#prostitute!reader

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Job (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 2. Exhaustion, 8. Panic Attack, 18. Vomiting, 21. Shock, Alt 6. Crying to Sleep Fandom: Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby, f!reader, prostitute!reader Summary: After being forced to witness the bloodbath at the stables, you are left shaken to the core. So when Tommy comes to visit you a few days later, you demand answers leading to a revolution you never expected. Word Count: 4266 TW: Steamy Situations/Soft Smut, Non-sexual Nudity, Shock, Trauma, Vomiting, Tears, Mentions of Prostitution, Smoking, Language Notes: A HUGE thanks to @loverhymeswith who not only sent me the ask that inspired this fic and helped me perfect this part, but also for getting me into Peaky Blinders in the first place! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Masterlist (coming soon)

Part 1, Part 2

As you hurried from the stable and the nightmare within, you saw Arthur, John, and a handful of others you recognized as Peaky Blinders pulling up out front. No one looked at you directly as they climbed out of their cars—Arthur the only one to even acknowledge you with a small nod—before silently heading into the stables and drawing their pistols. You increased your pace but you were still within earshot when the cacophony of gunfire sounded behind you. Even though it was too late, you pressed your hands over your ears as you fled down the street, tears blurring your vision as you went. 

Yet no matter how quickly you ran nor how much distance you put between yourself and the bloody massacre you had just escaped from, you felt as if you were still there. Trembling behind the hay bales as the world exploded in blood around you. It was the stuff of nightmares you had heard about in whispers behind closed doors, but the reality of experiencing it first-hand was far more horrifying than you could ever have imagined.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally stumbled up the front steps of your lodging. Your hands were trembling so badly that it took you three tries to finally get the key in the lock to open the door and, once inside, you rushed quickly to your room. 

Despite it being the middle of summer, you were shivering uncontrollably and there was a chill deep in your bones. After much trouble, you got a fire started in your fireplace and you huddled next to it as closely as you could stand. And yet, the chill persisted. 

Looking down, you saw that small flecks of blood had landed on your new dress and you immediately ripped it off and threw it into the fire. Even if it could have been cleaned, the events of the night had stained the dress in ways that could never be washed off. You would never be able to forget what you witnessed no matter how hard you tried—you didn’t need a reminder of it hanging in your wardrobe as well. 

Standing before the fireplace in only your undergarments, you watched as the once beautiful gown blackened and burned, slowly falling apart as it turned to ash. You wished there was a way to rid yourself of your memories as easily as you had the dress. The sounds of the screams, the metallic bite of blood in the air, the way Tommy’s blue eyes peered at you from a face stained red. All building up to the thunderous booms of gunfire as you fled the stable.

And it was all your fault. 

You had led those men to their deaths. Even if Tommy hadn’t explicitly told you what was to happen once you lured them to the stable, you should have realized what he planned to do. You knew his reputation for dealing with threats to his empire and yet, you had agreed to do what he wished with only the slightest of hesitations. If not for you, those men would be home with their wives or children at the moment instead of lying in a heap in an empty stable waiting for a handful of Peaky Blinders to come to dispose of their bodies.

That thought was the final straw. You dropped to your knees as you emptied the contents of your stomach across your floor. Over and over you retched, even past the point of having anything left in your stomach to expel. Every time you thought the nausea had settled, the memory of the blood-soaked stable would flash in your mind and you would gag once more.

Finally, once your body physically could not take anymore, you rolled over and curled up next to the fire. With tears streaming down your face and a weak whimpering in your burning throat, you slipped into unconsciousness only to find the horrors of the night were waiting to torment you there as well.

The next few days were some of the worst of your life. At first, you tried to push what had happened to the back of your mind and move on as you attempted to continue about your days as normal. However, that was much easier said than done. The feeling of nausea failed to leave you and all you could manage to hold down was broth or a little bread. 

After the initial horror of the experience settled a little in your mind, you realized it wasn’t even the fact that all those men died that was really bothering you. Yes, the taking of any life was a tragedy but they were gang members who voluntarily chose this life. They knew the dangers involved with it and the potential consequences. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t used to witnessing violence after spending your entire life in Birmingham. It was just a way of life here.

No. What was really making you sick to your stomach was Tommy and how he had involved you in his feud. You were used to him using your body on a weekly basis—you gladly offered it up—but this? This was something completely different.  

