❝ 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.
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!!
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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 GARRISON'S GIRL
thomas shelby x fem!reader
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the garrison’s girl - finished
thomas shelby x f!reader
wc. 13.1 k
premise.
The new barmaid catches the eyes of none other than Thomas Shelby. And maybe she brings out something in him, that he hasn't felt in a long time.
chapters
↳ chapter one – "Pretty name for a pretty girl"
↳ chapter two – "End of discussion"
↳ chapter three – "Ladies first"
↳ chapter four – "She's a pretty little thing"
↳ chapter five – "Quiet nights. Good whiskey. Pretty waitresses."
↳ chapter six – "Why me?"
↳ chapter seven – "I had a wife."
↳ chapter eight – "Just trying to have some goddamn fun, doll."
↳ chapter nine – "Just call me Tommy."
↳ chapter ten – "You're gonna invite me in, doll?"
↳ chapter ten (bonus smut chapter)
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: smut!, oral (f receiving), unprotected pinv
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─── ꒰ 🪻 ꒱ ───
chapter twenty-one – I love you
Your chest rose and fell as you slowly lowered the revolver.
“Christ, Thomas…” you breathed.
“What– why are you here?” you asked breathlessly. “It’s the middle of the night–”
Thomas lowered his hands carefully.
His eyes never left you.
Now that the shock was fading, you noticed things you hadn’t before, the deep shadows beneath his blue eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in days.
“I had to see you,” he said quietly, “Couldn’t wait any longer.”
He took a small step toward the bed and then stopped.
His eyes flicked to the revolver still trembling faintly in your hand.
You let out a tired breath before setting the gun down on the bedside table.
“I… you shouldn’t be here, Thomas,” you said softly as you pushed the covers aside and climbed out of bed.
“I know I shouldn’t be here, alright?” he said, frustration creeping into his voice as he rubbed the back of his neck. “But damn it, I couldn’t… sleep. Just– needed to see you.”
He wouldn’t tell you, or anyone ever, about the surprising heart to heart he had with Ava that got him to come see you.
You paused in front of him.
It had been such a… long time of silence.
So much time that you had spent wondering where he was, what he was doing, if he was alright.
Slowly, you lifted your hand and placed it gently against his cheek.
Your thumb brushed along the sharp line of his cheekbone.
“I… I missed you too,” you said quietly. “So much.”
Just slightly he leaned into your touch.
His eyes closed for a brief moment, “I’m sorry,” he muttered after a second, his voice rougher now. “For making you wait. For all of it.”
“How have you been?” you asked softly.
Then you raised an eyebrow, “And… how did you even get in here?”
That earned a faint smile in his tired expression.
“I’ve been better,” he said dryly.
“And your kitchen window’s broken. Doesn’t close very well…”
You dragged a hand down your face.
“God, Thomas…” you muttered, letting out a breathy laugh.
Then you looked back at him.
“So you decided to just break in and wake me up in the middle of the night?”
He shrugged slightly, “I couldn’t sleep,” he repeated, like the explanation should have been obvious.
You sighed, shaking your head a bit. Then you turned and picked up the revolver and slid it back beneath your pillow.
“Tea?” you asked over your shoulder, an old habit slipping naturally into place. “Or something stronger?”
Thomas let out a short breath of a laugh.
“God, tea sounds awful.”
You moved past him, into the kitchen, as you always had when he was here.
“Got anything harder, love?”
You flicked on the small lamp above the counter.
The soft yellow light filled the room.
“Whiskey, Mr. Shelby?” you said with a small grin as you reached for the bottle.
The same one you two had drank from… almost months ago.
You heard him stop in the doorway behind you.
Thomas leaned against the frame, arms folding loosely across his broad chest as he watched you move around the kitchen.
“Please,” he said with a faint smirk as you handed him the glass. “You know I’m a whiskey man, love.”
Only then did you notice the dark dampness clinging to his coat.
Rain, of course, your gaze flickered to the slightly cracked open kitchen window.
Outside the rain was still tapping softly against the windows.
You studied him quietly for a moment.
The sharp angles of his face in the low light.
The exhaustion in his eyes.
And then you saw it.
A small cut along his jaw. It was already half healed but was still visible.
