Adrenaline and pleasure chased you on, letting soft whimpers and moans tumble from your lips.
He could see it, feel it, how aroused you were, how desperately you were trying to keep it together as his hips connected again and again with yours.
“You want to come for me, sweetheart?”
His breath was hot against your ear.
“Is that what you want? To come for me?”
You nodded, pressing your throat into his hand a bit more, a silent plea to let his hands close around it again.
His fingers curled around your throat immediately, tightening just enough to make you gasp, your breath hitching.
You felt him thrusting harder, deeper, his body pushing forward against yours.
The cold of the sink against your front, his hot body pressing against your back, fucking into you.
His hand on your throat.
It was all too much.
He felt you beginning to unravel, your body clenching around him so tight he swore he saw stars.
He groaned, his hips stuttering against your, his own release crashing over him.
He fucked you through both of your highs, his grip on your throat not easing, not yet.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.”
Your knees felt weak, you barely held yourself up against the sink, moaning, gasping.
He held you up, hand around your waist keeping you from collapsing.
He pressed a rough kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering there for a moment before he straightened slightly, helping you stand.
Slowly his hand left your throat.
“You alright?” he rasped after clearing his throat.
You nodded, unable to talk, eyes glassy and wide as you sucked in breath after breath.
You felt yourself crashing from the pleasure high, leaning into him.
He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, pressing another kiss to your shoulder.
“Take your time, love…” he whispered, pressing more soft kisses against your skin.
You were almost tense as everything came down around you.
He could feel it, your breathing still uneven, and he instinctively tightened his hold on you, keeping you steady against him as he slowly pulled out.
“Easy, sweetheart, you’re alright. Just breathe.”
Your eyes fixed on your forms in the mirror.
How disheveled you looked.
The blood on him.
The blood smeared on you.
You felt the adrenaline pass.
The pleasure pass.
It seemed the haze in your mind finally let through what had been putting you off in the very beginning.
You swallowed, eyes unfocused.
He could see the change in you, like a switch flipping.
“Y/N…”
Your attention was on him in seconds.
You nodded again, eyes searching his in the mirror.
“Let’s get you cleaned up…” he said, softer now.
He saw the exhaustion in your eyes, the way you seemed to fold in on yourself, emotionally and physically.
Carefully, he had helped you straighten yourself.
He reached for a cloth and ran it under warm water.
He wiped away the blood and other fluids, his movements gentle.
You stood there, looking down at him, your body tense, trembling.
You didn’t say anything.
You just let him do it.
When he was done, he pulled your nightdress off you, his expression unreadable.
Then he handed you one of his wifebeaters , soft, worn, carrying his scent, something familiar.
You changed without much thought.
Not long after, you found yourself in bed.
He had pulled the blanket over you, tucking you, like that alone might fix something.
You lay there quietly, staring ahead.
Then he left you, only for a moment, to wash himself.
You didn’t move.
Not when he stepped away.
Not when the door shifted.
Not when the water ran again.
By the time he returned, you still hadn’t moved.
He watched you for a moment in the dim light, then he slipped into bed with you.
“You with me?” he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.
You blinked, once, twice, like you were coming back from somewhere far away.
Then you turned your head toward him and nodded.
“Sorry…” you said quietly, rolling onto your side to face him.
His expression softened a bit as silence settled again between you for a moment.
“Where… where did you go before?”
You didn’t need to explain what ‘before’.
He knew.
He stilled, just slightly.
“I took care of something for you,” he said, voice low, “It’s done now.”
“Are you upset with me… for what I did?”
His hand moved from where it rested in your hair to your chin, lifting it gently but firmly, making you look at him properly.
“Upset?” he repeated, thumb brushing against your jaw.
“You did what you had to. That’s not something I’d ever hold against you, sweetheart.”
His voice dropped just slightly.
“Wouldn’t have let you keep the gun if I didn’t trust you with it.”
You nodded again.
Then you moved closer.
Your head pressed into his chest, your body folding into him like you needed something solid to hold onto.
For a moment, there was nothing but quiet.
And then, finally, a soft first sob slipped out of you.
Then another.
His arms closed around you instantly.
He pulled you in close, tighter, one hand pressing against your back while the other came up to cradle your head.
He pressed his lip to the top of your head,
“You’re alright,... I’ve got you.”
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT? girl don't ask me I asked myself the same when I wrote this.
I bring certain angst horror vibe to the smut that is only rarely appreciated.
Also I did NOT proofread this again, I feel like I get sent one level lower in hell every time I read it
a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst hurt • 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: on your way home you come across a disgusting scene... which leads you not only into trouble but also to more questions
warnings: mentions of sexual abuse, attempted rape, manslaughter, gun violence, vomiting
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
filthy, disgusting, so ugly – part 2
The door creaked open far too loud for the hour.
And then you stepped inside.
You didn’t feel your feet hit the floor.
You didn’t feel the cold.
You didn’t feel anything properly.
Noise.
Breath.
The thick, metallic smell clinging to your skin.
Blood.
Your hand slipped from Lizzie’s arm without you realizing it.
Thomas was already there, standing in the door of the small entrance hall.
For a moment he stood frozen in place.
“What the hell happened?” he said.
But in your ears his voice didn’t sound like his.
You tried to answer.
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Instead, your body did something absurdly normal.
You bent slightly.
Slipped your shoes off.
Set them neatly by the door.
“Y/N… love… talk to me.” Thomas stepped closer now.
Careful.
You swallowed
It hurt.
“I…” Your voice cracked, “I –”
No.
No, you couldn’t say it.
You couldn’t think it.
If you thought it, it became real again.
You turned instead.
You took Lizzie with you.
Your hand found hers again.
Slick and cold, and you guided her into the kitchen like this is routine.
Like this is what people did after…
After.
You didn’t finish that thought either.
You sat her down.
She folded into the chair, shaking, her fingers clutching your coat around her.
For a moment, you just stood there.
Then you moved.
The kettle.
Water.
Hands.
Routine.
If you kept moving, you wouldn’t have to think.
If you kept yourself busy, you wouldn’t have to think.
If you kept the adrenaline buzzing in your body, you wouldn’t have to think.
If you didn’t think–
The images still came.
His face.
The sound.
The way your finger didn’t feel like yours when it pulled the trigger.
The kettle nearly slipped from your hands.
Thomas caught it.
“Y/N.” he said firmly, “Sit down. Let me.”