He had made you an unwilling, unknowing accomplice to his dastardly deed. Then he had forced you to stand there and witness every last horrifying second of it. The image of his pale blue eyes boring into you from a crimson-drenched face, his outstretched finger pinning you in place from across the room, was burned into your soul. 

Why had he forced you to stay? You had done everything he had asked of you, so why did he want to punish you so? Why did he feel the need to curse you with these images that would haunt you for the rest of your life?

The dread in your chest only grew stronger with each passing day as Tommy’s scheduled visit approached. Wednesday simultaneously came too quickly and seemed to take an eternity to arrive. 

Usually just before he was set to appear, you would put on your finest dressing gown and style your hair just the way you knew he preferred. Then you would wait by the entrance with a cigarette and a glass of whiskey ready for him. However, this time when Thomas Shelby walked through your door, you were seated on the edge of your bed in a simple shift dress that laced up the front. As he entered, your shoulders folded in on themselves as you shrank slightly away from him. Hesitantly, you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eyes. 

If he noticed anything was different, Tommy did not address it. He simply strolled over to the table, took off his coat, and began unbuckling his belt as he asked, “Shall we get to it then?”

You made no move to stand or begin removing your clothes. Instead, you wrapped your arms across your chest, and with a slight quiver in your voice, you whispered, “H-how can you just walk in here as if nothing happened? As if this were just any other Wednesday and nothing has changed?"

He paused as he pursed his lips and gave a slight shrug. "Nothing has changed. I'm here for your services just as I am every week."

"Tommy, I watched you murder an entire room full of men right before my eyes. And I-I helped you do it. I mean, I know I agreed to help you but you never told me I would be leading them to you like lambs to the slaughter.”

His icy blue eyes took on an extra chill as he took a few steps towards you. With a slight bite to his words, he said, “You are neither foolish nor naive. You knew what would happen once you got to the stable.”

“I thought you would talk to them! Give them a warning, maybe send a message! Yes, I knew violence would probably be involved but I didn’t expect you to massacre every single one of them!”

A cunning, almost bordering on cruel, smile spread across his face. “Oh, but I was sending a message. Now anyone else out there who thinks they can fuck with the Peaky Blinders will see what will happen if they come for us.”

“But why did you have to involve me? What did I do to displease you to the point you would—” Tommy’s face dropped as the first tears spilled from your eyes and you took a wet, shaky breath, looking to the ceiling as you blinked rapidly and tried to maintain your composure. You had to know. This question had been haunting you almost as much as what you had witnessed. “I haven't been able to eat or sleep since that night. I feel as if I’m going mad. Every time I close my eyes all I can see is blood and I hear the howls of pain as those men died. Tommy, I have to know why you made me stay. What was the point? I tried to leave but you….Why did you make me witness that?”

For a moment, the room was still as the suffocating silence filled the room. Why wasn’t he answering your question? Maybe he didn’t have an answer. Maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision in the heat of battle. Maybe to him, it meant nothing at al—

“You had to stay because I needed you to see the man I truly am.” 

Your eyes snapped to his face as you looked at him directly for the first time, your brow furrowed in astonishment. “W-what?”

Reaching into his pocket, Tommy pulled out a cigarette. However, unlike usual, he didn’t light it. He just rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully. Then he tapped the end on the table before looking back at you. “The last time I was here you spoke of the Peaky Blinders as if I was not part of them. As if I was not the one in charge of them. Just because I don’t talk about that business with you does not mean it isn’t my life. That I am not as guilty if not more of their ‘transgressions’ as you put it. And I needed to remind you of that.”

“I have never had any misconceptions of who you are or what you do. Even before the first time you came to me, I knew the name Thomas Shelby and I knew the stories. And though the man I have come to know here in this room is far different from what I expected from those stories, they were never far from my mind.”

“But knowing and seeing are two very different things, eh?” Tommy asked. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you are keeping your distance? The way you are too afraid to even look at me directly?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Tommy.”

“Is that right?” He placed his cigarette down on the table and began slowly strolling over to the bed. “Then if it isn’t fear, what is it? Disgust? Loathing? What is it that you see when you look at me now?” He stopped as he reached the foot of the bed. 

Shaking your head, you said, “Tommy, please—”

He stepped closer until he was less than an arm's length in front of you. You dropped your eyes to the floor as he towered over you. 

