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theitgirlnetwork · 1 month

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Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now.

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die.

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was.

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?”

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about.

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions.

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat.

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it.

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth.

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod.

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed.

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye.

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look.

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them.

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee.

Just in case she slipped from her seat.

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things.

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly.

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock.

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look.

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.”

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?”

“You want to give it to me anyway?”

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand.

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself.

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.” Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.”

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging.

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face.

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought.

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work.

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed.

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece.

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing.

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back.

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.”

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again.

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more.

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building.

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance.

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater.

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe.

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him.

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”

#oc #art donaldson x tashi duncan #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x tashi duncan #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #love #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers spoilers #heaven whitlock #earn it

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 10 months

Text

Princess

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 8.5K

Notes: Well we all knew I'd wind up here, didn't we.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; Reader is physically assaulted (it's described, but not shown as its own scene); canon-typical violence; one POV change, but it's very clear (imo); explicit sexual content—public sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex

Summary: You can’t get the image of Tommy out of your head, of his pale, bare skin, the sunlike rays of his tattoo on his chest. You can feel the judging glances of the men around you, hear the whispers from John, and Arthur’s knowing call of, “Oy oy,” As Tommy comes in for the day not an hour later. He brushes past you as though you're not there, and you carry on with your work as if the temperature in the room hasn’t seemed to drop ten degrees.

“I never pegged you for the type.”

Polly’s expression is nearly flat, save for a knowing, raised brow. You don’t need to ask her what she means. You don’t need to clock the glance that she throws between you and her nephew’s retreating back. You just shift in your seat a little, hands lowering to your typewriter and eyeing the stack of work waiting for you.

“Sorry to disappoint,” You offer before you begin hammering away at the keys. Polly just gives a soft, sharp hum. You expect the click of her heels to shift and fade, but she leans down, resting a hand on the desk beside you.

“He’s going to hurt you if you’re not careful,” She warns.

“He’s certainly welcome to try.”

“How many times has this happened?”

“I’m not exactly sure what concern that is of yours.”

“Will it happen again?”

“I’m not sure that’s your concern, either.”

Polly pushes out a condescending laugh, the sound washing over you with the scents of tea and cigarette smoke.

“You’re playing with fire, child.”

Her hand drops out of view as she finally straightens and draws away. Your hands work mechanically, honing in on your work. You don’t let your mind stray to the slight prickle of sweat on the back of your neck, the lingering feeling of Tommy’s fingertips yanking and grasping and pulling at your clothes, the throbbing, slick ache between your thighs.

It’s a one-time thing, you’re certain of it. It had been the wrong place, at the wrong time. High heat, hot anger, the sticky-topped table of the pub that you’d gone to for lunch.

“You ought to be at the Garrison.”

It was the most he’d announced himself as he’d plopped himself down across from you without being invited. He’d taken a sip of your pint, lit up a cigarette, and waited for your explanation—which you didn’t owe him. You’d told him as much.

The conversation had taken a fast and sharp turn from there. It wasn’t long before Tommy ordered that the pub was emptied, before he was shoving your skirt up and pushing your underthings down with a force that had left a noticeable run in your best pair of stockings.

You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head to rid yourself of the memory, the rumbling roll of his voice in your head. You push back the phantom sensations of spilled beer and scattered dishware beneath your back, of Tommy’s breath panting hot against your cheek.

The pub had been fairly full before Tommy had told them all to get out. Its walls and windows were thick enough to mask the slapping of your skin, but you hadn’t been able to silence your whines, or yelps, or moans. When you’d left slightly disheveled, you were certain that the other patrons would’ve had little doubt of what you’d been doing.

It’s no wonder it’s gotten back to Polly so quickly.

Still, it happened. It’s over, and it’s never going to happen again. You can move on.

–

“Look at me, princess. Show me those pretty eyes.”

You force yourself to relax your face just enough to peer up at Tommy. He tuts softly, smoothing his hand along your jaw, eyeing where your lips are wrapped around his cock, and the way tears from your rough gagging and coughing cling to your lashes. Tommy’s lips curl into a cruel little smile as he gives your cheek a pat, tracing the outline of his cockhead with his finger before he rests his hand on the back of your neck, shoving you down. You can’t help but gag, spit slipping from the sides of your mouth as your fingers tighten on the fabric of his pants. He leans back against his pillows, thighs splaying as he sweeps his gaze over your face. You lift your chin, swiping your tongue along the underside of his cock.

He hisses softly before he urges, “Up, get up.”

You lean back, hand still working over his spit-slick shaft. He reaches down, curling his fingers around your jaw before sweeping his tongue across your lips. Your groan is knocked loose as Tommy springs forward, shoving you back onto the bed before grasping your hip and rolling you onto your hands and knees.

It’ll be better, you’re certain—faster. You have as little time now as you did before, and it’s no wonder. You’d been on your way to work when you’d gotten…Sidetracked.

Tommy’s arm hooks around your shoulders as he pushes your underwear aside. You get no other warning before Tommy presses into you. You whimper, fingers curling in the sheets and letting your head hang heavy as your eyes slip shut. Tommy’s hips shove tightly to yours, holding still for just a moment, one long, harrowing moment. You’re just on the second from complaining when Tommy draws his cock out, then gives his hips a harsh snap. You bite your lip, trying to quiet your whines and moans. Tommy doesn’t tease or belabor it. Hell, he helps you quiet yourself as he rests his palm on the back of your head, shoving your face into the mattress.

You can’t help your smile, even as some part of you wants to roll onto your back give his face a shove in turn. Tommy pushes his face into your neck, sucking a light kiss there—enough to feel, but not nearly enough to mark. He smooths his fingers between your thighs, teasing at where his cock stretches you wide as his palm brushes against your clit. You reach back, grasping at his hip and urging him on. Your body quivers as he rolls his wrist with every thrust. It’s just enough to tip you over, to make your cunt tighten up around him. He’s not far behind, pressing his groan into your skin as his hips stutter and slam.

He sags over you, resting his head between your shoulder blades.

“Alright,” You tip your head up from the sheets, swiping your tongue against your dry lips, “Get off of me.”

He huffs a laugh, sliding out and off of you and giving your hip a whack. You roll onto your back for a moment, peering up at the ceiling. You’re not going to stick around, you just need a moment. You hear the slide of Tommy’s match against its book before you smell cigarette smoke. You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head when he holds out his cigarette case. You push yourself up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and scooching to the edge.

“Where are you going?”

“That’s a pretty stupid question, don’t you think?” You stand, straightening your underthings and reaching for your skirt where it was thrown.

“Pay you double for the day if you stay here.”

“Fuck you.”

“Was that a yes or a no?”

You roll your eyes, tucking your shirt into your skirt and straightening it. Your bag is in the sitting room, your jacket is around…Somewhere.

“Lie back down,” He urges.