Your hand lifted before you even thought about it.
Your fingers brushed gently against the mark.
God, he had missed that.
“Did I miss much?” you asked quietly.
Thomas took a long swallow of his whiskey, the burn sliding down his throat.
“You have no goddamn idea…” he muttered.
His hand dragged slowly over his face, fingers pressing into tired eyes.
“A lot’s been going down.”
You let out a quiet breath.
Part of you wished that you could have been part of it all. Not sitting here in the dark wondering, waiting for news whenever Thomas appeared in your life without explanation and left you again.
“I have all night for you to tell me…” you said softly, a small smile touching your lips.
Thomas sighed, he looked worn down.
Like the weight of the world had been resting on his shoulders for too long.
But when he looked at you, standing there in your nightgown, hair still messy from sleep, something in his posture eased just slightly.
“Where the hell d’you want me to start?” he asked.
There was too damn much.
Eventually you both ended up sitting at the small kitchen table.
Your legs stretched comfortably across the space until they rested in his lap.
Your fingers played with the buttons of his shirt sleeve as he spoke.
And he did speak.
More than usual.
About the wedding of John and Esme. About the chaos around it. About the family and their endless arguments. About Kimber, about horses, about betting. About Arthur and the shite he got himself into.
You listened with a soft smile, just enjoying hearing his voice again.
“And then you just took him to the Lee’s and they got married?” you laughed.
Thomas smirked faintly, lifting the whiskey to his lips again.
“Aye,” he said, shaking his head.
“John almost lost his damn mind, let me tell you.”
His thumb brushed absentmindedly across your ankle where it rested in his lap.
His voice dropped slightly.
“You should’ve been there.”
“I wish,” you said with a small laugh. “It sounds great.”
“It was,” he murmured.
You shook your head with a smile.
“Well… I’m glad it worked out anyway.”
When you noticed his empty glass, you stood and wandered back toward the counter.
“Would you like another one?” you asked. “Or… are you heading back soon?”
Thomas didn’t answer immediately.
He watched you walk away instead.
His eyes followed the gentle sway of your hips beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown as you crossed the small kitchen.
“Another,” he said finally, looking away before his thoughts betrayed him completely.
You glanced back over your shoulder.
Clearly you had noticed him watching.
“Are you sure?” you asked, already opening the whiskey bottle.
Thomas didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
He held your gaze across the room as you poured, the low kitchen light catching the sharp line of his jaw.
“Never been more sure of anything,” he said quietly.
“…in my life.”
You tilted your head slightly, handing him the glass.
“Almost seems like you’re not talking about the whiskey anymore…” you hummed.
“Maybe I’m not,” he said quietly.
He reached for the glass you were offering him, but instead of taking it right away, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering there a moment longer than necessary.
The contact was small.
Barely anything.
And yet it sent a quiet spark running up your arm.
You looked down at him where he sat at the table, the dim light casting soft shadows over the sharp lines of his face. His fingers were still resting against yours.
“Maybe I’m not either…” you said quietly.
Thomas went still.
He didn’t pull his hand away.
“Y/N…”
Your name left his lips almost like a warning.
Like he was reminding himself not to cross a line he already knew he shouldn’t.
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him.
Slowly, you set the whiskey glass down on the table instead.
His hand reached out and wrapped gently but firmly around your wrist.
For a moment you both just looked at each other.
Then you stopped thinking.
You leaned down and kissed him.
“I missed you so much…” you hummed into the kiss.
The moment your mouth touched his, Thomas exhaled a low sound from deep in his chest.
For a moment it felt like the whole world outside that little kitchen disappeared.
He didn’t hesitate anymore.
His arms came around you, pulling you down onto his lap as if the distance between you had suddenly become unbearable.
You let yourself settle there as his hands slid to your waist.
The edge of his hand slipped just slightly beneath the hem of your nightgown, resting against the warmth of your skin.
He held you close.
Too close for a man who had been pretending for weeks that he could stay away.
Your fingers slid into his hair, gripping the dark strands as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss without thinking.
Your body pressed against his.
Your lips searched for him again and again like you were trying to make up for every lost night.
“Christ… you have no idea what you do to me..” he growled between kisses, as his hand tangled in your hair to angle your head just how he wanted.
