Peaky Blinders Preferences and Images

《 How you comfort them 》

⚠️ Including Tom, Arthur, John, Finn and Michael ⚠️

-Tom-

"You alright, darling?" Pulling earrings through their perspective homes, you turn on the plush cushion of the vanity chair, peering up at the blue-eyed man at the doorway.

He sighs, allowing the weights of today's worries filter out through his chest with the heavy breath. "We're not going out." His voice is gruff, worn from a day's worth of heavy smoking and yelling.

"What do you mean?" There's a downturn of your lips as you rise. "I've just gotten ready, Tommy. Just have to do my makeup." You can't help your pout.

"Bloody hell," He begins, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his freckled nose as he saunters over to your dress-clad form. "I'm sorry. I am." He moves forward, large hand melting into the small of your back as he draws you forward. "But 'm not in the mood to get fucked over tonight. 'M really not." He croons, dipping forward and nipping at the sensitive flesh your clavicle.

You chortle mindlessly, pressing your palms against his muscled shoulders and pushing him away. "Alright, alright. I'll go get changed." You sing, turning on your heel and sliding your earrings back out. You don't argue, worried that you'll push the poor man off the precipice he's been balancing on all day.

You have the jewelry slip from your fingers and onto the lacquered wood of the vanity before you reach up, plucking the pins that are keeping your updo sturdy, allowing your locks to fall in tendrils against your bare shoulders.

You slip out of the gown you've managed to slip on, the soft material falling to the floor in a heap as you wiggle on a nightgown to seal the deal. Tommy's on the mattress by himself now, undressed and peering at a framed picture of the two of you on your wedding day, cigarette in hand. "Tommy, darling, no cigarettes in bed, please. You know how much I hate ashes in my pillow." You chastise with an easy smile, saddling in next to him.

However, nonetheless, you pluck the fag from his grasp and bring it to your lips. You inhale deeply, the cancerous smoke filling your lungs before you put the cigarette out in the ashtray and release the smoke into the air.

You smile softly, leaning forward to smear your lips against his cupid's bow. "I love you." You whisper softly, leaning and flopping back against your side of the king mattress. Tommy groans languidly, turning onto his toned stomach and curling into your side. He splays his palm against the side of your hip, pulling you in as he rests his head against your abdomen.

"I love you too, darling." He sighs, allowing his cerulean irises to shut as he finds comfort in your touch. You know better than to inquire about his day; he's never been one to pull you into the daunting business. Instead, you lean down, peppering kisses along the crown of his head as he finds a comfortable position.

"Anything good 'bout your day, m'love?" You question, carding your fingers through his brunette curls. They're getting to be particularly long. You're not complaining. "Michael managed to not fuck up the numbers, for once. Y'know, like he's supposed to." He scoffs, allowing his hands to run up the sides of your legs as you scratch at his scalp, lulling a small smile out of the hardened shell of a man.

"Well, that's good." You muse, watching as Tommy wraps his arms around your torso completely, giving you a tight squeeze and pressing his lips to an exposed bit of skin above your knickers. It's endearing.

"It'll get harder before it gets better. It always does." There's not much you can say to soothe the poor man's woes, but you do what you can. And it doesn't go unnoticed.

Your husband doesn't respond, and when you glance down, you realize the poor man has fallen victim to the exhaustion that torments him with every passing hour. "Well, goodnight then, love. Sleep well."