#but like really props to shelby for that

[omvimo]

i like how Sculkby calling Great Witch Shelby lazy is literally everyone calling depressed people lazy

[fandom-puff]

Smutty blurb idea:

You’ve been begging for attention all day and Tommy finally gives it to you with facesitting and overstim 🥺

🫡🫡🫡 haven’t written for Tommy in AGES!! Enjoy x this turned into a bit more than a blurb lol

Attention

Warnings: contains overstimulation, light sim/sub dynamics, facesitting, oral sex,fem!reader

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

You had read the same paragraph of your novel about six times now, and ‘read’ was being generous; rather, you had skimmed over the print, the words blurring and muddling as your eyes drifted to your husband, Tommy.

It really wasn’t fair, the way he sat at his desk, shirtless, smoking and sipping his whisky as he scanned over his paperwork.

Watching the way his muscles twitched as he moved, you let out a longing sigh, but Tommy had made it quite clear that he had to sort through his paperwork before giving you any form of attention- and he had warned you not to be a brat. Brats don’t get any attention at all.

As the clock crawled forward another half hour, you closed your book, setting it aside as you admired your husband.

“What?” He said, feeling your gaze burn through him.

“Oh nothing,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Just admiring my husband, and willing him to hurry up so he can ravish me,”

Tommy cracked a small smirk. “I’m almost done, love,” he said gently, knowing how work often got in the way of pleasure.

**

True to his word, Tommy was pulling you upstairs ten minutes later, and you couldn’t keep the grin off your face.

Entering the bedroom, you made to get on the bed, but tommy grabbed your wrist. “Get undressed,” he told you, his hands already coming to the buttons of your blouse as he pressed kisses to your neck.

Your blouse fluttered to the floor, soon followed by your skirt, stockings, bra, and finally, underwear. “There she is,” Tommy hummed, his knuckle tracing the outline of your body. Goosebumps sprung under his touch, and you leaned into the hot firmness of his chest.

“How do you want me?” You breathed, not caring if he wanted you from the front of from behind, so long as he just took you.

“On top,” Tommy smirked, shucking down to his boxers and laying down, head propped against the plump pillows. You nodded, waiting for him to lay down, before moving to straddle his hips. “Not like that, love,” he said, and you cocked your head to the side. You had tried reverse cowgirl a handful of times, but it wasn’t your go to: Tommy liked to grasp and slap and suck at your tits, and you liked to bury your head into his neck as he lifted your hips up and down. But still, reverse cowgirl gave him the opportunity to pay attention to your arse, slapping and grabbing it. You began turning around, but tommy grabbed onto your hip. “No… up here, YN,” he said, and he grinned at your confusion. “Come sit on my face,”

Your face went from confusion to shock, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape. Of course, Tommy had licked you out countless times before, and you had sat on his face a few times- but they were mostly so that you could suck his cock at the same time. It had been ages since he had you ride his face.

“Come on, love… thought you’ve been waiting for some attention all day,” you bit your lip for a moment, before shuffling up towards his face, straddling his head.

Tommy groaned lowly at the sight of your cunt, just hovering above his face. Despite your hesitation, it was clear to him that you were desperate for his attention, in more ways than one. Fed up with your hesitation, he grasped your thighs, fingers squeezing at your arse, and pulled you towards his mouth.

As his tongue darted out to lick and suck at your clit, trailing up your slit as he lapped at your wetness. Your hands flew to the headboard as your hips bucked, rutting against his face. Shyness dissipated as hot, addictive pleasure flooded your being, and your cries of pleasure muddled with the lewd slurping between your legs, filling the room as Tommy brought you over the edge.

Your hips jolted and shuddered in his hands as you rode out your high, grinding against his tongue. But Tommy did not relent, and as you began shaking and whimpering and squirming away from him, he grasped your thighs tighter, holding you firmly to his face. He was openly moaning into your cunt now, his nose nudging your oversensitive clit as his tongue prodded into your cunt, drinking in your release like it was his lifeline.

“Tom,” you gasped, “Thomas!” One hand grasped at his hair, your nails scratching into his scalp. “‘S too much,” you moaned, but your body betrayed you, hips continuing to circle against his mouth. “Gonna- tommy-fuck! Gonna come again,” you cried, and tommy moved to suck firmly on your clit, pushing you screaming over the edge once more.

Tommy drew one more orgasm out of your overworked cunt, and if your head wasn’t addled with pleasure, you’d have been embarrassed with how quickly you came. Slowly, almost unwillingly, tommy moved you up from his face, helping you lay down as he moved on top of you. “You okay?” He asked, and you stared up at him, smiling dumbly as you nodded. “Good,” tommy smirked, his hand trailing between your legs, making you squirm. “Because I’m not done yet,”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Tiny Shelby Feet - A John Shelby/Reader Short Story.

Just a fluffy lil' short that came to me this morning, besties. Hope you love it :)

Words - 700

Warnings - None. Fluff a' plenty!

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

No, you absolutely are not alright. And it’s all his fault.  

Being angry at him isn’t an option, though, because he’s always so good to you. Hell, it was him being very good to you that got you into this in the first place, your stomach swollen and rounded with the next Shelby offspring due to arrive into the family in the next couple of days.  

You toss and turn a little more, albeit slowly, heaving your bulk to lie on your back. “I can’t get comfortable.”  

“Bet ya can’t, bab. Can’t even imagine what it’s like,” he speaks softly, removing one of the pillows from beneath his head. “Lift up.” Pushing yourself up, he slides it beneath your lower back, the downy plumpness soothing against your aching back. “What is it like, though? Is there anything it’s similar to that I’d understand?” 

It’s sweet of him to even want to try and comprehend the feeling of being pregnant, at least. “Imagine if somebody gave you a gallon of Epsom salts and sewed your arsehole up.”  

His eyes bulge. “Jesus fuckin’ wept. That don’t sound like fun.” Those eyes continue to widen when he sees you beginning to wince through gritted teeth. “Ain’t coming, is he?”  

“No, no it’s a cramp in my thigh.” 

“Left or right?” 

“Left.” Your instruction has him reaching beneath the bedcovers, beginning to massage said thigh, the tightened muscles finally relenting within the grasp of his warm, skillful hands. Bloody John Shelby and his skillful hands. Again, it’s how you ended up like this in the first place. “Okay, that’s better now. Thanks, love.” 

He props himself up on an elbow, hand lovingly stroking your bump, smiling as he feels his unborn child wriggling beneath his palm. You still remember the day you felt those first kicks, running down to the betting shop and grabbing his hand so he could feel them, too. You’ll never forget how lit up he looked at the sensation of tiny feet nudging against his big hand. “Who do you think he’ll look like most, you or me?” 

You can’t help yourself. “Me, hopefully.” 

“Oi, you cheeky mare!” Desired effect achieved. “I suppose it’d be better. I know I’m handsome, but we don’t want two freckled ginger nuts in the house.” 

“I really hope she has your hair, and your freckles,” you speak, putting extra emphasis on the word she. ”You know I love your freckles." 

“Fuck off,” he mutters, batting your hand away from where your finger trails over his shoulder. 

“Oi, no violence! I’m carrying your daughter!” 

“Son!” he corrects with a pointed finger. “You’re carrying me son. No girls, they’re too much headache for my liking.”  

“Poor thing’ll likely never see the outside of the house until she’s eighteen,” you chuckle, stroking your bump lovingly. 

He snorts, curling his lip slightly. “And the fucking rest! Ain’t having no boys round her, oh no, none of that malarkey.” He then lifts his chin a little, nodding to your rounded belly. “That is if it’s even a girl in the first place, and I’m still saying it’s a boy.”  

You smile, your eyes growing tired, yawning right on cue. Finally comfortable, you’re able to settle, drifting off to the rhythmic stroke of John’s hand over your belly. He thinks you’ve nodded off, unaware that you can hear every word he whispers to your unborn child.  

“Don’t even matter to me, you know, what you are,” he speaks softly, leaning to lay a kiss just above your protruded belly button. “I’ll love you until the last beat of my heart. I will. Anything you want, it’s yours. You ain’t gonna grow up poor and scratching around to make ends meet like we all had to. I’m gonna be a proper dad to you, little’un.” 

You can feel a lump in your throat form thickly, smiling on the inside as you drift into slumber. It’s nothing compared to two days later, though, when you see John holding your newborn son in his arms for the first time, his eyes filled with happy tears. Or, when five minutes later, you birth the twin sister nobody knew you carried, too.  

[ikinremu]

Sight for sore eyes

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Praise, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Cream Pie

It was a rare occurrence for you to find time alone these days, though whenever you found yourself lucky enough - it was typically occupied by the same pastime. Truthfully, you didn't care in the slightest about the others whereabouts, all you were really bothered about was their major lack of being here: the betting shop.

There was no guarantee that the front door wouldn't swing open at quite literally any second - but to be candid, that was a fraction of the thrill. Besides, you were located at the very back of the, otherwise vacated, building. So there you were, the familiar warmth of one soft hand writhing beneath the cotton of your underwear, rubbing supple circles over the swell of your clit.

Slowly, you slipped a single digit inside your slick entrance, teeth helplessly puncturing your lips. You gently eased the tip toward your g-spot, reaching it with a breathy moan. Craving further friction, you trailed the unoccupied hand up your clothed torso, sparsely cupping your left breast through your still fully buttoned shirt.

You trapped your nipple with the hunger of your touch, beginning to roll the stiff peak between your fingers, simultaneously toying with your pulsing clit as your back hollowed out a drastic arch between itself and the wooden chair you were perched upon. You cursed through shallow breaths, sliding another finger inside - instinctively grinding the sopping heat of your cunt against your own hand.

Fingers pumping faster, your eyelids fluttered shut, pace picking up with each whimper from your lips. Waves of uttered profanities spilled from your tongue as you brought yourself closer and closer.

Your body trembled slightly, preparing to revel in the much-anticipated release. As your mouth  hung - almost shamelessly - open, a familiar click rang in your ears. Your heavy lids suddenly snapped open, fingers halting as immediately as you could manage.

The door was shut to its hinges, however Tommy was now leant against it, eyes trained directly to you - his pinkish lips curved into a seemingly amused smirk.

Your heart relentlessly pounded at the wall of your chest, guilty hands firmly tossed to your sides as your cheeks burnt in conflict.

"..Uh," You splutter out, "How much did you see?"

He took a painfully elongated drag of his cigarette, clearly purposeful, gaze dancing over you as he stubbed it out on the nearby, dusty ashtray.

"Enough to want more."

You felt your eyes widen so momentarily, completely unsure if you'd heard the man correctly.

Several seconds passed by, though it processed far longer to your confused state.

Tommy took a step forward. Then another.

"Don't let me stop you." He resumes, voice low, "Just keep doing what you were doing."

This time you offered a response, although it didn't hold much substance at all. 

"What?"

The pure heat of the chuckle that followed trickled down your spine.

"Touch yourself, I want to watch."

The air felt impossibly thick as Tommy parted his lips, stretching another step closer, his large, callous hands tucked tightly into his pockets, striking face looming so torturously near to your own.

"I want you to keep playing with that pretty cunt for me. Can you do that?"

Your breath cracked a small hitch. You ran the idea over in your rather heavily fogged mind,  completely unsuspecting the potency of his effect on you. The vision of him being present, watching as you stroked yourself just how you liked, coming undone in front of him.. You desired it just as much as he appeared to.

"Yes."

Tommy smirked, and for a split second, you could've sworn his bright eyes lit up the way they so rarely did.

"Take those off." His gaze clearly indicated in the direction to the dampened cotton of your underwear, ambling backwards, resuming his propped stance against the door, "Let me see all of you."

The balmy skin beneath your shirt heaved, heartbeat rapid. Every element of your focus lead back to Tommy - the lustful words that left his lips, his unfaltering facade. Pushing your dark, linen trousers from your hips, you dragged your underwear along with them, kicking both garments off at your feet.

"That's a good girl." Tommy praised, seemingly overcome with your willingness. His eyes dropped straight to your newly bared pussy; his jaw ticked and he eagerly wet his lips with his tongue. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, reluctant to remove his gaze for even a millisecond as you spread your thighs apart ever so slightly.

He was beyond aware of your taunting intentions - and the fact they were successful.

"That cunt is just begging for attention, isn't it?" He murmured. It was evident to you that composure was beginning to evade him.

Peering up at him through glassy eyes, you softly, slowly snaked your palm downwards until you reached your naked pussy, hovering over the familiar warmth.

Tommy watched with an impenetrable interest, as though Atlantis didn't hold a candle to the sight before him. Timid, sultry moans slipped from your mouth as you worked desperately at your clit, fascinated gaze travelling over each and every inch of the man before you, pausing at the growing strain of his trousers.

Upon that, you felt your arousal spike. He craved this just as hopelessly as you.

Surpassing your now sopping folds, you glide a finger inside your opening once more.

A low, pent-up groan escaped him as you did so, making you smile between quickening breaths.

"Tell me what you want." He encouraged as your fingers began pumping faster.

There wasn't a mere trace of hesitation to your whispered reply, "You."

A grin tugged its way across Tommy's sharp face, the thick bulge of his crotch more prominent than ever. "You want my cock inside you, eh? Is that it?"

"Shit," You mewl, your soaked fingertips applying more pressure just where you ached for it, "P-Please, yes.."

Carefully, you eased a second finger alongside the first, working them together at your own perfect pace. Allowing your weighted lids to flicker themselves closed, you began needily grinding against the motions.

Murmured pleas flew from your lips one after the other, core quivering as you pant through gritted teeth - eyelids screwed shut.

"Making a mess over your fingers, so desperate to be fucked, hm?"

Tommy's gruff, taunting voice seeped into your ears, coursing through your body - assisting in bringing you closer and closer to a release. 

"Please, Tommy.." You whined, unintentionally letting his name fall out, coming far more naturally than you would've anticipated.

"That's right," He chuckled, "Beg for my cock." His speech was ragged, breathy. Far more than it'd previously been.

At that, the somewhat restrained rhythm of your hips intensified, eyes shooting open.

And what a sight for sore eyes.

Tommy's dark, costly trousers were messily pooled around his upper thighs, along with his underwear. One callous hand was wrapped loosely around his hard, naked length, consistently pumping up and down as he watched you. His strokes were hard. Hungry. But purposefully not enough to finish him.

It would've been utterly impossible to compress your moans as you soaked up the depraved, carnal image in front of you. Striking veins lay prominent beneath his skin as he fisted his pulsing cock, pre-cum coating his slit.

Your long-awaited orgasm crashed over your entirety, fierce and amplified by Tommy's gruff noises. 

"Good fuckin girl." He worshipped as you softly writhed, riding out the impossibly euphoric wave, tightly-wound knot bursting within your stomach. "Come here."

Almost in an instant, you were on your feet - effectively unable to let another second pass without claiming what was infront of you. Closing the majority of the distance between the two of you, you stood before Tommy, flushed face hovering mere inches from his.

"See this?" He clenched his tight jaw, subtly nodding toward the quick, slick pumps of his fist, "See how fucking hard you've made me just by playing with that pretty little cunt?"

Your body burned almost agonisingly, every part of you aching with the strong, undiluted need to feel him. To feel him pulse in your hand, to feel his withheld noises tickle your neck, your jaw. You needed it more than anything.

Instinctively, you reached one warm, smooth hand to his exposure, but before your fingers could surround his leaking cock, he tossed away your gesture. "No. I need to be inside you. Now."

His rapid hand suddenly abandoned his length, seeking a possessive hold over the chic material covering your waist. Your throat punctured with a brief, keen inhale as the pair of you suddenly rotated, your back meeting the door with a gentle clang. Tommy pressed the heat of his shirt-clad torso against your own, and his soft, ravenous lips began devouring yours. His tongue crept into your mouth, intertwining with yours in a hot, ever-tangled mess.

With great ease, he hoisted your bare thigh to his loosely unclothed hip, running his callous palms across the underside. The broad, flushed trip of his nose brushed with yours as his body-weight pressed against you, kiss deepening.

"I'm gonna give you want you need." His mouth grumbled into yours. A large, solemn hand bunched around his length, Tommy lined his thick, pre-cum coated tip with your drenched cunt, "Ready?"

"Mhm." You nodded. You simply couldn't wait any longer, you wanted all of it. All of him.

With one gentle buck of his hips, his cock was stretching out your tight, dripping entrance with a wavering groan.

"Fuck, that's good.." Tommy murmured, the heat of his breath tickling the intense burning of your own skin.

A bittersweet whine left your lips as he adjusted inside you, planting the first, tantalising thrust. The head of his length slapped your g-spot, forcing a loud moan from your throat.

Your stomach flipped repeatedly, feeling your slick pussy clench around the man, inadvertently pleading, "Please.." You whimpered, "More."

"More, eh?" He chuckled, "Patience." He punctured the demand with another, far-reaching thrust.

Developing a quicker pace, Tommys fingertips dug into the flesh of your thigh, pulling you against him in time.

"Come on," He heaved, planting an encouraging kiss to your lips, savouring your taste, "Put those legs around me."

With one swift toss, your legs locked around his bare pelvis, freeing his hands to roam free. One coursed up the back of your neck, the other tightly gripping your naked behind, desperately grinding you against his twitching cock. His slender digits wound through your hair, and the perfect placement for your own became so suddenly apparent. You tested the limits, grazing your nails over his shirt-clad back.

"Shit." Tommy grunted in response, "That's it. That's my fucking girl." 

The name set sparks alight throughout you as Tommy rocked you against the wooden door. Linking the plush of your lips with his once more, your tongue began to glide with his as your wetness clenched around him. His palm snapped against your ass as he landed a particularly deep thrust. You tossed your head back, his grasp of your hair shielding a clash with the door.

"Right there, hm?" He taunted, a pleased grin playing at his lips, "Tell me."

"Right there- Please.." You uttered between such laboured breaths. You took him further, his pulsing head wrapped by the quivering heat of your pussy, the door rattling against its rusty hinges as the two of you jerked against it, both reeling in the feeling of each other. 

Tommy briskly switched the focus of his touch from your backside to your cunt, fingers so flawlessly toying with the sensitive swell of of your clit, applying the pressure he knew you craved. Your eyes rolled back, falling a willing subject to his skilful fingers as you hurled your own hands over his shirt-covered back. 