“I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Where you’re going, I’m in charge.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” You ask, turning to look at him. It’s a mistake. Laid bare, a sheet thrown over his lap, cigarette in hand, with his luminous eyes fixed on you, Tommy looks like some fallen angel from an old painting. You want him again already. It's a dangerous realization, one that makes your stomach curdle.

“I’m more afraid of Polly,” You add, plucking your jacket off of the floor and dusting it off. “She’ll have my head if I’m late.”

“What are you doing after work?”

“Something else.”

“Than what?”

You button your jacket, turning away from him and heading for his front room.

“Than whatever you were about to suggest.”

Polly’s disappointment is as heavy as it was that first time. She’s already lingering by your desk when you arrive, and she watches you with those pursed lips, that arched brow. You just clear your throat and shrug your jacket off before settling in.

“Well?” She asks.

“I’m on time, Polly.”

“Considering when you left your flat, you should’ve been here nearly half an hour ago.”

You curl your nails into your palms as you turn your stunned indignation up at her.

“You’re having me watched now?”

“We keep an eye on all of our employees. There have been a lot more incidents lately, people going after the Peaky Blinders,” She reminds you.

“I’m not in the family.”

“You work for us and people know that. You have information. It puts a target on your back.”

“Maybe you ought to just chain me to the radiator here between my shifts, then, keep me out of trouble.”

“You’d bay at the moon and piss off the neighbors. Besides,” She straightens, “Thomas likes a moving target.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head and refusing to watch her go. Polly can be a hell of a know-it-all, but as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right about this, at least. You can’t get the image of Tommy out of your head, of his pale, bare skin, the sunlike rays of his tattoo on his chest. You can feel the judging glances of the men around you, hear the whispers from John, and Arthur’s knowing call of, “Oy oy,” As Tommy comes in for the day not an hour later. He brushes past you as though you're not there, and you carry on with your work as if the temperature in the room hasn’t seemed to drop ten degrees.

“You said you wanted to talk about something.” Tommy mumbles it against your shoulder as his hand sweeps across your belly. You draw in a deep breath, eyelids heavy with fatigue as you cuddle back into his chest. It's the closest you've gotten to this being normal, though Tommy had still taken a harsher line with you than other lovers had. He'd practically had you against the door, and had only moved the two of you to the bed when your knees had buckled.

You hadn't gone there with the intention of this happening twice in one day, truly you hadn't. It had sort of just...Happened.

“Hmm?”

“You said,” Tommy lifts his chin, “When you turned up at my door,” He presses a kiss to your jaw, “That you had something you needed to discuss.”

“I did, didn’t I.”

“You see? I do listen when you speak, princess.”

You smile a little.

“Not well enough.”

“Now why do you say that?”

“If you were a better listener, I would’ve been able to state my purpose and then be on my way.”

“‘M listening now.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You glance down, sliding your finger over the back of Tommy’s hand. “...You know Polly’s having me followed?”

“It's not just you, and it's not just Polly. It’s a precaution.”

“It’s unnecessary.”

“What do you want?”

You roll onto your back, looking up at him. “I want you to call off the dogs. I’m not a target. I’m not a threat. I don’t know anything, I wouldn’t be helpful to anyone that’s after you.”

“They don’t know that.”

“They’d be idiots to think I could be helpful.”

“They are idiots. That’s why they’re our enemies. If they were smart, they’d join up.”

“Join up?” Your brows raise. “It’s not the army, Tommy.”

“No,” He shakes his head. “It’s the Peaky Blinders.” He raises his hand, sweeping his fingers across your forehead as he seems to consider what you've said. “I’ll talk to them about backing off the patrols.”

“Thank you.”

“Was that all?”

“...Yes.”

Tommy dips his head, lips brushing across yours.

“Are you rushing out again?” He murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Go on then.” Tommy slips his tongue between your lips before you can move or speak. You raise a hand cupping his cheek and sighing softly.

“I am,” You swear as the kiss breaks, as Tommy’s lips slip down to trail the line of your neck.

“Mm,” Tommy hums, smoothing his handover your belly to swipe at your plump, slick cunt. “You know where the door is, princess.”

You start to notice it more and more. You’re not sure if it’s because they’re more overt, or Polly’s warning has made you more conscious of it, but you start to note the usual suspects around your flat. It’s always the same one or two eyeing you as you leave your front door, drawing out their pocket watches and checking the time. Sometimes they send a boy running, surely reporting to Polly what time you’ve left. Other times, they climb into a car, or into a cart and are drawn away without offering you a ride (which, in your opinion, is fairly poor form). But after a few days, you can tell that Tommy's spoken to them, because they cease to appear.

The problem is, it’s not just men that you know from the Peaky Blinders that you see around. There are some that you see ducking away and glancing back warily, men in dark coats with a patch that you can’t quite make out on their arms.

You see the same men around the offices, too, but you figure that the Peaky Blinders are already aware. They must know—they have eyes and ears all over the city. If there was something to be done about whoever those men are, they’d surely have done it by now.

Still, you consider mentioning it to one of them.

Arthur would just make fun of you, and John would probably make a pass, offer to guard the other side of your bed. You could tell Polly, but you don’t want an I told you so, or a lecture. You could tell Ada, but she may wave your concerns off, remind you that this is plenty normal. Tommy...Well, Tommy would surely take your worry as a chance to set the patrol back on again. So you choose to keep your mouth shut.

How could you know it would prove to be such a costly mistake?

You know that you look a sight.

Any mirth or amusement that Tommy had at the fact you were on his doorstep again, any slick words about your not being able to keep away long, appear to die on his tongue. He reaches out, gripping you by the muddied sleeve and tugging you inside, pausing only to lock the door before towing you into the sitting room, and into better light. You shy away from his gaze, certain that your cheek is swelling, that your cut hand is dripping blood on his floor. Beneath your blouse, you know that there are bruises blooming, and you can’t imagine his face when he finally sees those.

Maybe he won’t see them. Maybe he’ll order you home, send a doctor—

“I tried Pol’s first,” You admit, your wavering, raw voice cracking open the tense silence, “But she wasn’t home. And then the Garrison, but there were so many p-people there.” You wince as your breath catches in your throat, and close your eyes as tears prickle at them.

“Did you go into the Garrison?”

“No. No one saw me…Look, Tommy, I’m sorry I came here, but—”

“Who did this.”

“—I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Princess.”

You open your eyes just a touch and can’t help but flinch when you see him raising his hands. He stills for just a moment before he lifts them to rest of the way, gently cupping your face by the jaw, avoiding the scrapes and swollen skin.

“Look at me.”

You do so grudgingly, afraid that you’ll see pity twisting his handsome features, but you find his gaze heavy on yours.

“We’re going to get you cleaned up,” His eyes search yours, “And you’re going to tell me who the fuck laid a hand on you, so that I can scalp that sorry piece of shit and make them wish that they’d never been born.”