You didn’t argue.
You frankly couldn’t.
Your fingers loosened around the kettle and you let him take it.
Let him take control of something, anything. It felt safe to do so.
You sat in the chair next to Lizzie.
You looked down.
Red.
So much red.
It’s in the lines of your palms.
Under your nails.
Smudged across your wrists like something you couldn’t scrub away.
Your stomach twisted violently.
You swallowed it back.
Again.
Again.
Thomas set the kettle down.
You heard it.
Distantly.
Like it was happening in another room.
Another house, another life.
Then he was in front of you.
Crouched.
Close.
Too close…
“Y/N, love, look at me.”
You didn’t want to.
Still, your eyes lifted to his.
Slowly.
And for a second, everything else fell away.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked carefully.
You blinked.
The question didn’t make sense.
Hurt?
“I’m not hurt– ” it came out too sharp, too fast, like your voice didn’t belong to you anymore.
Your nerves were still buzzing, skin too tight over your bones, every sound scraping against you.
You pushed yourself up before either of them could stop you.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” you abruptly spoke.
The hallway stretched longer than it should.
The walls felt closer.
The air thicker.
You barely remembered the way to the hallway, only the door, then slamming it shut.
The lock clicked.
And then…
Silence?
No.
Not silence.
You turned the tap on, the water rushing into the porcelain sink.
Loud, like it was trying to drown something out.
You braced your hands against the sink.
Looked up.
You didn’t recognize what was staring back.
Your face was wrong.
There was blood at your hairline.
On your cheek.
Dried into the curve of your lips like something you tasted.
Your eyes were too wide, too bright, like an animal-
Your breath stuttered.
You turned the tap harder.
Water spilled over your hands, cold, relentless.
You scrubbed.
Too fast.
Too hard.
Fingernails digging into skin like you could peel it away, like whatever was on you wasn’t just on you.
It didn’t come off.
It smeared.
Red turning thinner, pinker, but still there.
Your stomach lurched again.
You leaned forward, gripping the sink as something rose up your throat.
violent, burning.
You gagged
Nothing came up.
Just the feeling.
Just the memory.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
In the kitchen, Thomas was alone with Lizzy now.
His hands flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to go after you.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he turned to Lizzie.
She looked like she might collapse in on herself.
He pulled a chair out slowly and sat down.
“Lizzie.” he began, his voice low and controlled.
“What the hell happened?”
At first she stayed silent.
Her hands fumbled, purse, cigarette, matches.
The flame took twice to catch.
She inhaled too sharply when it did, smoke burning down into her lungs like punishment.
“I…” Her voice broke immediately, “I told him no.”
“That I wouldn’t… that I wouldn’t…”
Her fingers shook so badly ash spilled onto the table, onto her lap.
She didn’t notice.
“And then he–”
She cut off.
But she didn’t need to finish it.
“Who was he?” Thomas' voice came immediately.
Lizzie shook her head immediately, “I don’t know–I don’t–I swear I don’t–”
Another drag.
Too deep.
Her breath stuttered around it.
“I didn’t see him before, I– he just–”
Her voice dissolved again.
Thomas’s gaze flickered to the hallway.
To the bathroom.
Water still running.
Something shifted behind his eyes.
“And Y/N?” he asked, quieter now. “What did she do?”
Lizzie’s face contorted, expression revealing nothing and everything at once.
“She– She came out of nowhere– just– just there– and she hit him and he– ”
Her breath stuttered into a sob she tried to swallow.
“And then– ”
“She killed him.”
And then she folded forward, hands covering her face as the sob finally escaped her throat.
Thomas went still.
“What.”
He shook his head once, sharp, “She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t– ”
But Lizzie interrupted him again, coming in pieces.
Wet.
Shaking.
Dragged out of her like it hurt.
“She told him to let me go– he wouldn’t– and then– he hit her–It all happened so fast and then–his hands were on her throat and–then she–”
She didn’t finish it.
She didn’t need to.
Thomas stood so abruptly the chair screeched back across the floor, a violent, grating sound.
“Where is he?” he asked, quiet, urgent.
That was the worst part.
“Where’s the body?”
Lizzie swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, eyes unfocused.
“In… in some alley by the Garrison…”
He didn’t hesitate.
Coat. Door. Gone.
But he stopped just once by the door, “Stay here.” he just said.
Then he was gone.
The bathroom smelled like wet iron.
Even after everything.
Even after the water had run and run and run clear.
Your hands were red and sore from scrubbing.
It still smelled like it.
You stared down at your skin.
Clean.
Technically.
But it didn’t feel that way.
It felt like something seeped in.
Beneath.
Into the cracks of you.
Into your nails, your pores, your throat–
You scrubbed there too.
Harder than you meant to.
You didn’t look at it.
You didn’t want to see if there were marks.
You didn’t want to remember the pressure.
The way the world narrowed.
The way your lungs screamed–
You inhaled sharply.
Stop.
Stop thinking.
Stop.
You unlocked the door.
The kitchen was… quieter.
Too quiet.
Only Lizzie now.
You stood there for a second, looking at her.
“Do… do you want something else to wear?” you offered.
Anything to distract yourself.
Lizzie looked up.
Her eyes were swollen. Red. Hollowed out.
“Please…” she whispered.
You nodded, walking to the bedroom, the closet.
You picked out a simple blue dress, and a wool cardigan.
Your hands seemed to know what to do even if your head didn't.
You brought them back, gave them to her.
“You can change… wherever you want…”
She disappeared into the bathroom.
Time stretched.
Warped.
You didn’t know how long passed before she was lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that didn’t quite hide the tremor still running through her body.
Then the kitchen again.
A cigarette between your fingers.
Smoke filled your lungs easier than air.
You watched it curl upward.
Ash fell onto the table.
You didn’t brush it away.
The door opened, slowly.
You turned, it was Thomas.
Thomas stepped inside, there was something different about him now.
He entered the kitchen, his eyes landing on you.
He just looked at you.
Not at your face.
At your hands.
Clean.
At your skin.
At your throat.
Lingering there.
Or maybe that was just in your head.
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: I like how my hannibal style is kind of bleeding into this whenever we are faced with mildly horrifying images... lmao.
a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst hurt • 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: on your way home you come across a disgusting scene... which leads you not only into trouble but also to more questions
warnings: mentions of sexual abuse, attempted rape, manslaughter, gun violence
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
filthy, disgusting, so ugly – part 1
You were halfway home when the usual rain suddenly poured down on the streets of Small Heath. It was quiet and late, unusually quiet maybe.
