#Tommy Shelby/Reader

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

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

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?” 

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family. 

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

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

[amostimprobabledream]

Sick and Tired of False Devotion (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

In which Tommy is cheating with you. Takes place shortly after Season 3.

Tommy Shelby wakes to the sound of blackbirds singing.

The noise, no matter the time or place he was currently in, always took him back to days of his boyhood. Yawning stretches of summer mornings, him and his siblings taking the long path to school across rolling fields of green grass swaying in the breeze, accompanied by the warbling of the birds. The future stretched out before him then, full of promise. That boy was dead now, lost in the cold mud in France, but he still remembers the birdsong. Next to him there issues a new noise – a soft, feminine moan. He observes you beside him as you open your eyes, the sweet peaceful expression of your sleeping face morphing into something else as you ascend into full consciousness. The fog of sleep in your eyes recedes and in its place is that sparkle, the glimmer of naughtiness and spirit that sucks him in like a whirlpool.

A man could get lost in such eyes.

“Morning,” you greet Tommy in a sleepy hum, a far cry from the noises you were making last night. “Mornin’.” Tommy answers, leaning down to kiss you, the mutual whiff of cigarettes on your collective breaths be damned. You tilt your head up to receive him, like a flower pointing towards the sun. Your lips are soft, still kiss-swollen from before and your hand snakes around to the back of his head, cupping the shorn base of his skull and pulling him in to deepen the kiss. You tug on his dark hair, always so demanding, and he could easily succumb to it – the allure of your body, naked under the slippery silk sheets, the sweetness of your lips and the warmth of the bed. But he can’t. His wife will be expecting him.

“I can’t stay.” Tommy tells you, pulling back. Some women might have protested a little harder at being left behind like this, these clandestine meetings that always end with Tommy departing your brightly lit bedroom to return to grey Birmingham skies and an equally chilly manor house. But you don’t beg him to stay, you never have. You accept his affections when he offers them, but you always watch him with droll amusement as he dresses to leave. You’re doing it right now, lighting a cigarette and lounging back in bed as Tommy tugs on his trousers and feeds the end of his belt through the buckle. “What’s she got you doing this time?” you ask, mockingly. “Time to show you off at some ghastly gala or other? A charity auction? Dinner with the in-laws?” You snicker, smoke spewing from your nose. Tommy doesn’t dignify that with a response, though he makes no effort to deny it either, nor does he scold you for your tone. You seem to regard the fact that Tommy Shelby is sneaking around behind his wife’s back as highly amusing. You talk about her in the third person, with sarcastic inflection. Like she’s a scheming pantomime villainess. It entertains you to imagine Tommy’s wife, rattling around the mansion he bought like the lady of the manor, ordering about the staff who secretly despise her and wearing imported silks and rearranging paintings Tommy says he bought but are actually stolen, blissfully unaware her husband has been fucking around behind her back for months or that he hasn’t halted his gang activities whatsoever. She has no idea you laugh at her, at thinking she’s bent Tommy Shelby to her will, ignorant that his growing antipathy for his marriage has driven him right into your arms. Tommy trusts you, you see. He sometimes tells you little bits of what he’s doing – never the full picture, of course, but enough that you can puzzle together most of it yourself. You never pry, never probe him with breathy questions, but you listen to him and offer your objective opinions, you’re totally impartial to most of the issues he’s grappling with, so he knows you’re not being tainted by any preconceived notions. You’ll tell him if you think something is a bad idea, but you’ve never asked him to be anything other than what he is. You don’t see Tommy Shelby as a project to fix or something to be tamed.

You know a wild thing like him would never be happy bridled.

Your tactic acceptance of him, your eyes lacking judgement and your own peculiar penchants make you an enigma to him. Tommy can’t resist a challenge, a puzzle for his intense intelligence to figure out. He comes back again and again for you – each new facet of you fascinates him.

Grace has been hinting lately at wanting another child, remarking that Charles might be lonely, and wouldn’t it be nice if he had a brother to play with? Yet the thought of Grace swanning around with a stollen belly, smirking and rubbing it like a genie’s lamp, leaves him cold. It hasn’t escaped his notice that as Charles ages, the boy barely resembles him at all. When he plays with Arthur, John and Ada’s children, his lighter hair stands out like a sore thumb against a gaggle of dark-haired children. He knows Grace disapproves of her precious son mixing with his sibling’s children – that he’ll pick up bad habits.

When Tommy is unable to slip away from home to see you, you shrug and go off to one of your mysterious parties or other social engagements he is not privy to. He pays his boys quite a lot of money to keep track of the whereabouts of his mistress, but even then, you prove to be frustratingly elusive when you want to be, always drifting just a bit out of his reach, like fog at his fingertips. He doesn’t know how you knew the men he pays to watch you are his, but you do.

It's aggravating, but in a way, pleasing, like putting pressure on a bruise to see how deep the wound goes. “Got something for you.” He tells you in a rasp. You look up from where you’re fussing with your stockings, a faux  diamond on the garter glinting in the sunlight. “Oh?” you ask in an effort to sound detached, but he can see your eyes light up with excitement. Tommy’s gifts are often both pretty and very expensive. Tommy crosses the room and produces a box that was hidden inside the pocket of his coat. When he brings it over to you, you’re suddenly sitting up and alert, taking it from him and stripping it of the velvet ribbon holding it shut. “Oh.” You say again, with a wildly different inflection this time, recognising the logo stamped on the top. When you pop the lid off the box, your breath catches in your throat. Something is nestled in a bed of black velvet.

