#cillian murphy x smut

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??

Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.

It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.

When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.

Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"

"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"

"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.

"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.

"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.

"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...

"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.

"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."

You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."

"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.

You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"

The words hung in the air, seeming to gather around his conspicuously naked ring finger: after the divorce. "Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."

You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."

"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."

"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."

"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"

You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"

He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."

"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.

"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"

"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—

Oh shit.

You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.

“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot.  “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”

“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally.  “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”

“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”

“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something?  How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”

“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”

He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip.  “Would you please shut the drawer?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?

“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.

He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.

“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.

“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”

You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that.  “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done.  Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”

He nodded.  “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”

His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.

“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”

“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.

“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.

“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”

You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly.  “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that.  For fun.  It looks like it would break you.”

You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy.  “What, you want me to prove it?”

His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer.  He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.

You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.

His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself. 

After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh.  He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself.  When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.

You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet.  You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before.  It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was.  Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone.  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.

Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.

It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed.  You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.

Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now.  It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight.  You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.

“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you. 

“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”

“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.

Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.

“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.

You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you.  But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out.  Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax.  The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust. 

Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you.  “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster.  “Feels so fucking good…”

He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again.  It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college.  But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself.  It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control.  Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.

Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…

You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake.  “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.

“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”

He laughed a little.  “So polite,” he cooed.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told.  His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined. 

“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.

You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.

“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly.  “Right now?  Can you come on that fake cock?”

You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever.  “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”

“Good,” he praised again.  “Let me see you come, honey.”

Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.

Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.

You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs—you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.

Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way.  “You normally come that fast for a toy?”

You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath.  “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”

“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.

“Shut up,” you sighed.  “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”

“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.

Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.

“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened.  He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.

Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression.  Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.

“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”

A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.

“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.

You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that.  You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight.  “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.

“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before.  Fuck.  That’s incredible.”

You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye.  “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.

Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his.  He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.

The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow.  The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him.  “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw.  “Not here—your parents—”

“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”

“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”

“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath.  He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter.  “You want me too,” you noticed.

“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down.  “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked.  “Were you?”

“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily.  “But if they found out—”

“So?  They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”

“But this is different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“Because this…”

He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.

“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.

“You were saying?” you teased.

“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl.  Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”

You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him.  “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.  “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”

“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.

“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled.  “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”

He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently.  Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real. 

Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly.  The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.

“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.

“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”

He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.

One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance.  When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways.  “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”

He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said.  He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you.  “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before.  You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.

Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it.  He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy.  The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more.  “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already.  He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair.  He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently. 

“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin. 

“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you.  He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that?  What do you want me to do?”

That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it.  “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”

He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too.  “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me.  You look so pretty when you come…”

“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.

He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going.  When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.

“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”

You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”

“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy. 

Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him.  You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all.  This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee).  This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.

“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.  “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.

“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”

“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.

“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.

“You’re on—”

“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.

You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look.  Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way.  He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him.  He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.

“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.

“Probably a little,” you shrugged.

“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”

“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.

He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.

“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.

“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you.  This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.

“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.

He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”

[lovelybucky1]

Treat Me Wrong

Kinktober Day 16- Degradation Kink

warnings: AFAB!Reader, manipulation, gaslighting, cheating, sex work, roleplay, spanking, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, 18+ minors DNI

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“I think we should break up,” you say.

Tommy’s face twists in anger and confusion. “Where’d you get that idea?” he asks.

This is exactly why you want to break up. He’s so dismissive and he doesn’t respect you. He’s sitting relaxed in his chair like you didn’t just suggest ending your relationship. Why is it so difficult for him to care about you?

“I’m not happy!” you say.

Tommy scoffs in response. “You live like a princess. What else could you possibly need?”

“Love and attention,” you huff.

“Christ,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you a child? Do you really need me to attend to you all day to be content?”

“Not all day, Tommy. Just sometimes. What's the point in even having a lover if you won't spend time with them?"

"You act like I have a lot of free time to waste. I'm a very busy man."

His way of having excuses for everything make you feel like you're going insane.

"You have enough time to spend with prostitutes," you say bitterly. This makes Tommy perk up. "I know you go to see them after work and lie to me when you get home late. Why do you bother stringing me along if you'd rather pay for your companionship?"

Tommy chuckles darkly. "That's what this is about, eh?"

"Why the fuck are you laughing, Tommy?"

He stands up from his chair and crosses the room to stand in front of you. He places one hand on your hip while the other holds his cigarette. The smoke swirls in front of your face, the pungent smell burning your nose.

"You're jealous of my whores?" he asks smugly.

"What do they have that I don't," you ask angrily.

"I have certain needs that they satisfy."

You scoff and push his hand off of you. "We're together, Tommy. You should come to me to satisfy your needs, not step out on me."

Tommy rolls his eyes and grabs ahold of your wrist. "What I need isn't appropriate for a high society woman like yourself."

You furrow your brows in confusion, but no matter what he's talking about, you want to be able to provide it for him. "You don't get to decide what's appropriate for me or not. Besides, you'd know that I'm very adventurous if you ever took the time to actually be intimate with me."

He blinks slowly at you and licks his lips, then smirks devilishly. "You want me to treat you like one of my whores?"

"Yes, Tommy."

"Right." Tommy stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the side table, the turns his attention back to you. Both of his hands are on your hips now, holding you firmly. "You promise not to get upset?"

"Why would I get upset?"

Tommy fights back a smirk. "Because I tend to be a bit... harsh."

"Harsh?" you ask.

"You said you want me to fuck you like a whore. A dirty, cheap, used up whore that's only good for taking cock. Is that right?" You hesitantly nod. "Then until I'm finished, that's exactly what you're going to be. I'm only going to stop if you tell me to, otherwise I'm going to have you just like I have them."

"Okay," you breathe.

Tommy steps away from you and sits back in his chair. "Take your dress off," he instructs.

You find it a bit odd that he's just watching instead of also getting undressed, but it does make you feel better that the prostitutes he visits don't get to see him naked.

You strip piece by piece until you're bare in front of him. He stands up again and looks over your body, occasionally prodding and groping you.

"Turn around," he says, voice low. You do as he says and you allow yourself to be moved over to the couch. Tommy pushes you so you're bent at the waist over the arm rest, bare ass on display.

Tommy continues to grope you; he slaps your cheeks, spreads and slaps them, and teases at your folds.

“Wet already? Didn’t think whores got off on their work,” he says.

Without much prep, he shoves two fingers into your cunt. Like a true whore, you take them easily. He opens you up by scissoring his fingers inside you. He's going quickly, not bothering to take his time and make it pleasurable for you. You suppose he pays for his own pleasure, not yours.

"Already loose too. How many others did you have today?" he asks. When you don't answer him, he delivers a slap to your ass.

"N-none," you whimper.

"Sounds like business is slow."

He pulls his fingers out of you and wipes your wetness on your thigh. He then moves to press his hips against yours, allowing you to feel the bulge in his slacks. He grinds up against you shamelessly, making you feel even more humiliated now that he's simulating fucking you while he's fully dressed.

"Tell me you want my cock," he orders.

"I want your cock," you parrot with a whine in your voice.

"You can be more convincing than that," he says with a slap to your ass. "Be a good whore and beg me to fuck you."

You take a deep breath. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad... Mr. Shelby," you add for good measure.

That seems to please him, because he moves away from you far enough to pull his cock through his fly. He rubs the head through your folds, teasing your entrance with it.

"I'm not going to catch anything from fucking you raw, am I?" he asks, though he knows the answer.

"No, sir," you reply.

You're glad he bent you over like this, because that means he can't see your embarrassed face and you don't have to look into his intimidating eyes.

"Mm, good."

He pushes inside you, not gently but he doesn't aim to hurt you. Once he's fully seated inside, he begins to thrust before you're ready for it. You gasp in surprise, but you're helpless to do anything but take it.

"Didn't think pussy so cheap would take me so well," he groans. His hands grip tightly on your hips and he slams you back to meet each of his thrusts. His cock bumps against your cervix uncomfortably, but it feels best for him when you take it all the way, and that's the only thing that matters.

With each thrust, you make a punched out little moan. Tommy, however, is silent above you, save for a bit of heavy breathing. It isn't until you arch your back and really start putting on a show that he speaks up.

"Like a fuckin' professional, eh? I should come to you more often. Y'know, my woman's a real bitch sometimes. Never lets me fuck her like this. Thinks she's too good to get bent over. Has so many opinions, too. But you're a good woman; quiet, tight," he leans down, draping himself over your back to speak into your ear. "Obedient."

You can't help but moan at his filthy words, despite how degrading they are. You shouldn't find your lover talking badly about you so arousing, but you cant help it.

"She gets so mad I cheat on her but I think she'd understand if she felt this cunt for herself. 'm gonna marry her and fuck her full of babies to keep her busy while I give the real good stuff to you."

"Fuck," you whimper and immediately regret it.

"You like when I talk to you like a whore? You like getting fucked hard like I don't love you?"

It's rare that Tommy says he loves you. So rare, in fact, that you often doubt if it's true.

"Yes, yes," you gasp. "I love you."

"Mm," he hums. "Save it for when I'm not paying you."

[cillianhead]

this is literally the hottest thing i’ve ever seen in my entire life. i am just sitting here watching it over and over and over and over again… ITS TOO MUCH FOR MY BRAIN TO HANDLE.

[darkshelbyfiction]

birthday gift

FOR: THOMAS SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

Warning: Somewhat Incestuous, Virginity Loss, Innocence Kink, Smut

Summary: You are Tommy Shelby's adult stepdaughter. On your birthday at Arrow House, he comes to your room and tells you that he has a special gift for you, but you cannot tell your mother about it.

Note: All Characters are over eighteen!

The ticking of the clock echoed softly in the dimly lit bedroom, marking the passage of time on your birthday night and marking it two years since you moved to Arrow House with your mother Sarah who now was married to Thomas Shelby, the infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders.

You lay curled beneath the sheets, your heart beating rapidly within your chest. You could not shake the uneasiness and excitement gnawing at your insides.

What did your stepfather mean when he wanted to give you a special but secret gift for your birthday, you wondered?

You remember how, over dinner, he leaned forward and stared at you intensely before finally saying, "I have something very special planned for tonight. Something you cannot tell your mother about." It left you feeling both curious and apprehensive at the same time.

But you couldn't resist him, not after all these years of seeing his intense gaze and admiring his muscular body. So, you agreed to meet him at midnight, in your private chambers, so that he could give to you whatever it was he wanted to give to you.

And now, here you were, lying awake in your bedroom, wondering what would happen next.

The sound of the door opening interrupted your thoughts. There he stood, dominant and enigmatic in his black pants and a shirt, a subtle smile playing on his lips. He closed the door gently behind him and crossed the room, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Hello, Sweetheart," he said softly, his voice carrying an undertone of warmth and reassurance. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he approached the bed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his large hands settling on your shoulders lightly as you too sat up, revealing your modest nightgown to him. 

With tenderness, he ran his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"You said that you had something special planned for me tonight," you started nervously, trying to formulate your question. "Will I need to get dressed for that? Will you be taking me somewhere?" you asked, but Tommy shook his head. 

"That's right, sweetheart. I have something special planned for you, but it does not involve us leaving the house," he replied softly, his eyes still holding yours with their intensity.

"So, what do you have planned then, Tommy?" you asked curiously with your cheeks blushing in several shades of red and pink. 

"I want to make you feel really good Y/N, would you like that?" your stepfather announced. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, and an even deeper blush crept across your face as you nodded hesitantly. You knew deep down that something about this was wrong, but the thought of pleasing him as well as the attraction you felt towards him overwhelmed any doubts.

Tommy shifted closer, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist, pulling you against his firm body as, still, you were sitting next to him, just much closer now. 

"Has another man ever made you feel good down there?" he asked gently, running his fingers over the naked flesh of your thighs, all the way to the area beneath your nightgown.

You swallowed nervously, your cheeks reddening even further. You hadn't ever discussed such things with anyone before, especially not with a man like your stepfather. 

"No, no one," you admitted, finding yourself answering truthfully, your voice wavering slightly. "No, nobody has ever touched me there." You watched his expression change from curiosity to relief, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

"So, no one has ever touched your pussy, eh?" Tommy clarified, his voice gentle yet commanding. 

"No" you confirmed, feeling the nervousness building up inside you. You didn't quite understand why you were suddenly feeling anxious, but you realized that this was something different from the other experiences you had shared with your stepfather. You felt vulnerable, yet excited by the prospect of discovering new sensations together.

"Would you like me to touch your pussy?" Tommy then inquired gently, stroking your hair once more to calm your nerves. Your heart raced, and your palms grew clammy with anticipation.

Nodding timidly, you gave a hesitant, yet enthusiastic affirmative. Your eyes locked with his, conveying trust and eagerness.

"Good," he murmured, bringing his hand to your waist, his fingers grazing the smooth fabric of your nightgown. "It will feel nice, I promise," he told you as, with tender precision, he slid the fabric aside, exposing your delicate thighs to the cool air.

"Spread your legs a little, Sweetheart," Tommy said and, after you reluctantly complied, he slowly slipped his hand into your panties, his finger making contact with your virgin cunt.

"Relax," he cooed, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead as he still sat next to you, gently touching your sensitive folds.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Sweetheart. I won't hurt you. I will just make you feel good, eh?" His voice was reassuring, his touch tender, and you found yourself calming down under his guidance.