The cigarette between your fingers burned unevenly. You didn’t notice until ash dropped onto your coat.
You shook your head, brushing it away until you were ripped out of your thoughts by a strangled and thin sound.
“Get off me–! I said–!”
It came from the alley to your left.
You stopped, the alley was almost entirely dark.
The sound of fabric scraping brick and something dull struck a wall.
You heard another voice, a lower one.
Your stomach turned.
You exhaled slowly, crushed the cigarette under your heel, and stepped into the side alley.
“Hello?” you called as two shapes came into view, two bodies pressed together where they shouldn’t be.
A man had a woman pinned against the wall, one arm braced beside her head, the other groping at her chest.
She struggled, almost weakly, like she already knew it wouldn’t matter.
“Oi,” you said, sharper now. “The hell’s going on?”
His head turned.
“Mind your business, love.” he barked back.
Behind him, the woman gasped, “Please, just–” she shoved at him.
His hand moved again. Rough and wrong.
You felt it twist in her stomach, the image was disgusting, even though there was only little to see and they were mostly cast in shadow.
“Get your hands off her.” you insisted but it was as if your words fell to deaf ears.
He laughed at it, that was all.
“You gonna make me?” he said, his voice made your skin crawl.
You stepped further into the alley, approaching him with as much courage as you could muster and..
Your fist connected with his face hard enough that you felt it up your arm.
He staggered back, grip loosening, blood already spilling from his nose.
You grabbed the woman by the wrist, pulling her sideways.
For a second, it felt like enough to leave you a moment to escape.
But it wasn’t.
He came back at you fast, faster than you expected. His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so sharply your vision sparked white.
You gasped, hands flying up, but he was already close. Too close.
His breath was hot and wet against your cheek, blood smearing across your collar as he leaned in.
“Not so tough now, are ya?”
His fist drove into your stomach.
Air left your lungs in a broken sound.
Your body folded, but he didn’t let you fall, kept you upright by your hair, like something hooked and hanging.
Somewhere to your side, the woman’s fingers clawed at his wrist, nails scraping skin, desperate and useless.
“Let her go–!” she choked, pulling at him, trying to pry him off you.
He turned on her in an instant.
His hand left you just long enough to shove her harder into the wall, her head cracking back against brick with a dull, sickening thud.
“Shut it,” he snapped, grabbing her again, rougher this time, angrier. “You don’t get to pick and choose now.”
You stumbled back, your body folding in on itself as you finally sucked in a ragged broken gasp.
Your head rang.
Your stomach churned, hot and rising, threatening to spill.
You swallowed it back down, tasting acid.
The alley tilted.
For a moment, you weren’t here.
Just noise. Movement. Pain.
Then you heard it.
Fabric tearing.
You looked up.
“Are you coming back for seconds, whore?” he barked, voice thick with something foul and delighted. “Changed your mind, have you?”
Buttons scattered against the ground. One bounced near your shoe.
The woman cried out again, desperate, already breaking.
Your fingers tightened around your purse.
‘It’s for protection.’
Thomas' voice rang in your head.
It had been so long and you had not used it yet.
Had not been confronted yet with such a weight that justified using the thing that hid in your purse.
Your hand slipped inside.
Cold metal.
The world narrowed.
The alley became smaller.
Quieter.
The sounds muffled like you were underwater.
Just him.
Just her.
Just you.
You stepped forward.
Your hand shook as you pulled the revolver free.
But you didn’t raise it. Not yet.
Instead, you swung.
The metal connected with the back of his skull with a dull, heavy sound.
He staggered sideways, grip loosening just enough for the woman to twist away.
Then he turned.
Fast.
His hand closed around your throat before you could move again.
“You stupid little bitch–”
His fingers tightened.
Hard.
“I’ll kill ya for that, you cunt!”
His other hand came flying harshly across your cheek.
Your breath cut off in an instant.
Your body reacted before your mind could, hand flying up, clawing at his wrist, nails digging into skin that didn’t give.
The revolver was still in your other hand.
Your vision tunneled.
Edges going dark.
His face was close, spit at the corner of his mouth, blood still smeared across his lips from where you’d hit him earlier.
Your lungs screamed.
You couldn’t breathe.
You couldn’t–
Your finger moved.
You just… did it.
The shot exploded between you.
Louder than it should have been.
Louder than anything.
For a second… nothing.
Then…
Warmth.
Sprinkles and splatters of warmth all over.
His grip faltered.
Slowly.
Like his body forgot what it was doing.
His eyes changed first.
Confusion.
Not pain.
Not yet.
Then the sound came.
It was wet, broken.
His fingers loosened from your throat, dragging as they slipped away, leaving burning marks in their wake.
He staggered back.
There was a dark bloom spreading across his chest.
Too fast, too much.
It soaked through fabric, thick and heavy.
He looked down at it.
Like he didn’t understand.
Like it wasn’t his.
Then his knees buckled and he hit the ground with a rather unspectacular thud.
Silence followed, just the rain trickling down.
You staggered back, coughing violently, your lungs dragging in the air.
Your whole body shook, tense and tingly at the same time.
The revolver hung in your grip, still warm. Still faintly smoking.
You stared at him.
At the way he wasn’t moving.
At the blood pooling beneath him.
Your throat burned.
Your skin felt wrong.
Wet.
You lifted a trembling hand to your face.
Blood.
His.
It was on you. On your cheek. Your lips. Your face. Your hands.
She was pressed against the wall, dress torn open, hands clutching what was left of it.
Her face was pale, eyes wide.
Something in them showed fear,
something else showed…
Recognition.
You had seen her before as well.
At the Garrison.
Arthur had told you about her, about her and John and everything in between.
Your voice came out quieter than you expected.
“…Lizzie?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Just stared at you. At your face. At your hands.
At what you’d done.
And for a moment, you didn’t know which of you looked more afraid..
“Y/N…?” she whispered.
Like she wasn’t sure you were real.
Or any of this was.
Your fingers twitched.
Slowly, carefully, you lowered the revolver.
It felt heavier now.
Different.
You pushed it back into your purse with unsteady hands, like hiding it might undo something.
It didn’t.
Your eyes dropped.
You stared at it.
At him.
At the way his chest didn’t move.