"Priceless. Fucking priceless." He exhaled, gaze flitting over the sight of you. 

His muscles tensed as the ridges of your nails raked down his back, helplessly holding onto his body as your legs shook around him, the familiar sensation of a release overpower your senses. 

"Oh my- Fuck. Don't stop." The words spread over Tommy's neck, your head lolling atop his shoulder as you clutched him, wishing you could defy the impossibility of getting any closer than you were, "I'm so close.."

"I know," He slowly stroked over your unruly hair, "Let me feel you cum on my cock."

At that, you simply snapped. The sodden heat of your walls squeezed him mercilessly as your second orgasm hit even harder than the first. 

Tommy groaned once more, gruffer than any previous. Losing control, his pelvis involuntarily bucked, cock twitching inside you as his eyes clasped shut. Warmth spilled from his tip, pooling in your trembling pussy. Quivering, the pair of you took your time in sobering from the incomparable feeling. Tommy's hands caught your weakening legs, softly caressing the skin. Accompanied by unsteady breaths, satisfied smiles cracked on both of your faces. 

Perhaps you were glad to be caught after all.

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be so greatly appreciated!

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 2: ghost on the field

word count: 2,001

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Thomas Shelby didn’t make deals lightly. Every conversation, every transaction had a cost. But you had a way about yourself that made him reconsider his usual approach. He didn’t trust easily, and he had been burned enough times to know that the wrong person could send everything to hell. But there was something in you, something he hadn’t quite figured out yet, but it was enough to make him want to keep watching.

When you arrived at the Garrison, he was two seconds away from considering the deal null and void. Perhaps having him on your side really wasn't worth what he thought it'd be, and if it came down to it, he'd try to dwindle down your influence one man at a time.

But then you walked in, coat open despite the winter chill. The first three buttons of your blouse were undone - exposed enough to see the freckles on your chest. You pulled a chair back and poured yourself two fingers of whiskey.

"So this is the ghost," Arthur laughed through the smoke. John stood off to the side, propped against the doorframe. He watched your movements carefully.

Your eyes didn't avert from Tommy's, ignoring their presence all together.

"I take it we have an agreement."

You sipped the beverage slowly until only meager drops were left sliding down the edge of the glass. Arthur stood, circling behind you like a vulture waiting for the stench of death to rise.

"Conditionally," you said, your eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Name your terms." Tommy refilled your glass, and, again, you finished the full serving before answering him.

"How do you plan to show me what possessing you is worth?"

Possessing him, now that was an interesting notion. But if that was how you defined having his loyalty, then he was in no position to argue. You wanted proof - proof that what he was offering wasn't just an empty promise. You stared him down, silently urging him to answer.

"Do we really need her?" Arthur lowered his face down to your cheek.

When the stench of stale smoke reached your nose, you bore your hostility with few words. "Two steps back, Arthur," you said coldly and was met with the sound of his chuckle by your ear.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat at the faint prodding of something by his crotch. He looked down and found a small dagger gripped between your fingers - the tip threatening to tear the seams of his trousers.

Tommy motioned for him to step away. He removed a spare cigarette from his pocket and offered it to you.

You accepted it with a grin and tossed the dagger into your empty glass. That low cackle rumbled as the intensity of Arthur's glare came into sight. You held the cigarette out, and Tommy lit it carefully. Sitting back, you looked up at him through your lashes. "I take it I will have to wait and find out."

Over the next few weeks, Tommy kept his distance, but his eyes were never far from you. You moved through Birmingham with the same quiet confidence, handling your business like it was second nature, no flash, no fuss—just results. Results that funneled back to him at the end of the day, and that was all he cared about. The infamous ghost was now in the open, haunting in all the right places. That was something Tommy respected. The way you worked told him you weren't one to make promises unless you intended to keep them.

You worked your influence from the periphery, always to the side when Tommy made his deals. If someone lied, you knew. If they told the truth, you knew. And if a deal was about to go south, somehow you knew before anyone else.

Tommy caught word that there were newcomers encroaching on their territory. Before it came down to something more... explosive, they arrived at the Garrison. He expected a brief talk. He needed to know how determined they were and where their boundaries lay. Only then would he know how much effort it would require to settle it.

One of the men talked with unphased confidence, rattling on about bringing in more people from London, ones that ultimately would strengthen the Blinder's influence. As he spoke, Tommy felt the tension in his head growing larger. It felt like empty talk, but the names he gave were ones not so easily recognized.

The door to the room parted, and you walked in. Your heels clicked against the worn floorboards with each step, meticulously placing yourself at Tommy's side. The men each studied you, some with obvious stares at the curve of your back. You put your hand on Tommy's shoulder and lowered your lips to his ear, your breath delicately trickling down his cheek like a drop of dew. Arthur and John held back the urge to pull you away.

Your hair fell over your cheek, and the scent of your perfume drifted across Tommy's nose, a distinctly sweet aroma that slowly carried throughout the room.

"He's got a price on his head," you whispered, almost playfully. You never revealed enough for him to use it. You wanted him to wonder, maybe even ask for an explanation, but he played the game well.

Tommy's jaw tightened. Not only was his time being wasted, but now you dared to show yourself. There's a gleam in your eye as you delivered the information, a flicker of lighthearted satisfaction as you watch Tommy's mood shift. He glanced up at you as if to confirm that he understood. In that brief moment, you sense his silent approval.

"Get rid of him."

Before Tommy can respond, you tilted your head again, still close to his skin, and brushed your lips against his cheek. The touch was light but unmistakable, and the warmth lingered longer than he expected. It was a bold move - one that told everyone in the room that you enjoyed every second of how this would play out, a muted chaos that would inevitably bubble to the surface. You straightened your back and glanced at the baffled men across the table before walking out just as boldly as when you arrived.

A crude grin spread across the stranger's face. He pointed towards the door as if you were still standing nearby. "A striking woman you've got there, Mr. Shelby. Keeping the missus around you lot. It's a daring move -"

"Get out." Tommy's words set a chill over the room.

No explanation was needed, and any he was willing to give would be for a later conversation. Arthur roughly grabbed the man's collar and dragged him out of the Garrison. John was quick behind him, tossing the rest out to the street. The second the door shut, Tommy stood. He grabbed your arm and pulled you to the back rooms, swiftly locking it.

He closed his eyes, the strain wearing down on him in your presence. "What was that?"

"You seem suspicious of me, Tom. Did I hit a nerve?" You resisted laughing at his inability to contain his frustration with you. You'd managed to last nearly a month keeping yourself hidden, quietly helping him with his dealings, and only now does he show you what he believes his position to be between you.

In control, no cards on the table, all secrets close to the vest.

"You showed yourself."

"Even ghosts grace others with their presence every now and then. You wanted my help. I gave it to you."

Tommy stared you down. This was the only response he should have expected. Everything you were doing for him was at a price, and the longer it took for him to pay up, the more daring you'd get.

"Don't fucking show yourself again." He put weight into each syllable, slowly approaching you with his finger pointed between your eyes. "I asked you for information, not a fucking show."

You didn't back down. Instead, you met him halfway. "You don't notice, but they all have tells. You could have done all of this without me. You're busy trying to wear them down with... Words. Threats. And so I give you just that. Words to threaten them with."

You pushed in closer.

"Careful, Tommy. Don't make me wait too long for that payment." Your eyes flickered between his. "If you think my words can damage men, imagine what else I could do."

All this time, he'd resisted touching you, but you were walking a tightrope. He took your face in his hand, his fingers squeezing just tight enough to force a pout on your lips. "And what will you do when I have to wear them down with something else? Hm?"

"Then the price goes up. And you'll be out of time."

The dim light from the only remaining lamp casted long shadows down his face, the heavy scent of tobacco and whiskey rolling over your tongue as he held you in place. His movements were deliberate, measured - a predator backing a prize into a corner. He stepped forward, and with each tap of his shoes against yours, you backed up until your back hit the edge of the table.

The mumblings of anticipation didn't show on your face. He was determined to settle this conversation on his terms, and he wouldn't let you leave until it was done. He radiated tension, thick and unyielding.

Tommy's grip shifted ever so slightly, possessive and rough. He held your stare in place, and you felt his thumb dig deep just below the edge of your jaw. You wouldn't flinch. There was no fear, just the same cold gaze he'd grown used to seeing every time you'd watch him during the meetings. He waited for the reaction he wanted.

But you stayed still, and the edge of your lip curled into a grin, the kind of smile that hinted no amount of force was going to make this situation go his way.

"You're no good to me dead. You call yourself a ghost, then act like a bloody ghost. What game are you playing?" His voice was low, rough, and the question hung in the air, unclear as to if it was directed towards you or to some omniscient narrator who would have the answer for him.

"Nothing you're familiar with, Tommy. The game I play requires something you're not quite ready to give me." You wrapped your fingers around his wrist and squeezed, gentle enough for his grip to let up. You closed the short gap, your lips grazing the corner of his grimace. Your breath left a trail of warmth across his cheek until you stopped short of his ear. "Maybe you're too broken to understand the weight of the debt you're racking up with me, but touch me like I'm a fucking ragdoll again, and I will make damn sure the next time you need a cigarette, some whore is going to have to hold it for you."

Tommy pushed against you, mirroring your stance. "You're not as untouchable as you think you are. Show yourself again, and you're headed to the pyre." The words trickled down your spine, and he felt you smile against him in response.

Something about the way you laughed unsettled him, but it was this sound that set his nerves on fire at this very moment - not because it showed him that you were powerful. It was something else.

"Neither are you. If I get tied to the pyre, there will be a trail of petrol puddled around your ankles. I burn," you whispered breathlessly against his ear, knowing fully well that the sensation made him twitch. "You burn."

He pulled back and met your eyes directly. His gaze softened ever so subtly as the quiet understanding passed between you both. Tommy Shelby, for all his power and grit, was playing your game - not his. He wanted to break you, but you were not one who bends easily.

[mystcldydrms]

ALWAYS ON YOUR SIDE - TOMMY SHELBY

prompt: "I'm always on your side." - requested by @peakyswritings

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: none (let me know if you find any)

notes: I haven't written for tommy in forever. I really missed it. I hope you all enjoy this.

The door to your husband’s office stood ajar. You could see the light from the room illuminating the darkened hallway as you made your way towards the room. Once you stood in front of it, you peeked inside, seeing Tommy with his face in his hands, his elbows propped up on the desk.

If he knew that you were watching him, he would sit up properly. He would show you his strong side and not the vulnerable one he was presenting now. Of course, you would see right through him. You have been married for quite some time, and even before your marriage, you had been friends for years.

You watched Tommy for a little while longer, thinking he would move, but he stayed in that exact same position.

A sad sigh left your lips. You smoothed down your nightgown before you lifted one of your hands, and knocked on the door.

You didn’t enter the room right away. You waited for your husband to say something and when he did, you opened the door properly. His elbows weren’t propped up on the desk anymore. He had smoothed down his hair, his eyes looking intently to the door until he noticed it was you. His eyes instantly softened, a small smile gracing his lips while you closed the door behind you.

You walked over to where he was, not stopping at the chair that was lined up in front of his desk. You walked around it, so you could be close to your husband.

“Isn’t it a bit too late for you to still be awake?”

You raised your eyebrows, an amused smile on your lips as you shook your head. You dropped a kiss on the top of your husband’s head before you moved to stand behind him, your hands finding his shoulders. You started massaging his shoulder blades, an almost inaudible groan leaving his lips.

“I can stay up past midnight.”

“Barely.”, Tommy stated, earning him a light slap against his upper arm before you returned to your previous action.

“The question is, why are you still up? Two hours ago, you told me you would join me in bed soon.”

You could feel Tommy tense up a little bit. You tried to ease him up again by massaging not just his shoulders but also his neck. You knew it helped him, yet his eyes kept staring straight ahead. Something was bothering him.

“Tell me, love. You know you can talk to me.”

You pressed your lips lightly against his neck, kissing him gently before you removed yourself from him. Nevertheless, you stayed close to him. You leaned against his desk, looking him deep into his blue eyes, waiting for him to talk to you.

“It’s nothing.”, he said, although he knew it wouldn’t convince you. Tommy didn’t want to disturb your peace with his schemes and business.

He took one of your hands in his, his fingers lightly playing with yours before he pulled you on his lap. You smiled up at him, his lips pressing a loving kiss on yours.

Oh, how you loved having Tommy to yourself. Your husband was a different man when it was just the two of you. Once his family joined you, he would change, not much, but slightly. And when you were accompanied by his business partners, he was even more unlike the Tommy that was with you at that moment. That was the Tommy you least liked.

“Will you tell me about it now?” you whispered against his lips, kissing him once more, his arms wrapped around your body, pressing you close against him.

“John and Arthur aren’t as convinced of our next project as I thought they would be. It’s not stressing me out, but it makes things a bit harder.” he finally confessed, and even though he tried his best to stay confident, you were able to make out the change in his eyes.

Although he did things on his own, he always liked having his brothers with him. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but even Tommy Shelby needed someone by his side from time to time.  

“I’m always on your side.”, you stated confidently, pressing another kiss on his lips. “So, if you need anything or you want me to be anywhere, let me know.”

Tommy immediately shook his head. His lips pressed kisses to cheeks before he took your face into his hands and stared intently into your eyes.

“I don’t want you anywhere near what I’m doing, okay? You will stay here. I want you to stay out of my troubles.”

You knew he was being serious. He had told you this before. But you wanted to help. You didn’t care about what could happen, however, Tommy knew better.

You couldn’t help but nod your head. There was no need to fight your husband. He would try anything, in his willpower, to keep you safe and out of his business.

His thumbs traced circles on your cheeks. A defeated sigh escaped your lips before you leaned in and kissed him again. This time, you didn’t pull away. Your lips moved in sync. You poured your love for him into the kiss, your hands roaming one another’s bodies.

“You’re very stubborn. I hope you know this,” you mumbled into the kiss, giggling lightly as you felt him squeeze your hips.

“I learned from the best.”

The two of you stayed entangled for a while, lips interlocked. Until you had to pull away to breathe. Yet you stayed close to Tommy, your foreheads lightly touching.

“I think it is time to go to bed.”, you said, getting up from Tommy’s lap. “You too, mister Shelby.”, you told him, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Don’t make me wait again.”

“I don’t intend to. Who knows what you could do to me.”

Tommy winked at you teasingly, making you laugh. He got up from his chair, pushing it close to the desk before he made his way over to where you were.

You waited for him at the door, shrugging your shoulders before both of you left his office, walked through the hallway of your home and made your way to your bedroom.

“Oh, I won’t tell you what I do to you. That’s my little secret.”

You grinned up at your husband, helping him out of his clothes until the only thing he was wearing were his undergarments. You put your hands on his naked chest, gliding upwards to his shoulders until your arms wrapped around his neck, playing with the hair at the back of his head.

“But I know what we could do now. I’m not that tired.”

You took one step closer to him, his lips immediately crashing on yours. His hands slid to your thighs, lifting you up from the floor. Your legs wrapped around his body as Tommy moved you over to your bed, laying you down on it gently.

“Great idea.”, he mumbled against your lips before his hands slid under your nightgown. A moan escaped your lips, and you knew sleep wouldn’t come so soon.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Take It on the Run Pt. 1 | Tommy Shelby x fem!OC

Summary: Tommy checks out the local cabaret to survey the business potential of the place. You're a dancer and in need of some sort of change.

Warnings: borderline sexism, objectification of sex-workers and female performers, unprotected sex, no aftercare.

🎶 Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat - Del Water Gap

Author's note: I had to go back to Tommy to get out of my writing slump lol. This is very similar to my previous series but less intense, more lighthearted.

Thomas Shelby takes a deep drink from his glass of Irish Whiskey and lets his eyes wander around the room. He’s not as interested in the show occurring onstage as he is in the number of patrons sitting at the tables around the stage. Most are men, many of them are working class. They’re drinking cheap ale and whistling at the dancers on stage. Tommy takes a note in his notebook and finishes his whiskey. His pale skin takes on a tan hue in the darker light of the bar. He has his hat pulled down over his eyes and slips the notebook back into his pocket. When he finally turns his attention back to the stage, he sees the group of scantily dressed dancers and sighs tightly. This is not really his type of scene- he’d much prefer to be alone, somewhere quiet, private, calm. He’d only come tonight to take notes on the number of patrons, a factor in his future business dealings that may or may not include buying the bar and cabaret in which he was currently sitting. Arthur and John had volunteered to do the survey for him- of course they did- but Tommy needed a clear-headed, realistic description of the place. His brothers couldn’t do that for him, they just couldn’t.

His eyes fell on one of the dancers as she steps up to the microphone stand and starts to sing “Over There."

Johnny get your gun- get your gun. 

Johnny get your gun- get your gun.

Take it on the run- on the run. 

Take it on the run- on the run. 

Hear them calling you and me, every son of liberty. 

She was a plain girl and couldn't have been more than 25 at the oldest. The song she was singing was a war song, one he’d heard in France from the Yankees. Hearing the young woman sing it forced a peculiar feeling in his chest to rise into his throat. He swallowed tightly and flagged the waiter for another drink. He turned back to watch the young woman, his face betraying no thoughts or feelings. He was leaning forward in his chair, his hand propped on his knee. He checked his pocket watch and paid the waiter for his drink.

…

From the stage, you look out at the mass of patrons hooting from their seats. This is not really what you imagined when you pictured your future as a little girl. You’d wanted to perform, and frankly, you were, just not for the right audience. You’d just turned twenty-two and felt decades older as you pranced around in your flapper dress with the low cut v-neck. You may have been the headliner, as you usually were at the cabaret, but it was certainly nothing special. Your name was up in lights but did it count when the cabaret was on a dirty side-street in Birmingham? Obviously, you have a problem with self-deprecation. You’ll have to work on that- note to self. 

But as you sing, the steaming spotlights blind you from everything except for one patron sitting near the center of the audience. You can only make out a shape, like a black silhouette, but you can tell it's a man. When the spotlight moves, your eyes adjust and faces become clear again. Your eyes return back to the man and this time you can see his cap pulled down over his eyes and the way he lies his forearms on the table as he holds his cigarette. When the routine ends, you bow, your hand covering your cleavage as you bend over. When you look up again, the man is staring at you, clapping slowly like he’s from a different point in time and space entirely. You regard him curiously as you straighten up. Cheers and whistles berate you as you hurry offstage.    

