onydung

[onydung]

I'm Arthur Shelby deficient right now. I already read most of his fics. I NEED MOOOOOOOORORREEEEEEEEEEEE

[onydung]

Preview - Unamed

Arthur Shelby x ArrangedWife!F!Reader

CW : Violence in sex, Hate sex

Note : I do not condone the actions portrayed in this fic. I just wanted to write my very fucked up fantasy. This is still a rough draft so don't judge me too hard yet.

The Shelby’s were hunted like prey for the last 6 months by your family and almost cost his brother's life. He was ready to take action, to make your family pay for causing so much fear only for your brother and Tommy to turn around and announce that it would all stop if he married you. Rationally, he knows you have nothing to do with what happened, your meek and frail like a wind could just knock you over with a single blow but instead of understanding he took your hand in marriage as an insult. Your family had many other women that were more suitable for him but you were given instead. Why Tommy didn't fight back is beyond him. You look more like a punching bag he gave him to quell his anger than an actual wife. 

Many nights he would avoid his house and you in favor of alcohol and prostitutes, you are a shame to his name so he got drunk. Tommy only send him back home when he started to get too drunk, too violent, and when he saw you welcoming him gently he couldn’t help but feel disgusted by your willingness to be here, to be his. 

His enraged large hands wrap around your neck with the strength of a wild animal as you wither and gasp for air. The same bloody hands he used to beat enemies to a pulp are now strangling his own wife, or that’s what you are on paper but to him you are no different than the many men he killed. He hated you, he hated every last drop of blood in your body and he hated Tommy for forcing you to him. 

Its only when you managed to slap him did he finally realized what was happening, with heaving breath he let go of your neck looking down at the red marks he left on your porcelain like neck. 

‘M’ sorry..m’ drunk. Ill go drink some water”  but before he could go you grabbed his forearm and pull him to look at you. You were shivering but there is something else in your eyes instead of fear, with a shy tug you kiss him gently on his cheek. 

It surprised him, “You drunk too?” You didn't answer, only placed his thighs in between your leg rubbing yourself against him like a cat in heat. 

[onydung]

Two professors and a docter cancel their meeting with me in the same day.

No one wants me fr fr 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😝😝😝😝😝😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️💥💥💥💥🫃🫃🫃💥🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃😔😔😔🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃👈✊️🤮🤮🤮😭😝😝😭🤮👈👈🎊🫠🫠🫠🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🫠🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮😭😭😭😭😭😭🥲🥲🥲🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🪩🪩🫣🫣🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣👉😭💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

[onydung]

Wow 🫣 I'm eating this

The Dress | Arthur Shelby x Reader |

fluff, mild smut

Requested by: @thechurchboyniall

Hi could you write something with Arthur based on these gifs. Can be a smut if you are okay with that • Like the way he looks at Y/N when he sees her in a new dress or something. You can make up something good I know it 🥰( I just died a little when I saw those wish it was me he looked at 🥹 🥵)

First of all thank you for sending your request, I had so much fun writing it and I love how it turned out, I hope you will too! And also, thank you SO much for the support! <3

You hummed a song as you strutted your way to the Garrison, in an unusually good mood because your lovely boyfriend had finally agreed to go out dancing with you, after the meeting in the infamous pub he owned, of course. You made your way inside, already familiar enough with everyone to attend some of the meetings, just like this one.

You smiled at everyone, your usual polite self. And Arthur… oh, Arthur watched you with that well-known smirk, tracing your every move from the corner with those sparkling eyes, taking in the sight of you in the new red silk dress. Finally, you smiled at him too, his gaze already fixed on you, toying with his glass of whiskey in those long fingers that alone could drive you mad.

“C’mere, me luv,” he said with a smirk, eyes flicking to his brothers, a cocky grin tugging at his lips as you sat beside him. He slung his arm over the back of the seat behind you while Tommy continued with the meeting, though Arthur’s mind was clearly elsewhere.

“You look so fokin’ pretty, luv,” he whispered into your ear, fingers playing with a strand of your hair on the opposite side of your neck, making you feel like you were on fire. You smiled, a little shy to be like this in front of half his family, but not uncomfortable.

“Thank you. Now shush and pay attention, hm? So we can go have fun,” you teased with a wink.

He bit his lip, his hand sliding down to your hip, pulling you even closer, almost into his lap—which only made you blush harder. The feeling of his hand through the silky fabric of your dress was driving you both insane in the best way, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not that he wanted to.

By the time the meeting ended, he had already pulled you fully into his lap. The two of you remained tucked in your little corner.

“So…” he began, the twitch of his mustache giving away his smirk, his hands now roaming more freely over your hips and thighs.

“So?” you echoed with a teasing grin, flicking the corner of his mustache that you loved so much, your face just inches from his. “Hm?” you hummed, brushing your lips along his neck, earning a sharp breath from him.

His grip on your hip tightened at the contact. “Luv, ya know what you’re doin’, yeah? Know you’re not goin’ anywhere anytime soon, don’t ya?” he growled into your ear while pulling you closer. 

“Oh, I know, Mr. Shelby,” you giggled mischievously, your laugh filling the room as he brushed his mustache against your neck.

“Ya won’t be goin’ nowhere, me pretty thing,” he murmured, and then captured your lips in a loving kiss.

It started sweet, slow, his fingers caressing your jaw as if you were something delicate—but it didn’t stay that way. You felt the shift in him, the way his mouth moved against yours with growing hunger, how his grip on your hip tightened like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Arthur…” you breathed between kisses, your fingers twisting in the collar of his shirt.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, brushing his nose along your cheek. “Got you right here, yeah?”

His hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of your dress with reverence more than rush, thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. You gasped softly, pressing into his touch, your body arching instinctively toward him.

“Fook, luv, this dress…” he muttered, half to himself, lips trailing down your throat. “Every bit of it’s perfect on you, how am I supposed to behave?”

“You’re not,” you whispered with a smile, your voice unsteady, your breath catching as he kissed a spot that made your knees weak even though you were sitting.

He growled softly, sliding you further into his lap, his eyes dark and hungry. “Let ‘em hear, I don’t care. I’ve waited all night.”

His mouth found yours again, hungrier this time, and you melted into him, letting the heat of his hands and the rasp of his voice pull you under like a tide you didn’t want to fight. His fingers brushed higher along your thigh, rough palms against soft skin, making you shiver despite the warmth building between you.

“Arthur…” you whispered again, but it came out as more of a plea this time, your head tipping back as he kissed along your jaw.

“Mmm,” he hummed, lips dragging down your throat, “Say it again.”

“Arthur.”

That did it. He groaned, deep and low, and lifted you just slightly, guiding you to straddle him now, the hem of your dress riding up with the motion. Your heart thundered as you caught his eyes—dark, full of want, and something softer beneath. You weren’t just some night at the pub to him. You never were.

“Look at ya,” he breathed, tracing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Me girl. Always so sweet for me, yeah?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your fingers curling into the back of his hair as his hands explored every inch of you he could reach, reverent and rough all at once.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured suddenly, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, “and I will.”

You smiled, heart pounding, and leaned in to kiss him again—slow this time, deliberate.

“Don’t you dare.”

[onydung]

I deleted a lot of my rambling post because i hate myself and embarassed

[onydung]

yerrr

Just a Touch

Arthur Shelby x Karsa Hendriks (Male! OC/Reader)

Synopsis : In a particularly shitty day, Arthur roamed the rainy nights trying to find a quite place from all the chaos when he found a lonely bar, in a lonely road, occupied by one man who seem to have all of the world in his eyes.

In Your Eyes 🎨

I regret meeting you : Poem???

Just a Touch : A night of Arthur chilling with his 'friend'

Rough night soldier? : Arthur is in a daze after disposing a 'rat' in Tommy's request and ended up in front of his friends apartment.

Too Fucking Close : Trying to avoid his new closest friend, Arthur found himself even more closer to him tending to his bullet wounds from protecting him in a gang riot 

Can We Try?

[onydung]

Ony 's Peaky Blinders Master list

Chibi!Shelby Bros 🎨

[WIP} Grayscale Shelby Bros Portraits 🎨

Cat!Shelby Bros🎨

[WIP] Halloween Sketch 🎨

Halloween Colored 🎨

When You Gotta Calm Down Your Brother 🎨

[Request] Shelby Pillow Fight 🎨

Indulgent Sketches 🎨

PB OC! Heaven and Karsa Portrait 🎨

Arthur Shelby👊

Hatching Arthur Shelby Sketch 🎨

Cloudy (Arthur Shelby x F!Reader) : Arthur married you on the basis of business but he can’t help but feel insecure as his new wife avoids his gaze.

Arthur's Favorite Place (Arthur Shelby x GN!Reader) 🚨🚨 : Self explanatory

Infatuated Series (Linda Shelby x Male!Reader x Arthur Shelby) :

Infatuated : Arthur brings a new friend to his and Linda's house leading to her developing an attractions to him

Sly Fox 🚨 : Arthur came home to a silent wife and a smiling fox

Just a Touch Series (Arthur Shelby x male!oc!Karsa Hendriks)

Moodboard

Just a Touch : A night of Arthur chilling with his 'friend'

Rough Night Solider : Arthur is in a daze after disposing a 'rat' in Tommy's request and ended up in front of his friends apartment.

Too Fucking Close 🚨 : Trying to avoid his new closest friend, Arthur found himself even more closer to him tending to his bullet wounds from protecting him in a gang riot 

You Look Good in Red (Arthur Shelby x F!Reader) : Your thought of Arthur in red as his wife

Surreal Angel (Arthur Shelby x GNReader) : Your acceptance is new and scary to him

Tommy Shelby🚬

Writing....

John Shelby 💥

Writing....

Polly Gray🌹

Broken Glass (Polly Gray x Female!Reader) 🚨🚨: Polly hasn't been the same since her return from jail, and you're getting a bit worried

Linda Shelby 💌

Infatuated Series (Linda Shelby x Male!Reader x Arthur Shelby) :

Infatuated : Arthur brings a new friend to his and Linda's house leading to her developing an attractions to him

Sly Fox 🚨 : Arthur came home to a silent wife and a smiling fox

[onydung]

I'm glad your feeling better!! And although i love Arthur very much I am looking forward to what fate you have for him and Heaven 💖

Y’all will shot me if Heaven and Arthur aren’t the end game in Heaven in Your Eyes right?

[onydung]

I just finish the skip and loafers anime, its cute as fuck but I'm so afraid to read the manga I don't want this shit to come crumbling down and leave me a crying mess

[onydung]

I dont know whats going on but for me personally you should do what you think is good for you. I personally love the drama lol, plus if your planning on breaking Arthur it will be a fun watch . Do what you must

Y’all will shot me if Heaven and Arthur aren’t the end game in Heaven in Your Eyes right?

[onydung]

I want to make little peaky blinders photocards and sell them at cons but i dont think itll sell well in my country lol

[onydung]

"My Beautiful Toy" -Arthur Shelby x OC

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Maid!Reader

Warning: CNC(mentions the word rape-rape play), degradation, humiliation, dirty-degrading language, free use, cheating. Implied age Gap, but not an area of focus. Slight daddy kink. Breeding kink.

Word Count: 3,000

Summary: Arthur gets into a fight with Linda and who steps in? No other than his sex hungry maid with nasty-filthy kinks. How else to help a depressed man other than make yourself a free use sex toy?

I must admit, I truly believe this is the best smut I have written in a long time. Hopefully you will enjoy it. Remember, please leave a comment if you read. Likes are kind, but reblogs and comments help fellow fandom creators.

She was hired as a maid by Linda when the house became too much with a baby and Billy. Arthur being the baby, of course. For a few weeks, she spent her time doing the linens and cleaning all the nooks and crannies. At first, he ignored her as if he had tunnel vision. Never so much as a ‘hello’ left his lips. If anyone talked to her, it was typically his younger brother Tommy when he visited. 