At the way the little puddle under him grew.
“Are you… alright?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Lizzie didn’t answer at first.
She looked…
Too pale.
Her dress hung open where it had been torn, skin exposed, marked already.
Her hair clung to her face in damp strands, her whole body trembling-
“I– I don’t… I don’t know.” she said.
She stumbled a bit, having to lean back against the wall.
Her hands came up to her face, pressing in, like she could hold herself together if she just pushed hard enough.
Your coat was off your shoulders in seconds, shoved into her shaking hands. “Here… Cover yourself.” you said, voice trembling a bit.
Her fingers clutched the fabric tight, dragging it around herself with jerky, uneven movements.
She didn’t look at you while she did it.
She was crying.
You hadn’t noticed when it started.
Tears slipped down her cheeks silently at first, then faster, her breath hitching as something inside her finally cracked open.
You felt it then.
You swallowed.
Your eyes flicked back to him again without meaning to.
The puddle had spread.
It was reaching the edge of your shoe now.
You stepped back sharply.
“We…” Your voice faltered, “We need to leave.”
Lizzie sucked in a sharp breath, like your words had dragged her back into reality.
“Yes–” she nodded.
She pushed herself off the wall, and you reached for her immediately, seeing her legs tremble, nearly give in on themselves.
“Come on,” you said quietly, though your voice barely carried.
You tightened your grip on Lizzie’s arm, basically pulling her ahead, “Come on–!”
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: DUN DUN DUNN!!!! who saw this coming?! NOBODY!!
Just got told by someone..supposedly a friend. To put it loosely..that they dont ever see me getting married??? Big fat fuck off stupid hoe. As if I haven’t been dreaming of getting married since the ripe age of 7.
a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst hurt • 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: you told Thomas in front of his men you find his idea to take business to London too early, he finds a woman telling him what to do not exactly... ideal, so you end up fighting...
warnings: smut!, fingering, unprotected pinv, slight begging
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
love and pride – part 3
The restaurant was dimly lit, warm.
Filled with elegantly dressed people chatting and clinking their glasses.
He wouldn’t usually risk a place like this, with an informant, and something told you this was off.
It was a place you liked.
So here he was, sitting across from you and pretending this was business.
You had come early, and waited. Sat still at the table as Thomas seemingly and deliberately looked around for ‘someone’ while time passed.
Twenty minutes. Then more.
He glanced at his watch, cleared his throat.
Another fifteen.
Then, finally…
“He’s not coming.” he said, like this should have been clear from the very start.
It didn’t sound like it annoyed him, because it didn’t.
Because this… this was the plan.
You were already gathering your things before he’d even finished speaking.
“Should we go?” you asked, your voice polite but distant.
For a second he watched you, breathing out a bit of smoke.
“No.”
You paused your movements and your eyes flickered back to him. Confused rather than irritated now.
“What?”
He leaned back slightly, reaching for the menu.
“We’re already here,” he said, voice quieter now. “You deserve to eat something nice.”
There it was again.
His sorry.
You hesitated, your grip tightening slightly on your purse before you slowly sat back down.
You were neither convinced nor forgiving him, that was utterly clear, but you were merely enternaining his ides.
A flicker of something passed through his expression before he masked it again, eyes dropping to the menu.
“We should just enjoy the evening.” he added, casually.
You didn’t answer, could have scoffed at his mention of enjoying the evening.
So you just sat there, hands still, shoulders a little tense, eyes fixed somewhere that wasn’t him.
Because the words from last night still lingered in your mind, and you weren’t going to pretend it didn’t matter.
Across from you, he watched over the edge of the menu, taking in the way you wouldn’t look at him.
It irritated him more than any argument or anger ever could.
“…Are you going to ignore me all night now?” he asked finally.
“I am trying to,” you said, your voice calm, your face turned just slightly away from him.
“I didn’t know you’d want ‘just a flower shop girl’ at your business table.”
The words landed exactly where you meant them to.
Thomas’ jaw tightened instantly as he closed the menu with more force than necessary.
“Don’t start,” he ground out.
You still didn’t look at him.
Thomas dragged a hand over his face, “You’re acting like a bloody child.”
He leaned back in his chair slightly, studying you.
And God… you looked beautiful.
The dress he’d picked fit you like it had been made for your body. Your hair, your posture, the quiet stubbornness in your expression.
You turned then, finally meeting his gaze, “I’m acting like a child?” you repeated.
“That’s rich. Coming from a man who felt so undermined by my opinion that he had to pretend I’m not even a person.”
Thomas leaned forward slightly, elbows brushing the table, his gaze locking onto yours.
“You are a person,” he said, his voice low, firm. “But this is my world. You want in, you play by my rules.”
There it was again, that distance, that line that removed you from his life.
“I don’t give a shit,” you replied quietly. “About your rules, Thomas.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes.
“Oh, you’re bloody delightful tonight,” he said, sarcasm thick in every word.
You fell quiet again, reaching into your purse, pulling out your cigarettes, and lighting one.
You crossed your leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you inhaled, gaze drifting somewhere far from him.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, “Stay silent.”
“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waiter interrupted the tense silence.
Thomas didn’t look away from you at first.
“Yes.” he said shortly.
He ordered quickly, a bottle of champagne, dishes chosen without asking you, like he knew your tastes by now, like that counted for something.
Maybe it did.
Maybe it didn’t.
When the waiter left, the silence returned just as heavy as before.
You took another slow drag of your cigarette, eyes still somewhere else entirely.
Thomas sat across from you, watching, waiting, his patience thinning but something deeper holding him there.
“Your champagne?” the waiter interrupted again.
“Thank you,” Thomas muttered eventually, rough and distracted.
He watched the glass fill. Watched your hands as you picked it up.
You took a small sip.
You could tell instantly, this wasn’t what Thomas usually ordered.
This was for you.
You said nothing.
But it was clear that you noticed.
The food arrived.
You ate in silence.
Sipped your champagne in silence.
Thomas barely tasted the food, the motion was mechancial and his attention on something entirely else.
The way you held your fork. The way you avoided his eyes. The way you refused to give him even an inch.
It was maddening.
By the time you finished, dabbing your lips gently with your napkin, setting it down with care, his patience had worn dangerously thin.
“Are you planning on continuing this little silent treatment all night?”
You leaned back slightly in your chair, composed as ever.
“Seeing as the night is over,” you said evenly, “I assume that won’t be an issue.”
