peakyloverrr

[peakyloverrr]

I've just read your fics and they are tooo goooddd!! Keep it up

Lots of love<3

LOVE YOU! 🫀🫀

[peakyloverrr]

Lab rat . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

warnings: p n v, unprotected sex, slapping, drugging, noncon (kind of), manipulation, oblivious reader, fem reader!, overstimulation, young reader.

mentions of drug abuse, suicide.

MDNI 18+

A/N: please let me know if i happened to miss any warnings!

word summary: 4.5k

summary: your a new patient at Arkham, Dr. crane takes a liking to you.

You spent your teenage years in isolation—older men, drugs, jazz clubs; all the kinds of things that could numb you for a while. By 16, you were already a walking party favor, lost in the chaos of your own self-destruction. By 18, after countless attempts on your life, your distant parents had finally decided to send you to one of the worst psychiatric hospitals in Gotham—Arkham.

Every single day was a living nightmare. Half the patients were having conversations with the Grim Reaper himself. You hated it all. Well, most of it.

there was Dr. Crane. He helped you get through it.

He was kind, compassionate. It baffled you how much criticism he had to endure.

How could anyone hate someone so god-like?

Those pale blue eyes of his—enough to send a girl into cardiac arrest.

Those weekly sessions? The only reason you kept pushing through them was to make him proud.

The sessions were never in the same place. Dr. Crane justified it by saying things like:

“I prefer a different room each week. It prevents stagnation—breaks the mind’s tendency to anchor itself to comfort.”

You never really understood what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. Especially when each word came out of his throat in such a smooth, hypnotic manner.

The first few times you met with him, he was sly. His questions would bring up dark memories—ones that made your skin crawl. The kinds you fought so hard to bury. What kind of strategy was this? But then, you were introduced to a new kind of ‘anti-depressant.’

The overhead light hummed. The walls sweated condensation.

You sat cross-legged on the cold metal chair, your hands folded neatly in your lap. The ribbon in your hair crooked, almost defiantly. You hadn’t said a word in nine minutes.

Across from you, Dr. Jonathan Crane stared. His pen poised but still.

“You’ve been difficult to medicate,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “I thought we’d try something a little more progressive.”

He slid a small paper cup across the table, followed by an amber-green bottle, the kind of thing you’d find crushed under a boot in an alley. It had a dropper.

“It’s a cognitive recalibrator—sublingual delivery, metabolized quickly. The dosage is precise. Microscopic, really.”

He unscrewed the cap of the bottle, already squeezing three solid drops into the cup. He swirled it around carefully, making sure the liquids mixed. Then he looked at you.

“Open your hands.”

You did as you were told, feeling his cold fingers brush yours for a moment—brief, sharp. He placed the cup in your hands, his fingers lingering for a second too long.

“It’s nothing extraordinary,” he continued. “Just a small enhancement to your current treatment. You’ll feel… clearer.”

He leaned back slightly, studying you with a clinical gaze, his voice softening just a little. “I want you to drink it. Now. Slowly.”

A beat passed. His eyes narrowed, a cold intensity in them now.

“Let me see what it does to you.”

You hesitated, breath catching in your throat.

“Drink it for me,” he coaxed. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Then, his voice dipped lower, almost a whisper. “Be good.”

Of course, you complied without question. The liquid slid down your throat, smooth but potent. It hit you like a hurricane—your arms growing limp, your words slurring, pupils dilating. Thoughts evaporated, leaving only one: him. You could practically feel the love hearts floating in your eyes, like some ridiculous cartoon.

Dr. Crane stepped around the table, his presence filling the room. He stood beside your chair, his grip harsh as he forced you to meet his gaze.

But God, the butterflies swarmed in your stomach.

“Fascinating,” he mused. “How quickly it takes hold. I thought you’d be more resistant.”

He moved closer, his body almost engulfing yours. His fingers curled beneath your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up to him. His touch was clinical, yet something about it felt like a promise.

“Look at you now,” he murmured, his voice darker, more possessive. “Completely mine.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, watching your every reaction, every shift of your body.

“Can you hear me, darling?” he asked, voice low and deliberate. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”

The question hung in the air, but you couldn’t focus on anything but him. You melted under his gaze, unable to think, unable to resist.

“Mmm,” he hummed, almost satisfied. “You’re finally starting to listen.”

His tone dropped lower, dangerously possessive.

“All for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, frantic, gripping his wrist as if it were the only thing grounding you. The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw, desperate.

“All yours. You own me, Dr. Crane.”

The confession left your mouth unbidden, but there was no taking it back. And if you were being honest with yourself, you meant every single word.

“So responsive…” he whispered to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s as if you almost need me, my pretty, pretty girl.”

Silly, needy whimpers slipped from your mouth before you could stop them. Was that a serious question? Look at the state you were in—he had you exactly where he wanted, like putty in his hands. You were melting into his touch, as if you were a puppet and he, the master of your strings.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, his voice smooth as he lifted you effortlessly from the chair. He hoisted you onto the table, standing between your legs. His hands moved to brush the hair from your face, and without thinking, you tilted your head back, silently begging for more.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging at your scalp, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone. “Oh, you’re trembling,” he teased, his voice low as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. He placed the softest kiss against your neck, and the sound that escaped your lips was something between a moan and a gasp—a tender, shuddering cry.

“How could they lock you up in a place like this?” he coaxed, his kisses growing harder, more urgent. They were the kind of kisses that would leave bruises. “You’re too innocent,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “You must be so frightened.”

His words cut through you like a blade, but instead of fear, all you felt was an insatiable craving to be consumed by him entirely.

“You have to keep me safe, Dr. Crane…” you mumbled, your voice breathless. “I need your… oh… protection, please.” A gasp escaped your lips as his kisses trailed from your neck to your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin, moving ever so close to your lips.

Your nails dug into his back, the fabric of his suit pressing against your skin, making the pain bearable, but only just.

The hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair moved to your waist, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed tightly together. His breath came in uneven bursts, his own arousal becoming more apparent with each passing second.

“You know I’ll look after you, darling,” he murmured, his voice dark and soothing as his hand slid under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your waist. “Who else is gonna do it, huh? Look at you, so fuckin’ clingy… You can’t be left alone in this godforsaken world.” His words were sharp, full of scorn, but there was a dangerous kind of tenderness to them that only seemed to draw you in further.

The sensation of his palm against you was like a jolt of electricity. It sent waves of heat and cold crashing through your body, making your skin prickle and your nerves come alive. You whimpered, arching into his touch, the fabric of your shirt no barrier to the power of his grip.

His thumbs rolled over your nipples, a gentle pressure that was just shy of painful, but it was enough to make you squirm on the cold metal table, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. If he pushed down just a little harder, you knew you would shatter into a million little pieces, each one craving his touch more than the last.

“When was the last time you got fucked, hm?” he whispered, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. The question sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks. You didn’t have to think hard to know the answer—it had been months. Months of cold, lonely nights in the asylum, with no one to warm your bed but the ghosts of your past.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand slid up your shivering body, his touch like fire on ice. He chuckled, a low, dark sound that made you want to squirm. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

He didn’t wait for your answer, his hands deftly moving to the hem of your shirt. The fabric was rough under his fingertips, the material sticking to your skin from the cold sweat that had broken out all over your body. He began to peel it away, his eyes never leaving yours once the material slipped over your head, revealing your pale, goose-bumped stomach.

“Stunning,” he mumbled under his breath. His hands stayed groping your waist, his eyes lingering on your bare chest before meeting yours again. The room was a haze of desire, and you felt as if you were drowning in his gaze—like he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

Then, without warning, his mouth crashed into yours. It was a brutal kiss, one that left you seeing stars. His teeth scraped against yours, the feeling only adding to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that surged through you. His tongue danced with yours, invading your mouth with an urgency that was almost frightening. He tasted like mints and something much darker, something that made your pulse race and your heart stutter.

As his kisses grew more demanding, his hands slid down your waist, stopping on each of your thighs. He didn’t break the kiss once, even if his body was begging him to take a moment to breathe. Instead, he squeezed your thighs, his grip tight and firm. You felt a thrill of fear mingled with excitement at his display of power. Each squeeze sent a bolt of pleasure shooting up to your core, making you squirm against him.

The sound of your breathless gasps filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic and the metallic tang of the table beneath you. He pulled away from your mouth, his eyes locked on yours, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he watched you pant for air.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, my darling?” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick with desire. Your body responded before your mind could even process the question—spreading your legs wider, offering yourself up to him without hesitation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he spoke, the question rhetorical. He didn’t need an answer; his calloused hand cupped your mound over the thin fabric of your shorts, and your body arched into his touch like it was the most natural response in the world. The material was soft under his grip, a stark contrast to the harshness of the metal table beneath you, but the pressure was everything you craved.