Until Mr. and Mrs. Shelby got into a nasty argument. The young maid stayed in her bed quarters, listening in, but also minding herself. It wasn’t until Mrs. Shelby declared rather loudly that she was going to leave and then the front door slammed rather harshly. They were fighting about his obvious flaws; drinking, business, whores. What husband has the need for whores? She had wondered. Perhaps their sex life had taken a dive once Mrs. Shelby had given birth. She waited a few minutes before skipping down the hallway and looking in Billy’s room. As expected, Mrs. Shelby took the child with her. She went on and took a look into the master bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and in his underwear. His elbows rested on his knees, his fingers combing through his hair. She watched as his cross hung down from his neck, swinging in circles. 

If she could guess, it was most certainly her own family issues that made him seem appealing to her. For the longest time, she assumed her head was as screwed as a nail in wood. Thinking about men like Arthur Shelby while her hand rested between her legs. She leaned on the wooden door frame that had plenty of knicks and scruffs. She assumed from his persistent drinking. The silence was broken by her knocking, “are you alright, Mr. Shelby? I’ll bring you some tea, water, anything you need-”

“No,” he said, a light whisper. “N-no, it’s fine. Go to bed-”

“But it’s my job,” she said. “It’s nonsense.” She pushed from the door frame and crossed over the threshold into his bedroom. She never so much as been alone with him. Never mind wearing nothing, but her nightie, no robe. His eyes slowly fluttered up, watching her body intensely. Arthur Shelby was a man of many weaknesses, including women. Especially so when influenced by his other weakness…alcohol. But she didn’t mind. Because she also had a weakness…the near for carnal validation. She joined him on the bed, and gave him a sympathetic look. Arthur side eyed her, wanting to resist her company, but also he didn’t have the energy to be alone. 

He nodded, swallowing a bit, “you’ve worked here for a while. Hardly know who you are-”

“You’re a busy man, I heard,” she said, staring at him for a long moment before breaking her neutral expression with a smile. Teasingly, she looked away and said, “with whores and rounds at the pub.”

“It’s funny to you-”

“A bit, yeah,” she interrupted, turning to him. His eyes were knitted, face reddening, clearly not happy by her banter. “I don’t understand what a married man needs with a whore. Unless….”

“Are you being smart?” Arthur stood to grab his trousers, looking over his shoulder at her. “Do you not have a job-”

“You won’t allow me to do my job, master,” she quipped, standing and walking over. His body froze as she ever so casually touched his shoulder. Sighing, he dropped his trousers and turned to her, taking a moment to skim over her silhouette. He couldn’t say no, he knew that. It would happen, if that is what she wanted. She repeated her question, “what does a married man need with a whore? Unless his wife has dropped all effort in the bedroom-”

“Watch yourself,” he warned, voice low as she moved in and they were chest to chest. “My wife is still my wife, and most importantly, your boss-”

“I don’t have a boss in this free world,” she said, hands pressed against his chest. Her nail dragged down, leaving lightly reddened streaks until it reached his waistband of his underwear. Her fingers hooked it. “Where work is endless, I am bound by no one. You could fire me right here, right now. It’d change nothing. I could work for another rich family tomorrow and seduce their husband-”

Arthur grabbed her hands and closed his eyes to combat the temptation as he started to bulge. “Go to bed.”

“I will go to bed and you will sleep on it,” she whispered, pulling away. Walking backwards, she watched him with a grin. “All I believe, Mr. Shelby, is that a good woman, whether she be one’s wife or not, always makes herself readily available for him. And I must say…men cheat on their women with me, but my men hardly cheat on me with other women….” As she reached the threshold, she smiled. “I bid you goodnight. I will have breakfast ready for you at eight.”

And with that, she left with a blown kiss in the air and a wink. Arthur stood there, lost in translation as to what just happened. For a split second, he was convinced he had some luck…women constantly at his beck and call. And this? A woman randomly available in his home, but he shook himself of those thoughts, feeling utterly pathetic. Arthur considered how he’d be if he could just be a normal man who could respect family values. Perhaps out of reactive emotions, but he made his way to his bedroom door and slammed it shut before grabbing the neck of the whiskey bottle. 

The next morning, he woke to clink and clatter coming from the kitchen. Climbing down the stairs, he stumbled himself through a hangover to the kitchen. At first he walked through the kitchen, aiming for the coffee. Then, he had to stop and think before looking at her. She’d been wearing the same night slip with no slippers and no robe. Seemingly innocent as she worked at peeling the potatoes. But with her back turned to him, he couldn’t spot the little smirk on her lips. He awarded her the twice-over look before making his way to the table, but couldn’t sit down. His eyes glanced over at her and he sighed to himself in defeat, longing for touch and company beyond a half-filled bottle. 

Arthur took long strides that felt like a long, tempting daze until his hands reached for her hips. Moving in, his chin rested on her shoulder and he whispered, “you said a woman should always be available for a man.” She continued to peel the potato while sinking into him, enjoying the sinful touches he laid upon her body. So soft, but so wrong-a sweetly evil mix that made her insides burn. Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, rubbing his nose on the inside of her neck and making his way to her ear. “And you like this? I’m not used to this, you understand?” She didn’t answer, playing coy…begging internally for him to just get it. Surely a man of his endeavors would understand what she wanted, right? Silently signaling to him, she perked her ass up on him, rubbing slightly against his hardening bulge. But not too much. He needed to initiate this. Arthur chuckled at her silent response. “And you see, I’m a man used to things falling so easily in my lap that approaching is hardly a problem, but with you,” he paused, his finger tickling down to the hem of her slip. His cold rings tingled at her skin. “In my kitchen. Wearing whatever the fuck this is. Hardly a night gown. Are you aware that I can see the outlines of your body?” While one hand bunched up her slip over her hip, the other pressed on her navel, pushing her harder against his arousal. There was a growing temptation between her legs. Her teeth bit at her bottom lip; anticipation and need welling up within her. It had been so long since she was able to express her darkest desires. But she wanted to be a complete free-use toy for him…. Allow him to initiate it all, to fulfill the desires he lacked with Linda. She finished peeling the first potato and grabbed the second as his right hand released from her stomach and ghosted over her right breast. “And you’d want this? To be of free use to me. No questions asked.”

She gave a sly, teasing shrug. 

“No, no.” He pinched her chin and turned her to look at him. Their eyes connected as his thumb rubbed at her bottom lip. “I need you to answer me.” 

A smirked tugged at the corner of her lips and she put down the potato neither of them would eat. “And if I said no? If I changed my mindset from the last twelve hours-”

“I don’t know if that’d have much of an effect on my decision,” he responded. His voice was low, slow, and taunting. As his words trailed on, his eyes landed on her lips in a trance. “I think your desires for being a sex slave are so deep that you don’t even know the meaning of yes or no-”

“You’d rape me?” she asked, playing into the fantasy. Pretending to be ‘oh, so scared’ of his proposal. That is when his hand held a heavy stronghold on her neck, lightly squeezing. Enough to take some of the air from her lungs, but like a good girl, she didn’t cry. But instead, awarded him with a moan. 

“I may be inclined. Who’d stop me, hm?” She breathed in his words, soaking them up. With each sentence, her brain dumbed for him; how she so easily melted at the degradation he gifted her with. And his hand around her throat was only a cherry on top of ice cream. “You and I are here all alone. And even if my brother were to come here? You think he’d stop me? Do you think you are worth saving?”

“I don’t like being worthy anything-”

“Good.” She was pushed around back into position. Both of her hands rested on the counter and pressed down on her back as he single handedly slipped his cock from his underwear. He’d been hard on and off for the better half of the last twelve hours. She exaggerated a small whimper, but it was met with a slap across her sensitive skin. Her ass burned with a mix of excitement and pain. “Free use is free use.” With a few strokes of his cock, he kicked her legs wider and lined it up at her entrance. “Meaning,” he paused, his hand now free to resume holding her neck while his other hand pulled down her nightie to massage her breasts. “I don’t want to fucking hear you. You’re not to to fucking talk, move, think…you’re to be an unlimited fuck hole for me.” He landed a soft kiss on her temple. “And if you are lucky, I may allow you to cum before I get bored of you…maybe by tomorrow or next week. If you are extra good for me, I may keep you much longer-”

“And if you get me pregnant?” She knew he had little to no intention to pull out. 

Arthur rolled her nipple between his fingers, making sure she felt his pinch through her whole body. “Then it’d be your fault, wouldn’t it? For your body loving my abuse so much it takes my cum.” At least he was kind enough to slowly push forward, his cock sliding within her folds. He allowed himself to let out a long throaty groan, but when she attempted to say a thing, he slipped two fingers in her mouth. His index and middle pressed down on her tongue, and slid far back enough to hit the gag reflex. “Make yourself useful…practice, eh? While daddy’s working, hm?” 

He buried himself deep within her, allowing her walls to adjust comfortably to his size. It was warm and comfortable, wet and tempting. So tight and wanting. While so deep within her, soaking in her tight walls, he contemplated on what could have made her so…nasty. But a good nasty. A nasty that healed the soul. Fuck, she was healing his soul. So good he wanted to show his brothers. Tell them they had to fuck this girl. Fuck her and watch how dumb she gets over cock….But what if she only got dumb over his cock? Linda was too smart for her own fucking good. He could just keep the maid here, making her into exactly what he wanted. A sex slave who thrived on his cum. He slowly moved out, tip bracing itself at the entrance. “What made you so fucked up?” he asked, removing his fingers, string of drool following. “Huh?”

“Never had a daddy teach me how to be good and respect myself,” she answered, chasing his fingers again, sucking them into her mouth. Her tongue swirled needily around his digits, before allowing them to hit the back of her throat. Fighting through the gag, she continually took them deep and seductively. Her fingers curled, nails scraping against the counter as he pulled a nipple. 

“Fuck,” he hissed at her words, slamming himself in until his balls slapped against her clit. The sudden feeling of pleasure made her eyes roll back, but she was so careful about making a sound without his permission. Instead, she sucked harder. Animalistically, he dragged his teeth along her soft flesh before growling lightly in her ear. “Then aren’t we perfect together, hm? I never had a proper daddy to tell me how to treat a woman. Comes into favor for free use sluts like you with no worth, huh?” She bit down lightly on his fingers to stop herself from whining, but her pussy was clenching, pulsating against him at his words. 

He smirked, knowing that his words alone could probably make her cum a flood in his kitchen. He started to rock his hips, groaning as pull slightly out just to push himself back in. Pussy was so tight that everytime he moved back, it almost sucked him back in just to say stay here, you deserve a permanent cockwarm. Her breathing got heavy as the pleasure slowly built and it was getting harder and harder to contain herself. Releasing her nipple, he pushed down on her back to arch her perfectly for him. “Your ass is the perfect view,” he gasped lightly, jutting his hips in a twitch before upping his pace beautifully. The rhythm was perfect; the way he was able to hit her g spot and roll his hips, matching each thrust with a groan. 

Linda never got that nasty. In fact, none of his whores were ever so willing to indulge his deep fantasies. He was going to use this girl until she was well spent and there was nothing left. The thought of her so drunk with his cum nearly sent him over the edge and he had to slow just lightly. “I will cum in you…fill you.” Once he caught his breath, he built up his pace again, matching his gasps and moans to each thrust. So deprived of sex…no, good sex that tangled around every fantasy, it was hard to keep his composure. His thrusts began to get jagged and sloppy as his balls tightened. “And you’ll fucking keep it there, won’t you?” he asked, voice heightened as he took his hand and slapped her ass. “Yea, you’ll keep it there all fucking day until I say otherwise.” He rested his whole body weight against her as his orgasm approached. “Fuck me,” he whispered, getting real close to her ear. “And m-maybe.” He nibbled and kissed her lobe while his hands squeezed her breasts. “Just fucking maybe if I feel ever so inclined, I may just use you all day. Every fuckin’ hour, fill your tight fucking cunt with my cum that you’re hardly even worthy of-”

“Fuck,” she moaned out, unprompted at his words, her rolling back. She slammed her hips back, which almost did him in.

“And maybe you’ll be so fucking full of my hot loads that your stomach bulges-”

“Is that possible?” she asked, feeling his chest heave against her. His orgasm just right at the edge ready to slip over.