"Does it feel nice?" your stepfather then asked gently, his finger continuing to stroke your inner folds, evoking sensations you had never experienced before. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes, and focusing on the sensations coursing through your body.

"Yes, it feels strange but nice," you admitted softly, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

"Good girl," he reassured you, a warm smile on his face as he continued to run his fingers over your cunt gently before, finally, removing them and bringing them to his lips.

He tasted your essence and smiled. "See, you are already getting wet for me too," he said while using his soaked fingers to gesture towards your moistening panties. 

Your face flushed crimson, and you turned away from him, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"Why am I getting wet?" you asked quietly, feeling embarrassed.

"Because your body is responding to my touch Sweetheart. It wants more if it," he explained, his voice warm and comforting. "It's a natural reaction."

As he spoke, his hand continued to caress your inner thigh, drawing circles on your soft skin.

"Just relax and enjoy it," he advised gently, his tone reassuring as his fingers dipped back into your folds, gently circling and teasing your budding entrance. You moaned in response, your body relaxing slowly, giving into his touch. 

"Can I have a look at your pussy? I would really like to see it," Tommy eventually whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. 

"Okay, but just quickly," you nodded, taking a deep breath to steel yourself.

"Okay Sweetheart. How about you take off your nightgown and panties for me and lie down. I will only have a quick look, eh?" Tommy said, his voice filled with anticipation.

"Okay, Tommy," you replied, carefully removing your nightgown and panties as your stepfather had instructed.

Lying down on the bed, you felt exposed and vulnerable, but Tommy seemed to sense your discomfort. With his gentle touch, he lifted your leg onto his shoulder, positioning your entrance at eye level.

His eyes traced every curve and fold of your pink, wet flesh, a mix of desire and admiration flashing in his eyes. "This is beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Tommy then kneeled by your side and touched your wet folds again, his eyes hungry with desire.

"Can I have a look inside?" Tommy asked softly, leaning closer. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you nodded hesitantly, unable to say no to him. He gently placed his finger on your labia, testing your readiness. 

With two fingers, he then opened you up, exposing your inner flesh to his gaze gently by parting your lips and saying, "I am going to put one finger inside you now, Sweetheart," his eyes glazed over with lust. 

You trembled, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins. You felt the gentle pressure of his index finger as it pressed against your tight entrance, gradually working its way inside you.

"Is this alright, Love?" he asked, his voice full of concern. You nodded, trying to stay composed as the sensation of having something foreign inside you sent shockwaves throughout your body.

"Is this, okay? Can I go a bit deeper?" he repeated, making sure you were comfortable with his ministrations.

"Yes, it's fine. You can go a bit deeper I think," you replied, trying to maintain composure.

The feeling of your stepfather's finger inside you was both alien and enticing, sending waves of excitement coursing through your body.

"I can go even deeper if you wish, past your hymen," he offered gently, his fingers probing further within you. You hesitated, unsure of how far you were willing to go. "Only if you're ready," he added, assuring you of his care and respect.

"I don't know," you stammered, your breath catching in your throat while Tommy withdrew his finger from your wet folds.

"That's fine, Sweetheart," he said, before making another inquiry. "Perhaps I could kiss you down there for a while? That will help you relax," he said gently, leaning closer.

You hesitated, feeling torn between your instinctive response and your trust in him. Ultimately, you nodded hesitantly, allowing him to continue.

Soon, his lips brushed against your sensitive folds, exploring the terrain with his tongue. The sensation was foreign yet inviting, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

"Do you like that?" he asked softly, his mouth lingering against your sensitive flesh.

"Yes," you breathed out, your heart racing as his touch became more intimate.

"Do you want more?" he asked gently, his thumb gliding along your sensitive folds, eliciting sensations you had never experienced before.

You nodded, tentatively giving in to his guidance. As his fingers teased and explored your inner depths, he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes seeking approval from you.

"I want to taste more of you, Sweetheart," he whispered, his eyes reflecting a mix of tenderness and hunger. You hesitated, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

"What should I do?" you asked, looking into his eyes for guidance.

"Just relax and let me make you feel good," he replied, his voice soothing. 

With gentle ease, he lowered his head and began kissing and suckling your most intimate parts, evoking sensations that sent ripples of pleasure through your entire being.

As he explored your folds with his mouth, you couldn't help but let out small cries of ecstasy, reveling in the novelty of the experience.

His tongue danced along your inner walls, evoking feelings you had never imagined possible. In that moment, you knew that you wanted more, craving the unique blend of pleasure and vulnerability that his touch provided.

"You are incredibly responsive," Tommy complimented you, the tip of his tongue darting across your sensitive flesh.

"It feels amazing," you confessed, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as you tried to hold onto the intense sensations coursing through your body.

"I didn't know it could feel like this," you whispered, your breath hitching in your throat. "And it makes me want more," you confessed, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a mixture of wonder and arousal.

Tommy pulled away slightly, his face filled with pride and satisfaction at having brought you to such heights of pleasure. "It is an incredible experience, isn't it?" he said softly, stroking your cheek with his hand.

"Yes, it is amazing Tommy. Is that what you do with my mum?" you asked, feeling a sudden burst of curiosity.

"No, we do things differently, Love" he assured you gently, his eyes reflecting a mix of love and respect for your mother. "But it's time for you to explore these sensations," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. His hand returned to your folds, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wetness, teasing and pleasuring you. The sensations were unfamiliar yet intensely gratifying, causing your body to respond with increasing fervor.

"What do you do with her and the other women you visit?" you asked, your curiosity piqued by the intensity of the sensations he had brought forth in you.

"Well," he began, thinking of the right words to say before simply telling you straight-out, "I usually put my cock into their holes, Love." 

"Into here?" you asked, touching your cunt while feeling intrigued and yet nervous at the thought.

"Yes, Love. It goes in there sometimes, and it feels really nice when it is inside," he replied gently, his hand expertly moving your hand out of the way and stroking your folds as he talked.

"Would you like me to do this to you?" His question took you by surprise, sending waves of nervousness and curiosity coursing through your body. "I think you would enjoy it," he said, smirking slightly. 

"Uhm, I don't know Tommy. Can I see it first? Your penis, I mean," you said, your curiosity growing.

Tommy smiled, understanding your hesitation.

"Of course, Sweetheart," he replied, sitting up and undoing his trousers. He revealed his erect member, which was already dripping with precum. It stood tall and proud, causing your eyes to widen in surprise.

"It's big," you said, your eyes fixated on his impressive length.

"Not too big, just right for you," he replied confidently, his voice filled with pride. "I think you will find it pleasurable, if you let me put it into you." 

You looked up at him, still feeling uneasy but intrigued by the idea of experiencing something new. "Will it hurt?" you asked, a slight quiver in your voice betraying your apprehension.

"Only at first." He assured you gently.

Your eyes traveled from his erection to his face, searching for reassurance in his gaze.

"Okay, yes, you can put it inside me. But just for a little bit," you finally agreed, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

"Good girl. I will be gentle. Now, how about you lie down for me, eh?" Tommy suggested, helping you get into a more comfortable position.

You obeyed, lying down on your back, your breath coming in short gasps as you awaited his next move.

Tommy undressed quickly and then positioned himself between your legs, his eyes filled with desire as he looked upon his prize. He reached down and tenderly caressed your cheek, smiling reassuringly.

"Are you ready to become a woman, Sweetheart?" he asked, his voice deep and full of anticipation, and you nodded hesitantly, steeling yourself for the unknown journey ahead. 

Tommy positioned himself between your legs, his large member teasingly close to your entrance. Slowly, gently, he pushed inside you, guiding himself with careful precision. Your eyes widened in astonishment as he entered you, filling you with his presence. His gaze locked with yours, a mix of concern and adoration evident in his eyes.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, yet yearning for more. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, both from the intensity of the sensation and the emotional weight of the moment.

"Am I hurting you?" Tommy asked gently, his own breath quickening in anticipation. "Yes," you replied, surprised by the intensity of the sensation, yet eager to continue. "But just a little. Please keep going," you urged, wanting to overcome the initial discomfort and fully embrace the sensations. Tommy nodded, his eyes softening with affection as he adjusted his position, ensuring maximum comfort for both of you.

"You are very tight, Sweetheart. Much tighter than your mother," he said appreciatively, his brow furrowing with concentration as he began to move inside you.

"It hurts a bit," you admitted, wincing as the sensation intensified. "Is it normal?" you asked, feeling both embarrassed and concerned.

"Of course, Sweetheart. It is normal. You have never done this before," he replied, his expression mirroring a mix of tenderness and understanding. "It's natural. Just take your time, and remember to breathe deeply, eh," he instructed, guiding you into a slow rhythm that helped steady your breathing.

"There, that's it. Let go of any tension, Love," he murmured, his voice soothing your nerves. With each thrust, you could feel the pressure gradually dissipating, replaced by a wave of unexpected pleasure. The feeling of fullness engulfed you completely, sending shivers down your spine.

Despite the pain, you found yourself becoming aroused by the intensity of the sensations.

Each movement by Tommy seemed to increase the pressure, pushing you closer to the edge of pleasure. Your body began to arch and writhe beneath him, craving the release of the building tension. Your moans filled the air, signaling your increasing need for fulfillment.

Tommy noticed your response and adjusted his pace accordingly, his movements becoming more deliberate and focused. The sensations intensified, igniting a fire within you that burned brightly. Your cries of ecstasy echoed throughout the room, causing your body to tremble in anticipation.

The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming you entirely. Your body convulsed underneath Tommy, unable to resist the urge to come. As the peak approached, you felt the world around you spinning, your vision turning black as your mind succumbed to the all-consuming bliss.

Finally, the climax came, washing over you in a tidal wave of pleasure. Your muscles contracted involuntarily, pulling Tommy deeper into you.

He groaned in satisfaction, his hands grasping your hips firmly until he could not hold it anymore. 

With a final surge of power, he gave one last thrust, coming deep inside you, his entire body shuddering with ecstasy. 

"What just happened?" you asked, your eyes wide with shock. Your body still trembled from the overwhelming sensations, your mind trying to process the experience.

"You just had your first orgasm," Tommy answered gently, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "I am glad I could give that to you, Sweetheart."

"I didn't expect it to feel so good," you admitted, your voice still shaky from the intensity of the moment. "But I really liked it."

"I promised, didn't I, eh?" Tommy chuckled as he pulled out of you and with him came a thick stream of sticky liquid which ultimately leaked onto the sheets beneath you.

"What, uhm...what is that?" you asked, your eyes fixed on the fluid that had just come out of you when Tommy pulled his cock out of your cunt. 

"That's called cum, Love," Tommy explained gently, using a clean towel to wipe the excess fluid off your body. "It happens when a man orgasms. It's normal, so don't worry, eh."

He cleaned you thoroughly, making sure to remove any traces of his essence. He then wiped himself clean with a towel, disposing of it neatly in the bin.

"Now, Love, I think you should rest. I believe you have gone through quite an experience today," he said, his voice full of fatherly concern. "I want you to lie down and sleep for a few hours. And tomorrow, we will talk some more, eh?" Tommy said, planting a kiss on your forehead. "But remember, all of this needs to stay our little secret. Your mother cannot find out about this," Tommy reminded you, his voice stern and protective. "Promise me."

"I promise," you said solemnly, pledging your loyalty to the secret they were sharing.

"Good girl," Tommy replied, relieved. "Now, get some rest, Sweetheart." 

[drcranessweetestdoe]

heyyyyy

could you do a Tommy shelby fic?

in which he fucks Ada's bestfriend when she is 18!

hii, love this idea xx I have been writing this all day, time to celebrate with a jam sandwich:) xx

Finally mine

warning: agegap!, Thomas lusts after her while she is underage, grooming, virginity loss, virginity kink, innocence kink, unprotected sex, Tommy being a softie, possessiveness

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Innocent!Reader

summary: ever since he came back from the war, Tommy found himself wanting his sister’s lovely and sweet best friend, too bad he has to wait until she is 18

(Y/N) was the sweetest girl in the whole of Birmingham, always polite and kind. Thomas was smitten with her from day one. She and Ada met in school, she felt sorry that Ada was always alone, because everyone told their kids to stay away from the filthy Shelby’s. So, one day she gathered the courage and sat beside the sad girl, who was very excited to finally have a friend.

It was the age of war, so everyone was always on the edge of a meltdown. And money wasn’t exactly falling from the sky. While (Y/N)’s family weren’t considered aristocrats by any chance, she never had to worry about not getting fed, or not having a warm bed to sleep in. That was something that the Shelby’s couldn’t exactly relate to, there was little money and quite a few mouths to feed. Aunt Polly tried her best to feed the hungry children at the table, but she was failing more and succeeding less. Her sister-in-law’s three big boys were away at war, but they were always talked about.

One day, the thirteen year old (Y/N) plopped down beside her best friend Ada with a full lunch box in hand. She always had lunch packed with her, but Ada never did. For a long time, she just assumed that the malnourished girl was not hungry in school. While she was munching on her apple, she heard the growl of a hungry belly and Ada turned her head down in shame. While a girl is naive at 13, (Y/N) immediately knew that her friend was hungry, and that she probably didn’t get as much food at home as she did. When Ada looked back at her, she reacted with a wide smile to the outstretched hand towards her, holding a big red apple.

For the rest of the break, they just sat under their tree, silently chewing on their apples, with a smile on both faces.

That is how Ada knew that (Y/N) was going to be her lifelong best friend. She opened up to her when they were sharing a cigarette on the edge of the forest.