It's a dress, in a shade of green that you can tell at a glance will look great with your skin tone. Slowly you lift it up, the fabric whispering as it moves, and hold it up to the light, marvelling as the material seems to shimmer with colour.

“Tommy, I love it.” You whisper reverently.

He grunts, but you can tell he’s pleased, and he pops a cigarette between his lips before lighting it, the flame at the end of his match lighting up his eyes, making them look like ice, like glaciers lit up by the dawn. You wonder if he picked this dress himself, imagined you in it, imagined taking it off you later. Lizzie could have gone in his stead, but she still would have paid for it with Tommy’s money, and he would have still had final approval before handing it to you. That’s enough for you. “I ‘ave a meeting with the Russian ambassador.” He says, nonchalantly, as if such a thing is just an ordinary Tuesday for Tommy Shelby. “Need someone with me to keep things looking above board and respectable. Someone who can keep their mouth shut.” You don’t have to ask why he wants you there and not Grace. His wife has proven in the past that she isn’t to be trusted with a secret. Even her husband’s. Perhaps especially her husband’s. “I’ll be there.” You say, forgetting to ask him when this meeting is, so enamoured are you with the thought of getting to wear clothes like this and stand at Tommy’s side, facing down an enemy together. True, you’d be wearing silk instead of a razor in your cap, but both these things can prove a useful tool, depending on how you use it. Honestly, you’d probably agree to visit a pigpen if it meant you got to wear clothes like this, and knowing that a night of subterfuge and champagne will probably lead to a night of some incredible post-socialising fucking?

Well, you could do worse.

“Pour me a drink before you go?” you ask sweetly, voice still rough with sleep, pointing across the room at a bottle of whisky and some glasses, still sticky with residue. It’s a little early to be knocking back the booze, but you don’t have anywhere urgent to be until this afternoon.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t refuse, and you watch him saunter over to the table, pouring one for you and one for himself, his white shirt still unbuttoned and hanging off him, light making the fabric practically translucent. He looks equally delicious partially dressed as he does naked, and you lick your lips as you greedily drink in the sight. He approaches, a wry smirk on his face as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and you smirk up at him in return. “Does Polly know about this little meeting?” you ask him, accepting your glass, fingertips leaving smudges on the design. “She’s the one who helped set it up.” Tommy replies, speaking around his cigarette. “Pol understands how important this is.” “Well, then.” You reply. “If Polly’s on board, then I’ll drink to that.” Polly’s no idiot – if she’s willing to deal with Russians, either she knows that what they’re offering makes it worth it, or that pissing them off would lead to consequences the family would do better to avoid. If you can smooth the way to a successful negotiation by looking pretty and keeping your eyes and ears open, then you’ll do it. You clink glasses with him and swallow back the whisky. The familiar burn down your throat is strangely pleasant, and more importantly quenches your dry mouth a little. Tommy sets his glass down on the side table and smacks his lips. “I’ll send a car ‘round to pick you up tomorrow at nine.” He says and wags a finger at you in a way that’s supposed to be stern, but you can detect a little playfulness there too. “Don’t keep me waiting.” “Mm, but you keep me waiting all the time,” you counter, unable to resist teasing him a little bit, lounging back in the bed so the covers slip a tantalising inch or so lower, exposing more of your bare skin. “Don’t you?” He looks down at you with that impassive face that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you – besides his mistress, obviously. What do you represent to him? You’re not married so he doesn’t have to worry about a jealous husband complicating matters, but he also knows you’re not the type of women who will be dangled from his string indefinitely. Yet if he just wanted a fuck, he could pick up any woman willing to give Tommy Shelby company for a night. Perhaps he feels like he doesn’t have any expectations in your house. He isn’t putting on a mask for the benefit of his men or trying to juggle the very separate factions of his family – the Shelby’s on one side and his wife and son on the other. With you, he can let go of all his worries and just luxuriate in being around you for a little while. He leans down, fingers gripping your jaw in a firm hold that sets off butterflies in your stomach, and he kisses you again. This time it’s Tommy who deepens the kiss, Tommy who slips his tongue into your mouth, his hand sliding down to cup your breasts and marvel in the weight and feel of them, so soft in his rough hands. “Behave yourself,” Tommy says in a low murmur in your ear, and you giggle as his breath tickles your skin. “And you’ll get a reward once the job’s done. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “I would,” you agree, unable to hide the excited tremor in your voice. A reward can mean many things and you know he’s said that so your imagination will take over and get you all worked up with anticipation before he’s had to lift a finger. He’s a crafty bastard.

“Good girl,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, even as he maintains an impressive poker face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “In the dress?” you tease, as if you’d wear anything else. “In the dress.” He replies, with a roll of his eyes. “Mm. Maybe I should wear my favourite stockings too,” you say, rolling onto your back. “And those pretty shoes from Paris you sent me. That was you, wasn’t it? In that box without a note?” You like to remind him that he isn’t the only man who wants to bed you, and you know he knows. He runs a hand over his jaw and clever as he may be, it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s thinking – risk being late home and ruin whatever neatly concocted story he has ready to excuse it to give you a good seeing-to? Or play it safe and wait until tomorrow? Unfortunately for you, he knows you’re just as impatient for his hands on you as he is, and he’s a man capable of great control when he wants. So, he just jams his hat on his head, pulling the brim down low. “Tomorrow,” he repeats, his eyes fixed on yours, pinning you in place. “Wait for me until then.” He leaves shortly after, knowing if he does not, he’ll get sucked into more bantering with you. You have a knack for making him lose track of time. You watch him leave and smile to yourself – despite his instructions, you’re not sure if you can wait that long.