“We will have to find out,” he said, cursing under his breath. Of course it wasn’t possible, but the pure filthy fantasy of it was so erotic he wanted to try. He peppered kisses at the corner of her lips, moaning as he found it harder and hard to stay stable. It was a wonder how he could even speak. “And you’ll keep it all in your cunt-”

“And if I drop a little-”

“That is what your pretty tongue is for, right? Gonna lick it right off the fuckin’ floor, eh? Has to go back in you one way or another- fuck!” He closed his eyes, speeding back up as his hands went back down to her hips and gripped, his fingers pressing hard. His orgasm that had been teetering on the edge, slowly fell and his body shook. For warmth, bliss, and stability, he held her close. His teeth bit at her shoulder, muffling a near scream. When it washed over him, he kept them like that, catching his breath and waiting for the clarity to set in. She felt his heartbeat against her back as they relaxed into one another. She tried to wiggle her pussy free of him, but he kept her still. “No. You stay.” She smiled to herself, feeling completely and full as she realized he wasn’t joking about wanting to own her. So, to make sure she was a complete whore for him, she clenched him, making sure to milk every drop. For that, he awarded her with a, “good girl” and a cheek kiss.

[onydung]

atop of cherry hill ; arthur shelby jr/fem!reader (18+, smut)

Thomas Shelby has had enough of Arthur's violent outbursts. Thus, he pays you to help the oldest Shelby brother with blowing off some steam. Or: Thomas "mistakes" you for a prostitute and Arthur pops your cherry.

word count: 12,1k

warnings: fem!reader, dubcon; implied but also not so-implied involuntary prostitution, (imagery of) blood and violence; unprotected sex (this man might not be real but stds surely are, so wrap it up kids), age gap (reader is in her 20s, arthur is in his mid to late 30s), power play and power dynamics, fingering, riding, backshots, dirty talk, name calling, slight bimbofication and dumbification - if you blink you'll miss it, corruption kink, loss of virginity/virgin kink, spit kink, spanking, rough sex, sir kink; late season one/early season two arthur, set somewhere between s1 and s2,, time is just a construct babes ; he's so pathetic and sad I love him; I tried to write Brummie but jfc I am just a small little German girlie alright I am so sorry; also grace is still in birmingham too?? bc i love her sm

this is so so so heavily inspired by foy vance's make it rain bc it just fits idk; also a big fat ty to my bud for keeping up with me live blogging my arthur thirst youre a gem bro; also why am I always so fucking late to everything, is this fandom still alive??

"Move."

"Mr Shelby, I-", you nearly stumble as Thomas drags you forward and you look up at him, dark hair framing his face, blue eyes shining sternly from the cavities of his skull-like and bone-pale face. You know him.

Well, not personally. But you have heard the stories - a multitude of them coloured in blood red and wailing agony - you have seen people clear tables in pubs for him and the streets for him. Something, no someone on your periphery moves, strolls over.

"She'll do", says the younger version of him approaching, moving the tooth pick in the corner of his mouth from one side to the other, "Lass got jus' wha'he fancies." He is walking towards you, slouching a little with his fists buried is pockets. Looking at you, he kisses his teeth, grins. "Oh, smile, sunshine. Tommy'll pay you nicely for this, y'got nuttin to loose."

"Get her inside, John", so that little prick is the youngest Shelby, then, "He'll be here, soon."

"What's got his knickers in a twist t'day, eh?"

"Sabini. Get her inside, and make sure she's--", Tommy eyes you up and down, the way you clutch your little embroidered handbag, "Nice and comfortable, right?"

John snorts, shrugs. "Right this way, mylady", he says, bowing mockingly.

The Garrison is warm, the air inside smells of malt and cigarette smoke. The pub is empty, except for a young blonde woman who stands behind the counter. She is currently polishing glasses, looks up as the door falls shut behind you. Relief washes over you.

You are not alone. There is another woman here. You will not be hurt. The woman gives you a quick once-over, and all hope flies straight out the window as she quickly unwraps her apron and drops it on the counter. "You're early", she says, to no one in particular, seemingly just to complain.

"Tell that to Tommy", John replies, pushes one door of the snug on your right side open, "Bring 'er some whiskey first and then clear the air, will ya?"

She mutters something to herself and turns around to the shelf behind her. "After you", John ushers you into the dimly lit snug.

You take a few steps forward, into the room. Unsure what to do, you just stand there, taking it all in. The room smells of cigars and men's perfume.

"Sit", John says, waves his hand aimlessly at the bench, seats padded with red velvet. Anxiety has the hairs on your body standing up, a cold rushing down your spine.

"I don't want to."

"Fine, suit yerself", he shrugs again, leans against the doorframe, "Y'know why you're here?"

You're not stupid. If the lawyer's office you had once worked at as a secretary back in London, had not been bombed out, you would have never returned to your hometown of Birmingham. Money is tight, with your gran being so ill and your father and grandfather being buried in Verdun. Your mother has left a long time ago.

You want to protest, to open your mouth and say that you are not a prostitute, - I am not like Lizzie Stark -, but the weight of five fucking hundred pounds in your bag drags your hands down, keeps your mouth shut. You really need the money. This much can easily get you through a few months, maybe even a full year.

Thus, when Thomas Shelby had stood on your doorstep, waving a thick wad of cash in front of your nose, and requesting your presence, you had no real choice but to accept.

"Yes, Mister Shelby", you say, voice small as you feel shame and anxiety washing over you in cold, sweaty waves.

John just nods and you want to ask Who will I be seeing today but something about his demeanour - the way he leans there, eyes cold and indifferent - tells you, that he wants to be here even less than you do.

Eventually, you do take a seat. The blonde woman brought some gin a while ago, which you neither touched nor drank, and you carefully sink onto the table next to it. She left right after putting the bottle and two glasses down, shutting the pub's door behind her. Minutes go by. A minute becomes ten, until an hour passes and the sun starts to set slowly. An hour grows into an hour and ten minutes, until -

There's commotion outside. The thundering of a motor carriage. People yelling. Steps approaching and then the front door being swung open, with such force that it rattles against the wall. John moves away from the snug's door just in time, before it too gets forcefully yanked open, revealing a man with neatly trimmed auburn hair and an equally as trimmed moustache. His face is ragged and hard with rage as he enters the room, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He is trailed by Thomas, who immediately looks at you.

The new arrival does not bother himself with your presence, only wipes away at his forehead, which you only now notice is bleeding. A cut, right underneath his hairline, not too deep but deep enough to bleed. Profusely.

"That fuckin' rat", he bellows loudly, in such a deep baritone that his voice vibrates inside your chest. He sounds rough around the edges, his accent swirling along his tongue thickly with his throat all coarse, like something constantly pains him. Like that pain edged itself onto his voice, broken it up and now pushes it out all gravelly. "Y' should've let me kill him, Tommy, that's what ya fuckin' should've let me done", he throws his grey coat onto a chair, takes a drag from his cigarette and then slams his fist onto his palm, hard and loud, as if trying to prove a point, "He ain't gonna keep his fuckin' gob shut and then what, eh? Let me deal with him now. Let me cut his fuckin' tongue out, that fat bastard -"

Thomas says nothing, just stands there smoking his cigarette, while the other man continues enraging himself, throwing profanities around. "Tomorrow, Arthur. Tomorrow, I will let you deal with him", he eventually says, pats the man - Arthur - on the back, "Today, I want you to enjoy yourself for once, eh?"

Arthur. You have heard of him, too: the elder Shelby sibling - a vicious and brutal thug, cruel and pitiless, loyal to the family and the game. You once heard he had maimed someone, strolling down Birmingham main road after, drenched in blood looking like he bathed in it. Another time you heard he had beat someone to a pulp so badly, his brains and innards flew everywhere in a mushy mousse. Just a few days ago you heard that he tore someone's throat out with his teeth in a bar tussle.

You shudder. No. Not him. Anyone, anyone with a gentler reputation. You already expect him to lash out, explode like a fucking grenade in an instant and blow this place up with yelling and flying fists but --

But for now, he just looks at his younger brother, unmoving and back still turned towards you. "Brought you a gift", Thomas' mouth quips up in the smallest of smiles before his gaze drops to you.

And you just stand there, in your pretty dress, unsure of what to do with your hands as Arthur turns around slowly. His gaze lands on your frame. If he thinks of something, anything he masks it, face an iron mask of anger.

"Who's that?", he asks, plainly, as if he is missing something important here.

John chuckles and Thomas says, without batting an eye: "A whore."

"You got me a girl?", Arthur states flatly, blinks at you and you shift uneasily underneath his piercing gaze. And then, after no one says anything for a heartbeat or two: "What? D'ya think I'm fuckin' fifteen, Tommy?"

"Jus' thought ya could yer dick wet", John says, moves his tooth pick. Left to right. And back.

"Watch yourself, you little shite", Arthur hisses and John lifts his hands, laughs quietly - but backs off just a little, just to be sure.

"John, wait outside", Thomas' voice sounds exhausted, cold and John just looks at him for a moment, before tipping his cap towards you with a grin, making a real show out of exiting the snug and the pub slowly. Before the door shuts, Thomas is already approaching Arthur, placing a firm hand on his shoulder in pulls him in a huddle as he talks lowly. You try to make out what they are saying, but what you can catch sounds - apart from your name - like gibberish to you. That is, until you realize that they are talking in a whole different language.

While Thomas holds Arthur close, murmuring something, his gaze flickers back and forth between you and his older brother. Soon after Thomas leaves, pats his brother on the shoulder without offering you as much as one last word, one last look before he closes the door behind himself.

You are alone with Arthur now - Thomas Shelby's most powerful, most violent tool. The room suddenly feels too small, like the walls are closing in, suffocating you.

Arthur turns around to you once more. You say nothing and neither does he, just looks at you, let's his gaze wander over your form with hands buried in his pockets. The cigarette still dangles from the corner of his mouth, smoke curling and dissipating into the air. Neither of you says a word for a while; you just stand there, like that little robin that you observed in your backyard yesterday. It froze, as the stray cat sneaked closer and ever closer. As if it truly considered, not moving would make the cat believe it was either already dead or just plainly imagination, conjured by hunger. As if that would stop the cat from burying its claws into it, its sharp teeth to tear it apart and feed from its flesh.

You shift uncomfortably. A man like him, any man like the Shelby men for that matter, is a dangerous man. An image flashes before your inner eye - like a premonition, like a warning: you, battered and bruised, blood tickling from your nose as you stumble back home, dress torn and hairdo ripped apart with a few strands missing.

"You're clean, right love?", his gravelly voice pulls you from your thoughts. He looks at you, straight into your eyes and goosebumps erupt on your skin, while he remains where he stands. The question makes your cheeks heat up and you would really really love to just leave - but his gaze keeps you glued to the spot, piercing blue eyes boring deep into your soul.

"Yes, Sir", you answer dutifully, nodding, ignoring the shame heating up your face. One of his hands comes up, rubs his chin like he is thinking real hard.

"How'd that be?"

"Excuse me?"

"How's a pretty girl like ya clean?"

Heat rises on your cheeks, your eyes water. "I--", your voice breaks, "I am not-"

"Not clean, eh?", he says just as you usher out: "A prostitute."

Now, his face breaks. Brows shooting up, blinks rapidly, irritated. "'Scuse me?"

You swallow. Shit. Now he is gonna send you away, and Thomas will come for his money. You can't have that - you need that money.

"I just do hand-stuff, normally", you say, surprised at how easily the lie slips over your lips, fills the air in a steady tone.

"That's a prostitute in my book, sweetheart", he answers cooly, shrugs, and moves towards the bottle of gin, "Y'wan'a drink?"

Your hands shake, and he cannot - should not - see that and thus, you shake your head.

He mutters something inaudible, as he pours himself a glass, voice a low rumble. You decide it is best not to inquire. Not to move. You remain standing, as he pours himself another glass and downs it quickly just like the other, shoulders visibly relaxing, before sitting down on the red padded bench, throwing his half-smoked cigarette into your empty glass. Arthur looks at you, expression unreadable. "C'mere", he eventually says, the slightest bit annoyed and you follow hastily - muttering Yes, Sir that has the corners of his mouth quipping up in a dirty grin - placing your bag next to the bottle onto the table, before approaching him.