“But you can show me…” you breathed against his lips.
It took mere seconds before you were hoisted up onto the kitchen table, half sitting up, lips against his in a feverish kiss.
Thomas broke the kiss just long enough to tear his own shirt over his head. He tossed it to the floor before his mouth found your neck, hot, open mouthed-kisses trailing down to your collarbone.
You tasted sweet. Like honey and heaven and everything he’d ever wanted.
You aided him, tugging the nightdress up to your waist, he understood immediately, slipping it off you.
He leaned over you, his gaze drinking in the sight of you.
His hands moved over your body, his eyes roaming over you, the way the faint light caressed your curves, the flush on your skin. He looked like a man in awe, like you were something to be worshipped.
“You’re beautiful..” he murmured, voice deep and rough. “So goddamn perfect…”
Thomas bent down, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your jaw, his hands sliding up your sides, his calloused fingers rough against your skin.
He went back to leaving a trail of hot kisses down your neck, down your chest, to the curve of your collarbone… lingering there.
His eyes dark and half-lidded as his mouth continued its journey towards your hip.
He looked almost intoxicated, like a man starved, and his hands were just as hungry for you.
“I want every inch of you,” he said, his voice rough, “every sound. All of you.”
You bit your lip, eyes on him as he hovered above your hip, you nodded, eagerly so even.
He moved up, his mouth reclaiming yours in a deep hungry kiss. As his lips worked yours, he gently spread your thighs, his hands gripping your hips to pull you closer to him. He was already achingly hard, and having you like this, spread out in front of him.
It was both heaven and torture.
“I want to touch every part of you…” he groaned into your mouth. “Taste every inch of you…”
“You can have all of me…” you hummed, before you pulled him closer, faces impossibly close as your lips melted into kiss after kiss.
Slowly he let off your lips, his hands slid down your body, his mouth descending between your thighs to taste you.
He licked into you, slow and deep, savouring your taste. “I’ll ruin you..” he breathed against your wet heat.
You let your head fall back a bit, immediately letting a moan escape your lips as he tentatively licked into you.
It only spurred your lust on further, your breath hitching, your hips arching towards him. He couldn’t hold back the rough groan that escaped him, as he dipped his head again, tongue delving deeper.
His fingers found your nipples, rolling them between his rough fingertips before pinching gently. Just enough to make you gasp.
You let one leg lean over his shoulder, allowing him to lick into you as he pleased. “Please–” you moaned out as his tongue circled your sensitive clit.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice ragged, “What do you want, darling?”
Your eyes searched his desperately, “I want you…” you managed to breathe out.
“Don’t you worry, love.. you can have me all night…” he murmured.
Once again he lifted himself up to meet you, your hands brushed over his firm abdomen, drinking in the very sight of the man he was.
Your lips met his desperately again, you could taste yourself on his tongue.
His hands moved to your thighs again, pulling you impossibly close, your legs spread wide around his hips.
Thomas parted for air slowly, your lips mere inches apart, breaths mingling together.
“Thomas…” you began, and before you could stop yourself you continued, “…I love you.”
His breath caught in his throat for a painful second, his grip on you tightened almost reflexively.
His lips parted, as if he wanted to say it back, but the words choked in his throat.
Instead he kissed you, deeply, like he could pour every unsaid word into that single moment.
When he finally pulled back, he was breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours.
“I know…” he whispered roughly.
It made you painfully aware of how he didn’t say it back, how he refused himself the confession, or didn’t feel it in the first place…
Still you leaned into the kiss, telling yourself he felt the same about you, that he did love you like you loved him.
On the phone in the hospital he had said it, but now… he remained awfully quiet.
You kissed him again, hungrily, your hands beginning to fumble with the fly of his pants.
He could feel the desperation in you, and he cursed himself for it.
He deepened the kiss, kissing you like maybe it was possible to swallow the words down, to drown them, to hide from the weight of them. The implication.
“Y/N..” he muttered quietly into the kiss.
“Thomas, please, I want you…” you breathed, feeling at his hard length as you freed it.
He groaned, rough and ragged, as you did so, it almost made his head spin with need.