And you’ve never been one for playing by the rules.

[scorpiussage]

Peaky characters with a SO who’s bubbly/cheerful

🌕Tommy

🌕He’s honestly as surprised as everyone else that he fell in love with someone with such an opposite personality to his. 

🌕Being with someone so happy and upbeat helped him forget about the war and reminds him of when times were simpler. As he would say, they help keep the shovels away. 

🌕It would be a big shock at first for anyone that knows Tommy when he starts dating you, and his brothers have a moment where they genuinely wonder if Tommy is playing a joke. But no, it’s real and I think those early days would be the hardest for the two of you in the relationship. Just navigating all the confused reactions would really test Tommy and you both. 

🌕But if the relationship lasted through that, it would be a solid one. 

🌕Polly loves you, thinks that having someone so cheery is good for the man. 

🌕The cheeriness doesn’t rub off on him, but he does loosen up a bit when you’re alone. 

🌕Also, if anyone tries to make fun of you, he will shoot that shit down immediately. Will absolutely ride or die for the one he loves and would become murderous if someone made you sad. 

🌹Alfie

🌹He absolutely loves how happy and carefree you are. That was what drew him to you initially. 

🌹He’d been having a shit day, Ollie had fucked an important order up and his sciatica was acting up. He’d gone up to the actual bakery front of his distillery to check on things, and there you were. You’d greeted him with the most incredible smile and chirped a happy ‘Hello!’. He was a goner from that moment on.

🌹Would do anything for those sunshine smiles and will literally kill anyone who makes you sad. 

🌹Some people get annoyed with bubbly personalities, they tend to not be able to keep up with the energy, but Alfie loves every moment of it. 

🌹He also gets a kick out of seeing the jaw dropped expressions of other people when they meet you and they see this bright, cheerful person with him looming just behind. 

⚡️Michael 

⚡️Knew you before he’d become aquatinted with the Peaky Blinders and you were a person he’d not been able to let go of. 

⚡️Becomes incredibly protective of you and refuses to let any one besides his mum meet you. 

⚡️Obviously that’s not a long term solution and Tommy and gang do eventually meet you. Michael would puff up and try to crowd you to his side, and fierce glares would be sent over your head to warn off the Blinders. 

⚡️He’d relax eventually, though, once he saw you getting along with Ada and John. He just doesn’t want you to become corrupted like he has. 

⚡️Once he became more involved with Blinders business, he might push you away in an effort to protect you, but he’d never really be able to let you go. You’re his light. 

💥Arthur 

💥He really uses your personality to ground himself. Everything since the war has been chaotic and terrible and having someone who is just happy makes those storm clouds go away. 

💥He loves taking you out on the town and showing you off. He takes you to all the newest clubs and fanciest restaurants; places he thinks that you can really stretch your wings. 

💥If Tommy or John try to make fun of you, he’ll knock their teeth out. Ain’t no one talks to the person he loves like that. 

💥Overall, a bubbly person is a good match for someone like Arthur. He tends to match energies of the people he’s with and if he’s with someone happy, he’ll be happy. 

🌞John

🌞This man will either bring out the best of your personality or the worst, there’s no in-between. 

🌞He’s a bit like a kid, has lots of goofy energy and likes to just let loose all the time. If he’s with a bubbly person, that person will also have to have some sense of responsibility too. Because if you don’t, you will just fuel each other’s energies until it’s a whole mess. 

🌞You are a very expected person for John to date, it wouldn’t be very surprising. But, it might surprise people just how protective he can become of you at the drop of a hat. 

🌞One of the lads at the pub made some snide comment about you and John had snapped. Cut a smile into that man’s face and threatened to kill him if he so much as a thought about you ever again. 

🌞Tommy and Polly both genuinely fear what will happen if you two have children together. God help them if your kids have your personalities haha. 

[itshelia]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[nareclipwse]

me if being obsessed with older men was illegal

[slut4thebroken]

Baby Fever

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x wife!reader

Summary | Free use wife.

Warnings | Smut, breeding kink, free use lol, in public, exhibitionism, pregnancy (very few details cause… c’mon lol… I’m the one who wrote it💀), light humiliation.

Words | 1.5 k

Notes | Yeah this gif still makes me feral

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 2: free use + breeding kink

Tommy didn’t expect much from you as a wife. There were already staff who cooked and cleaned and you didn’t have any children yet. The one thing he did expect from you though, was being ready and willing to take his cock at any time of the day. 

Sometimes he’d be more gentle about it, coaxing you away from whatever task or conversation you were involved in to somewhere more private where he’d ravish you until you could only think about him and his cock. Other times, he’d be more desperate. 

If you happened to bring him lunch on a particularly stressful work day, he’d drag you in his office and bend you over the desk, fucking away all of his stress, if at least for a few minutes. 

Sometimes at the race track he’d pull you away to a more secluded— but still very public— area and cover your mouth as he plowed into you, rough and desperate, borderline animalistic. If the sound of your muffled moans didn’t give you away, the loud slapping of skin definitely did, but he didn’t care. If he wanted you, nothing was stopping him from taking you. 

A few times you even woke up to him lazily rutting into you, fucking you deep, but keeping the pace slow. He’d moan quietly, kissing and biting your neck, even sucking on the sensitive skin to leave marks. 

If he was ever short on time, he’d force you to your knees and fuck your face, making you gag and choke on his cock until tears streamed down your cheeks. Sometimes he’d blow his load down your throat. But if you weren’t in public or in too much of a hurry for anything, he’d paint your pretty face with his come, marking you as his. 