Arthur's legs are spread, the expensive wool of his trousers wrapping snugly around lanky but muscular thighs. You take him in for a second, the auburn nearly ginger hair gelled back, forehead stained by blood, his face hard and unmoving, the specks of blood scattered on his nice and expensive looking grey suit. You step closer and to your surprise he extends a calloused and freckled hand, that you gently place yours into - soft and fragile in comparison - and he takes it, helps you onto his lap. Your body is stiff with anxiety and you hope, pray, that he does not notice.

The first thing you become aware of, among the strange but welcome sensation of being so so close to another human being - to a man, is his scent. He smells surprisingly nice. Wooden and of foreign spices, rich and heavy. Like a bonfire. Like a twelve-hour shift at the coal factories. Still expensive, but as if the perfume cannot fully cover, hide his heritage as a working-class man. He smells of cigarettes and liquor and blood and money. The scent wraps you in, a cloud of luxurious silk and crackling fire wood in a heath, makes you ease into his lap.

You wonder if Arthur can smell the flowery toilet water you put on earlier. You bought it before the war, back in London. It is the last proper thing you own.

His hand forsakes yours, drops down to your thigh, where your dress has already ridden up your legs. His skin is warm on yours and then you feel it, like your sense coming back alive, jolting awake under a thick haze of fear: His hardening bulge pressing against your cunt, right between your legs. Huge and warm, already rock hard.

Your mouth falls agape slightly, cheeks turning a pretty shade of red in an instant. He chuckles, a deep and rumbling sound. You do not dare to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the golden chain, that secures the watch in his waist coat. It gleams prettily in the warm and dim light of the petrol lamps, like molten sunshine.

"I really hope ya haven't planning on only givin' me yer hands tonight, sweetheart", he keeps his gaze trained on your thighs, watches how his hands rest on them, large and slender fingers on your comparably small legs, thumbs caressing the lace hem of your stockings.

You do not know what you have planned. You had no plans. You accepted an offer and only now come to realization what following through with the service required really means. You have no clue how any of this works: sex, prostitution, pleasuring a man. But you know what they all want in the end. And you are certain he will be mad, if you do not give him what he desires.

"Of course not, Sir", you say quietly, thinking about the money in your bag. You got this. You simply have to.

"Ya just a very prim 'n proper young lady, aren't ya?", he hums. You hear the clasps of your garters snapping open and they fall to the sides, allowing him to pull your stockings down down down to your knees. His hands are rough on your soft skin and the touch is foreign, but it electrifies you nonetheless, has you looking up from his watch chains.

Arthur meets your gaze - has been watching your shy, beautiful face the whole time while being visibly amused by your modesty - blue eyes gleaming in the golden hue of the lights.

There is a profound sadness in his eyes. It goes deep, deeper than you dare to look. His features are harsh and unmoving, his eyes hard but their gaze is surprisingly soft; a warm summer's day lake hiding behind the Atlantic storm. You wonder who hurt him. Who left him. Who beat him, broke his heart, chewed it up and spat it back out. You wonder if what happened to him was a tragedy or just the war.

You want to touch it, wipe the sadness away. The thought gives you whiplash with the way it sneaks up on you, hits you across the back of your head and pushes itself to your front-lobe violently. He is beautiful. In his own ragged, brash way - with freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks, some of them gotten lost on his jaw as well, high cheekbones and plush, worrisome tilted lips.

Your body betrays you as your thumb dances over the corner of his mouth and then you lean forward, gently put your lips onto his. It takes him a moment, like he is surprised by the gentleness of it all, before he kisses you back. And does he kiss you. Soft at first, he grows hungry quickly, desperately licks into your mouth and grabs your jaw, holds your head in place as he pushes his tongue against yours and your lower back flush against the edge of the table as he latches onto you. You have kissed men before, drunken at the fair or sober in back alleys, but no other man has ever kissed you like he does now. He is all force and passion and it disarms you, makes you soft and responsive in his hold.

You sling your arms around his neck, hands clutching at his jacket, as he leans into you. Arthur's hands are everywhere, roaming over your thighs, your hips, your back as he feels you up, pulls you closer. You feel like a ragdoll in his arms, being thrown around for his pleasure and your belly tingles traitorously. Arthur pants against your lips, drags his tongue along your lower lip before his teeth gently nip at it.

Not wanting to lose all control and staying close to him - his warmth, the friction of his lean, strong body against yours - you press yourself back against him, and he sinks into the velvet cushion, groans into your mouth as you roll your hips into his dick. Arthur parts his lips from yours, licks the corner of your mouth hungrily as you draw in breaths hectically, rolling your hips once more.

And then you feel it. You are so fucking wet. It seeps through your underwear already, and your body feels like it's on fire, tingles all over. Your upper lip stings from his assault, with the way his moustache has rubbed against your soft skin there and your bottom lip is sore from him pulling and sucking at it. Then, something happens within you; something that you have never felt with such intensity. It starts with a sharp electric tingle in your belly, that shoots right between your thighs, has your loins practically catching fucking fire. It feels like your whole body lights up - so heavily that your fucking brain shuts off, short-circuits.

Suddenly, you want him to be closer - no, you need him to be closer. Without thinking, without debating it with yourself first, without any form of making sense or weighing the consequences of your actions your hands run over his muscular chest, feeling him up while you lean in, pressing hot, wet kisses to his neck.

He feels nice beneath your hands, firm and warm and you wrap your arms around his neck as you dive in again, his eyes already trailing your lips, before you are locking them with his. You steal the air from his lungs as you lick into his mouth, rubbing your body against his, tits pressed to his chest, hips rolling into his dick until you pant into the kiss so heavily that he breaks from you, licks his lips. Instead of stopping to touch him, your hands trail down the lapels of his jacket, slipping underneath it, thumbs trailing the muscles of his stomach.

"Sweetheart", he says lowly, voice trailing off, eyelids fluttering. He has not been touched like this in a long, long time. And he feels like it is going to drive him insane, if he does not stop you soon. Your tender, soft fingers - delicate in comparison to his - keep brushing over his expensive suit, cradling his neck, caressing his shaved head right behind his ears, grabbing his face. It feels too gentle and he fears that his heart is going to explode from it. It's too much - too much for someone like him, someone who belongs nowhere, to no one, who is never cared for. Someone who is as lonely as he is. It has his blood boiling.

Grabbing your hands and pulling them off him, he looks at you - gaze sharp, hard; the sad sea icy. "Y' better get to it, now."

His words, cutting and sharp as shrapnel, yank you out of a cotton-candy stasis, your brain all mushy and hard to reach, hard to use. "Yeah, sure", you breathe, nodding, "Yeah, 'f course."

You swallow, as your hands move - shaking, fluttering nervously and a little aimlessly in the beginning - to get his wool jacket of first. He does not make it harder for you as it already is, but also does not help you much, only throws his jacket to the side carelessly once it comes off. Keeps his eyes trained on your face, studying your every move, on the lookout for any and every single twitch of your facial muscles like a fucking deadly desert predator.

And there it is, comes into vision: the predators, well - weapon. It sits silently, unmoving, in a holster beneath his shoulder. Its silvery handle peeking out towards you mockingly.

His gun.

You swallow. Visibly.

Arthur makes a guttural sound. "That ol' thing's scarin' ya, sweetheart?", he sounds amused almost, reaches for it and you freeze. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, relax", he takes it out of the holster, places it onto the table, where it clinks as it connects with the wood, before he adds with a playful wink, "At least not like tha'."

Unable to control, to stop yourself, you still peak over your shoulder, assessing where it lays. Just in case. Mustering the revolver, you --

A hand grabs your chin, surprisingly gentle, and your face is slowly turned towards back to then man, whose lap you are currently sitting in. Like the gun wasn't already enough to shake the foundation of your world, he now looks at you, coos quietly. "Aren't ya a panicky lil' bird", his hand caresses your cheek and you seriously do not know who he is anymore, with his sad but cold eyes, the dried blood on his forehead, the loaded gun on the table and his loving touches, "Relax, eh? Nothing's gonna happen, as long as I'm 'ere." And as if he is trying to prove this point - maybe even to himself - he straightens up a little, sits back up, the motion pulling you deeper into his lap, with one of his large, slender hands running up your back slowly, steadying you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. "Yes, Sir", you say, voice small and it does not even sound convincing to yourself.

"Jus' forget about the gun and make me feel good, love", he whispers and grabs you by the hips, pushes them down to meet his. You feel his hard dick pressing against your clothed cunt again and that is enough. The fire returns to your loins, so rapidly it knocks the air out of your lungs. And your body stops belonging to you, as all reason gets washed from your head, leaves you a little dizzy with lust.

The red velvet of the bench is soft beneath your knees as you put your weight onto them and roll your hips. You immediately gasp, feeling his boner pressing against your cunt hard, its heat seeping through the fabric. This is different than your pillow. Better. You roll your hips once more, with more intent this time, grinding yourself down on his dick. And Arthur hums, a low and guttural but pleased sound.

You know, he has told you to get a move on but you cannot keep yourself from running your hands over his arms, up up up, feeling the muscular, veiny arms beneath your palms while you rut down on his cock, small whines and desperate gasps erupting from your throat. You struggle with his holster a bit and he does not seem to bother to help you anymore, his hands running up and down your thighs, to the curve of your ass. While you tug at the leather straps helplessly, gasping with each time your pussy brushes his cock, he looks over your shoulder, evidently distracted. "Your arse feels fuckin' nice, love", he says, hands gliding up your legs and over your girdle skirt, underneath your dress until they reach your butt and squeeze.

Pleasure shoots through your loins and you rut into him - hearing his breaths going ragged - as he grabs a fistful of your ass and deepens the movement of your hips, while you toss his holster on the bench, shrugging his waistcoat off. "Ever been fucked back there?", he husks, middle fingers dancing along the crack of your butt while he looks up at you through his auburn lashes and God Almighty, do you blush. Your cheeks burn with Red Red Red spreading across them, heat rising in your cheeks as well as your chest as you think about it - you on your knees, finger buried deep in expensive Egyptian linen sheets as he fills both your holes with his dick and his fingers. You shake your head shyly, lips slightly parted.

And Arthur's gaze drops down to them before he decides he has not had enough of you yet, leans it, locks his lips with yours again, groans into your mouth as you start to loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt right after. You can see pale skin peeking out from there, dotted with freckles as many as there must be stars under the moon. "Next time", he murmurs to himself against your lips, throws his tie to the side where it slides of the bench and to the ground, "Next time I'll have ya back there." His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you even closer, your lower belly flush against his.

And that is when Arthur feels it. A dampness, that presses itself onto his cock, different from the small patch of precum he has already blown into his own undergarments. He whistles wolfishly, lifts you up a little.

There it is. A damp patch on his fucking 300 pounds suit, right where his cock strains against the fabric, the outline visible through the darkened wool. "Fuck me", he breathes, looks up at you, eyelids a little heavy, "'S got ya that hot already, love?"

You blink down to the damp patch, feeling your own wetness between your legs. "Oh God, I am s-so sorry", you stammer, knowing he will have to bring this to the cleaners if he isn't planning on carrying your scent with him for a least a few weeks. He will snap. You have heard the stories, he will-

"Sorry?", he echoes, a playful edge to his voice and it surprises, takes you aback, has you staring at him in disbelieve. "Y-your suit, I am terribly sorry I ruined it, Sir", you try again, voice small while you think about the revolver laying behind you, a reminder of his wrath.

"Fuck the suit", Arthur barks out a laugh, "And fuck that dress."

With that, his hands leave your hips and grab the button line at your chest, and riiip at the fabric. The buttons come flying, ricocheting of the wall and the floor noisily, the soft fabric tearing easily. You gasp, a little surprised and a little in grief. This was your favourite dress. A reminder of better times. You watch in both, shock and anticipation that has the hairs on your body standing up, as he peels the soft cotton off you, leaves you in only your girdle skirt. He acknowledges the lack of a proper undergarments with a barely noticeable grin, runs his gaze over your body. You have a nice pair of tits and a pretty waist, but there is something else he wants first and he tables the thought to mark you up and litter your soft skin with bruises for later.