“We had more money before the war, if Tommy was here he would make sure that we have food.” Ada explained.

(Y/N) just blinked at her friend. “Who’s Tommy?”

———-

Three years later, the girls were now sixteen and the war was finally over. Because (Y/N) herself didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, she didn’t know how many families waited for this day to come.

It was a pretty summer day, and she made her way to the Shelby household, where she was always welcomed by Aunt Polly. Except, when she walked into the house, there was only one man sitting at the table. Her breath got stuck in her throat and she blushed heavily, he was very handsome. For a moment she believed that she walked into the wrong house, but the photographs on the walls proved otherwise. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall blankly, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear her come in.

Thomas just wanted a moment to himself in his childhood house before going back to the Garrison, he was not the same man anymore. Suddenly, he saw a figure in the corner of his eye. A second later, the two pairs of eyes met. His previously sad eyes lit up at the sight of her, but he tried to conceal it. She was so beautiful… Slender and weakish frame, something that made him eager to protect her. Her long and soft looking hair. And that face, oh god, that pretty face.

“H-Hi… I’m (Y/N).” She walked closer to him and stuck her hand out for him, she recognized him from the pictures, he was one of Ada’s brothers.

He heard about her, Aunt Pol always told him what was happening on Watery Lane in the letters she sent to Tommy. She had mentioned Ada’s lovely friend, multiple times. She told him that the girl was pretty, very kind, and that she went with her to church on Sundays when no one else wanted to, just so Polly didn’t have to go alone.

Tommy smiled at her, and she felt herself get lost in those bright blue gems of eyes. Instead of shaking her hand, he brought it to his lips and planted a little kiss on it. Her hand was soft and warm, it was a while since he felt the touch of a gentle female. He smiled when she blushed more at his kiss. “Thomas Shelby.”

—----

From that day on, Miss (Y/L/N) was under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Thomas always had one of his men following her and Ada to school, and then back home. It killed him knowing that he couldn’t touch her, make her his, not yet anyway. That would have been immoral and awful, and he knew that aunt Pol would have broken his hand in two and cut off his cock. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent too many night fucking his fist to the thought of her. Everyone in the Shelby clan could see how soft he was towards her, always making sure that she stays out of the bad things, and whenever she came over and he was working, his eyes basically formed into hearts and followed her everywhere. The family loved her, she enjoyed baking and she always made sure that at least once a week she turned up to the office with home-baked treats. Those kinds of sweet treats calmed everyone down, business was blooming after all.

Ever since Tommy came back from the war, he only let himself be pleasured by whores, the one girl he wanted was the one he had to wait for. He always hired prostitutes that resembled her even the slightest bit. He imagined that he was burying himself inside her wet and warm walls, he overheard her and Ada and he was very well aware that she was untouched, a sweet little virgin. In Small Heath, the girls started sleeping around in their teens, but she, at 17, didn’t care about the boys her age. She wanted a certain gangster, who was nearing his thirties.

He didn’t even claim her yet, but wherever she walked, everyone knew she was Tommy Shelby’s girl. He sent her gifts, and always a handwritten note. Her heart never failed to warm up when she saw the little T.S on the bottom of the cards. Flowers, chocolates, exotic spices that she could put in her sweet treats, jewellery, dresses, everything a 17 year old girl loves. She was spoiled by him. When she wore one of the dresses that he got for her, she always sent him a shy smile and a little nod.

—-----

Tomorrow was going to be the day when she would finally become 18 years old, a young lady. She felt so antsy getting to bed, knowing that she would wake up as an adult. She also deeply hoped that Tommy would do something, after 2 years of gifts, protection and lustful gazes from distance. It was safe to say that her standards were very much heightened.

When she woke up, she noticed a big box on the chair of her vanity, tied up in one of those big ribbons. Her mother must have brought it up for her, as she always did when her daughter’s name was on the box, written by the familiar handwriting.

She was smiling widely when she opened the box up, it had a beautiful silky dress and a gold locket necklace. She marvelled at the divine fabric, but quickly blushed when she looked into the box again. There was a set of white lingerie and a note.

Tonight, I’ll send a car to pick you up at 7pm, be ready.

~T.S

She melted at that, and she felt her lower tummy warm up. This evening, she will finally be claimed.

——-

By the time 7pm rolled around, she did everything she could to make herself look pretty for him. She took a long hot bath, made sure she smelled good everywhere. She washed her hair and tied up half of it with a bow. She put lotion all over herself, sprayed herself with perfume and put the lovely dress on. Sitting in her vanity, she put on some makeup. She felt beautiful.

She got her light coat on, along with kitten heels and she was waiting for his car to come. When it did, she sat in the backseat and greeted the driver.

She got driven to Arrow house, which she only heard about before. It was so huge, and overwhelming, but very nice.

A maid took her coat and escorted her to the dining roomom. Just like the rest of the house, it was quite big, both the room itself and the table. It was decorated elegantly, the candlelight flooded the room. Just as she stepped in, Thomas walked in the room on the other door. He looked so handsome as always, with his muscular frame and his tailored suit.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, she looked like an angel, and she was standing in his house, wearing his gift. The maid left, now there were only two of them in the room, he walked up to her. With a gentle hand on her waist, he pulled her closer so he could plant a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He got even closer, her head was spinning with him so close, his masculine scent sent her hormones into overdrive. “I hope the dress isn’t the only gift of mine on you.”

He felt his dick twitch when she looked up at him like that, a gentle glint in her eyes. She shaked her head, too lost in his eyes to answer with words. To shake her out of her trance, he guided her to her seat, with his hand still on her slender waist.

He sat next to her, the maids kept on serving the finest of foods. Thomas also brought out a bottle of red wine. Both of them were surprised how easy it was for them to talk. They talked and ate, and Tommy even found himself laughing. He also found out how innocent she was, she wasn’t stupid, just inexperienced, and he was more than happy to give her experience. She also had a big heart, and a gentle soul, she was everything he needed.

While everyone in Small Heath tried to warn her about Thomas Shelby, she never understood why. He was just trying to protect his family and give them a chance at a better life, he was also an absolute softie for her. She could see that he had a lot of love to give, he enjoyed being the leader and defeating other gang leaders, but he must have been craving someone who could take care of him for once, she knew that she wanted to be that person.

When they finished dessert, he pulled her chair closer to his and cradled one of her blushing cheek into his palm.

“Are you aware of my intentions towards you?” He asked in a serious tone, she knew that he wasn’t fooling around. Now or never. She nodded as much as she could with the gentle hold on her face, but he wasn’t having it. “Answer me with words, I want to see if you really want this.” She felt dizzy by hearing his dominating tone.

“Yes, I know your intentions with me.” She replied shyly.

“What are they?” His fingers started to move her hair out of her face, caressing her in the process.

“Y-You want to make me yours.” She spoke lowly, it was hard to speak when he was looking at her as if he was seconds away from ravaging her.

“Yes, and do you want that, (Y/N)? Do you want me to make you mine?” He was even closer now, he whispered seductively in her ear, his full lips were nearly touching the shell of her ear. “Just say the word, sweetheart, and I will give you everything you crave. Please, let me give you the world.” Thomas Shelby barely used the word ‘please’, but he was nearly begging for her. She almost giggled, as if she really needed much convincing.

“I want it, I want it so bad, Tommy…” She was getting impatient, and he saw it on her.

“Shh, sweetheart… Don’t let your pretty head worry, I’m going to take care of you so nicely.” He stood up and stuck his hand out for her to take. “Come.”

He walked with her to his bedroom, she was walking behind him so she couldn’t see the wicked grin on his lips. When they stepped in the door, he just kept on walking, which caused her to walk backwards, until her knees hit the bed and she had fallen down on it.

He didn’t waste a second and crawled on top of her, his lips slowly finding hers. Their kiss started out slow, he guided her lips with his own. After a few minutes, noticing that she was starting to become more and more confident, he slipped his tongue into her open mouth. His hand wandered to her back, where the zipper was, his head pulled away so he could ask for silent permission. Once he got it, he helped her sit up and he removed the dress. Sitting back on his heels, he admired the sight in front of him, her young body was just begging to be ruined. She was wearing the lace, she looked exactly like an angel. His lips glued themselves to her neck and they sucked and bit, her noises were proof that she was enjoying his touch. He made sure to really mark her up, she wasn’t going to leave his mansion for a while, he needed his time with his new prize. She bit down on her lips to hide her moans, something he growled at.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you, don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

He went down to her breasts, he also reached under her arched back and unclasped her bra. She tried to cover herself, but he was having none of it. He slowly unpeeled her arms from her chest and kissed all around her breasts. “How beautiful! Such a nice pair of tits you have, the best I’ve seen.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth and she mewled loudly, she didn’t expect to feel so aroused while getting her nipples sucked at. He made sure that he gave both of her tits the same treatment before going lower.

Before he could do more, he stood up to remove his shirt and pants, her presence was making him hotter by the minute. He hooked his fingers into her panties and his cock nearly tore his underwear when he saw how the crotch was stuck to her entrance. She was already so ready for him. He yanked harder and they finally parted, he brought her panties up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Mhm, so sweet… But, I think I need to feel this from the source.” Tommy dropped to his knees in front of her spread legs, her mind was making her doubt herself. What if she looked ugly down there? What if it smelled or tasted b—

“OH— Tommy!” She moaned loudly when his tongue licked a long stripe up her slit. He just chuckled into her pussy darkly, then he moved on to her pleasure. His mouth was sucking her throbbing clit, his fingers slowly circled her entrance, teasing her.

“Fuck… Your cunt tastes divine, and it’s only for my mouth to taste.” It wasn’t even a question. She was unable to form a coherent sentence, she could only moan and thrash on his tongue. He took one finger and he slowly eased it into her, she was so wet that it slipped right into her, he didn’t hesitate to add another one. “You’re going so good, I cannot wait to feel this tight virgin pussy on my cock.” He curled his fingers and rubbed them right into her spongy spot, her fingers grabbed his hair and tried to push his face more into her heat. He felt her clenching more and more, so he sped up his movements and grinned proudly when she came undone with a whiny moan and a desperate call of his name.

He kissed his way back up to her heaving chest and looked up at her flushed face. He talked her through it, until her breathing evened out again. He slowly slipped his underwear off, his back straightened out for her to see his big cock. It was veiny and thick and it made her nervous. He kept her legs spread, while he kneeled between them, one of his hand smoothing her face and the other one gripped himself at his base. “Want to give a little touch? Don’t be scared, I’m going to make this very pleasurable for you, my sweet girl.” He hissed when her fingertips made contact with his dripping tip, he was so pent up and her soft touch nearly made him blow his load all over her juicy tits, but he had to stay patient. “Are you ready? Ready to become mine?”

“Yes, Tommy, please, I want to feel you. I-I waited for you.” This caused him to grin and give her a deep kiss.

“I know you did, little one.” He positioned himself at her entrance and he slowly began pushing in, he felt a bit of resistance, but with a sharp thrust, he managed to break through it. He wrapped her up in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear soothingly. “I know, I know. It will feel better in a minute, your pussy just has to adjust to my cock. Relax.” It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but it still did, the girls in her class made it sound worse, or maybe their boyfriends didn’t take the time to prep them properly. That made her so proud, her Tommy made sure she was ready. She tried her best to relax her muscles and she felt the pain lessen. She planted a shy kiss on Tommy’s neck at which he chuckled at. “Good girl. You’re mine now, only mine.” He slowly began moving in and out of her.

Her walls gripped on him like a vice, he didn’t need any whores anymore, he had her now. His hands lifted her hips up a bit, so his cock was hitting her spot at every thrust. He went more and more faster, his fingers also began rubbing on her swollen clitoris.

“AH— Tommy, I’m going to—do that thing again.” His innocent little girl, so good for him.

“Good… I can feel you squeeze me, come on, sweet girl, come for me. Come on my cock. Let me fill you up. Let me make you mine.” With a shout of his name and a cry, she came around him. When he felt her walls pulsing around him, he let go too. His warm cum painted her walls, and it was such a delicious sensation. He stayed inside her for a few minutes, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

When he pulled out, he sat back so he could watch his cum leak out of her spent hole. He looked down proudly at his softening cock, which had some of her blood on it. Shit, he really filled her up with his load, there was so much of it. And the whiteness of him and the dark crimson of her virginity made such a lovely contrast together.

He took a rag from his bedside table and cleaned her up, making sure that he was gentle with her, the girl just got fucked and she was sensitive both physically and mentally, he had to be gentle.

After he made sure they were both clean, he once again brought her into his embrace. He smiled at her lovingly, which caused her to do the same. Her hair was all puffy from his touch, but he loved it.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He cradled her cheek, and caressed her under eye area with his fingertip.

“I’m good, I feel a bit sore, but it’s okay.” She nuzzled into his neck and left little kisses. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He smiled in a way he didn’t for a long time, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. He wanted to give the world to the girl in his arms, and he felt the primal urge to protect her and keep her away from all the bad. “Me too. I’m happy to know that you’re finally mine.”

taglist: @your-nanas-house

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[willsdreamgirl]

“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

[hllywdwhre]

Revenge - Tommy Shelby

Summary: Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy

Warnings: arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, reader leaves a message written in blood, smut, creampie, light degrading, oral smut (f receiving), overstim, p in v, let me know if I missed any

Notes: I made this text post about protective reader and decided to write it lmfao. I want Tommy with a feral woman. Thank you to @slut4thebroken for proof reading, encouragement, and suggestions💖

MDNI, 18+ only

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened.