He knew you were embarrassed everytime you came back after he dragged you away. Every single time, without fail, you always looked like you were just fucked stupid. But that only encouraged him. He liked showing people that you belonged to him— that his wife was more than happy to satisfy him, even in public. 

It was also common for him to pull over and make you ride his cock in the car, smiling at all the people who drove past. If he couldn’t pull over, he’d grab your hair and force you down on his cock. Even if he arrived at the destination, he wouldn’t stop until you drained his balls and swallowed every last drop. It didn’t matter if it was the middle of the day or if it was pitch black out— it didn’t even matter if the window was open or not. He’d fuck your face and throw his head back as the pleasure consumed him until he finally fell over the edge. Sometimes, his sounds would attract attention, and he loved the look on people’s faces when you lifted yourself up, smiling and wiping the lower half of your face with the back of your hand. 

This didn’t happen often, but if he were ever in the middle of fucking you, too consumed by the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing his cock, and someone knocked on the door, he’d tell them to come in. It was usually someone you didn’t even know— one time it was Arthur… that was a particularly humiliating experience for you— but he wouldn’t stop. He’d keep you bent over his desk or on his lap and continue fucking you as you tried to not make any sounds. He always thought it was amusing when you tried to be quiet. 

One time, he walked in on you holding Ada’s baby, smiling and cooing at him, making him giggle relentlessly. As soon as Tommy got you alone, his cock was inside you and he rambled on about fucking a baby into you, breeding you nice and deep until he knocked you up. His words were almost incoherent with arousal as he described this fantasy of your belly full with his kid, your tits swollen with milk, and the glow that you’d have from all of it. He rambled on about raising them together, how good you’d look as the mother of his kids, how he wanted to fuck baby after baby into you… breed you until he fucking ran out of come. 

That sparked a conversation between the two of you. While the original plan was to wait a few years, you both agreed to shorten that time frame. So less than two years later, you were off of birth control and he was breeding you every chance he had. Honestly you were getting a little worn out, but you never complained. No matter how tiring it could be, you still absolutely loved it. 

It became even more of a frequent occurrence for you to be walking around with either come soaked panties or come running down your thighs. He also took a liking to cock warming. In bed, on his desk chair, in the car— anywhere he could— he’d fuck you and fill you with his come, then keep you plugged up, wanting to make sure it really had a chance to take. 

At home, he’d put you in the mating press position, then stuff you full of his come. Only instead of letting you relax, he'd keep your hips tilted up so none of it could leak out and make you come again with his mouth as a reward for staying in that position. 

The first time he fucked you after finding out you were pregnant… he was practically feral. The fact that there was a baby inside you— that it was his baby, made him all but lose control. He ravaged you with an intensity he’s only had a few times, rambling on about how he planned to fuck you like this for a while since he would eventually have to be gentler— if he could even fuck you at all. The problem was that his promise didn’t just apply to when he fucked you in the privacy of your own home, but it was just a problem for you. Tommy loved that you couldn’t keep quiet. 

Months down the line, rough, hard fucking turned into gentle love making. He’d kiss you tenderly as his hips rocked into you, keeping the pace almost tortuously slow. He tended to kiss over your stomach whenever he could and caress it with gentle hands. Both of you were surprised and disappointed by the fact that your breasts were far too tender for any touch to feel good. So he kept his hands and mouth elsewhere. 

The love making usually took place in bed. But every once in a while, he’d come up behind you and wrap his arms around your small frame, placing his hands on your belly as he kissed your neck until he finally got too impatient and lifted your dress to slip his cock inside. 

Around eight months, and even for weeks after the birth, he showed no sign of needing you like that. He never made you feel pressured either, even when he’d hold you at night. You were grateful though because your body definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. 

It was a little after two months postpartum that you were becoming a bit too needy though. One day, after watching him play with and hold the baby, you finally snapped. The second you were alone you practically jumped his bones, kissing him almost animalistically and pulling on his hair until he moaned into your mouth and finally grabbed your hips. 

“Love,” He started, but cut off when you unzipped your dress and let it fall to the floor, pooling around your feet.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to lose my mind.” You warned breathily, working on ripping his clothes off. 

“Slow down, darling. You have to be careful.” He said gently, making you more frustrated.

“Thomas Shelby, I swear to god if you don’t fuck me, I’ll go find someone who will.” You growled, giving him one last warning. He raised his brows, shocked and amused by your words. “I carried your child for nine months. The least you could do is make me come on your cock until I forget my own name.” 

“You’re that needy, eh?” He smirked, making you scowl. “Calm down, Mrs. Shelby, I’ll give it to you…” you still get butterflies when he calls you that, “but you know I can’t resist teasing you.” 

“You’ve teased me for months. Either fuck the shit out of me or I’ll get it from someone else.” You said, voice low and almost threatening, but you knew it only made Tommy more amused. 

“How have I teased you for months?” He asked innocently. 

“Christ, Tommy— just fuck me already. You have to do what I say because I just birthed a whole baby for you.” 

“I guess you're right.” He said with a sly smirk. “Until you forget your own name?” You nodded eagerly and he walked you backwards until your legs hit the bed. Once you were laying down, he crawled over you and kissed you deeply, making you moan against his lips and bring your hands up to his hair. “As you wish, darling.” 