He does briefly still when he sees the bruises on your thighs, side, and stomach, but he doesn’t let it slow him for long. Maybe he’s used to such a sight on his brothers and soldiers; maybe he’s aware of the wariness with which you watch him. He presses a cool wet cloth to your cheek to help with the swelling, cleans the scrapes and cuts. He takes the longest with your hand, but that’s on you, a little. You can’t help your muscle twitching, or the sharp breath of pain that you draw in as he presses your fingers flat over the basin.

“This is going to hurt,” He warns, a bottle of clear booze hovering over your hand. He doesn’t pour until you nod him on, and once he does, he gently shushes and soothes your pained whimpers, even as you try to squirm away from the near-blinding throbbing. The cut is long, but not deep enough that you’ll need stitches.

As he tends to you, he has you tell him what happened, waiting patiently as you hesitate and stumble over your explanation:

“I was just walking home my usual way. There were these men, three of them.” You swallow thickly. “They wouldn’t stop yelling at me, and then they started following me.”

“Did you mouth off to them?”

“No. I was alone, I didn’t want to…” You shake your head. “Thought I could ignore them and they'd leave me alone. A lot of good it did me. They kept up until they had me on the ground, and I pretended to be unconscious.”

“What happened to your hand?”

“The blade was coming at my face. I panicked.”

“You grabbed it?”

“I couldn’t do anything else.”

Tommy hums, nods, asks: “Did you get a good look at them?”

You shake your head, gaze lowering. “I’ve seen them around before, but I’m not sure I could pick them out again unless I was up close…But when I was trying to shove them off, I got this.” You raise your good hand, your non-dominant hand, and hold up a scrap of fabric. The fabric is dark red in the low light, with a sewn on patch—a St. George patch. Tommy takes it from your hand, eyeing it before he murmurs, “Good girl.” He sets it aside then, urging you to lift your hand from the basin and carefully wrapping it with gauze.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” He orders. You just nod. You don’t have it in you to argue, and you know you’ll feel safer at Tommy’s, anyway.

You don’t gripe as you’re taken to the bed and given one of his henleys to sleep in. You don’t even complain about getting into bed alone. You just let the terror drain from your body as you drop off.

“God, the state of her,” Polly tuts, eyeing the girls’ swollen cheek, her gauze-wrapped hand. Tommy says nothing, just waits in the doorway and watches Polly walk deeper inside to get a better look. He draws in a deep drag of his cigarette, his cheeks sinking with it.

“She’ll be alright,” He insists, chest tight with smoke and sentiment. “I want you here when she wakes up.”

“Where will you be?”

“I have to make inquiries.” He fishes into his pocket, drawing out the fabric that she’d passed him as he was fixing her up. “She managed to get this off of one of ‘em.”

Polly frowns, reaching out and taking hold of it. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Nearby?”

“There were a few around before the patrols started. And Esme's seen a few lingering around the Garrison. As soon as they get a whiff of John or Arthur, they clear off."

Tommy sighs, the smoke pushing through his nose as he shakes his head.

“I should never have let her talk me into changing around her patrol,” He mutters.

“You did what.” Polly’s tone goes sharp. Tommy’s glance drifts back to the bed.

“She asked,” He nods to the bed. “Didn't like being kept so close an eye on. I told Scud and Johnny Dogs to ease up.”

He doesn’t flinch when Polly raises her hands, shoving his shoulders harshly as she hisses, “You could’ve gotten her killed.”

Tommy looks to the floor, his jaw tensing as he absently taps the ash from his cigarette.

“It won’t happen again.”

“The next time it does, she’ll be dead—”

“It won’t. Happen. Again,” He insists, meeting Polly’s eye. She narrows her eyes slightly before turning back to the bed.

“Go on, then,” She insists, waving him off. “Handle the bastards. Send the rats scurrying back to whatever hole they crawled out of.”

“You’ll call if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine. Something tells me I won’t have to deal with much of her lip today.”

Tommy gives a small nod, allowing himself just one more look at her before he leaves.

You’re in and out of consciousness all day. When you’re awake, you’re riddled with pain, until Polly presses the rounded lip of a bottle to your mouth and urges you to drink. Whatever it is tastes bitter, and makes your head spin.

“There you are,” She murmurs, “Take a deep breath, close your eyes…Count back from a hundred….”

When you wake again—when you resurface into consciousness, and it holds—the sky is dark. Your head swims, and you wince as you use your weaker arm to push yourself to sit up. You’ve never really gotten the chance to look at Tommy’s room before. It’s fairly barebones, but not unwelcoming. A few books, a bottle of whisky and a glass, a clean ashtray. You wince a little as your cheek throbs, and you raise your hand curiously, skimming your fingers over the swollen skin. It doesn’t feel hot, like it did yesterday. You jolt a bit as you hear the door open, and you and Tommy go still at the sight of one another. He snaps into action before you do, raising his hand to draw his cigarette out from between his lips.

“Are you hungry?” He asks. You’re certain you should be, but you shake your head.

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“...A little.”

“Water?”

“Whiskey.”

His brows raise, but he doesn’t ask as he walks over to his bedside table.

“Still hurts, then,” He surmises as he pours two finger’s worth.

“Yes.”

“Your side?”

“A little.”

“Cheek?”

“Yes.”

“Hand?”

“...Yes.”

“Head?”

“...Not as much hurt, but…”

“Fog.”

“Yes.”

"Mm." Tommy lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed, holding the glass out to you as he says, “That’s from what Polly gave you.”

“What was it?”

“Pento-barbital from Compton’s Chemists. Drink up.”

You take it, drawing in a sip.

“...What time is it?” You ask.

“A little after midnight.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Getting answers.”

“About what?”

Tommy tips his head toward you a touch in mocking disbelief, and you don’t need him to say a thing more. You just nod a little.

“That scrap of cloth you gave me," He says, "The red fabric with the patch.”

“Mhm?”

“Belongs to the Booth boys.”

“Out of Camden?”

“Mhm.”

Your brow furrows. “What are they doing up here?”

“Trying to kick up a fight.”

“So what happens now?”

“We give them what they asked for.”

Your stomach lurches, threatening to unseat your sip. You shake your head, looking down into your glass.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what.”

“Don’t start anything.”

“They started it, not us.”

“I’m not worth going to war over, Tommy.”

“...Look at me, princess.”

When he lifts his hand this time, you don’t jump. He tucks two curled fingers beneath your chin, tipping your head up to look at him.

“I will burn a path from here to where those bastards lay in Camden town if it means you’ll be safe. Do you hear me?” He leans back as it sinks into you, cutting through the muddle and fog in your head.

You nod a little, lowering your gaze to his hand as he rests it on your thigh. You raise your own uninjured one, gently tracing the back of it. What the hell have those hands gotten up to today that you don’t know about, that you haven’t seen? Did he fire a gun? Did he pay off a cop? Punch someone? Strangle a man? And for what? You?

“We’re upping your patrol,” Tommy warns, “And I won’t take any argument about it.”

“Alright.”

Tommy turns his hand over in yours, fingers sweeping gently over the soft of your wrist as you take another sip of your drink. You offer it to Tommy once you have, and he drains it before holding it up.