You used both hands to grip his wrist, your head falling back as you moved yourself against it. The friction was building, the need growing like a wildfire inside of you. “Oh good girl,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with each gasp you made. “Keep moving like that for me.”

You did, your hips grinding against his hand. The fabric of your shorts grew wetter with each passing second, his touch igniting a spark in you that you hadn’t felt in so long. It was as if he had control over your very soul, and you were powerless to resist. The room spun around you, the edges of your vision going blurry with lust.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Bet you could cum like this, couldn’t you? Just from me touching you like this.” His voice was a siren’s song, the sweetest of promises wrapped in a veneer of darkness. And you believed him—you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every jerk of your hips.

“I-if that’s what you want,” you panted, suddenly picking up the pace. Your body was a marionette, his every command sending you into a frenzy of need. Your hips were practically slamming into his hand, up and down, over again, like your only prayer. “I’ll cum for Dr. Crane,” you moaned, the words leaving your mouth as a declaration of submission.

His eyes darkened at the sound of your voice, the smirk on his face growing wider. His hand pressed harder, the fabric of your shorts now soaked through. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “Keep going. Show me how much you want it.”

With a feral growl, you did. Each grind of your hips against his hand was a silent plea for more, your breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as you chased that sweet release. You were so close, so fucking close—the tension in your stomach was coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. You could feel the orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that was going to rip through you like a tornado.

And then it hit. Your eyes rolled back, and the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. “I’m doing it, I’m doing it, fuck, I’m cumming for you!” The declaration was raw, primal, and filled with a need so intense it was almost painful. The world around you blurred into a mess of colors, your body spasming as you came, hard and fast, the force of your orgasm leaving your muscles trembling.

You fell forward onto his arm, his hand still pressed firmly against you, he felt it through your shorts, pretty much coating his hand. “Oh, that’s it,” he whispered to you, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’ve done so well, my little love.” His hand moved over your sex, drawing out the last gasps of pleasure from your quivering body. His other hand stroked your hair gently, as if trying to soothe the storm he’d unleashed within you.

Then, his tone changed. “you know, darling, I can’t just give this kind of pleasure away for free, can I?” His words were a dark tease, and you felt your heart sink slightly. What was he asking of you? You looked up at him, eyes glazed with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and saw the twisted smirk on his lips.

He tugged at the waistband of your shorts, his eyes never leaving yours. “C’mon, face down, ass up. Let’s see if you’re as good at taking as you are at begging for it,” he said, his voice a mix of amusement and command. He patted the cold, hard table next to your hips, and you felt a shiver of anticipation run through you. Before you could even process what was happening, he had flipped you over, your stomach and breasts pressing against the unyielding metal, his hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades, keeping you in place.

“You should know, I don’t like having to wait,” he murmured as he bent over your back, brushing the hair out of your face with his other hand. The heat from his body was like a blanket around you, his erection pressing into your ass, trapped behind those expensive tailored suit pants. It was clear that he was starting to get impatient, his need palpable as he ground himself against you, his frustration making him harder and more demanding.

“One more thing before we get started,” he whispered, his breath hot on your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You watched as he reached for the amber bottle, the same one that had brought you to this state of desperate need. His hand wrapped around it, the sound of the cap twisting off echoing in the quiet of the room. He squeezed the dropper, filling it with a generous amount of the shimmering liquid. You knew what was coming, but the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

He tapped the dropper against the bottle, watching the excess dribble out before bringing it to your mouth. “Say ahh,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your eyes widening as the dropper slipped under your tongue. The liquid was incredibly bitter, almost nauseating, a taste you hadn’t quite experienced before. It coated your tongue and throat as you swallowed it down, feeling the intensity of it spread through your body like wildfire.

“Excellent,” he mumbled, placing the bottle back down on the table with a soft click. He leaned away from you, and you felt the loss of his warmth like a cold shower. He gripped the hem of your shorts, and without any hesitation, began to tug them down your trembling legs. The fabric drifted over your skin, the cold air of the room a stark contrast to the heat between your thighs. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but oddly excited. His touch was firm, almost rough, as he pulled your shorts down to your ankles, the sound of the fabric scraping against the metal table echoing in the room.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he instructed, his voice low and demanding. You obeyed, feeling a strange thrill at his dominance. Your heart raced in your chest, your breaths coming out in short, sharp pants as he stepped back to admire his work. The anticipation was agonizing, but you knew it was only going to get better. Or worse.

The sound of his belt whipping through the loops of his pants was the only sound that filled the room. You felt your body tense up, expecting the sting of leather on your skin, but instead, his hand came down on your ass—a firm, open-palmed slap that echoed through the cold, sterile air. You gasped, your eyes flying open in shock, only to see the smug look on his face.

“You shouldn’t be walking around the asylum like that, what if one of those animals comes and gets you hm?” he spoke, his cock now resting against your cheek, the one that was bright red from his touch. “They would eat you alive if they had the chance,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You couldn’t react, it was too late. His cock was now pressing at your entrance, the tip of it sliding in. “I-I.. oh holy fuck—“ you blurted out. The sensation was overwhelming—the pressure, the heat, the sheer size of him. You’d had sex before, but none of those encounters had ever been like this. This was something else entirely—something primal and all-consuming.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Seems like the antidepressants are working wonders on you, doesn’t everything feel a million times better?” he mumbled, his voice thick with arousal as he pushed into you so very slowly, savoring the feel of your tightness around him.

You couldn’t form words, all you could do was nod, your face buried in the cold metal of the table. Each inch of him stretched you out, filled you up until it was all you could focus on—the feeling of his cock sliding into you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before—like every nerve ending in your body had been set on fire. You felt his hand move from your hair to your hips, his grip firm as he began to thrust into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.

“Such a tight hole,” he praised, his voice tight with lust. His movements grew faster, more demanding, each thrust sending a bolt of pleasure through your body. He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly aside, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted his shirt up, watching himself move in and out of you with a dark fascination. “Taking me so well,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine. It was a strange kind of praise, but you found yourself craving more of it, desperate to please him in any way possible.

Then, you felt his free hand slip underneath your body, the coldness of his fingers against your feverish skin making you gasp. His touch was firm, almost punishing, as he found the swollen bud of your clit and began to toy with it—flicking and pressing it with a precision that had you squirming.

You realized, with a sudden jolt, that the medication he’d been feeding you wasn’t an antidepressant at all. It was a concoction of his own making, a drug designed to make you hyper-sensitive to his every whim. And as his cock filled you up, and his fingers played with you, you were at the mercy of that high. It was too much, almost painful in its intensity, but you didn’t want it to stop.

He watched your face contort in a mix of pleasure and pain, a dark glint in his eye. “It’s so much isn’t it, baby?” he taunted, his voice low and smug. “Can you handle it?” His thrusts grew deeper, more forceful, his fingers pressing against your clit with a precision that had you teetering on the edge of a second orgasm. “You’re already so overstimulated, aren’t you?”

Your response was a garbled mess of sounds, your body a writhing mass beneath him. “I-I-I—” you stammered, unable to form any coherent thought, let alone words. It was as if his control over you was so complete that you could only exist to serve his whims.

“Come on, darling, don’t keep it all to yourself,” he said, his voice a dark, velvet purr in your ear. His hand tightened on your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust harder, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Spit it out,” he ordered again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your eyes rolled back, and with a final, desperate gasp, you screamed, “cum—“ The word was raw and needy, a desperate plea for release. Your entire body was trembling, your walls clenching around him in a vise-like grip. The sensation was so intense it was almost unbearable, your legs kicking and thrashing beneath his weight as if trying to break free from their own constraints.

And then, the world shattered. You felt your body convulse as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, the intensity of it stealing your breath away. Your vision went white, and for a brief, beautiful moment, all you could feel was the sweet oblivion of pleasure. It was as if you’d been thrown into a vortex of sensation, with only Dr. Crane’s firm grip on your hips anchoring you to reality.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh,” you panted over and over again, your voice a staccato symphony of need. It was as if you were speaking in a language only he could understand—a dialect of desire that he was fluent in. He kept slamming into you, his rhythm unrelenting, his eyes never leaving your ass. The sound of your skin slapping against the metal table filled the room, the only other noise the desperate sounds of your breaths and his grunts of pleasure.

Then, his fingers left your clit, the absence of the pressure like a cold gust of wind. Your body protested, arching back to chase his touch. But before you could voice your complaint, they were back, pressing into you, circling you again. “Again?” he cooed, his voice a dark whisper that sent a thrill through your core.