[mydear-corinthian]

phone call

synopsis - tommy receives a phone call in the middle of having sex with his wife.

pairing - tommy shelby x reader / thomas shelby x reader

warnings - SMUT +18, rough sex, use of foul language, breeding kink, praising kink, creampie, just full of porn, unprotected sex, p in v

notes - short (w.c <850), gif and picture isn't mine, divider is mine

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

His hands explored every inch of your sensitive body with a satisfying touch that sent shivers down your spine. There was an irresistible affection between the two of you that was endless. Your breath caught as his dominant, wild hip thrusts into yours, causing hectic, unrestrained moans with every thrust.

"Oh my God- yes, Thomas!"

As he pushed you farther into the mattress, his weight and heat surrounded you as you lay beneath him, your bodies linked. He drew closer as your legs coiled around his hips, stretching you in the most delicious way as he slid deeper with each thrust. Tommy started to breathe hard, his chest heaving as sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down to mix with the heat from your smooth skin. He met your gaze with lust and something deeper than that.

"Yes, baby.. fuck- you take me so well.. so fucking well," he praised on your ear as he rested his head on your neck, his deep thrusts not stopping.

The telephone on top of the nightstand beside your shared bed rang loudly. Your husband stopped, looking at the phone near him.

Who the fuck is calling at this hour?

Tommy picked the phone up, not leaving the bed.

"Thomas Shelby." he answered.

You expected him that he would draw away and stop, especially when the phone rang. He stopped and reached for it, and you felt upset. Tommy, though, chose to stay still and answered the phone with one hand while tightening his grip on your waist with the other and suddenly thrusting his hips forward once more.

His thrusts continued to shock you, causing your body to tense in surprise, but before you could respond, pleasure took over. His cock sank farther, each malicious movement finding that exact spot. You ended up speechless by both of his soothing phone voice and the way he caused your body to react to him.

"What ha-happened?" Tommy asked over the phone, his breathing heavily telling each question with a struggled and unsteady voice. He attempted to keep his composure, but the force of his motions made it almost impossible as his chest rose and fell quickly. As he tried to concentrate on the talk, you could feel his heart thumping against your body and his breath rapid and hot against your skin.

Tommy looked at you, a smirk painted on his face. With his free hand, his fingers toyed with your hardened nipples, brushing them and squeezing it.

"Tomm-" you covered your mouth immediately as you nearly moaned his name out loud, afraid of whoever is on the phone hearing that Tommy is fucking his wife at the moment.

"Yeah, I'll handle that tomorrow morning," his voice was deep making you feel wetter and wetter. A familiar feeling coiled down through your stomach.

"Tommy, I'm so close," you quietly moaned. Your fingers gripped the silk bedsheets tightly as you felt your high coming.

The room was filled with the constant sound of your bodies meeting, the heat between you growing with each slap of flesh on skin. Your thoughts were taken over by the intense pleasure that was shooting through your entire body as your eyelids fluttered closed, buried in a fog of ecstasy. You vaguely heard Tommy drop the phone somewhere in the distance, but it didn't really matter. The way he grabbed you closer and pounded your hips with such merciless pace that every thrust sent shivers of pleasure through your entire body was all that mattered. Heavy intakes of breath from him, merging with your groans as he pushed you both to the edge.

"Good girl, yes, yes.. Finish on my cock."

Tommy experienced the same closeness as your cock clenched all over it. With a deep moan, he raised your right leg to his shoulders. He treated you like the most precious gemstones that thieves like him could take. Tommy groaned and praised as his head rolled back.

"D'you want me to cum inside you? Breed you? Make you mine?"

"Yes, yes! Fill me up, sir! Please!"

His back was scratched by your nails, and in a few hours, scars will definitely begin to appear. You groaned, breasts bouncing and the bed creaking with every pound.

And then, after a few more thrusts, he smashed deep inside of you until he poured all of his seed into your abused and tight walls. It was warm and filled. Tommy groaned loudly and pleased, then rested his head on the side of your neck to inhale yourself. He waited until every last drop of his cum filled you before pulling out.

As soon as he pulled out, a mixture of his and your load leaked outside your throbbing pussy. Tommy got up, grabbing a box of tissue and cleaned the both of you up.

"Who was that?" you asked.

"Just the betting shop asking for me to check on something."

"You think they.. heard me?"

"I'm sure they did and I'm glad so that they know how much I fucking please my lovely wife." he chuckled before planting another kiss to your lips.

You gladly kissed him back but the kiss deepened and the both of you know what that means.

Another round.

[cillianhead]

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

[kat-mobile]

could i request a small fic/imagine where tommy is soft with only his girlfriend/fiancé/wife and his kids?🫶🏼

Scary? My God you're divine!

A/N: hey babes, this is actually longer than I was expecting lmao. It still is under 1000 though. I am a huge sucker for soft!Tommy so thank you so much for this request 😍. I named the baby Charlotte before I realised how much her full name sucks and then couldn't be arsed to change it, so apologies to Charlotte Shelby. This is probably also ooc but I don't give a shit, but I hope you like it anon!!! 💕💕

You knew what Tommy did, what came with his job. All the illegal affairs and cutting people up. You'd be a fool not to. But you couldn't help but feel as if the real Tommy Shelby was the one who came out when he was with you.

Ever since the start of your relationship, Tommy had always acted differently around you, much softer, always there to place a soothing hand on your back or hunch over to talk to you with his lips brushing your ear, his words meant for no ears but your own. His hardened gaze softened and the corners of his mouth would quirk up in a a miniscule smile, only momentarily but you would count that as a win no less.

Arthur had employed you to help run things at the garrison, you weren't exactly excellent at maths but you were certainly better than Arthur so you would help with the books as well as working as a barmaid. The two of you met for the first time when Tommy burst into the office of the garrison with a cut on his sharp cheekbone, he thought he would be opening the door to his brother, you thought he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. You insisted on helping and sanitising the "wound" and although he initially refused he soon gave in to your worried frown and relentless offer of help. The two of you had been practically inseparable since, rarely seeing one without the other and if one was missing they were never very far behind.

Tommy took to you almost immediately after meeting you, and Polly clocked him the very next day. The woman always was good at reading Tommy and that day was no different.

Over the next couple of months, whenever he was around Tommy barely let you lift a finger, always eager to help lift things and assist in anyway possible, never letting you out yourself in any risk whatsoever, no matter how small. At first you were offended, thinking that he was doing it because he thought you incapable, what with you being a woman, or if he didn't trust you enough to do things on your own. But when you brought it up one day, thoroughly fed up, he was quick to quell your suspicions and doubts by instead admitting his growing feelings towards you. Absolutely zero persuasion was needed for you to agree to a date with the handsome Tommy Shelby, and now three years later you're married with an adorable little four month old baby girl named Charlotte.

Tommy often refers to your small family as his greatest weakness, saying that if it ever gets out how soft he is that his reputation would never recover. But you just laugh to yourself and cuddle in closer, hand coming up to stroke Charlotte's head. No one would believe it if it got out, he has nothing to worry about.

The first time Tommy had held her you would've thought she was made out of cheap glass, fragile and likely to break at even the smallest of mishandlings. You knew from the moment that little Charlotte Shelby first opened her eyes, sharp and blue like her fathers, that she had Birmingham's most feared gangster wrapped around her teeny tiny pinky. Once the doctor had shown him how to hold the baby properly, supporting her head and all that, it was hard to separate the two.

Every night when he came home to you he would lie in the centre of the bed with you curled up into his side, head resting on his firm shoulder, and he would place the small babe to lie on his bare chest, small legs tucking up in a scrunch like a frog and cute babbles making the corners of his eyes crease.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Princess

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

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

Length: 8.5K

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

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

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

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

“I never pegged you for the type.” 

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

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

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

“He’s certainly welcome to try.” 

“How many times has this happened?” 

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

“Will it happen again?”

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

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

“You’re playing with fire, child.” 

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

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

“You ought to be at the Garrison.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

“Was that a yes or a no?” 

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

“Lie back down,” He urges. 

“I’ve got somewhere to be.” 

“Where you’re going, I’m in charge.”

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

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

“What are you doing after work?” 

“Something else.” 

“Than what?”

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

“Than whatever you were about to suggest.” 

--

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

“Well?” She asks. 

“I’m on time, Polly.” 

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

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

“You’re having me watched now?” 

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

“I’m not in the family.” 

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

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

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

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

--  

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

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

“Hmm?”  

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

“I did, didn’t I.” 

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

You smile a little. 

“Not well enough.” 

“Now why do you say that?” 

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

“‘M listening now.” 

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

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

“It’s unnecessary.” 

“What do you want?”

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

“They don’t know that.” 

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

“Was that all?” 

“...Yes.” 

Tommy dips his head, lips brushing across yours. 

“Are you rushing out again?” He murmurs. 

“Yes.” 

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

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

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

-- 

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

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

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

Still, you consider mentioning it to one of them. 

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

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

--  

You know that you look a sight.

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

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

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

“Did you go into the Garrison?”

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

“Who did this.” 

“—I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Princess.”

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

“Look at me.” 

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

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

-- 

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

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

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

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

“Did you mouth off to them?”

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

“What happened to your hand?” 

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

“You grabbed it?” 

“I couldn’t do anything else.” 

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

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

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

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

-- 

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

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

“Where will you be?” 

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

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

“Nearby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It won’t happen again.” 

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

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

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

“You’ll call if you need anything.” 

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

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

-- 

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

“Thirsty?” 

“...A little.” 

“Water?” 

“Whiskey.” 

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

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

“Yes.” 

“Your side?” 

“A little.” 

“Cheek?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hand?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Head?” 

“...Not as much hurt, but…”

“Fog.” 

“Yes.” 

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

“What was it?” 

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

You take it, drawing in a sip. 

“...What time is it?” You ask. 

“A little after midnight.” 

“Where’ve you been?” 

“Getting answers.” 

“About what?” 

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

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

“Mhm?” 

“Belongs to the Booth boys.” 

“Out of Camden?” 

“Mhm.” 

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

“Trying to kick up a fight.” 

“So what happens now?” 

“We give them what they asked for.” 

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

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what.” 

“Don’t start anything.” 

“They started it, not us.”

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

“...Look at me, princess.” 

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

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

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

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

“Alright.” 

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

“Another one?” 

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

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

“How’s the pain?”

“...It’s been worse.” 

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

“No.” “You’re certain?” 

“Mhm.” 

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

– 

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

“Welcome back.”

“Where’s my typewriter?”

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

“Polly.” 

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

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

“How does your hand feel, anyway?”

“Sore. Itchy.”

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

“It would almost have to.”

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

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

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

“I did. You weren’t home.” 

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

“I must’ve been running an errand.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“What’s the meaning of this?” 

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

“Payday.”

“It’s too much.”

“I don’t hear that often.”

“You paid me in full.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And the rest?”

“Injury leave.”

“There’s no such fucking thing.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ve slowed down the correspondence.”

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

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

“Thomas.” 

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

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

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

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

“Understood.” 

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

“Will you be home tonight?” He asks.  

“Yes.” 

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

“I still have whiskey.”

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

“I don’t mind it.”

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

You wince, muttering, “Christ.” 

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

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

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

—- 

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

“What was the meeting about?” You ask. 