“Another one?”

“No,” You shake your head. Tommy grunts, making to stand, but stills when you tighten your grip on his hand. “Stay until I fall asleep?”

You expect him to laugh at you, but he draws his cigarette from between his lips and stubs it out. He holds the covers up, waiting for you to shuffle down and into a more comfortable position before he climbs into bed beside you, carefully curling an arm around your middle. You peer up at the ceiling in quiet, watching the shadows that the dying fire casts.

“How’s the pain?”

“...It’s been worse.”

“You want more of Polly’s medicine?” Tommy asks after a moment.

“No.” “You’re certain?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t want the muddle, even if it means the pain swells and cuts through the fog. You just want the memory of Tommy’s arm, and his steady heart and breathing, and his promise to burn the men that hurt you.

–

You get nods from Arthur and John the day you return to work. You offer them in turn on your way to your desk. You go still when you get there, brow furrowing as you spot nothing but papers. You shrug your coat off and throw it over your seat before you stride over Polly.

“Welcome back.”

“Where’s my typewriter?”

“Arguing already. I suppose that bed rest did you some good.”

“Polly.”

“Your hand is still healing. You’ll work sorting slips and counting for the next few days. Come Friday we’ll see how well you can type.”

You sigh softly, before you nod, muttering, “Alright.”

“How does your hand feel, anyway?”

“Sore. Itchy.”

“Itchy is good. Means the skin’s healing.” She holds her hand out, and you raise yours, watching as she unwraps the gauze. She tips your hand to and fro, eyeing the stretching, raised scab. “Looks better than the last time I saw it.”

“It would almost have to.”

“Not necessarily,” She gives a small shake of her head. “You’re lucky the blade wasn’t rusty.”

You give a grudging nod of concession as Polly rewraps the bandage neatly.

“Why didn’t you come to me when this happened?” She asks. “I was closer than Thomas.”

“I did. You weren’t home.”

Polly considers, lips twisting as though she’s just sucked a lemon.

“I must’ve been running an errand.”

“I don’t need an explanation, Polly,” You insist. “You’re not my keeper, and I’m not family. I wouldn’t have expected you to drop everything.”

She nods, gaze flitting to someone over your shoulder before she nods you away.

“Get to your sorting,” She orders. “We don’t pay you to stand around.”

—

That thick envelope that you receive during the following week makes you feel like they have started paying you to stand around. It’s more than you should’ve been given, at any rate. You bite the inside of your cheek, an inordinate amount of irritation welling up as you stride toward Tommy’s office.

It's been almost pleasant between the two of you these last few days, with Tommy dropping in to see how you're healing up. He hasn't touched you, wary of your still-healing body, but the bruises have faded and the cuts are nearly gone. You haven't said a word of complaint about spotting Scud and Johnny Dogs on the other side of the street when you leave your flat, or when you're making your way home.

It's a shame, you think. It's a shame Tommy's chosen to act like an ass when you've been getting on so well. You don’t knock, you just shove open his door, step in, and slam it shut again before holding up the envelope.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

He hardly glances up from his racing papers as you snap at him. He takes his damn time answering, too, turning the page before simply offering:

“Payday.”

“It’s too much.”

“I don’t hear that often.”

“You paid me in full.”

“Per our contract. Don’t like it, you can take it up with the courts.”

“Thomas.” You round the desk, shoving his paper aside. “Fucking look at me.”

His icy gaze flickers toward you boredly, a lagging pillar of ash bobbing at the end of the cigarette perched between his lips. He pointedly smooths the wrinkles that you made in his paper. You hold the envelope up again.

“I wasn’t here enough for this. I missed an entire day off and I couldn’t type again until last Friday.”

“You sorted slips. We pay you for that.”

“And the rest?”

“Injury leave.”

“There’s no such fucking thing.”

“Sure there is.” He plucks his cigarette from between his lips, tapping the ash into a dish on his desk. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” You yank the envelope open, drawing out half of the bills and slamming them onto his desk. “I’m not fucking taking it.” You whirl away with the intention of storming out, but you hear the scrape of his chair and see the slam of his hand against the wood of the door before you can open it. The others in the office hardly glance up, though you do see Polly’s head tip a touch back toward you before she goes back to her work.

“...Step back from the door,” Tommy orders lowly. You grudgingly let go of the handle, allowing Tommy to steer you away from it and into the chair across from his desk. He steps around to the front of the desk, his arms tucked across his chest as he stares down at you.

“You were paid fairly,” He insists, “For the work that you’ve done in the last week and a half. You turned up every day, you sorted slips, you counted out cash and helped with the books.”

“I’ve slowed down the correspondence.”

“Not by much. In fact, we’ve still been moving at such a clip that I’ve considered firing you.”

Your face falls with irritation, even as Tommy’s brows raise teasingly.

“Thomas.”

He waves you off, unfolding his arms and reaching down to the stack of bills on the desk.

“You did your job, and I’m paying you for it. Alright?”

You hesitate before you nod a touch, taking the proffered cash.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” You warn as you tuck it away again.

“Understood.”

You stand, only making it a few steps away before Tommy’s fingers close around your wrist to still you.

“Will you be home tonight?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Not heading to the Garrison for a pint on payday?”

“I still have whiskey.”

“Good. Save me some.” He reaches into his pocket, drawing out the keys to his motorcar. “Tell John to drive you home. Storm’s coming in, I don’t want you walking in the rain.”

“I don’t mind it.”

“I do. Take the keys.” When you don’t reach for them, Tommy makes a pointed sigh, stepping around you to open the door. He whistles loudly before barking, “John!”

You wince, muttering, “Christ.”

John arrived a few moments later, chirps, “Yeah, Tommy.”

“Drive her home.” Tommy tosses the keys to John before he gives your wrist a squeeze and nudges you toward John. “Go on. And mind the puddles, or you’ll be the one giving the car a wipe-down. Come right back when you’re done. Family meeting.”

“C’mon,” John nods you over his shoulder, urging you out. You sigh softly, tucking your earnings into your bag and shifting it onto your shoulder. You follow John grumpily, refusing to turn and meet Tommy’s eye as you go.

—-

You almost don’t let him in when he knocks later. When you do, you just open the door and turn away without a word of greeting. Tommy shuts the door behind himself, tucking his cigarette between his lips so that he can comfortably shrug off his coat.

“What was the meeting about?” You ask.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“I tried to get it out of John, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Probably because he didn’t know.”

You grunt and pluck up your bottle of whiskey from where it’s been waiting on the table, pouring some for each of you. You pick up yours, taking a drink before Tommy can reach his.

“You’re not gonna make a toast?” He asks as he picks his glass up.

“To what?”

“How about my car? A toast to my car.”

“I don’t give a damn about your car, Thomas.”

“You just haven’t spent enough time in it.”

“This afternoon was more than enough.”

“I disagree.” Tommy sips his whiskey, eyeing you closely before he says, “Tell you what. I’ll take you for a drive tomorrow.”

“...What for?”