That did it.
“Fine.” he said, standing abruptly.
His wallet was out in a second, more money than necessary dropped onto the table without a second thought.
“Let’s go.”
He turned before you could answer, already walking away.
He didn’t wait to see if you followed.
You took your time, gathering your purse, smoothing your dress and adjusting yourself.
Then you followed.
Outside, the night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the restaurant.
Thomas was already by the motorcar.
He didn’t speak as you approached, just reached for the passenger door and held it open.
You slid in without a word.
The door shut with a solid thud, and moments later he was in the driver’s seat.
Neither of you spoke as he pulled away.
The silence wasn’t empty, not like the usual silence after a long day. This silence was thick and heavy, pressing down on both of you.
You stayed quiet for a while.
Half the drive, maybe more.
“You know why I didn’t take the sapphire necklace?” you asked suddenly.
Thomas’ grip on the steering wheel tightened, his eyes flicked toward you for half a second before returning to the road.
“Because you’re too bloody stubborn to accept anything from me right now,” he said bluntly.
You turned your head slightly, watching him now.
“Because you thought you could buy your apology,” you said, calm but firm. “With something expensive. Instead of just saying you’re sorry.”
You saw it this time, the way his jaw clenched harder, the way his shoulders stiffened.
He knew. He knew you were right.
A scoff left him, rough and defensive.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” he shot back. “For telling the truth? For being realistic?”
There it was.
That wall again.
You turned your gaze away from him, out the window, watching the dark blur pass by.
“For saying I’m less,” you said quietly, “because I’m a fucking woman, Thomas.”
The words didn’t come out angry, they came out tired, and that was possibly the worst part.
For a moment, you weren’t really there.
Your mind drifted back to the first time he had taken you in this car.
How fascinated you’d been.
How new it all felt.
Thomas’ hands tightened around the steering wheel as your words lingered in the air.
He knew what he’d said.
He knew what it made you feel like.
“That isn’t what I meant,” he said, “And you damn well know it.”
You let out a sharp breath, something in you finally snapping.
“Then apologise, for fuck’s sake, Thomas! Will it really kill you?”
Your voice rose, cutting through the quiet.
And suddenly the car lurched as he slammed on the brakes hard.
The vehicle jolted to a stop in the middle of the empty road.
Your head turned toward him, heart still catching up with the sudden stop.
Thomas equally looked at you, finally at you not past you, and he stared for a moment too long, like he was fighting himself.
Then the engine died down and his hand came up, cupping your jaw, firm enough to hold you there, to keep your eyes on his and not let you look away again.
“Bloody hell…” he breathed, voice strained, like the words were being dragged out of him. “I’m… sorry. Alright? I’m bloody sorry.”
It wasn’t a particularly graceful nor soft apology.
But it was real and it was his.
For a second, you just blinked at him, almost caught off guard.
But… your expression softened.
The anger you’d been holding so tightly slipped through your fingers, dissolving almost instantly.
You exhaled quietly and your body eased into his touch without even thinking about it.
God, you’d missed this.
Missed him.
“I…” you started, voice quieter now, “I’m sorry too.”
“For shouting. And… ruining our dinner.” you said quietly.
He chuckled softly now, genuine.
His thumb brushed over your cheek.
“Damn dinner.” he said, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, his voice low and warm against your skin. “Don’t apologise for that, love.”
“I still love you… Thomas,” you whispered, “Even if you’re an idiot sometimes…”
There was the faintest hint of a smile in your words as you leaned closer, your lips just barely brushing his.
“I just… want you to see me as an equal. Not as less…”
His eyes dropped to your lips, his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair.
You closed the distance first.
The kiss wasn’t hesitant, it was immediate, full of everything the two of you had been holding back all day.
He answered instantly, a low sound catching in his throat as his hand tightened slightly in your hair, pulling you closer.
His other hand found your waist as the kiss deepened, like he was trying to say everything he didn’t know how to put into words.
“I love you…” he breathed against your lips, pulling you into his lap, hands possessively roaming over your body.
You pushed off your coat, it sank somewhere to the ground in the motorcar.
One leg on each side of his, your dress already hiked up.
“I love you too..” you finally responded as you had settled into his lap.
The heat between you was unbearable, maddening, the tension from before had shifted into something defined more by want and need than silent anger.
“You drive me insane, you know that, love?” he groaned.
He pulled back just long enough to bite your lower lip before claiming you mouth again in an eager kiss.
His hands slipping beneath the soft fabric of your dress, his fingers tracing your skin hungrily.
“Are we really doing this?” you asked with a chuckle as he kissed down along your neck now, hungry and wet kisses as he nipped at your skin.
It made you shudder, arousal pooling hot in your stomach at the thought of it.
His hands moved to push your dress up even higher, “Damn right we are… been waiting all goddamn night… you and your bloody dress that drive a man mad.”
His breath was unsteady, words hot between kisses. It made your cheeks flush.
The motorcar was small, but it seemed like that wouldn’t stop you.
Thomas let out an involuntary growl as you slowly ground your hips against his.
“I swear to God, love, if you don’t let me have you right now…” his voice trailed off, something almost desperate settling in his tone.
Your lips found his again in a feverish kiss, hands gripping at each others, “You can have me, Tommy…” you breathed.
Thomas’ hand gripped your bare ass, the dress bunched up above it.
Then his hand found it’s way to your wet core, slipping beneath the delicate lace to trace through the wetness.
“Christ love…” he mumbled, his fingers circling your clit in slow, teasing movements.
You let out a soft moan, grinding your hips against his fingers.
“Tell me what you want, love…” he growled, his mouth trailing down your neck again.
“I want you…” you breathed, that made him push aside the fabric, finding you hot and ready for him.
Slowly he pressed one finger, then another into you with a slowness that almost drove you wild.
“You have no idea what you do to me..” he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck.
“Say it again, love…” he urged you on as you let out a whiny moan at the intrusion of his fingers.
“I want you so much… so bad” you whispered, your head falling into the crook of his neck, hips twitching into him, desperately searching for friction.
“That’s it, love… keep talking with that pretty mouth…” he murmured against your ear, his fingers moving torturously slow, in and out.
It made you moan and whine at the same time, he wanted to hear you beg and whimper for it.
“Please… Tommy…” you moaned.
Your hands clutched his shirt at his shoulders, the pleasure inside you building way too slow for your liking, “Please make me feel good” you let out quietly.