“That’s none of your concern.”

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

“Probably because he didn’t know.” 

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

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

“To what?” 

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

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

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

“This afternoon was more than enough.”

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

“...What for?”

“Some air.” 

“There’s plenty of air in Birmingham.” 

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

You grimace, looking down into your glass.  

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

“What d’you mean?”

“Broken.” 

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

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

“Feels like they did.” 

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

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

-- 

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

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

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

“You’ll see, princess.” 

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

“Polly came to see me this morning.” 

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

“Did she.”

“Mhm.”

“She have anything interesting to say?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Retribution.” 

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

Your gaze darts warily between his hand and the trees. 

“Is it safe?” You ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy,” You breathe.

“Come on.” 

“What did you do.” 

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

“Thomas.” 

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

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

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

“What do you want me to do.” 

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

– 

“It's done now.” 

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

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

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

“How does it feel?” He murmurs. 

“The whiskey?” 

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

“Being one of us.”

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

“Does it scare you?” He presses. 

“No.”

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

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

“It doesn’t scare me.” 

“Good.”

“It makes me happy.” 

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

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

“Tommy.” 

“Mm?” 

“What if it doesn’t stop?” 

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

“They won’t.” 

“But if they do—” 

“I’ll handle it.”  

“But if you need help—” 

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

“Then why’d you have me there today?” 

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

Your brow furrows, and Tommy tuts softly. 

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

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

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

“I will do what’s best as I see fit.” 

“For me?” 

“For everyone.” 

“For yourself.”

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

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

“Then don’t ask it of me.” 

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

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

“Polly told me you would.”

“Polly says a lot of things.” 

“She always means them.” 

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

“You sure about that?” 

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

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

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

“You dressed for me, ah?” 

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

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

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

“Your cock?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you will owe me for the dress.” 

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

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

-- 

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

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

“Just like that, princess.” 

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

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

“Call you what?” 

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

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

“I did not!” 

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

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

“Does this feel like a bed of roses?” 

You smile, shrugging. “Could be worse.” 

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

“Mhm.” 

“What else did she say?” 

“That I was playing with fire.” 

“Does this feel like fire?” 

“It won’t.” 

“Oh no?” 

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

“No fear of that.” 

“No? Is that a promise?” 

“You have my word, princess.”

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

[your-nanas-house]

Sweet treat

◇ Pairing: Stepdad!Thomas Shelby X stepdaughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: SMUT, stepdad x stepdaughter, they both off age, cheating, sweet words.

◇ Summary: Thomas needs a bit of a sweet treat after a rough and long day at work.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Took me ages to finish this, sorry for the wait... been quite stuck and busy lately. 🙏❤️

"Darling..." his low sweet voice called as his rough hand brushed away the hair that was on Y/n's face.

It was still dark when the young woman opened her eyes, still half asleep and a bit confused of what was happening due to the deep sleep she previously was in.

"That's my princess," the voice cooed almost mockingly and she could feel the callous hand move on her neck now... against her warm skin.

She knew too well what was going on but her groggy mind didn't allow her to fully take in what was surrounding her.

Almost reflexively a small smile appeared on her face when Tommy's lips kissed her forehead tenderly, the fingers of the sinner now moving the fabric of her nightgown off her shoulder... exposing her tender body to the cool air of the night.

His extension at work that day meant only one thing... he was searching something specific from her... and it was urgent since the man woke her up just for that.

He usually didn't wake her up on purpose... but he made an exception just in those desperate nights.

"Wake-up for daddy, sweet girl" his accent thicker than usual, she could tell it clearly when his low raspy voice pulled her completely back into reality.

The young woman inhaled sharply as soon as she felt the contrast of the tender caress on her cheek and the dirty feeling of Thomas' throbbing boner which was pressing down her lower stomach.

Her tired eyes flattered open for the second time, wandering slightly confused before meeting her stepdad's light piercing eyes and his towering frame.

Sleepiness was still blinding her mind and she needed to get fully awake to understand completely what was happening— but her body reacted faster than her mind.

"There she is. Good girl" Thomas hummed at the view, removing skillfully his shirt before opening his pants as well, pulling them down with his underwear.

The only light present in the room was the little candle he brought there and the soft smoothing light of the moon, which made her understand that it was still pretty early to actually wake up and start the day... and her mom was probably still in her own bed.

The girl could really feel now the rough circles that her stepdad was doing on her clit through her panties, which made her body jolt slightly in pleasure and bite automatically her bottom lip to be quiet. He always liked that she was so responsive for his touch and his praises. It made it easier to get her wet and go to the main part quickly when he needed.

"Tommy—" the young woman nearly whined out as she spread her legs wider to indulge in that pre-orgasm sensation which was the amazing path of the perfect stimulation of her body caused by various factors. Like his tongue swirling now around her hard nipples, mixed with the rough massage her clit was undergoing and his calloused free hand which was busy kneading her flesh.

"Had such a.... fookin'... shit.. of.. day..." Thomas revealed between open mouth kisses, never stopping to work on her so to get her ready for him as he continued to ramble about what happened.

Sadly he had little patience that night so as soon as her smaller body shook due to the orgasm, which hit her like a train, he sucked his fingers clean and easily manhandling her into a position he liked.

Lay down on her belly, ass up and hands flat on the sheet so that the man could easily reach for them.

The young woman's head was resting on the soft pillow, her breathing was heavy as she heard just the soft sound of the fabric moving and the cracking of her bed. She didn't dare to look and check on what her stepfather was doing, opting to behave and close her eyes as she waited patiently.