It doesn’t take long for your boss to find you backstage. 

“Diana,” he starts, brushing off a thin layer of sweat from his balding forehead, “there’s a patron that wants to meet you… he's one of the Peaky Blinders.” 

You turn, your brows furrow skeptically. “Peaky Blinders? What’s that?” 

“You-you don’t know? Eh well they’re basically the most powerful gang in Birmingham, Diana. They’re the ones that run the illegal gambling rings and whiskey dealings.” 

“And someone from the Peaky Blinders wants to meet me?” You clarify, a note of distaste and disbelief in your tone. 

Your boss nods and shrugs hesitantly, “Seems like it. I mean I can tell him that you’re not feeling well, I’ll say whatever you want, but…” he trails off. You stare at him for a moment, your morbid curiosity piqued. 

“Well… I guess I’ll meet him. Tell him that I’ll come out once everyone leaves. Can he wait?” 

Your boss nods and turns away to relay the message. He returns after a few minutes and nods, confirming that the man will wait. Exhaling, you pinch the bridge of your nose and try to prepare yourself for whatever the man may want- god forbid. To be completely honest, you’re tired. You’re dead tired. Work at the cabaret is exhausting and emotionally taxing. The spotlights may hide the eye bags and shaky muscles but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. You adjust your makeup to hide the purple circles beneath your eyes before you force yourself to stand and greet the strange visitor.

…

Tommy is lighting another cigarette when he sees the velvet curtain shift and a person steps out from behind it. Looking over the end of his cigarette, he sees you step down from the stage and approach him slowly, your expression neutral. Tommy sits silently as he watches you approach his table, the last patron left in the establishment after closing. You stop on the opposite side of the table, your eyes unable to rest on his face for longer than a few seconds. 

“My boss told me that you wanted to meet me…” you say as your hands rest on the edge of the seat. Tommy looks up at you from his seat, his face finally fully visible beneath the shadow of his Peaky cap. 

“Yes, I did want to meet you,” Tommy responds coolly, his eyes on yours. 

You take a deep breath, unsure what to say next. “You’re a Peaky Blinder?” 

Tommy smiles slightly and tilts his head to the side in a curious manner as he responds, “I am. You’ve never heard of us?” 

“No, I try not to get involved in business outside of the cabaret,” you respond, trying to gauge what kind of person he is and whether or not he’s trustworthy. Tommy raises a dark eyebrow and adjusts himself in his seat, a deep sigh escaping his puffy lips. 

“That’s smart. Most people would be better off keeping their heads down… but sometimes business has a way of finding you, whether you’re looking for it or not. Just like trouble." Tommy’s eyes return to yours as he says the last line.  

“So this is a business proposition?” You ask, gesturing between the two of you. 

Tommy pauses for a moment and takes a sip of his whiskey. His eyes leave yours as he considers your question. Finally, his chlorine-blue eyes meet yours, a new expression visible beneath his eyelashes. 

“In a way, you could say that. I’m… interested in you,” Tommy explains slowly. 

“And I suppose I should be flattered,” you add, your eyes narrowing down at Tommy. 

Tommy chuckles and shakes his head before he finally responds. 

“Most women would consider it a compliment to be told that they’ve caught the attention of a Peaky Blinder.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not like most women,” you shake your head softly. 

Tommy nods slowly, his eyes leaving yours as he thinks. “Hmm, that much is true but you wouldn’t be my type if you were ‘most women’.” 

You try not to roll your eyes at his response and smile down at yourself, unable to take him seriously.  

“Well the problem is that I’d much rather be like most women,” you open your small pocketbook to find a cigarette. “My line of work isn’t exactly ideal.” 

Tommy raises his eyebrow and drums his fingertips against the sticky tabletop. He watches you rummage around in your handbook and pulls out his gold embossed cigarette case. He holds the case open for you, offering you one of his own cigarettes. You hesitate before taking a cigarette, meeting his eyes slowly again. He takes a drag of his cigarette and watches as you find your lighter and strike a flame. 

“A woman as talented and captivating as you can have whatever she wants. Why settle for being like most women?” Tommy’s brows furrow as he taps his cigarette over the ashtray by his elbow. 

“The safety… the normalcy,” you light your cigarette and place it between your lips. “I’m a dancer, most men see me as one step up from a common whore.” 

His eyes follow the way you place your cigarette between your pretty pink lips and he nods finally, taking a deep breath. 

“Safety and normalcy are vastly overrated. And for the record I can think of several steps between a cabaret dancer and a common whore.” 

You give him an appreciative smile and pull out your chair to sit down opposite him at the table. You tap your cigarette over the ashtray by his elbow, your bare forearm nearly brushing his coat sleeve. He looks down, following your arm with his eyes as he takes another drag. 

“Well,” you start as you exhale a thin stream of smoke, “are you going to tell me your name?” There’s a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. 

Tommy’s eyes almost darken as he watches you bring the cigarette back to your lips. He allows himself to smile softly, glancing away and then back at you. 

“Thomas Shelby. People call me Tommy… or Mr. Shelby.” 

“Well, Mr. Shelby, what can I do for you?” You bring the conversation back to its original purpose, still morbidly curious why he wanted to meet you. 

“I wanted to get to know you better… I’m not usually interested in women but you grabbed my attention.” 

“Was it the low cut dress?” You respond nonchalantly, your free hand brushing over the deep V-neck of your dress. 

Tommy laughs and rubs his thumb over his lips, shaking his head. “It certainly didn’t hurt.” 

You shrug and cross your legs beneath the table, “at least you’re an honest criminal…” 

Tommy takes a sip of his whiskey and smirks, laughing again. “I find it's best to be upfront about who I am… no point in pretending to be a good man when I'm not.” 

You regard him carefully, your foot jostling nervously beneath the table. “You don’t consider yourself a good man?” 

Tommy’s expression darkens and his lips pull back tightly. He downs the rest of the whiskey in his glass before pouring another one. He leans back in his chair, thinking of a response. 

“I think ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are relative terms. I think I’m a man with ambition and the will to achieve my goals. But some of those goals may not be what most people consider… ‘good.’” 

“Cheers to that,” you raise your cigarette and Tommy chuckles, raising his glass of whiskey back. 

“And what about you? Do you consider yourself a good person?” Tommy asks after taking a sip of his drink. 

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” you shrug and take a drag of your cigarette.

Tommy clears his throat and sets his glass down. “Why not?” 

“To most of the men here, I’m just a dancer. And after years of feeling less than human, I've lost any sense of introspection.” 

Tommy regards you closely, his eyes focused but look relaxed.

“And yet, you don’t act as if you feel less than. I can’t imagine you’re as shallow as most of the men in this room think you are.” 

You blow out a skinny cloud of smoke and it wavers around Tommy’s face like a gray serpent. “Funny,” you smile softly, “I didn’t peg you as an optimist.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head slowly, “I’m not much of an optimist. I’m more of a realist. And any man with a brain should know there’s more to you lot than pretty faces and a pair of legs.” 

You give a snort of laughter and stub out your cigarette. You don’t know what to say at first so you twist your mouth to the side, thinking. 

“Thank you.”

He gives you a short nod, “You get used to men not seeing you as the person you are. I won’t claim to know you, but I know you’re not the type of woman who’s content being just an object for the men in this room to ogle at.” 

 You nod, appreciating his perspective, especially coming from a man. “It pays the bills,” you shrug. 

There’s something about that moment between you. The cabaret is empty besides the two of you and everything is still and quiet. You suddenly feel so close like the space around you has shrunk. Though a table separates your two bodies, Tommy’s eyes push in with the cold severity of a cement wall. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Tommy finally breaks the silence, his voice is low and straightforward. 

You stare at Tommy for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Finally, you shake your head. 

“No.” 

He nods, his eyes lingering on your face. The way your hair is shorter than your shoulders, the faint hint of rouge left on your lips, the way your dress clings to your body… it makes his skin grow hot. 

“Do you want one?” He asks, his voice low. 

Your heart starts to hammer against your chest and you take a sudden breath. Your instincts are suddenly silent like the system has been overrun. 

“I don’t know…” you whisper. 

He gazes back at you intently, watching your reactions to his question. The way your breath hitches slightly, the rise and fall of your chest, your lips parting ever so slightly.

“Do you want me to be more plain with my question?” He asks quietly, gently, like he’s addressing a child. 

You regard him curiously and not knowing what to say, you say nothing. Tommy doesn’t even wait for an answer before he speaks. He leans forward, his chest pressing into the edge of the table. His eyes are locked on yours.

“I want you.” 

“That,” you start shakily, “isn’t a question.” 

Tommy takes in the way your cheekbones glow with color and how your neck flushes. He nods and meets your eyes again, serious. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

The way he says it sounds so effortless, so normal. You take a breath and shake your head, forcing some sense back into the situation.

“You don’t even know my name,” you argue. 

Tommy looks down, smiling softly. When he looks back up, he’s still smiling. 

“I asked your boss.” Tommy stands and trails his finger around the rim of his glass. One of his hands stays in his pocket as he clears his throat. “Your name is Diana.” 

“So you do know my name,” you look up at Tommy. Your heart seems to forget its original rhythm and hammers at an uncomfortable pace.

“Yes, I know your name, Diana.” He repeats your name and the way he says it sounds so sexy. He’s leaning across the table now, his arms crossed against his chest. 

“So you asked me to meet you just to tell me that you want to fuck me?” You clarify, your eyes narrowing. He’s not surprised by your bluntness. He’s heard much worse when talking to other gang members and criminals. He shrugs and clears his throat softly. 

“That was my initial intention.”

“And what is it now?” 

Tommy looks at you for a long moment, his eyes moving slowly across your face, taking you in. Your gaze is strong, but he can sense that beneath it there’s a hint of uncertainty. He lowers his voice as he answers.

“Now… I want more.” 

“And what makes you think I’ll give you what you want?” You mutter up at him. 

He’s acutely aware of how close your lips are now to his. It’d be so easy to reach out and pull you to him, over the table. He can almost hear your heart hammering in your chest and he can smell your perfume, your sweat. His eyes wander over your face, his voice low as he answers.

“Because you’re not saying no.” 

“I could say ‘no’ right now.” You threaten, whispering now. 

He places his palms on the table and leans down. He hears the lack of conviction in your voice. He's close enough now that he can feel the heat coming off your body, see the way your breathing is quickening, and his own body is reacting to your nearness.

“Then do it. Go on, say no.”  

“And what if I do…” Your voice drops off at the end like an open ended question. Tommy lets his gaze drop to your mouth briefly, seeing the way your lips fall open at the end of your sentence. His heart might be beating slightly faster but he’s completely relaxed as he leans even closer. 

“You won’t,” he says quietly but with calm conviction, his breath tickling your nose. 

“Are you always this arrogant?” You ask, too aware of the closeness of his lips. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, throbbing in time with your pulse. Tommy sees the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you blink, his voice just as soft.

“Only when I know I’m right.” He pulls back and steps around the table towards you.

“And are you very frequently right?” You press, trying to ignore the growing tension between your bodies. His cheekbones look deeper in the offcast shadow from the bar’s electric lanterns. 

He smiles slightly at you, amused. He doesn’t answer you right away, just stares down at your lips. Just before he closes the distance between your mouths, he murmurs, “almost always.” 

You feel him kiss you. The movement is fluid and deep like he’s breathing you in like a cigarette. He pulls you up from your chair and holds the place above your ribs with a gentle yet assertive touch. Your hands start on his elbows and slide up to his shoulders. The fabric of his shoulders bunch up as he holds you. When you kiss him back he immediately takes control, parting your lips with his tongue. Your lips are soft and hot against his and your breath is ragged against his face. 

He tilts your head back with one of his hands by cupping the back of your neck beneath your bob. You’re leaning back against the table when you push his hat off his head and slide your hand into his hair. Tommy groans softly against your lips and cups your jaw in his hand. 

“Can I fuck you?” He breaks the kiss you ask against your lips. His voice is gravelly and deep, like what you’d imagine coals sound like when they’re shifted over a fire. You gasp against his lips, feeling a shock through your throbbing cunt at his words. You normally don’t do this. But… 

“Yes,” you whisper and nod against his face, your noses crushed against each other. He takes a breath before slowly starting to kiss you again. 

“Here?” You ask breathlessly, looking around at the empty cabaret.

“It’s as good a place as any…” he responds calmly and kisses you again, his other hand cupping the other side of your face. You smile and laugh softly against his lips, nodding. 

“I only ask one thing,” you break the kiss again as he presses his body against yours. 

“What is it?” His eyes are closed as he bites your bottom lip and releases it. 

“You won’t pay me afterwards. I’m not a whore. I’m not doing this for any favors.” 

Tommy chuckles and moves his hands to your waist, picking you up and dropping you down on the table behind you. 

“As you wish.”

He immediately slots himself between your knees and rolls up the skirt of your short flapper dress as he starts to kiss you again. You push off his jacket over his arms and pull him closer by the neck of his vest. 

Once his jacket is off, he pushes against you again and reaches under your skirt to unclip your garters. The bands snap against your thighs and he groans quietly against your lips at the noise of them hitting your bare skin. He guides your back down to the table, kissing you deeply as he pulls down your silk underwear. 

You’re panting as you feel Tommy slowly pull down your underwear down your thighs. He stops kissing you to watch your reaction as your underwear slips over your knees. You both exhale simultaneously as your underwear slips down to your ankles and finally comes off. His hands then slide up your thighs, his eyes still on yours. In one quick motion, he spreads your legs and presses his hips against yours. You gasp when you feel his large erection through his trousers 

“You’ll be alright,” he mutters before he crushes his lips against yours, harder than before. He undoes the button at his crotch and opens his boxers with one hand with expert ease. You pull him closer, gasping when he enters you a bit too forcibly for his size. 

“There you go,” he whispers, breaking the kiss to exhale against you. Your stomach tenses in pain and you whimper tightly. Tommy slows his thrusts down only slightly and puts his hand beneath your head to support it. His other hand holds your thigh up to rest at his hip. You moan and grip the fabric of his dress shirt on his shoulders as it starts to feel better. Tommy moves his mouth down to nip at the skin beneath your jaw. His thrusts get progressively stronger, leaving you gasping against his ear. 

Tommy moves his hands down to your hips and holds them in place as he moves, lifting his chest from yours. His jaw is clenched as he puts space between you. You cover your mouth with your hand as you start to cry out in pleasure. Tommy chuckles down at you, his grunts and groans are dark and low. He says nothing as he goes deeper, his hands pulling your hips closer to the edge of the table. 

You feel your pelvic muscles contract as a wave of pleasure comes over you. Your heart’s racing and you can feel sweat pool between your breasts. Tommy leans down again as he feels you get closer and nips down your neck again, his teeth barely scraping over your skin. He kisses your collarbone and pants against the shelf of it. 

“That’s it, girl,” Tommy groans against you, his fingers digging into your upper thigh. 

“Mr. Shelby,” you gasp against his scalp, feeling a climactic surge of energy through your body.

“It’s alright, girl. You’re alright,” he nods reassuringly. His words pull an internal trigger in your body and you orgasm. In your orgasm, you grab the back of his neck. Feeling your grip, Tommy raises his head to look into your eyes and watch you cum. Your mouth falls open in a way that makes him shiver in pleasure. His hips slow as you ride your climax and he starts to feel his. He thrusts deeply into you, his hips rutting against you with reserved power. 

“Open your eyes,” he mutters and presses his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it down to expose your row of bottom teeth. Your eyes flutter open and you see him looking at you. His gaze is nearly as penetrating as his cock.

Without giving you further instructions, he looks down into your eyes, his mouth open in a sigh. With a few more deep, slow thrusts, he finishes. He groans softly and lowers his face to yours but doesn’t kiss you. After a second of sharing breath, he pulls back and pulls out. He fixes himself back into his clothes and shrugs his jacket on once again. You sit up slowly, your thighs and abdomen shaking. 

Tommy bends over and takes his cap from the floor and secures it onto his head. He hands you your underwear and looks away respectfully as you pull your underwear back on and clip your garters back to your garter belt. 

“Alright?” Tommy nods at you as he looks over his shoulder, ensuring that the cabaret is still empty. 

“Jesus Christ, Mr. Shelby,” you fix your hair quickly and push the skirt of your dress back down. “Ever a businessman, aren’t you?” 

Tommy chuckles and offers his hand to help you down from the table. His eyes study your face down to your body. 

“I try to stay efficient…” he mutters with a small smirk. 

“Of course,” you smile softly back and smooth down your dress. Tommy chuckles again and shakes his head, enjoying your attitude. He leans in close to your ear.

“Thank you for your company this evening,” he whispers and pulls back to see your face. You blush and nod once. 

“My pleasure, anything for a Peaky Blinder.” 

“You tease me,” Tommy drops your hand with a chuckle and fixes his suit lapels.

“Yes,” you nod and take a few steps back towards the stairs of the stage. Tommy turns in the opposite way at first and then turns, slightly surprised to see you turn back to the stage. 

“Live here, do you?” He asks, half joking. You look between him and the stage and shrug nonchalantly.

“It’s affordable.” 

“Right.” He nods and takes a cigarette from his cigarette case. You watch him in silence as he switches the case for a lighter and lights the end of the cigarette. 

“Will you be back to watch my shows?” You ask, and it surprises you that you almost hope that he says yes. You want him to treat you suddenly like all of the other men in the cabaret, to adore you. Tommy clicks the lighter closed and slips it back into his pocket. His brows are furrowed when he finally looks back to you. 

“It’s not really my… thing,” Tommy gestures loosely with his cigarette. You nod in understanding and turn your back to him as you climb the stairs up to the stage. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby,” you call over your shoulder. Tommy grins around his cigarette as he watches you cross the stage. 

“Goodnight, Diana,” he calls back and after a few moments of watching you retreat backstage, he exits the cabaret. On the street outside of the cabaret, Tommy takes a drag of his cigarette and looks back at the small building. Your name is spelled out on a hand painted sign. He runs his hand over his mouth and exhales a slow line of smoke. He contemplates going back inside, finding the girl, finding you. For what reason? He can’t say. 

The lights start to go out inside the cabaret and Tommy watches them as he smokes his cigarette down to a stump.

[deathmetalangel]

hi if your taking requests I’d like to request a mid 90s forth-grade x fem skater reader. I could be whatever tbh but she’s like really soft and nice. Idk you could do what ever you think is best <33

IN CHAINS, ENTOMBED (FOURTH GRADE X FEM!READER)

warnings: stevie has mommy issues, mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, sad stevie, nothing else really it’s mostly fluff

“from the day you arrived, i’ve remained, by your side, in chains, entombed”

ahhh i just really love fourth grade. i might’ve went overboard a slight bit.

Their friend group was strange, anyone could see that. They varied in ages, most being juniors and seniors with two exceptions. And they drastically varied in personalities. Ray was the oldest and looked out for his friends like siblings, they were all he had. Fuckshit was rowdy and always down for a party to distract himself and stay entertained. Fourth Grade was more aloof, the others called it stupid, but Y/n preferred observant.

Y/n herself was the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, a heart made of gold that shone brightly wherever she went. Ruben was almost condescending at times, he always felt the need to prove himself to Ray and Fuckshit. And Stevie, he spiraled down a dark path for a long time. Until now, he finally returned to the sweet boy they met at first. So eager and just happy to have friends.

They had their squabbles sure, but nothing they’d ever let separate them. The closest out of everyone was easily Y/n and Fourth Grade. She was a senior, about a year older than he was. Yet they’d known each other for years. She’d lived on the nicer side of town, but their dads had been really good friends. Both worked at the DMV, but it’s where their moms worked that changed their living situations. Mrs. L/n was, to be quite honest a spoilt brat of a woman. She was heinous and cruel. Only supported by her husband and her trust fund. Which she spent most of pretty quickly during her college years. But it still kept the family going strong.

Y/n had a surprisingly good work ethic. She didn’t work at Motor like Fuckshit and Ray, but she did work with her uncle at his mechanic shop. It helps to fund her “passion project”. Which is just an old 67’ Mustang Shelby.

Said girl currently sits on the couch in the back of the skate shop, her feet propped up on Fourth Grade’s lap with a book placed in hers. Her beanie is slightly slipping from her head, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “College applications are stupid. They’re all the counselors at school talk about now. I get that they’re important, but I don’t even know If I wanna go to college.” She sighs before shutting the textbook.

Fourth Grade turns to look at her, his usual far off look replaced. She always has his full attention. It doesn’t matter what she’s talking about. He’s gonna listen if she’s the one saying it. “I dunno. You’re smart. College might be good.” Ruben looks at them from the other couch. He was more interested in them than what Fuckshit was rambling about next to him. He liked the way Fourth Grade looked at her. It was, for lack of better words, full of devotion. He never sees that at home.

“Yeah, but where would I even go? All of these colleges are expensive and far away. I wouldn’t wanna leave you or the guys.” Mostly him. “I think I wanna be a mechanic. Sounds stupid huh?” She brushes off her own words.

Fourth Grade shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s stupid.” He mumbles off handedly. Like his words held no weight, what did they mean coming from someone as dumb as him? “I’ve seen your car, you’re good. You should do it.”

Yet his words meant the most to her. “You want to be a director right? You can go to college for that you know. A few colleges with fine arts programs reached out to me too. I think you’d do good.” He never really expected her to remember anything about what he wanted to do. Most of the guys assumed he just didn’t know or was too stupid to care. He pauses, they both think about the cost of it all. “I mean there’s scholarships and stuff. Next year I can help you look into it?”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

She smiles at him, sweet and genuine. Ruben liked the way she looked at him too. There was no doubt with her, she loved him. Fourth Grade feels himself growing flustered. Y/n tended to do that to him. It was like he was in middle school all over again. She was the one who taught him how to skate. Y/n was so patient and understanding, she still is.

Everyone’s attention is caught by the bell to the front door. It chimes letting them know someone is walking in. The someone was Stevie, the only one missing from the current hang out besides Ray who was helping his mom. He’s a mamas boy, but y/n won’t tell anyone where he’s at. The guys tend to tease. Stevie walks in the shop clearly aggravated. She hadn’t seen him this agitated since last summer.

“Hey Fuckshit can you and Ruben go get some Arizonas and snacks? It’s on me just take this twenty. I don’t feel like going.” She holds out the cash she grabbed from her pocket.

Fuckshit looks up at her and takes the cash. “Hm yeah sure. Only cause you treating ma. I’ll get some different flavors n shit. Come on Ruben let’s bounce.” He clearly didn’t see her true intentions as he walks past Stevie on his way out. Y/n sits up straight as Stevie finally comes over to them on the couch.

“Hey Stevie you okay? It’s just us,” He knew what she meant. Just her and Fourth Grade so he could say whatever he wanted judgment free. He bites down on his lip to stop it from quivering. His nose twitches, she picks up on his tells. Y/n places a gentle hand on Stevie’s arm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Just sit down, we can talk when you’re ready.”

Fourth Grade watches her tentatively. She was so gentle. Stevie sits down in between the teens before he places his head onto her lap. Y/n looks at Fourth Grade who was watching Stevie carefully. The boy had been through a lot in the time they were friends. He’d grown to care about him a lot. Y/n softly caresses the boys hair. Her best attempt at soothing him.

“My mom she just doesn’t get it anymore. She doesn’t get me anymore. She’s always with some guy, Ian says she used to be like that before I was born. But I thought she’d be better. She’s so preoccupied I never see her. And then she just bugs about stupid shit. I hate her sometimes.” He vents to the pair who don’t pity him, they are just there to console him.

Y/n sighs. “I get it. My moms flighty. Always in her own world. I’ve met your mom, and both times weren’t exactly pleasant or under great circumstances. But, I do think she cares. She loves you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel this way. She isn’t right to put more focus on someone other than you especially when you’re so young. However, she is still entitled to a love life Stevie.” He liked talking to her. She never judged him. Or scolded him. Just let him talk, and would advise him as best she could.

Y/n looks at Fourth Grade, her eyes flicking down to Stevie as if to tell him to say something. He can get that hint at least. “It’s hard for a mom to have a son. My moms weird with me sometimes, it’s different than her having a girl. Ya know? She’s probably just nervous because you’re getting big and growing up.” She smiles at him, his thoughtful answer was more than adequate. He blushes at her smile. She always did encourage him to be smarter than everyone thought he was.

“You and y/n aren’t weird with me. So why is she?” Y/n blushes slightly at the implications of what he was saying. “Y/n you don’t ignore me for Fourth Grade. And you’ve been like in love forever. So why does she ignore me for those guys she’s known for a few months?” Both teens almost were too embarrassed to answer.

Y/n tries to recover as best she can. “We’re a lot closer in age to you than she is Stevie. We know what it’s like to be your age. She doesn’t remember it quite as well. And me and Fourth Grade, we’re not- um. New relationships take more work. There’s a lot more of getting to know each other Stevie. That’s probably why.” She can’t even make eye contact with Fourth Grade who kind of just sits there trying to figure out what she’s saying.

They weren’t dating, but why didn’t she finish her sentence. Was he reading too much into her words? “Can I stay at your house tonight? And maybe Fourth Grade stay over too?”

Y/n smiles softly. She could never say no to Stevie. She gently wipes away a few stray tears from the boys face before responding. “Of course you can stay with me. I’d rather you stay over than be god knows where. And you’d have to ask Fourth Grade if he wants to have a little sleepover.”

Stevie looks up towards Fourth Grade who’s caught slightly off guard. “Can you come too? I like when you’re hanging out with us.”

“Sure kid.” They were really the only ones who actually treated Stevie like a kid. He wasn’t Sunburn the cool skater, he was Stevie the twelve year old. They didn’t infantilize him or belittle him, he was still an equal. But they made sure to remember he was still growing up. He didn’t have to be cool and drink or smoke. He was dorky and that was fine.

Stevie smiles before laying down on Y/n’s lap again. Her fingers gently play with his hair as he starts to fall asleep. Y/n hums a soft lullaby as he does. “He’s a good kid. It’s funny you act more like a mom than a friend to him sometimes.” Fourth Grade whispers while he watches the boy nap.

“I guess it’s just my big sister instincts. And what about you? I swear sometimes he comes to you with his problems more than me or Ray. Fourth Grade I like this girl what do I do? Fourth Grade I need help with a video project for school. Fourth Grade I’m mad at my friend again.” She laughs softly before looking back down at Stevie.

Fourth Grade laughs as well. He did often get tasked with helping Stevie, it was mostly with stuff he didn’t want to ask Y/n about. He cared a lot about what she thought of him. “He’s a bit confused, but he’s only got his mom and his brother. And his brother doesn’t seem like the brotherly type. We’re really the closest he’s got to older siblings. And only three of us are decent influences.” Fuckshit and Ruben were most definitely not good influences. In fact Y/n almost has a heart attack when she finds out Stevie is hanging out with only them.

“You parent him a lot Y/n. And you always manage to get me roped into it.” Fourth Grade chuckles softly. “No wonder he thinks we’re dating.” He mumbles the end. Afraid of the weight of his words.

Y/n pauses. “I mean, we do kind of act coupley. I wouldn’t be surprised if more people thought we were dating. I don’t really care. I’m comfortable around you.” This was her way of putting the ball in his court. Fourth Grade pauses. He looks at her and just thinks. Jesus she had him whipped. Ever since he met her he’s been following her around like a puppy.

Yet, he really didn’t want it any other way. He liked being around her. Y/n was kind, but not ignorant in the slightest. She was intelligent and so fucking sweet. He fell more in love with her little by little, he was entombed by her very being. “You scare off any girls I might get, you know that right?”

She giggles. He wasn’t serious, but he wasn’t lying either. “Like you don’t scare off guys. ‘Don’t talk to her she’s with that tall lanky guy’. I hear pretty well you know.” Fourth Grade smiles.

“I mean if we��re ruining each others chances of ever dating someone, why don’t we just actually date?” Her eyes widen. She hadn’t actually expected him to be so up front. Fourth Grade never said anything this forward. He usually stuttered and rethought his words mid sentence.

She looks into his eyes. She could tell he was being genuine, perhaps that was what compelled his bluntness. “Are you asking me out Fourth Grade?”

He scratches the back of his neck almost awkwardly. “Uh-yeah. I mean. If you wanna.” And there was the Fourth Grade she knew. Y/n smiles before gently kissing his cheek.

“I’d love to.” She smiles before placing her head on his shoulder. Leaning onto him while Stevie napped comfortably in her lap. “I love you, you know. I have since we were kids.”

His face was almost bright red. Fourth Grade swallows hard. “Y-yeah? If I’m being honest you’ve had me since we met. Especially after you taught me to Ollie.”

She smiles at the memory. “I don’t think Fuckshit is coming back with my money.”

Fourth Grade wants to laugh, he quiets himself into a soft chuckle. “Yeah. I don’t think so either. It’s okay though. We can just relax. Just us.”

Y/n mumbles something before slowly dozing off with her head still resting on his shoulder. Fourth Grade looks down at her, still in awe of the girl before him. He’d do anything for her. And he knew she’d do the same. That’s just how she was, the kind of person she was. The person he was so irreparably in love with. And by her side he’d remain.

[novashelby]

He'll Kill and Die for Me: Dark!Evie Au

Summary: Evelyn isn't happy about her father's wedding and has some choice words for Grace. And to Grace's disappointment, Tommy isn't the supportive husband he promised to be.

Warnings: Mention of killing, mention of suicide, dark!Evie, Au.

Words: 650

This is not related to the actual story. Just an AU I wanted to dabble into. Though, something similar does happen in the main story, just not like this.

Read, comment, and reblog!

Martha told her that you can’t wear white to a wedding, but Evelyn Shelby hadn’t gave a single fuck. She wore white, showed up late, and had red lipstick on her face. And, best of all, she sat in the front, her middle finger propped nicely on her knee. She didn’t hate many, but she fucking couldn’t stand the purple clad bitch. “You’re not very discreet,” her Aunt Ada whispered. “Actually, you’re quite disrespectful.” But she could only grin in response because she knew what she was doing, staring at her father. 

And when it came time for the reception, she had no care to be there. Socializing and mixing with them. Her, of all people, her. But when she went upstairs, Grace had been lingering in her bedroom. “You know, Evelyn,” she said, watching as the young girl twitched. 

“I don’t like people in my room-”

“There’s help for girls like you,” she continued, malice tainting her words. “You need help. Your father isn’t your lover, Evelyn, he’s your father-”

“He isn’t really your lover, either,” Evelyn retorted. “No, you had one back wherever the fuck you were. Wrung himself with a rope, did he? Must feel nice knowing you can kill a man just by existing.” If the wench was to insinuate Evelyn had any more than daughter-father affections for Tommy, she was going to play the game and make sure she got to the finish line before Grace. She moved forward. “You should really be careful, you know.”

Grace, deadpanned and dryly asked, “why is that?”

“Be careful around the stairs. They’re bit high-”

“Are you threatening me?”

“And one day,” Evelyn paused, dragging out her words. “You may just…slip.”

“You want to push me down the stairs,” Grace concluded, swallowing. “Very well, then, Evelyn. You can continue to live in your delusions.” Grace stood from the white painted vanity, pausing at the door frame, giving the girl a look. “What happened to the kind girl-”

“I’m not kind to those who betray my father-”

“Now you’re just a young girl, but stupid.”

Later as the reception cleared out, Tommy knocked on Evelyn’s door, but didn’t wait for her to answer. Grace was behind him. She looked up from her desk, smiling, but her father wasn’t. “Evelyn, did you and Grace have a talk earlier?”

She blinked and pretended to think. “Um, hmm, earlier? A brief one.”

Tommy sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded. “Did you tell Grace that you’d push her down the stairs?” He was clearly uncomfortable with the confrontation. Evelyn, shocked, stood from her vanity. 

“Daddy! How…why…how could you come up with something so silly like that?” She sat on his lap, which he cradled her. “Daddy, look at me,” she whispered, holding his face in her hands. “When have I ever done something so harsh?” Tommy’s frown broke into a soft smile, and Evelyn leaned in, placing a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I know,” he whispered, hand rubbing circles on her back. “It’s just a misunderstanding.” Grace’s face dropped all emotions as she stood there, repulsed and confused…gaslit and humiliated. As Evelyn hugged her father tightly, she grinned at Grace and raised her middle finger.

Sliding off his lap, she smiled. “I’m sorry if you may have misheard me. I was telling you that the maids were polishing the stairs this morning. They’re still slippery, daddy. Saw Uncle Arthur take a bit of a trip.” He smiled down at her, running his fingers through her hair. 

“Well, that’s settled,” he said, fixing his coat. He started to walk out and said, “I’m going to grab the car and then we’re off, love.” He gave Grace a kiss.

When Evie was sure of it, she snorted, walking to the baffled bride. Grabbing her jaw roughly with her thumb and index, she said, “remember, Grace, daddy will fight for you, but he’ll kill and die for me.”

[kitixie]

Little Girl Gone (pt 6)

word count: 2k

information: y'all, i am so sorry this took so long, i've been in a slump and clinicals just started so i've also been super busy. but i promise i am going to finish this!

warnings: smut. dirty, filthy, nasty smut. seriously, its like 3 pages of smut with some dialogue, but i won't apologize for it 🙃

taglist: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude, @globetrotter28, @tn22220-blog, @fudgethisyo, @geeky-politics-46, @chaengist, @lostgirl219, @amberpanda99, @sharrren, @bookishbabyyyy

Tommy’s POV 

It had been a week. It had been a fucking week since I had last seen Y/N, since I had tasted her lips on her kitchen counter and gathered the strength to pull away. Dealing with business and family had made this week drag on like months, leaving a hole in my chest that grew everyday I wasn’t around her. I had been so close to having her, her body and mind were almost mine, and then I remembered that stupid, pointless meeting in Camden, and I pulled away like an idiot. I was needed at the meeting, but still; I needed her more. 

Everytime that my mind has dared to go back to that night, it always ends the same. Me in a bathroom or closet or any other private place, jerking my cock like a madman. I couldn’t stand it any longer, I needed to have her. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her for a while, and that only made it worse. It only made me treasure the memories more. 

“Thomas,” Polly croaked, I could still see the tear stains on her face from earlier. 

Business had not gone well, ending with Arthur and John being arrested, and Michael getting his ass handed to him in the process. Polly had been crying and screaming the entire time, along with Ada, who is ever the dramatic. Ada has now resumed her vow of silence against me, at least until I get our brothers free, and Polly won’t stop fucking crying, tears coming out between her hands as she covers her face. I understand her upset, I really do, but it isn’t my fault that her son manages to get beat to a pulp everytime we go out, and she knows it. 

“Yes, Pol?” I finally answer, the solemn look not leaving my face. 

“What are you going to do? Ya have to get your brothers, the longer their in there the more pissed they’ll be,” she breathes, “I can take care of Michael, but you’ve got to handle things with the prison.”

Finally recognizing some of the life that comes back to her eyes, I sit for a moment. It’s not a problem to get Arthur and John out, I pull people from the jail all the time. I’m just not sure what to do with them once they’re out. They’ll be angry, looking for revenge, and I’ve got a sweet girl waiting on me that overpowers all thoughts of payback. Everyone will get what's coming for them, we are the Shelbys after all, but I want to come first. Preferably all over Y/N. 

- 

Another week gone by, and still I haven’t gotten to see her. The hole is now a gaping wound, and my cock is sore from how much my hand has been on it. 

I was right, Arthur and John drug me straight back to Camden Town after they got out, and it’s taken all week to stalk and plan out our retribution. We got it, but at what cost? I still haven’t been around to see Y/N. I know she's been at the house, Pol called and told me that she asked her over and watch Finn while she tended to Michael. Hearing that made my heart swell the most it has in a long time, just knowing she cared enough to do something as simple as watch my kid brother. I am so far gone for her, and I don’t even think she realizes that she holds the most powerful man in Birmingham at her fingertips. 

The three of us eventually arrive back to Watery Lane, and I immediately notice that Y/N’s umbrella is propped by the door. The adrenaline begins to rush through my veins, waking up all of the feelings that I just got to lie down this past week. All that lust and longing comes flooding back into me, all from an umbrella by the door. I enter the house first, and hear the sounds of laughter coming from the seating room. I peek around the door frame to see Finn and Y/N, locked in some sword battle, using sticks as their weapons. They slash at each other, Y/N obviously holding back given that she has almost two feet in height on the kid, but still it’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. 

I, Tommy Shelby, just found something adorable. Something is truly wrong with me. 

I ultimately decide not to disturb them and continue walking to my room. It’s only when I get to my room however, that I notice the tent that has formed in my pants. Fuck, I can’t even see her without getting aroused. I hear John and Arthur speaking to them downstairs, and figure that they’ll keep them busy long enough for me to handle my issue. I carefully shut my door, and lie down on my bed. Loosening my pants, I free my cock from its confines. The skin is red from straining against my clothes, but it only adds to the tenderness as I stroke myself. I imagine it being her hands, dragging up and down my length, toying with the sensitive head. I run my thumb over it, letting the pain from being so hard morph into the pleasure I’m imagining in my head. I picture her mouth, those soft, pink lips wrapping around me, licking and kissing all over my skin until she finally makes her way down. She’d start slow, testing the waters to see how she could handle me, until finally sinking all the way down, my cock touching the back of her throat. The same throat that makes all those mouthy remarks, and keeps all those secrets of what she wishes I’d do to her. I even go so far as to imagine her own fantasies, picturing her getting off to the thought of my hands on her, just like I’m doing now. The soft moans that would spill out of her mouth, falling hard in the silence of her apartment. The way her fingers dive and retreat in and out of that pussy; I know it’s tight, it has to be. That leads me to my next train of thought. The warm center between her legs, that would be dripping in arousal by the time I got around to it. She’d be so wet that it would go down her thighs, it’d be enough for me to drink. I let out a small moan, the feeling of my hand and the delusions in my head becoming too powerful. I can almost feel the softness of her lower lips, as they part to let me in. The filthy sounds she would make as I drove into her, first from on top of her, then once she got adjusted to my size, the way I would take her from the back. 

The motion of my hand stops as soon as I hear a glass shatter, and I peel open my closed eyes to find Y/N, standing at my door, face flush, with a shattered glass and pool of water around her feet. Her eyes do not meet mine, and I realize that they’re dialed in on my cock, with my hand still wrapped around it. 

“Tommy, I-I am so sorry, I had no idea-” 

I don’t let her finish before I’m on my feet. I step over the glass, scooping her up in my arms before placing her inside my room so that she doesn’t step on the glass. I close the door behind her, somewhat aware that my hard on is still out on full display. 

“How long have you been watching me, bad girl?” I say, bringing the same hand that was on my cock seconds ago up to her cheek. Her skin feels better than mine ever could. 

“Not long, I swear it Tommy,” she rasps, trying to keep her eyes on my face. 

“Did you hear me moan? That was for you, Love. You were what I was imaging,” I breathe, tipping my head towards hers. 

“No-”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” 

“Yes, I heard you Tommy. It was a beautiful sound.” She finally admits, leaning into my touch and resting her forehead against mine. 

I smile at her, and go back to sit on my bed. When she doesn’t follow, I make the decision then and there. She can watch. 

I begin stroking my cock again, this time keeping my eyes on her. I can see that she’s a little confused, but more aroused than anything. I spot that blush spreading from her cheeks down her neck, and onto her chest. I can see how heavily she’s breathing, her eyes darting between my face and my hand. I let out another moan as I see her hand go up to her breast, palming herself through the fabric of her shirt. She’s as needy as I am, she just won’t admit it. 

I keep my pace, speeding up my hand to keep time with her breathing. The rise and fall of her breast picks up enough that I can feel my end coming near. She’s still watching, waiting to see me finish. I’ve never had an audience before, but I like that she’s the one seeing me. I give my length one last pull, and cum erupts, landing all over my stomach. I keep my hand moving until the last drop comes out, dribbling down my thumb. 

“Come here, Y/N.” I say, motioning her with my finger. 

She approaches me, staring at the mess I’ve made at myself, all at the sight of her. 

“Yes, Tommy?” She questions, that sweet voice dripping in feigned innocence. 

“Open your mouth.” I demand. 

She does as she is told, and I stick my thumb into her waiting mouth. 

“Clean it.” I poke her tongue with my digit, and she closes her mouth around it. 

She swirls her tongue around my thumb, lightly sucking at the calloused skin of my hand. She is very thorough, but if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to take her right here, with every member of my family in this house. She pulls away, letting my thumb go from her mouth with a pop. I move to sit up, heading to the bathroom to clean myself off. Before I have the chance to reach my feet, she pushes me back down, her hand gripping my shoulders. 

“What are ya doing, Love?” 

“I’m cleaning you up, Thomas.” Fuck, even just my name coming from her mouth is almost enough to have me hard again. 

She straddles my knees, bracing her hands on either side of my hips. I just allow her, wanting whatever physical contact she’ll give to me. She lowers her head, bringing it to the bottom of my stomach. She darts her tongue out, licking up the cum that pooled at my waistline. She swallows it, and I am in awe as I watch her. She traces the erratic trail up my body, her mouth leaving warmth in its wake. My skin flushes at her touch, and I jump when she lands her mouth on the ticklish part of my side, where the liquid has started to drip down. She lets out a small laugh and keeps going. Finally, when she has licked every last bit of evidence from my torso, she moves up, the crotch of her pants sitting right on top of my once again hard cock. I don’t move, in fear of not being able to stop, but she leans down, and whispers in my ear. 

“You taste delicious, Tommy.” She darts her tongue out again, letting the warm thing touch my ear before she nips at it with her teeth. 

I go to grab her hips, having had enough of her teasing, but she jumps off of me, landing her feet on the floor. 

“I think I heard Finn calling for me,” She says, turning towards the door where the broken glass still lies. 

She steps to the mess of glass and water and looks down. 

“It’s a shame about your water, Love, I’m sure you’re parched.” She smirks, stepping over the shards and sending me a wink before she closes the door. 

[prettypeppermint]

amazing grace.

for t. shelby a prelude to 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

“My, what a dear sight: Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinder and founder of Shelby Brothers Limited, fucking a whore on the same desk he signs business deals on.”

Your languid body, draped with the tender silks of your night slip, leaned against the door frame. The strong oak plowed against your supple shoulder and tugged at the pink lace pooling in your clavicle. A slim cigarette drooped like a petal from your rosy fingertips which rested near your naked thigh.

You watched, unamused, as Thomas repeatedly rutted into the thing, his eyes staring directly into yours. Despite the dimness of it all--of the sex-stained chamber and the way the dying lamps made the room appear dipped in oil--his sharp, diamond eyes still cut through the haze.

You took a quaint draw of your cigarette and fixed your gaze on the girl, tilting your head at the way she convulsed and thawed into the mahogany. You pushed yourself off the frame and let yourself in, crossing the threshold into sin.

Your bare feet made slow steps across the dry panels and stopped in front of her. You used your hand free of the cigarette to pet the crown of her head, smoothing down her jostled, earthy locks.

You shushed her softly, quietly, though it came from a dwelling deep within your heart. Your fingers tightened at her roots and pulled her head up so you could see her disheveled face. "You're a pretty one," you stated, observing the way her nose sloped perfectly into her cupid's bow. Her shaky, glossy eyes could barely keep your gaze as they kept rolling to the back of her head. Obscene moans and small cries escaped her bobbing throat.

You took another puff from your smoke. "I know you think you've caught a big fish, but really--Thomas Shelby isn't any less a minnow than every other man in this Godless city when it comes to pretty lasses like you." Your voice was befitting of the night--quiet and something of the tide.

You traced her tear-stained cheek with your thumb. "Do you know why you're here, bent over his work desk in the first place, love? It's because the last pretty thing that wandered into Mr. Shelby's trousers put all our heads on the line--right after her own, pretty little blonde one."

Immediately after the last sour-coated words left your lips, the girl burst into a million ecstacies, and Thomas gave her one last soundless pound before leaving her empty and hollow on the nippy wood.

You let go of her head and it dropped to the desk--as if she craved its cold companionship.

Your eyes found Thomas's.

"So this is who you are now? A whore fucker is no more than a whore, himself, y'know."

"Who I fuck"--he zipped up his knickers and took a swig of Irish whiskey left out from the morning on his desk--"concerns no one. Least of all you."

You slowly snubbed your cigarette out on his expensive, lacquered desk. "Don't get cute," you said, pulling out a couple extra shillings than girls like Lizzie are used to seeing after a long day. You stretched at her unbuttoned collar and pressed them into her bra. "On you go, love. Don't come back.” You said the last part mainly to yourself, but it didn't go unnoticed in the weight of the room. You loathed her life for her.

A minute sigh, heavy with something dire and secretive, escaped Thomas's nose as the lax girl collected her stray garments from off the floor and flitted out of the room. He never looked at her, though she seemed to burn for it.

Thomas leaned the small of his back against the edges of his desk, staring off at something distant in that vacant way he always does.

"It seems as though everybody in the city respects Thomas Shelby except yourself,” you said.

You never called him Tommy, and you never would. Nicknames are for kin and lovers, and he was just pristine, clean-cut Thomas.

He didn't respond. He didn't move save a subtle tensing of the muscle in his jaw. You made your way next to him, propping yourself up on the desk. Your legs dangled in the air as the hem of your slip rode up your thighs. He passed his whiskey glass over to you without sparing you even a glance, and you took a sizable swig.

Since it was evident he wouldn't be doing much of the talking, you started up.

"Men are weak. They get dumb in the head when anything with a cunt passes by. A primal urge--makes you animals." You looked at the wooden wall and imagined you were seeing the same thing he was as he stared right through it. A moment of silence--a hidden breath--hitched and made the room swell--the wood crack.

"I loved Grace, too. In my own way," you continued softly, matter-of-factly. You handed the glass back to him. He could tell you've had a little too much already. "I saw something in her that I had been chasing my entire life. It made me admire her."

"And what's that," his voice croaked, raspy from the silence that grew familiar to his throat's walls--like a tumor.

"She had love." Slowly, as if unfolding like a picture, you began to see the invisible landscape Thomas saw in the grain of the walls. "It made her strong. Gave her something to fight for, and then later something to lose."

This, Thomas realized, was the most you've confided to him in years. You looked so vulnerable, so lush in your unguarded, slightly slouched form. He saw glimpses of your Irish youth in your tired yet glistening eyes.

You were never a predictable woman.

A silence spanned and stretched at the air in the room. The more it did, the hotter you got.

"I've never had that, Thomas. And you should be grateful you did for at least a little while, because even if you fail at your multiple hands and end up rotting in the canal, you would have died a man who knew love. So stop slouching and moping and fucking sorry whores and get back on your feet."

He didn't like the way curses sounded coming from your mouth--from that pretty little voice. Your usual mellow demeanor had faltered for the first time in front of him.

You didn't wait for him to hand you the glass this time, as you swiped it out of his grasp and downed the last ounce of amber fire. "You're Thomas fucking Shelby. But right now you're just pathetic."

At this, his hand clasped around your slender neck, almost simultaneously with his lips as they crashed into yours. He repositioned himself between your legs so his knee could pry and tease at them. His callused hand was strong and warm as it crept from your throat to that sweet nook between the back of your neck and the bend of your jaw. His fingers cupped your cheek and raked through your freshly washed hair. Your slip had collected in a wrinkle of crests at your hips and you subconsciously waited for your exposed thighs to be seared with his radiating palms. But he stopped himself. He pulled away. And yet again, there was that vacant distance.

"Don't tell me about not knowing love. I loved Grace the way you've always loved me." His voice was so low you had to furrow your brows to make out every word--every syllable--so that you could ensure you weren't going crazy. "I see it. Every day. I fuckin' feel it every time you look at the back of my neck. You love me. And you're filthy for it."

For an impossible measure of time, you saw him for something he wasn't.

His thumb swiped past your chilled earlobe, bringing your forehead to his. "She sang these songs. And I heard in all of them your stories."

You wanted to shoot him. And kiss him. And kill him. Hell, you just wanted him.

"But I could never have you. No, not when you put on such a tough act with a face like that and make a mess of yourself and everything else--messes I needed to clean up and protect you from." With this, he gave your face a little shake with his hand still embedded in your locks.

It was impossibly gentle and genuine and moronic. It was simply just impossible.

His whiskey-licked breath stung with every lap he took at your salted wounds. You both stayed like this until the ticking of the clock became jilted and painful.

You looked into his wayward eyes one final time, swallowing a heavy sigh before slowly slipping off the table, past his burning body and out the door.

It was as good a goodbye as any.

All humans have ever needed was love, so why is it that when it's finally within the palms of our hands--no matter how much we cherish it, kindle its erratic flame, breathe life into it--it always seems to betray us?

x.

[idabbleincrazy]

We Make Our Own Destiny: Ageless

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: E

Pairing: Clex

Characters: Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Lana Lang, Jonathan Kent, Lionel Luthor, Evan

Word Count: 4785

Warnings: episode rewrite, s4 au, soulmate au adjacent, soul-bond, angst, smut, Lionel suspects, handjob/masturbation, cum as lube, multiple orgasms, messy sex, anal fingering, anal, coming untouched, intense smut, fluff

Episode Summary: Lex, Clark, and Lana discover an abandoned baby in a cornfield and take him back to the Kent farm. But when the newborn ages to a 7 year old in a matter of days, the trio frantically search for a cure before the rapid-aging disease kills him.

Chapter Summary: Evan ages. Lex suffers a meeting with his father. Clark and Lex take some alone time to keep their bond from fading out.

A/N: the muse finally shook itself loose from where it was snagged on this first in-between scene. Here's hoping I can get thru this a bit quicker now. I had really wanted to find a way for more smut in the barn, but it just wasn't feasible with Jonathan around. Me making their bond so tentative was really just a plot prop to ensure they have sex fairly often throughout the series 😅

Chapter Three:

After shaking themselves out of their stupor of confusion, Jonathan, Lana, Lex and Clark, are a bustling group of worried makeshift parents. Lana rushes over to Evan, plucking him up from the crushed cradle and wrapping the small blanket around his waist as she clutches him close to her chest. Jonathan lets Shelby in from where he's scratching at the door, barking in concern over the flash of light and the way the older farmer had rushed out of the barn. Clark and Lex cross over to Lana, looking over the child in her arms, checking for any damage to the young boy other than the very unexpected growth spurt. 

After Clark subtly uses his x-ray vision to check Evan for other anomalies, he lets out a breath of sort-of relief. Shelby has calmed, now sitting in his bed by the couch, eyes locked on the little child everyone was so excited by, watching, just in case the safety he sensed turned out to be false. Jonathan now has Evan in his arms, marveling over the young boy in much the same way he did Clark all those years ago. 

“Dad,” Clark calls his attention over to where he and Lex are standing by the kitchen counter, concerned looks on both their faces. Jonathan is surprised by the lack of worry within him at the fact that Lex is here to witness this. “Dad, Lex and I are going to go up to the barn, see if we can find some of my old clothes that Mom packed away, and set up a place for Lex to sleep in the loft. I’ll take the couch down here, and Evan can have my bed.”

“Alright, son. Lana and I’ll go get Evan settled. It has to have been a tiring day for the kid. We can all discuss this in the morning, I guess, since Martha won’t be back for a few hours.”

Clark nods in agreement and he and Lex retrieve Lex’s duffle bag and laptop case before heading out to the barn, both still bewildered by the events of the past few minutes. 

The second Clark drops Lex's duffle bag on the couch, he finds himself wrapped in Lex's arms, tears blurring his vision before he even realizes how close to crying he is. 

“Clark, hey, baby, it's okay. It's gonna be okay.” Lex is running his fingers through Clark's hair, easing his head down onto his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “I meant what I said at the hospital. I will not let anything happen to Evan if it's in my power to prevent it. I'll bring in my most trusted scientists, keep things as non-invasive as possible, and find out why this happened.”

Lex's mind was whirling as he held Clark close, trying to understand how the tiny infant had aged several years in a flash of light. Energy. It must have had something to do with energy. Like the ripple of light that had exploded past them just before they had found Evan in the resultant crater. The child must be meteor-affected, after all. If he was, this could happen again, and again, until the boy was an old man. They could end up losing Evan to more than just Child Services. 

Seeing Clark and Lana with the baby had brought home all that he was taking away from the young man. With Lana, Clark could have had a chance at a family, even if it wasn't his own flesh and blood. With him, who knew if that would ever be possible. He knew it was selfish to take that from Clark, but Clark had chosen him, and he'd wanted the young man too long to refuse. Even if Clark came to resent him for it in the future, he didn't have it in him to be so self-sacrificing as to push him back towards Lana. Lana, who had taken the revelation of their new relationship status with dignity, even though Lex had seen the flash of sadness and regret in her eyes as she'd stared down at their joined hands. They had tried and failed, and now it was his turn, and Lex didn't plan to fail. 

Clark sniffed quietly and pulled away from Lex’s comforting embrace, brushing a soft kiss across his lips to lessen the feeling of rejection at the movement. 

“I trust you, Lex. I know you'd do anything for Evan. I saw it in your eyes.” Clark huffed a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. “Looks like it was pointless for me to pack those extra items in your bag. Never a dull moment in Smallville.”

“The last thing either of us really has time or energy for right now is sex. Hell, I'm so worn out, I haven't really even been able to feel your emotions the past day; I nearly forgot about it until I realized I wasn't feeling your worry just now.”

“I know. It's lessened for me, too. I don't know if it's because of the stress, or what…”

“We'll figure it out. After we get this all settled.” Lex reached out and cupped Clark's cheek briefly, smiling up at the young man. “For now, let's find some things for Evan and get back to the house before Jonathan comes looking. I think enough people know about us for one week.”

Clark grinned, gave Lex one more quick kiss, and strode across the loft to search for the boxes of his old clothes and toys that Martha had never been able to bring herself to donate. As he rummaged around, he tried to make his mind settle, focusing more on the realization that he hadn't felt Lex through the bond very strongly for the past few hours, not since the nightmare earlier. 

The shrill tone of Lex's cell cut through the air, startling them both from their task. Lex straightened up from his box, pulled out the phone, and answered it sharply. 

“Speak.” Clark turned at the tone of Lex's voice, concerned. Lex's mouth was set in a grim line as he listened to the caller. Clark resisted the urge to listen in. “When was this? Well, why the hell wasn't I notified immediately? Fine. Where is he now? No, I'll handle it. Stay there.”

Immediately after disengaging the call, Lex dialed the mansion's main line.

“Send Davis out to the Kent farm. Yes, for a few hours anyway. No, that's not necessary, I just have some business to tend to, and I'll be heading back on my own. Thank you, Lucinda.”

The phone closed with a snap, and Lex stalked back over to his bags, grabbing his laptop and stuffing it into its carry-case. Clark stood up from where he'd been crouched, a muted sense of stress and fear wafting through the bond from the older man. 

“Lex?” 

“Clark, I'm sorry, but I have to go back to the mansion for a while. I've been having my father followed, and apparently he met with Genevieve Teague earlier today and now he's on his way here. I need to be there when he arrives, I can't let him suspect anything has changed, not until it's too late for him to try to seize LuthorCorp back from me. Besides, this will give me a chance to get things in order to have Evan looked over. I really am sorry.”

“No, hey, I get it. If Genevieve really is after the stones, and had something to do with Lana getting possessed, it can't mean anything good if your dad is working with her. Lionel's come too close to my secrets before, what with the whole body-swapping thing. It probably is best if you're there to sidetrack him. Just be careful?”

“I always am, Clark.” Lex quirked a grin at Clark's baleful glare and kissed his cheek. “Fine, keep an ear out, then. I'll call for you if I need another impromptu rescue. Give Jonathan my apologies? I'll be back as soon as it's safe.”

Clark nodded and watched with growing apprehension as Lex hurried down the stairs and out of the barn. Another thing to worry about, then.

Lex is sitting at his desk in the study, studying a couple of pictures when Lionel enters. Lex had barely been home long enough to send out a few encrypted emails to the most trusted of the scientists in his meteor division, and order a slew of clothes, toys, and various necessities for Evan. The photos in his hands were merely part of the subterfuge, nothing new to his father, even if he did manage to snag a glance at them. He'd spent his life studying Lionel, knew exactly how to keep under his radar. The pictures were something his father would expect, and something would be noticed even more for their absence. 

“What are you doing, son? An exciting new venture, something worthy of a captain of industry?”

Lex put the pictures away in a file folder, just managing not to sneer at his father's condescending, falsely inquisitive tone. It sickened him how long he had fallen for that fake interest, how he had only recently realized that that was merely Lionel's way of poking for information while seeming to give Lex the attention he had always craved from the elder Luthor.

“I'm simply continuing where you left off, Dad.” Lex shuffled some things around on his desk, forcing himself to look vaguely distracted. “Look, I, uh, can't talk now. I've got-”

“Well, we better talk. Genevieve Teague thinks you have the missing element.”

Lex shrugs, keeping his face devoid of any hint of understanding. Lionel huffs impatiently, raises a brow in an expression that screams don't pretend to be so obtuse.

“The one from China.”

“Come on, Dad”, Lex scoffs a laugh. This really is sadly easy. “You've raised me to be smarter than that. Why use Genevieve Teague as a threat? Why not just come out and ask for it yourself?”

And still, Lionel stands, as though he feels he needs the position of height, needs the illusion of power it affords him. Lex has to resist rolling his eyes. 

“I'm here as a father who's concerned about the safety of his son.” How Lex manages not to laugh incredulously, he doesn't know. Lionel is fishing, pure and simple, either for Genevieve, or for his own edification. “She had Bridgette Crosby murdered because of one of those elements. You think she'd hesitate to do the same to you?”

“I don't have it.” Lex stands up from his desk, folder in hand, and steps around it to pass by his father, pausing to look him in the eye. “And even if I did, I'd never trust you.”

He's halfway to the double doors of his study before Lionel recovers.

“Lex.” Lex stops, only because Lionel would follow after him if he didn’t. “We haven't a lot of time left to spend together. You can go on for the rest of your life being mistrustful of me, or you can accept me as your father who loves you.”

Back to his father, Lex does roll his eyes this time. Love. He suspects his father did love him, at some distant point in his past. But, he's given up yearning for that love again, for the acceptance and approval he strove for for too long. He has a better love, now, with Clark. A love that is more pure, more real, than anything Lionel has ever had to offer. And he will do anything in his power to safeguard that love. Even if it goes against twenty-odd years of lessons learned at the side of the man behind him. 

“She's dangerous, Lex. She-” And, kudos to the old man for perfecting the break in his voice as he tries one last time to find the desperate child once more. “Watch your back, son.”

“I always do.” And, I always will, especially around you, Lex thinks as he walks away without a backward glance, knowing Lionel won't deign to stick around now that he has failed to pull Lex into whatever web he was attempting to weave.

Lionel stares at the empty doorway for a moment, mentally moving an ivory pawn across the board. He can't pinpoint it, but something has given his son a backbone. Something has changed. Lionel didn't miss the lack of expensive cologne in the air as Lex passed him by, the air now redolent of cheap drugstore soap and - hay? No, he can't pinpoint it, but it bears the need for a more watchful eye. 

Whatever it is, it can wait until the Teague woman and her whelp are dealt with. Get the element Genevieve killed Ms. Crosby for, find the one stolen from Lex all those months ago, and see what Lana's uninvited guest makes of them. Then, he can deal with his wayward son. 

Plan rearranged and settled, Lionel lets himself out of the mansion, directing his driver to head back to Metropolis. 

“Clark, I'm safe, but I need you.”

Less than thirty seconds, and Clark is there in his room, slightly wide-eyed with worry he couldn't completely contain. Lex smiles up at the brunette from his spot on the bed, still not used to these now casual displays of power. 

“Lex?” 

“Oh, good. You heard me.” 

“Lex, why did you call for me? I thought you were going to come back to the farm after your dad left.” Lex, still smiling, reached out for him, and unable to keep his own lips from twisting into a grin, he climbed onto the bed, hovering half-over his reclining lover. “Did the old bastard give you a hard time?”

“Mm, nah. Nothing I wasn't expecting. Fishing for intel on the elements, baiting me to pool our efforts. I suspect he's headed back to Mrs. Teague, either to recount his failure or do her in. It'll keep.” Lex tugged Clark until he was completely draped over him, running a hand through the dark locks of hair. “How's everything at the farm? Evan okay?”

“Yeah, he was already asleep by the time you left. He looked so cute, Lex, all tucked up with my old teddy bear, wearing a shirt that has fit me in at least two years. I took pictures. I-I know I told Lana not to get attached, but…”

“I know.” And he did. He was gone the moment he first held him. Like an imprinting in reverse. “I've got a team coming in tomorrow to get things ready at the lab. We'll find out what's causing this, and how to stop it from happening again. Tonight, I want us to reconnect. I kinda like having a direct line to your emotions, and if it is weakened by lack of contact…well.”

Clark chuckled and leaned down to kiss Lex deeply, making sure to keep most of his weight off the slighter man.

“You horndog.”

“Two days, Clark. I've barely been able to so much as touch you for two days.” Lex thrust his hips up against Clark's, his cock already hardening. “Besides, it's well known that sex is an excellent destressor, so, even if the bond is merely being impacted by the constant stress…two birds, one stone.”

“Lex Luthor, I love the way your mind works.” 

Clark was more than happy to push aside the worry nagging at the back of his mind and lose himself in the wonders of Lex's body. Hopefully, it would strengthen the fading connection between them. He hadn't liked not being able to feel Lex while Lionel had been here, and had found himself focusing his hearing and sight on the mansion whenever possible. The older Luthor had become more and more of a threat to his secret over the past year, and there was no telling what he would do to Lex if he thought it could lead him to the truth. Where Lex's obsession with Clark had been tempered with love and longing, Lionel's was fueled by a need for power and greed. Clark would take any advantage he could in keeping Lex safe from his father's machinations. 

“Hey, spaceboy, Earth to Clark. Even diminished, I could feel fear and anger coming through. No more thinking.”

“Right. Sorry. Where was I?”

“I think you were about to use that superspeed of yours to get us both naked so you could fuck me hard enough that I won't even remember the meaning of the word stress.”

“Oh, yeah. Now I remember.”

In an instant, Clark had stripped them both of their clothes, barely managing to keep from shredding Lex's expensive slacks in his haste. He spread himself back out over Lex’s lean form, groaning softly at the feel of Lex’s hard cock rubbing against his own. Dipping his head down, he captured Lex’s mouth in a wet kiss, tongue delving past scarred lips the moment they parted, swallowing down the resultant moan. All coherent thought fled at the feel and taste of Lex pressed so closely against him. 

Lex arched up into the kiss, arms winding around Clark’s neck, fingers tangling in thick hair to hold him closer as their tongues twined and retreated, tasting each other, relearning each other’s mouths. The past forty-eight hours had been so hectic, so full of emotion and surprise, he hadn’t even realized how much he had missed this. This freedom to really touch Clark, to kiss him less than chastely, let it lead to more. Keeping their relationship under wraps was proving to be a bigger hardship than he had thought. Having to stop himself from ravishing Clark every time he saw him, now that he had permission, was harder to do now, than it had been the previous four years. Easier to deny yourself what you’ve never had. Now, though, oh, now, he could touch, taste, feel. His cock throbbed against his stomach, hard as it ever was around Clark, dripping pre-come profusely as Clark kissed him breathless, one big hand sliding down over his skin to grip at his hip, the other braced against the bed to keep from crushing the human with his bulk. Which, honestly, the human wouldn’t have minded so much. It felt oddly comforting, being nearly smothered by Clark’s all-encompassing presence. It felt safe, it felt like home.

“Clark, baby, come on. Want you.”

“Yeah?” Clark panted the question against his lips, tongue flicking out to tease over the scar on his upper lip and pulling a groan from him. “How, baby? Hmm? Tell me, Lex.”

“Christ, Clark, want you, any way, every way. Mouth, fingers, cock. You. Just make me come, Clark. Make me feel it.”

Clark growled, his lips finally breaking away from Lex’s, dragging their way down his throat to nip carefully at his Adam’s apple, tongue licking away the sting as Lex let out a hiss. 

“God, I love you, Lex.”

“Show me.”

Just this short amount of time together seemed to be having a positive effect on the bond. Clark could feel not only his own arousal, but Lex’s as well. Given the gasp of surprise, the same could be said for Lex. The result of this back and forth exchange of desire was a heady experience, bringing Clark's stiffening cock to a nearly painful hardness in moments. 

“Jesus! Baby, gotta bring the edge off. Not gonna last to even get inside you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Christ, Clark. I can feel you, feel how much you want me. God, I'll never get used to this, knowing this is real. Fuck, baby, make me come.”

Clark complied, Lex’s urgency ramping up his own desperation. Lowering his mouth to one pert, pink nipple, Clark suckled the pebbled nub as he slid a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks. Lex keened, nails digging uselessly into Clark's scalp as he thrust up into the tight grip around his aching length. Between Clark's perfect strokes along their shafts and the lust rebounding between them, Lex felt the inexorable pull of his climax hardly a minute into Clark's efforts. 

“Fuck, close, baby…” Lex had barely gotten the words out, and Clark tightened his grip, strokes gaining speed, and closed his teeth over the nipple he had been teasing. The added pressure and pleasure-pain had Lex glad he'd soundproofed the room so well, his scream sure to reach even Mrs. McCreary down in her first-floor quarters otherwise.  “Yes! Oh, fuck!”

Lex came with a muscle-clenching spasm, friction heated seed surging over Clark's fist, sending Clark hurtling over the edge behind him. The orgasm seemed endless, Lex's own release feeding into Clark's and back again, a strange Ouroborus of ecstasy that lasted longer than the build-up. Clark lifted his head from the abused nipple, still stroking them through their climaxes, and captured Lex’s gaping mouth. Finally, with their tongues tangling and Lex’s limbs wrapped around Clark’s broad body, they drifted down from their orgasms, both cocks still hard in Clark's hand.

“Jesus Christ!” Lex’s head fell back against the pillow, legs flopping down to the mattress in a loose sprawl. “That bond thing, whatever it is, sure makes for incredible sex. If a mutual handjob is that mind-blowing. I can't wait to see how it feels with your dick up my ass.”

Clark laughed breathlessly into the crook of Lex's neck, nipping lightly at the skin. Letting go of their cocks, he slid his come-slick hand between Lex’s legs, fingers seeking out that perfect furl of skin that so closely guarded what was quickly becoming his favorite resting place. Tapping the pad of his forefinger against the whorl of flesh, he looked up at Lex with a grin.

“Good thing you have an alien lover, then. Short refractory period.”

Lex spread his legs wider, welcoming the slick, teasing fingers. Releasing his iron grip around Clark's shoulders, he slid a hand between them, down Clark's chest to wrap around the younger man's cock. Stroking the thick length, he gathered up the excess come, coating his fingers in their combined spend. 

Clark groaned at the feel of Lex’s hand on his cock, easing a finger into Lex's loosening hole. As he slid the digit inside the tight passage, Lex moaned and raised a messy finger to Clark's lips. Lex pushed it past his lips and Clark groaned at the taste of them mixed together in the sticky fluid coating the slender finger. Clark swirled his tongue over it as their fingers thrust into each other in tandem, lapping up the come until he caught the taste of Lex-flesh. Feeling Lex loosening around him, he added a finger and so did Lex, offering up more of their heady release. 

A third finger, and a protracted groan as Lex leaned up to meet his mouth, helping him clean away the mess before their tongues met in a dance Clark would never tire of. 

“Now, Clark”, Lex husked against his lips, thrusting down on the fingers spearing into him. “In me. Fuck me, baby.”

Not bothering to waste even the time it would  him to reach for the lube hidden away in the drawer, Clark eased his fingers from Lex's come-slick hole, lining himself against the stretched furl of muscle with one hand, the other gripping around Lex's waist to hold him still in his arched position. Legs somehow wrapped themselves around his hips as he started that first slow glide in, Lex's hands grasping at neck and shoulder to urge him on.  

“Yeah, oh, fuck,”, Lex moaned against his mouth, trying to bear down on Clark's cock as it thrust up into him, the bond heightening his need as he felt how aroused Clark was by the grip of his ass around the brunette's thick cock. “Feels so good, Clark. Christ, I love how you feel inside me, baby. Can you feel it? Feel how wide you split me open? C'mon, Clark, fuck me.”

Clark groaned loudly, indeed feeling just how Lex felt stretched around him, how hot it made the older man to be filled so completely, the way it felt when the head of his cock brushed over Lex's prostate, nerves singing with the jolt of pleasure. Securing his grip around Lex, he braced his other hand against the headboard, thrusting into the clinging body at a pace just this side of human speed. 

“God, Lex, want you in me like this someday. So tight, so warm, so fucking perfect.” Clark bent his head to bite harshly at the nearest nipple, both men moaning at the feeling of it. Tugging the pearl of flesh between his teeth, he thrust deeper as Lex dug his nails into his un-markable flesh. “Fuck, baby, love you so fucking much. Need you, always. Your taste, your touch, your scent. Everything, perfect and amazing and mine!”

Lex clamped down around Clark's pistoning cock, the feelings swirling through him, his and Clark's inseparable from each other, and the desperate praise and words of need - words that so closely mirrored his own obsession for Clark - sending him spiraling into his second orgasm. His breath hot in Clark's ear, he came in hard spurts, his voice ragged as he yelled out his release.

“Love you, Clark! Always. I'm yours, baby, just yours. Come with me, Clark. Come for me. Be mine.”

He did. And he was. His climax ripped through him, magnified by the emotions flooding the bond, filling Lex with hot bursts of come even as he kept thrusting into the spasming body in his hold. The other times had been nothing, compared to this, his nerves tingling, his body fairly glowing with the power he felt, yet the threat of loss of control that he'd expected was missing. He would never hurt this precious being that had accepted him so completely, so easily, like breathing, he could never lose control of his strength, his speed, his heat vision. The consequences were too devastating for his physiology to even dare to lose control. 

When Lex went limp in his embrace, sated and panting, Clark settled the slimmer man back to the bed, easing his spent cock from its snug sheath. He laid himself out alongside Lex, nuzzling into the curve of his shoulder as they brought their breathing back to normal. Lex's left hand stretched across his chest to curl slender fingers into Clark's hair, head twisting to press his lips to the younger man's temple. 

“I know I keep saying it, but that was amazing.”

“I know. Feeling what you felt…is that really how it feels when I make love to you? It was so…so intense. I mean, it's intense for me, too, but-”

“Yes, Clark”, Lex stopped Clark's shy babbling with a finger to his lips. “That's really how it feels. Did you think it was just a heartfelt sacrifice, that I would ever agree to bottom if it wasn't good for me, too? Did you think I was just pretending every time I came screaming your name loud enough for them to hear me all the way in Metropolis? I'm not that selfless, and I'm not that good a liar.”

“Yeah, okay. Just ignore me, I guess I couldn't really believe you could feel as much for me as I feel for you.”

Lex met Clark's embarrassed gaze, letting his love flow through their renewed bond.

“Never doubt it.” Lex drew Clark in for a brief, soft kiss before sitting up. “Now, how about we head back to the farm? We should stay close to Evan in case…that…happens again before the lab is set up.”

Clark shook himself out of his thoughts and nodded in agreement. Lex promptly found himself dressed, Clark clothed and standing before him, laptop bag slung over his shoulder. With a laugh, Lex stood and stepped into the loop of Clark's open arms, letting him scoop him up with ease. 

“Home, Jeeves.” Clark's chortle was still sounding in his ears when he set him down in the loft less than thirty seconds later. “Wow. And, I really need to stop being so amazed by you, it's very unbecoming of a Luthor.”

“Don't. I like amazing you. I like being able to shake you up like that.” Clark set Lex's laptop down and quickly made up the couch for Lex, setting a spare blanket at one end. “I like the way you look when I amaze you.”

Lex pulled Clark to him, leaning up to brush a quick kiss over his lips.

“How do I look?”

“Like you believe again. Goodnight, Lex.”

Another fleeting kiss, and a whoosh of air, and Lex was alone in the loft, a smile twisting his lips even as he shook his head. 