And so it went on—a dance of pain and pleasure that seemed to last an eternity. Each time you thought you couldn’t take it, each time you thought you’d hit your limit, he’d whisper, “Again,” and somehow, your body would respond. Orgasm after orgasm ripped through you, leaving you a trembling mess on the table, your eyes glazed over with the intensity of it all.

“C’mon baby, I know it’s hurting just one more for me yeah?” he pleaded, his fingers moving as fast as lightning on your clit. The nub was so swollen it felt like it might just burst, and you could feel the beginnings of another climax building deep within you. The pain was exquisite, a beautiful agony that you never wanted to end. “You’ve got it in you, don’t you? One more... for me?” he coaxed, his voice a dark symphony of lust and manipulation.

Your body responded before your mind could even process his words. You felt the orgasm building, the pressure in your core growing tighter and tighter. It was like a bomb waiting to explode, and you were the one holding the trigger. With a final, desperate cry, you did just that—you came for him. It was a scream of pure pleasure that echoed through the room, your body convulsing so hard you thought you might break the table.

Dr. Crane’s eyes widened, watching your every spasm with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. That was the one that sent him over the edge. He knew you were so sore, that he’d pushed you beyond your limits, and he loved the power that gave him. His panting grew heavier, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as his hips jerked erratically. “Fuck, fuck, pussy’s so good, yup, fuck, clench me just like that, darling—“ he blurted out before the ropes of semen shot into you, filling you up like a warm, thick liquid. The sensation was almost too much, a strange mix of pleasure and pain that made your toes curl.

He collapsed over your back, his cock still buried deep inside you. The warmth of his body was almost suffocating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You felt him twitch and pulse as he emptied himself into you, his breaths hot and heavy on your neck. He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, his grip on your hips loosening slightly as he enjoyed the aftermath of his own pleasure.

Then, with a smug sneer, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and exposed. The sensation of his withdrawal was almost painful—a stark contrast to the fullness you’d grown accustomed to. He stepped back, tucking his cock back into his pants with a look of satisfaction that made you feel used, but in the best way possible. You felt a strange mix of emotions—disgust at what you’d just done, but also a thrill of excitement. You were his now, completely under his control.

[peakyloverrr]

[peakyloverrr]

[peakyloverrr]

ARM CANDY

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。

warnings: heavy smut, degrading, slapping, misogyny, public sex.

MDNI!

word count: 4364

summary: Thomas choose you as his arm candy for the night, your job was to look pretty and make Thomas look good.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。

The soft glow of candles flickered across the wooden walls of the Garrison's pub, casting shadows that danced to the murmur of hushed conversations. You sat in a secluded room, feeling the weight of Thomas Shelby's muscular arm draped casually across your shoulders. His whiskey-laced breath tickled your ear as he spoke in low tones to his brothers, their faces etched with the lines of hard-earned respect.

Arthur's voice, a stark contrast to the velvet whispers of the night, cut through the air. "Oi, no I swear on my life that cunt was a purebred bastard!" The words hung in the stillness, his eyes glinting with a cold, grey anger that was as much a part of him as his trademark flat cap. Thomas's gaze remained unfaltering, his jaw tight as he listened to Arthur's tirade. You felt the tension coil around the table like a serpent waiting to strike, the atmosphere thick with unspoken threats.

John's laughter grew louder, a choking cough escaping him as he slapped his hand against the scarred wooden table, sending a fine mist of cigarette smoke wafting through the air. His eyes watered, but the grin never left his face, a stark contrast to the stern expressions of the Shelby brothers. "I can't believe you fell for that," he managed to sputter out between gasps for air.

Thomas's hand reached up to gently stroke your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His touch sent an unexpected thrill through your body, a reminder that you were the outsider in this den of wolves. Yet, here you sat, the chosen arm candy for the evening, a silent observer to the brotherly banter and the subtle power plays that danced around the table. You couldn't help but wonder why Thomas had brought you here. Was it a show of possession, a warning to the others? Or perhaps he simply enjoyed the thrill of mixing his world with yours.

As the whiskey flowed and the stories grew more outlandish, Thomas leaned closer, his voice a soft whisper. "You're doing well," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't let them intimidate you." His eyes searched yours, a glimmer of something unreadable lurking in their depths. Was it admiration? Approval? Or was it something darker, a hint of the ruthlessness.

You leaned into him, letting your body mold against his. The fabric of his tailored suit was soft under your fingertips, a stark contrast to the roughness of the linen dress you wore. You felt the beat of his heart, steady and strong, beneath your palm. The gesture was deliberate, a silent message to the men around the table that you belonged to him for the night.

Thomas's arm around your shoulder tightened, and before you could react, his hand had moved to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that was as unexpected as it was intense. His mouth was firm and demanding, and you found yourself responding despite the room full of eyes that you knew were watching. It was a show of dominance, a public claim that sent a shiver of fear and excitement throughout you.

As he broke the kiss, your bottom lip was trapped between his teeth for a brief moment. The sting of pain melded with the taste of his whiskey and the smug look on his face sent a clear message: you were his for the taking. You felt the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of anger and desire. This was not a game you had signed up for, but you were in too deep to back down now.

The grip on your neck shifted down to your waist, and before you could even process the sudden movement, Thomas had pulled you softly onto his lap. feeling his power and the solidness of his thighs beneath you. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly in place as he turned his attention back to his brothers, who were watching with varying degrees of amusement and discomfort.

John's eyes rolled dramatically, his elbows planted firmly on the table. "Tommy," he said with a smirk, his voice booming with forced joviality, "be a gentleman and introduce us to this lovely lady of yours." His gaze flickered between you and Arthur, who was watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Thomas chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Ah, but she's not my lady," he said, his voice carrying the same smoothness that had captured your attention the first time you'd heard it. "Just a pretty little bird I found, keeping me company for the night."

Arthur's eyes widened with shock, his teasing smile slipping into a smirk. "Thomas," he drawled, "the girl is sitting on your fuckin' lap." His words hung in the air like a dare, the room's tension thickening like a fog that no one dared to cut through. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, but you didn't move, not even to breathe. This was Thomas's world, and you were a silent player in his game.

"Oh, quite," Thomas said, his voice dripping with amusement. He tipped his head back, exposing the strong line of his throat as he took a swig from his whiskey glass. "She’s comfortable here, arent you lovey?" His eyes met yours again, and the challenge was clear. He was waiting for you to speak, to confirm your role in this charade.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby," your voice cracked in your throat. Your nervousness shone through you, making it obvious. Yet, you held his gaze, trying to channel the same strength and poise you had seen in the women who often accompanied him.

John's laughter grew bolder, his elbow connecting with Arthur's ribs. "Looks like we've got a proper one here, mr shelby," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Thomas's hand slid up push a lose hair lock behind your ear as he spoke. "She's not proper, just formal," he clarified, his voice a low purr. "And she's a very good 'listener' if you know what I mean," he added, the edges of his mouth turning up in a knowing smile. His brothers' eyes lit up with understanding, and their banter took on a new, more dangerous edge.

"Thomas, please don't embarrass me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the din of the pub. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he nodded, his grip on your waist loosening ever so slightly.

"How tight is she, Tommy?" Arthur leaned in, his eyes glinting with malice. You felt the heat of his breath and the weight of his question, and your stomach clenched with dread. "Does she scream when you give it to her or is she the quite type?" John added, his smirk widening with every lewd question thrown your way

he replied, his voice unbothered. "She's tight enough to make any man see stars, and loud enough to wake the dead." His words were as cold as the steel of the knives they all carried, and yet they were said with a matter-of-factness. You felt exposed, like a rabbit caught in the glow of a hunter's torch.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure, but the heat of embarrassment was creeping up your neck. You felt like a pawn in their twisted game of one-upmanship, and the urge to stand up and leave was overwhelming. But you remained seated, frozen by a mix of fear and a strange loyalty to Thomas.

As the night grew colder, the pub's patrons began to trickle out, leaving only the die-hards and the Peaky Blinders behind. The candlelight cast an eerie glow on the faces of the men who had once been so lively and boisterous, now worn down by the weight of the hours and the whiskey. Arthur's head lolled to the side, his chin resting on his chest as he snored softly, oblivious to the world around him.

John's eyes met yours for a brief moment, his finger pointing in your direction before he turned to his slumbering brother. "Alright, Tommy, I'm off for the night," he announced, his voice thick with exhaustion. He gripped Arthur's shoulder and gave it a firm shake, trying to rouse him from his drunken slumber. "Come on, you lazy sack of shite, time to go home," he grunted, his voice filled with affectionate exasperation.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, his gaze immediately falling to where Thomas's hand was still resting on your waist. He pushed himself up with a grunt, the smirk on his face never wavering. "I'll see you in the morning, then," he said, his voice dripping with unspoken innuendo. He winked at you before staggering out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through the emptying pub.

Thomas waited until the sound of their footsteps had faded before speaking again, "Lock the door," he instructed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air. You felt the weight of his words, the unspoken promise of what was to come. You slid off his lap and moved to the door, your legs feeling wobbly with fear and anticipation.

With a flick of your wrist, you turned the lock and pressed your back against the door. The coldness of the wood seeped through you, sending a chill down your spine that was not entirely from the temperature. You watched as Thomas stood up, his movements fluid and predatory, his eyes never leaving yours as he approached you. The room felt smaller, the air thicker with the unspoken tension that crackled between you.

"I think they like you, my dear," Thomas spoke, each word measured and deliberate. His steps were calculated, each one bringing him closer until he was standing right in front of you. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and gently placed his hands on your hips, lifting you onto the edge of the old, sticky table. The wood was slick under your thighs, and you had to grip the edge to keep from sliding off.

With a deftness that belied his rough exterior, Thomas began to unbutton your dress. Each button released with a soft snick, revealing more of your skin to the flickering candlelight. a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you struggle to maintain your composure. "But how could they not like you?" he teased, his voice low and smooth. "You're as beautiful as a freshly minted coin."

You felt the fabric of your dress slide down, exposing your shoulders and the tops of your breasts. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the heat of his gaze. "Was I good, Mr. Shelby?" you questioned, your voice a tremble. Thomas's hands stilled for a moment, his eyes flicking down to meet yours. "Fuckin' utterly perfect," he murmured, his voice a gentle caress.

As the last button gave way, the dress fell to your waist, leaving you in nothing but your chemise and stockings. Thomas's eyes raked over your body, his pupils dilating with desire. "On your feet," he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind. As you stood, he gave the dress a final push, sending it to the floor in a pool of fabric at your feet. "Mmm what a pretty little girl," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on the exposed flesh.

With surprising grace, he lifted you back onto the table, this time spreading your legs as he did so. He stepped between your thighs, his hands moving to the hem of your chemise, inching it up with agonizing slowness. You watched as his eyes followed the path of the fabric, his breathing growing heavier with each reveal.

"Are you going to behave?" he whispered, his voice a soft caress that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, the words trapped in your throat as his fingers traced the curve of your stocking-covered legs. "No whining tonight," he murmured, his voice a gentle command that you knew you would have to obey.

With a sudden surge of strength, Thomas ripped your stockings apart, the sound of the fabric tearing echoing through the room. The cold air kissed your newly exposed skin, and you couldn't help but gasp at the sensation. His eyes darkened with desire, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a predatory smile. He stepped closer, his thighs brushing against yours as he leaned in, his breath hot on your face.

Your hand had moved to his belt buckle of its own accord, driven by a primal need to be closer to him. But with a swift, surprising move, Thomas caught your wrist in his firm grip. "Don’t be so fucking needy," he stated, his voice a harsh whisper. His grip tightened, a clear warning as he pushed you back down onto the table. The wood was cold and unforgiving under your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

Thomas's hand slid up your thigh, his thumb grazing your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He reached the apex of your thighs and paused, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence was deafening, filled with the promise of what was to come. Your chest heaved with anticipation, your heart pounding in your ears like a drum. You felt the wetness between your legs, and you knew he felt it too.

"Please, Thomas," you whined, unable to hold back the desperate need that was building within you. His touch was agony, so slow, so deliberate, it was almost as if he reveled in your torment. "What did I tell you about whining?" he spoke, his voice a threat. You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle the moan that was building in your throat. The room was spinning, the candlelight blurring into a sea of flickering gold around you.

He leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand moved away from your thigh and slid under the tattered remains of your stockings. His finger traced the wetness of your core, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. "You're so eager, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "But I think we need to teach you some manners first." With a smirk, he brought his hand back up, slapping you firmly across the face. The sound of it echoed through the empty pub, leaving your cheek stinging with heat.

You felt your eyes widen in shock and pain, but Thomas's grip on your chin was unyielding. "Look at me," he demanded, and you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "You want this, don't you?" His thumb began to rub the spot where he'd struck you, the gentle caress a stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier touch. You nodded, unable to find your voice.

"Say it," he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek. "Say 'I want it, sir.'" The words stuck in your throat, but you knew what was expected of you. "I... I want it, sir," you managed to get out, the words feeling foreign and yet somehow right in the moment. The smirk on Thomas's face grew, and his eyes gleamed with victory.

His hand gripped your chin firmly and slapped you once more, the sound echoing through the deserted pub. "Are you a greedy whore?" he questioned, already knowing the answer. You felt a mix of humiliation and arousal at his words, but you didn't dare to defy him. Your voice trembled as you replied, "Yes, sir."

Thomas leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over yours. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a sweet caress that sent a shiver down your spine. He claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips to explore every inch of your mouth. You moaned into the kiss, your body responding to his dominance, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You felt his hand move from your cheek to the back of your neck, his grip tightening, keeping you in place as he plundered your mouth.

As the kiss deepened, Thomas's free hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers brushing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He chuckled against your lips, his breath hot and damp. "Look at you," he teased, his voice thick with lust. "You're so needy, so fucking wet for me." The embarrassment grew, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the pleasure of his touch. You squirmed under his hand, trying to press closer, to get more of the friction that you craved.

He watched you with a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with the power he held over you. "Oh, your pathetic," he murmured, his voice a taunt that sent a thrill through your core. You hated how much you liked it, how much his words turned you on. He pulled back, his hand leaving you aching and exposed. "But I'll give you what you want," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive growl.

With one swift movement, Thomas unbuckled his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper of sound. He slowly pulled down his zipper, the metal teeth parting with a sound that seemed to echo through the silent room. You watched, breathless, as he revealed the thick, hard length of his cock. It was a stark contrast to the rest of his refined attire, a brutal reminder of the primal nature lurking beneath his civilized exterior.

He wrapped his hand around the base, giving it a firm pump. The motion was both mesmerizing and terrifying. His eyes never left yours as he asked, "Are you ready for me, hm?" The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, his confidence unshakeable. You nodded, your voice trapped in your throat, a silent admission of your readiness despite the fear that gripped you.

Thomas leaned in, his shirt and vest hitched up to expose the taut muscles of his stomach. He positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance, the warmth of it sending a bolt of anticipation through your body. He dragged it back and forth, teasing you, making you beg with your eyes for the relief of penetration. The fabric of his shirt was coarse against your skin, the sensation adding to the delicious torment he was inflicting on you.

"So fuckin’ wet," he mumbled, his voice thick with desire. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of his cock, glistening with your arousal, before he slammed into you. The suddenness of it made you gasp, your eyes watering from the mix of pain and pleasure. You felt your walls stretch around him, trying to accommodate his size, and the feeling was overwhelming.

Thomas's hands gripped your hips tightly as he pulled out almost entirely, only to slam back in with a ferocity that made your breath hitch. "Take it," he teased, his smirk widening with every whine that escaped your throat. Each thrust was punctuated by a low grunt, his body moving in a rhythm that was both brutal and mesmerizing.

Without thinking, your hand slid down your torso, navigating through the slickness of your skin. Your fingertips found the sensitive bud of your clit, and you began to move them in fast, tight circles. The pleasure shot through you like a bullet, a sharp contrast to the ache of his possession. You bit your bottom lip to stifle the moan, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much you enjoyed the pain he brought.

Thomas's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking down to your hand, then back to your face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he growled, his grip on your wrist tight to the point of pain. He yanked your hand away, his own hand replacing it, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit. "This is mine," he said, his voice low and possessive. "You don't get to touch without permission."

The new sensation forced a loud moan to push through your throat. "Oh fuck Thomas don’t stop!" You begged, your back arching closer to him. Thomas's hand didn't relent, instead, his fingers began to move in a punishing rhythm, his thumb grinding against your sensitive nub.

"You like that, don’t you?" he sneered, his voice filled with anger and lust. "You like it when I treat you like the whore you are." His thrusts grew more erratic, his movements punctuated by his harsh breathing. You could feel the tension building in him, his muscles tightening as he approached climax.

You nodded, the words coming out as a choked gasp. "Yes, yes, sir," you moaned, your voice a desperate plea for more. The pain had transformed into something darker, a twisted need that only he seemed to be able to satisfy. Your hips met his thrusts, urging him deeper, your body betraying you with every movement.

Thomas's smile grew feral as he watched you, his thumb pressing harder on your clit, his other hand still holding your wrist in a vice grip. "You're going to come for me" he ordered, his eyes dark with lust. "You're going to scream my name like the little slut you are."

Your walls began to clench around him, your body responding to his rough words and the relentless pressure of his thumb. You nodded your head frantically, agreeing to his conditions, eager to please the man who held your pleasure hostage. The room spun around you as the orgasm grew closer, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

"Just like that," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "Come for me, love. Show me how much you want it." His voice was a dark symphony of lust and power, and you couldn’t resist its siren song. You felt the first wave of your climax crest, your muscles tensing as the pleasure became unbearable. "Mmm i cant take it!!," you warned him, your voice a breathless whisper.

With a few more powerful thrusts, you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire. Your back arched off the table, your nails digging into Thomas's forearms as you screamed his name. The room seemed to suffocate you, the candlelight flickering and distorting as your body writhed in ecstasy. The sound of your moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the very walls.

"Oh good girl," Thomas praised, his own release not far behind. The wetness of your climax coating him only served to spur him on, his hips moving with a newfound urgency. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. You felt him swell inside of you, the promise of his orgasm imminent.

With one final, deep thrust, Thomas spilt his seed within you, his groan a mix of pleasure and triumph. The sound was like holy music to your ears, a symphony of masculine satisfaction that seemed to resonate within your very soul. Sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening in the light as he leaned into you, his breathing ragged and erratic.

Before you had time to process the intensity of the moment, Thomas pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and exposed. You watched as his cum trickled down your thighs, the stark reality of what had just occurred painting a vivid picture on the cold, wooden table beneath you. He squatted down, his eyes never leaving yours as he took in the sight of his handiwork. The smug satisfaction on his face was a stark contrast to the raw vulnerability of your own.

With a flick of his wrist, Thomas slapped your bare heat, the sting of the impact sending a shockwave through your body. You gasped, your eyes watering with pain. He tucked himself back into his pants with a sense of finality, his movements efficient and precise as he buckled up his belt. "Go on, get dressed," he ordered, his voice a low growl that seemed to resonate in your very bones.

You pushed yourself off the table, your legs shaking with a mix of pleasure and pain. Each movement was agony, a reminder of the intensity of his possession. You bent down to retrieve your dress, the fabric feeling cold against your skin as you slid it back over your body. The buttons seemed to mock you with their resistance, but you persevered, feeling the fabric hug your curves as you re-covered yourself. The dress was a barrier, a shield against the raw vulnerability that lay just beneath the surface.

As you straightened up, Thomas stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle, almost tender kiss. "You were amazing," he murmured, his voice a stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier words. The praise washed over you like a warm summer rain, filling the cracks in your ego that his dominance had created. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of mockery, but all you found was a sincere warmth.

With a final squeeze of your wrist, Thomas turned and opened the door of the private room, leading you back into the now-deserted pub. The candles had burned low, casting eerie shadows that danced across the wooden floorboards. The smell of smoke and whiskey hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the raucous evening that had just passed. He nodded at the bartender, who had remained behind to clean up, and the man offered a respectful nod in return, his eyes flicking to the bruises on your cheek and the disheveled state of your clothing.

Thomas didn't bother to acknowledge the unspoken question in the bartender's gaze. Instead, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against his side. The fabric of your dress was cold and clingy from the sweat and cum that soaked it, but the heat from his body was a comforting embrace. "Let's get you home," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble. And since then, you were Thomas shelbys arm candy at every gathering.

[peakyloverrr]

5 MINUTES LATE

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warnings: assault, non consensual, p in v, losing v card, heavy smut, degrading.

MDNI!

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summary: Today was the day, your first time working back stage. There was some kind of pep talk, by a man called Thomas shelby.

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You were backstage, not because of any particular passion for politics, but because you knew the score. To climb the ladder, you had to start at the bottom rung, even if that rung was coated with dust and the sweat of forgotten dreams. Thomas Shelby, the infamous MP, was about to give a speech that could either stir the pot or soothe the beasts of discontent. You'd never met the man, only heard his name whispered in the smoke-filled pubs and shadowed alleys of the city. Now, you were about to witness his charisma firsthand, the same charm that had turned a gang of Birmingham ruffians into a political force to be reckoned with.

As the chant grew louder, you knew you had to act. The show couldn't start without the star. You scanned the bustling backstage, searching for a familiar face to lend a hand. The stage crew were too busy setting the scene for Shelby's grand entrance, ensuring the podium gleamed and the British flag was draped just right. The other interns were either frozen in place, overwhelmed by the pressure, or had been swallowed whole by the chaos of final preparations. Your eyes landed on the awkward theatre nerd, a fellow outsider in this world of brawn and bravado.

"Miss," the boy stuttered, his voice shaky, "I'm so sorry to bother you, but Mr. Shelby won't come out of his dressing room." He fidgeted with his fingers, his anxiety palpable in the air. You nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his distress. You'd seen this before, the fear of messing up a moment that could define their future, or in this case, their first job.

With a quick eye roll, you agreed to help him. The boy's relief was obvious as he frantically lead you through the maze of backstage corridors, past the stern faces of burly stagehands and the fluttering dresses of nervous debutantes. The dressing room door looked like it had seen better days, its once grand oak panels now peeling and the brass handle tarnished. "Good luck!" he shouted before scurrying off to tackle his own unfinished business. You took a deep breath, the anticipation thick as you raised your hand to knock.

"Mr. Shelby?" you called out, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "Is everything alright, sir?" The silence was deafening before the door creaked open, revealing the enigma behind the legend. Thomas Shelby stood there, tall and sharp as a tack. His piercing blue eyes bore into you, a look that could cut through the darkest night. His hair, slicked back and gleaming under the dim light, framed a chiseled jaw that held the weight of his reputation. His suit, tailored to perfection, whispered of power and wealth.

He eyed you up and down, his gaze lingering on your parted lips, the pulse in your throat hammering a rhythm of dread. "Come in," he ordered, his voice a velvet threat that sent a chill down your spine. You glanced over your shoulder, the hallway a fading lifeline. The chant outside grew more insistent, a bassline to your racing heart. With no other choice, you stepped into the room. The door slammed shut, the finality of it echoing in your ears.

Thomas took a step closer, his breath warm against your neck. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, a scent that seemed to permeate his very essence. His hand shot out, pinning you against the door with surprising strength. "I'm not normally like this," he spoke, his voice a low rumble. The room spun around you, the walls closing in. "But I need a release." Before you could process his words, he had you turned around, your face pressed against the cool wood. The heat of his body was an unwelcome contrast to the chill of fear creeping through you.

The sound of his belt unbuckling was like a gunshot in the quiet room. You felt your heart stutter in your chest, your body frozen. Panic started to build like a crescendo in your mind, a symphony of 'no's playing on a loop. But when you opened your mouth to scream, nothing came out. His hands moved swiftly, gripping the fabric of your skirt and pulling it up to your waist. The sound of his zip seemed to echo in the stillness, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play.

He ripped your stockings and undergarments off in one go, the material tearing like paper. The cold air hit your bare skin, making you shiver, the vulnerability stark and terrifying. You tried to push him away, but he was too strong, his body a wall of muscle that didn't yield. Thomas's breath was hot and wet on your neck, his hand squeezing your shoulder painfully as he whispered, "Don't move." His other hand began to explore your trembling thighs, his fingers rough and uncaring.

"Please, sir," you managed to croak out, the words barely audible over the thundering of the crowd outside. Your voice cracked from fear, your eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill over. "I haven't done this before." The room felt like it was spinning, the weight of his body pressing you into the door, his hand moving higher and higher up your leg. He paused for a moment, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest, the sound sending a shiver of revulsion through you. "How delightful," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.

Ignoring your plea, his hand found your core, his fingers probing and pushing without hesitation. You gasped as he slid one digit inside you, the sudden intrusion sending a bolt of pain through your body. The roughness of his touch was like sandpaper against your soft flesh, his calloused fingertips moving in a way that felt more like an assault than any kind of intimacy. "Oh, I think you're going to need some more practice," he said, his voice thick with lust. The words were a knife, twisting in your gut. You tried to push his arms away, but his grip was like iron, holding you in place as he began to pump his finger in and out, the sensation a blend of pain and violation.

He must have noticed the tension in your body, the way you flinched with every movement, because he leaned closer, his breath hot and moist against your ear. "Shh," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr that didn't match the harshness of his actions. "It only hurts for a second, darling." And with that, a second finger joined the first, stretching you wider, the pain giving way to a strange, overwhelming sensation that you couldn't quite understand. His thumb found your clit, a tiny bundle of nerves that seemed to be the only part of you that hadn't frozen in terror. He began to rub it in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure building, the pain morphing into something else entirely.

As the crowd's chant grew to a fever pitch outside, so did Thomas's ministrations. The room spun around you, a whirlwind of sensation that washed away the fear and left you with a confusing cocktail of pleasure and panic. You bit down on your bottom lip, the sting of your teeth a stark contrast to the delicious ache between your legs. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your cries for mercy slowly turning into whimpers of need. The pain had become a distant memory, replaced by an overwhelming wave that washed over you like a tide.