Thoughts swam in her head, making her bite her bottom lip inconsciously as her body kept buzzing from her earlier orgasm.

Her mom was still in the other room and there were so many maids they could have been easily caught if they wouldn't have paid attention.... not that Thomas was worried about it. In contrary, it was quite exciting for him— for them.

"Always so good for me, luv" The man's low and raspy voice interrupted the silence as the tip of his cock teased her entrance, thrusting carefully in the tip a couple of time to make her relax a bit before the definitive push which made her nearly scream and take his lenght all at once.

Tommy's rough hand flight to her mouth, covering it completely as he slowly pulled out, after waiting to allow her to adjust, enough to leave just the tip inside before thrusting harshly back in.

"So good" he breathed out with a grunt, continuing with his slow but rough movements not caring about her at all now that he had manage to be deep balls in her cunt

"You like it, love?" he asked breathlessly, as his hand sneaked to her chest so that he could play with her perky tits while still keeping one on her mouth to prevent her to be too loud.

It was perfection, Thomas loved those moments with her... his wife was nothing compare to Y/n. His sweet Y/n.

The bed kept cracking at each rough thrust he did, nearly covering the sensual noises of their skin slapping together as his hips snapped forward hitting her joggling ass.

Their body were covered of a thin layer of sweat which started to soak the bedsheets as the time passed and Thomas's cock kept bullying her warm walls inside, his tip hitting her g-spot roughly a couple of time before sending her over the edge.

He didn't stopped at all, rather he increased the speed now that his own control was slipping away since his dick was being milked by his stepdaughter's tight pussy. One thrust, two thrusts, three— and his body tensed, his hips pressing flat against hers and his lenght deep inside of her so not to dirty the sheets with the warm thick load that was filling her up.

"You're fookin' amazing, love. Daddy really needed it" the older man praised in a breath, his hips rocking in lazy swings before he finally let himself collapse on her smaller body— caging her in a hug till early morning.

[scorpiussage]

Tommy Shelby + “That’s the last one.”

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: none, swearing

@runnning-outof-time

It’s been probably one of the longest days ever. First you slept through your alarm, then you’d broken your heel walking to the bus stop. When you’d finally made it to work, one of your new coworkers had fucked up big time and you had to spend the whole day cleaning up her mess.

Suffice it to say, you were exhausted. You planned to spoil yourself tonight as a reward. You were going to get a more expensive bottle of wine than normal, a giant sandwich from the deli, and of course, a packet of Oreos. In fact, you’d been dreaming about those Oreos all damn day and you knew it would be the perfect treat to end a miserable day.

So there you are, in the super market wine and sandwich already acquired, and on the hunt for those Oreos. Too bad some insanely hot ass has just grabbed the last package from the shelf. Your jaw drops and you start rushing forward to stop him.

“Wait!” You call out, the man turning to face you with a cocked eyebrow, “That’s the last one!”

He turns back to the shelf, sees that it is indeed the last package of Oreos, turns back to you and with the most infuriating smirk you’ve ever seen, sets it in his hand basket.

Oh hell no, you have had way too long of a day to have it end like this. You are fully prepared to fist fight for those fucking cookies.

“I will literally buy them from you,” You tell him past gritted teeth.

His smirk widens and he fingers the package in his basket, “I don’t know; I really want these cookies.”

You let out a dismayed noise. You could go to another shop for the Oreos but goddamnit it’s the principal of the matter!

Then the man leans against the shelf, his posture all self confidence and sex appeal, “How about this, you give me your number and I’ll give you the cookies?”

You’d give this man your virginity at this point.

“Yeah, okay,” You say while eyeing him suspiciously. Surely there’s a catch, but you pull a pen out of your purse anyways and grab his hand. His hands are large and warm and you have to actively redirect your thoughts to keep your head straight. You write your number out on the top of his hand and he looks down at you with hooded eyes that could make a nun wet.

Once you’re done, he reaches into his basket, picks up the cookies, and deposits them into yours.

Then he leans down and you think he’s going to kiss you for a second, but he redirects to whisper into your ear, “I wasn’t going to buy them anyways.”

He leaves you standing there dumbstruck as he saunters away, already typing your number into his phone.

You get a text later that night, “Go out with me - Oreo Negotiator”.

…

Check out open slots for bingo here!

[itshelia]

Is it just me or everyone imagine their fav characters that they are obsessing over in real life???

Like I'll be at work and then I imagine that bitch sitting next to me, talking to me and admiring me while I FUCKING KNOW THAT I HAVENT KISSED A MALE SPECIES IN MY ENTIRE LIFE

I don't know if that's sign of a fucking mental problem or what but I swear if I'm even Slightly upset or tired of my life i WILL open tumblr and start imagining them or talking to them (aka my wall. It be sitting there like the fuck gurl im not your man)

[darkshelbyfiction]

birthday gift

FOR: THOMAS SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

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

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

Note: All Characters are over eighteen!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy smiled, understanding your hesitation.

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

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

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

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

"Only at first." He assured you gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lovelybucky1]

Treat Me Wrong

Kinktober Day 16- Degradation Kink

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

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

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

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

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

“I’m not happy!” you say.

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

“Love and attention,” you huff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why the fuck are you laughing, Tommy?"

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

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

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

"I have certain needs that they satisfy."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Tommy."

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

"Why would I get upset?"

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

"Harsh?" you ask.

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

"Okay," you breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"N-none," you whimper.

"Sounds like business is slow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, sir," you reply.

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

"Mm, good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck," you whimper and immediately regret it.

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

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

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

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

[peaky1wh0re]

Smash.