“Tell me again…” he breathed against your lips, his hands coming down to push down his pants, they sank to the floor by his feet with his underwear.
Now there was no more hesitation, his lips found your again, while he wrapped a hand around his hard length, lazily stroking himself a few times before pushing himself inside you.
A sharp breath escaped him, his forehead dropping against yours as his fingers dug into your hips.
He didn’t move yet, just stayed buried inside you.
Your breath came out in sharp ragged as he sunk into you, your eyes were looking up at him, entirely focused on the pale blue sparkle in his.
He was clearly fighting the urge to move, to drive into you hard and fast, to take what he wanted.
Instead he took a shaky breath.
“Keep talking darling,” he demanded, “Wanna hear that pretty mouth.”
You had to take a few shaky breaths to collect yourself, “I want you… to fuck me.” you moaned out.
The words hit him hard, the vulgarity of it had his restraints snap.
His hips began rocking into you, mouth trailing down to your neck, licking and kissing at your skin.
“Ah.. Thomas…” you moaned.
His name on your lips was like a drug, driving him crazy with need and desire.
He gripped your thighs as he thrusted into you harder.
The kitchen table creaked under you as he fucked into you. Moans and creaking mixed to an obscene rhythm in the usually so quiet kitchen. The overwhelming sensation of his thrusts was making that coil of pleasure inside you tighten.
Meanwhile Thomas groaned against your skin, hands grabbing and touching everywhere he could possibly reach.
He pulled away only to look at you, to drink in the sight of your flushed body, your eyes hazed with pleasure, your lips parted.
God you looked so beautiful.
“I could watch you like this all damn night…” he whispered into your ear.
You let another moan escape you as your eyes fluttered shut momentarily, head tipping back as he fucked right over that sweet spot inside you.
He thrust into you enough to make you see stars every time he pushed inside fully, your hands clawed at his back, then his neck, pulling him closer. Your moans turned so high pitched and desperate they almost sounded like whines.
He could feel you squeeze around him, clench down, telling him you’d come undone soon.
His hand slid between you, thumb finding your wet clit and circling it hard.
You couldn’t handle it any longer, the pleasure snapping in your stomach as you let out a ragged gasp.
Thomas watched as your face contorted, the sight of you coming on his cock was almost too much to handle.
He hissed through gritted teeth as he fucked you through your orgasm.
Every twitch of your walls around him, every whimper from your lips pushed him closer to the edge.
His breath came in sharp ragged bursts against your neck as he buried his face there.
His hips jerked forward as he spilled deep inside you,a low groan tearing from his chest.
You couldn’t help but let out an overstimulated moan as he came.
Then the world was blissfully quiet for a moment, your head was swimming in the warm feeling of both your pleasure, and the only thing you heard was the loud thrum of his heart against your cheek as you laid your head on his chest.
His arms tightened around you, holding you flush against him.
For a while longer the two of you stayed tangled together before you both straightened yourselves, wiping down the slightly damp kitchen table with a cloth while trying not to meet each other’s eyes too much.
There was something almost shy about the silence now.
When everything was back in place, you slipped your nightdress over your shoulders again.
Thomas had moved toward the window only in his underwear, already lighting a cigarette.
You came to stand beside him, yawning softly as the exhaustion of the late hour finally began catching up with you.
Without thinking much about it, you leaned slightly against him.
“Are you going to stay,” you asked quietly, “…or do you need to head back?”
You both had agreed not to see each other. Not until Kimber and Campbell were dealt with. Not until things stopped being so dangerous.
But a quieter part of you hoped he would stay anyway.
Just for tonight.
Thomas finished the cigarette slowly, the smoke drifting out into the night air through the open window.
His arms slipped around your waist and he pulled you closer.
“I can stay the night,” he decided, “…I want to.”
Not long after, the two of you were in bed.
You laid curled slightly against him, your head resting on his chest while his arm draped around you.
For a moment it felt almost… normal.
Domestic.
In another life, maybe it could have stayed like this.
“Do you think things will ever be quiet after Kimber and Campbell?” you asked softly.
Thomas stared up at the ceiling for a long moment.
“Probably not,” he said after a moment.
“Oh.” was all you said.
But something twisted quietly in your stomach.