Thomas finally gave in, curling his fingers the way he knew you loved.
“‘s this what you want, love?” he asked, fingers now working in and out of you faster.
You nodded, moving your hips against him gently as you let him finger you, moaning in response as words didn’t come easy anymore.
His fingers worked inside you mercilessly, driving you closer to the edge with each expert stroke.
His other hand gripped your thigh, keeping you steady as his lips found yours again.
Your moans were muffled from his lips moving against yours, you could practically taste the hunger and need on his tongue.
“Come for me, love..” he urged you on as he felt you clench around his fingers.
And you did, a few more thrusts of his fingers into you was all it took for you to melt into a twitching moaning mess in his lap.
He kept moving his fingers as your climax hit, the sound of your moans and wetness were almost driving him mad with need.
As the waves of pleasure finally stopped you collapsed against his chest, breath ragged.
“You’re beautiful when you come like that..” he groaned.
Slowly he withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to your mouth. Gently he tapped your cheek with the back of his hand to make you look up.
You did, slightly dazed, as you licked at his fingers obediently.
His fingers pushed past your lips, into your mouth, your tongue lapped at them, tasting yourself on them, hot and wet.
His eyes darkened as he watched you, the way you looked up at him sent a rush of heat straight to his already hard cock.
“Good girl”
He removed his fingers from your mouth, before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, tasting you from your tongue.
You leaned into it, hands wandering to his pants, his hips jerked involuntarily into your hands.
He was painfully hard, throbbing inside his trousers, and the thought of taking you right here in the car only made that worse.
You pulled back just the tiniest bit, popping open his pant button, pushing the fly open.
There was no time nor patience to take off anything, so you just pushed his pants down as much as needed to free him from his underwear.
He hissed sharply at your touch, your hand gripping the base of his cock, stroking him a few times.
His eyes fell shut briefly, savouring the sensation as he leaned his head back against the seat.
“Don’t tease me, love… get on me” he dragged out, barely controlled.
You nodded, pushing your dress out of the way again as you hovered in his lap.
The delicate lace of your underwear was pushed aside before you lowered yourself onto him.
He groaned as you sank down onto him, you settled into his lap, so that he was buried deep inside of you.
He could hardly think straight as your wet heat took him whole, for a moment you adjusted to the feeling.
Slowly you began moving, lifting yourself with a steady rhythm.
His hands moved to grip at your hips, guiding your movement.
Thomas groaned deeply, his breath ragged, “Fuck, love… just like that…”
You let out a moan in response, his grip on your hips tightening, encouraging you to keep riding him.
Your eyes fell shut as your rhythm began to slowly increase with his guiding hands.
His breath came in ragged, desperate pants as he watched you, your face, your lips parted in pleasure, your body moving against his.
The motorcar underneath you squeaked quietly, the air inside thick and heavy.
He leaned into another kiss, his mouth moving hungrily against yours, his hands roaming your body, legs, hips, waist. He couldn’t get enough of you, he never could, never would.
“God, I love you” he groaned against your lips. his voice was ragged, his expression unusually desperate, as if he was trying to pour everything he felt into his touch, into his kisses.
Your hands had a tight grip on his shoulder and shirt, aiding you in your movements, pleasure was already building inside you again. “I love you too” you moaned out in response.
You drove your hips up and down, wet and hot around him. Your head fell back a bit as you felt pleasure coil inside you.
His hands wandered back to your hips, gripping tightly, fingers pressing into your skin so roughly he was certain it would leave a bruise.
“No one else is ever touching you like this, alright? No one else, love. Tell me you’re mine” he ground out between ragged breaths.
He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail across your skin.
“I’m yours..” you let out, “I will always be yours…”
“That's damn right love…”
You felt your orgasm build up fast and hot inside you. Arousal and pleasure sinking into you as you leaned your head against his shoulder, moaning desperately.
He was close himself, his body taut with tension. “Come on… let me hear it. I want you to say my name when you come. I need to hear it, love…” he said, hand catching your jaw as he made you look at him, desperate to see that look on your face.
Your rhythm faltered slightly as your hips trembled and shuddered, trying to keep it up as you felt yourself come undone even stronger than before.
“Thomas, fuck…” you made as you felt the first wave of pleasure roll over you.
Moans and his name fell from your lips over and over again.
You said it like a prayer, and it was the best sound he’d ever heard.
And then it hit him, a wave that crashed over him and almost knocked the air from his lungs.
You rode through both your orgasms, as you felt him empty inside, the wet sound almost obscene in its intensity as you drove your hips down hard one last time, letting him rest firmly inside you.
“God–” he whispered, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
You slowly melted into him as his hands settled around you, your skin was hot and sweaty, the dress feeling like it was way too tight and warm now.
“Didn’t know we… would end up fucking in the motor car tonight…” you panted.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough as he caressed your back.
“Neither did I, love…but damn, wasn’t the worst way to end the night, eh?” he smirked.
After a long moment of catching your breath, you shifted away from him.
You adjusted your dress, smoothing it down with slightly unsteady hands, trying to gather yourself again.
Thomas did the same in his own way, putting his pants on and adjusting his crumbled up shirt.
Then the car hummed back to life and for the rest of the ride you were silent.
But it wasn’t the sharp silence from before.
It was warm.
His hand found your thigh almost immediately as he drove, resting there. He didn’t move it the entire way home.
And every so often, you could feel his gaze flicker toward you.
You didn’t say anything.
Neither did he.
You were tired.
Your eyes fluttered shut somewhere along the drive, your body finally giving in to the long day, the emotions, everything.
By the time the car stopped, you stirred again, blinking softly as you sat up.
“Didn’t know… dinner would be this exhausting…” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes.
Thomas huffed a quiet chuckle as he stepped out, coming around to your side and opening the door for you.
“Didn’t expect it to end like that either, love,” he said, offering you his hand.
You took his arm as you stepped out, your legs still a little unsteady.
Inside, the house was quiet.
Between soft kisses and quiet movements, you both began to wind down from the night.
It felt much more familiar now without the uneasy tension.
Eventually, you found yourself standing by the mirror, with your comb brushing through your hair slowly.
Behind you, Thomas was already in bed, cigarette between his fingers, watching you.
His gaze was softer now, it traced over you in the dim light.
“Come here.” he said quietly
You didn’t protest, putting down your comb as you finished.