“I never stopped believing in you, Clark.”

~~~~~~

@leatafandom

[mymanyfandomramblings]

Best Season For Each Glee Character (In My Opinion) And Their Best Episode In Said Season

Note: I'm picking which episode in the season I picked is their best, not overall

Rachel: Season One. Early Rachel is truly one of THE characters of all times, and she's hilarious, and I think they had the formula down the best for her insanity. Best Episode: Either Pilot or Bad Reputation

Finn: Also Season One. I love his arc in the first season, and you get such a good feeling for his character, and you get such a good feel for both his strengths and weaknesses. The other three seasons he's in are also good for him, and he has one of the most consistent arcs and developments, but he's making less Horrible Decisions in Season One. Best Episode: Ballad (no questions asked)--

Kurt: Season Two. Yes, he suffers in Season Two, but he also meets Blaine, and he gets actual storylines that are seperate from Rachel's, and aren't just reducing him to his sexuality or his ability to deliver cutting remarks. Best Episode: Grilled Cheesus, Never Been Kissed or Born This Way

Mercedes: This is rare but Season Five is truly the season where Mercedes shines brightest. She gets to be more than Rachel's competition for solos for the first time, and they actually take time to explore the way her faith informs her decisions. She truly feels like such a realized character in S5. Best Episode: Tested

Santana: Season 2 or 4. Season Two because she's living her best evil life, as well as having some chances to really show her vulnerable side, Season Four, because she's actually being a pretty nice person most of the time, albeit in the most chaotic way possible. I could do a whole analysis of why those are her best seasons, but this is not the time. Best Episodes: Silly Love Songs or Sexy (S2), Girls (And Boys) On Film or Feud (S4)

Quinn: Season One. They seemed to have gotten the right balance here of Quinn being character who suffers a lot, but is also not a very nice person in Season One, and they are never quite able to regain that again. My second pick would actually be Season Three, where she gets to have a lot of good conversations and growth. Best Episode: Throwdown or (what else) Funk

Puck: Season Two. Two words: Lauren Zizes. Also they seemed to have actually figured out what they wanted to do with him in that season. Like Quinn, Season Three was going to be my second pick for him, because I really like his arc in Choke, but alas, the Puck x Shelby thing drags S3 down for him. Best Episode: Never Been Kissed or Original Song

Tina: Season Three or Five. She gets a fair bit to do in Season Three--she's in quite a few songs, and she isn't yet at corruption-arc status, although she's no longer dressing goth, which is a shame. That said, Season Five is also a fun season for her--she's past the worst of her villain arc, and she gets to participate in the stupidity that is Blamtina. Best Episodes: Hold Onto Sixteen or Props (S3) and Trio (S5)

Artie: Season One. He gets some storylines in S1 which aren't just him fumbling girls (and as Artie's no.1 fan, I am here for him getting storylines), and they hadn't completely flanderized his occasional sexist comments into his whole personality yet. Best Episode: Dream On, by a mile.

Brittany: I'm conflicted here. Season One was the only season where she was written with any consistency, however she barely does anything in S1, so it seems unfair. However, she does have some great moments in Season Two. Best Episode: Sexy or Britney/Brittany

Mike: Season Three. He actually gets things to do in Season Three. Best Episode: Asian 'F' (surprisingly)

Sam: Season Two. It took a moment, but once they figured out what to do with Sam Evans, he truly became one of The characters of Glee. Season Three is also good, but he's out-of-focus a lot Best Episode: Rumours

Blaine: Season Four. I know everyone loves Dalton era!Blaine, but I don't care about the Warblers, and although I do like Klaine, I honestly think that it was so good to see Blaine minus Kurt for a season or so, because previously, it had been so obvious that he was a Designated Love Interest character, and Season Four was so important in developing his personality outside of Kurt. Best Episode: Dynamic Duets

[lizzardwitch]

Top 3 Kendall Ships?

Ooooof I've got a lot to say let's go

3rd Place: Kendall/Ivan. Definitely not helped by the fact that I crushed heavy on Ivan (still do) when I was a kid & and that I just as heavily related with Kendall then as I do now. It's so adorable how Kendall always looks to Ivan whenever shit is going down and he tries to make her feel better, the entire episode where he destroys the suit of armor and IMMEDIATELY upon clocking how terrible the situation is, tries to do something about it because he doesn't want to make her upset especially is too fucking cute. They're like a subversion of the princess/knight dynamic, instead of insisting that Kendall be his damsel in distress, Ivan adores her just the way she is. The way he's constantly calling her "m'lady" (even though he does this with every girl) has me weak every time. In the Halloween episode where they were skipping together in their costumes <333. Their height difference is also adorable (and I think it's great how someone who is so used to old customs and traditions manages to get along with and have a deep bond with someone who is constantly developing technological advancements and believes in science).

2nd Place: Kendall/Shelby. Probably one of my favorite wlw ships in fiction, I absolutely adore the development their relationship had from the beginning where they would antagonize one another, moreso on Kendall's end to Let Sleeping Zords Lie, when Kendall actually makes good on her creed to correct her mistakes and begins to cooperate with Shelby more. Given how they're the only main female characters out of the entire team of 10 and incredibly intelligent, it's really nice to see them stand in solidarity with one another and support each other given their similar situations and interests. Definitely giving the writers props for subverting the childish trope of pitting women against each other for no reason in favor of character development for both. Their sunshine/sunshine protector dynamic is so cute and Shelby helping Kendall relax while Kendall employs her musical background to help Shelby got me going crazy oh my goddddd Kendall/Shelby girlfriendism is so real (+ I actually have some drafts/drawings for a Madoka Magica AU featuring these two lmao since I'm a sucker for pink/purple girlies)

1st Place: Kendall/Heckyl, hands down. This is gonna turn into a yap fest but I've been obsessed with them for nine years and that shows no signs of stopping any time soon, they're in my top 10 favorite ships of all time. Much like Ivan, I crushed heavily on Heckyl when I was a child (and still do) and absolutely ate up his flirting with her, calling her 'pretty lady' and things of the like. You can see it gradually, when he hesitates between saving her or revealing his identity upon Wish Star attacking (although he's still in his evil arc so he runs off). When he catches glances at her while working. When Shelby revealed his villainous nature and referenced him saving her from the car she looked and sounded so heartbroken during the scene :( (and in the Beauticruel episode he mentions that love hurts, which I interpret as him feeling at least a twinge of remorse about fumbling his relationship with Kendall)

I also love how in the finale they actually work together more once he turns good (after literally SAVING HER AGAIN AAAAAA), like how they cooperate in taking over Sledge's ship along with James & Phillip, and he's STANDING WITH HER IN THE MEGAZORD AND STAYS BY HER SIDE IN THE FIGHT AGAINST SNIDE. I'm willing to bet the only reason it took him so long to turn good in the finale was because Kendall wasn't in the café to convince him lmao

These two are the standard of what I want in a relationship: his constant flirting, the way they're both sassy, snarky, and intelligent but also provide a great contrast (her stoic, deadpan nature w/ his flamboyance and effervescence), and when his convictions are turned for the better, he always comes back to aid them no matter how much he wants to deny it initially (he's such a softie omg). These two are like the old married couple of the show. The autism/adhd couple next to Chase/Riley. The girlboss/malewife next to Shelby/Tyler, if you will. I've got so many headcanons & AUs for them, drawings of them, fics for them, I have a playlist for them, I'm just delusional over them bro

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

i crack and out i pour

(robert aeor high au p3)

masterpost

FINALLY JIMMY'S HERE ODKSLFJLSDKJ i've been waiting so long for this ohhh my god welp this is the longest update yet :)

hope you like!!

Jimmy. So that’s his name- Joel had been wrong about that bit, at least. Scott can’t help but take note of his ruffled blonde hair, short and scruffy, tucked behind his ear with a pink, flower-patterned hair clip, his standard knee-length skirt showing thin, bird-like legs. He’s quite short, his height even less impressive than Scott’s five foot seven stature, and this is what causes Scott to come to a startling realization: Jimmy can be no one else but the person he’s just bumped into in the hallway; if only he’d known.

or, Scott meets the new boy! and they have a conversation :)

(4279 words)

Science is decidedly Scott’s favorite class, if only because he shares it with Owen and Shelby. To be fair, though, he does somewhat enjoy what they do, loves that he can just sit and talk to his two friends while doing some dumb experiment where everyone knows what the final reaction will be. Stepping into the familiar, vaulted classroom today, Scott scans the tables quickly, spotting Shubble and rushing over to claim the seat next to her, as Owen doesn’t seem to be here yet.

That’s another great thing about science: they’re allowed to choose their own seats, and they can choose new places to sit every day. Scott is almost always sitting with Shelby and Owen, his two friends in the class- the only time when he’s not is when Shubble wants to sit with Pearl and her group of crazy friends, or Owen with Lilith, his partner. But today, Shelby’s sat at the table they usually pick, nestled comfortably in the back corner: Scott’s favorite place.

“Hey, Scott!” Shelby smiles in greeting, eir legs swinging from her chair as eir eyes just barely peek over the table, her mushroom hat the only reason Scott was able to spot em in the first place.

“Hey, Shubble,” he says, “Do you want something to sit on?”

“Yes please,” Shelby exhales, “I tell you, it’s hard being this short.”

“For your species, you’re actually quite large,” Scott points out, pulling a few textbooks out of his school bag and plopping them down next to his friend. Technically, what he’s said about Shelby’s height is true. For a gnome, ey’re very tall, but for any other species? Not so much. She stands at a whopping three foot five, and the few times Scott’s seen her with her parents, ey’ve been towering over them by at least six inches. “You can sit on these, I don’t need them till later.”

Shelby’s dark brown hair is parted into two braids, which stick out from underneath her iconic hat, made of a bright red mushroom speckled with large white spots. Ey’re one of the only people who actually looks good in the school uniform, the navy blue and white tie complimenting her dark eyes quite nicely.

“Thank you, Scott.” Shubble says, propping up his textbooks on her seat and clambering atop them, crossing eir arms neatly on the table. She’s always polite, and that’s one of the reasons Scott loves em so much. They’ve been friends for almost three years, the final addition to their little group, that until Shelby came along, had been composed of only Scott, Joel, and Owen. 

And speaking of Owen, here he is now, weaving quickly in between the tables before sneaking behind Scott and Shelby’s, plopping himself down on the chair next to the gorgon. “Ready to science?” he grins, stretching and grinning at the other two.

“I need to talk to Shelby for a sec, but after that, yeah, duh,” Scott smirks back at his best friend, though he knows Owen will be listening in the whole time.

“What about?” Shubble leans in close, as if Scott’s telling her some big secret. And he supposes he is to an extent, though really, it’s nothing huge.

“Xornoth, my father, a dream I had, just a ton of shit.” Scott leans down onto the table, just Shelby’s concerned face already easing him a little bit out of the breakdown mindset.

“Oh, no- not Xornoth. What was ze doing now?” Shubble has had eir own experiences with the tiefling, and Scott knows that her distaste for zir is just as great as his own, if not even more pronounced.

“...trying to touch my snakes,” Scott confesses, his insides twisting into an anxious knot just remembering zir calloused hands rubbing roughly against his head.

Owen and Shelby’s reactions are immediate and identical. They both swing their heads towards Scott, their faces shocked and seemingly disgusted, yelling, “What?!”

“Quiet down back there!” the teacher, Mx Leiverman, yells from the front of the class.

Scott’s friends ignore them, Owen still staring, horrified, at Scott, and Shelby jumping down from her chair to stand on the table directly in front of him, glaring down at him, eir eyes angry and scared.

Owen speaks first. “Scott, that’s… not an okay thing for zir to do.”

“No, it most certainly is not! Why didn’t you text me?” Shubble chimes in, waving her arms in the air. “I could have helped! You could have had a breakdown! Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not completely catatonic right now- I know how much you hate unwanted touch, and from Xornoth? That’s, like, twelve times worse!”

“I didn’t want to bother you guys,” Scott reasons. He should have known they’d react like this, should have known they’d take it as such a huge deal. “It’s not really all that bad. I’m fine.” He’s not.

“I don’t believe that for even a second.” Shelby’s continuing to yell at him, pointing accusingly at his head. “If something like that ever happens to you again, I want you to tell me right away. Understood? That is disgusting.” Scott’s disgusting. “I can’t believe anyone would ever do anything like that- but if anyone was going to, it would be Xornoth, wouldn’t it-”

“Shelby, please quiet down!” Mx Leiverman sounds annoyed now, and Scott gestures to Shelby for em to climb back into eir seat. She shakes her head defiantly, anger and worry bubbling up behind eir eyes.

“Jesus, Shubble, it’s really not that big of a deal.” Scott’s struggling to keep acting this nonchalant, doesn’t really know why he’s keeping up the charade, really, but he doesn’t want to worry his friends. Even though Shelby’s the therapist of the group, and he’s been planning to tell her all this since it happened, Scott can’t seem to allow himself to open up. Shubble really seems to care, and he can see her blowing up even further, opening eir mouth, no doubt to argue.

“Yes it is,” Owen says so quietly, it’s almost a whisper, “That’s a legitimate legal offense. You could probably sue Xornoth for that, and I mean this genuinely.” He enunciates the last word, each syllable coming out crisp and clear.

“But I’m not going to, because it’s no big deal!” Scott’s getting frustrated now. He should have known they’d take it like this, should have known they’d get this angry. Well… no, that’s not completely true. He should have expected Shubble to act like this. Owen? Not so much. He’s just full of surprises this morning, it seems.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it or press charges, we aren’t going to force you,” Owen sighs. “Right, Shelby?” He glares at her, clearly signaling to em to drop it. Owen’s known Scott long enough now to know when he won’t crack, and even if he’s certain that Owen agrees wholeheartedly with Shelby, he at least knows when to let sleeping dogs lie.

“...Sure.” Ey seems slightly embarrassed, and she climbs off the table, returning to eir chair. “But Scott, if you ever change your mind about this, tell me. If you ever want to bring this to the attention of school authority, please let me know.”

“Yep, absolutely,” Scott mutters, more to ease the gnome’s worry than to actually agree. He knows he won’t, if only because it’ll make him even easier to pick on than he is now, but he also knows how it’d be such a sign of weakness, how disappointed his father would be, because Scott’s so horrendous already, he doesn’t need to add coward to the long list of things wrong with him.

“Good.” Shelby’s relieved; he can tell by the way eir shoulders relax, the way her eyes lose the intense ferocity they had harbored not seconds ago.

Owen catches Scott’s eye, nodding slightly. “Seriously, though.” Scott feels a sudden pang of affection for his friends, because though they’re being annoying as hell, he does need to hear this from time to time, hear that they care for him, hear that what he’s going through is real.

“Thanks, Shubble. Thanks, Owen.” He offers each of them a smile, sinking slightly at the edges but more genuine than any expression he’s made in a while. 

Before Scott’s friends can respond with more than a rueful shake of the head and a small grin from Owen, Mx Leiverman is clapping from the front of the room, a loud, harsh sound that signals that they have an announcement to make.

“Attention, please! Hey! That means you, Pearl, listen up!” While Mx Leiverman is trying to get the attention of the class, Scott notices that there’s a person, leaning up against the wall behind the teacher’s desk, their arms crossed tightly across their chest, bright yellow wings peeking out from behind them.

It’s the new kid, it has to be, there’s no one else it could be. Grian’s a parrot, he has mostly red, patterned wings, and Bek’s an owl. They’re the only two avians in school, and even on the small off-chance that one of those two would be in this room for whatever reason, they look nothing like the one standing stiffly at the front of the class.

Shelby’s noticed him too, and ey peeks over at Scott, her eyes inquisitive. “Is that the kid Joel was talking about?”

“I guess so,” Scott whispers, being very careful that the new boy can’t hear them. “Owen, did you see those texts?”

“Yeah,” Owen mutters, looking everywhere but the avian stood in the corner, glancing back at him every few seconds. “Timmy, right?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Scott answers, before Shubble shoots them a “stop talking” look, and all three direct their attention to the front of the room, where the teacher has finally gotten the class under control.

“Alright, everyone,” Mx Leiverman calls out, exerting their voice so it carries across the whole room. “As many of you may know, this-” they gesture to the avian- “is our new student, Jimmy. Would you like to introduce yourself to the class, Jim?”

Jimmy. So that’s his name- Joel had been wrong about that bit, at least. Scott can’t help but take note of his ruffled blonde hair, short and scruffy, tucked behind his ear with a pink, flower-patterned hair clip, his standard knee-length skirt showing thin, bird-like legs. He’s quite short, his height even less impressive than Scott’s five foot seven stature, and this is what causes Scott to come to a startling realization: Jimmy can be no one else but the person he’s just bumped into in the hallway; if only he’d known.

“Um. Hey, I’m Jimmy?” The statement comes out inquisitive, making it sound like the avian is questioning his own name. Mx Leiverman gestures for him to elaborate, and Scott can see Jimmy sinking into his wings as they twitch. He’s evidently trying very hard not to wrap them around himself. 

When he doesn’t continue, their teacher takes it upon themself to prompt him into speaking. “And where did you move from, Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s eyes have gone wide, and he looks like he’s struggling not to curl into a ball on the floor. “I-I moved from the… from a city a couple miles south.” Scott furrows his brow. This had obviously not been what Jimmy was originally going to say, and he’s obviously distressed. Scott feels for the guy, hopes for his sake that Mx Leiverman stops asking questions. It’s obviously making him very uncomfortable, and Scott’s been in similar situations before. It’s never fun.

“...What was the city called?” Mx Leiverman asks, prodding for more information.  Scott almost facepalms, because any idiot can see how much the avian’s struggling right now, how much he wishes he could get out of the spotlight.

“Um, it was called…Jimmyville?” The class is working hard to hide their snickers, especially Joey, sitting alone at a table near the front of the class.

“Uh huh. Sure. What’s it really called, Jimmy?” Mx Leiverman is not amused, their nails beginning to drum a simple rhythm on their opposite arm.

“Can I go sit down now?” Jimmy doesn’t look like he’ll be answering any more questions. He’s staring determinedly down at his feet, as if not looking at all the people in the room will make them go away, will make them stop looking at him. His feathers ruffle, shaking slightly before laying back down into a more subdued pattern.

He’s kind of cute.

In the way all avians are cute, of course.

“Sure,” Mx Leiverman sighs, rubbing their temples and scanning the room, their gaze glancing over all the tables before landing on Scott and his friends. “I think you’d fit right in at that table in the back, Jimmy.”

He grabs his textbooks and walks over, still staring daggers at the floor, his wings pressed close against his body, prickling up in something that Scott assumes is either anxiety or embarrassment- though given Jimmy’s interrogation, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was a combination of both.