Scratch that.

You knew exactly how it had happened.

Your father and Tommy had worked out a deal when Sabini had first started trying to intimidate your father. A bride in exchange for protection and both of them walked away with extra allies when the inevitable war against Sabini broke out. You’d protested the marriage at first, screaming that you were more than just a political pawn for your father to sell when he needed help, but it went through anyway.

You had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Sure, Tommy was distant and seemed obsessed with work, but you knew you could’ve ended up in a much worse situation. He treated you with respect, never let you open a door on your own if he was around, always had a protective hand rested in the small of your back, and… the sex was great.

Perhaps the thing you appreciated the most, was that he didn’t expect you to become the housewife you had feared you would be reduced to. You were your father’s only child, meaning when he died, you would become leader of his gang. You were a gangster the same way Tommy was and he seemed to realize that and respect it. You helped out with the daily runnings of the Peaky Blinders and helped with the daily runnings of your father’s gang at the same time. They both recognized your potential and weren’t afraid to use it.

It wasn’t until you were sitting in a family meeting about a year after your marriage that you realized you had grown to feel more than just okay with the marriage.

Tommy was a closed off individual and through the entire year you had been married, you felt like you were just starting to finally get to know the real him. You never pried because he never pried in your life. If you had general questions, neither of you were afraid to ask them, but anything more was left up for the person to tell. You had more questions than answers still, specifically about the matching scars on his cheeks, but you didn’t dare ask. He hadn’t asked about the scar that ran from your right shoulder blade down to your spine, so you didn’t ask about his scars.

It was a common occurrence for Esme, Ada, and Polly to sit with you at one of the desks in the betting shop, whispering things to you during family meetings to fill in any gaps and answer any questions you may have had.

“Alfie has informed me that the Sicilians are being provided aid by Sabini, in the form of cars and housing,” Tommy started, causing Arthur to let out a loud groan of frustration.

Before you could get dragged into hearing any more of it, you turned your head to Esme who was sitting next to you.

“Sabini’s a prick, I know that, but what has he done to us?” You asked quietly, your eyes still flickering back-and-forth between Tommy and the rest of his family as they spoke about what to do next.

Esme began explaining exactly what Sabini had done. How he and five other men came after Tommy in the dark of night, how he’d ripped out a tooth, sliced his cheeks, and beat him to an inch of his life.

The rage that settled inside of you was your first hint that you had grown to genuinely care for Tommy as more than just a friend and (amazing) fuck buddy. Your jaw remained clenched and set for the rest of the meeting, but as soon as the meeting was called to end, you wiped the look from your face and forced a calm expression to take over.

You stood up and walked over to Tommy, forcing a small smile to your lips,

“I’m not really feeling all that well. You go with your brothers for a drink, I’m just going to head back home, okay?” You said, meeting his eyes so he wouldn’t have a reason to not believe you.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to look for any sign you were lying. You had been fine that morning and fine two hours prior when you sat down for the meeting, but he had no reason to believe you were lying so he simply nodded, placed a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him, and kissed your forehead.

“I won’t be out long. Ask Frances for anything you need, okay, love?”

You nodded and the forced smile turned to a genuine one,

“I will, promise,” you told him before stepping away from him and waving goodbye to the rest of the family.

Yes. You had truly gotten lucky when it came to who you had been forced to marry.

The entire ride back to the Arrow House, you were silent and going over your plan in your head. You knew you’d have to earn Tommy’s trust back after this, but you didn’t particularly care. You were a force of nature on your best day. You were lethal when you were angry.

Once you arrived back, you immediately headed upstairs to yours and Tommy’s shared room. The marriage may have started off with the two of you in separate rooms, “I’m called the devil, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of monster. You can sleep in your own room until you’re comfortable sharing a bed,” but it didn’t take more than a couple weeks for you to eventually join him in bed.

Damn those blue eyes, full lips, and that jawline.

You grabbed a small bag and threw the first set of clothes you laid hands on into it, then, much more carefully, a dress. You grabbed everything else you needed and headed to Tommy’s office next.

I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry for lying, but I’ll be back.

You signed the note and left it in the center of his desk where you knew he would see it, held down by his ashtray.

As quickly as you had entered the house, you left it, getting right back into the car with the driver Tommy had employed for you. You told him the name of a hotel in London that you knew was just outside of anyone’s territory.

The drive seemed to pass by too quickly and soon you were saying goodbye to the driver and sending him home for the night. It was barely 7 in the evening when you got up to your room.

“If there is a God, please let me get through this. I’ll make it up to you… somehow,” you said quietly.

The beading on the dress swayed loudly around your body as you pulled the dress on. The pins in your hair seemed to be extra noticeable against your scalp. The straps on your shoes pressed into your skin more than usual. The blade held against your thigh and hidden by your dress seemed to refuse to warm up. Your left hand felt entirely too light with your ring missing.

You knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you. You’d worn this outfit before and it had always turned heads, which is exactly what you wanted.

You needed Sabini to notice you.

You greeted the cab driver politely as you stepped in and ignored the way his eyes seemed to follow you a bit too closely.

The doors of the club were held open for you and you made your way to the bar and took a seat, knowing you were just playing a waiting game now.

You could feel eyes on you. The wife of Thomas Shelby in Sabini’s club, hours away from Birmingham, far out of Peaky Blinders territory or her father’s territory. You stuck out like a sore thumb, even if you would have blended in during any other scenario.

It felt like an eternity passed before you finally saw the man that made your blood boil, but one glance at the clock above the bar told you it hadn’t even been an hour.

“You seem lost. I thought we had made it clear that your kind weren’t welcomed here,” Sabini said once he was in front of you.

A charming smile graced your lips and you looked up at him,

“My kind?” You questioned, playing innocent.

“Yes. Your kind. You’re the wife of Thomas Shelby and I don’t appreciate him ignoring the last warning I gave him and sending you-“

“I wasn’t sent here,” you stopped him, lifting your left hand and pushing a piece of hair that hadn’t fallen back behind your ear, “and I’m not really a Shelby or a Blinder, am I?”

His eyes were drawn to your hand and noticed the lack of a ring you wore and he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Is that so? I was under the impression the two of you were lovebirds.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your lips and looked away, trying to come off as shy. When you looked back up to him, you hoped the look on his face meant he was intrigued and believing you.

“Perhaps we could talk about it somewhere else… somewhere private?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you did so.

Gods help you. The smirk he gave you made your stomach twist and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, but patience was something you’d adopted a lot of.

“Allow me to show you to my office then,” he said, offering you a hand which you forced yourself to take.

He guided you through the club and towards the back. Some amount of luck seemed to be on your side as his office was behind the stage and provided some cover for any noise you might make. Even more so as you noticed a window just large enough for you to be able to crawl out of.

Once the door was shut behind you, he sat down behind his desk and motioned for you to take a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side.

“Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Sabini said as he poured you both a drink.

“It was never paradise to begin with,” you replied, thanking him for the drink and taking a sip.

You had grown used to Tommy’s Irish whiskey and the bourbon he gave you wasn’t nearly as smooth going down.

“Was it not? From what I’ve heard, you two have quite the fairytale. Gang leader’s daughter married off to another gang leader, uniting two empires.”

“That’s not the way I see it,” you lied.

“And how do you see it?”

“A desperate father sold off his daughter to a desperate gang leader in an attempt for the both of them to gain more power and disregarded the woman’s wishes,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“And so you’ve come to London for what?” Sabini questioned, wanting to hear you say it.

“Because I think we can help each other, Mr. Sabini,” you said, downing the rest of the bourbon and standing up.

His eyes followed your movements, his eyes trailing up your body before resting on your legs again.

“And how do you think we could help each other?” He asked.

You moved to stand in front of him, placing one leg over the side of his and straddled him, placing your arms around his neck.

“They trust me, Mr. Sabini. They don’t suspect me of anything,” you started. The shiver of disgust that rolled up your spine due to his hands trailing up the back of your thighs was one he apparently took as excitement as he gripped slightly at the backs of them, “I can tell you everything and, in return, I get out of my marriage once they’re all gone.”

“They don’t even realize the ticking time bomb they’ve got in their fingertips, do they?” He asked and a chuckle left your lips as a genuine smirk took over.

“They don’t…” you said, trailing your hands down his chest and then up your thigh, trying to make the move appear seductive. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife, “and neither do you, apparently.”

His eyes widened and he realized the trap he had walked into at the same time as you pressed the blade of the knife to his neck.

“I’d say that if you ever threaten my husband or our family again, you’ll regret it, but you won’t be,” you told him, unable to resist pausing for a touch of dramatic effect before adding on, “Never fuck with a Shelby.”

In the next second, you were quickly slicing the knife across his neck and flinching back as his blood coated you.

You knew your next move was morbid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It had been morbid for him and five other men to attack your husband when he was alone. It was morbid for him to rip out his tooth. It had been morbid for him to slice his cheeks. It was just as morbid for you to quickly and quietly clear off his desk, dip your fingers into his blood, and leave a bloodied message across his desk.

Revenge is a scorned Shelby

As soon as the message was written, you grabbed one of the coats from the coat rack and slipped it on, then crawled out of the window. The coat was long enough to cover all of the bloodied mess that was now your dress.

Sabini is dead.

That seemed to be the only thing you could think of as you were driven back to the Arrow House. It wasn’t the first time you had killed a man and you knew it wouldn’t be last.

But you hadn’t told anyone about this time. You hadn’t told anyone your plan, where you were going, or why you were doing it. You had also just started a war.

You weren’t surprised to see almost every light in the house still on when you arrived, and you made sure to slip the cab driver a little extra for the long drive.

You hadn’t risked staying in London longer than you needed to. You had gone into your hotel room, grabbed your bag, and promptly left, only taking the time to slip your wedding ring back on when you were in the cab.

When you stepped into the house, Tommy was in the hallway. All he saw as you stepped in the door was you, in another man’s coat, your wedding ring still on your finger, but your hair and makeup done much differently than it had been you had left.

You stayed silent as you stared at him with nervousness written on your face.

He put out his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for you to explain yourself.

Your silent explanation was to undo the tie on the coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing your blood stained dress.

“I need a fucking drink for this one,” Tommy grumbled, motioning for you to follow him. He guided you to his office and poured both of you a drink, handed you your glass, then sat down in his office chair. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he looked up at where you still stood across the room.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shrug his shoulders,

“Humor me. Short version first,” he told you.

“About a year ago I got married, and tonight I started a war.”

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and running a hand over his face, “Long version.”

“About a year ago, I got married. Over the past year my husband has been nothing but a respectful gentleman, making it nearly impossible for me not to fall for him when you combine it with his fucking blue eyes that could bring the devil to his knees,” you started, feeling the hint of a blush creep into your cheeks, which you knew he noticed by the way his eyes flicked to your cheeks and then back to your eyes, “then today we had a meeting with his family where he mentioned Sabini. When I asked, his sister-in-law told me about what Sabini had done to him. About how my husband had been beaten to an inch of his life and brutalized, leaving him permanently scarred, and I knew I had to make the bastard pay.

“So, I lied to my husband and said I didn’t feel well. I went home, packed a bag, left him a note saying I’d be back, and went to London. I rented a hotel room where I changed into a fancy dress and did my hair and makeup, then I wrapped a knife to my thigh and slid my wedding ring into my bag and went to The Eden Club. News of a Shelby woman spread quickly and Sabini showed up to question me within an hour. I lied to Sabini, told him that I didn’t want to be a Shelby and that I had never wanted to be one. He took me back to his office and I sat on his lap and made him think I was about to cheat on my husband when I slit his throat and made sure he knew it was because of what he’d done to my husband. I left a message on his desk, went back to the hotel, grabbed my bag, and then headed back to our house.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment as Tommy stared at you. His eyes were unreadable as he watched you.

“What did the message say?” He suddenly asked.

“Revenge is a scorned Shelby.”

“Nothing about the Peaky Blinders?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t Peaky business,” you answered confidently, watching him just as closely as he watched you as he stood from his chair and came to stand in front of you.

“Was it not?” He questioned, taking the untouched glass of whiskey from your hand and setting it on the desk before turning back to stare you down.

“No. It was Shelby business, but not Peaky business.”

“Explain.”

“He didn’t just harm a Peaky Blinder. He harmed a Shelby, my Shelby.” Your gaze was unwavering as you held eye contact with him. You wanted him to know you meant your words. He was yours, and the protective touches on your back when you were in public and the way he intimidated and glared at any man who tried approaching you was all the proof you needed to know that you were his.

“So I’m your Shelby?” He asked as he took a step towards you and continued to do so until you pressed against the office door.

“Yes.”

“And that means you’re mine?” He questioned, his hands now pressed against the wall on either side of your head.

You could feel that you were walking into some sort of trap, but you didn’t have a way out of it right now. All you could do was be honest.

“Yes.”

“Then you should know something about what it means to be mine.”

“What’s that?” You asked, your breathing getting shorter as he lowered his face so it was level with yours.

In a second his hands were on your waist and he had you picked up against the wall with legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

“My Shelby is to never come home wearing another man’s coat again,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.

You don’t know what reaction you had expected from him, but being pinned to his office door and him kissing you hadn’t been one you had thought of. Your shock wore off after half a second and you returned the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close.

“You’re not mad?” You asked against his lips.

“At you starting a war?” He questioned, leaning down and beginning to trail kisses hastily down your neck.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Livid,” he said with no hint of joking in his voice.