You climbed into bed beside him, pressing a few soft kisses to his cheek as you settled close.
“Hm?” you made, watching as he reached toward the bedside table.
“Lift your hair for me,” he said quietly.
You did, sitting up you gathered your hair up without question.
You felt his fingers at the back of your neck as he fastened something there.
When you let your hair fall again, your hand instinctively came up, fingers brushing over the small charm now resting against your collarbone.
A delicate silver chain with a tiny pearl teapot.
“What… for me?” you asked softly, already knowing the answer.
It was obvious what it meant.
All those quiet evenings.
Tea in your kitchen.
Before everything became… this.
“Thought it suited you, love…” he huffed, his fingers brushing lightly along the chain, lingering.
You turned it between your fingers, studying it.
“Why didn’t you give me this before?” you asked, glancing at him. “Instead of the sapphire?”
He went quiet for a moment.
“I didn’t think it was… enough,” he admitted, voice lower now. “Not worth much. Cost me only a few quid…”
You let out a soft breath, “Thomas…” you said gently, looking up at him. “I like this more than anything else.”
You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close against the soft sheets.
“Then I’m glad, love…” he muttered into your hair.
A soft laugh left you, warm and tired.
“Thank you, Thomas…I love you… so much.”
“I love you too,” he said, low and certain. “So goddamn much.”
And this time… there was nothing left unsaid.
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: excuse the late update guys I hope you can forgive me for my crimes....! also finally tea pot reference?! who cheered...!
a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst hurt • 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: you told Thomas in front of his men you find his idea to take business to London too early, he finds a woman telling him what to do not exactly... ideal, so you end up fighting...
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
love and pride – part 2
The next day felt… quieter.
Not peaceful yet, just quiet and strained in that bitter way.
You pushed the door open with your hip, arms full from the market.
Fresh bread, herbs, and other items settling in your hands as you stepped into the still house.
You didn’t call out for Thomas, not after he had slept on the couch downstairs last night.
You just went straight to the kitchen and began unpacking, one thing at a time.
Anything to distract you.
You heard Thomas enter the kitchen behind you, but you didn’t turn to look at him.
“I’ve got a meeting tonight,” he said. “With an informant. About London.”
Your hands stilled for just a second.
“And I want you there.” he added.
Briefly you glanced at him over your shoulder.
“…Alright.” you said simply. No questions or arguments.
He didn’t like it, not one bit.
Maybe it unsettled him more than if you’d refused.
He nodded once, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.
“The dress is in the bedroom.” he added after a second, stepping a little closer. “Bought it this morning.”
You turned back to the counter, biting your tongue to keep yourself from talking as you continued your task.
“You’ll look good in it.” he said quietly.
That was it.
That was his version of an apology.
Not ‘I’m sorry’.
Not ‘I was wrong’.
Just… this.
You swallowed whatever rose in your throat, giving a small, almost absent nod.
That was all he got.
Behind you, Thomas’s jaw tightened.
He’d bought the dress, hadn’t he?
Thought about it, even.
Chosen the color, a deep blue blue, like the flowers you had given him over a year ago the first time he had seen you.
Something elegant.
Something that would make you stand out on his arm tonight.
He’d even picked a necklace.
And yet…
You wouldn’t even look at him.
Behind you, you heard him leave.
Heavy footsteps up the stairs as if he was physically holding himself back from making this worse.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose, resting your hands against the counter for just a second.
Chloe circled your legs, letting out a small bark.
“Yes, yes… I know,” you sighed, giving her a gentle pet.
Still, after a moment, you followed upstairs.
By the time you reached the bedroom, he was standing in front of the mirror.
He was buttoning up his shirt, a cigarette between his lips.
You lingered in the doorway for a moment.
Just… watching him.
Then your gaze drifted to the dress that hung by the wardrobe for you.
Dark blue. Elegant.
You stepped inside without a word, moving past him.
You reached for it, taking it off its hook.
It was beautiful.
Your thumb brushed over the material, soft and expensive.
For a moment, your eyes lifted.
You met his eyes in the mirror, but just for a second.
“It’s very nice.” you said quietly.
You laid the dress on the bed, smoothing it out absentmindedly.
“Yeah?” he murmured, voice rough around the cigarette still caught between his lips.
You caught the way he turned slightly, just enough to look at you properly now.
“Figured blue suits you… got you somethin’ else too.” he said, nodding toward the dresser where a velvet box sat.
You walked over, picking it up carefully before flipping it open.
Inside of it sat a silver chain with a sapphire pendant.
All it really did was scream ‘expensive’.
Thomas was watching you intently as you looked at the gift.
You could feel it without even looking, he was waiting for you to react.
This was his apology.
Your fingers brushed lightly over the pendant, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything.
Of course, it was beautiful.
And that was the problem.
Because right now, it didn’t feel like a gift.
But like a quiet, expensive way of avoiding the words he refused to say.
Your fingers brushed the pendant once more before you let the box fall shut with a soft click.
“Hm.” was all you gave him.
“I don’t want you to get the idea…” you said, keeping your tone even, “that you can buy your apology.”
“Then what the hell do you want, Y/N?” he snapped.
“Because I’m trying here, alright?” he continued, dragging a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
“God knows why, but I am.”
Your chest tightened at his words.
“If you don’t know why,” you said quietly, “then I don’t think you are trying.”
Silence followed immediately as he didn’t answer you.
He turned away from you again, facing the mirror as he finished buttoning his shirt.
You turned slightly, watching him through the mirror for a moment.
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: avoiding cursed sapphire necklaces is easy for y/n as we see
a new life
pairing: Thomas Shelby x f!reader
genre: angst hurt • 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: you told Thomas in front of his men you find his idea to take business to London too early, he finds a woman telling him what to do not exactly... ideal, so you end up fighting...
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist
join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
love and pride – part 1
It was late.
Far too late for you to be alone at home.
You had checked every room twice, but Thomas was nowhere to be found.
Eventually Arthur had told you that Thomas had gone to the training hall.
Blow some steam off…
You pushed the door of the empty place open, and you heard it immediately.
A dull, rhythmic thud.
Again.
And again.
You followed it to the ring.
The door stood half open, dim light spilling out into the dark corridor. You stepped inside quietly…and there he was.
Thomas.
Barely clothed in grey pants and a white wifebeater clinging to him, soaked through with sweat.
He was moving, fast, sharp.