"Imma buy ya a new one, love, don'tcha go soft on me now", he discards the fabric to the ground, places one hand on the small of your back and pulls you close, your naked tits pressing against his expensive button down. Your temple sinks on his shoulder, eyes fluttering and lips brushing over his neck, tasting his perfume and his sweat. He radiates heat, smells of lust as he looks at you through hooded, dark eyes. "I promise, eh? I'll get ya s'mthing prettier", and you ease into his touch, as he tugs at the girdle - your favourite, a blush pink with pretty lacing at the sides - but he just carelessly shoves it up up up and over your waist instead of untying it properly. His fingers brush over your panties, right where they meet your skin at your hipbones. "Add those to the list", you feel your skin sting as he pulls at them, impatiently and abruptly, tears at the fine satin and rips them clean off.

And Jesus Fucking Christ, he thinks he might smell your arousal right now - thickly sweet, the scent wrapping him in. Arthur yanks your legs apart by spreading his own further, and you gasp, as your knees press snugly against his thighs, cool air hitting your wet cunt. His hands run up your legs and one of them grabs your hips, keeps you steady as the other one brushes over your pubic bone before dipping between your legs. His hand presses against your pussy flatly as he practically grabs your cunt, feels your slick, and runs his palm through it. Your hips buck and you groan, a firework of arousal shooting through your loins.

Then, his fingers spread, two of them running through your folds, back and forth assessing your wetness, and feeling your cunt up. "'S a real pretty pussy ya got 'ere", Arthur looks up from watching his hand vanishing between your legs, lewd sounds of your slick already filling the air. All you can do, the sole response you can muster, is a looong appreciative whine, that gets stuck in your throat as his middle finger presses against your hole cooly.

Breath hitching in your throat, and you release a mangled sound as Arthur pushes his finger in recklessly. The dull burn has your muscles tensing up, your surprise over the sudden intrusion not helping as you clench around him, blocking him from sinking his finger into you fully. Arthur goes stiff as you furrow your brows, hands flying to his wrist, grabbing it in panic while you jolt up in his lap. A pathetic little noise slips over your lips, something that sounds like a broken, small plea.

"Fuck, so that's what he meant", Arthur blinks, stares down at where his finger barely sunk into you, with your hole clutching tightly around him. His palm shines wetly with your juices.

You whine, chest heaving, hands grabbing his biceps. "P-please", your voice sounds high-pitched and oddly foreign in your own ears. He can feel the way your hole nearly cuts of the blood flow in his finger, with how tightly it sits around him and he recognizes the tensity immediately. He has felt it time and time again and his blood sings with it, his cock giving an excited twitch in his pants.

"You ain't never been a prostitute, eh?", he looks up at you, eyes suddenly dark like the stormy sea at night. You can only shake your head, the intrusion of his hefty finger and the dull pain of your muscle being stretched by it are too much already, has your head swimming and heart racing. And it's not even fully in yet. "I fuckin' knew it", he rumbles, voice victorious and dark.

The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine and arms. He does not seem to mind - rather, it seems to get him going, and his reaction makes you feel light-headed.

This is not how you imagined your first time to be like. You wanted it to be soft and slow, ideally on your wedding night, in a bed with a gentle man with soft hands and a respectable career. In the dark of the night, with candles burning, two bodies carefully and slowly, lovingly exploring each other. You did not think it would happen in a pub, of all places, on a late Thursday afternoon with someone who seems to have taken a sport in fucking virgins.

Realization hits you like a train. This is going to be your first time. This man, this violent animal, will be the one taking your innocence.

Arthur watches you intently, kisses his teeth. "I'll make it nice f'ya", he says like he can read your thoughts, voice sounding far away and strangely, you believe him. Believe his soft gaze, his hand that rubs a soothing circle onto your lower back.

"Will it hurt?", you whisper, barely audible. You have heard it does. Some of your friends were bleeding after.

That's when his gaze grows warm, with the darkness behind it still lingering but you barely register it as he is shaking his head - far too busy in wanting to trust him to notice the way his lips tilt up, eyes gleaming with perverse anticipation. He hopes his throbbing cock does not betray him. Oh, how much he will enjoy taking you apart, how much he loves seeing innocent, inexperienced women going dumb on his dick, seeing their pretty faces contort in ecstasy once he rips their maidenhead. Without doubt you will look pretty, too - beautiful even. Silently, he thanks Tommy. Look what the cat dragged in.

"It won't", he says, and there is such an earnest tenderness to his voice, that it shocks him just as much as it shocks you. Releasing a deep breath you did not know you were holding in the first place; you nod.

"Let go off me hand", and you do, grabbing his shoulders instead, as his other hand moves between your legs as well before his pointer and middle finger gently brush against your clit. The feeling that errupts in your belly is heavenly.

"Oh", you make quietly, voice a little high, as he starts to rub soft big circles over it, gently nudging it.

"See? It'll feel nice, love", and you feel it, too. Your muscles unclenching as pleasure shoots through your abdomen, your hole fluttering open after he works your clit for a while, taking his finger in willingly. You barely notice, how it glides in deeper and deeper, the stretch losing all its pain, while you moan and gasp, watching how his hand works your clit.

You sink against his hand hastily, wanting more, whining as the pad of his finger knocks against your walls and your hips stutter.

"Sh, sh, sh", Arthur tuts, his hand comes free from your clit, brushing free strands of hair from your face and behind your ear in one fluid motion, before cupping the nape of your neck, "Slowly now, love. I wan' you nice and loose, before I wreck you."

Nodding, you try your best to relax your muscles once more as he starts to move his finger slowly again, pressing it in fully. You gasp, suddenly feeling the cold gold of his ring resting against your hole. There's little room inside of you now and he gives you gives a minute or two to let you get used to the feeling, before he carefully bends his finger, rubs along your hot spongy walls. "Feel that?", he says and you do. The tingling in your stomach rises, sends bolts of pleasure through your belly. You moan, looking down where his finger vanishes between your legs.

"Yeah", you breathe, lips agape. "'S good?", he asks, genuinely curious and it sends your head spinning.

You nod, hole already fluttering around his finger and he starts to move it slowly, pulling it back and forth, until he can fuck you with it easily. He retrieves it fully, leaves you mewling unhappily, before he prods against your hole with two fingers instead. "There ya go, girl, nice 'n steady", he adds pressure against the tight ring once more and you willingly spread your legs a little, the velvet burning on your knees as they glide over it, parting your thighs to make more room for him. Arthur pushes his digits in, and you moan sweetly, the stretch pleasant and not as hurtful as you would have expected.

And Arthur starts to move slowly, drags the pads of his fingers along your walls, slowly oh so slowly fucks you open with them. He takes his time, spreading his fingers apart whenever your moans sound too sweet and he wants you to squirm more, remind you for whose pleasure you are here until even that does not seem to bother you anymore and your hips roll against his hand eagerly. He is sure, if he were to put his fingers on your clit again you would combust on the spot and as much as he would like to feel you cum, really feel that tight little hole clench and cream and make it his appetizer, he would  much rather feel you coming on his cock.

He cannot believe he is going to break your flower, soil it. He does not want to wait longer, cannot push himself further, needs it now. "Ya feelin' ready now, sweetheart?", like he will give a fuck.

Luckily for him, you nod, whining as he carefully pulls his fingers from you. No need to hurt you, yet. "'S my good girl, just breathe", and you mewl, as you feel your hole clenching around nothing, "I'll fill ya up nicely, don't fret." You suddenly feel very very empty and the urge to be filled up, to be stuffed by his cock and cum makes you go a little drunk with it, hands beating his to the fly of his pants.

Making quick work of the buttons you pull his trousers and undergarments down as much as possible, just enough to get his cock out - your mouth first waters and then goes powder dry in an instant. His dick slaps against his belly, long and girthy and cut with a prominent vein on the bottom, head an angry red and glistening with precum. It sits there, between a neatly trimmed bush of auburn hair and it is so so huge.

You open your mouth, struggling to find the words. "I-it won't fit", you stammer.

"'F course it will", he closes his hand around the thick base, and guides it between your legs, the tip nudging your clit and you gasp, "Don'tcha hurt ya pretty lil' head 'bout that." Arthur grabs your hips with one hand, holds you steady and up as he runs his cock along your folds, slicks it up with your juices, before pressing the thick head against your fluttering hole. His dick is unbearably hot against your pussy, and you whine, biting your lip.

"Just the tip, love, don't worry", he mumbles, lips pressed against your cheek, peppering the soft skin with kisses, stache tickling and then he presses his cock inside of you.

The thick head of his dick spreads your folds apart and then your hole stretches around it. It is so so much thicker and harder than his fingers, so much warmer and your hole clenches as he keeps pushing. The pain is dull and your eyes tear up. "There ya go", he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your cheek, whispers sweet nothings into your ear. There's one last stretch and then you feel the whole tip of his dick inside of you, your walls so snug around it you, you would be able to describe what it looks like just from feeling it inside of you.

"How's it feel?", he rasps, having a hard time containing himself. You are hot and wet around his tip and he really really wants to just push inside in one fluid motion and fuck you until your bleed and are unable to walk. To ruin you. Until there is nothing left on your pretty, little mind but him. But he knows better, knows that he will have to get you there slowly and steadily, so that you will come crawling back on all fours willingly. Forever.

"Ngh", you make, brows furrowed in concentration as you grab his shirt, steadying yourself. You had hoped, he would give you a minute longer to adjust, with your cunt clenching and stuttering around it, but he does not - instead he just keeps inching in. You whine, hand pushing against his shoulder. "H-hurts", your voice sounding pressed, "T-too fast, please, Sir."

A low chuckle escapes from his throat. "Love, that ain't me", he cups your cheek with one hand, looks at you. And Jesus fucking Christ, what a sight you are - pupils blown wide, eyes darkened and wet with tears. "You're jus' so fuckin' tight, you suck me in, sweetheart", and he really can't help himself but to marvel at how that feels. He can feel how your pussy protests the intrusion, tries to push him out, but instead it just makes your hole tighter, pulling him in.

"'S too much", and he nearly takes real pity in youas he leans in, and locks his lips with yours, while his hand forsakes your face and dives between your legs, rubbing wide circles over your clit.

Arthur lets gravity and your hungry pussy handle the rest, rubs your clit through every little millimetre that you sink down on his cock until he feels your muscles relaxing around him, swallowing him up.

That's when Arthur finally bottoms out, grabs you by the hips and seats you onto his cock fully, hisses just as a sweet, surprised moan escapes your lips.

"Yeah, that's fuckin' nice, ennit love?", he rasps, holds your hips steady as they quiver and shake on his cock. The stretch is delicious and so is the pain as he fills you up fully, thick base pushing your pussy apart like the heft of a sword.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, watching how your naked body is split on his cock, thighs rubbing along the thick wool of his dress pants.

"What a nice fuckin' tight snatch ya have, sweetheart", he groans, eyebrows furrowed together as he relishes in the feeling of your hole swallowing him whole, squeezing his cock.

"'ere, feel it", he grabs one of your hands and shoves between your legs, where your bodies are cojoined and his cock stretches your tight hole. He guides two fingers to the hot and thick base of his dick and you gasp, as you feel both: your wetness on him and the way he stretches the small ring of your muscles, the way you close around him snugly. "Wanna feel how I fuck ya?", he husks, and does not wait for an answer, pulls out of you just a little, only to push back in right after. You can feel the friction of his dick entering you, wetness pooling around the rim of your cunt as he forces himself inside. The sound that leaves your throat is wild, unbothered, high-pitched.

Your mouth is quicker than your brain, as all shame washes from you. "You feel so good", you breathe, and newly found confidence gets a hold of you, encourages you to lift your hips, before sinking back down. The burn of him stretching, moving inside of you, slowly subsides, gets replaced by feeling utterly full. You start to move in his lap, still a little unsure if you are doing it right, as you move your hips up and down. Small, desperate moans escape your mouth as you start to bounce on his dick slowly, hands on his chest. "There ya go", his hands rest on your waist, thumbs gently rubbing circles over your ribcage.

You take your time, hands clutching at his shirt and steadying themselves on his muscular, lean chest as you try to find your own rhythm. The movement of your hips is rigid at first, as you roll them down and Arthur really, really has to take deep breaths and not get annoyed because he knows, that this is ironically the best part of it all - when they do not know what to do, all helpless and cunts tight, whimpering with the overwhelming feeling of it all - and he does want to enjoy it, too. He watches you, angles his elbows on the backrest of the bench, let's you handle yourself first. He considers having another drink as you straighten your back and roll your hips just right for the very first time, a sweet sweet moan escaping your lips and he nearly bites his lip to hold his own back down because that - Jesus fucking Christ, that felt good.

You seem surprised, but he can also see how it makes you more confident, repeating the same movement your hips just made and another whine slips past your lips. Part of him grieves that you found it so quickly, part of him is intrigued what else lies buried inside of you and Arthur takes a deep breath, nods.

"Keep goin', love", he encourages you and you look at him, blushing, nodding. Your rhythm is slow and steady and you feel it becoming more and more pleasurable with every single time you thrust yourself down onto him, your muscles unclenching and letting his cock in deeper. There is warmth spreading inside of your body and you suddenly feel so so good, that you speed up all by yourself, something that his moaning quietly and --

It feels like your pussy is trying to push him out once more, but this time it is different, less forceful and much more of a desperate attempt to be closer closer closer to the delicious friction of his pubes rubbing along your clit, his dick slipping in and out of you. And then you feel wetness gushing from your cunt.

You gasp loudly, lips shaped in a perfect little O, a hand flying to your mouth. And Arthur laughs, a bellowing and rude sound that gets swallowed up by a lewd moan, that rasps darkly in his throat. "Yeah, 's my girl", his eyes twinkle as he looks you straight in the eye, "My cock makes ya feel real good, eh? "

The shame is back as it burns on your cheeks as you nod nod nod, lifting your hips once more to sink down onto him. It's so so easy this time with you being wetter than before, and you hum gleefully at the sensation, immediately picking up a quicker rhythm.

It all feels so heavenly: sinking down onto him, your lower body rubbing along his, clit being nudged ever so gently by his pubes, his hands on your body. Eventually, he lets them travel a bit when he deems you ready for it, cups your tit and rolls your nipple with his thumb. "'Y got such nice tits, love", and he really seems to marvel at the sight, while pleasure ping-pongs through your body at the touch. You feel like you could do this forever, sit on his cock, and ride him to feel this good just once more, but your body strains soon, legs growing heavy and your hips start to burn from the steady movement.

Arthur can feel you stuttering, your hips growing heavy but he is nowhere near coming and he really cannot have you stopping now, so he decides to play it nice. "Need help, love?", and you whine so prettily that it sweeps the rug underneath him, his hands leaving your tits, dancing over your body and grabbing your ass instead, lifting you up before sinking you back down.

Soon, the small snug is filled with lewd noises: skin hitting skin, the obscene squelching of your cunt as Arthur plunges his cock into you, sweet sweet gasps falling from your mouth, mingling with his groans and heavy panting. Arthur angles your hips on his dick - as if he had done this a hundred times with you before - guides you up and down up and down aiding you with your own already fast rhythm. Your legs and hips strain from being spread on his lap, from working in overtime as you ride him but the way he feels inside of you drowns the painful pull of your muscles and strings out, leaves you wanting for more.

And Arthur - oh, Arthur feels everything, all at once. Hears his own blood thundering in his ears, smells your perfume mingling with the scent of your arousal, thickly sweet and heavy, and his chin churns, teeth grinding like he just a fat fucking line of coke. Arthur feels it all - the tremor his pulse sends through his body, the way your pussy grips his cock, the whiskey rushing through his veins, his chest fluttering. There's just as much adrenaline rushing through his body as there is when he kills a man - it's all the same to him, really - and he feels like he is going to pass out from it.

The desperate, high-pitched moans that fall from your lips have him reeling on the edge, spurring him on while his fingers dig deep into your hips.

A part of him, somewhere buried deep inside his skull in the farthest corners of his mind, wishes for things to be different. For you to have met him differently, for him to be a different man. To be gentler, and to mean it. If he were someone else, he would be soft and take his time, share the plethora of pleasure he has to offer with you until sunrise. He would hold you close, rest your body on expensive sheets and touch you all over.

But he is not. And thus, he shuns regret, locks it away, hooks one arm around your waist instead and presses you to his chest as his hip piston into you, cock digging deep and against your cervix, brushing against the spot that has you seeing stars repeatedly.

And that has you moaning his name, falling from your lips like a mantra, nearly exploding with pleasure. It's all too much and you aren't certain if your body can even take it all. You feel like dying. You feel so so alive. Every single one of your nerves is on fire, and you cling onto him for leverage until it isn't enough anymore. Lust shoots through your body, fills you out wholly and makes you feel so so so good and you just must give it more room, really really feel it and one of your hands darts up as you stretch your arm above your head, hand falling flat onto the wall. And Arthur looks up at you through hooded eyes as if he had been summoned, takes you in: the way your head tilts back just a little, exposes your flushed throat and cheeks, your eyes closed and lips parted, panting heavily. Your tits bounce with every single one of his thrusts as you start to meet them too, fucking back onto them.

He has never seen anything quite like it. Truly, never. You are better than any fucking prostitute, with your earnest moans and seeping wet cunt.

Arthur cranes his neck and latches onto the crook of yours, licking, biting, and tasting your sweat and the pulse beneath your soft skin, surely leaving you with a nasty beard burn. One of his hand snakes between your legs and his fore and ring finger tip against your clit, making you moan brightly, loud and clear. He starts rubbing small, fast circles over it, flicks it between his fingers and you cannot stop yourself - moaning and gasping in rhythym with his thrusts, as you feel your lower body clenching, an unknown and forceful heat boiling inside of you. And Arthur knows you're close. He can feel it too,

"Yeah, 's it love. Fuckin' come f'me, you whore. There ya go, milk me cock like the dir'y lil' --", and you nearly scream as you finally, finally do, after he speeds his fingers up, sounds of your wet cunt filling the air - before you are convulsing around him heavily, legs shaking and cunt squirting against his cock forcefully.

And that's all he needs, too. Feels you practically forcing his cum out of him and you whine loudly as he pumps you full with hot ropes of cum, shoots the deep into your hole, hits your walls with it.

"Ah, fuck", he throws his head back, cheeks flushed and his hips rock up up up, ramming his cock deep in your tight hole as he comes, fucks his cum into you, making your pussy squelch obscenely. You cling onto him for dear life, hands gripping his shirt, while sweet sweet moans fall from your lips as you ride out your own orgasm on his dick.

Collapsing against him, his hips continue to rut upwards into you, until Arthur is all spent, his breathing going heavy and noisily, mingling with your gasping.

Your surroundings get drowned out by the waves of pleasure that shoot through your body, making you light-headed, content, and tired. You feel worn out, but your nerves are on fire, your brain rapid-firing the floating sensation of bliss through your system. It takes you a while to come down back to Earth.

As you do, you are naked in his arms, chest heaving and legs shaking, as you bury your face in his neck inhaling his thick perfume. Your body feels light, limbs a little numb and he runs his hands over your back tenderly, easing the feeling back into you. You can hear his heart beating and the sound lulls you in, a delusory closeness erupting a warm fondness inside of you, that has your belly fluttering. There is still cum trickling out of you, running down your folds and your thighs, while he still plugs your hole up with his softening dick and you feel like you could stay like this forever, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, body comfortably resting against his, his warmth keeping you safe from the world outside.

You think that his cock should probably grow flaccid soon; but he does not, instead Arthur stays buried inside of you, grabs your face with one hand forcing you to look at him. He grins, flashing his incisors at you. "Look at ya, hm", he laughs dryly, "Got ya all soft 'n fucked-out now, don't I?" And he knows that's exactly what he did, feels your puffy hot walls and swollen ring of muscles pressing snugly around his cock. You're hot and wet and gripping at him and he takes a deep breath, thumb caressing your chin. "Ain't ya a pretty thing", he murmurs, more to himself really, and his gaze drops down, to your tits before his free grabs a handful, squeezes your left one not that gently anymore, "Imma break you now, sweetheart."

A confused noise leaves your lips but you are still too far gone, too tired and worn out, as he suddenly yanks you back up and flips you around. Your body gets pressed onto the dirty and sticky surface of the table as he manhandles you, his already once more hardened cock slapping against your ass as he puts your body in position on the table, and -- there it is again. The gun. Rest there, right in your line of sight. It just lays there, hammer pulled back. Arthur notices you staring at it as he positions your body, pulls your ass up up up, until your upper body lies flat on the wooden surface and you are standing on your tip of your toes, his cum tickling down your thighs. "Don't worry - If someone disturbs us, love, I'll kill'em", and you do not even doubt him. You doubt yourself - with the way your body reacts to this. Shivers run down your arms, your back, fresh wetness pooling between your legs. You wonder, how he looks when he kills someone.

"Or", his lips brush over your ear, voice nothing but a low, rough whisper that vibrates in your body, makes your blood sing, "You could 'ave a try at it. Jus' fire it, see what it does - see if you hit'em." He says, as he rubs his hard cock rubs along your folds, runs it through your slick and his cum that still runs out of your already sore hole.

You cannot help but imagine it. How Arthur just pulls your head back, hand in your hair as the door of the snug bursts open - some guy coming inside but you are so so close to coming and your hand reaches for the gun blindly, points, shoots, hits. Red blooms on the golden tapestry behind the dropping body.

"It's easy", he rumbles and so you have heard. What comes after isn't.

You shake your head, but it is not as certain as you wish it to be. "No?", he presses a kiss onto your neck, tip of his cock prodding your entrance, "D'you not feel ready, yet? Mh, 's alright. We have time." And with that he pushes inside of you in one swift motion - like he usually does, not that careful A-Woman-Is-Like-Fine-China-Shit he pulled earlier.

You tremble beneath him, gasping at the sudden intrusion and the feeling of it: how it stretches your abused hole that flutters open inviting him in, your sensitive skin prickling and body aching. Arthur doesn't waste any time, immediately starts fucking you with pointed, deep thrusts that send you reeling already, moaning sweetly for him.

He can feel your ass pressing against his groin, wet sounds of his skin hitting yours already filling the air, with his balls slapping against your wet wet cunt. This is it. This is what he needs you to be like for him - spread out, stretched enough to just take him like this. And you are so inexperienced that you don't even know how to handle it, what to do; you just lay there, taking it all in, your sweet sweet hole ready for the taking and you are enjoying it. Enjoying what he has got to give, what he will take from you. Time and time again. Oh, he is going to keep you.

"Y're fuckin' perfect", he groans, runs one hand down your body, keeps himself upright, steady, and you mewl, eyes rolling back a little with the agonizingly slow pace he has set and --

A hand comes down on your ass - hard. You jolt violently, your hipbones connecting with the edge of the table quite forcefully, glasses clinking against the bottle.

"What d'ya fuckin' say then?"

Your head swims. Your breath falls short. Panic seeps through you and then the pain blooms. Blooms so deliciously that you arch your back into him, moaning so shamelessly that you are certain, somewhere around Birmingham, a cross falls from the wall.

Another sharp slap hits your ass cheek, as his hand connects with it hard.

"I said", his voice is nothing but a gravelly, threatening rumble and you can imagine him clearly, grabbing someone by the lapels before beating their brains to a pulp, until it runs it out their ears a liquid, "What d'ya fuckin' say, you slut?"

"T-thank you, Sir", you whine and he rewards you with another deep thrust that hits the spot just right. "Good girl", he growls, before giving your another light slap, just for good measure, puts both hand flat onto the sticky table right next to your chest. He towers over you like this, head falling forward and strands of hair falling into his face as he speeds up. Rams his cock into you, once twice, with full force and then sets a quick and deep pace, that has him grunting with it.

His cock is dragging along your puffy, sensitive walls and you cannot, for the Love of God, form a straight sentence. All that leaves you mouth is incoherent babbling, as your breath grows shorter and shorter, pleasure pooling in your stomach. Your lips parted, you swear you hear yourself muttering Oh God Oh God Oh God over and over and over again as he pumps his cock into you and your eyes roll back into your skull.

You think you're drooling. No, you definitely are, a small pool of your warm wet saliva gathering at the corner of your mouth, the sheer force of his thrusts dragging your up and down up and down over the table, rubbing your chin through your spit.

"You're mine", he rasps, the glasses on the table shaking and clinking against each other, the table creaaaking along the floorboards, "No one else is gonna have ya, understood?"

"Uh-huh", you make unintelligently, parting your legs for him even more. He groans, as he glides in a little deeper and you do too, as he hits your cervix.

"Ya belong t'me now - I might jus' keep ya around. Would ya like tha'?", he gives your ass another sharp slap, that echoes off the walls of the snug and grabs a fistful of your right cheek, "Bet ya fuckin' would. Jus' keepin' ya with me, takin' ya everywhere I fuckin' go." He grunts, hand leaving your ass to brush a few strands of hair from his forehead that came loose. His scab popped and there is fresh blood running down his forehead, down down down his cheekbone, trickling over his cheek.

"Fuckin' keeping ya 'round naked while I do me fuckin' business, 'n you're jus' there waitin' for me to bend you over the fuckin' table when I please", Arthur's hand presses down between your shoulder blades, deepens the arch he has put your back into already, "Have ya kneeling there, shovin' me cock down your throat when I fuckin' need ya to shut up."

You do not even have to close your eyes, in order to see it on front of your mind's eye: You on your knees in front of him. His hand tangled in your hair, balling into a fist and yanking you forward towards his cock, already leaking and flushed red. Him forcing himself down your throat in the middle of the betting shop, that hums around you like a beehive, while you suck him off. You, on his lap, warming his cock during a meeting in a fancy hotel across the Atlantic. Bouncing on his dick while the other men present marvel at how he trained you so well.

You think you might be begging for him to do exactly that right now - mind and body engulfed in the way Arthur's cock fills you up to the brim, fits inside of you perfectly - unable to resist the onslaught of pleasure he hits you with, as you babble unintelligently. It soon becomes too much, the constant friction against your spongy walls and the tight muscles of your hole, how his dick thrusts against the spot that has you seeing stars repeatedly. Your vision blurs and you shiver, as your limbs go soft, the only sensation in your body that remains is how he fucks you, how his hand presses you down.

All you can feel is him, barely realizing how much you are losing yourself in the friction, the smell, the pleasure: everything becomes so so blurry and the colours soften, the petrol lamps twinkling like stars --

Arthur groans deeply, hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up. "Is you bawlin', sweetheart?", his voice drips with patronizing sarcasm, making clear that he doesn't give a dime. And you are. Hot tears stream down your face, from it all: the sheer overstimulation and the burning pain in your back from the arch he put you into as well as the ruthless pace he drills into you with, leaves your hole sore and cunt dripping.

"Keep that up - noise fuckin' suits ya", Arthur huffs, "My pretty lil' girl."

And then he starts to rut into you like the depraved and rabid dog he is, lewd noises of your wet skin meeting his balls and the skin of his thighs - not quite the animal he usually is with fists, bruises, and razor blades, but the other: with fine Tokyo, booze and sweat. He feels himself getting lost, a red haze filling his sight as he plunges into your tight and begging hole.

Arthur's gaze drops to your face once more and he takes you in, observes how he ruins you, reduces you to your most primal sense like you never ever were a lady strolling down Picadilly but always just a cock-drunk little whore who liked being thrown around by a violent thug - your cheeks dotted prettily with red from exhaustion and wet with your tears, chin shining with your own spit. "Sweetheart", he coos, leans in and turns your head around to him as much as possible. The strain in your neck is so so painful but being able to look at him is worth it, the sight making your pussy clench. There is blood dripping down his face, his eyes are dark dark dark and brows furrowed. "If ya liked spit, ya could've just said so", he rasps and then his hand leaves the back of your skull, grips your chin hard and forces your mouth open.

"Good, jus' like tha', open up", Arthur says, mouth a cruel grin, before leaning in as he spits into your fucking mouth. His saliva is warm as it hits your tongue and it tastes of whiskey and cigars and the way he degrades you is so sick but so so good, that your eyes roll back in your skull, hips bucking against him.

"Bloody fuckin' hell", he breathes, lips parted a little as he sucks in breath after breath, watching you swallowing his spit and licking your lips, your tongue darting out right after. His hips stutter and your whole body yerks forward with the force of it, hands clawing at the table uselessly.

"Fuck, knew ya'd like that", he nearly laughs, but it gets stuck in his throat, comes out as a strangled groan. And then he gathers some more of his saliva, does you the favour, slooowly lets it drip from his lips onto your tongue, his gaze glued to yours as he ruts ruts ruts into you. The table creaks beneath you and you hum, licking the spit from his lips, swallowing it all.

"A-arthur", you breathe, not able to communicate much more, "'S good -- please."

Your head connects with the wooden table forcefully as his hand grabs your neck, presses you down and pain blooms in your skull, shoots right down between your legs. "You fuckin' dirty fuckin' slut fuckin' --", he grunts, grabs one of your legs and yanks it up, shoves your knee onto the table. Your whole body aches, you are dizzy and there is such a pleasure coiling in your lower belly, you feel like you might just die. Like your head's going to explode. The angle of your leg lets him slide in deeper and he holds you down like this: one hand on the base of your skull, the other digging into your thigh sharply.

And this time you do scream; his name falling from your lips like a dirty fucking prayer - Arthur Arthur Arthur - as he holds you down, legs shaking and hips bucking, cunt squirting against him like a broken hose. Your juices make a mess out of his trousers and his shirt, leave stains all over them as he fucks your wetness back into you.

You are nowhere near coming and yet you feel so so so close - just a whining moaning mess beneath him, skin sore and sensitive, your face wet with tears and spit and sweat as his thrusts drag your body through the filth of the table's surface. Everything is too much and too little just the same, leaves you wanting for more and absolutely flooded with lust.

Wailing, and in a desperate attempt to get his attention that you are so so close but not close enough, you lift your head, looking over your shoulder. Arthur looks up at you, from where he watched his cock ramming in and out of you. The sight knocks the air from your lungs: his hair is a sticky mess, darkened by sweat and blood, that runs down his cheek, stained his shirt and surely already dropped down onto your back; his throat and chest, at least where you can see with his shirt half unbuttoned, is flushed and he furrows his brows, lips slightly agape as he pants and grunts. And then he sinks down on his elbows, his chest pressing flush against your back, before he leans in, lock his lips with yours and fucks you into the table.

That is all you need. His tongue licks into your mouth and you fucking explode around him, cunt squeezing him so hard he feels like he is going to pass out and so do you, as your shaking rattles the table, while you cum, white filling your vision.

It does not take much longer for Arthur, who rails you through your orgasm, all soft and rigid moans against your lips, cheek, and ear, before he pumps you full with his cum, sinks down onto you after, while relishing the last few thrusts of his hips into your tight heat. His weight is heavy on top of you, as he barely supports himself with his lower arms planted onto the sticky wood, breathes heavily against your neck.

Eventually, Arthur straightens back up, you barely register it, too far gone. You close your eyes, drawing in shaky breaths as he wipes the blood and sweat of his face, reaches for the bottle. You hear him rummaging around behind you, the shuffling of clothes and his exhausted breathing, but you cannot focus on it. Your limbs are heavy and you just lay there, bliss wrapping your brain in making it all mushy and soft and you just feel. Your aching hole, your aching back, the dull pain in your head - the insane galloping of your heart that only slowly ebbs, the way your cunt feels empty and worn out now. And then you hear the bench behind you creaking, feel his hands on your hips as he lifts you from the table and into his lap again.

You sink against his chest, as one of his strong arms cradles your frame, pulling you close. Eyes falling shut once more, you just breathe, listening to the sound of his lighter clicking and him taking a few drags from a cigarette.

"You wan' a smoke, love?", he rumbles, nose brushing against the shell of your ear. Your heart still thunders in your chest and you crave tobacco, nodding. He gently grabs your chin and turns your head around, places the cigarette between your slightly parted lips while your eyelids flutter, gaze shifting from his calloused hands to his blue eyes. You can feel his cum trickling out of you and onto the bench.

His cheeks are still a little flushed, but his eyes gleam like he has just won a race.

"Same time, next week?", he whispers, moustache tickling your cheek.

[onydung]

agape.

summary - everyone needs a safe space, you just so happen to be one for arthur.

pairing - arthur shelby x fem!reader

warnings - TW: mentions of fighting, blood, injuries, mentions of war, mentions of PTSD.

notes - first peaky blinders fic…give me your criticisms please 🙏🏽

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist

Seeing Arthur stagger into the betting shop covered in blood was an occasional thing. It usually meant he had another one of his episodes, caused by Tommy, as usual. Of course, he’s had them without the influence of his younger brother but he always tried to stop it. Visiting his doctor as regularly as he could, taking his prescriptions down to the very second on time, he’s even started opening up to you a little more. He’s a good man…but Tommy doesn’t need a good man, he needs a man who will do all the dirty work for him, so that precious face of his stays intact.

You’ve been close friends with The Shelby’s for years, Tommy even longer. But, he has his flaws, as does everyone. You don’t agree with the ways he treats his family sometimes, even going as far as to finally stand up to him after he scolded Finn over something small and dumb.

None of that matters now, what’s important is to get Arthur clean and stable, mentally. The first time you let him be—to his request— he ended up going on another rampage, almost attacking you in the midst. You’ve learned since then he is not as mentally there as he pretends to be. Just as he walks into his office, you finish counting the money from the recent races winnings, putting them into the lockbox and bringing them to Tommy’s office. Luckily for you he is still out, so you are able to slip in and out quickly, putting the lockbox in the safe.

Retracing your steps and now knocking on Arthur’s office door, you wait until he give you the okay to come in. He sounds exhausted, obviously in pain.

“Arthur?” He’s slouched over his desk, head in hands, gripping his hair. Blood and sweat drips down his nose and onto his desk, his breathing heavy and laboured. You slowly make your way over to his desk, not making any sudden movements in case he’s stuck in his head again. Thinking of the war, all the young boys and older men he’s killed, the families he’s left without fathers or brothers or husbands.

Now standing next to him, you gently put a hand on his shoulder, repeating his name again, to try and bring him back to the present. He glances at you, attempting a small smile but failing. “Let’s go to my house and get you cleaned up” He shakes his head and stands “No…I’ve still got stuff to do for Tommy, paperwork…”

You grab his arm, not enough to startle him but enough to make him stop his pacing.

“You let me deal with Tommy, alright?” Arthur gives in after a moment, the exhaustion finally starting to settle in as he follows you to your house. It’s the closest to the betting shop and free of any other Shelby’s lurking around. You unlock the door and let Arthur step inside first, heading towards your living room and throwing himself down on your couch.

Grabbing a large bowl—one you usually use for things like this—and filling it up with warm water, you bring it over to the living room table, snatching up a rag from your laundry room on the way. Setting the bowl and rag down, you sit across from Arthur. Gently grasping his jaw with one hand while the other brings the soaked, warm, tattered rag to his face.

“Did…did you want to talk about it?”

…

You rinse the rag off, bringing it to his face again and gently wiping the blood away.

“You don’t have to, but when you want to I’m here…”

…

After wiping his face you bring the rag down to his neck, wiping off the blood there, he finally speaks.

“I can still see them…” his voice barely above a whisper “I still see their faces…”

…you don’t dare say anything, not wanting to break the bubble of this sensitive moment.

“I’ve done things…no human should have done.”

You put the rag back into the bowl, the warm water now cold with a pink tint. “You were serving your country, Arthur. It was for your family—your people.”

“I’m not the same man I was, (Y/N). I’m dangerous…”

“Everyone is dangerous, Arthur. I don’t mind breaking down a few walls to get to you again.”

His eyes meet yours for the first time tonight, slowly getting their spark back. He brushes back a strand of hair from your face. “You’re too good to me, love. You deserve better.” You grab the hand cupping your jaw, covering it with both of your hands.

“You’re the best I could’ve asked for, Arthur.”

Thank you for reading lovelies! C U L8TER! 💚

word count: 779

[onydung]

So good💖💖 I'm already hooked. I love the way you write Arthur and Linda

What we left behind | Arthur Shelby x Reader x Linda Shelby

part one?👀

Summary: After years away, she never expected to return to Birmingham—or to see Arthur Shelby again. But when her grandparents leave her their countryside estate, she finds herself back where it all began. The past was supposed to stay buried, yet the moment their eyes meet across a dimly lit club, it’s clear that nothing ever truly ended between them.

Arthur has a life now—a wife, responsibilities, the weight of his own regrets. But old love doesn’t fade, and neither does the anger, the heartbreak, or the questions left unanswered. As they navigate stolen glances, tense conversations, and the undeniable pull between them, they’re forced to face the truth: Some things were never meant to be left behind.

Word count: 1.7k

“Do we really have to go to this fookin’ thing, luv?” Arthur asks, turning to Linda as she steps closer to fix his tie.

She smiles, her fingers moving gently as she adjusts it, her gaze lingering on him in his perfectly tailored, deep navy suit. “Yes, Arthur. I want to go out, and I want to go there,” she says, cupping his cheek and giving him a little kiss. “It won’t be that bad. You’ll end up loving it.” She smiles and moves away to finish getting ready.

Arthur huffs, rolling his eyes, though there’s a hint of playfulness in them. “Alright, luv. Just for you, I’ll go,” he says as he steps behind her, his hands settling on her hips. He nuzzles against her neck, closing his eyes as he inhales her sweet scent. “Though, I do have a better idea for how we could spend the night… but alright,” he says this with a twinkle in his eye, but Linda only shakes her head playfully and steps away, refusing to give in to his attempts to stay home.

“Who’s performing there anyway?” He asks, glancing over her things on the vanity, his gaze flickering back to her with a smile. 

“Does it matter? You already decided you’ll hate it, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” she replies, her voice light, as she grabs her purse.

He shrugs, straightening up from when he was leaning on the vanity and coming closer to her: “Not really, but I’m still curious.” 

“Ready?” She asks, moving toward the door.

“Ya know, you could give me a kiss, woman… before we go?” He says, stepping in front of her, placing his hands on her hips. “I deserve it, eh?” He asks in a lower voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he looks at her.

She smiles and cups his cheeks, giving him a soft, loving kiss that leaves him momentarily speechless, his smirk softening. He closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.

“Ready now?” She smirks.

“Alright luv, let’s go.” He says, biting his lip a bit, gently leading her to the car.

“Backstage—unlike before your past performances—you pace slowly across the wooden floorboards, your dazzling clothes rustling against your figure. The expensive perfume surrounds you in its usual comforting scent, yet this time, it does nothing to soothe the turmoil inside you.”

Why are you even here? What are you doing? Is this a mistake—one that will only tear open wounds that never fully healed?”

But it’s too late to back out now. You’re up, and you’re about to perform in the city that once felt like home, the city where you left your greatest love behind. 

You get lost in thought again, a small smile tugging at your lips as if trying to soothe yourself. He’d never come to a performance like this. He always hated this kind of music. Besides, why would he? Especially if he saw you. Would he even want to see you after what you did to him, to both of you?

Your fingers tap lightly against the cool surface of the vanity, grounding you for just a moment before you adjust your hair and straighten up, forcing yourself back into focus. Confidence, control. Then, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“You okay?”

You see your friend in the mirror, a trusted dancer you’ve spent the past few years performing with. She moves around the room, grabbing the last of her accessories, her outfit shimmering with each step. Her gaze lingers on you, sensing something is off.

“I’m okay,” you say as you glance over your dress one more time and offer her a small smile. “Just a bit nervous to perform in front of a completely new audience.”

Your cue could come at any moment now.

The lights dim and the music becomes less loud as the wait for the final performance begins, and Arthur uses that opportunity for his own needs. He leans over to Linda, his voice low but his tone easy going.  

“Gotta go take a piss, love,” he mutters, giving her a little smile before rising up from his seat.

 Linda looks at him, arching an eyebrow. She’s used to his bluntness by now, but the sudden interruption doesn’t sit well with her. She watches him leave, an edge of irritation flickering in her eyes, but she says nothing. 

Arthur disappears into the crowd weaving his way towards the back as the minutes to the final performance tick by.

And soon enough, the wait is over. The curtains slowly open, revealing the excited audience that greets you with an applause. 

As you step toward the microphone the reflectors blind you for a moment, but you scan the crowd, almost instinctively. The atmosphere is almost dreamlike, the deep red curtains and soft glow of the bar, the rich wooden floors and glints of shimmering fabrics all come together to create the perfect atmosphere for your performance. 

You greet the crowd with a warm smile, delighted by their enthusiasm to see a new performer in their town. As you step to the microphone one thought crosses your mind: He’s not here. Relief washes over you, loosening the tightness in your chest. But deep down, there’s something else. A feeling of disappointment? A feeling you shouldn’t have, because seeing him would only make things worse… right?

Meanwhile, Arthur finds himself in greater need of another drink than to return to his seat. He waits at the bar, the distant hum of music and conversation filling his ears. Though, a strange pull tugs at him—something urging him toward the stage, toward that final performance. But by the time he finally gets his drink and starts making his way back to Linda, twenty minutes have already slipped by.

Arthur moves through the dimly lit bar, the voices and distinct sounds of glasses clicking blending in with the melody of the performance. He’s relaxed as Arthur Shelby could be, his mind not focused on anything in particular—just getting back to his seat and enjoying the drink. But the moment he passes the standing crowd his gaze flickers to the stage. Just a quick glance, a habit. 

And then he sees you. 

At first it doesn’t register. His eyes shift back in front of him as he moves forward between the rows but then something inside him snaps, his breath catches, his grip tightens around the glass in his hand, and before he can stop himself, his gaze shoots back up. 

It’s you. 

Standing beneath the soft glow of the stage lights, your voice smooth and haunting as it carries through the room. The deep red curtains frame you like a painting, sequins catching the light as you move. And just as his brain stutters to catch up with what his eyes are seeing, the words that leave your lips hit him like a ton of bricks; suddenly, every lyric feels like it's meant for them.

Arthur freezes. The sound of your voice, the weight of the words—it all crashes into him at once, squeezing his chest so tightly he can barely breathe. He forces his feet forward, slower now, like he’s moving through water. He has to sit down. He has to keep his head down. He has to not feel what he’s feeling.

As you sing, the music carrying you, you sway gently on the stage, pouring your heart out into the song, the lyrics only bringing you more pain as the images of the past come rushing in like never before. And when you open your eyes, a moving figure between the seated audience catches your eye, and when you focus your voice almost cracks… it’s not possible… how? It can’t be him, you try to do anything to calm the inner turmoil that clawed at you in a second, but nothing can help you now. 

By the time Arthur reaches his seat he feels like he’s gonna explode, the glass in his hand clenched so hard it might break. He keeps his gaze down, he can’t look at you, he can’t… 

He exhales shaky, his leg bouncing under the table as Linda shoots him a glance, furrowing her brows but returns her attention to the performance without a word. 

Arthur keeps his gaze down, but the words linger in the air, seeping into his skin. And as the performance nears its end, no matter how hard he tries—he can’t stop himself.

His head lifts.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough.

Because the moment your eyes meet, the world stops.

The music, the murmurs of the crowd, all of it fades into the background. It’s just you and him. The past and the present colliding in a single, breathless second.

Your voice falters, just barely, a crack in the melody that only the most attentive listener would catch. But Arthur hears it. He feels it. The rawness in your voice, the way your eyes widen, glistening under the lights, like you’re fighting against the weight of a thousand memories threatening to pull you under.

His fingers tighten around the glass, his breathing shallow. He should look away. He needs to look away. But he doesn’t.

Because for the first time in years, he sees it—clear as day, written across your face, shining in your eyes.

You never moved on either.

A sharp sting burns behind your eyes, but you refuse to let the tears fall. Not now. Not here. You force yourself to push through the last lines of the song, but every word feels heavier, each note like an unspoken plea.

And Arthur just sits there, staring, caught between the past he lost and the present he never expected.

Then the song ends. The spell shatters. The audience erupts into applause.

You keep your gaze on his for a moment, your hands trembling, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The host takes the stage and you disappear behind the curtains. 

Arthur exhales, his grip loosening just enough to keep the glass from slipping through his fingers.

Linda claps beside him but he doesn’t move. He can’t.

Because in that fleeting moment, in the depths of your eyes, he saw everything.

And now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to forget it.

My rambling now: This is an idea I had for a long time and I finally decided to post it because... why not? I got it while listening to Lana (you can't tell, right? haha) I hope you liked it and that the idea is clear because explaining what I imagine is damn hard lol!

Thank you so much for reading! And don't be shy to share your thoughts <3

[onydung]

Hi, K! For the blurbs (only if you want to)

❛ do you remember when we first met? ❜

For Arthur. Something fluffy, maybe? But it's up to you.

Thanks in advance! ❤️

Thanks for sending this in, Flor! I’m sorry it took so long for me to share. I hope you like what I did with the prompt you sent! Enjoy! 💛

Doing Much Better | Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) reminds Arthur of what things used to be like whilst he’s dealing with a moment of frustration.

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 506

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! — I’d love to know what you think of the story!

“Do you remember when we first met?” (Y/N) softly asked Arthur, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Arthur let out the softest sound, a nonverbal way of telling her that he was listening and she could continue if she wanted. He was still fixated on his fisted hand; his vision still slightly tinged red from the argument he’d had a short time ago.

(Y/N) took a moment to recall the time then, smiling to herself before she continued, “you were stumbling down the street…I had no idea who the hell you were despite living here for a handful of years,” she couldn’t help but laugh to herself as she remembered it. “The bets were down…you’d gone out to ‘find some trouble to get your mind off of it’ as I remember you putting it. I’m not sure if I ever admitted it before, but your state confused me. You were drunk but yet it was only the middle of the afternoon,” she paused to laugh a little at the memory.

Arthur just smiled as he watched her recount the time. Slowly but surely he was focusing in on what was most important to him. (Y/N) was greatly helping in that focusing.

“I had my inhibitions, but decided to help you anyway. You first gave me directions to another pub, and when I noticed that, I turned direction and took us to a church close by. That’s where you showed me your humor…” she paused again, letting another laugh escape her lips, “you said that the church’d burn down if you stepped foot in it.”

“I really thought it would,” Arthur remarked, the first time he’d spoken since he and (Y/N) had entered the room together.

“But it didn’t,” (Y/N) told him in an assured tone. “We spent nearly the entire evening talking there, and then you repaid the favor and walked me home.” She couldn’t help but smile at the man standing across from her.

It only widened as he finally looked up and their eyes met. All of Arthur’s frustrations seemed to melt away as he looked at her. Slowly, he unclenched his fist to hold his hand flat, the thumb of his other hand running against his palm as he felt his head coming level again.

“You’re doing so much better now, Arthur, and I’m so proud of the man that you’re working to become,” she made sure to hold his eyes as she spoke sincerely.

Whenever she noticed him tipping over the edge, she reminded him of where they began. He was at a low during that time, a low that she hadn’t seen him hit again in the years that she’s spent with him after that very first meeting occurred.

“Doing much better, huh?” he mused aloud, more so to himself than to anyone else. She still heard what he said though. “If that’s true, it’s all because of you,” he spoke louder this time, and (Y/N) heard him loud and clear.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @succubaby @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

@zablife @cillmequick @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx @red-riding-wood

@padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @everythingelseisextra @kmc1989

@papichulo120627 @brummiereader @adaydreamaway08 @justrainandcoffee @peakyltd

@johannelis2302nely @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @ce1iat @christinasyellowflowers

@insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder @wotcherpeak @call-sign-shark @sleepyycatt

@novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[onydung]

Tommy with a maid reader who would literally do anything for him and his family just to feel loved even if its just for a little bit.

Like tommy is someone that wants more for himself and his family and theyre just happy with what theyre given to a fault.