Thomas leaned into your neck, his breath hot and wet on your skin. His fingers moved with a newfound urgency, his touch both rough and tender as he played you like an instrument of his own devising. "Are you going to cum for me, lovely?" he whispered, the words a dark caress against your ear. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine that ignited a fire in your core. You didn't know how to answer, the sensations too intense to form a coherent thought.

The room spun as your body responded to his relentless strokes. His thumb circled your clit with a newfound vigor, the pressure building until it felt like a dam about to burst. Your legs trembled, and a keening noise built in your throat. A few more thrusts and then it hit you, a forced orgasm that rushed through your body like a flood of molten lava. The pain and pleasure melded into one overwhelming sensation, and you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your lips.

Thomas's hand was sticky with your blood and arousal, a testament to his brutal mastery. He withdrew his fingers with a smug smile, leaving you trembling against the door. He brought his hand to your face, smearing the crimson residue along your cheek. "Now, don't you look pretty," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. Without warning, his hand shot out and slapped your ass, the stinging pain bringing you back to reality with a jolt. "Good girl," he whispered in your ear, his breath ragged with his own desire.

You felt the tip of his erection press against your wetness, the bluntness of it a stark contrast to the delicate touch of his fingers. A whine escaped your throat as he pushed into you, the pain sharp and unyielding. You hadn't expected it to hurt so much, but you bit your lip and took it, your eyes watering as he inched deeper. His hand remained on your hip, holding you in place as he claimed you without remorse. The chanting outside grew louder, a cacophony of voices that seemed to encourage him.

As he slammed into you, the pain gave way to a deep, burning sensation that filled your core. Your legs trembled violently, your knees threatening to give out beneath the weight of his thrusts. Each time he pulled out, you felt empty, and when he plunged back in, you were filled with a mix of agony and an eerie sense of belonging. It was as if he owned you, as if your body was merely a vessel for his pleasure.

"Oh, you're so fuckin' tight," Thomas groaned, his voice thick with desire. You could feel him deep within you, his erection pulsing with every punishing thrust. His grip on your hip tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he took you with a ferocity that seemed to shake the very foundation of the building. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by his grunts and the occasional slap of his hand against your ass. The pain of the impact only served to heighten the sensations, leaving your skin stinging and your body trembling with each smack.

Tears streaked down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat that had formed on your forehead. You were lost in a maelstrom of pain and pleasure, unable to discern which was which anymore. The room spun around you, the only constant being the feeling of him inside you, claiming you in a way that no one ever had before. His breath grew ragged in your ear, his teeth nipping at your neck as he picked up the pace, driving into you like a man possessed.

The helplessness was intoxicating to him, you could feel it in every thrust. He reveled in the power dynamics, the way your body responded to his every command. Each slap of his hand against your flesh was a declaration of dominance, a symphony of pain that he conducted with a sadistic glee. He enjoyed watching you squirm, the way your legs trembled and your hands clawed at the door for purchase. It was all a game to him, a twisted dance of power and submission that you had no hope of escaping.

"Don't fight it," he muttered against your neck, his breath a warm, moist reminder of his presence. His hand slid down your torso, his thumb brushing against your clit with a feather-light touch. The suddenness of it made you gasp, your body betraying you with a spike of pleasure. You felt his smile against your skin, the cruel curve of his lips a brand on your soul. "Just take it," he whispered, his voice a seductive lullaby that only served to tighten the knot in your stomach. His fingers began to fiddle with you, the pressure building as he expertly played your body like an instrument of pleasure and pain.

Thomas's thrusts grew more urgent, his hips slamming into you. Each stroke was a declaration of his power, a statement that resonated through every inch of your being. His fingers moved in tandem with his cock, each plunge inside you accompanied by a brush of his fingers that sent sparks through your nerves. You felt your body start to respond, your muscles tightening around him, your breath hitching in your chest.

"Oh god," you moaned despite yourself, the pain morphing into something almost sweet. Your voice was a hoarse whisper, the words torn from your throat as your body started to accept his brutal invasion. The sensation was foreign, a blend of fear and desire that coiled in your belly like a living thing. His hand on your hip was a brand, his fingers on your clit a masterful stroke that coaxed forth the beginnings of an orgasm you hadn't asked for.

"Cum for me," he ordered, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to resonate in the very core of your being. His fingers pressed down firmly, the pleasure spiraling out of control. It was a command, a demand, and your traitorous body responded with a fervor that shocked you. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the room fading to black around the edges as the world narrowed to just the two of you and the unrelenting rhythm of his hips. "Now!" he barked, and with that final word, you shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning, your body convulsing around him. His grip tightened, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt your walls contract around his length. And then, with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room, Thomas spilled himself deep inside you. The heat of his release filled you, a stark contrast to the coldness of his touch. "Oh good girl," he moaned, his hips jerking as he emptied himself, his movements almost involuntary. The power of his climax was palpable, a testament to the control he held over you.

He slid out of you with a wet sound, leaving you feeling both empty and violated. You slumped against the door, your legs giving way beneath you. The floor was cold and unforgiving, but it was the only thing that grounded you in reality. You felt his cum trickle down your legs, a sticky mess that was a stark reminder of what had just transpired. The room spun around you, the pain and pleasure still melding in your mind.

Thomas Shelby took a moment to tuck his shirt back into his pants, adjusting himself with the nonchalance of a man who had done this a hundred times before. He straightened his tie in the small mirror hanging crookedly on the wall, his reflection showing no sign of the carnage he'd just wreaked. "I have a speech to attend to," he said, his voice a cold, uncaring dismissal. He didn't bother to look at you as he spoke, his eyes focused solely on the reflection of his impeccable suit.

He stepped away, leaving you there on the floor, trembling and naked from the waist down. The door swung open, the roar of the crowd outside like a slap in the face. He strode through the curtain, the fabric billowing behind him like the cape of a villain leaving a scene of destruction. You heard his footsteps fade away, the echo of his departure leaving a chill in the air. The chant grew louder, a taunting reminder that the world outside had no idea what had just transpired here, in the shadow of the stage.

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TAGS:

[peakyloverrr]

BUSINESS TRIPS

warnings: smut, fluff, cheating, manipulation. (MDNI)

word count: 2k

summary: your husband thomas shelby has left you and your children once again, well accompanied by the staff he hired for the family a few years back. this is the longest trip he’d been on since your daughter ruby was born, and so far away as well. thomas had told you that there was business to attend in the states. but that was really all you knew.

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one late evening, after you put the children down for the night. you found yourself talking on the telephone to your sister in law ada. “i can’t believe you let tommy go up there by himself, you’ve got to much faith Y/N” spoke ada. hearing her talk about your husband like that made you angry, but it was coming from his sister. you would think she would know more about him then you.

“you don’t think he actually would cheat do you?” you asked the receiver, her breath hitched in her throat before answering. “well he’ll be home when you wake up, ask him yourself” she stated. before you could answer ada’s statement she had already hung up the phone. you whined and placed the black telephone on your bedside table in the room you share with your husband. you then turned off the crystal lamp sat next to it, the room turning darker then the phone. eventually, after moments of tossing and turning you finally drifted off to sleep.

hours of sleep go by before your woken to the sound of heavy foot steps around your bedroom. the smell of whiskey and cigarettes enveloped you, he was back. without hesitation you jolted up, quickly turning the lamp on. it was still dark outside, but it wasn’t unusually for him to turn up in the peak of the morning. he stood in front of the wooden dresser with his back turned. you watched him from afar as his leather gun holster began to fall softly off his shoulders.

thomas’s head peaked over his shoulder, instantly noticing you covered in the thick blankets. “morning love,” thomas chuckled. you allowed yourself to sink deeper into the mattress underneath you as thomas’s continued underdressing. your mind obnoxiously flicking back to adas words. suddenly you snapped out of the trance, “i’ve drawn a bath for you”. how odd, a month overseas and he’s come home to draw a bath for his wife?

you lifted the covers off yourself, your feet snug against the plush carpet. you take a few steps forward, your arms wrapping around him like a snake. your face nuzzled against his neck, his aftershave weaving up your nose. “i’m so glad your back” you whispered gently. thomas shrugged his shoulders, forcing you off him. “please just get in the bath Y/N” he muttered back to you.

like always, you did what your husband asked of you. thomas had complete control over you, weather you liked it or not. you knew he intended to keep it that way, but it would be nice of him to let you in once in a while. with no hesitation you made your way to your shared ensuite, a white large bathtub stood in the middle with candles and rose petals spread about. the gesture made you swoon, so thoughtful of him, so kind, so wholesome. but very fucking suspicious.

you still managed to enjoy your bath, the temperature was just perfect. half way through he appeared once again, “look at my pretty girl..” he mumbled before gripping the edge of the bathtub. he admired every inch of your body, your hips, your waist; every part that could be admired. your eyes where locked on his face as he took in your body, seconds went by before thomas was pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. his hand quickly dipping into the water to try and get a feel of you.

his actions took you by surprise, he was never this affectionate. it was if he was trying to cover up something, the way he was spoiling you. for god sake there was probably a designer purse waiting for you downstairs. before thomas could fiddle with his wife, you grabbed his wrist. his attention darting start to you, “what?” thomas asked an annoyed look smearing over his face. “why are you doing all this?” you questioned.

the emotions he was showing immediately disappeared, the hand hovering above your most sensitive area moved quickly to the plug of the bath. thomas lifted it up effortlessly. “i try to treat you well but it’s never fucking good enough!” thomas shouted, the plug flying out of his hands into a hidden corner. “don’t you appreciate me Y/N? am i doing something wrong?”. the lust in his eyes turned to pure anger, his chest was heaving, his shoulders where tense. “i mean fuckin’ hell what more can a man do?”.

your body grew cold as the water drained, thomas’s voice echoed off the tiles. you lifted your body slightly, in hopes to get your point across. “thomas did you do something, something bad?”. thomas paced around the bathroom, staying silent as he did so. “tommy tell me!” you demand, he stopped in his tracks. thomas turned on the heel of his boots, the intense moment that made you shiver. “you got me” he finally admitted, his calloused hand sliding over his face.

you froze for a second, the words took a while to actually make sense. ada was right, thomas shelby was a cunt. “you cheated on me?!?!” you shouted out, tears beginning to fill your eyes, your heart melting in your chest. thomas noticed your distress, he squatted down in front of the tub. his hands instantly cupped your face. “no darling it wasn’t like that!” he confirmed, his rough thumb wiped the tears streaming down your face. “i only ever thought of you, please don’t cry love” thomas begged.

you felt as if you were decomposing, thinking of thomas with another woman sent you into agony. “you were only gone for a month!” you spat out between deep breaths. “Y/N please understand a month is a long time away from you, i got lonely” he pleaded. for some mad reason you couldn’t help but feel sympathy towards thomas. he had gone through all this effort to try and clear his tracks, it was obvious the prostitutes where only a stress relief. “please Y/N, i love you more then life itself let me make it up to you”.

as thomas comforted you, your loud cry’s turned into soft sniffles. you nodded your head ever so slightly, giving in to his apologies. thomas held your hand and helped you step out of the bathtub. once you where out he wasted no time, quickly grabbing the soft beige towel hanging on a hook. “let’s warm you up” he spoke, thomas wrapped the towel tightly around you. making sure every inch of your body was dry. his hand rested on the small of your back as he guided you into the bedroom.

once your feet felt the carpet he lifted you up onto the bed. the towel came undone around your body. “under the covers please” thomas asked before pulling up a corner of the blankets for you. like a obedient dog, you slide under the sheets. the warmth instantly put you at ease. thomas dressed himself in boxer shorts and an undershirt before crawling in next to you. “i’m sorry my love..” he whispered close to your ear, his hand gripped your waist.

with no effort thomas pulls himself over you, the blankets just above his shoulders. your naked body twitched under him, he kissed your forehead gently trying to bring you content. “shhh it’s alright” thomas mumbled. how could a man so cruel to the outside world make a woman crumble like this. not much time passed before thomas’s lips were attached to your neck, his knee was placed between your legs, his hands now guiding your hips.

you could resist grinding on him, the pleasure shot up your spine. he had such a way with you, he knew every inch of your body. he knew the nicknames you liked, the pace you liked, your body was his. his grip tightened, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. his teeth grazed your neck, his tongue licking up it until he reached your ear. “not to fast now” he said with a low chuckle before sinking under the blankets.

thomas’s breath touched your bare heat, his hands traveled up your torso landing on your breasts. he twisted your nipples gently between his fingers, the sensation was something you had been craving for 4 weeks. all you wanted was his touch and affection, which is what he was clearly giving you. you fully understood his intentions when his tongue met your dripping heat. it slide gracefully between your folds, stopping right at your clit. you whined from the sudden movements, thomas being hidden underneath the covers added to the excitement.

his chuckles sent vibrations against your clit, forcing your legs to squirm. and with that thomas’s lips latched to you, his mouth slurped you up affirmatively. each suck was harder then the last, moans escaped from your parted lips. thomas let go of one of your breasts,moving his hand down to join him between your legs. the tip of his fingers teased your entrance, causing your hips to jerk. thomas squeezed his fingers inside you, it being a bit more difficult since you haven’t had anything inside you since he left.

your head fall back against the bed frame once you felt him inside you. “oh tommy..” you moaned softly, his fingers beginning to curl inside you. his mouth now leaving gentle kissing on your clit. his pace quickened, along with his tongue. he was eager to make you reach your high. your hands ducked under the covers, grabbing tightly onto his short hair. “mmmm” thomas mumbled into you, with one hard curl of his fingers he found your most sensitive spot.

you let out a loud squeal, his fingers now rapidly hitting your g spot. you gripped his hair tighter, almost pulling it out as he worked his magic. your body moved with his fingers, the knot in your stomach becoming more noticeable. “that’s it..” he muttered against you once more, the words sending you into oblivion. your back arched off the bed, goose bumps spread across your body. your heat clenched around thomas’s fingers, almost making it impossible for him to move them.

but nothing was impossible for thomas shelby, one final curl and you came undone around him. your legs shook heavily beside him, your mouth dropping into the shape of a O. the bed squeaked with thomas’s movements as he guided you through your high. his fingers didn’t stop until they where drenched in your cum. after a while they began to slow down, as well as his tongue. he pulled them out ever so slowly, leaving pleasure along the way. thomas appeared from the blankets and rolled over onto his side.

he watched his panting mess with proud look on his face, he pulled you into his chest. your body instantly finding comfort, thomas rubbed circles on your back until the both of you drifted off into a peaceful sleep. the next morning you woke up to tea in bed, a bunch of flowers picked from the garden. and to your surprise downstairs there wasn’t just one designer purse, there was 2. along with jewellery, large diamonds, toys for the children, and even more flowers. suppose getting cheated on isn’t so bad after all.

tags:

[peakyloverrr]

Info post;

hi bby!! my names lillow, and like many I LOVE cillian murphy like honestly gag he’s so cutie pie. i’m currently in the process of becoming a makeup artist. i love the arts and creativity, writing, poetry ect. figured one way to share my love of writing and cillian murphy would be tumblr!!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。

story info;

- i specialise in peaky blinders fan fics, mostly thomas shelby but definitely open to add more characters!!

- my page includes; fluff, smut, blurbs and angst.

- fem pov only im sorry!!

- 18+ MDNI

- please remember to always read the warnings above my story’s! if you are uncomfortable with any kinks involved please keep scrolling 🫀

- please let me know if I miss any kink warnings in a story <3

- REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

[peakyloverrr]

ARROW HOUSE WHORE

warnings: heavy smut, degrading kink (kind of), 18+.

summary: you’ve been working as a maid at the arrow house for about 2 months. Thomas Shelby hired you for one reason and one reason only; for you to fulfil his needs.

THOMAS SHELBY X READER

Thomas stood behind his desk, palms pushed roughly against the wood oak. His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at the scattered papers. Without hesitation Thomas grabbed the golden bell placed to the side of his desk, he shook the bell in his hand repeatedly until you walked through his office doors.

"Yes Mr Shelby?" you spoke gently, trying not to wake up his son Charles. The room was dimly lit, the fireplace crackling and the scent of old leather filled the air. Thomas looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. He pointed at the sofa couch a few steps away from his desk. "Go on get comfortable," he ordered, his voice a mix of authority and something else you couldn't quite place. You nodded and walked over to the sofa, the floorboards creaking with every step. The couch was a deep, rich brown, and it looked worn from years of use. It was a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings of the arrow mansion, but somehow it suited Thomas.

Thomas followed with whiskey in hand, his footsteps heavy but precise. He squatted down in front of you, the glass glinting in the firelight as he took a long swig. You felt the warmth of the liquid on your face, even though he was a few inches away. His gaze was intense, his eyes searching yours for something you weren't quite ready to give. But it was Sunday night, and you knew the routine. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his expectations.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Thomas set the glass down on the floorboards beside the couch. The sound of the glass touching the wood was like a gunshot in the quiet room. He leaned in closer, his hands landing gently on your knees. "Mr. Shelby," you began, but he was already pushing against your thighs, urging them apart. You knew this was a battle you wouldn't win, not tonight. So, you whispered your protests, hoping he'd hear the hesitation in your voice, hoping he'd take mercy.

Thomas chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "It's Sunday," thomas murmured, his voice barely a breath. "You know the rules," he said, his voice a gruff promise. He hooked his fingers into the tops of your stockings and began to roll them down, his thumbs grazing your skin as they went. Each inch revealed was a victory, and Thomas took his time, savoring every moment. The warmth of the fireplace kissed the exposed flesh of your legs, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.

"Your wearing the panties I bought you, correct?" He asked before revealing what was covered by your stockings. His eyes searched yours for confirmation, a glint of something unspoken in their depths. You nodded, "I spent fifteen pounds on that pair..." he spoke once more before hitching your dress up to your waist. Your dark red panties met his gaze, and a smug smile played on his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his words like a sweet caress. You couldn't help but melt from his words, validation felt more rewarding when it came from such a strong man.

Thomas's calloused hands slid up your thighs, his grip firm and commanding. The warmth of his touch was like a brand on your skin, leaving you trembling and aching for more. His thumbs traced the lacy edges of your panties, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath. "Do they suit me, Mr. Shelby?" You asked gently, your voice a soft invitation. His eyes were glued to the fabric that barely concealed your most intimate parts, his mind undoubtedly racing with fantasies. In moments like these, it was easy to see what he was thinking, the desire was clear in his gaze.

With a nod that was almost imperceptible, Thomas leaned in closer, his nose pressing against the damp fabric. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against your most sensitive spot. Your cheeks flushed, and you bit your bottom lip to stifle a moan. The smell of him, a mix of tobacco and whiskey, filled your nostrils, and you felt your body responding against your will. He inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the scent of your arousal. The fabric was the only barrier between his face and your throbbing need.

Thomas let his tongue slide up your fabric-covered heat, the wetness seeping through and leaving a trail of desire. His movements were slow and deliberate, a tease that had you squirming on the couch. The anticipation was unbearable, your hands balling into fists at your sides. When he reached the peak of your arousal, he paused, hovering just above your clit. He looked up, his eyes meeting yours, the question clear. "Do you want it, Y/N?" His voice was gruff, filled with a hunger that was mirrored in his gaze.

You bit your bottom lip hard, feeling a mix of vulnerability and excitement. The power he held over you was intoxicating, and you knew it wasn't healthy, but the pleasure was too intense to resist. You whined softly, feeling a bit hopeless before finally giving in. "Please, Mr. Shelby..." The words tumbled out of your mouth, a desperate plea that hung in the air. Thomas's smile grew wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. He knew he had you right where he wanted you. "Say it," he demanded, his thumbs pushing aside the fabric to reveal your glistening flesh.

With a sigh, you rolled your head back, your eyes fluttering shut. "Please, Thomas," you murmured, using his first name for the first time in this intimate setting. It was a sign of how far you had come, of how much control he had over you. The sound of your voice, filled with need, was like a siren's call to him. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your skin as he whispered, "Please what, Y/N?" His tongue darted out, tracing the edge of your clit, taunting you.

Your hips jerked upwards, and you couldn't hold back the whimper that escaped your lips. "Oh god, please make me feel good," you begged, your voice echoing off the walls. The room spun around you, the only anchor being the feel of Thomas's mouth on you. The words "Mr. Shelby" had become a mantra, a prayer for release. The sound of his chuckle was the sweetest music, a promise that he would give you what you craved.

Thomas didn't disappoint. He flicked his tongue against your clit with a practiced ease, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. His fingers played at your entrance, teasing and prodding, never quite giving you what you needed. You felt like you were going to burst, like a dam about to give way. The tension coiled in your belly, tight and unbearable. His eyes never left yours, watching as your pupils dilated and your breaths grew ragged. It was a power play, one he was winning.

"Mr Shelby, please," you begged again, your voice a desperate whisper. The words hung in the air, thick with need. His smile grew more predatory, and his fingers slid inside you, filling you up in a way that made you ache for more. You gripped the edges of the couch, your knuckles turning white with the effort of holding back your scream. The sensation of being filled by Thomas was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was as if your body was made for him, and him alone.

Thomas curled his fingers inside of you, finding that spot that had your toes curling and your eyes rolling back in your head. "Mhm mhm," you moaned softly, your voice barely recognizable. The intensity grew with every stroke, your body trembling with the effort of keeping it all in. You didn't want to wake Charles, didn't want to give him any reason to suspect what was happening between his father and the maid. But the pleasure was too much, too overwhelming. "Oh fuck... oh god, I'm gonna..." You moaned again, the words slipping out despite your best efforts to keep them contained.

Thomas's grip tightened on your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. "Not yet," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Not until I say you can." And just like that, he pulled his fingers out of you, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you had a chance to protest, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you down onto the couch, turning you over so you were on all fours. The leather was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his touch.

You felt him stand, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. The sound of his belt being unbuckled was a sweet symphony in the quiet room, the jingle of the buckle hitting the floor like a drumbeat in a tension-filled crescendo. Then, the sound of his zipper being drawn down, slow and deliberate, like the ticking of a bomb. The anticipation was almost too much, your heart racing in your chest like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

Thomas leaned over you, his strong arms bracketing the couch. His breath was hot against the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the head of his cock, thick and demanding, nudging against your slick opening. He didn't ask for permission; he never did. Instead, he pushed inside you with a force that had you crying out, the sound muffled by the arm of the couch. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, a reminder of who was in charge, who had the power in this twisted dance of desire and dominance.

His palm came down over your mouth, silencing your cries. "Shut the fuck up, Y/N," he whispered harshly, his voice thick with lust. You could feel the vibration of his words, the command echoing in your chest. You nodded, understanding all too well what was expected of you. The hand that had been caressing your cheek now held your head in place, his thumb pressing into your jaw as he began to move.

Thomas's hips slammed into you, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. You felt like a ragdoll, used and discarded at his will. But even as his palm muffled your voice, the heat of his breath in your ear sent shivers down your spine. "My arrow house whore," he muttered again, his voice a dark promise. It was a title that should have made you feel degraded, but instead, it brought a strange sense of comfort. This was your role, your purpose. You were here to serve him, to give him what he needed.

As he pounded into you, his free hand found your clit, his thumb circling it with the same precision he used to rule the streets of Birmingham. The combination was intoxicating, a cocktail of pleasure and pain that had your legs shaking. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, the tightness in your belly growing with each stroke. Thomas knew your body better than anyone, and he knew exactly how to make you come. "Remember to ask if you can cum, alright?" He mumbled in your ear, his voice thick with desire. You nodded frantically, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

You quickly gripped onto the hand covering your mouth, allowing you to finally speak. “Mr. Shelby, can I please cum?” You moaned, looking over your shoulder to see him behind you, his face a mask of concentration and lust. His eyes darkened, the pupils dilating with the thrill of your submission. He didn’t respond with words, instead his hand squeezed your mouth tighter, his hips moving faster, his thrusts deeper. It was all the answer you needed. The room around you blurred, the only thing in focus the feeling of him inside of you, the pressure building and building until it was all you could think about.

Thomas’s hand left your mouth and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back so that your spine arched in a beautiful line. The pain mingled with the pleasure, making you even more desperate to reach that peak. He knew you were close, could feel your body tightening around him. His grip on your hair grew tighter as he whispered in your ear, “Come for me, my sweet girl. Show me how much you want this, how much you need me to fill you up and make you scream my name.”

And with Thomas’s words, you instantly become undone on him. Your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth forming a silent O as the waves of pleasure crashed over you. You rolled your head back, and screams of pleasure filled the room. The sound echoed off the high ceilings, bouncing around the bookshelves and antique furniture. “Ohh thank you sir!! Thank you so fucking much!” was all you could get out during your climax. Your body convulsed under his, your muscles tightening and releasing in a symphony of ecstasy.

Thomas’s movements grew erratic as he felt your walls clamp down on him, the tightness of your orgasm setting off his own. He groaned deeply, his hips stuttering as he pushed deeper into you. "That's it," he grunted, his breath hot on your neck. "Take it all, every fucking drop." His release was explosive, filling you up as he spilled himself inside of you. You felt a sense of pride, knowing you had brought him to this peak. His hand in your hair loosened, and he leaned over you, his chest pressing into your back as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

For a moment, there was silence except for the crackle of the fireplace and the heavy sound of his breathing. Then, as the haze of pleasure began to fade, Thomas whispered in your ear. "Sleep in my bed tonight," his voice soft and vulnerable in a way you rarely heard. It was a request, a gentle command that seemed to hold a world of meaning in those few simple words. You felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating. You knew what it meant to be in Thomas Shelby's bed, the power dynamics that played out there, and the emotional minefield you would be stepping into. But the desire to be closer to him, to feel his warmth and protection, was too great to resist.