His fist violently slamming into the punching bag.
You stopped in the doorway, folding your arms across your chest, watching him for a moment without speaking.
The argument from earlier still lingered in both your heads.
Stupid, really… about London, about timing, about you speaking up in front of the others.
He didn’t even look at you.
Just kept hitting the bag like you weren’t there.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
“What do you want?” he asked finally without stopping.
His voice was rough, breath uneven.
You exhaled slowly, pushing yourself off the doorway.
“Why are you here?” you asked, stepping a little further in. “It’s two in the morning, Tommy.”
“What does it look like?” he shot back bluntly, hitting the bag again.
“I’m training.”
And then he hit the bag again.
Harder this time.
“And why are you her?” he added between punches.
You ignored that.
Your eyes flicked to his shoulder, the one that had taken a bullet not long ago.
“Thomas, you’re still healing.” you said, firmer now as you stepped closer. “You can’t train like this yet.”
He scoffed and made no attempt at stopping.
“I don’t need you telling me what I can and can’t do,” he said, voice edged with irritation. “I can take care of myself.”
“Thomas…” you sighed, softer this time, the frustration melting into quiet concern.
You stepped closer still, now only a few feet from the ring, the sound of his fists hitting the bag echoing between you.
“Come on…” you offered, “Let’s go home.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond.
Just kept hitting.
Like if he stopped, everything else might catch up to him.
His punches slowed after a moment, then stopped entirely.
Thomas dragged the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, chest rising and falling with each breath.
Sweat clung to his skin, darkening the thin fabric of his singlet.
You could see the discomfort chasing through his features, his shoulder flexing in a way that told you you were right about his injury.
“Home?” he repeated, bitterly, “You think I want to go back there right now? After today?”
“You disrespected me in front of my men,” he continued, “That’s not something I can just… let go.”
You exhaled slowly, rubbing at your temple as if you could ease the tense headache already building.
“I told you I think going to London right now is stupid,” you said, your voice steady despite everything. “That doesn’t mean I think you are.”
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t need you questioning my decisions,” he went on, “Not in front of my men. Do you have any idea what that looks like?”
“What– like a woman having an opinion?” you asked, lifting a brow.
His expression shifted instantly.
“A woman–” he started, but you cut him off with a short, disbelieving scoff.
“A woman?” you repeated. “That’s what I am now? Just ‘a woman’?”
He didn’t answer right away, and that silence said enough.
“I was trying to help you,” you said, gesturing faintly, frustration slipping into your tone now.
“You heard what they said, London’s already crawling with trouble, and Birmingham isn’t exactly quiet either. Maybe rushing into something like that isn’t the smartest move right now!”
Billy Kimber had just been dealt with a few months ago, Campbell was still here, your father was also far from done with this, and he wanted to talk about London already?
“Maybe you should stick to what you understand.” he cut in, tone and words harsher than initially intended.
For a moment you couldn’t believe your ears.
“…Excuse you?” you breathed, utterly in disbelief.
“Running your flower shop,” he added, like it was an afterthought.
You knew it was the anger talking between you two, but this…
Made something in you snap.
“That’s how you talk to me?” you asked, your voice sharper now.
He let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“Oh, now you want respect?” he said, tilting his head slightly. “After what you pulled earlier?”
“I didn’t pull anything!” you shot back immediately. “I told you what I think. That’s what people do when they care!”
He turned away from you then, like he was done.
Like you weren’t worth the rest of the argument.
“I don’t have time for this, Y/N.”
“I expect you to talk to me like I’m a person,” you said, quieter now, “Not like I’m something beneath you.”
“You called me ‘just a woman,’ Thomas,” you added, the hurt in your voice undeniable. “I thought I was more than an object to you.”
Silence filled the room.
It was thick, and uncomfortable.
And oh so telling of the time you lived in.
“You are more to me…” he muttered.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t understand the world I live in.”
“Don’t understand?” you repeated immediately, your voice raised. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Because you had been there.
You’d seen it, lived it.
You’d gotten your hands dirty for him, stood in the middle of it, risked yourself again and again.
And now…
Now he was telling you that you didn’t understand?
“You’re just a flower shop girl, for God’s sake.” he snapped, the words breaking out of him like something he’d been holding back too long.
Silence.
It fell hard between you.
You swallowed, the air suddenly feeling too thick in your lungs.
“I see,” you said quietly.
“I guess I am just that.”
Your fingers brushed absently over your sleeve, because otherwise you weren’t sure how to hold yourself together.
Because you had lost so much.
Your parents.
Your home.
Everything you’d been before.. him.
And now…
Now this was what you were, to him?
“I… didn’t know that was all I am to you.” you added, softer this time.
“You have to understand,” he said, voice low again, “… it’s dangerous. Complicated. You think I want you involved in this?” he went on.
His gaze snapped back to you, “I try to keep you out of it. To keep you safe.”
A bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.
“Safe?”
Your eyes met his, “That ended the second you put a gun in my hand, Thomas,” you said firmly. “And you know that.”
He didn’t answer.
Because he did know it.
You stepped closer, closing the distance he’d tried to create.
“Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m not already part of this. And it doesn’t mean I don’t get to have an opinion.” you said, your jaw tightened slightly.
“And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I can’t tell you when your plan is shit,” you added, unwavering, “in front of whoever I damn well please.”
His jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin, like he was holding himself back from saying something worse.
“You think this is just about your opinion?” he growled, stepping closer, his presence towering over you now.
You didn’t step back.
“You undermine me in front of my men,” he continued, his voice sharp, “And you expect me to just stand there and nod? Like you’re right?”
He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head.
“That’s not how this works.”
“You want to be part of this world?” he said, his tone dropping into something cold.
Your stomach tightened.
“Then learn when to shut your mouth.”
You felt the words settle deep in your chest.
You weren’t going to cry, not here, not in front of him.
But you felt it weigh down on your heart more than anything had recently.
“…Fuck you, Thomas.” you said.
Your eyes stayed on him, despite the way your chest tightened.
For a moment, he just stared back.
His expression unreadable.
Then he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if he was done.
Done with the conversation, done with you, done with all of it.
“Fine. If that’s how you feel.”
He turned away from you, stepping back in front of the bag.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
peaky blinders taglist . . .‧˚꒰📞꒱༘‧
@drunkcigarettes-jpg @lucellu @hagarsays
a/n: here comes the angst train! Choo Choo!