You already knew he wasn’t the sort of man who would ever settle into a quiet life with a normal job and a small house and children.
And truthfully… part of you didn’t want him to change.
But the danger, the constant threats, the enemies… it made you wonder what kind of future you were walking toward.
But you didn’t say any of that.
Instead you just shifted slightly, closer.
“I really missed this,” you hummed, “…really missed you.”
“I know,” he muttered quietly after a moment.
“Me too.”
Silence settled over the room again.
Then, so quietly it almost was inaudible, he added:
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 sixteen – wildflowers
You had returned to your shop a few days after the Kimber incident.
There was still plenty to clean. The place had been left in a miserable state.
Your ribs still protested every time you bent down, and the bruising along your cheek pulled, but you ignored it and kept working.
It helped to stay busy.
Day by day your shop and you yourself looked more put together. The swelling and bruises faded, your flowers bloomed again.
Apart from a quite stubborn pot of forget-me-nots.
One late afternoon you were wiping your hands on your apron when a voice suddenly called from the doorway.
“Delivery for Y/N L/N!”
You looked up immediately, surprised. For a moment you just blinked at the man standing there before stepping toward the entrance.
“That’s me…” you said.
The man handed you a bouquet of flowers. Wildflowers, gathered together in rough twine, wrapped in soft blue tissue paper.
“Oh… thank you,” you said, taking them from him.
He tipped his head and turned to leave. Only as he stepped back into the street did you notice the hat on his head was a flat cap.
Your stomach twisted faintly.
You closed the shop door, locked it even and carried the bouquet back to the counter. It felt oddly heavy in your hands.
A small card rested between the stems.
You pulled it free.
“Canal Bridge 5 am
- Your army dreamer”
Army Dreamer…?
It had to be… Thomas, no?
You stared at the card for a long moment before beginning to unwrap the flowers.
And then something slipped free.
The metal hit the wooden counter with a heavy thud.
You froze.
A M1917 4" Barrel revolver lay between the scattered wildflowers.
Your heart began to pound as you stared down at it.
Of course it was Thomas. Nobody else would send you flowers and a gun.
Your thoughts raced as you stared at the card again…
Canal Bridge. Five in the morning.
Was he asking you to meet him there?
You sighed and rubbed a hand over your aching temple.
“Oh Thomas…” you muttered quietly.
This was ridiculous, and dangerous, and very reckless… but it was so… ‘Thomas’.
But what other choice did you have?
You closed the shop, carrying the flowers and the revolver home with you.
Once inside, you locked the door behind you. Then the windows, drawing in the curtains.
The revolver sat on your kitchen counter where you’d placed it.
For a long time you just stood there staring at it.
Your hand moved almost without thinking as you picked the revolver up again.
The weight of it settled heavily in your palm.
Still, after a moment, you slipped it carefully into your purse.
A rather restless night followed, and by early morning you found yourself leaving the house, almost excited.
The city was still mostly quiet at that hour, a bit of rain falling upon the still damp streets.
You were dressed differently today.
No soft florals or light colours like you usually wore. Instead, a dark grey skirt and a plain white blouse, simple.
Inside your purse, your fingers occasionally brushed the cold shape of the revolver.
The weight of it still felt wrong.
Thomas was already there when you finally arrived under the canal bridge.
He had been leaning against the wall, cigarette hanging from his lips, as always. The moment his eyes landed on you, something in his shoulders eased.
He pushed off the wall and began walking toward you, his gaze taking in your appearance as he approached.
“You’re here,” he said quietly.
You nodded.
“Of course I came… my army dreamer,” you huffed softly.
Before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
Thomas reacted instantly.
His arms came around you tightly, as he buried his face against the side of your neck. You felt his breath against your skin as he inhaled deeply.
“Fuck… I missed you,” he muttered roughly.
He pulled back just enough to look at you,
“Are you alright?”
“I’m okay,” you said softly, lifting your hands to brush your fingers over his cheek. “How are you? Did you get into any trouble with the coppers?”
Thomas exhaled through his nose, covering your hand with his. His thumb slowly rubbed small circles over your fingers.
“No trouble yet…” he lied smoothly.
You leaned in and kissed him gently.