“This is quite the punishment,” you replied sarcastically. A moan fell from your lips as he nipped at your pulse point.

“Oh, I’m livid,” he said, looking up at you, “but also extremely turned on at the thought of my wife slicing a man’s throat over me and coming home still covered in his blood.”

You weren’t given a chance to respond before he was kissing you again. Your hands came down to his tie, pulling it loose before starting to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.

He didn’t bother setting you down, only turned the two of you around and walked you over to the couch in the office. He laid you down on it and then pulled the waistcoat off before leaning back down between your legs and kissing you again once. His lips started trailing down your neck again while your hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teased as nipped at your skin again.

“You’re the one who pinned me to the door after I revealed I killed a man for you,” you replied in the same teasing tone as him. You undid the last button of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his undershirt following a second later.

He reached his hand to the side of your dress and unzipped it, pulling the fabric down your body while his hands grabbed hold of your underwear, stockings, and garters in the same move and pulled them off, leaving you completely naked underneath him.

He stared and looked over your body a moment longer before running his hands up your thighs and giving a gentle tap to your thigh,

“Up,” he said, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

You did as told though and sat up, leaving him enough room to lay on his back and pull you up to straddle him,

“Was killing a man not enough work?” You teased, not actually minding if he was going to have you ride him. At least it meant you wouldn’t be subjected to him teasing you when all you really wanted was for him to fuck you.

“That’s cute,” he said sarcastically, gripping your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his torso, “that’s not where you’re sitting tonight.”

The man was no stranger at using his mouth to make you see stars, but you’d never ridden his face before. You looked at him, the question obvious on your face.

“Seriously?” You asked even though you knew by his face that he was.

“Seriously. You were enough of a leader to go after Sabini, you’re enough of a leader to sit on my face. Up,” he repeated again while his grip on your thighs tried pulling you forward.

You did as you were told this time, shuffling forward until you were straddling his face. You weren’t given a choice of when to sit as his hands came to your hips and pulled you down, forcing your full weight onto his waiting mouth.

If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Thomas’ ability to use his tongue and lips in more than just outsmarting his enemies.

His tongue trailed through your lips, his hands keeping your hips in place, while his tongue slowly explored you at first.

It had only taken a couple weeks for you to crack and make the first move on Tommy, joining him in bed one night when you’d decided you could trust him, and you’d been insatiable and addicted to him ever since, though he never complained. He’d spent the first couple times figuring out every move that made you tick and every name that made your cheeks flush and used them to his advantage at every turn.

His tongue was a gift with the way he knew exactly how to use it. He dragged it up and down between your folds, drinking in every bit of your arousal before focusing on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and long drags.

Tommy’s hands on your hips began guiding them, silently instructing you to take control. You didn’t hesitate in going along with what he wanted you to do and began rocking your hips. One of your hands trailed to his hair while your other went to lay on top of one his that gripped your hip. You hadn’t realized the volume of your moans until you felt the vibration of his moan against your clit.

Your hips jerked at the added stimulation and he hummed against you purposefully, his eyes never leaving you as your hips sped up, chasing your own high. Within moments you could feel it approaching and your grip on his hair and hand tightened, moans of his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

“Please, fuck,” you cried, whimpers falling from your lips, “Tommy, Tommy…”

Your high crashed over you a moment later and you felt Tommy’s movements begin to slow down as you rode out your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

You went to move off of him, but his grip on your hips tightened at the same time that his tongue started speeding up again.

Your moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of over stimulation and you squirmed against him, but he didn’t let up. Your hips jerked as you tried moving away from him, but all it did was add to the stimulation.

You could practically feel him smirking underneath you as he continued on, watching as your eyes clenched shut and you relented yourself to letting him torture you so beautifully.

If it wasn’t for the way your body was on edge from not being given any type of break after your first orgasm, you might have felt slightly ashamed at the way he was able to bring you to your second orgasm so quickly.

And then your third.

Tears were freely falling from your face when he finally slowed his movements to a stop and helped you to lay down on your back.

He trailed soft and slow kisses along your thighs and stomach to help bring you back down to earth. When his lips reconnected with yours, you returned the kiss, letting your eyes fall shut at the surprisingly tender moment.

“Next time you want to start a war, at least let me know your plans,” he said, causing you to open your eyes and be met with a smirk dancing across his lips, “and don’t doubt my punishments.”

You could’ve smacked the smirk off his face if it wasn’t for the fact he had turned your entire body into mush.

“Think you can be a good girl and handle one more?” He asked.

Your cheeks flushed at the praise and his hands moved to his belt and pants, pulling them off after you nodded your confirmation.

Once the rest of his clothes had been removed, he gently lifted your legs and positioned himself between them. He was gentle as he pushed inside you, but the smirk on his face from the way your voice cracked when you moaned was obvious.

The stretch was familiar at this point, but it didn’t mean you didn’t need the moment he gave you to adjust. When you nodded your head, he started moving.

Tommy knew your body like he knew his own after your time together. His hips immediately changed position as he started thrusting, making sure to hit the spot inside you that added to the ways your legs shook underneath him.

He leaned down and placed his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss right as a moan parted through them. One of his hands came back to cradle the back of your head and his fingers tangled into your hair to keep you close to him.

His other hand went to one of your legs and pulled it up so it rested in the crook of his elbow, causing him to hit even deeper inside you.

The action caused you to let out a high pitched moan and you wrapped your arms around him. Your next moan broke the passionate kiss the two of you had shared while your nails raked down his back.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, beginning to speed up the movements of his hips.

“Y-you,” you moaned out, your back arching underneath him.

“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” He repeated.

“Thomas Shelby,” you answered and dropped your head back.

“Good girl. You’re my fucking wife,” he moaned out. He sat up, using one hand to keep your leg up in the same position while his other hand went to your already over sensitive clit, “all mine. No other man gets to touch you, look at you, or even fucking think of you. It’s my cock that you’re whimpering over right now, and it’s the only cock you’ll ever be whimpering over again.”

“I’m yours, Tommy,” you repeated, your voice breaking as moan after moan fell from your lips.

“Then cum for me. Be a good Shelby wife and make a fucking mess on my cock just like how you made a mess of this war tonight,” he commanded.

You didn’t need any more encouragement from him as your fourth orgasm hit you, causing your back to arch again and your nails to run down his arms.

His moves start to become more sloppy and his pace sped up as he began to chase his own high, the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock only driving him closer to the edge.

“Want to feel you Tommy, please,” you moaned underneath him, “please, cum inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swore out. His hips pushing against yours as his high hit him and his arms came down to either side of your head again while he shoved his face into your neck, completely claiming you as his own while his cum filled you.

His hips slowed as he rode out both of your highs and your arms came to wrap around him, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his head you could reach.

Once the two of your breathing had slowed down to a normal pace, he moved to push himself up and your legs around his waist tightened along with your arms.

“Don’t. Not yet,” you said in a quiet voice.

“I’m going to crush you, love.” He placed soft kisses along your shoulders between his words as he tried warning you.

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you replied and began running your nails softly along the shaved part of his head, knowing the motion worked on him every time.

“Stubborn,” he falsely chided, but relented and relaxed back into your hold.

“Little late to the party if you’ve just worked that out.” Your reply causing both of you to chuckle. “Remind me to start more wars if it means you fuck me like that every time.”

His hand came down and gently slapped your thigh in response while a burst of quiet giggles left your lips.

“Stubborn and a brat,” he teased, sitting up again and carefully sliding out of you.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” you responded with a smirk.

“I don’t think of it that way,” he said as he stood up and wrapped his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you up into his arms.

“How do you think of it?” You asked him as he carried you across the hall and into your shared room.

“I think I’m lucky enough to be married to a woman who killed for me over a years-old attack even though we’d never even said that we loved each other.” He set you down in the middle of the bed before crawling in next to you and pulling you into his chest.

A bright blush rose to your face as he pointed out that you had never even said you loved each other, even though you had admitted to him earlier that you had fallen for him. You didn’t know how to reply immediately and you turned in his arms to look up at him, his arms staying locked around your waist.

He didn’t seem to expect you to reply though, because he leaned in to you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and sweet, as if he was trying to communicate what your actions had meant to him without having the words to say it.

“I fell for you, too,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I realized it tonight. The panic I felt to see your note and to see you come home covered in blood. The anger I felt over seeing you another man’s jacket. The way I felt when you revealed what you had done and why…” He trailed off, looking down at you and seeming to try and memorize every part of your face, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m yours and you’re mine.”

[iluvzaddies]

drunk confession

pairing: thomas shelby x reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, slight nsfw

summary: thomas shelby walks into your bedroom in the middle of the night and confesses his love for you.

you awoke from your slumber after hearing the door to your room suddenly open in the middle of the night.

you felt your heart pound through your chest, scared that it was one of billy kimber’s men, ordered to harm you as a way to get back at the peaky blinders.

but you needn’t fret for it was only thomas shelby.

thomas was the leader of birmingham’s renowned gang, the peaky blinders, and the second eldest son of the shelby family.

you knew him when he was a young lad. he used to be a troublemaker, always bringing trouble everywhere he went. he laughed a lot too.

you, on the other hand, used to be a loner. you didn’t have a single friend whatsoever. you were always alone, a sad look plastered on your face as you watched other kids getting along and playing with each other. young tommy felt bad for you, therefore, offered to let you play with him and his siblings. from then on, you became close and formed a bond, not only with him, but with his siblings too.

it was sad how much things have changed after the war in france.

the horrors of the war had changed him drastically.

he became a soulless, empty shell.

but there was one thing that didn’t change, and that was his feelings for you.

he always felt a sense of peace whenever you were around. you were a breath of fresh air and a reminder of his childhood days, where he hadn’t gone to the war yet, where he didn’t live a life of crime, where everything was normal.

he didn’t want to admit it, though. he was never good at expressing himself…

…until tonight.

“tommy!” you gasped. “why are you here?”

“because i can.” he said nonchalantly.

“just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” you huffed in frustration.

he shrugged.

“how did you get in my house?”

“key under your doormat.” he drawled, approaching you drunkenly.

you let out a squeak as he collapsed on your bed, nearly crushing your legs.

“okay, congratulations for knowing where i keep my house key, but that doesn’t give you the right to just barge in my house.” you looked at the clock on your wall, checking the time. “especially at three in the morning, you dimwit!”

“‘m sorry… it’s just… i’ve been thinking about you.. a lot– actually, an unhealthy amount. i couldn’t help it. i just wanted to see you again.”

“what?” you blinked.

“you heard me.”

“yes, i did, but…” that was unexpected. “what exactly do you mean by that?”

“by god, woman.” he sat up and you flinched when he started to yell. “how fucking oblivious are you? i’m in love with you, for fuck’s sake!–“

you covered his mouth, shushing him, trying to get him to calm down. you were already dealing with a drunk thomas, who barged into your home uninvited, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with noise complaints from your neighbors.

“please, quiet down, will you?”

he grabbed your wrist, prying your hand off his mouth and guiding your hand to his cheek. he closed his eyes, sighing in bliss, reveling in the warmth of your touch.

“tommy.” you muttered under your breath.

“i mean it, (y/n). i love you. i’ve loved you ever since we were kids.”

was it true?

was it really true?

well, you were aware of the saying: “drunk words are sober thoughts”

and that made your face heat up.

“i–“ you gulped, trying to build up the courage to confess, so he didn’t think it was one-sided. “–i love you too, tommy. i’ve loved you ever since you offered to let me play with you when i had no one to play with.” you moved your thumb up and down his cheekbone. “you may be a dangerous gangster to the world, but you’re just tommy to me. my tommy. you think you’ve changed, but deep inside, that innocent, kind-hearted little boy is still there.”

thomas’ lips curved up, a genuine smile on his face.

you widened your eyes.

it had been so long since he smiled in such a way that you had forgotten just how beautiful it was.

he leaned towards your face and connected your lips together. you were caught off guard, but happily obliged and kissed him back.

he tasted like a mix of cigarettes and whisky. nonetheless, it was amazing.

he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. he entwined your fingers together and with his other hand, he pulled your body against his.

he proceeded to gently place you on your back, with him on top of you, not breaking the kiss for a second.

“fuck, i love you.” he said in between kisses. “i love you so much. i’ve been dreaming about this moment my whole life.“

he roamed his hands around your body whilst you raked yours through his hair.

he pulled away just to get a quick glimpse of your messy appearance before reconnecting your lips.

he slithered a hand under your nightgown and you moaned as his fingers made contact with your clothed clit, rubbing it through your undergarment until a wet patch formed.

he moved your nightgown up to your stomach, fiddling with the elastic band of your undergarment, and yanked it off. he reached down to touch your bare pussy, inserting two fingers inside. with how wet you were, he was able to put them in with ease.

your moans were becoming louder each time he thrusted and curled his fingers against your walls, so you clasped a hand on your mouth to prevent any more noise from spilling out.

he stopped and demanded, “no, let me hear.”

“my neighbors–“

“if they even think about coming here and ruining this, i’ll fucking send them six feet under.”

he scooted backwards, placing his head in between your legs. you could feel his hot breath hitting your core and your core clenched. he darted his tongue out, licking a long stripe up your clit, before attaching his entire mouth onto it. he sucked harshly, eating you out like he was a man starved, making your eyes roll back at the insane amount of pleasure he was giving you.

your vision turned white as the coil inside of you intensified into a powerful ball of energy. and then it bursted, the ecstasy setting all your nerves ablaze.

it felt good, so so good.

he crawled back on top of you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself.

then, he pulled away once more to admire his work.

he loved the way you looked beneath him.

how swollen your lips were.

how breathless you were.

how red your cheeks were.

he loved knowing that your current appearance was caused by him and only him. rightfully so.