“Look at me.” When you continued to avoid his gaze, he firmly grabbed your chin between his fingers and forced your head up so you had no choice but to look into his startling blue eyes. “Look at me! And tell me what you see.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he added, “The truth.”

Trembling, you gazed into his eyes and whispered, “I… I see a man capable of unspeakable horrors. One who has washed in the blood of other men, and will readily do so again.”

Tommy stared back at you without the slightest reaction to your words. Then he nodded softly and released your chin. You slid closer to the head of the bed and wrapped your arms around yourself as he turned. Silently, he walked across the room, grabbed his coat, and began to put it on. 

However, you weren’t ready for him to leave. Maybe it was his explanation and reasoning as to his actions or maybe it was the idea that if you let him walk out that door you may never see him again, but something deep inside you had shifted as you answered his question. What you had said was your honest answer, but the truth was so much more complicated than that. And you couldn’t let him leave without hearing the rest of your response.

Taking a deep breath, you stood off the bed, walked over to him, and placed your hand on his forearm. He paused, one brow raised as he waited for you to explain your action.

Wetting your lips, you softly said, “But I also see a man who only does these things for the sake of his family and their interests.” Tommy’s face remained emotionless, but you felt some of the tension ease out of him under your touch so you continued. 

“I don’t think I can ever support your actions that night and it still makes me sick that you made me a part of it and then forced me to watch. You should have at least warned me or let me leave because I didn’t need the lesson you tried to teach me. I hate what you did, but I understand why it was necessary. And as much as I’m loath to admit it…. There is a sort of honor in it. Those men posed a threat to the lives of every member of the Peaky Blinders as well as their loved ones. And you shed their blood so the blood of your people wouldn’t be.” 

Your hand slowly trailed up his arm and across his chest until it rested just over his heart. Feeling it drumming steadily against your palm, you softly added, “The Peaky Blinders are lucky to have someone like you watching out for them.”

As usual, Tommy maintained his mask of indifference, but not even he could control his heart. You felt it jump underneath your hand as the drumming began to pick up its tempo. He blinked, long and slow, before gazing at you once more and it seemed as if some of the ice in his eyes had melted ever so slightly. 

He placed his palm over top of where your hand still lay on his chest. “I hope you know that you are one of the people under my protection. I swore I would never let any harm befall you, even that by my own hand.” His other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb gently tracing the dark bags that had formed this past week under your eyes. “And yet it seems that is exactly what I did. I thought by making you see me for who I really am I would be protecting you. But I was so blinded by that thought I did not see the hurt I would cause instead. I am truly sorry.”

You were utterly speechless. As long as you had known him, you had never once heard Tommy admit fault or apologize for any of his actions. He only ever brushed off these incidents and changed the subject, but for him to tell you he was sorry? He must honestly regret his poor decision.

“I-I forgive you,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering as his thumb continued to caress your face. “Just don’t ever put me in a situation like that again. Please.”

“I promise.” His hand slid down your cheek slightly until his fingers brushed against your lips. “Shall we seal it with a kiss?”

Faintly, you nodded, your head spinning with anticipation for what was to come. Tommy bent over until his lips lightly grazed yours, the feeling no more than a whisper. For a moment, your heart dropped in disappointment and you figured you had misread the situation. However, when Tommy’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you into him, the kiss became something else entirely. 

You sometimes kissed Tommy during your weekly appointments but even then, at the peak of pleasure, it never felt like this. Now, there was a heat, an urgency, a need behind his lips that made your knees grow weak. It was something you had never experienced with any man, let alone Tommy.  But the fact that it was him kissing you like this made everything more intense and overwhelming in the best way. You never wanted it to stop.

As you began kissing him back with the same intensity, Tommy’s hands came to rest on your hips and he guided you over to the table. Dropping into one of the chairs, he pulled you onto his lap, your legs spread on either side of his waist. You could feel him already hardening in his slacks and you wrapped your legs around his hips to draw yourself in even closer. 

He buried his face in your hair, his long eyelashes fluttering against the edge of your face for a moment until he turned his head. Slowly, his lips slipped across your jaw, breathing ghostlike kisses in their wake as his mouth traveled along the curve of your throat. When he reached your shoulder, he bit down lightly. This drew a soft gasp of pleasure from your lips and you felt him buck against you in response. 