“What… what is this meeting even about, Tommy?” you asked quietly when you pulled back. “I told you it’s not good if we see each other right now… and the letter… the gun…”
You had so many questions.
Thomas looked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
“I know,” he muttered. “I know. But we needed to talk. Alone. Just this once.”
“Thomas… you sent me a gun.” Your fingers tightened briefly around your purse. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”
“I…” he began, voice rough.
“I’m in trouble,” he said finally. “We’re in trouble.”
Your stomach twisted.
“With who?” you asked quickly. “With that Kimber bloke?”
Thomas gave a harsh breath through his nose.
“Kimber’s the least of it right now…”
He hesitated only a second before saying the name.
“Campbell.”
You frowned slightly. “Who… who is Campbell?”
“Copper inspector…” he hissed. “The bastard who’s been breathing down my neck for months.”
His eyes locked onto yours.
“He wants the Peaky Blinders gone. And now that he knows about us…” Thomas shook his head slightly. “He’ll use you.”
Your heart skipped.
“He knows about us?” you asked quietly. “I promise you, Thomas… I told nobody.”
Your eyes searched his face desperately.
Thomas shook his head again, jaw clenched.
“Doesn’t matter. He knows now…” His grip loosened slightly, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “Fuck if I know how.”
He ran a hand over his face briefly.
“Point is… he’ll use you to get to me. And if your father’s working for him…”
Thomas cut himself off briefly.
“That gun’s for protection. Just in case.”
“For protection?” you said nervously. “Thomas… I don’t even know how to shoot. I can’t–”
“I know,” he interrupted.
His fingers lifted your chin gently so he could see your eyes properly.
“You’ll figure it out, but it’s a last resort,” he said quietly. “Just take it. And for Christ’s sake, be careful.”
“Okay… I promise I’ll do what I can.” you nodded slowly.
You hesitated for a moment before you spoke again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier that my father’s a copper.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened immediately.
For a split second, something flickered across his face… doubt.
It stabbed deeper than he wanted to admit.
Because the idea that you might betray him… it felt like a knife twisting somewhere in his chest.
You noticed it instantly.
“You believe me… right?” you asked quietly. “That I’m on your side?”
Thomas stared at you for a long moment.
Searching.
Looking for any hint of deceit.
But you only looked back at him with that same soft, honest expression that had undone him from the beginning.
He sighed sharply.
His grip on your chin softened.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah. I believe you.”
You swallowed, unsure whether to feel relieved or hurt that he’d hesitated at all.
“So… what now?” you asked. “Do I just… not see you until this is over?”
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “We gotta lay low. Just… give me time. You gotta trust me, alright?”
You bit your tongue to stop the protesting words rising in your throat.
But you nodded.
“Alright… I trust you.”
Thomas’s eyes softened just slightly, his fingers brushed along your jawline again.
“Good girl.”
“There’s… one more thing I need you to do.”
You looked up at him immediately, waiting.
“Keep that gun on you. At all times.”
It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.
You swallowed, “Alright… I promise.”
“I mean it, Y/N,” he added, his voice lower now. “I need you safe. I can’t–”
The words caught somewhere in his throat.
His jaw tightened instead, and his fingers pressed slightly harder against your shoulder, almost painfully so.
Your lip trembled before you bit it down, your eyes suddenly burning.
Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around him once again.
“I promise,” you whispered, your voice tight. “I swear.”
Thomas held you tightly, almost desperately. You felt his face bury into your hair as he inhaled slowly.
For a moment neither of you moved.
It felt painfully good being held like this again.
But it also felt like goodbye.
“Promise me you’ll also be safe,” you whispered quietly against his shoulder.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose and pressed a rough kiss against your temple.
“I’ll try.”
You lifted your head slightly and pressed a kiss against his lips.
“If you ever need anything…” you whispered into the kiss, “you can always come to me.”
You stepped back after that, though every part of you wanted to stay exactly where you were.
“Thanks….” he said with a nod.
You clutched your purse a little tighter before giving him a small wave, your chest heavy.
“Goodbye… I… I see you.”
Then you turned and stepped out from beneath the bridge.
You wondered how long it would be before you saw him again.
Behind you, Thomas remained exactly where you’d left him.
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