“all for me, eh?”

his deep, sultry voice sent shivers down your spine.

“all for you, tom.”

note: help, my unexperienced ass doesn’t fucking know how to write nsfw content. this is so bad.

[shewrites444]

arranged [thomas shelby x reader smut]

[ i’ve never written about one of cillian murphy’s characters but oppenheimer has me feeling a bit inspired lately. i haven’t watched peaky blinders in ages, so apologizes if it’s not completely accurate to the storyline. ]

[update: arranged part 2 ]

word count - 2.1k

[ summary - the reader and tommy agree to an arranged marriage that suits both of their needs. despite their disliking of each other, the two seem quite fond of each other in the bedroom, especially on their wedding night. ]

[ warnings - enemies to lovers trope that includes unprotected sex, oral, roughness, etc ]

-

thomas shelby was the last man i ever imagined myself being wedded to, but when my father unexpectedly passed and i no longer had the protection of his people, i had to find another way to make sure i wouldn’t be a victim to any gangs of birmingham - including the peaky blinders.

of course, tommy would never have married me if there wasn’t something i could offer him in return - that happened to be a ton of inherited money from my father, and several breweries i now technically owned, and numerous meeting spots that only i knew about, that the coppers would never find him or his family at, during anytime of the day.

despite the convenience of our arrangement, there was nothing favorable for either of us past the business side of things. our families had been at each other’s throats for years and now that my father was gone, a lot of that tension was, but nevertheless, you can’t expect a peaky blinder to not hold a grudge, even on their wedding night.

“see, that wasn’t so bad.” i mutter to my newly wed husband, walking into the dimly lit bedroom as i took off my white heels, setting them aside the now shut door. i watch as tommy began to unbutton his white dress shirt, and i sigh to myself, but loud enough to quirk his brow.

i tuck my hair behind my ears, walking to the bed and pulling the sheets down to prepare for what would hopefully be a fairly long sleep, given that i’d prefer not think much about who i was now standing across from.

“you don’t have to stay in here tonight if you don’t want to or even at all, tommy. you already have children and i’m aware you don’t want more, and frankly, i don’t want any, so just lie and tell polly the marriage was consummated tomorrow morning. go on.” i gesture my hand up and towards the door, watching his blank expression as i spoke in a more demanding, harsh manner.

he walked towards the bed, untucking his side, his shirt now unbuttoned and his toned, pale body at my exposure, which only made my cheeks redden as the muscles flexed with his movements. i may have despised the man for his profession, but it’s not like he wasn’t physically attractive.

“i may not be so found of you, mrs. shelby, but i do keep my marriage duties, at least to sleep beside you.” he says plainly, sitting down on the white sheets before looking up to me with a teasing expression. it almost felt wrong to see him show any emotion besides, well, none. “now, do i have to make you turn around while i fuck you, or can you bare the sight of me while doing so?”

i roll my eyes with a smirk, laying down and hovering my face above his before biting my bottom lip, glancing at his own with a bit of temptation, but nothing i couldn’t ignore for the sake of my ego. “i’m shocked you even asked to touch me, mr. shelby. peaky blinders have always seemed so forward with what they want.”

he tilted his head, his well-groomed hair bouncing lightly at the movement, now reaching over to hold the back of my neck, running his fingertips through the ends of my hair. “would you prefer i not ask? you didn’t strike me as the type of woman who’d prefer to be fucked like an animal.”

“you didn’t strike me as the type of man to wait until we were wed to even discuss sex, so we’re both a bit surprised. have you been distracted with other women through our engagement, dear husband?”

he scoffed at my comment, sitting up and leaning himself down to peck at my neck lightly, his heated breath against my tingling skin, a pit forming in my stomach at the touch he never dared grant me until now.

“you never gave me any suggestion to fuck before tonight, [y/n]. i assumed you wouldn’t allow me to lay a finger on you. this all seemed like a business opportunity, a plan for protection and financies, nothing more.” he muttered through his kisses, trailing his lips down to my covered chest before looking up to me again. “so, how about i ask you like a gentlemen, mrs. shelby. is this for business, or not?”

i shrug softly, glancing down to meet his seductive, icy blue eyes. “i think i’ll be able to tell if it is or not when you fuck me, mr. shelby."

he reached over to pull me on top of him, grabbing the white gown that dressed me and helping me to slip it off my core and past my arms, tossing it to the floor, which exposed me in nothing but my underwear, my breasts falling out of the fabric and resting before him. he took one hand to hold my back, the other cupping one breast and his thumb flicking at the hardening nipple. i feel him push me down, his lips attaching to the bud as i let out a soft moan, shocked by how sensual thomas shelby could be if directed to do so.

i could feel the bulge in his pants growing, beginning to grind myself against the black pants while he fondled my breasts with his mouth and free hand, the other that was once on my back now guiding itself down to my ass. he pulled himself away from my breast, panting softly to himself as the tension began to increase between our moving bodies.

“take off your panties and lay down on your back, won't you.” he said to me in a more demanding tone. i stood up and did so, spreading my legs before him as he undressed himself at the side of the bed, soon leaning down in front of me.

i chew my bottom lip at the sight of the man before me, but gasp as his tongue links to my clit, swirling and flicking around the sensitive bud of skin, while i only grow wetter through his touch and the saliva that collected against my entrance. i reach down to hold his head of black hair, my other hand resting against my chest while he continued to give me nothing but pleasure.

“this… this doesn’t seem… like b-business to me…” i stutter my words, my back arching at every sensitive touch he brought to my body. my words made him pull away, a smirk on his wet lips as he stuck one finger inside of me, pumping and curling it slowly enough to draw a loud moan from my lips before pulling it out right after.

he leaned down and gestured for me to open my mouth, sticking his finger inside for me to taste my own juices before pulling it out and licking it himself.

“neither does this, how wet you are for me. are you sure you want to take back the consummation of our arrangement, hm? it seems you like my tongue, mrs. shelby. do you think i’ll like yours?” he grinned, standing up and pointing his full erection towards me, holding it in one hand as i sat up on the bed.

i blush, getting off of the bed and onto my knees before him. i take his length into one hand, pumping it slowly as i look up to him, our eyes locked when i lean forward and take his tip into mouth, a heavy sigh coming from his lips as i begin to suck him off. he was thick and much longer than any man i’d ever been with, and frankly, if we were to sleep together tonight, i was a bit nervous of how my body would take him and the aftermath of it all tomorrow morning.

“fuck, fill your throat with me, [y/n]..” he moaned, both hands holding the back of my head as he thrusted himself towards my face. i took his cock down my throat, my eyes closing almost immediately as a tear runs down my cheek from the unexpected penetration, moving my head back and forth as his balls slap against my wet chin.

he tilted his head, mouth hung open as he watched me take him down my throat. i could hear his breath cutting short each time he thrusted, his cock twitching inside my mouth as he edged himself through each stroke. when he could tell through my reddening expression and glossy eyes that i was a bit overstimulated, he slowly pulled himself out of my mouth, leaning down to help me back on my feet and onto the bed.

he kneeled down before me, grabbing my face with both hands and pressing a passionate kiss against my lips, his tongue pushing itself into my mouth, which distracted me from the way he was moving my body off the bed again. he wraps his arms around me and guides me across the room and to the dresser, where he then breaks the kiss and turns me around, bending my body against the wood to where i made eye contact with the mirror that connected the furniture.

"i think this is worth the watch, don't you?" he teases, a devilish smirk across his face as he takes my neck in one hand, the other trailing before my pussy, his index and middle fingers attaching to my clit as he pushes himself inside of me without warning.

i gasp, watching my mouth open as he begins to fuck me, hard, against the dresser. the stimulation above my insides didn't make this any easier to take, given the fact i could already feeling my climax building in a matter of seconds.

i rest both palms against the wood, watching tommy's lips trail to my shoulder as he kissed against my sweating skin, leaving fresh hickeys from time to time, marking me like i was more than just an arrangement to him. if anything, this showed me that thomas shelby may not favor me, but he sure wanted the world to know i was his wife, and no one else's.

"i could fuck you all day, [y/n]. nothing fucking... compares to... how good you feel, fuck.." he muttered between kisses, looking up to meet my eyes in the mirror, his hand moving from my neck to hold my left breast tightly, halting it from bouncing throughout his thrusts. "do you feel me as much as i feel you?"

i nod, mouth still hung open, unable to even speak a word as tommy pulled my body closer, his fingers digging into my clit and forcing me to arch my back down, my ass pressing against him and causing even harsher friction between our bodies while he quickened his pace at the touch, the sound of our skin slapping together overpowering the bedroom.

i suddenly feel his arm wrap around my waist, and then the other, holding me so close and his body leaned so far down my back was touching his core. he thrusted deeper, further than what i even thought was possible for him to go, and so much so to the point i was in immense pain, but god, it felt so fucking good. his cock overpowered my entire body, and i felt my orgasm rushing to the surface, fluids leaking out from inside of me past himself and dripping between my legs, his own orgasm filling my insides within a matter of seconds after.

i feel him slide out of me, catching his own breath and helping turn me around to face him. he takes my hand and places the other on my back, guiding me to the bed once more and laying me down, pulling the sheet on top of me to cover my stomach down, my breasts exposed to the cold air. i feel his lips against my chest, lightly kissing from my nipples, to my shoulders, to my neck, and to my lips, once more. he smiles softly, and genuinely, to me, before snapping out of his sappy mood to grab a cigarette from the nightstand, lighting it.

"do you think we'll be doing this again?" he asks quietly, handing me the cigarette. "doesn't seem like it would be a negative thing to add to our arrangement, eh?"

i smirk, blowing the smoke out from my lips and towards the ceiling. "i wouldn't be opposed, but if you fuck me that hard every time, i'm not sure i would be able to get out of bed the next morning."

he chuckled to himself, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed, sliding himself into the sheets and putting out the cigar. he took me into his arms, lighting running his hand across my hair. "we can see about that. goodnight, mrs. shelby."

i rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and smiling to myself, partially hoping tommy wouldn't see my vunerability.

"goodnight, mr. shelby."

[ssweetleaf]

dark blue.

tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: you're finn's girlfriend- and you've always received the same question, what's a good girl like you doing with a boy like him? funnily enough, his older brother thomas wonders the same thing.

includes: SMUT 18+, dom/sub dynamics, age-gap (tommy is in his early 40s, reader early 20s, though it isn't specified), innocence kink/corruption kink, cheating, daddy kink, oral (male rec), throat fucking, cum-eating, based on this ask here

a/n: feedback is always very much appreciated!! <3

⋆✰

“What’s a good girl like you doin’ with a boy like Finn, eh?”

It was a common saying you'd get from various people over the few months that you'd been seeing a certain Finn Shelby-- you were used to it, the constant stares of disbelief that someone like you, someone so sweet, with pretty dresses and full of radiance would want anything to do with an up-and-coming gangster.

It was love, at least that's what you told yourself.

So after hearing that certain question so many times without batting an eyelid, why did it sound so different when it came from him?

Thomas Shelby. Your boyfriend's older brother. All stoic and dressed to impress and intimidate, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like always, smoking on it without a care in the world whether he was allowed to in a house like yours or not.

He had surprised you, scared the wits out of you-- you were alone in the comfort of your bedroom, sitting at your vanity doing your nightly routine before he had shown up. You hadn't a clue how he'd gotten in, and he was smug about it, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth a big indicator.

You stood up, smoothing down your nightgown when it clung to the thickness of your thighs and attempted to make eye contact and stutter out a few words.

"M-Mr Shelby," you breathed, fiddling with your hands when you clasped them in front of you. "What're you doing here?"

Tommy's eyes flicked around your room, taking note of your white walls and plush, pink duvet-- the trinkets scattered along your room all cutesy and girly. Just like you and your stupid nightgown, he thought.

"Came here to properly introduce myself," he spoke, inhaling another drag and exhaling the harsh smoke in your direction.

"But we've already met," your brows furrowed, cocking your head to the side impishly and unsure. "It was the other day, don't you remember?"

"I do," he flicked his tongue over his lips to moisten them, eyes still fixated on you. "but that was far too formal, don't you think, sweetheart?"

An unusual shiver ran along your spine-- sweetheart, you liked the way it sounded, the way he said it. Finn never called you sweetheart.

You nodded, in a foggy daze, staring at him with a somewhat dumb expression on your face.

Tommy cleared his throat and you quickly shook yourself out of your strange stupor.

"Aren't y'gonna invite me to sit?" he asked, eyebrows raised, waiting. "that's what polite girls do, isn't it?"

You were quick to nod your head, pulling out your vanity chair and inviting him to sit, just like he had asked. He sat down, the contrast of his dark exterior with your pretty pink belongings had butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach-- a sense that he didn't belong there, but the thrumming between your thighs was obvious that you liked him being there, amongst you, amongst your things.

He stubbed his cigarette out in a little jewellery dish that sat upon your vanity, heart-shaped and porcelain, now covered in grey, smoking ash. You knew better than to chastise him for it.

"You didn't answer my question," he muttered, clasping his hands in front of him, though differently to you, it was in confidence, to intimidate.

You thought about it. Why were you with Finn?

"W-We're in love, sir," you stuttered, not meeting his gaze, your cheeks were on fire.