“Some air.”

“There’s plenty of air in Birmingham.”

“I’m talking about rarefied country air. Fresh. Clean.” Tommy sets the glass aside. “You spent half of last week in my bed and I couldn’t lay a hand on you. We've a lot to make up for.”

You grimace, looking down into your glass.

“You didn’t want me that way,” You insist. He frowns.

“What d’you mean?”

“Broken.”

Tommy’s expression goes dark. He sets his glass down and reaches out, curling his hands around your hips and drawing you in. Your steps are lagged, and you keep your hands and focus on your drink.

“Those men didn’t break you, princess.”

“Feels like they did.”

Tommy doesn’t answer that. He just gives you a squeeze, pats your hip, and orders, “Drink your whiskey.”

When he doesn’t stay long, or tow you back to your bedroom—when he simply tells you to be dressed in your best and ready to go by four in the afternoon—you’re certain that he was just talking out his ass. Thomas Shelby thinks that you’re as broken as you feel, and you can’t blame him.

The day is a spectacularly pretty one, and it makes you want to curse Thomas Shelby’s name. How is the day so lovely and in his favor? First the man fixes horse races, and now he’s found a way to fix the weather? Aside from a single unexpected visitor, there’s nothing that mars your morning.

You can’t deny the way that your mood brightens as you leave the city behind, driving into the open air with the top of Tommy’s car down. You almost want to close your eyes and tip your head back, savoring the sun and the breeze.

“Where are we going?” You ask after he’s been driving a while.

“You’ll see, princess.”

You sigh softly, glancing around. You take in the tall, waving grass and the rustling of leaves in the trees for silence for a bit before speaking up again:

“Polly came to see me this morning.”

It’s a moment before Tommy replies, and when he does, he seems bored and unaffected.

“Did she.”

“Mhm.”

“She have anything interesting to say?”

“Depends on what you consider interesting, I guess.”

“You clearly do, since you considered it worth mentioning.”

You go quiet again, gaze set through the windshield. She’d demanded tea, issued you a light warning, taken a single sip, and left.

“She told me that what you did wasn’t just for me," You admit. "That if you didn’t retaliate, the Booth boys would take it as open season on the Peaky Blinders.”

“...That’s true enough. Does it upset you?”

“No.”

He sighs softly, turning off of a road and down a short dirt path before he puts the car into park and shuts it down.

“Look,” He twists to face you, resting his hand on the back of the seat. “You know who I am. You know what we do. You know how we protect our own.”

“Yes.”

“If you stay in the car, you’ll hear something you may not like, but something you’ll be able to forget. If you walk past that tree line with me, it’ll change you.”

You consider for a moment, casting a wary eye toward the treeline.

“What’s out there?” You ask, nodding toward it.

“Retribution.”

Nerves twist through your body like a hot knife. Your hands flex around the purse in your lap. When you don’t move or reply, Tommy gets out of the car, walking around to your side and opening the door. He holds his hand out and crisply orders: “Decide.”

Your gaze darts warily between his hand and the trees.

“Is it safe?” You ask.

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I couldn’t guarantee your protection.” Tommy takes a step closer, eyes boring cooly into yours. “Do you trust me?”

You’ve been in bed with this man. You’ve gone to him for satisfaction, for comfort, for safety. You’ve trusted him to take care of you before. Why should it be any different now?

You draw in a deep breath before you reach out, taking hold of Tommy’s hand.

“Leave the bag,” He urges to the bench seat, “No one’ll take it. There's no one around here, really.”

You set the purse aside, letting Tommy lead you from the car. The grass brushes and scratches your legs through your hose. You hear voices as you grow closer, and you slow, but Tommy gives your hand a gentle squeeze, murmuring, “C’mon.” You follow him reluctantly, dragging your feet just a little. You relax as you spot John and Arthur smoking by a tree nearby. They’re both jovial, both smiling wide, even when they spot you.

“There she is,” Arthur reaches out, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You note his scraped up knuckles as he does, the fresh cuts, the blood.

“Took you long enough,” John grumbles, turning an irritated moue toward Tommy. “Figures you’d miss out on all the hard work.”

“It was hard enough work coming out here today,” Tommy argues, “And it’s not about to get any easier.”

He nods you closer, leading the group of you deeper into the woods. You see the holes, first, and your stomach lurches as you catch sight of something within moving. You go completely still, throat tightening with panic. This time, Tommy lets you stop.

“Tommy,” You breathe.

“Come on.”

“What did you do.”

“Jack all,” John mutters, resting his hand on your lower back as he helps to steer you closer. There are three holes side by side, long, and shallow, each with a bound, blindfolded, squirming man laying in them. Your stomach threatens to heave and unseat your breakfast; your breathing becomes tight, and nervous.

“Thomas.”

He turns on you, letting go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheeks to focus you on him.

“You can still turn back,” He says firmly. “You can turn right around and wait in the car, and we can deal with this. But you need to decide now.”

It’s a way out, a last chance. Glancing between Arthur and John, you find them watching you expectantly. You swallow thickly past the growing lump in your throat, push out the sounds of the men in the ground below you, and keep your gaze fixed on Tommy’s.

“What do you want me to do.”

“Atta girl!” Arthur’s voice thunders as he slaps your arm roughly, as John gives your shoulders an encouraging shake, as Tommy’s lips curl into a wide, proud smile.

–

“It's done now.”

Tommy’s words had just managed to push through the gunshots echoing through your ears, through the feeling of him pulling the weapon from your shaking hands, and the sight of the last man in the ground going completely still from the shots that you fired.

The ride back home had been filled with the raucous chatter of Arthur and John. It was a wonder that they had any energy after digging and filling the graves. You had sat in the front with Tommy, his hand heavy and warm, tucking the fabric of your favorite dress between your thighs. Tommy had declined an invite to grab a drink at the Garrison for both of you, instead driving you home at an almost alarming speed.

He keeps close, now. It’s not like the other night, distance and carefully measured disinterest. He’s right up against you as he waits for you to open the door. He hardly lets either of you get a glass of whiskey finished before he’s nudging you back against the counter of your kitchen. He cups your cheeks, sweeping his thumbs along your cheekbones as his eyes search yours.

“How does it feel?” He murmurs.

“The whiskey?”

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head as he presses his chest to yours.

“Being one of us.”

You consider, lowering your gaze to his throat. His hands smooth down the side of your neck; you can see him tipping his head to the side in your periphery.

“Does it scare you?” He presses.

“No.”

“I’m gonna need you to look me in the eye when you say that, princess.”

You tip your chin up, forcing your face into a firm set, the likes of which Tommy hasn’t gotten since you’d snapped at him in his office.

“It doesn’t scare me.”

“Good.”

“It makes me happy.”

“What we did makes you happy?” Tommy presses. “Killing a man makes you happy?”

“Keeping us safe makes me happy,” You snap. Tommy dips his head, brushing his lips gently against yours. It's genle, but it doesn't quiet your worries.

“Tommy.”

“Mm?”

