♡ | you come back home intoxicated

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Intro

1926, Warwickshire, Birmingham—2:30 A.M.

Your friends had just dropped you off outside your house after a long night out at the speakeasy. Still tipsy—no, completely drunk—you fumbled with your house keys, giggling to yourself as you struggled to fit the key into the lock.

After a few clumsy attempts, you finally managed to unlock the front door and stumbled inside, nearly tripping over your own feet.

The house was silent.

Too silent.

You swayed slightly as you stepped into the living room, your heels clicking unevenly against the floor. The faint smell of whiskey still clung to your skin, mixed with expensive perfume and cigarette smoke from the bar.

And then you saw him.

Your husband, Thomas Shelby, stood in the middle of the room, waiting for you.

Still. Silent. Deadly.

A cigarette rested between his fingers, the dim orange ember glowing in the darkness as smoke curled lazily around him. His sharp features were shadowed beneath the low light, but his expression was unmistakable.

He was furious.

The second your blurry gaze landed on him, your stomach dropped.

That’s when you remembered.

The curfew Thomas had set for you.

11:30 P.M.

And now it was 2:30 in the bloody morning.

Your drunken mind struggled to catch up as he stared at you from across the room, his icy-blue eyes hard and unforgiving.

“Where the were you, baby?” Thomas demanded in a furious tone, his deep, hoarse voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

You blinked at him, trying to focus, but everything still spun slightly around you.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, his jaw tight with anger. “I’ve been worried sick about you all night.” His eyes narrowed, cold and piercing as they locked onto yours. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

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