"You don't look too sure about that, sweetheart," there it was again, that name, a single term going straight to your core, a surge of wetness saturating the cotton of your underwear. "Has he fucked you yet?"

You coughed on your own spit, eyes bulging out of their sockets at his crude question.

"Pardon?" you breathed, exasperated.

His reply was simple.

"You heard me."

"I don't believe that's any of your concern-" he was quick to interject, eyes swarming and dark, consuming you, leaving you to hang your head and cower.

"Finn's my brother," he spoke, "I have the right to know what he gets up to, and I don't want him corrupting a good girl like you just because he thinks he's in love."

You flushed at his words and you decided to answer his previous question, no matter how inappropriate.

"We haven't," your words were soft, quiet, he almost had trouble hearing you.

"Haven't what?" he hid his smirk, he already had you wrapped around his little finger, it was too easy.

"Had sex," you muttered, cheeks searing at your confession.

“Do you want to?” He asked, you stiffened, lashes fluttering and lips opening and closing like a poor fish out of water.

“M-maybe…”

“Come here,” Tommy patted his thigh, signalling you to come closer, to stand between his spread legs and have him look at you much closer. You did as he asked, you were a good girl after all.

“Do you want me to show you what it’s like?” He cooed all condescending and mocking, “Do you want me to show you what big, bad men do to little girls like you?”

“Mr Shelby, what about Finn?” His eyes darkened at the mere mention of his youngest brother.

“Fuck Finn,” he spoke slowly, “you forget about him when I’m talking to you, you understand me?”

You nodded, resting your hands against his shoulders to steady you when he tugged you closer by the frills of your nightgown.

“Yes, Mr Shelby,”

“No, no, none of that,” he shook his head, hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing against your soft, covered skin. “You address me properly.”

You searched your mind for the right term, brows furrowing and lips pouting, trying to think what on earth he wanted you to address him by.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he chuckled, bringing his thumb and forefinger to grip your chin, tugging it from side to side. “I’m your daddy now, isn’t that right?”

You whined, unable to control it, rubbing your thighs together, your walls collapsing and letting your submissive nature come to the forefront.

Thomas Shelby was the devil himself, you were sure— and he was your daddy. Finn had disappeared from your mind completely.

“Yes,” you sighed, all dreamily and cute, leaning into his touch, “yes, daddy.”

His plump lips curved up into a smirk, palm patting at your cheek as if you were a dog, eager for praise-- and you realised that wasn't too far from the truth; just a bitch in heat, eager and ready for her first breeding.

You stared at him, dumbified from those cornflower irises of his, almost hypnotizing, and you were sure you'd comply with anything he'd ask of you.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Tommy could practically see the gears shifting beneath your skull and he raised his brows when you stuttered, a silent 'I'm waiting' when you took far too long to answer him.

"C-Can I have a kiss?" you spoke shyly, thumbing the expensive cotton of his crisp shirt, growing impossibly warmer and not just because of the close proximity. "please?"

You made sure to add your plea, keeping your manners intact, giving him something to be proud of you for.

So innocent, he thought, you really were such a good girl-- something he thought was all just an act to get what you wanted, however with the way you stumbled over your words and fluttered your lashes, more eager for a kiss than anything else- anything more.

Yeah, that was no act.

Tommy fought the smile that ticked at his lips, using his fingers to tip your chin, tugging you closer, closer, closer, until you were a hair's width away. You could feel his lips brush against the skin of your cheek, gently, so uncharacteristic, you didn't think that a man of his status and power could be so sweet on someone.

Though, of course, that's what Tommy Shelby wanted you to think, he wanted you to succumb to the desires that he caused, take you and defile you and leave you wanting no man other than himself. He craved the power imbalance, the sick need to corrupt young, naive little girls like yourself.

Tommy Shelby was not sweet. He was worlds apart from that.

The soft feeling of his lips grew nearer, to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, before pecking your lips-- a small spongy kiss, capable of urging a little whine to escape your throat.

He kissed you again, slotting your mouths together, locking your lips one over the other, deepening the kiss and it quickly became heated. Swiping his tongue along your bottom lip, he didn't have the patience to wait for you to open up, instead forcing his prodding tongue inside your mouth, crudely swiping it against yours, sucking it between his lips before running it along the ridges of your teeth.

You didn't think kissing could feel so dirty, so unhinged, but you were rather ashamed to say you liked it. The way his callused hands trailed from your hips to your neck, all the way back down just to take a handful of your behind, squeezing the doughy globes roughly and playing with them as if you were a mere toy.

Tommy pulled away, a long, silver line of spit keeping your lips connected, only breaking apart when he began to speak, pushing at your shoulders and urging you to the carpet.

"On your knees," his voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat, clearly affected by you, by your innocence more like. "gonna teach you how to keep men like me happy."

You instantly obeyed, dropping to your knees and sitting on your haunches, practically purring when he cupped and stroked your cheek.

He eyed you from below him, perched in the space between his knees and he spread them further to let you shuffle closer, your hands on his thighs.

"You're a good little pet, aren't you?" he cooed, swiping his thumb along your chin, "such a good listener, eh?"

You beamed up at him, leaning into his touch and nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, Daddy," a little giggle pushed past your lips, "for you."

"That's right," he hummed, "just f'me."

You had an idea of what he wanted you to do and you fiddled with his belt in anticipation for his next command.

"You're gonna learn how to properly suck cock," he spoke, "and y'gonna do a fucking good job of it."

Your mouth watered at the prospect of having his cock on your tongue. You sighed dreamily.

"And once I've taught ya, that's gonna be your job from now on-- gonna ease daddy's stress whenever he needs you to."

You nodded, cheeks searing.

"Yes, sir- I'll do anything f'you."

He had you where he wanted you, compliant and ready to yield at his every command. It was too fucking easy, he almost wanted to laugh at your naivety, how unaffected you were by the idea of having another man's cock down your throat, your own boyfriend's brother in fact and Finn hadn't even crossed your mind. Poor, poor Finn, always second best when it came to being compared to Tommy.

You may have been a good girl and did as the older man said, but you were still a whore at heart. His little harlot.

"Come on then, sweetheart, I haven't got all day," he chastised, cocking his head down to his belt that you hadn't unbuckled yet. You had so much left to learn.

You fumbled with the leather that encircled his waist, pulling it through the silver buckle and from the loops before unzipping his fly and pulling his tailored trousers down as far as you could to his thighs.

The bulge in his briefs was prominent and your mouth salivated at the sight, your natural reaction to a sight so delectable, your first cock to suck and it was so big too, you wondered how you'd be able to take him without choking on him. But where was the fun if you weren't?

Your instincts told you to reach out and grab it, so you did just that, palming him through his underwear and feeling the warmth of his shaft jolt and throb against your grip, already hard and you swore you noticed a little wet spot saturating the fabric-- a trick of the light, you thought.

Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, giving you a pointed look, eyebrow raised.

"I'm not 'ere to get teased," he huffed, as if his cock wasn't jumping at the touch of your hand. He took a handful of your hair, tugging it and making your scalp burn. "come on, take it out and get to work."

Your fingers curled under the elastic of his briefs, pulling the fabric down to rest where his trousers were, and the sight had you gawking, eyes as wide as saucers as you took in his pretty appendage.

So thick, littered with blue veins, the colour much akin to the blue of his eyes and you swallowed down all the saliva that pooled under your tongue. His tip was a pretty shade of tan, glistening with beads of pre-cum, slapping against his stomach every time he throbbed.

"I didn't know they could be this pretty," you marvelled, taking hold of it and delicately running your fingers up each prominent vein. Tommy cleared his throat at your unexpected praise, the grip on your hair a lot softer than before, instead of tugging on it, he petted it down softly, watching you watch him.

"Put me in your mouth, darling," you smiled up at him teasingly pouting up at him.

"So impatient," you teased, your confidence rising, before you tightened your grip, puckering your lips around his tip, sucking it as if he were one of your favourite lollipops.

You took him out of your mouth with a soft pop, just to reattach yourself to him, lathering your tongue over his sensitive head, the somewhat salty taste igniting your tastebuds and you hummed around him.

"There y'go, you can take more than that," you hollowed your cheeks at his words, going lower, taking him deeper and slowly you started to bob your head up and down, moaning at his taste and thickness on your tongue.

With a particularly harsh downward thrust of your head, he reached the back of your throat, instantly causing you to gag and you pulled off him, whining and sniffling with tears ebbing over your waterline.

"Good girl," he cooed breathlessly, chest heaving and palms cradling your face, hushing and settling you when you continued to whine out. "Doin' so well, got me a little whore in the making, hm?"

He pushed you back onto his cock, guiding you down, down, down until you were gagging once again, though this time you didn't pull off of him, you couldn't, not with the strength he was using to hold and keep your head down. Your nose brushed against the course thatch of hair that littered his pelvis and you tried to resist gagging at the stupidly large intrusion by breathing steadily through your nose.

You wanted so badly to rise for air, to ease the soreness that started to buzz in your throat, but although this was your first time, a true beginner, he still treated you like one of his most proficient whores. Coughing and spluttering, drool started to slip from your mouth and down your chin, so messy and slick, dripping down the length of your neck, saturating your pink nightgown and settling in the space between your tits.

"Fuck," he groaned, "gonna fuck this little virgin throat, gonna make you choke- doesn't that sound good, sweet girl?"

With the way you sobbed and moaned around him, he took it as a yes, keeping a good, firm grip upon your tresses to bob you up and down as he pleased, thrusting his hips upwards and meeting your mouth in the middle.

You grew light-headed, crude, sloppy sounds filling the air along with your constant gags and you quickly slapped at his thigh, urging him to let you up, to go easy on you and let you catch your breath. He didn't stop, however, didn't even slow down, purposeful in messing with you and teaching you that he was in charge-- he would decide whether you needed to breathe or not.

He chuckled at your vulnerability, stopping his thrusts to to sheath himself deep down your throat and keep you still, just the feeling of you gagging around his shaft was enough to stimulate him.

Eventually, he let you up for breath, marvelling at how you coughed and struggled to catch your breath, your throat feeling entirely abused and sore each time you swallowed. His pretty cock jolted at the sight of you, so messy and whoreish, hair tangled and spit dribbling down your chin.

"Breathe, darling," he cooed, cupping your tear-stained cheeks between his rough palms and pouting at you mockingly, pressing a rather condescending peck to your forehead. "Bein' so good-- almost done, sweetheart, just gotta make daddy cum and then you can rest that lovely throat of yours."

You breathed shakily, settling down on your haunches again and grabbing his slick cock in your grasp.

"Okay, Daddy," you sniffled, such a sweet girl, even with a cock in your hand.

Tommy guided you down, conducting your movements with a thrust and push to your head, keeping you pliant and submerging himself within you, and if your throat felt this good his head reeled at the thought of your pussy-- so tight and virginal, untouched, not even by your curious little fingers.

He'd have all of you soon enough.

You could see his stomach muscles clenching, thighs flexing from under your palms and you hummed around him when you noticed his thrusts growing sloppier.

"Fuck," Tommy groaned, breaths haphazard and shaky, "you ready, sweet girl? You ready to taste Daddy's cum? Y'gonna swallow it all, aren't you, otherwise m'gonna have to force feed it down that pretty throat."

You stared up at him as best as you could, fluttering your lashes, tears spilling and clouding your vision, though you blinked them away, eager to see him, to see the way his face would contort, how beautiful he'd look whilst shooting cum inside your mouth.

One, two, three more thrusts were all it took for him to start convulsing, cock jolting on your tongue and spilling his seed, coating the walls of your constricting throat. He was groaning, moaning out loud, sounds so pretty you had to keep your thighs clenched tight.

"Shit- good girl, such a good little whore, you are."

He continued to ride his orgasm out, until he grew far too over-sensitive, pulling himself out of your mouth and lifting your head up, spent and eyes hooded watching you swallow his seed and hum at the newfound taste-- something you already found yourself becoming addicted to.

"Look," you beamed, still teary-eyed and shaky on your knees, you opened your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue for him to marvel at, completely clean of all traces of his cum, now deep in your belly. "swallowed it all, daddy- just like you said."

Tommy's head started to spin, praising you at how good you had been though he felt strange, heart thumping in his chest at the mere sight of you, he felt soft, a small smile on his face without realising.

He thought you were wrapped tightly around his finger, however he had begun to realise in such a short time it was the complete opposite way around.

[mypoisonedvine]

A tommy idea: he hires us to help take care of his kids when they’re home but he soon realizes that he likes us more and more seeing how maternal we are with them. He’s constantly checking us out, when we bend over he’s always accidentally bedons us, good girl girl and praising us for doing well taking care of them, and the idea of us carrying his next baby also turns him on so much

oh my goddddd!! this turned out pretty short cause I wrote it in my car on break from work 😭 but I just had to do this concept pronto

warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, slightly dubious consent (tommy is a little... pushy), age gap (not specified, everybody's grown), breeding kink

You were bouncing the little one on your hip when he came in; you gestured to the older child, already asleep, as a reminder to Thomas to speak softly so she wouldn't wake.

He approached you slowly, waving a quick hello to the baby but otherwise just watching him slowly shut his eyes as he drifted off.

"The children adore you," he noticed, smiling proudly, "as do I."

"I adore them," you returned, "and I'm... thankful you hired me to care for them."

You felt his gaze on you as you gently laid the baby in his crib, feeling a little strange about him standing so close behind you while you were bent over. "Don't you ever want any of your own?" he asked, lowering his voice a bit. "You'd make a lovely mother..."