“What if it doesn’t stop?”

He leans away, brow furrowing as he gets a better look at you. You swipe your tongue nervously across your lips, clarifying: “What if the Booths keep coming after us?”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do—”

“I’ll handle it.”

“But if you need help—”

“That’s for the boys an’ me to handle.”

“Then why’d you have me there today?”

“That wasn’t for me, princess. That was for you.”

Your brow furrows, and Tommy tuts softly.

“I told you,” He strokes his knuckles along your previously-swollen cheek. “Retribution. You needed it.”

“And you’ll always do what’s best for me?”

Tommy pushes a soft sigh out through his nose, gripping your chin up and tipping your head toward him.

“I will do what’s best as I see fit.”

“For me?”

“For everyone.”

“For yourself.”

“What d’you want? Mm?” His grip tightens on your jaw. “You want me to fall all over you, swear my undying love and fealty? You want me to tell you that I'll only act with you in mind? You listen to me, and you listen close. You’re never going to get that from me, princess.”

You nod slightly, a lump forming in your throat as you mumble, “I know.”

“Then don’t ask it of me.”

“Then don’t,” You lean into it, your resolve hardening, “Feed me a crock of shit, that you’re going to—burn a path from here to Camden just because someone touched me.”

“The only person in the world that gets to touch you is me. You know I’m never going to hurt you.”

“Polly told me you would.”

“Polly says a lot of things.”

“She always means them.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s always right.”

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, I’d put money on it. I’m a gambling man, princess.”

Tommy’s kiss is biting and swift, and it makes your stomach flutter. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he uses his grasp on your jaw to steer you back against your rickety kitchen table. You let him, grasping his jacket roughly and hauling him closer as you scooch back onto the table, spreading your legs for him to slot between. He lowers his hands, shoving the skirt of your dress up around your thighs. You watch as he grasps your ankle, drawing it up and deftly working off the buckle of your t-strap heel. He takes hold of the next, doing away with it with the same speed, and shifting to avoid the heels when you kick them off.

Tommy grips the neckline of your dress, giving it a harsh yank. You hear the fabric rip, and you mean to gripe, but you can’t get a word out. Tommy ducks his head, sucking harsh kisses to your neck. The ripping doesn’t stop. His biceps bulge with it as he yanks the weakening fabric roughly. It takes such force that he groans in irritation and fatigue, palms red with exertion, finally shoving the ruined garment down around your shoulders. He grins at the sight of your lacy brasserie and garter belt as the fabric drops away.

“You dressed for me, ah?”

“I thought we were going to the country for fun,” You admit, tipping your chin down as Tommy’s hands slip beneath the torn fabric of your dress, sweeping along your back. “I thought you were going to lay me down and fuck me in a field.”

He chuckles against your skin as his teeth scrape against the swell of your breast where it peeks out above the lace.

“Maybe next time,” He murmurs. “It would do you some good.”

“Your cock?”

“Country air,” He nips your skin, “And my cock.”

A giggle bubbles up in your throat, spilling over before you can stop it. You raise your hand, smoothing your fingers through his hair as he undoes your brasserie. The fabric droops, sagging around your shoulders with the ripped dress. Tommy sweeps his tongue over your pebbling nipple. You arch up against his questing lips and tongue, knees twitching around his thighs.

He draws back with a slick slurp, catching your lips as he urges you up and off of the table. You follow him back to your bedroom, wiggling your arms to shake loose the remnants of your dress, and the slipping straps of your bra. You let it fall to the ground and make to step around it, but before you can get far, Tommy hooks his arm around your middle. He presses kisses to your neck and shoulders as you reach back, working at the fastenings of his trousers. He lets go, giving you a shove toward the bed. You twist before you land, your back hitting the mattress before you slide back a bit.

Tommy raises his hands, slowly undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, then his shirt. You watch as he shrugs off the waistcoat, then pushes off his suspenders. Your gaze drifts even lower to where he’s hard in his trousers as he drifts toward you lazily. You raise your hand, stroking your fingers between your breasts. You smile widely as he watches the track of your finger, as you smooth your palm over your garter belt, then slip a finger further down, flicking at the clip holding up your stocking.

To your utter shock, Tommy kneels down in front of you. He curls his fingers around the top of the gauzy fabric, rolling it down. He turns his head, brushing his lips against your calf. He trails his kisses up and up, nipping gently at the meat of your thigh before he reaches up, teasing his fingers under the strap of the other garter.

“Undo it,” He murmurs. You reach down, undoing it. Tommy keeps his eyes on yours, nuzzling your flesh as he rolls the next stocking down.

“You’re being awfully nice,” You frown. He smiles.

“I’ve already ripped enough of your pretty things. May as well not owe you for the stockings as well as the dress.”

“And you will owe me for the dress.”

“I’ll buy you a warehouse full of dresses just for me to tear off of you, princess.”

“Make sure the seams are loose on them, will you? I thought you were going to burst, trying to rip my dress apart in the kitchen—Tommy!” You cackle as Tommy gives your thigh an honest-to-god bite before he springs up over you.

The first time is as frantic, as rushed as all the times before. The second time, Tommy lets you steer, shove him around a little, move him as you like, take what you want. The third is deliciously new. Tommy draws you onto his lap and guides you down onto his cock.

You shudder, nails digging into the pale muscle of his shoulders as you sink down onto him. Your eyes slide shut against the low light of the room, and the enduring brightness of Tommy’s eyes. You can feel him watching you, even as you tip your chin back and lean into him to just feel. Tommy’s hands smooth over your thighs as you shake around him. He presses his face into your neck, and you feel his moan as you draw yourself up before easing back down. You move slowly, your legs already burning with the rounds before. You’re sweaty, and a little boneless, but you still feel so damn needy for him. You slide your hand up over his closely-cropped hair as the two of you begin to move as one. He grunts and murmurs his own pleasure, sliding a hand down to cup your ass and urge you on:

“Just like that, princess.”

Neither of you let up until the other has cum, until Tommy is tipping you back into your mussed sheets to dot your neck with and chest with kisses. You let your thighs splay, blinking up at the dim ceiling as your heartbeat calms, and you settle.

“...Why d’you call me that?” You mumble.

“Call you what?”

“Princess,” You shift your tone to mimic him. He chuckles, nipping your shoulder.

“You used to walk around the office with your nose in the air, like we were all beneath you.”

“I did not!”

“Mm, you did.” Tommy rests his chin on your shoulder. “But it went off the boil quickly enough, once you realized that if you wanted to live, you’d have to get down on the mud with the rest of us.”

“And is that where I am now?” You slide your fingers through his hair. “In the mud?”

“Does this feel like a bed of roses?”

You smile, shrugging. “Could be worse.”

Tommy hums, reaching up and stroking his knuckles along your jaw. He seems to think for a moment before he asks, “Polly said I would hurt you?”

“Mhm.”

“What else did she say?”

“That I was playing with fire.”

“Does this feel like fire?”

“It won’t.”

“Oh no?”

“Not unless you’ve given me the clap. And if you have, Thomas Shelby,” Your smile widens as he laughs, “I’ll chop your cock off.”

“No fear of that.”

“No? Is that a promise?”

“You have my word, princess.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

#Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x You #Thomas Shelby x Reader #Thomas Shelby x You #Tommy Shelby/Reader #Tommy Shelby/You #Tommy Shelby fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #youvebeenlivingfictionalgifs

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2023himbotournament · 1 year

Text

Coming to you all soon: The 2023 Grand Himbo Tournament!!

Inspired by the @nonbiney-swag-competition mainly, created and hosted by @makerofmadness

edit: guys it's already started pleas catch up I can't tell everyone who thinks it hasn't started yet dndndndndndn

Edit 2; The tournament has officially concluded! Thanks for your participation, I will still be using this blog for helping spread other tournaments, and also posting cringe

Welcome one and all, to the most ambitious tournament probably so far (that is to say, I chose way too many characters but in my defense I had found a blank template for a smash bros character roster thing and wanted to fill the whole thing up, even if I had to turn to the dark side to do so for one or two picks): The 2023 Himboff!

Round 1 Part 1 will begin on Friday, hopefully giving everyone enough time to prepare themselves for battle (I describe this as if it's a war and not a tumblr pollnament-).

EDIT: Yes I am being told that I may have included characters who may not fit the himbo criteria perfectly but in my defense i am not in every fandom and my research consisted of furious googling so if google lied to me then blame that

Now, without further ado, here is our roster!!

The himbos, in order from top to bottom, left to right:

Johnny Bravo (Johnny Bravo)

Kronk (The Emperor's New Groove)

Milk Cookie (Cookie Run)

Glamrock Freddy (Five Nights at Freddy’s)

Asgore Dreemurr (Undertale)

John F Kennedy (Clone High)

Joseph Joestar (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Son Goku (Dragon Ball)

Fred Jones (Scooby Doo)

Knuckles (Sonic Boom)

Chandlo Funkbun (Bugsnax)

Hercules (Hercules)

Milo (Pokémon)

Tom Dupain (Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir)

Jake English (Homestuck)

Launchpad McQuack (Ducktales)

King Dedede (Kirby)

Jonathan Joestar (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Lupin III (Lupin III)

Bolin (The Legend of Korra)

Big the Cat (Sonic)

Joey Wheeler (Yu-Gi-Oh)

Maui (Moana)

Phoenix Wright (Ace Attorney)

Sun Wukong (RWBY)

Terra (Kingdom Hearts)

Dimitri (Fire Emblem)

Brock (Pokémon)

Emile (How Not to Summon a Demon Lord)

Galo Thymos (Promare)

Gladiolus Amicitia (Final Fantasy)

Groose (The Legend of Zelda)

Hector (Fire Emblem)

Gonta Gokuhara (Danganronpa)

Indus Tarbella (Epithet Erased)

Tyko (Harmoknight)

Okuyasu Nijimura (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Toshinori Yagi (My Hero Academia)

Zeke von Genbu (Xenoblade)

Reyn (Xenoblade)

Koichi Zenigata (Lupin III)

Zhongli (Genshin Impact)

Killer T Cell (Cells at Work!)

Jean Pierre Polnareff (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Muscle Cookie (Cookie Run)

Flynn Rider (Tangled)

Prince Naveen (The Princess and the Frog)

Captain Underpants (Captain Underpants)

Kofu (Pokémon)

Buzz Lightyear (Toy Story)

Larry the Lobster (Spongebob SquarePants)

Ralph (Wreck-It Ralph)

King Fergus (Brave)

Kyojuro Rengoku (Demon Slayer)

Joey Tribbiani (Friends)

Steve Harrington (Stranger Things)

Jason Mendoza (The Good Place)

Troy Barnes (Community)

Kamina (Gurren Lagann)

Alfred F. Jones (Hetalia) (sincere apologies)

Andy Dwyer (Parks and Recreation)

Thor (Marvel)

Nate Archibald (Gossip Girl)

Valhallen (Powerpuff Girls)

He-Man (He-Man and the Masters of the Universe)

Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption)

Leon (Pokémon)

Sam (Stardew Valley)

Reigen Arataka (Mob Psycho 100)

Clawd Wolf (Monster High)

Guillermo (Himbo Harem Homicide)

Galio (League of Legends)

Mirio Togata (My Hero Academia)

See you all on Friday for when the Himboff commences!

#poll #himbo #2023 himboff #tournament #polls #would appreciate it if people would reblog this to help it spread :'3 I worked hard #Edit: I straight up forgot to list two of the roster members until now dnndndndnd

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dxysxxk · 9 months

Text

The Hidden Show

Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Rating: 18+ only. Explicit content Length: 1965 words Content: Vaginal fingering, Vaginal sex, Oral sex, Creampie, Public masturbation & Public sex Description: You were enjoying a show at the Theatre Raleur with Arthur. One thing led to another, and now you were having a show of your own. Note: Straight up smut. No plot at all. Everything won't be accurate. Use your imagination.

Enjoying a show at the Theatre Raleur, Arthur whispered. "You're doing so well." His breath was hot against your neck as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you. A few moments ago, you were both silent, watching the show and enjoying the strange acts it provided, but that didn't last long.

A few compliments left Arthur's lips. "You look beautiful in that dress," "Your skin looks good underneath the dim lighting," but that was it. It was just small talk between the two of you until his hand started to travel underneath your dress and up your thigh. He used two fingers and slowly moved them over your panties, massaging your folds.

Arthur watched the show in front of him, keeping focus on the performers while you found it hard to keep your eyes off him. His face barely showed any emotion as he moved his fingers, but you, on the other hand, were trying your best not to lose it, and he knew it. Every so often, he would smirk, the sides of his eye crinkling from the action.

You tried to focus on the show, but he made it difficult. He knew where all your sensitive spots were. He had mapped out your entire body, learning what made you tick. Nobody was able to see what the two of you were doing because of the dim lighting and you were thankful for that. However, no one would be able to ignore your sudden outburst if you were too loud.

His fingers then found their way up to your clit. Arthur rubbed it firmly through your underwear, causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot through your body. You let out a small noise and closed your legs around his hand, trying to decrease some of the pressure he was putting on it. Arthur, however, didn't waver. He chuckled, and he kept his hand between your thighs. He kept moving his fingers over your folds, feeling the wetness that started to seep through the fabric.

Arthur then took his hand off your sex and slid it to your knee. "Open," he said softly as he turned to face you, slowly pulling your legs open. You obeyed, parting your legs once again as his fingers found their way underneath your panties and onto your bare skin.

A groan caught in his throat as he felt the slickness between your folds. "You're wet," Arthur whispered into your ear as he slid two fingers inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him fill you up with his thick digits. Your breathing became more labored, "Arthur," you sighed. Your voice sounded needy and desperate for more.

Slowly pumping his fingers inside of you, he spoke. "Keep saying my name. I like that." Doing just that, you whimpered his name as he sped up his actions. Arthur leaned back in his seat and continued to watch the show. You admired his face, giving him a look of complete lust that conveyed you wanted more. His thumb found its way onto your clit, and he began to massage it. Picking up the pace, he pumped his fingers in and out of your core as he rubbed your clit.

"Oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back. "Don't be so loud," Arthur smirked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "People might hear." His voice was low and gruff. It sent a shiver down your spine. "I know you don't want that princess."

“I discovered this next remarkable woman in a lost jungle who deep in the wilds of Colombia where they do not wear clothes. She breathes fire. Yes, she does, and for those with the universal and not unworthy curiosity…” Eldridge T. Abbington went on, introducing the next act.

The sounds of the audience were drowned out by the slapping of skin against skin. You tried your hardest to keep quiet as you bit your bottom lip. "Arthur," you whispered again, digging your nails into his forearm. Pulling out his fingers, he grabbed your hand and brought it down to your core. "Touch your pussy for me." The words left his mouth in a husky tone. You followed, beginning to rub your clit with the tips of your fingers. "That's my good girl," he groaned as he watched you pleasure yourself.

Arthur brought his fingers up to his lips and sucked on them. He hummed before leaning down and pressing his lips onto yours, forcing you to taste your arousal. You moaned against his mouth and gripped his arm with your free hand. "Yeah, that's it. Keep rubbing it." He cooed as he pulled away from your mouth, giving you a grin.

You were unable to concentrate on anything but your arousal. Your breathing began to quicken as your rubbed your clit faster. You were close. Arthur noticed and pulled your hand off of your core. "Not yet," he chuckled. You groaned in frustration.

Arthur chuckled again and grabbed your jaw then turned your head towards him. "On your knees," he commanded. You nodded and began to get off the chair, positioning yourself in front of him. Luckily, you two were seated far back in the theater, but it was still risky.

Arthur spread his legs, giving you room to place yourself between them. He pulled your hair out of your face and held it back for you. "Go on," he smiled, watching you unbutton his pants to expose his hard cock. It was throbbing. His pre-cum dripped down his shaft. It was begging to be touched.

Taking his cock into your hand, you stroked it. Arthur's eyes closed as he let out a quiet groan. You smirked at his response then brought your mouth to his cock, wrapping your lips around the head. Arthur watched as you began to suck him, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, moaning around his length. "God damn," he groaned, placing his hands behind his head.

Arthur's cock hit the back of your throat as he thrust upwards, causing you to gag. "Sorry girl," he apologized, pulling your head off his cock. "I can't help it." He stroked your cheek with his thumb, trying to console you.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed his cock and brought it back to your mouth. This time, you began to fondle his balls as you sucked him. "Yeah, that's it," he moaned quietly. His eyes shut as he leaned back in his chair. "Mmm," he groaned, placing his hand back on your head, guiding you. You bobbed your head up and down his shaft while continuing to stroke his length with your hand. "Ah, shit. I need more." Arthur growled, pulling you off of his cock and making himself decent. "C'mon, get off your knees." He whispered and grabbed your arm to help you up.

He escorted you out of the theater, finding the nearest bathroom to lock the two of you in. Arthur picked you up and placed you on the sink then grabbed ahold of your neck. He kissed you hungrily. "You know what I want?" He groaned, moving his lips to your jaw, slowly kissing down your neck. You sighed and leaned your head back, giving him more access. "What would that be?"

"To taste you." Arthur then reached under your dress and pulled your panties down, throwing them on the floor. Pushing you back, he opened your legs wide, spreading your lips with his thumbs. He groaned at the sight, then pressed his tongue against your slit, dragging it upwards. Stopping at your clit, he pulled it into his mouth, sucking it as he moaned.

You whimpered and put your hand on his head as he began to suck harder. Arthur placed his hands underneath your ass and lifted you off the counter, holding you up as he continued to suck on your clit. He alternated between lapping and sucking on your bud as he held you in the air.

"Arthur." You felt your core clench around nothing as you moaned. "Fuck me. Please." You begged. Your voice had a slight airiness. Arthur chuckled, then grabbed you, bending you over the sink.

It wasn't long before he lifted your dress and rubbed his length between your folds, gathering the slick on his cock. Placing his hand on the back of your head, he pushed your face down on the surface of the cold sink then slowly thrust inside.

The two of you gasped as his thick cock made its way into your walls. You felt a stretch, the sensation caused a slight burn. "Yeah," Arthur growled, beginning to thrust into you. He leaned forward, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling. "You like when I fuck you like this? Huh?" His cock hit deep inside of you which made legs tremble.

"Yes," you managed to squeak out. "That's a good girl." He grunted, his hips hitting against your ass. "Always taking my cock so well." His thrusts were hard and deep, making it feel like he was rearranging your insides.

"Oh shit..." You groaned, gripping the sides of the sink. Arthur pulled your head back, forcing you to look into the mirror. "Look at yourself while I fuck you." His pace became frantic.

Your eyes were closed, enjoying the way he was fucking you. Arthur however, didn't like that. "Eyes open, darling." You opened your eyes and looked in front of you, staring into the mirror.

"There you go. Now stick out your tongue." You stuck your tongue out, letting it hang out of your mouth. "Good." Arthur praised, watching you closely in the mirror. You could see him biting his lip, focusing on your reflection.

Arthur's hips hit against you harder and faster. The feeling of him filling you up, made your core clench and flutter around him. You were about to cum and he knew it. Arthur wrapped his hands around your neck and squeezed lightly. "Who does this pussy belong to?"

"You," you moaned.

"Tell me, I want you to say my name." His tone was firm and commanding.

"It's yours."

"Try again," Arthur growled, gripping your hair and pulling once more.

"Arthur." You choked.

"Again," his thrusts were fast and relentless. The sound of his cock entering your wet core echoed through the room.

"Arthur." The words barely came out since his grip around your neck tightened.

"Louder." He demanded.

"Arthur!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, cumming on his cock. Waves of pleasure shot through your body as you quivered beneath him, gasping for breath. "That's what I like to hear."

His thrusts stuttered, and his pace became uneven. Arthur let out a strained breath as he came. His hot cum filled inside you. With another groan, Arthur collapsed on top of you, wrapping his arms around your midsection.

"Are you okay?" He asked out of breath, coming down from his high. "Yeah." You spoke softly, out of breath yourself. Arthur got off of you and helped you onto your feet. Grabbing a paper towel, he wet it and then wiped you clean.

He picked up your panties off the floor and chuckled, "I don't think you should put these back on."

"As they were on the floor, probably not." You smiled.

Arthur shoved your panties into his satchel and made sure he was presentable. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, walking you out of the bathroom to the exit.

"I hope you enjoyed the show!" The man who sold tickets rang out to the both of you.

"It was quite a show if I do say so myself," Arthur answered. You couldn't help but giggle at his response. He then kissed you on the crown of your forehead as you walked out of the theatre together.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption

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