Shelby smiles at the canary as he trips towards them and scoots himself into the seat between her and Scott. “Hi, Jimmy!”

“Hey,” Jimmy mutters, attempting to smile and failing utterly. Shubble seems to have a good idea of what’s up, though, and ey leaves him be, though not before offering half of her granola bar, which Jimmy accepts gratefully.

Over the course of the introduction to class, Mx Leiverman drones on and on about what they’re going to be doing today, what obvious experiment will be conducted. Scott opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to find sentences that he can use to speak to the avian. 

But Jimmy’s head is still ducked close to the table, his wings hanging loosely off the back of the chair, and Scott can’t seem to come up with words that sound genuinely friendly, and not weird or awkward. It doesn’t help that every time he tries, his insides feel like they’ve just been dropped off the high end of a cliff.

What is happening?

Scott turns his head away from Jimmy, staring intensely at the instructions on the board, determined to look anywhere other than Owen, who’s flashing him looks. Scott does not need to feel more confused than he does right now, and he can feel a bout of self-hate beginning to push in, disgust at how he’s feeling.

He hasn’t even spoken a word to this short bird boy, and already he can’t control himself. All Scott wants to be is normal, to be a full gorgon, to have the right feelings, to be the way men are supposed to be.

Scott glances behind him, and is suddenly aware of a huge mass of bright yellow feathers extending from Jimmy’s back. He’s stretching; his wings spread out to their full extent, eyes closed and arms stuck into the air. He does a little shake and his wings retract, folding back into their unassuming shape.

“You have a really large wingspan for your height,” Scott notices, not realizing until too late that he’s spoken aloud.

“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Jimmy answers, looking surprisedly at the gorgon.

Well, Scott can’t let the conversation drop now. Plus, he has questions. “I’ve never really known an avian before, do you mind if I ask you some questions? Oh, I’m Scott, by the way.” Scott supposes he should at least introduce himself if he’s going to be this kinda guy.

“Well, I’m not exactly the best person to ask about that kind of thing…” Jimmy rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, grey-blue eyes looking to the side.

“I don’t mind,” Scott says quickly, and perhaps a bit too earnestly. He can hear the excited edge in his voice, and worries that he’s startled the canary. But instead of seeming weirded out, Jimmy laughs, a melodious, bird-like noise, clear and high-pitched.

“Well, I suppose so, then- only if I can ask you about being a gorgon, though. Back where I’m from, I only knew one. Her name was Nellie and she was ke- she lived on the other side of the city. I didn’t know gorgons could be cyan, tell me about that?”

Scott can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling up, discomfort coursing through his veins. “Um…normally, we can’t? I’m a hybrid, though, my mother’s a siren.”

“Huh, that’s interesting. I didn’t know hybrids between species were even a thing.” Jimmy’s picking at his feathers as they talk, never quite looking Scott in the eye, which he appreciates. Eye contact is something Scott’s never been a fan of, as it reminds him of his father, and he’s very relieved that Jimmy doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy it either, making the conversation a lot more comfortable for the both of them.

“Yeah, some species can crossbreed, some can’t. Apparently, a siren and a gorgon are close enough genetically that it works out.” Scott shrugs, trying to be nonchalant when really he’s warding off a breakdown. “I mean, if they weren’t, I wouldn’t be here, would I.”

“I guess not,” Jimmy agrees. “So, wait- can you still turn people to stone?”

“No.” Scott doesn’t elaborate, the question has already sent off too many alarm bells in his head, stupid defective fake disgusting wrong-

Scott realizes that Owen’s back, turned away from him and Jimmy, tensed at the avian’s last question. He’s been eavesdropping- again- and he knows it’s a topic Scott’s sensitive about. He feels a sudden burst of affection for his best friend.

“Sorry-” Jimmy starts, clearly having picked up on Scott’s anxiety.

“It’s fine,” he reassures the avian, “It’s just… kind of personal, you know?” Jimmy nods vigorously, his hair clip starting to fall out. Scott has to resist the urge to reach over and tuck it back in.

Owen’s back relaxes, and Scott feels quite proud of the way he handled such a sensitive subject as well. “So, about being an avian- can you fly?” Now it’s Jimmy’s turn to look uncomfortable, and Scott knows he’s overstepped, though he doesn’t know how.

“...kind of,” Jimmy answers, his posture somehow more rigid than before. “I was a little late learning, though- I’m not the best at flying.”

“Huh. I’m a gorgon who can’t petrify, you’re an avian who has trouble flying. Looks like we’re both de-” Scott stops himself from saying defective, reminding himself that though it’s true for him, other people often get defensive or weirded out when he calls himself that. “I guess we’re both kind of in the same boat,” he corrects himself.

“Yeah,” Jimmy agrees, offering a small, quivering smile that causes a shiver to run down Scott’s spine. “Yeah, I guess we kind of are.”

The conversation kind of dwindles after that, Scott not really knowing what to say, but kind of feeling like there’s not much more that needs to be said, at least right now. Mx Leiverman has finally finished the instructions for what they’re doing in class today, and Scott realizes that he’s been so caught up in his conversation, and even after it was finished, just thinking about what was said and Jimmy and other things, but mostly Jimmy.

“Shelby, do you know what we’re doing for class?” he half-whispers, leaning behind the canary to get a clear view of the gnome.

“You need to listen better,” she hisses, throwing him a glare that he knows by now is fake. 

“Fine, I’ll ask Owen, then,” Scott challenges. Shubble rolls eir eyes, barely concealing a smile.

“Ask me what? And why are we whispering?” Suddenly Owen is there, out of his seat, head leaning in between Scott and Shelby. 

“Oh, hello- I was just wondering what we’re doing, I didn’t catch what Mx Leiverman said,” Scott explains to his best friend. They’re all still crowded around right behind Jimmy, and Scott imagines it must be quite awkward for him- surrounded by people who you don’t know, who aren’t talking to you or about you. Scott’s been in similar situations before and it’s not a particularly nice feeling, so he leans back into his seat, gesturing for Shubble and Owen to do the same.

“Jimmy, did you hear what Leiverman said?” Scott asks, turning to the avian.

“No, I was talking to you, remember?” 

Of course he was! Scott feels quite silly, and mutters a half-agreement before feeling Owen tap him on the shoulder and gesture to the corner. Scott raises an eyebrow before following, reassuring Shelby that they’ll be back in a second.

“So, what do you think of Jimmy?” Owen always feints around the questions he really wants to ask, and never says anything without a reason. Scott can tell he’s up to something, but he also knows that Owen’s trying to get more information out of him first, and he’ll never find out what about until Owen wants him to.

“He’s fine, he seems like a nice kid? I don’t know, I’ve known him just as long as you have- cut to the chase, Owen, what are you on about now?”

“Whatever could you be talking about,” Owen smirks, picking lint off the dark red sweater he always seems to be wearing, even times like now when he’s supposed to be donned in only the school uniform.

“You know full well what I’m talking about, what do you want from me?” Scott’s quite fed up with Owen's little guessing games at this point, because though at times they can be quite endearing, other times, like this, they’re just really bothersome. 

Owen widens his eyes innocently, barely hiding his trademark grin. “I couldn’t possibly know what you’re referring to, Scott Smajor.”

“Come on, Owen, give it up. Why are you asking me about Jimmy?” Scott swears he can see the avian’s ear feathers peak up at the mention of his name. Owen shushes him loudly, having obviously seen it too.

“Fine, but don’t get mad. You have a crush on him, don’t you.” 

Scott’s eyes widen at the tiefling’s statement, and he shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, no, no. And even if I did, you know I’m not supposed to like guys, I just haven’t found the right girl yet- I can’t be gay, do you understand how disgusting that would make me? Even worse than I am now, even more of a horrific person-” He’s shaking, hyperventilating, almost, because he hates talking about this, he hates bringing it up, he hates when Owen brings it up, because it’s bad to even think about and Scott hates himself-

“Scott! Stop it with this shit. You’re just as gay as I am bi,” Owen glares at him, momentarily snapping him out of his bubble of anxiety. “Just because you’re in denial and live with an abusive family-” he doesn’t, and he’s not in denial- “does not mean you get the right to be homophobic or self-deprecating.”

“And plus,” Scott adds, ignoring Owen’s outburst because he can’t let himself believe he’s anything but the disgusting idiot he is, he just can’t, he doesn’t know who he’d be if he didn’t hate himself- “I’ve literally known this kid for five seconds. Even if I was gay, it’s not like I’m gonna suddenly fall in love with whatever random chap looks in my vague direction.”

“You’re changing the subject. Apologize.”

“Fine.” Scott rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t want to be even more revolting than I already am- I have it hard enough without having to think about… that.”

“That is not an apology. Being queer is not revolting. Do you think I’m revolting? What about Shelby? What about Jimmy, who’s pretty obviously gender non-conforming with his skirt and hair clip?” Owen gestures angrily towards their table, where Jimmy and Shubble seem to be getting on splendidly. “Do you think we’re revolting? ‘Cause I’ll remind you, the majority of your friends are not straight and/or cis.”

“I- no, I don’t think you’re revolting-” Scott’s on the defense now, backing up with his hands raised in surrender.

“Then what are you getting at?” Owen jabs him in the chest, hard, not the friendly pokes Scott’s used to, and he stumbles backwards, eyes wide. “Because you can’t really hate one queer person due to their gender or sexuality without hating all of us, even if that one queer person is yourself. Look, I get that you have a fucking hard time. I get it! But this does not give you the excuse to press your trauma on everyone else. Now properly apologize. Or else.”

Scott doesn’t know what to do, he can’t figure out how his own logic works, how he’s gross because he’s gay, but all his friends aren’t- his mind reels. But he does suppose he has to apologize. “...I’m sorry, Owen.” It’s almost too soft to hear, but Owen seems satisfied, folding Scott into an awkward hug for the second time that day. 

“It’s okay,” Owen reassures. “That’s what I’m here for- to correct you when you say the dumbest shit imaginable. Now come on, let’s go do a science experiment.”

Owen walks back to the table, Scott trailing slowly behind him. He doesn’t think his friends are disgusting, he really doesn’t, so then why does he feel like he is? Because no matter how many times he tries to take what Owen says to heart, he can’t, he just can’t. 

For a moment, just for a moment, Scott tries to let himself imagine what it would be like if he hadn’t grown up the way he had.

He thinks… he thinks it might have been nice.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: fuck it i'm updating twice today because i'm impatient

part 5: eye and ears open wide

word count: 1,620

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Late afternoon at the Shelby estate, the dense air fell with the scent of freshly lit cigarettes and the faint remnants of damp earth from the previous night's passing rain. Polly sat at the head of the table in the sitting room, legs crossed, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She called you in under the guise of discussing business, but it was clear this was something else entirely.

She didn't say anything at first, just watching as you sat opposite her. Her sharp eyes washed over you, taking in every detail—the way you held yourself, the deliberate neutrality of your expression with the playful tilt of your head, the way you met her gaze without flinching.

“Do you drink?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“If the occasion calls for it,” you replied, your voice steady.

Polly smirked faintly, as if amused by your careful answer. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “And what does this occasion call for, then?”

You sat back just enough to allude your disinterest towards whatever would proceed. “That depends. Are we celebrating, or are we negotiating?”

She chuckled, low and dry. She took a drag of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly. “Neither. Not yet, anyway. You don't talk very much, do you?"

“I imagine you wouldn't believe anything I do say regardless."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in intrigue. “Good answer. I'll get straight to the point then. Why are you really here?”

“Because I'm here to collect. Because Tommy asks things of me.”

Polly raised her eyebrow. “And you always do what Tommy asks?”

A flicker of a smile crossed your lips. “Only when it’s in my best interest.”

Polly laughed, a genuine sound that surprised even her. “Clever." She nodded, sitting back and tapping ash from her cigarette. “But clever only gets you so far in life and in this family. Exchanging loyalty for loyalty—a concept not easily recognized by anyone, let alone Tommy—is an empty compromise. And still, loyalty is everything.”

You nod slowly. “You're right. Loyalty is shown and wordlessly given. Not something to be promised. As is trust.”

Polly studied you for a moment, the silence stretching out between you like a drawn wire. Finally, she nodded, as if coming to a decision.

“You’ll do.” She quickly averted her stare to the table, standing and smoothing her dress. “For now.”

As she walked past you, she paused, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder. “But remember this,” she began her heavy threat, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Tommy might trust you, but I don’t. Not yet. And if you’re not who you seem to be...” She let the implication hang in the air before straightening and leaving the room. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor.

You sat with an amused grin, understanding this was Polly's sly attempt at determining how much of a threat you were. This wasn’t just a meeting—it was a test. And you weren't entirely sure if you passed.

"You know..."

Polly paused just before reaching the door, sensing your presence still lingering in the room, the energy charged in a way that demanded further acknowledgment. She turned back, the faintest trace of curiosity flickering in her eyes.

“I’m curious.” You broke the silence, resting your elbows on the table with your chin propped up with your fingers. “Do you really believe Tommy trusts me?”

The question landed like a well-placed card in a high-stakes game. Polly tilted her head, her expression unreadable, but there was no denying the sharpness in her gaze as she stepped back towards the table. “You tell me.”

You took a short, deliberate pause before answering. “I think Tommy trusts me as far as he can throw me. Which, to be fair, is probably farther than most. But trust? That's not something you or I can properly determine. He doesn't seem like the type who trusts without conditions. Then again, if it is conditional, that isn't actually trust, is it?”

She clearly enjoyed your insight. She sat down again, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray with an elegant flick. “You’re not wrong. But it isn’t the same as dependence. Tommy depends on people to do their jobs, to play their roles. And he depends on them not to stab him in the back.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you know what happens when they do?”

“I imagine it’s not something they live to regret. Then again, any regrets that have followed me have been buried for some time. Best to let the dead rest."

Polly let out a short, sharp laugh. “You can turn a phrase, I’ll give you that.” She leaned forward, mirroring your posture. “You seem like someone who knows how to play the long game. You're fully aware that you're entertaining me with this conversation. There must be something you can explicitly admit, what you're trying to gain from all of this.”

You tilted your head again, as if considering her question carefully. “You said it yourself. Loyalty is everything in this family. Maybe I’m after the same thing you are—the same thing everyone around you is after—keeping Tommy alive long enough to make all of this worth it.”

Polly’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. There was a flicker of something—respect, perhaps?—before she hid it behind a veil of calculated indifference. Her voice softened, almost reflective, as she muttered something inaudible under her breath. She stubbed out her cigarette and stood once more.

As she turned to leave, you called out again.

“It works both ways, you know.”

Polly paused mid-step, glancing back over her shoulder. “What does?”

“Trust,” you said simply. You gently massaged the tension under your eyes with two fingers. “You trust Tommy—only you don't. Not really or else you wouldn't be in here trying to understand me. You trust him conditionally, and as I've said before, conditional trust is anything but. If you want this to get a little more complicated, the one aspect of Tommy that you don't trust is his ability to trust people. That would imply you’re still waiting to see how far you can trust me.”

For a moment, there was silence, heavy and charged. The word sounded funny at this point, and you very clearly hammered down your perception of her, Tommy, and their world. Words continuously were thrown around until someone believed them, and to believe them blindly would never be a smart decision. Polly let out a low chuckle, shaking her head slightly as she walks toward the door.

“Well,” she sighed just loudly enough for you to hear, her tone carrying a note of amusement, “maybe you’re smarter than I thought.”

She didn’t look back as she left this time, but there was something in her stride that suggested she was more intrigued than she was willing to admit.

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Tommy sat at his desk, a glass of whiskey untouched beside him. He stared at a ledger, though it was clear his mind is elsewhere.

It quickly became evident that watching the bookshop was a fruitless effort. Everyday, on schedule, you'd open the shop, and before noon, you were at his office. Some days, it would be past noon, but regardless, it seemed like whatever you did there was of no concern to him. This was another miscalculation, and Tommy grew tired of misunderstanding you.

The door opened, and Finn stepped inside, his movements casual, almost careless.

“You took your time,” Tommy says without looking up. His tone is sharp, the kind of tone that’s both a question and a warning. "Were you running errands or on a fucking train to London?"

Finn shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Sorry, Tommy. I just got held up at the bookshop,” he said easily, tossing his cap onto the coat rack.

That got Tommy’s attention. He glanced up, his expression neutral but his eyes razor-sharp. “The bookshop?”

“Yeah,” Finn replied, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “I know you said that we were done, but it's on the way back, you see. Just thought I’d say hello.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been spending time with her?”

Finn frowned at the edge in his brother’s voice. “Not like that. We talk. That’s all.”

Tommy didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch until Finn shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“What do you talk about?” Tommy asked finally, his voice low with an unmistakable tension coiled beneath the words.

Finn shrugged again, his casual demeanor returning. “Stories, mostly. Things she’s heard around town. Little bits and pieces about people. She's been all over, y'know. London. Some ruddy spots in Scotland.” He grinned slightly. “She’s got a way of making things sound... lighter.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “Lighter?”

“Yeah.” Finn uncrossed his arms and stood straighter. “Y'know, not like all this.” He gestured vaguely around the office, at the heavy ledgers, the endless stream of problems.

Tommy studied him, his expression unreadable. “And she doesn’t ask you anything?”

“No,” Finn said firmly. “She’s not like that. She just talks. It’s... easy.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he looked back at the ledger, though his focus had clearly shifted.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

Finn smirked. “What, you scared she’s gonna steal me away from the Blinders?”

Tommy shot him a sharp look that immediately wiped the grin off Finn’s face.

“Go on.” Tommy gestured towards the door. “I’m busy.”

Finn nodded and left without another word.

As the door closed, Tommy leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. His gaze shifted to the window where the faint outlines of the city stretched out beyond the glass.