He trailed off for a moment, his fingers brushing over your back through your dress, making your breath catch.

"...and such a sweet little wife, too," he added with a slow breath. You shuddered, turning to face him and completely intending to tell him how inappropriate this was, but the look in his eyes shut you up in a second.

"M-Mr. Shelby..." you mumbled, blinking up at him as he stepped closer again, nearly pressing his body to yours-- you tried to step back but only found yourself pressed against the crib.

"Well?" he pressed. "Don't you want children?"

"M-maybe someday," you answered nervously, struggling to keep your attention on the conversation when he rubbed your arm through your sleeve. "But I think I'm still too young--"

He knit his brows together, shaking his head. "Oh, no-- you're the perfect age for it, darling..."

You swallowed thickly, his fingers running gently over your jaw and lifting your chin so he could get a better look at your nervous, confused expression.

"You should have one," he decided suddenly, "and I should have another."

You opened your mouth to disagree, but nothing really came out... instead, he just pulled you into a kiss: slow, gentle, patient. You knew Tommy could be a volatile man, even violent, but you'd never known he could be so tender.

Of course, it didn't last long. He was anything but slow or gentle or patient when he had you in his bedroom, pressed up against the wall as he drove into you mercilessly, holding your legs open as he grunted with each rough thrust into your heat. "Good girl," he growled as your head fell back with a sigh of pleasure, "look how well you take it. I knew you needed a baby in you, darling-- as soon as I saw you, I knew. This body of yours just begging to be bred..."

You whined and bit your lip, but a hard thrust that went just a bit too deep made you yelp loudly-- and his hand quickly snapped over your mouth, muffling your noises as he panted in your ear.

"Shh, not so loud," he warned, "you don't want to wake the baby..."

[michaellangdonswhore]

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

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You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

[slut4thebroken]

Sweet Dreams

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x daughter!reader

Summary | Tommy let’s you try some of his whiskey.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, actual incest, technically non con, large age gap (unspecified), breeding/housewife kink, somno, underaged drinking (pretend the legal age is 21 over there lol), kissing, praise, innocence & corruption kink, daddy but not the kink, I want him to take advantage of me so bad😭

Words | 2.4 k

Notes | I shouldn’t even have to say this but this is a work of fiction. Please remember that lmao. Also it’s unspecified but reader is at least 18 so don’t come for me 💀 It’s also unspecified on whether reader is his bio daughter or step daughter so feel free to choose lol.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

(You can only read this fic if you pinky promise to help me come up with a different title)

You were lying on his chest as he read a story to you, trying to get you to finally fall asleep. But your brain was too awake. When he grabbed his glass from the side table and paused reading to take another sip, you decided to ask him. 

“What’s that, daddy?” You angled your head up to look at his face. 

“It’s whiskey, love.” Your eyes moved between his face and the glass. 

“Can I try some?” You finally asked, making his brows shoot up. 

“This drink isn't for little girls. You’ll have to wait until you’re older.” He chuckled, making you frown. 

“Why can’t I try some now?” You pouted. 

“Because you’re too young, love. Give it a couple years, then I’ll let you have some.” You turned onto your stomach and leaned up to face him better. 

“Please, daddy?” You gave him puppy dog eyes and he stared at you for a moment, then let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. 

“Alright, fine. But just one sip.” You beamed at that and grabbed the glass when he handed it to you. Before tasting it, you decided to sniff it first, noting that it smells like how he sometimes smells. Not able to wait any longer, you took a small sip, then immediately scrunched your face up in disgust. He laughed quietly and you swallowed it, but that only made it worse. 

“It burns!” You whined, coughing lightly. 

“You get used to it, little one.” He said with an amused smile. “Try some more, it should be better this time.” You hesitated, but took another sip. It wasn’t better, it still burned a lot and you could barely take it. “Good girl. Have a little more.” 

“Daddy, it hurts.” 

“I know, love, but if you drink more it’ll stop hurting. Don’t you trust me?” You averted your gaze and bit your lip. After a moment, you brought the glass up to your lips again. “That’s my girl.” He said proudly, making you blush. You coughed again, but he wasn’t wrong, the burn was just barely starting to improve. 

“You’re such a good girl. Drink a little more for me, eh?” You pouted, but nodded and took another sip, this one slightly larger. “There you go… How do you feel, princess?”

“Warm.. n’fuzzy.” That made him laugh quietly. 

“Yeah?” You nodded. “That’s good. Can you do one last thing for daddy?” 

“Mhm.” You could feel yourself getting a little drowsier and you weren’t sure why. 

“Can you finish the rest for me?” You looked at how much was left and whined quietly, but agreed. Figuring it’d be better to get it over with quickly, you chugged the rest, ignoring how much your throat was hurting. “Good girl. You are such a good girl for me, baby.” He took the cup and set it on the side table, along with the book he was reading to you. “Tell me how you feel now.” 

“Mm… sleepy.” You mumbled, making him smile. 

“Don’t try to fight it, love, just go to sleep. It’s past your bedtime anyway.” You let out an incoherent agreement, then laid your head on his chest again, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders. You weren't so tired that you fell asleep instantly, but you were tired enough where you could barely keep your eyes open. 

Tommy stared down at you as he stroked your hair, soothing you to sleep. You turned more on your stomach and lifted your leg so it was bent and resting over his legs. One of his hands moved down to your bare thigh and rubbed slowly, staying below the hem of your night dress. 

“My sweet girl.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head. You hugged him tighter and he was suddenly very aware of your breasts against his side. “Getting so grown up…” He sighed solemnly. “Thought I told you not to do that? I oughta punish you for disobeying your father.” He suddenly squeezed your thigh and you let out a quiet noise, but didn’t react any other way besides that. 

He kept dragging his hand up and down your thigh, pushing your dress up a little higher each time. For a while, he continued that, waiting until your breathing slowed and you started to fall asleep. He smiled at the sound of your soft snores and brushed your hair away from your face as he looked down at you. Cupping your cheek, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip— so soft… so kissable. He had to shake his head to get rid of the thought as soon as it appeared. You’re too innocent and pure. He’d never be able to forgive himself if he took that from you. But fuck… 

You smiled a little in your sleep and hugged him tighter, pushing your cunt against his hip as your leg rested on his crotch. He stiffened and bit his lip, trying to control his thoughts and his body. But he couldn’t help it when his hand drifted from your cheek to the strap of your dress. He teased it a little, silently debating if he should… It didn’t take much convincing though. 

Slowly pushing the strap down your arm, he just barely brushed his fingertips on your skin. He continued dragging it down until the nightie was being pulled as well, slowly exposing more of you. He only stopped once it was resting on your waist. 

“Fuck.” He hissed, staring at your young, perky breast and hardened nipple. He lowered his hand so it was holding your hip, then raised the one on your thigh to lightly trace over the soft skin. You just looked so young— so little. Especially when he cupped your breast, completely engulfing it in his hand. He knew that your pussy would be just as little. The thought had him biting his lip to stifle a groan, feeling his cock twitch in his pants under your leg. 

He squeezed and groped you slowly, being extra gentle while he still had the self control to do so. When he moved his attention to your nipple and started rolling it between his fingers, you let out a quiet little sound, just barely audible. 

He placed his palm flat on your chest and slowly snaked it down your body, to the bottom of your dress. Without any hesitation, he snaked his hand back up, taking the fabric with it. He cursed under his breath as more and more of your body was becoming visible.

You were perfect. You looked like innocence personified. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he gently pushed your shoulder to get you to lay on your back, making you whine quietly. 

“I know, sweet girl. It’s okay.” He whispered, kissing your head as he turned on his side to face you. He ran his hand over the soft skin of your tummy and down to your hips, where the plain cotton panties rested. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmured, almost dreamily. As his hand continued to explore your body, he tugged down the other side of your dress, then moved his head closer and gently kissed your nipple. He took it into his mouth, suckling on the hard bud and moaning quietly against you. The only reaction you gave was a soft sound and a small shift of your body. 

“Are you gonna let daddy see your pretty pussy?” His voice was quiet, but thick with arousal. “Shake your head if you don’t want me to.” He chuckled quietly, as he kissed over your breast, just enjoying having his lips on you. When you didn’t respond, he got up and moved between your legs, settling on his stomach between them. Rough hands were placed on your thighs, prying them apart to give himself more room. 

He leaned down and inhaled deeply, savoring your scent. With a low groan, he started mouthing at your cunt, licking and sucking through the panties just to tease himself. Your hips squirmed a little and a quiet moan left you, making his eyes snap up to your face, but you were still fast asleep. After only a few more seconds, he pulled back so he could move your underwear to the side, exposing your glistening cunt. 

“Do you like when daddy touches you like this? Is that why you’re so wet already?” He asked teasingly, not expecting a response. Using his thumbs, he pulled your folds apart, giving him a better view of your untouched pussy. “My perfect little girl…” He sighed, unable to tear his eyes away. 

He moved his thumbs closer and pulled your hole open a little, imagining how it’d look stretched open on his cock. The thought had him grinding against the bed like a fucking teenager. He desperately wanted to force his fat cock inside, split you open and push it in deep. He wanted you to cry and beg him to stop, to tell him how much he was hurting you. 

He wanted to bury his cock in your torn up, used little pussy, press the tip right up against your cervix and fuck you full of his come. He wanted to give you load after load, not stopping until he fucked a baby into you. Even though, realistically, that could never be allowed to happen, he enjoyed picturing you with a round belly, your breasts swollen with milk. He wanted to keep you at home, safe from the world, to raise all of the babies he fucks into you, cook him dinner every night, drain his balls whenever he needs it. 

“Fuck—” He choked out, suddenly getting on his knees between your legs, opening his pants to free his cock. He stroked himself slowly a few times, gaze dragging all over your body. “See what you fucking to do me?” He hissed, slapping his cock on your clit a few times. Practically holding his breath, he dragged the tip through your folds, covering himself in your slick. He held his cock right up against your entrance, breathing heavily and closing his eyes, shaking his head to convince himself not to do it. 

He’d hate himself for the rest of his life… But would that be worth it to feel you stretched past your limit around his cock? 

“No.” He decided, clearing his throat and opening his eyes again. “No. Not— not yet…” He leaned over your body, keeping his length firmly between your cunt and his stomach, then started grinding slowly. He watched your brows scrunch together a little when you felt the constant rubbing on your clit. 

Dragging his gaze over the rest of your face, he finally settled on your lips. He leaned closer, trying to steady his breathing as his eyes grew heavier until they finally shut, only a second before he pressed his lips to yours. You didn’t kiss back— obviously— but he enjoyed feeling your soft lips against his. Growing needier, his hips sped up as he deepened the kiss, licking into your mouth, practically devouring you. 

You let out a muffled sound and started squirming a little, making him pull back. As he panted, he watched your heavy eyes trying to flutter open. 

“Daddy?” You mumbled, voice laced with sleepiness. “What…” You trailed off, unable to get out any other words, and he shushed you softly. 

“Don’t worry, little one. I’m here.. you’re okay.” He murmured, kissing your forehead and cupping your cheek, the movement of his hips never faltering. “Just go back to sleep. You’re safe with daddy.” And you believed him. You stopped trying to open your eyes and relaxed into the bed again. He resumed the kiss, keeping the intensity from before as he pushed his tongue in your mouth and moved his hand from your cheek to your jaw to tilt your head up a little more. 

“Daddy…” You tried to say, voice coming out in a pathetic, muffled whine. He hummed in response, not pulling back to bother with verbally replying. His free hand moved to cup your breast, groping and kneading until you were letting out quiet little sounds into the kiss. You whimpered when he started pinching and pulling on your nipple. 

“Shh… It’s okay, love.” He said softly, only pulling away to speak before immediately diving back into the kiss. His hand strayed from your breast, dragging all over your body, feeling every inch of skin possible. 

He broke away from your lips so he could trail kisses along your jaw, then down your neck. His cock throbbed at the idea of covering you in marks— claiming you so everyone knew who you belonged to. But he knew he couldn’t if he wanted this to happen again. So he continued kissing your skin, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. Everything about you was absolutely perfect. 

“I can’t wait to feel your cunt.” He whispered into the crook of your neck, his breathing growing more labored. “You’re such a good little girl, aren’t you? And all mine.” He was rambling as he neared his release, far quicker than he would’ve liked. “All fucking mine. You belong to daddy, eh? These perfect tits,” he suckled on your nipples, quickly and eagerly, “belong to daddy. Your pretty little cunt belongs to daddy.” He growled, cock twitching at the thought. “You’re mine.”

He cursed under his breath when he felt his balls tighten up. Lifting himself so he was sitting on his knees, he rapidly fisted his cock, keeping your panties pulled to the side. As soon as the first ropes of come shot out onto your cunt, he let out a low groan at the sight. He grunted and moaned, breathing heavily as he watched all of his come land on your folds. He waited until the last drop beaded on the tip, then dragged his cock through your slit, spreading his arousal. He moved it down toward your hole and just barely pushed his cock forward to get some of it inside.

“Good girl.” He said through a heavy breath, admiring you for another moment before fixing your underwear and night dress, then tucking his cock back in his pants. He stopped again and just stared at you for a few seconds. Your cheeks were a little flushed from the alcohol and probably also the stimulation on your clit, and your lips were just barely parted as you breathed quietly. “Made daddy feel so good.” He whispered as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. You let out an incoherent sound, making him smile. “Sweet dreams, little one.” 

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[call-sign-shark]

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily.