#Polly Frame | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drcranessweetestdoe · 1 year ago

Note

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

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call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

Text

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

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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wutheringcaterpillar · 1 year ago

Text

A Bump in the Night: Part 1

Requested by @calmingmelody96

Summary: The one where you stumble into your brother’s room like many other nights, only this time things go a step further after some “innocent” questions and speculations on Tommy’s part.

Warnings: Incest, p in v, loss of virginity, fluff, flirting, innocent!reader, age gap (not specified, everyone is of age), reader is scared of thunderstorms, unprotected sex

Knocking on the wooden door, you shoved it open slightly, the door creaking in it’s frame as you tiptoed in your bare feet toward Tommy’s bed.

Sighting the display of papers slathered on the blankets, your eyebrows furrowed together confused as to why he was working in here and not his office.

Glancing up from his work, cigarette burning slowly inbetween his fingers, his crystal blue eyes were caught off guard seeing what you were wearing, yet he was practically hypnotized.

The white lace tanktop slightly loose on your chest, but showing enough cleavage to have him readjusting his knee above his other leg non chalantly.

Clearing his throat, he set his pen down on the bedside table. “It’s late, is everything alright? ‘Nother nightmare?” You shook your head, taking a seat, welcoming the satin sheets around your chest, hugging them tightly.

“No. I just can’t seem to sleep, it’s awfully cold in my room.” That just wouldn’t do in Tommy’s eyes. He’d be lying to himself if he said you weren’t his favorite, everyone in the family knew. Polly and Ada would both make comments how incredibly inappropriate it was that you’d sit on his lap still occasionally, or even hold his hand in public. But outsiders never dared bat an eye to question the man.

The time Arthur had caught you sneaking in there late at night, he had cracked the door, finding you asleep soundly in Tommy’s arms. When he approached his younger brother about it the following day, he was met with an attitude from Tommy. He’d use reverse psychology and respond with, “Arthur, perhaps how you view things is the problem. You’re making it inappropriate. She’s our sister and if she finds comfort and safety in my room I won’t deny her that. Now go on, surely we have legitimate business and other important matters to discuss.” That was the end of the conversation.

Shedding himself of his shirt, he tossed it over to you before clearing the papers off his bed, settling them on his nightstand and putting out his cigarette.

“C’mere sweet girl.” Patting the empty half of the bed, you giggled and scooted near him, yearning to be swooped up into his warm, comforting embrace.

Wrapping his arms around your torso, he pulled you on top of him, your back leaning against his chest.

“So warm Tommy.” You really were freezing, the goosebumps on your skin were vividly apparent.

Nuzzling his nose into your hair, he breathed in the sweet strawberry smell of the shampoo you’ve always used since you were just a small girl.

Always so delicate, you were the only one who never seemed to judge him, and he couldn’t deny how as you began to age your body became immensely beautiful, attractive with every curve, you were irresistible in every direction.

The low rumble of thunder echoed through the room and even though you were a grown woman, Tommy believed it to be far past your bedtime. Storms still bothered you, though you’d never admit it. Nothing has changed for the simple point that he could still see right through you, noticing how you clutched the sheets tighter as if they’d protect you.

“It’s getting late love, why don’t we try to get some shut eye, eh?” You nodded lazily against him.

Shifting over, he flicked the lamp off, leaving you in darkness with nothing but the sounds of rain pattering lightly against the windows.

Shifting, he wrapped his arm around you protectively, pulling you against his chest, holding your fragile body tightly.

When your head fell onto his pillow, the smell of his hair and a small amount of sweat filled your senses, causing a wide smile to spread across your face as you started to giggle.

Keeping his eyes closed, he raised his eyebrows, not being able to hold back the grin forming on his face. “Why are you laughing?” Turning over, you stared at him in his tired beauty.

“Smells just like you Tommy.”

“Does that mean you like smell, love?” His eyes drifted open, only to be met with your beautiful face, giggling and blushing like a school girl completely in love.

“Very much.” The words flowed out before you had time to think, Thomas’s eyes changing to a sharp diamond cut speaking with mischief.

“You find my smell attractive do you? What else do you find attractive about me then?” He shifted underneath the blanket, his hand settling gently onto your side as he awaited for your response.

“Your eyes, how much you care about me. Maybe also, your chest…” You trailed off feeling completely embarrassed but you knew Tommy would be able to tell if you were lying, and his eyes suspected nothing of the sorts after you spoke, if anything he was further intrigued.

Leaning up on his elbow, his eyes sparked with curiosity, and manipulation.

“What about my chest? Just skin isn’t it?”

“You’re very muscular Tommy, toned. I steal glances here and there occasionally.” Guilt and shame flooded over you, fully knowing that incest was wrong and you were expecting him to scold you, fearful that he’d kick you from his room but he did quite the opposite.

“Anything else? It’s not wrong to have an attraction Y/N, especially at your age. Tell me more. Do you ever notice a wetness in your panties?” You nodded with pleading eyes, noting that, that warmth was returning at this very moment. Polly had never had a talk with you about the birds and the bees. The day you had started your period Tommy had noticed and tended to you all day and night, but he never approached the subject of sex until now.

Your innocence was an immense turn on for him.

“When does it occur love?” His fingers traced swiftly and slowly down to your hip, causing goosebumps to form on your innocent skin.

“When- When you’re around. When I’m on your lap, or touching you.” He motioned for you to come closer, the thunder picking up outside now rearing to the back of your head, as if the storm wasn’t even happening.

His breath was hot against your skin as he spoke. “Give me your hand my darling.” You did as he asked, shock and somewhat fear fulfilling your mind when he placed your hand on his hardened mound that was itching to break out from his underwear.

Your slik poured out now more than ever, soaking your underwear. He paid close attention to the way your eyebrows furrowed together, and how you consistently bit down on your bottom lip, trying to hold back any temptations.

“You’ve always had a crush on me haven’t you? Is that why, you enjoy grinding down on my lap when you think I don’t notice.” His hand left yours on his cock, sliding devilishly inbetween your thighs, kneeding your succulency with the tips of his fingers, causing your eyes to flutter closed.

“That why I see you peeping through my door love?” Pushing the fabric aside, he slid his hand through your wet folds, teasing the entrance of your dripping hole. You hadn’t noticed but your hand was massaging his cock through his underwear.

“Ye-yes! Yes Tommy.”

That was all he needed to here. Pulling his hand away, you jolted up worried you’d done something wrong until he pulled you back onto his lap, sliding a strand of hair behind your ear while his hand caressed your cheek caringly.

“Don’t you think I’m a bit too old for you? There’s practically a two decade difference. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Age is but a number isn’t it Tommy?” With puppy dog, pleading eyes, your bottom lip quivered as you nodded in desperation and embarrassment.

His tongue rolled in his salivating mouth, he wanted to be patient, not too rough.

Nodding and repositioning, he layed you down on your back, his plush, warm lips delving into the crook of your neck, sucking poetic marks into your delicate skin slowly.

Each kiss peppered with love and slow, sensual affection.

Trailing down the gape of your neck, he went on about every small thing he loved about your body, pointing out to the fullest extent how remarkable, how attractive, and most of all how perfect you were. He was sure to massage both of your breasts, kissing your cleavage, before sliding down the rest of your inexperienced yet beautiful body.

His lips collided with your most precious, private folds, lapping the sweet skin tenderly with his tongue, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

You had never felt anything quite like this, the feeling of a man you loved dearly showing immense love with every stroke of his tongue against your pussy. His hand reached up to cusp one of your boobs, massaging the delicate skin gently while his digit aligned with your soaking entrace.

He slid his large finger in slowly, pacing himself for your satisfaction and content, pumping in an out with such care. When he heard quieted small moans releasing between your sweet lips, he added another one, working you open while his other hand played at your nipple, still repeatedly massaging your boob.

Coming up for air, his eyes spoke with anticipation but also profound love when they locked with yours. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer on whether or not you felt ready to take his cock.

When you nodded, he slid up, aligning his hardened member with your aching hole.

“Is it going to hurt Tommy?” He wasn’t going to lie to his innocent baby sister, he never has and never will.

“It may hurt a bit at first, yeah. Tell me if you want to stop okay love?” Biting your bottom lip nervously, you nodded, awaiting for the penetration of Tommy’s cock.

Never breaking eye contact, he thrusted forward, his tip sliding in you pussy, your walls clinging around his length instantaneously.

It stung already and he wasn’t even halfway in. Slipping further into your divine tunnel of love, Tommy groaned, something about taking his sister’s virginity fueled his every longing desire and now that he was finally in you, taking your innocence for his own, he was overwhelmed with the hotness of your insides, and how smooth and wet your walls felt draped around his cock.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he stilled, allowing you to adjust to his size.

“You, alright eh? Not hurting you am I?” You couldn’t stop yourself from looking down, seeing him plunged into your pussy to the very top had you gasping, your thoughts running laps in your mind. It did hurt immensely, almost like you were getting a shot in your most private area, yet it felt so right, and you didn’t want him to stop.

Gulping back from the pain, instead of speaking, your hand glided up his arm, further until you stopped on the back of his neck, pulling him down so your lips were by his ear. “Take me Tommy.”

He chuckled, yet goosebumps were arising on his skin from the hotness of your breath against him.

“Y/N, I think I already have darling.” You whined, bucking your hips down against him, desperately needing your brother now more than ever.

“Keep going, please.” And so he did. Each thrust as passionate as the one before, slowly gliding in and out you. His arms were draped on both sides of your head, displaying his muscular forearms perfectly in the nightlight. The only storm you were paying attention was the one going on between your thighs.

He let out a low, quieted groan with every other thrust, attempting to stay quiet so Pol or your brothers wouldn’t hear.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight love.” You let out a moan that sounded more like a whine when he hit your g-spot. He took note and swayed his hips with each thrust, the head of his cock pounding your sweet, needing, sensitive spot.

“Mm. Tommy, Tommy I’m-“ He leant down more, instructing you to bite down on him as he expected you to be quite loud.

With each thrust he went deeper and faster, the bed frame hitting the wall with each movement, but Tommy didn’t seem to care.

An unexpected, unexplainable pleasurable feeling was building inside you, your toes curling at the end of the bed. “Go on love, cum on me cock. You’d feel so good love. Your juices pouring out all around me while I’m taking your virgin hole for meself. Tell me Y/N, how does it feel to be so full of your brother’s cock, completely stuffed like my little fuck toy? Hmm?” Your moans became more rapid, your breath becoming increasingly faster as an overwhelming euphoric sensation was bringing you on the verge of tears.

“That’s it love, cum on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel, how I’m breaking that little pussy. Are you gonna crumble beneath me? Cry from pleasure?” Your teeth bit as hard as they could into his shoulder, drawling a small amount of blood to dribble down. Your back arched as your legs clung around his back for dear life as you faded away into oblivion underneath him, your cum oozing like a river onto his cock while your body shook beneath him in shambles.

The sight of you so breathless, so beautiful underneath him at his mercy had him burying his head into your neck to keep quiet as his cum shot straight into your core, filling you to the brim.

He layed there for a moment, attempting to catch his breath as you stared at the bedroom ceiling in your euphoric state.

Shifting his arm, his hand collided with yours, intertwining his fingers with you.

“Tommy?” He mumbled in response, a wild grin still displayed on his face while his eyes spoke with their charismatic, powerful stare.

“I love you.”

“Oh my sweet girl, I’ve had that feeling myself for quite some time.” Groaning restlessly, he pulled you into his arms, cradling you, ensuring you were alright. He pretended to close his eyes, and waited for you to fall asleep, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear once your soft snores were heard.

He stayed like that for a moment, just taking in every bump, every curve of your face, admiring you with his tired blue eyes.

After falling asleep, little did you both know Arthur had woken from the headboard slamming against the wall and went to check in your room to find an empty bed. He didn’t dare open Tommy’s door, knowing he was a light sleeper, and he didn’t dare approach Tommy nor you about it out of fear of what his brother may or may not do to him. He simply convinced himself it was a blimey bump in the night.

After all you were Tommy’s favorite, and always would be.

#Tommy shelby #ranaewrites #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders

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fakeplasticlovers · 19 days ago

Text

on a dark desert highway | j.m.

part i. of hotel california

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: no outbreak!AU. age gap (reader is in her late twenties, joel early forties). sarah is still alive and in college. alcohol consumption and smoking. joel thinks he's a dirty old man. dad rock. sexual tension. reader's a shameless flirt. reader has the nickname polly, but no name or use of y/n (explained in chapter). reader also gets flirty w an old lady (maybe she has a type?). slow burn.

hotel california masterlist · hotel california tag

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, the yellow markers on the highway blurring into each other. He reached over to the carafe of coffee in the cup holder, staving off his body's cries for sleep. He takes a swig, large palm coming up to swipe over his features that have began to slacken under the threat of slumber.

1,237 miles. Eighteen hours. That's how long he had driven. Any other time, he would have flown in to visit the city of angels, but he and his truck were needed to satisfy his only child's list of demands.

"Come on, dad. I need your help! I don't trust anyone else," Sarah's voice rang through the receiver, disturbing the otherwise quiet Sunday morning he had been enjoying to himself.

"Don't understand why you need me to bring the damn bed. The hell are you gonna sleep on when you come visit here?" Joel grunted, taking a swig of the black liquid swirling in his mug.

"I'll figure it out! I just need my bed. Miss it so much... besides, you've seen the one in my dorm. It's, like, a piece of plastic. I deserve a good night's rest, don't you agree?"

"Damn expensive piece of plastic." He grumbles, setting his mug down, catching a glimpse of the 'WORLD'S #1 DAD' embossed on the face. He complies nonetheless.

Two weeks pass, and Joel is driving halfway across the country with his daughter's plush mattress and lavender bed frame strapped to the bed of his truck. He had half a mind to bring his brother with him to help with the grueling process of moving Sarah into her first apartment, but he decided that lifting boxes up two flights of stairs and assembling furniture by himself was more alluring than spending twenty hours in a car with Tommy.

His glazed over eyes drift to the clock on his dash. 10:17pm. The long stretch of highway that wound from the outskirts of Phoenix to the edge of Joshua Tree begins to approach civilization. Joel's made this trip before — it's quiet. He's grown to appreciate quiet in recent years. The dark sky is freckled by a thousand stars that would soon be overcasted by the bleeding city lights, and Joel thinks he'll miss them when they're gone.

A ring from his dashboard pulls him out of the quiet he's began to tend to, alerting him that he has twenty-five miles until his tank is empty. A sharp huff of air leaves his nose, fingers curling around the leather of the steering wheel. He surveys his surroundings, and determines that he's still about thirty minutes out from Palm Springs.

There's a haze of blue light that flickers not too far in the distance. His headlights illuminate a green sign that reads LODGING AHEAD — ONE MILE.

Despite his feeble attempts to keep his eyes from rolling back into his skull; now that fumes have began burning off the truck's tailpipe, he decides to stop for the night. He fumbles for the phone that graces the cloth of his passenger seat.

Outside Palm Springs. See you in the morning.

He shoots the message off the Sarah, pulling into the hotel lot. Red dirt kicks up under his tires as the car slows with a jolt. He reaches for the key in the ignition, his head rolling back onto the rest. Too old for this shit, he thinks to himself. He hops out of truck, knees cracking as they reach the gravel beneath him. Definitely too old for this shit.

Joel's surrounded by the now eerie sound of quiet, save for the rustle of tumbleweeds and hot breeze wrapping around his stiffening frame. The hotel is adequate, by the looks of it. The spanish style terracotta adorned by cracks, the blue lighting fixtures in the building's arches are shorting, along with the neon nameplate on the front.

HOTEL CALIFORNIA, except with the flickering letters, it only fully reads H O E FOR A. Below the unfortunate sign, the word 'vacancy' cuts through the darkness.

It'll do for the night.

A small wooden fixture with directions acts as a fork in the road, with one arrow pointing towards the path to check-in and the other pointing towards the hotel bar. Fuck it, Joel thinks. He's spent eighteen hours on the road, the least he deserves is a whiskey.

So Joel chooses to find his fate in the bottom of a glass, boots crunching up a palm tree lined path to the bar. The lighting could be better, but the stars he has began to become acquainted with help enough to irradiate his way. A splintering wooden door comes into view, and when his fist pushes the cool metal handle open, the deafening silence of the desert night is immediately snuffed out.

The bar is electric, with dozens of patrons embellishing every dark and hazy corner, each nursing their own summertime cocktails while guffawing amongst themselves.

Joel blinks, finding himself racking his brain for the lack of cars he'd witnessed in the lot, expecting nothing short of a dead crowd. The crowd wouldn't shock him if this were Austin on Friday night, but it's the last thing he expected in the desert suburbs of Palm Springs.

He takes a seat on one of the pink leather barstools, the squeaky cover somehow welcomed after sitting on a truck bench for over ten hours. He's not one to feel out of place, but as his eyes scan amongst the partygoers, he can't help but feel like he's infringing on something.

An elderly couple, the woman sporting magenta hair, sways to the Mamas and Papas song floating from the jukebox in the corner. Besides them, a gang of bikers are enthralled in a painstaking game of snake eyes at a high table. A group of young kids around Sarah's age are still clad in their swimsuits, drunkenly strewn across a pool table as they fail to sink the solids and stripes.

Despite the vast differences between each of them, everyone seems to exist on the same peculiar plane of existence; one Joel's not sure if he'd like to be a part of just yet.

"What can I get you, looky loo?" A voice snatches him from his observations, a pair of raised eyebrows meeting his gaze.

Joel can't gauge the expression on your face. Despite the inquisitiveness on your brow, he knows it's not curiosity. Despite the turn of your lips, it's not amusement.

You cock your head in a way to repeat the question at hand.

"Whiskey neat.... Please." Joel manages to sputter out, turning his body fully towards you, ribcage pressing against the polished wood of the bar top.

You snort to yourself, retrieving a rocks glass that's stowed out of sight. Joel studies your features under the ambient light of the bar. You're fuzzy to him, even though no alcohol has reached his bloodstream.

"Not from around here, are you?" You prompt, slapping a Coors coaster on the wood before him, before placing the Johnnie Walker on top. Before he gets an answer out,

"Open or closed?"

His gaze flicks between you and his glass. Must not work for tips. You lean against the bar, both hands curling around the edge.

He assumes this is your way of marking your territory. Letting him know not to start shit in your place.

"That obvious, 'uh?" He huffs, eyes narrowing slightly as you crane your neck in response, "Leave it open, 'm good for it."

"Not a lot of people come through here wearing flannels in the middle of July." You tut with a small shrug of your shoulders.

The observation of his apparel has him taking the time to note yours — a pair of cut off Levi's and a faded Blondie tank.

He internally grimaces at the thought that you'd probably consider a band from his time nothing but a piece for your vintage collection.

"That, and your accent sticks out like a sore thumb. If you ignore the people who come through faking ones."

"Accent, huh?" A tiny smirk threatens to cross his features, but it's easily masked by the glass he brings up to his lips.

"Far as 'm concerned, only one here with an accent is you."

That gets a small chuckle out of you. A sense of pride creeps into his chest, one he quickly stomps out with another pull from the whiskey tumbler. Don't be a creepy old man.

"Where you visiting from, man with no name?" You push up off the ledge, reaching behind you to grab a highball glass filled with a fizzy red drink.

Joel scoffs at the nickname.

"Drinking on the job?" He ignores your question, brow quirking as he gestures towards your hand.

"It's a Shirley temple!" You gasp incredulously at his accusation, free palm coming up to clutch your proverbial pearls.

Your chest bounces slightly with the movement, causing the air to get caught in Joel's throat. He throws his palms up in mock defense, trying to hide the fact that he was just staring at your tits.

"C'mon, humor me. Where are you from?" You prod, bitten lips wrapping around the pink straw bobbing in the virgin cocktail. Joel takes the time to observe the chipping red polish on your nails. Maybe you should start working for tips. "I gotta hour left to kill."

Joel traces the rim of his glass, about a finger of Walker left in it. He clicks his tongue, gesturing to the ever lively crowd around him.

"Looks like you got plenty of people to entertain you 'round here."

"Oh, come on, man. I see these guys every weekend. Don't tell anybody, but I'm gettin' sick of 'em." You lean closer, your hushed tone existing somewhere in the ether between the boisterous bar goers and Steely Dan crooning.

"Sounds like they're loyal." Joel remarks, intentionally dodging your question once again. He's beginning to sense the fact that you're impatient. "'S matter with that?"

"The matter is that I'm bored, Butch Cassidy." The ice begins to rattle in your glass as you continue to swig at it. An offensively bright red cherry is twisted between the cubes. "'nother whiskey?"

"Jesus. If I tell you, would you stop with the nicknames?" He grunts, pushing the empty glass off the coaster across the bar top, leaving a trail in its wake.

Your eyes narrow, quick to snap up a rag to clean up his mess.

"Austin. It's in Texas."

"I know where Austin is." You bite back, refilling his glass before stepping away to help another customer.

It's the pink lady back for another glass of Chablis. She fawns over you as you pour the wine; long, magenta manicured nails that match her locks come out to pinch your cheeks, before tucking a ten dollar bill in the strap of your tank.

You make quick work of fixing yourself another shirley temple, perching yourself back in the emptiness in front of him. He didn't even realize he was waiting for you to return.

"So, Tex, what brings you to the Buttfuck Middle of Nowhere, California?" You quiz, your curious brow returning to its spot arched high on your forehead.

"Thought I said to stop with the nicknames." Another question avoided.

"Never said I do what I'm told." You singsonged, shirley stained lips twitching up under the muddy lighting.

"Wouldn't need to use a nickname if I knew your real name, Tex."

Trouble, Joel thinks.

You're nothing but trouble and he's nothing but stranded in the middle of the fuckin' desert.

He pauses for a few beats, taking the newfound silence between you to rake across the parts of your figure that aren't hidden by the bar.

"Joel." He breathes, giving in to your barrage of questioning for the second time this night.

It's your turn to pause, eyes shifting back and forth, finally pinning him with your gaze.

"Joel..." You repeat, voice so quiet his name is nearly lost within the bumbling conversations nearby.

His heart skips like a fucking teenager.

"I believe you." You declare, raising the bottle of Johnnie Walker to fill his glass once again.

Joel chuckles under his breath. Two things he thinks he knows about you now — impatient and untrusting.

"Didn't answer my other question, though, Joel. What are you doing here?" You prop your head on your hand, arms crossing on the sticky counter in front of you, as if you're telling him there's nothing more important in this moment than the answer to your question.

Joel cocks his head to the side, wondering what your endgame is. There's no way a good looking young woman like you cares what he's doing by himself on a Friday night a thousand miles from home.

Surely you can't be that bored; you have dozens of regulars here that, judging by the pink lady's treatment, adore you. He wonders if he should tell you the truth, since he'll never see you again. Tell you he's driving his daughter's childhood bed up to her crappy off-campus apartment in Westwood. Tell you that he's so fucking old he nearly fell asleep at the wheel and ran out of gas in the process. Tell you that his life back in Austin is so boring that he hasn't had weekend plans since Tommy's birthday a couple months back.

"Got some business up in Los Angeles I gotta tend to." He answers coolly, with a small shrug of his shoulders like it's no big deal. Despite the fact that he'll never see you again, something burrowed deep in Joel's chest doesn't want you to see him for what he is — boring dad to a college student with no social or sex life.

He chalks it up the fact that he thinks this is the longest conversation he's had with a woman that wasn't a client or the mother of another player on Sarah's varsity soccer team in years.

"Some business." You mock him. Ice rattles in the glass again. "What? You a hitman or somethin'?"

"No, smartass." His turn to narrow his eyes. Empty glass taps the bar top. "Contractor."

"Contractor, huh?" You wag your eyebrows as you pour his third whiskey of the night. "Must be good with your hands if they need you all the way out here from Austin."

If his glass weren't empty, he would have choked on its contents. He feels heat rise above the collar of his flannel, fever crawling up neck. He can't remember the last time he blushed.

"Guess so, trouble." He mutters just above a whisper, fingers brushing against yours as he tugs the now full glass out of your grasp.

"Never got your name."

"Polly!" A gruff voice sounds throughout the bar, an older gentleman poking his head out from a fluorescent bathed room tucked around a clay-colored corner. "How you doin' on ice?"

Your gaze shifts away from Joel at the interruption. Below the counter top, chipped fingers fiddle with an ice chest lid.

"'M good, Cliff! I'll fill it up before I leave." You shout back, the thud of the ice box falling shut punctuating your announcement.

The older man grunts, waving his hand at you dismissively as he stalks back into his beaming foxhole. You divert your attention back to Joel with an almost apologetic look gracing your features.

"That your name?" He prompts, a little too eagerly, "Polly?"

"Pol-?" You leer at him in confusion, the realization taking a moment to reach you.

"Oh, ha!" You bark out, snapping the rag that was resting over your shoulder against bar top. "No way. 'S just a nickname."

"Polly's your nickname, huh?" Joel squints.

Polly. Polly. Polly.

"What — you always want a cracker or somethin'?"

For the second time that night, Joel Miller makes you genuinely laugh. Your head rolls back, eyes squeezing shut as your upper body shakes with tremors of humor. Suddenly, he has never felt less tired in his life.

"No, you ass." You roll your eyes, "'ts short for Pollyanna. That was Cliff, my boss. He calls me that to fuck with me."

"I see." Joel tuts, "Can't say I pegged you as a Pollyanna."

"'Cause I'm not, Joel the Contractor." You deadpan, staring at him straight in the eyes with an empty expression.

Joel can't tell if he's pissed you off or not, so he finishes the swig of whiskey left in his glass.

"Hm. Joel the Contractor... doesn't quite flow like Bob the Builder." You snicker, defusing the tension that Joel had feared he had created.

"So, you're not gonna tell me your real name?" Joel pushes, finding it only fair that he know yours now that you know his.

You purse your lips, bringing one of those red nails up to tap your chin in mock thought.

"Guess I'll show you mine, since you showed me yours."

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

You introduce yourself, nothing short of respectful, reaching the hand that was on your chin out to grasp his in a proper handshake.

Joel thinks your name suits you so well that he can't help but give you yet another once over, feeling like a little kid who just snapped the final piece into a jigsaw puzzle.

For the remainder of your shift, you and Joel fall into a consistent rhythm of what you'd like to think is banter, but you're pretty sure he just thinks you're a pain in the ass.

You're also pretty sure he likes it.

He catches the hands of his watch burning on his wrist, and decides that now is probably the right time for him to get out of the haze before he finds himself in real trouble.

Real trouble meaning he steps out of line with Sarah's polished moving itinerary she had emailed him earlier in the week.

"Nice meetin' you, Polly. Should be gettin' on my way." Joel sighs, reaching into denim to fish out his wallet. He slaps a few twenties on the polished wood beside the now damp Coors coaster.

He considers asking you if you accept all payment in your tank strap, but figures that right is only reserved for little old ladies with neon hair.

"Keep the change."

He thinks you deserved a tip after all.

"Nice meetin' you too, Joel the Contractor." You beam as you begin to erase all the evidence of his presence in the elusive bar, "See ya around?"

Joel rises from the squeaky barstool, eyes lingering on you for a few beats. There's a twinge of hopefulness on your features that tells him that you're actually asking if you'd see him again, not just making small talk out of boredom with a vagabond passing through.

Before he answers, he takes in his surroundings once more.

He notices the small waves and smiles thrown in your direction, each pleasantry fished from a different genre of bargoer. Joel decides he was right to feel like he was intruding before.

The bar mimicked an oasis, an escape for a myriad of souls who all wandered different walks of life; all paths leading to you, where you were waiting to pour them their first glass of water after a long trek in the desert.

"Maybe." He nods in your direction, turning on his heel to make his way out of the bar.

He doesn't look back, but he can feel your gaze on him until he crosses out of the oasis and back into the hot air of the July night.

He can't shake the smile on his lips as he drifts down the dust path to the hotel lobby. There was something freeing about being a stranger, something intoxicating about meeting a stranger, and something fulfilling about being somewhere strange. Although he prides himself on being put together — he's had to be every day for the past nineteen years — part of him is relieved he almost ran out of gas, relieved he didn't get a chance to make good on his plans.

He's relieved that even though he'll never see you or that Blondie shirt again, he met the bartender with a shitty nickname in a shitty bar.

But maybe, he's just relieved cause you got him drunk, as evidenced in the sway of his step.

So, Joel treks into the lobby, and pays the fifty nine dollars cash for a one night stay at the Hotel California.

He twirls the key around his ring finger as he heads out to his truck, the sound of the blush colored diamond keychain smacking against his palm the only sound within a twenty mile radius.

He reaches into the back seat to grab his duffle, heading down the breezeway to the row of rooms stowed around the corner, situated on the opposite side of the pink building that housed bar. His footsteps slow when he reaches his room — 101.

"Joel the Contractor!" Although he'd only heard that voice the first time an hour ago, he thinks he might be able to pick it out in a crowd.

There you were, smoke curling from your lips, worn leather jacket that was two sizes too big slouching around your frame as you ashed the burning cherry of your cigarette.

For the first time tonight, he saw you entirely — bright, full eyes beaming under weathered fluorescents.

You wore the same devilish smirk on your Shirley temple stained lips, but this time they were framed by your unruly hair shifting in the hot breeze.

Smooth legs littered with small, yellowing bruises and tiny scars led to scuffed up converse tapping on the concrete as you leaned against the door of room 100.

"Guess I will be seeing you around, neighbor."

a/n: welcome to the hotel california :~) this is the first fic i've written in a while so bare w me! i hope you guys are excited to meet joel and polly. feel free to come yell at me in my inbox.... EEK!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #fic: hotel california

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briefinquiries · 21 days ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 21

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 21

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: You and Tommy finally tie the knot in a whirlwind of nerves, love, and celebration, an unforgettable day filled with warmth, laughter, and the joy of becoming a family. But you should’ve known peace never lasts long when you marry a Shelby.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Not badly, just a subtle tremble at your fingertips, barely visible unless you looked for it. But you could feel it. A nervous energy pulsing beneath your skin, fluttering low in your stomach like wings beating against your ribs.

The room smelled like rosewater and perfume, the faint scent of pressed flowers from the bouquet resting on the vanity, the soft rustle of fabric filling the quiet between voices. Polly stood behind you, steady hands fastening the last delicate button at the nape of your neck. Ada was perched on the windowsill with a cigarette in one hand and a half-finished glass of champagne in the other, while Esme paced with restless energy, occasionally plucking stray threads off her own dress.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Ada said, flicking ash into a tray.

“Or take off runnin’,” Esme smirked, leaning in to adjust the fall of your veil. “That’s just adrenaline. Perfectly normal before marrying a Shelby, if you ask me.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

Polly gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s just nerves, love,” she said simply.

You nodded slowly, swallowing the knot in your throat. The dress was perfect, simple, elegant, the fabric hugging your frame like it had been stitched just for you. But beneath the silk and lace, your heart was hammering like a war drum.

You gave a small, unsteady smile, eyes still on the mirror. “I just… I don’t want to mess it up.”

Ada snorted. “If anyone should be worried about messing things up, it’s Tommy.”

That made Esme laugh, and even Polly cracked a faint smile.

But still, the nerves pulsed in your chest like a second heartbeat. You weren’t afraid of marrying him, not truly. You were afraid of what came with it. The weight of his name. The eyes on you. The risks that followed a life tethered to a Shelby.

And yet… beneath it all, deeper than the nerves and the fluttering uncertainty, was something steadier. Something sure.

You loved him.

And you’d walk through fire for him if you had to.

Suddenly, there was a quiet knock at the door. One of the younger Blinders poked his head in, cap in hand, eyes flicking briefly to you before leaning in toward Polly.

She bent slightly, listening as he murmured something low.

You couldn’t hear everything. But you heard enough.

“... still not back yet… tried to reach him… nothing yet…”

Polly’s expression didn’t shift, not visibly. But you saw the subtle tightening of her mouth. The brief flicker in her eyes.

“What is it?” you asked immediately, turning in your chair before Polly could wave him away.

“Nothing,” Polly said smoothly, straightening again. “Just a small delay. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You stared at her. “Where is he?”

Polly hesitated for a beat too long. “He’ll be here.”

“He’s not here?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp with panic.

“Sweetheart,” Ada said gently from the windowsill, “he probably just got caught up with some last-minute business. You know how Tommy is.”

But the unease had already taken root, coiling in your chest.

It was your wedding day. And he was missing.

You tried to breathe, tried to tell yourself it was fine– that he’d walk through the door any minute with some muttered excuse and a cigarette dangling from his fingers like nothing was wrong.

Your mind spun, tumbling through a hundred scenarios before you could stop it. What if something had gone wrong– another attack, another message, another quiet war unfolding behind the scenes that no one had told you about? What if this was the price of marrying into his world, and you were only just beginning to see it?

Or worse– what if it wasn’t danger at all?

What if he’d changed his mind?

The thought struck harder than you expected, sharp and cold and mean. You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on your reflection again. You looked calm on the outside, polished, elegant, composed. But beneath the satin, your pulse thundered, your heart twisting itself into anxious knots.

What if he’d gotten too close to the edge of it all, too close to this life, this weight, this love, and decided it wasn’t worth it?

What if he’d realized you were the one weak point in his armor?

Behind you, Polly was murmuring something to Ada, trying to distract the room, trying to keep the mood light. Esme was laughing at a story you couldn’t even hear anymore. The world moved on around you, dresses and flowers and champagne flutes glinting in the light… and still, he wasn’t there.

You pressed your palm to your stomach, willing the nerves to settle. Willing your heart to stop spiraling.

“What if he doesn’t come?” you said quietly, so quietly you weren’t sure anyone heard it. “What if he’s left me– before he even married me?”

But Ada turned instantly, her smile faltering. “Hey. No. Don’t do that,” she said, crossing the room in a heartbeat. She knelt slightly beside your chair, her hands warm as they reached for yours. “He loves you. You know that, right? You’ve seen it– you feel it. Don’t let your head start lying to you now.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep your expression steady, but something in your throat tightened anyway.

“I just–” Your voice cracked. “Why isn’t he here? What if I imagined this whole thing?”

Ada squeezed your hands harder. “You didn’t. You didn’t imagine a bloody thing. That man would tear down the whole world for you if you asked him to.”

You tried to nod, but it was shaky at best.

“You’re going to ruin your makeup if you keep going like this.”

From the doorway, Polly’s voice rang out, clipped and commanding.

“Go find him. Now,” she said sharply to the Blinder still lingering there, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to be caught listening. “I don’t care where the hell he is– get him here. Tell him I said if he’s not standing in front of her in ten minutes, I’ll put a bullet through him myself.”

The young man nodded quickly, disappearing down the corridor without another word.

Ada glanced over her shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth despite everything. “Well. Who needs the Blinders when you’ve got your own army of women now.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“He’ll be here, love,” Ada said gently.

You sat stiffly in the chair, hands folded tightly in your lap as Polly began weaving the final pins into your hair. Esme and Ada flitted around the room, chatting, teasing, laughing louder than usual, but their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.

They were trying. You knew that.

Ada held up a ridiculous feathered hat at one point, balancing it dramatically on her head. “What do you think?” she said in a mock-posh accent. “Good enough to be in the wedding?”

Esme snorted. “Careful, you’ll scare everyone away before the ceremony even starts.”

“I’m serious,” Ada added, tossing the veil toward you with a crooked grin. “If he doesn’t come, we’ll throw a party anyway. I’ll marry you. Polly can officiate.”

Polly rolled her eyes without looking up from your hair. “You’ll do no such thing.”

You tried to smile, tried so hard, but it didn’t quite make it past the tight ache in your chest.

Your eyes kept drifting toward the door. Toward the clock. Toward the empty space where Tommy should’ve been.

The laughter in the room felt distant now, muffled, like it was happening underwater. Your chest tightened with every beat of your heart, and you tried to breathe through it, to blink back the heat behind your eyes.

“Still no word?” Ada asked Polly under her breath, trying to make it sound like a casual aside.

Polly didn’t answer at first. She just twisted the final pin into place and patted your shoulder gently. “He’ll come.”

Just as Polly’s hand withdrew from your shoulder, the door burst open with a sudden, loud thud.

Arthur strode in like a storm, all wide grins and uncontainable energy. “Alright, alright, where’s our bloody bride?” he shouted, arms thrown wide like he expected cheers to greet him.

You startled slightly in your seat, the sudden volume jarring against the quiet thrum of nerves in your chest.

“There she is!” Arthur boomed, spotting you immediately and offering a lopsided grin. “Christ, look at you! You look like a bloody angel.”

Arthur barely registered her as he stepped further into the room, still beaming. But his excitement faltered slightly when he looked around and saw the way everyone else had gone still.

His brow furrowed. “What’s with all the long faces, eh?” His eyes flicked to Ada, then Polly. “You lot look like someone died.”

Polly gave him a sharp look, but Ada was the one who spoke first, voice flat. “Tommy’s not back yet.”

Arthur blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “Bloody hell, that’s what’s got ya lot all sour. Why didn’t you say so?”

You sat up straighter, heart thudding, eyes fixed on Arthur.

“He’s been out all morning,” Arthur went on, waving a hand like it was obvious. “Ran off first thing to get some last-minute thing for you. Wouldn’t tell anyone what it was– said it had to be perfect.” He scoffed, then shook his head with a crooked grin. “Bloody romantic, that one.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“He’s here now,” Arthur added, stepping to the side as if on cue.

And there he was– Tommy, stepping through the doorway with that quiet, commanding presence only he ever had. His tie slightly loosened, hair a little windswept from the breeze outside, but his eyes… his eyes went straight to you.

The moment he saw your face, his expression shifted. The flicker of relief in his features was quickly swallowed by something deeper, heavier. He saw the worry in your eyes, the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the fabric of your dress just to keep them from shaking.

“Everyone out,” Polly said quietly, but firmly, already standing. “Give them a minute.”

Ada opened her mouth to protest, but one look from Polly silenced her. Esme gave you a knowing glance as she rose, smoothing her skirt with a little smirk before nudging Ada toward the door.

And then it was just the two of you.

The door clicked softly shut behind them, but neither of you moved.

“What’s wrong, love?” Tommy asked, his voice low, softer than usual. He stepped forward slowly, cautious like you might shatter if he got too close.

You shook your head quickly, forcing a tight smile as your hands fussed with the edge of your dress. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just nerves.”

But his eyes didn’t leave your face. He saw the way your fingers trembled slightly, the flicker of something behind your smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. He stepped closer, one hand reaching out gently to brush his knuckles along your cheek.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” you asked, trying again to laugh it off, but your voice cracked at the edges.

“Pretend with me.”

You dropped your gaze to the floor, teeth catching your bottom lip, trying to will the emotion away before it spilled over. But then he was right in front of you, easing down to sit on the small bench beside you, one hand still at your cheek, thumb stroking gently across your skin like he was trying to soothe it out of you.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

You exhaled slowly, the words catching in your throat before you finally said them, barely above a whisper. “I thought… It’s stupid. But I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

His hand stilled, just for a second. A flicker of realization crossed his face, followed by something heavier, something that looked like regret.

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind,” you added, eyes still focused on your hands. “That maybe it was just… too much. Maybe I was too much.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, but not with anger, just pain. Quiet, gutting pain.

“Christ,” he said softly, exhaling a slow breath. “Is that what you thought?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

His hand slid to your jaw, guiding your face gently toward his until your eyes met his again. There was no fire in them now, no tension, just that steady, anchored blue that had always made you feel like you were on solid ground again.

“I was running around like an idiot trying to get a surprise delivered before the ceremony,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Wasn’t thinking. Should’ve told someone. Should’ve told you.”

You blinked, your throat still tight, heart still aching from the spiral you’d fallen into.

“Love,” he said again, softer this time. “If I could be anywhere in the world right now, it’d still be right here. With you. Always you.”

You swallowed hard, finally letting your body lean toward him, your forehead resting against his. His hands stayed at your face, holding you steady.

“I’m here,” he whispered again. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, the motion small and shaky. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you breathed him in– his scent, the warmth of his hands, the steady rhythm of his breath against yours. That awful knot of fear in your chest slowly began to unravel, thread by thread, just from being close to him again.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and grounding, and you let your eyes close again as his lips lingered there.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your cheek, he looked at you with a softness that made your heart catch in your throat.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to tell you how beautiful you look,” he said quietly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I walked in, and you just about broke my heart before I got the words out.”

You let out a shaky laugh, tears still clinging to your lashes, but lighter now. “Sorry,” you murmured, brushing your thumb against his wrist. “I panicked first.”

“Well,” he said, eyes still steady on you, “just so we’re clear, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your cheeks flushed, and the knot in your chest finally, fully unwound.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked gently, his voice low and warm. Then, with the faintest twitch of a smirk, he added, “Keep an eye on me until it’s time to walk– make sure I don’t bolt out the back door?”

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself with how natural it felt. “No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “It’s okay.”

His grin widened slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway.”

“Better not,” you murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’d hate to have to hunt you down in full lace and heels.”

He chuckled at that, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “You’d look terrifying.”

You grinned.

A soft knock interrupted the moment as Polly reappeared at the door. “Alright,” she said with a warm, knowing smile. “It’s time.”

You looked at Tommy one last time, really looked, and this time, there was no panic. No dread. Just that same steady warmth he always gave you, the quiet strength of someone who wasn’t just standing beside you for today, but for all the days after.

“I’ll see you out there,” he said, voice low and sure, fingers giving yours one final squeeze.

You nodded.

…

The ceremony passed in a blur of warmth and golden light, of whispered vows and stolen glances, of the weight of Tommy’s steady hand wrapped around yours, grounding you through every breath.

The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers– roses, lilacs, and gardenias twined together in elegant arrangements, their petals swaying softly in the breeze. Candles flickered in the late afternoon glow, casting golden halos along the wooden pews, where familiar faces watched with quiet reverence. Ada and Polly sat near the front, side by side, the former smirking through misty eyes, the latter composed but proud, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Arthur, standing just beside Tommy, looked unusually solemn, the weight of the moment settling in his features. Even John, forever cheeky, forever irreverent, had kept his usual quips at bay, though you caught the glint of mischief in his eyes when he’d winked at you just before the ceremony began.

But all of it, the setting, the guests, the whispered murmur of the wind through the trees, faded into something distant when you looked up and met Tommy’s eyes.

He was watching you like you were the only person in the room. Like the rest of the world had fallen away completely.

There was something unguarded about him in that moment, something raw and reverent, as though even he couldn’t quite believe this was real. As though he was memorizing every inch of you, committing it all to memory in case it slipped away.

He squeezed your fingers gently, reassuring, a silent I’m here. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in answer.

And then the words came. Soft, steady, unshaken.

The vows.

The moment you promised yourself to him, and he to you.

The moment you became his wife.

It was beautiful.

More beautiful than you could’ve imagined.

The kind of moment that would live in your bones long after the petals wilted and the candles burned out. The kind that settled into your chest like something sacred, something quiet and precious and entirely yours.

The music was soft, a gentle thread weaving between the rows of guests, and the sun had broken through the clouds just enough to cast a warm glow through the stained glass, bathing the room in soft color. You weren’t sure if anyone else noticed, but when you looked up and saw it, it felt like a blessing. A quiet little sign that maybe, just maybe, the world had given you this one good thing.

Tommy’s hands never left yours, not through the vows, not through the exchange of rings, not even when your voice shook slightly and you had to take a breath before continuing. He held you steady with nothing but a look. A small squeeze of your fingers. A breath shared between two hearts beating just a little too fast.

You saw it clearly– how his jaw tensed and softened all at once when he looked at you. The way his mouth trembled just slightly as you recited your vows. The way his eyes shimmered, not quite tearing, but enough that you knew. Enough that your heart twisted in your chest with a love so sharp it almost hurt.

You’d never seen him look at anything the way he looked at you in that moment.

The ceremony had been soft and warm and full of heart– but the reception?

The reception was loud, chaotic, overflowing with whiskey and laughter and the kind of rowdy joy that could only be described as Shelby traditional.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the quiet elegance of the ceremony had given way to a full-blown celebration. Music blared from the record player in the corner, the kind that made boots thump against the floor and voices rise above the din. Someone, probably Arthur, had already knocked over one of the floral centerpieces trying to demonstrate an impromptu boxing move, and John had stolen a bottle of champagne off the dessert table, waving it triumphantly like a trophy.

You’d barely made it ten steps into the room before Polly had pressed a glass of whiskey into your hand and Ada was dragging you toward the dance floor.

“Come on,” she’d said, grinning like the devil. “You’re a Shelby now. Time to dance like one.”

You laughed until your cheeks ached, spun in circles beneath strings of soft light as Esme shouted out the words to a pub song off-key, and Finn nearly tripped over a tray trying to pass around more drinks. Even Polly had cracked a smile when Arthur picked her up and twirled her, only to immediately apologize when he nearly knocked over a table.

It was mayhem. Beautiful, noisy, messy mayhem.

And through it all, Tommy’s eyes never strayed far from you.

“Dance with me,” he said quietly, like it was a secret meant only for you.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your hand slid into his, and he pulled you gently toward the center of the room. The chaos around you dulled to a low hum as his arms wrapped around your waist, your hands finding their familiar place against his chest.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

The alcohol was finally starting to catch up with you, warmth pooling in your limbs, making everything just a little hazier at the edges. Your head felt light, your body loose, a gentle buzz pulsing beneath your skin. You leaned into him more than usual, swaying a little softer, clinging a little tighter, not just because of the gin curling through your veins, but because being in his arms still made everything else fall away.

His hand was steady on your back, his thumb brushing soft circles into the fabric of your dress, grounding you with every breath.

Your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. Into the safety he carried in the quiet way he held you. The rest of the room could’ve vanished, and you wouldn’t have noticed. Not when his heartbeat was beneath your ear. Not when his scent– smoke and spice and something inherently Tommy, wrapped around you like home.

And for just a moment, it didn’t matter who you were, or what had come before. You weren’t a girl recovering from bruises and broken ribs. You weren’t a survivor still flinching at shadows. You were just… his.

You breathed him in, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of his shirt. He dipped his head closer, his lips brushing your temple in a soft kiss, and you felt yourself exhale fully—like your body finally remembered what it meant to feel at peace.

“I can’t believe I get to keep you,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice soft and just a little slurred from the champagne.

“Keep me?” Tommy huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curving against your hair. “Are you drunk, Mrs. Shelby?”

You smiled, half-tipsy and wholly content. “Maybe a little.”

His arms tightened just a little around you, like he was never letting go.

Eventually, the music shifted again, drawing more bodies to the dance floor. A few relatives waved Tommy over, gesturing toward a corner of the room where a handful of older guests had gathered– distant family who’d made the trip just for the occasion. He leaned in, brushing one last kiss to your cheek.

“I should say hello. I’ll only be a minute,” he murmured, thumb brushing gently across your jaw.

You gave a soft, amused hum, letting him go reluctantly as he slipped into the crowd, his frame quickly swallowed by the flurry of movement and conversation.

Left in the warm afterglow of your dance, you wandered to the edge of the room, letting your eyes drift lazily over the crowd. There was laughter, clinking glasses, someone shouting across the room for more champagne. You watched Esme dancing with John, dramatically spinning her in circles while Polly rolled her eyes from the corner. Ada was holding court near the drinks table, gesturing wildly as she recounted some story that had half the group in stitches.

It was perfect.

You continued scanning faces, watching the way everyone mingled, laughed, danced.

That’s when you noticed them.

Two men near the far wall. Not dancing. Not drinking. Not laughing like the others. Just standing there, still, quiet, their expressions unreadable.

You tilted your head slightly, squinting toward them in your haze. Their suits were sharp, their posture too stiff, too formal. One of them held a drink he hadn’t touched. The other smoked, eyes trailing across the room– and landing briefly, unmistakably, on you.

You blinked. You didn’t recognize them. And they certainly didn’t carry the same easy familiarity as the rest of the guests.

One of them leaned toward the other, murmuring something you couldn’t hear. The second man glanced briefly toward the exit, then returned his attention to the crowd.

You weren’t alarmed exactly– just curious. Curious enough to want an answer. So you turned, weaving through the crowd without urgency, politely excusing yourself between conversations and shifting dancers.

You found Tommy at the far end of the room, standing among a few of his distant relatives, laughing quietly at some half-funny story being told by an uncle you barely remembered. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, jacket loosened, a half-drunk glass of whiskey in his hand. His smile was easy, eyes soft.

You didn’t even think twice, you just made your way toward him.

Tommy’s eyes landed on you the moment you approached, his grin tugging higher as he stepped away from the group. “Couldn’t wait for me to come back, eh?” he teased, slipping an arm around your waist.

“Love, there’s a couple of men over there I don’t recognize. Thought maybe they were from your side,” you said with a half-smile, glancing over your shoulder toward the bar.

Tommy’s brow furrowed slightly. “You didn’t invite them?”

You blinked. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before. Maybe Polly knows them?”

His expression didn’t change much, just a faint twitch in his jaw. He nodded slowly, eyes flicking over your face. “Probably,” he said with a small smile, brushing a thumb over your arm.

Tommy leaned in, brushing a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, already making his way toward Arthur and John with that quiet focus you knew all too well.

You didn’t think much of it. Just sipped your champagne, watching the party swirl on around you as you watched happily.

A few minutes passed, the music picking up again, laughter echoing from the far side of the room. One of Tommy’s cousins– Nellie, maybe? Or Noreen– sidled up beside you, also tipsy, her voice loud over the music as she complimented your dress and asked what it was like planning a wedding with a Shelby.

You offered polite responses, even managed a soft laugh, letting yourself lean into the lightness of it all.

Before you knew it, Tommy reappeared from the crowd with that same deliberate pace, but his eyes were sharper now, his jaw tight. He didn’t smile this time. He didn’t say a word either, just reached for your arm and gently, but firmly, started guiding you away.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept moving, his grip secure around your wrist, weaving through the crowd with you in tow. His silence made your heart thump a little harder.

“Tommy, what’s going on?”

Still nothing. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone.

He led you into one of the adjoining rooms off the reception hall– a small sitting room with soft light and a door that muffled the noise behind it. Your heels wobbled slightly on the floor as you stepped inside, the lingering champagne making your head feel a little floaty, a little slow. You stumbled just slightly, catching yourself on the edge of a side table as Tommy turned to face you.

“Stay here,” he said lowly, his tone clipped, serious.

You blinked at him, unsteady, brows pulling together. “What? Tommy– what’s happening?” you asked, trying to shake off the fuzziness clouding your thoughts.

But his expression didn’t soften. If anything, it only grew more tense.

“Tommy,” you said again, stepping toward him.

“Just stay here,” was all he said, then he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, stunned and alone.

You stood there for a beat, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides as heat rose in your chest. That old, gnawing frustration surged up fast– sharp and hot, made worse by the dizzy hum of alcohol still lingering in your veins. He was doing it again. Tucking you away like something fragile. On your own bloody wedding day.

You paced the room, heels clicking sharply against the floor, trying to calm your breath, but it only made you angrier. Outside, you could hear the music still going strong, laughter spilling from the reception hall like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t being shoved behind a door and told to sit still like a child while the rest of the world moved on.

Your stomach twisted with indignation. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. You weren’t a porcelain doll to be placed neatly on a shelf whenever danger sniffed too close.

You sat down for a moment, gripping the edge of the seat with white-knuckled fingers, trying to tell yourself to wait. To trust him. To just breathe.

But the minutes dragged, and your blood only simmered hotter with each one.

Finally, you stood again, cheeks flushed, heart pounding with more than just nerves. Enough.

You stormed across the room and yanked the door open.

It was your damn wedding day.

The music met you first, louder now, full of laughter and clinking glasses, the hum of conversation and the occasional roar of someone retelling a story too loud over the music. Everything was exactly how it had been when you left.

You stepped back into the reception hall, scanning the crowd.

No sign of Tommy. No sign of Arthur. No sign of John.

What a surprise.

Still, you forced yourself forward, weaving through the crowd again, your dress brushing against the edge of a chair, your smile faint and automatic when someone congratulated you in passing. You didn’t stop. Not until you spotted a familiar face near the refreshment table.

“Finn,” you breathed, crossing the space quickly.

He looked up from where he was piling cake onto a plate, a fork already in his mouth. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Hello!” he grinned.

You managed a small laugh, trying to seem casual. “You’ve got frosting on your nose.”

“What?” He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, missing it completely. You reached out and gently swiped it away with your thumb.

“There. Crisis averted.”

“Thank God,” he said dramatically. “This is a big day for me, afterall.”

You grinned widely at him. “You’ve got quite a reputation to protect.”

Finn chuckled, nudging a second slice of cake toward you. “It’s a wedding. You’re obligated to eat cake with me now. Tommy would agree.”

But before you could reply, something caught in the corner of your eye.

Movement.

Quick. Deliberate. Wrong.

Your gaze flicked toward the far side of the room toward the two unfamiliar men you’d noticed earlier.

One of them reached into his coat.

The breath caught in your throat.

But before you could react, before anyone could, the first shot rang out.

A deafening crack split through the music and laughter like a lightning strike.

You barely had time to register it before everything turned to chaos.

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#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction

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normalbrothers · 1 year ago

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the thing about alfie's fake wife edna is that he has, according to some supplemental material, a maid/housekeeper named edna as well. my take away is that he just came up with the one woman he knows who isn't his mother. he certainly can't be bothered to know any more women

#homosocial homosexual hfhfhf #sorry alfie being a misogynistic gay man is the headcanon for me #'he would respect polly or ada' no he wouldn't #alfie in fics is alwaysso nice and somehow tends to have the Correct opinions and mindsets on things; especially galling when #he's framed as having some kind of highground on tommy #absolutely not #besides it being boring

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corrupte3d-mindz · 10 months ago

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Forever a Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas and you get married.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings:

protective! Thomas, cocky! Thomas if you squint, kissing, lap sitting,

Thomas Shelby stood at the altar, the weight of his suit jacket pressing down on his broad shoulders. The church was grand, decorated with white lilies and gold ribbons, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Birmingham that he knew so well.

Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floor. The pews were filled with both Shelbys and Changrettas, two families whose histories were steeped in blood and rivalry. Today, however, was meant to be a day of unity, a truce symbolized by the marriage of Thomas Shelby and the daughter of his fiercest enemy, Luca Changretta. Arthur stood beside him, a rare softness in his eyes as he glanced back at the congregation. He reached out, patting Thomas on the shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Nervous, Tommy?"

Thomas turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost be considered a smile. "No, Arthur," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Nervous ain't in my nature." His accent, thick and rich, rolled off his tongue, a constant reminder of his roots.

Polly Gray sat in the front row, her dark eyes fixed on her nephew. There was a mixture of pride and apprehension in her gaze, a silent prayer for the future. Beside her, Michael leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the gathering. Arthur's wife, Linda, looked on with a serene expression, her hand resting in her lap. John sat a few rows behind, bouncing his baby on his knee, his wife Esme smiling warmly at the scene. Ada, dressed in a striking blue dress, chatted animatedly with Finn, while Johnny Dogs and Isaiah exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes darting around the room. The tension in the air was palpable, a heady mix of anticipation and unease. Thomas felt it in his bones, the weight of expectations and the ghosts of the past pressing down on him. Marrying into the Changretta family was a strategic move, but it wasn’t a strategic move on his part, it was love. Yes, Thomas Shelby had fallen in love with a Changretta but the same could be said for her.

“Now, hush Arthur. She’ll be walking down that aisle any minute now,” Thomas murmured, his voice a low growl that carried an edge of authority. He straightened his posture, his gaze fixed on the ornate doors at the end of the aisle

Arthur looked at him again; “You sure you’re not nervous?” Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, waiting for his reaction. He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s for a moment before he replied.

“I said I’m not fucking nervous, Arthur,” he said, his voice low and steady, laced with a thick Birmingham accent that carried an edge of impatience. To emphasize his point, he kicked Arthur in the back of his left knee, causing his brother to stumble briefly. Thomas chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that broke the tension momentarily. He could always count on Arthur to lighten the mood, even if unintentionally.

The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse; who was he kidding? It was for better! As the doors opened fully, revealing her figure, Thomas felt a rush of emotions. She stood there, framed by the golden light that spilled in from the hallway, her silhouette ethereal and almost otherworldly. Her dress, a delicate creation of black lace and satin, hugged her form gracefully, the long train trailing behind her like a whisper. A veil covered her face, but even through the sheer fabric, Thomas could see the outline of her features, delicate and serene.

Her father, Luka Changretta, stood beside her, his expression a mask of pride and caution. The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent reminder of the bloody history that lay between their families. Thomas’s eyes never left her as she began her slow walk down the aisle. Each step she took seemed to echo in his mind, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. He could see the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clutched her bouquet of white roses a little too tightly. Despite the nerves, she moved with a grace and determination that he found both admirable and endearing.

Arthur leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper in Thomas’s ear. “She looks beautiful, Tommy.”

Thomas nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Aye, she does,” he replied, his voice softer now, filled with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. In that moment, he felt a connection to her that went beyond their shared history, beyond the political and familial implications of their marriage. It was something deeper, a bond that he hoped would grow stronger with time. The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse. But it was never worse, it saw always for better. As she reached the front of the aisle, Luka placed her hand in Thomas’s, a gesture heavy with significance. Their eyes met, while under the veil; a silent understanding passing between them, He lifted the delicate veil that covered her face, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding. This was not just a marriage of convenience or strategy; it was a commitment to each other, to the future they would build together.

Jeremiah stood before them, the priest's presence both comforting and solemn. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chapel, echoing off the ancient walls. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony Thomas Michael Shelby and _______ LaPaglia Changretta." His words carried the weight of history and expectation, binding not just two people, but two families with a fraught past.

Thomas's eyes flickered to the woman beside him. _______ LaPaglia Changretta. She was beautiful, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, her eyes a deep, enigmatic brown. Her dress was elegant, simple yet stunning, the black fabric contrasting sharply with her olive skin. She stood with a quiet grace, her expression serene, yet there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and determination.

Jeremiah's voice cut through the silence. "Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take _______ LaPaglia Changretta to be your lawful wedded wife?" Thomas felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Every decision, every move he made was calculated, and this was no different. "I do," he said, his voice steady, firm. It was a commitment not just to her, but to the path he had chosen, the alliances he was forging.

He turned to her. "Do you, _______ LaPaglia Changretta, solemnly swear to love, honor, and obey till death do you part?" Her response was immediate, her voice clear and unwavering. "I do." There was a finality in those words, a binding promise that echoed through the chapel, sealing their fates together.

Jeremiah's proclamation was met with a collective breath, as if the entire room had been holding it in anticipation. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The words hung in the air, a declaration that felt both momentous and surreal. Thomas turned to his new wife, his expression unreadable. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that sealed their union. It was a kiss that spoke of duty and obligation, but beneath it all, there was a spark, a glimmer of something more. As they turned to face their families, the applause was polite, restrained. This was no ordinary wedding, and the people gathered here understood the gravity of the situation. Arthur left the alter and walk to the pew to join his family. Their expression a mix of approval and caution. Polly Gray, ever the matriarch, watched with a keen eye, her sharp mind assessing every nuance, every subtle shift in the room.

The Changrettas were less expressive, their faces a mask of formality. Luca Changretta's presence was a dark cloud, a reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to achieve. His eyes bore into Thomas, a silent challenge that promised future confrontation. Thomas took her hand as they walked down the aisle, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. Every step was a reminder of the path he had chosen, he wouldn’t ever regret it; the future he was forging. The guests rose as they passed, their eyes following the couple, whispers of speculation and curiosity filling the air. This was a union that would be talked about for years to come, a merging of two powerful families with a history of bloodshed and betrayal.

Outside the chapel, the sun shone brightly, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere within. The reception awaited, a lavish affair that promised to be both a celebration and a test of the new alliance. As they stepped into the sunlight, Thomas felt the warmth on his face, a brief respite from the shadows that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He glanced at her, her smile a beacon of hope in the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"Welcome to the family," Thomas said, his voice low, the Birmingham accent thick and unmistakable.

The kitchen was a stark contrast to the rest of Arrow House, filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and the earthy scent of the wood burning in the hearth. Thomas stood at the head of the room, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, ensuring he had the attention of every man present. The weight of the day was palpable; this was his wedding day, a day that marked a significant turning point in his life and the Shelby family. His dark suit was meticulously tailored, each stitch a testament to his attention to detail, and his peaked cap sat jauntily on his head, casting a shadow over his face that made his intense expression even more formidable.

"Right, boys, you're all here," he began, his voice carrying the authoritative edge that had come to define him. The men around the kitchen, his brothers Arthur, John, and Finn, along with Michael and a few trusted others, like Charlie and Johnny Dogs turned their attention to him. Each face was a study in respect and a touch of fear, for they knew Thomas was not a man to be crossed, especially not today.

"Today, this is my fucking wedding day," Thomas continued, his tone brooking no argument. His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken understanding that this day was sacred, not just for him, but for the entire Shelby clan. It was a rare occasion of vulnerability, where the hard-edged leader allowed a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.

John, ever the irreverent one, couldn't help but interject. "Yeah, and you said there'd be no bloody uniforms," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and humor. The tension in the room crackled for a moment, a testament to the volatile nature of their relationships. Thomas fixed John with a steely gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nevertheless... Nevertheless, John..." he began, his voice a low growl that seemed to reverberate off the walls. He took a step closer, his presence dominating the room. "Despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." His words were a command, not a request, and the message was clear: today was about unity, not division.

His gaze swept around the circle, making eye contact with each man, ensuring they understood the gravity of his words. "Now for my wife's sake, nothing will go wrong," he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. His love for his bride was a rare softness in his otherwise hardened demeanor, and he was determined to protect her from the chaos that often surrounded the Shelbys. Thomas pointed outside the kitchen, towards the bustling preparations for the wedding. "Those bastards out there are her family," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. He had little patience for those who might threaten the harmony of his wedding day, and he would go to great lengths to ensure everything went smoothly.

His hand traveled around the circle, pointing at each man in turn as he spoke. "And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything..." His voice trailed off as he fixed his gaze on Arthur, the eldest and most unpredictable of the brothers. There was a pause, a moment where the weight of his words seemed to settle over the room like a heavy fog.

Isaiah, leaning casually against the counter, broke the uneasy silence. "Tom..?" Thomas's gaze snapped to Isaiah, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. "To... WHAT!?" he barked, his voice low but commanding.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What about snow," he ventured, his tone cautious. John eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Yeah, their women are sports, I’ll say that.."

"No. No. No." Thomas cut him off sharply, striding towards Isaiah with purpose. He stopped inches from his face, his breath hot and laced with the smell of tobacco. "No cocaine," he said, jabbing a finger towards Isaiah's face for emphasis. "No cocaine."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as Thomas turned his attention to John, who stood to Isaiah's right. "No sport," Thomas said, waving his hand dismissively. "No telling fortunes."

He began to pace, the soles of his polished shoes tapping rhythmically against the tiled floor. Each step seemed to echo with unspoken threats, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. He approached Arthur, his oldest and most volatile brother, stopping just short of him. "No racing," Thomas ordered, his voice a low growl. Arthur met his gaze with a slight nod, the fire in his eyes dimmed by his brother's authority. Breaking from the circle, Thomas crossed to Finn, the youngest of the Shelby brothers. Grabbing Finn's face with his left hand, he forced him to look into his eyes. "No fucking sucking petrol," he snarled, his grip tightening. He delivered a light slap to Finn's cheek, a reminder of the discipline he expected. "Out of their fucking cars."

Satisfied, Thomas released Finn and turned to Charlie, who had been lingering on the edge of the group. "And, you, Charlie," he said, his voice softer but no less intense. "Stop spinning yards about me, eh?" Charlie, taken aback, spoke up as Thomas turned his back. "I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," he defended.

Thomas took a deep drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a rare sign of the stress he carried. Returning to the center of the circle, he spun slowly, addressing them all. "But the main thing is, you bunch of fuckers," he began, his voice rising with intensity. "Despite the provocation from her family, no fighting."

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Isaiah. The room seemed to hold its breath as Thomas slowly made his way toward him, the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor punctuating the silence. As he reached Isaiah, Thomas lifted his chin with a firm but controlled hand, forcing Isaiah to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, yet there was a flicker of something deeper—an unspoken understanding, perhaps. “Oi,” Thomas began, his voice a low growl that resonated with authority. He pointed a finger at Isaiah, his expression unwavering. “No fighting.”

With a swift, deliberate movement, Thomas shifted to his right, positioning himself in front of John. He didn’t waste a moment, his finger darting out to point at John with the same intensity. “No fucking fighting,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. John's smirk faltered under Thomas's glare, replaced by a nod of compliance.

Thomas moved again, this time to Arthur. Their eyes met, and an unspoken tension filled the air. Arthur, ever the wild card, was the one Thomas needed to keep in check the most. Pointing at his older brother, Thomas's voice was a commandment. “No fighting.” Arthur, his usual bravado momentarily subdued, nodded with a grunt, understanding the gravity of the order. Next, Thomas’s eyes fell on Michael, who was leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air. Without a word, Thomas pointed at him. Michael straightened up, his casual demeanor replaced by a look of acknowledgement. The silent exchange spoke volumes—Michael knew exactly what was expected of him.

Finally, Thomas turned towards Finn’s direction, his youngest brother, “No,” he said, his voice slicing through the tension. He then swung his gaze back to Arthur’s direction. “Fucking.” And finally, his eyes landed on Charlie's direction. “Fighting.”

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Thomas’s words hanging heavily in the air. Each man understood the simplicity of the command. In this room, defying Thomas Shelby was not an option. Thomas took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light, and exhaled a plume of smoke. He walked towards his coat, which was draped over a chair between Michael and Arthur. “Good,” he muttered, his satisfaction evident in the single word. With his back turned slightly, Thomas didn’t see the butler approaching. The man, new to the household and unfamiliar with the Shelby way, hesitated for a moment too long. The collision was inevitable. The impact was sudden, and Thomas spun around, his face a mask of fury. “Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, shoving the butler to the ground. The bottle of wine the butler had been holding shattered on the floor, red liquid spreading like blood across the wood.

Arthur, ever the enforcer, hurled his glass at the butler, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. The butler scrambled to his feet, fear written all over his face as he hurried out of the kitchen, leaving behind a mess of broken glass and spilled wine. Thomas exhaled one last plume of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He adjusted his coat, smoothing out the fabric as he straightened up. “Right,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Let’s get this done.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, his family and comrades falling into step behind him. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway as they made their way towards the main event. Thomas’s mind was already racing ahead, planning, strategizing, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. But the words he had spoken in the kitchen lingered in the air, a solemn vow that no matter what happened, there would be no fighting. Not today.

As Thomas Shelby sat at the head of the table during his wedding dinner, the room was alive with the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. He raised the crystal glass to his lips, savoring the last drops of whiskey that burned pleasantly down his throat. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes swept across the room, taking in the faces of his family and the guests. His gaze lingered for a moment on his wife her beauty striking even in the dim candlelight. She was radiant, her smile lighting up the room. But as his eyes drifted to her father, he noticed the man's steely gaze fixed upon him. Thomas arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You look absolutely stunning today, luv," Thomas remarked, his voice low and tinged with admiration. "Hard to keep me eyes off of you." He reached out to gently squeeze her hand, a small, affectionate gesture amidst the formality of the occasion.

"I can say the same for you, Mr. Shelby," she replied, her smile radiant as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Thomas smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened his features. His attention then shifted to her father, a man of stature and presence, seated a bit farther down to her. "Well, you're not the only one whose eyes are on me, eh?" he quipped, a hint of playful charm in his voice.

"Luv," he murmured, leaning towards his wife, "would you mind telling your father to stop staring me down, eh?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of challenge in his eyes.

His bride glanced nervously at her father, then back at Thomas. "Tommy, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension, "but that's just how he is."

Thomas nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I see," he replied, his voice low and measured. He leaned back in his chair, his mind working quickly. He was used to dealing with difficult situations, but this was his wedding day, a day that should have been free of such tensions.

There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt in Thomas's eyes as he considered the weight of his actions. But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he knew that this was where he belonged. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent declaration of his love and commitment. The room erupted into applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the walls as Thomas and Luka's families celebrated their union.

Hours had slipped by like fleeting ghosts since Thomas had exchanged vows, and now, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, he sat with his new wife perched gently on his lap. The flickering light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow, accentuating the soft features of her face and the delicate curves of her figure. He gazed at her, his eyes tracing every line, every contour, as if committing her beauty to memory.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, Mrs. Shelby," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rasp that betrayed a hint of awe. His hands, calloused yet gentle, cradled her waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric of her dress. The weight of her presence on his lap was a comfort, grounding him in the reality of this new chapter of his life.

"I like when you call me Mrs. Shelby," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. Her words were like a balm to his weary soul, a reminder of the new life they were beginning together.

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a moment of peace amidst the chaos that always seemed to follow him.

"I like it too," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "It suits you, Mrs. Shelby."

"You're fuckin' perfect for me... y'know that?" Thomas's voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with sincerity. His hand reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. There was a gentleness in his touch, a rare vulnerability that he showed only to her.

Their lips met in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of their love and commitment to each other. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a shared connection that transcended words. Her hands roamed freely, exploring his body with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights spent together. Thomas pulled her closer, his other hand wrapping around her waist, holding her as if afraid she might slip away. Their kiss deepened, a silent communication of their love and desire for each other. It was a dance they knew well, a rhythm that was uniquely theirs. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss even further. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was now a tousled mess, a testament to the passion between them. She loved the way his hair felt between her fingers, the way it seemed to have a life of its own.

They broke the kiss, but remained intertwined, her head resting against his chest, his chin on her shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day's events slowly settling on their shoulders. The gravity of their new union was not lost on Thomas; he knew the responsibilities that came with it, the need to protect and provide for his new family. His mind drifted to the future, a future now entwined with hers. He thought of the challenges they would face, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world. But he also thought of the moments of joy, the simple pleasures they would share.

Author’s Notes:

Y’all, I fucking love this oneshot..it’s so cute I finally did my own rendition of the wedding scene..ahhhhhhhh I feel like I got it just right y’all..ahh it’s fucking cute!!!

Deadass I should have written smut but nah, I don’t feel like it

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waveofthot · 3 months ago

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-Say "ahh"

Osamu x Reader

Warnings: Reader not having eaten due to work, comfort, fluffy end!

Your boss had been flooding your schedule. Making you stay longer hours and eating up all of your time. Even the time you needed to...well... eat! Opting to you buying cheap convenience store food and coffee to keep you sane.

It was finally the weekend though, and your first break in a long time, and by the time you got back, you'd have come home to a quiet house, as your husband already laid in bed asleep

Osamu was a light sleeper, so despite your best efforts the movement around him had him waking up, though he gladly opened his arms to make room once he realized you were back home.

Getting comfortable was easy, you would always nuzzle into him, the warmth from his body embracing your entire being, shielding you from whatever worries you may have had. "Welcome home babe, how was work...?" His voice was rough, sleep still evident. And you were about to reply, but with what felt like your body betraying you and your dignity...

*Growl*

His glances jumped between you and your stomach as he slowly opened his mouth. "Haven't ya eaten, baby?" You kept yours shut, turning your body away as your ears turned red. Despite the tiredness of the previous work days, you suddenly felt the embarrasment of your growling stomach hang in the air.

"Baby?" You felt his body shift, as his hand rested on your arm concern laced in his voice. Looking back at him a bit you see him sat up hovering over you. "Mmm, I did... I- had noodles". His concern didn't disappear, but with a simple sigh it softened. "Actual noodles wouldn't leave ya this hungry Y/N. Fuck... you've been in a work frenzy this past week I assumed ya ate before ya got home..."

*Growl*

Your body betrayed you once more. The way too obvious sound made your body crawl into a ball like some sort of rollie pollie, as if that'll hide you away. His arm didn't follow your movements though, if anything his movements stopped, but only briefly before he placed it back down on you.

"Y/N, have ya even eaten breakfast?" This time it was your turn to freeze. Another sigh followed. The bed moved under you before it stopped and with footsteps approaching, Osamu had squatted down right where you could see him.

His brows tilted up and he carried a soft smile. Even in your nervous state his smile always calmed you down, even if just a bit. "I'm sorry I haven't payed enough attention to ya recently. Here come on, I'll cook ya somethin'. A proper meal." You hastily sat up, muttering a "'Samu it's almost twelve-" just for him to start walking out of the room, only stopping by the door frame to give you a nod signaling you to join him in what definitely is a trip to the kitchen.

You blinked a few times, a tugging on your heart as you realized what just happened. Only interrupted by your stomach growling once more, urging you to follow him.

You slowly stepped forward, eyes watching him as he already started working his magic. He left work before you did and you usually got home late, so your together time, especially this week was scarce and it'd be a crime to say you didn't miss his cooking. Watching how he worked so diligently in preparing a meal *this* late at night, a smile never leaving his face, was just a silent reminder of why you married this man.

At one point he looked back at you. A chuckle escaping his lips. "Watchu lookin' at?" His smile turning into a playful smirk. "Hmm...just looking at my handsome husband... Thank you, 'Samu." His face softened once again, before he grabbed a spoon, scooping up some of whatever he was making, before blowing on it.

"Here babe, try this...whaddya think?" He brought the spoon up to you, signaling you to open your mouth, which you happily oblige. The flavors danced on your tongue, and the warmth of home cooked goodness had you melting. He gives a satisfied hum at your reaction before going back, now plating the food before setting the dish Infront of you.

He sits down, thoroughly enjoying the sight before him. "Yer pretty when ya ain't starvin'" it was almost a whisper, but you were too busy eating to even notice. His eyes briefly fly down to your face before his hand reaches over, thumb gliding over your bottom lip, your body freezing. Your eyes followed his hand as he brings it up to his mouth tongue swiping across the same finger. "Ya had some rice there...would be a waste for it to not get eaten". The only reaction you could give was a quick kiss to his lips before you went back to eating.

He leaned his head on his hand. Heart almost beating out of his chest when you ask for seconds.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ-

I'm back with more haikyuu!!!

I swear the more I post the longer the fic, but no one's booing so ig it's fine ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu osamu #hq #hq osamu #comfort

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the-entitie · 1 year ago

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"Just, please... please. I'll beg."

Poly_TF_141 x sex-demon_reader Prt:2

Read part 1 here 》 ....

A_N:... Continuation of the previous! This is part two, and to do with Werewolf Soap going into 'heat' but not the abo kinda heat. Soo, expect more wolf like behavior, and again, the same warnings apply.

CW.|.TW:... Sexual content. Intended male reader. Bottom but Dom reader. Polly-cule TF 141. Religious depictions of demons. Allusion to Reader having an Eating Disorder and the recovery there of. Ghost x Soap x Reader

It had taken some time and effort, but finally, finally, you were OK with the casual emotion that the team shared with one another.

Being a permanent member of the team seemed to help. You even put on weight in the recent months that you've actually fed semi regularly, although it wasn't anywhere near what you should be getting but it was miles better then the months you used to starve through.

Price made sure that any time between missions, there was some form of sexual intention in his team.

Not the hardest thing when all of them have been intemit with each other for years before you joined in with the physical side of things. And Price let you have your fill of him whenever he saw that drop in you again.

But someone else came knocking that night.

A blushing Soap who was leaning heavily on your door frame, looking almost shy for his bulkier body. He hardly says anything as you beckon him in. Eyes still down cast even as he leaves the door ajar and is sitting all but an inch away from you.

"I wan'ed te ask ya if yeh would..." he starts, blush spreading down his neck. "Can ye. I just wanted.."

That's when you felt a pulse of a sweeter emotion, a spiking arousal that was tainted with a primal urge. This absolute need for something so deeply sexual it was practically making your mouth water.

"Your lycanthopic urge?" You question,

"Aye, my heat kinda snuck up on me." He answers with a curt nod. Still not looking at you.

Your fingers find his chin, easily lifting his stubble edged jaw, so he was nose to nose with you.

Soap had dilated pupils, only elipsed by this thin sliver of his irus. Those needs already making his mind want to lean in and chase those lips of yours. Instead, he flicks his eyes back up, that emotion growing thicker, sweeter, with the movement.

"Just please..." he half begs, already so desperate. "Please. I'll beg. I'll go away if ye don't wanna, but I just.."

"Ok, I will lend you help."

You've hardly gotten the sentence out before Soap jumps you. Stealing breathless kiss after breathless kiss.

Guiding your hands to his skin, slipping them under his clothes, and soaking in the warmth with your skin on his. He gets so touch starved, so sensitive to it, when he's like this.

You near fucking his throat with a long split toungue isn't helping him think any more coherently. He tried to ignore the gentle tangle of your hands as you started getting him undressed. Body more demonic with the crackling desires streaming from Johnny's need for intimacy.

"You still got your mind in one peace there lad?"

A deep rumble follows from the door, Ghost standing there with his head tilted. Commenting, "Dumb Mutt just got one thing on his mind."

"You came to watch or pass along something or another."

"Oh, I wanna watch."

Simon crosses the distance from the door to your bed in two quick strides, fingers gliding in the panting Soap's hair. Pulling him back by the grip he has on the werewolf's Mohawk.

"Mainly to see this one don't hurt ya, hun. But to see if yah would need help."

Johnny rolls his hips against your thigh, toungue lulling out past his fangs and bruised lips. Eyes unfocused as he tries to keep his body still while miserably failing.

"Can get a bit one tracked and forget who's helpen 'em. And Price warned me yah got a habit of ignoring yourself."

"Acceptable. Just help me strip him before he cums in his pants."

"Alright hun."

You end up kneeling with Soap, hopelessly humping against your thighs with you stretching out your back so you can reach for Ghost as he leans back. Your hands trace over the fat of his thighs before using your tail to wrap around Johnny's waist, keeping a firm grip to help him actually get what he wants.

His cock already painfully hard, pulsing with each beat his heart had. He was happy to be pulled to where you wanted him, all but panting into your nape as he ruts up against you.

It's always that first breach that knocks the breath from you, but Soap sits still after he's fully sheathed. Just trying to feel as much as he can with skin against skin as that lusty haze fills his mind.

When he does start moving, it's at a brutal pace. Hardly pulling out before shoving back in all the way. Jolting your whole body.

That thickly suffocating emotion had your throat vibrating in the closest thing your kin could produce to a purr. Easily keeping him steady and against you with your tail. You could feel his back tense and ripple with each roll of his hips, with your tail snugly against his waist as he licks along any skin he can.

You heal too fast for him to see the hackies he's working along your shoulders, but the darker marks of his teeth do stick just a bit longer.

It's Simon who traces the rivets of your ram like horns, eyes watching the hitch in your breath. Fingers ever so gentle as he traces all the dents and scrapes along them; careful to rub his palms down the curve against your skull. And you can taste the lust that's just as strong from him.

When Soap had cum with a snarl, as he bared his teeth against your spine, you could feel how the tired feeling was pulsing along the need to keep going. He was hard and needy as he couldn't set a rhythm with the fatigue settling along.

He must have tried to get off before getting the courage to ask for your help.

Feeling a bit sorry for the werewolf, you roll him over; turning to face Simon as you hover over Johnny's body. Watching as Soap mouths over Simon's dick through his boxers, those sex blown eyes watching him.

When you started the roll off your hips, against the shivering Soap who moans egging you on; you saw Ghost lift his gaze. Watching you ride the other with ease.

"Shit." Ghost comments,

He hefts himself up to his knees, nearly covering Johnny's face with his crotch. The wolf didn't seem to mind. Just mouthing and licking at all he could reach. Soaking more of the fabric with his spit.

"Price gave this view no justice when he told me 'bout it."

Redoubled your efforts as more warmth flooded you, but Soap didn't soften. He only meets every roll down with a thrust up.

"Don't know why any of you enjoy it, and not the action."

Johnny is whimpering under Ghost, body trembling in over stimulation. Mind lost in the throws of the absolute pleasure you're helping pump through his very soul.

"More ta do with ya looking like yah enjoying yaself then the act alone."

"You have to be none-"

Those fingers dance over your horns, finally pulling a quiet noise from you. He leaned into you, sharing the quick hiffs of air you're both taking.

"That," Ghost repeats the action. You don't moan this time, but the effect is still evident. "Is what we enjoy of this."

"Prove it."

"Gladly hun." Before his eyes roll back into his skull, "Fuck... watch the teeth soldier."

Soap had pulled his boxers off with just his teeth, getting to his dick. At the comment, Johnny bared his teeth against the intimate skin of Simon's inner thigh. So close to him that the danger runs his blood just that bit hotter.

And for all that Ghost likes the danger, that bit of pain, he doesn't actually want to bite him. And not nearly as hard as he bites at you.

"He will tire out soon, just a warning."

Simon clasps at your horns, pulling you closer by them.

"Not for long hun, he'll be up and wanting more in no time." He presses his lips against yours, mumbling with a smirk, "and I wanna tag team him when he does."

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