Yet before his mouth could dip any lower, you tilted his chin so you could see his face. 

His usually pale blue eyes had darkened with lust and the hunger you saw there made you ache deep within your core. This was a different side to Tommy, a side that you had never seen before. While your time together was always pleasurable, you were providing him a service and that was always apparent in his actions. But now…it felt about you just as much as about him. It felt like something deeper than just his regular weekly appointment. Yet before you lost yourself completely to him, before you let yourself believe it could be more, you had to know for sure.

Holding your breath, you murmured, “What is this, Tommy? Business or pleasure?”

Brushing his fingers across your cheek, he responds in a low, husky whisper. “For me, it stopped being business long ago.”

A brilliant smile spread across your face as you surged forward to recapture his lips. Kissing you back with the same fervor, he stood, his strong arms supporting you so you remained wrapped around his waist, and carried you over to your bed. Without breaking your kiss, he laid you down and settled above you. 

Your eyes drifted shut and you could feel his nimble fingers begin fiddling with the laces across the front of your dress, even as his tongue slid past your lips. You arched your back to allow him easier access to the ties as the aching between your legs intensified. But after a moment, he froze and then suddenly pulled back. At first, you were worried you did something wrong, but as you opened your eyes, you saw all of his concentration had shifted to the laces still perfectly fastened in place.

As he continued his futile attempt to untie your dress, he cursed softly and muttered, “Damn you woman for wearing this infernal thing."

Leaning forward, you smiled into his neck before teasing, your lips brushing across his skin, “Come now, Tommy. One might think you’d never undressed a woman before.”

He paused, his head tilting until he locked eyes with you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your bodice and gave a firm pull, causing the dress to rip open down to your waist. You let out a gasp of surprise but Tommy swallowed the sound as his mouth found yours once again.

With your legs still encircling his waist, you pulled him in closer until his hips were flush with yours and you could feel him straining for release against your clothed core. Slowly, you began rolling your hips to rub against him and you were rewarded with a deep rumble deep within his chest. 

“Not so fast, you little minx,” Tommy growled, nipping at your lip. “There’s no rush tonight. You wanted to know what this was between us? Well, I’m going to show you. Over and over and over, until you never again doubt that this is all about pleasure.” A soft shudder of pleasure shivered down your spine at his words and he smiled. “Now, let me watch you take off what’s left of that dress then our night can begin.”

You had serviced Thomas Shelby more times than you could count. But that night became the first time you and Tommy made love….over and over and over and over, just like he promised. 

Remarkably, you slept like a babe that night—the first real sleep you had had since the night in the stable. Even though you hadn’t opened your eyes yet, you could tell you had slept through the rest of the evening and well into the next morning by the warmth of the sun trickling in through your window onto the bed. The sunbeams felt heavenly on your bare skin and you hummed contently as you basked in the glow. 

Stretching to help wake up your sluggish limbs, you opened your eyes and found yourself staring directly into a pair of familiar glacial eyes. 

“Tommy!” You were instantly wide awake as you scrambled out of bed, dragging the bedsheet along with you to wrap around your naked body. “Wha-what are you still doing here? I mean, you don’t stay afterward. You never stay afterward.” You felt your face grow hot as you realized now that you had stolen the sheet, he was lying bare in your bed, fully on display. It took all of your willpower to keep your eyes locked on his face and not let them drift down the muscular planes of his body or linger on the hardness between his legs.

Completely unfazed by your reaction or his naked state, Tommy propped himself up on one elbow. “You said you hadn’t been sleeping this past week yet you looked so peaceful last night I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You blinked several times in quick succession as you tried to process that information. “So you stayed….for me?”

He shot you a coy grin. “Yes, I stayed for you. Though my motives may not have been as selfless as you make it seem.” His expression softened and he opened up his arms inviting you back to bed. “The truth is, I too found myself more at peace with you by my side than I have in a long time.”

You relaxed slightly, the motion causing the sheet to slip down until your breasts were almost completely uncovered. Tommy’s eyes shifted down to them and you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling. Apparently, for once you had more self-control than the great Thomas Shelby. But that feeling of superiority didn’t last long as your nerves once again gripped you as you faced the situation at hand.

“So, if that’s true….What do we do now?” you hesitantly asked as you worried the sheet between your fingers, afraid his answer might have changed now in the bright light of day. “Do we resume our business as usual or has this become something else? Something more?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Tommy reached over to the small side table where his pack of cigarettes and lighter were waiting and pulled one out. Once it was lit, he took a long drag, held it, and slowly let the smoke stream from his lips. “I told you last night that this has not been business to me for a long time. I’ve respected what you do but if I had my way, you’d be mine and mine alone.”

This time, you didn’t even attempt to mask the smile spreading across your face. In fact, you embraced it until it was shining almost as brightly as the dancing across the room. “And what would you do with me, Thomas Shelby? If I was yours and yours alone?” you teased, leaning forward to show off even more of your exposed breast.

“I’d give you the fucking world.”

All of your playfulness evaporated with your sharp intake of breath. You scanned Tommy’s face for any indication he was joking or teasing you back, but there was none. As you locked eyes with him, all you saw was sincerity. It was truly how he felt. 

Trying to project the same level of honesty back at him, you whispered, “I don’t need the world, Tommy. As long as I have you…that’s all I’ll ever need.”

“Well, you are in luck, love,” he said as he stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the table. His eyes swiveled back to yours and he added matter-of-factly, “Because you’ve got me.”

You nodded, tears slightly blurring your vision. “And you’ve got me too. For forever. Starting right now.”

You dropped the sheet to the floor, pausing for just a moment to let Tommy take you in. Then you climbed back on the bed and into his waiting arms. 

I am toying with an idea for a Part 3 so let me know if you would be interested!

Tag List: @lucien-calore, @zebralover

[pomstr4wberr]

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 JOB DISASTER? (Or not) ꒱♡ ⌎ ˊᗜˋ

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍭 ꒰ GN reader - they/them ꒱♡ ⌎

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥛 ꒰ Fluff/kinda suggestive ꒱♡ ⌎ ˊᗜˋ

NOTE : The reader is a prostitute . Reader is of age, of course. Reader just hangs out around malleus . Reader is not Yuu . This can be seen as platonic or romantic [I think] (they just hang out and talk about stuff). The reader is impiled to wear sorta lingerie clothing but still gn

YOU had a blank look on your face as you stared dumbfounded at the tall horn man standing in front of you. He stared at you as you couldn't believe that a customer had no idea and forgotten what your whole point of your job was.

Even virgins had some ideas about your whole job. You gritted your teeth, but you sighed as you were glad that you didn't have to overwork once again. he twitted his head in confusion as you pointed at you.

"What clothes are you wearing?" He says as he turns his head away, you sighed as you walk over and sit down on the bed. His room was dark and weird. You fixed your clothing.

"Do you even have an idea of what my job is?" You say as he looks at you and shakes your head. " No, I saw this weird thing online, and it said you weren't going to be alone..."

You cock an eyebrow up as you heard him say alone, did he seriously just pay you to not make him feel lonely? You smiled as you thought this was easy money making, you had to just stay and sit still looking pretty, which is something you can do every well!

"Sooo~ you just want me here to give you some company?" You say as he gives you a small smile and nods his head, "Yes, I indeed want you to, " you just nod your head as you think about what to say next and your next actions.

"Isn't this your job to give company?" He says as you go out of your thoughts, should you just say yes and let him believe or destroy his pure thoughts?

"Yes, it is my job" you say with an smile, you cock your head to the side. "Do your clothes matter to your job?" He says as he looks at your face, taking a quick glance at your clothing.

"My clothing is for close contact, you know, so I can bring warmer hugs!" You say as you give him a smile. he gives a ":0" face as he nods his head, "So your clothing style is to five better hugs to people?".

You smile as you lean back more, and you have a smirk on your face, "Yep, you're so right!" You liked this feeling, you looked at him.

"Do you want me to do anything?" To be honest, you didn't care if it sounded suggestive. He didn't seem to catch on what you meant by doing anything.

"Hmm... do you gargoyles?" he says while putting his hand on his chin. Did he mention those stone weird looking things? You noticed that he seemed interested in talking about gargoyles.

"Yeah, I do." That was a lie. You found those things quite boring, but you couldn't say no to him he just looked so cute. You didn't care if it was a romantic or platonic when you said he looked cute.

"Well, if you are talking about it, you must have gargoyles in this area" you say as he nods his head and brings he hand towards you.

"If you don't mind, let's go." He says with a smile, you smile back and grab his hand as he wants you up, "do you have like different clothing?" You say as he looks around and nods his head.

Taking this offer as a good idea, it seems like you could make a friend.

[imaginedreamwrite]

And then?

does someone come for her? Does he get jealous?

“They call you Delilah? That’s not your real name though?” You feel your breath catching in your throat and you settle your hand on your stomach to ease your nerves.

He’s been following you from the saloon, the rich lawyer coming to deal with an estate sale. He tried to buy your time but like the sheriff guaranteed, your time was taken. You were locked out and given no option but to wait around for him to come calling for you.

No one else had ever shown you much interest once the sheriff had bid you off limits. Until the lawyer came off the stagecoach and you caught your eye.

“I’m not available, other women are.” You step down the steps and try to hurry toward the general store, no real purpose to your task other than to busy yourself. “You can find someone else-“

“Delilah, that’s beautiful.” He continued, a fine suit that was freshly pressed was abnormal in a place like this. “If you’re not available for your services then maybe…”

He cleared his throat and you stopped walking again, glancing back at him in a plain yet pretty dress that seemed above your station. He was insistent, he was trailing after you while trying to gain your attention for even a brief moment.

“Miss Delilah, I would love it if you could accompany me for lunch. At the cafe perhaps?” He was hopeful and you turned to face him. You weren’t secure whether your lips parted to accept or deny him and you found yourself lacking the capability to do either.

“Delilah.” A stern voice, the drawl that had whispered dirty words and affections to you a few nights ago, was now speaking your faux name with a possessive streak.

“Sheriff-” you spoke his rank, just once, and practically quivered under the tension that sparked between the two men.

“Sheriff, I’ve heard a lot about you.” The lawyer hadn’t backed down though he seemed intimidated by the set of pistols on the sheriff’s hips. “I was accompanying Miss-”

“Delilah,” he spoke your saloon given name and held out his arm for you to take, or to tug you behind him, “perhaps you should head to my door. I have something to discuss with you after I deal with our treasured guest.”

“Forgive me Sheriff but Miss Delilah and I were going to have a conversation of our own.”

He raised an eyebrow in the direction of the rich lawyer, a single glance and the purse of his lips. He was sizing the lawyer up, possibly debating whether to throw him in jail for some ridiculous reason.

“I know Miss Delilah is restricted, however its not her services I require.” The lawyer insisted and you inhaled sharply with the weight of tension reverberated.

“And what do you require of my whore?” Your eyes closed, your stomach dropped.

Your heart broke, and you couldn’t deny a tear rolling down your cheek.

What he said was true. You were, inherently, his paid whore.

“The company of a lady, sheriff.” The lawyer rest a hand in your hip and the sheriff’s jaw clicked. “For lunch, even you could allow that.”

[slightly-psycho-multifan]

OMG! I need to watch Peaky Blinders now. That was so good!!

The Job (Part 1)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 23. Forced to Watch, Alt 25. Stalked Fandom: Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby, f!reader, prostitute!reader Summary: Tommy has been hiring you for your services for a while now, but this is the first time he has asked you for help concerning his family business... Word Count: 3205 TW: Fighting, Razor Blades, Blood, Forced to Watch, Stalked, Prostitution, Reader as Bait, Smoking, Implied Death Notes: A HUGE thanks to @loverhymeswith who not only sent me the ask that inspired this fic and supported its writing, but also for getting me into Peaky Blinders in the first place! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

“I want to hire you for a job.”

You grinned at Tommy over your shoulder as you finished buttoning up your blouse and began to pull on your skirt. “I’m pretty sure you just did.”

But Tommy didn’t seem amused by your joke. His piercing blue eyes stared at you for a long moment, his face void of emotion and completely unreadable. Then he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. As he placed it between his lips, he said, “A different sort of job. On Friday night, I need you to make yourself look pretty and go down to The Marquis of Lorne.”

“The Marquis of—” you turned to look at him straight on. “Why would you want me to go to that pub when The Garrison is right here? Places like that on the edge of your territory… People there don’t always take kindly to me. Not with my reputation and all that.”

Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette. “It’s precisely because of your reputation that I’m asking you to go.”

Placing your hands on your hips, you asked, “And why, pray tell, is that? What are you expecting me to do once I’m there? Because I’ve told you before, I pick who I service and I won’t have you demanding–”

“It’s nothing like that,” Tommy said, calmly. “Like I already told you, it’s a different sort of job. Your reputation alone is more than enough to fit my needs. Just go to The Marquis, order a few drinks ‘til you’ve created the illusion you’ve become intoxicated, and then walk out the pub, simple as that. I’ll be waiting for you after at my stables down by the canal.” 

“And why do I feel like that’s not your whole plan? It still doesn’t explain why The Marquis and not some other pub.”

Tommy tapped the end of his cigarette into the glass of water you had left out on the table. You had scolded him about doing so countless times but now did not seem like the moment to comment on it. Raising the cigarette to his lips once more, he said, “There is a new gang trying to move in on our territories. They think we haven’t noticed and we mean to put an end to it before they realize we caught on. They frequent The Marquis on Friday nights so I need you to go in, get their attention, and once you have made them believe your tongue is nice and loose, I want you to start spilling all of the Peaky Blinders’s secrets— the false ones I tell you to say, of course.”

“Ahhh…” you nodded, the final pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “You want me to make them believe you’ve let slip sensitive information when you come to me for my services. Which is why you want me for my reputation. They’ll think Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore has caught him with his pants down in more ways than one.”

“I’ve always said you were a clever one.” For the first time since he had gotten dressed, something akin to a smile ghosted across Tommy’s lips. 

Walking over to where he was sitting, you plucked the cigarette from his fingers and placed it in your mouth. You inhaled before slowly blowing the smoke out right in Tommy’s face. “So, that’s it? I provide these fools who are crazy enough to try and challenge you false information on the Peaky Blinders and then just go along my way?”

Tommy ignored the smoke as he reached out and took his cigarette back, his fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed against yours. “Like you said, these men are fools. They’ll believe your deception. And when you leave the pub announcing you are going to sleep it off in one of the Peaky Blinders’s empty stash houses, they will follow you. And I will be waiting.”

You had to admit, it was a clever plan. Due to the popularity of the Peaky Blinders and the constant gossip surrounding them, everyone throughout Birmingham knew who you were and about your weekly dealings with Tommy Shelby. Everywhere you went, whispers seemed to follow you and you often caught people pointing or staring. Not that you usually minded. It was actually rather good for business. After all, what man wouldn’t want to say they had bedded the same woman as the head of the Peaky Blinders?

But while you had been servicing Tommy weekly for almost a year, he had never asked you to get involved in any Peaky Blinders business before this. In fact, Tommy had made it very clear from the start that you were to have no part in that aspect of his life. You were his momentary escape, a place where he could spend an hour or so without the weight of the world on his shoulders. So for him to come to you now asking this…. He must be more concerned about the other gang than he was letting on.

“And what happens once I lead them to the stables? I’m guessing you aren’t looking for a friendly chat.”

“You just get them there and leave the rest to me,” Tommy said as he dropped the remains of his cigarette butt into your glass of water. Standing, he placed his large hands on your shoulders and gave you a tight smile. “So, do we have an arrangement?”

Biting your lip, you mulled the question over for a moment. Tommy was a brilliant strategist and you had no doubt his plan would work. But his brush off of your questions about what happened afterward had a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. However, it was ill-advised to say no to someone as powerful as Thomas Shelby, so somewhat reluctantly, you said, “Fine. But I expect double my usual fee.”

“Done.” Tommy gave your shoulders a soft squeeze then turned to grab his cap off the table. “I’ll send Polly around in the morning with the details of what you should say. She can also help you find something to wear. Then head to The Marquis on Friday at seven and you know what to do.” 

His hand reached for the door, but you called out, “Tommy” – he paused and turned to face you – “I’ll do what you want this once because it’s you who’s asking, but I’m not a Peaky Blinder. And I won’t have anything else to do with their business or transgressions. I don’t want to be involved with that lot. Are we understood?” 

For a moment, Tommy didn’t move as he stared at you, save for one exaggerated blink of his icy blue eyes. You wondered if you went too far and said something you shouldn’t have. But then, he nodded, his tongue sliding across his full lips. “Understood.”

You smiled in relief and ducked your head, but before you could thank him, Tommy walked out the door.

As with most of Tommy’s plans, everything that Friday night went exactly as he predicted. Polly ended up bringing you a flashy new dress to wear that Tommy had purchased and from the moment you stepped into The Marquis of Lorne, you felt the weight of dozens of eyes on you. From there, it was easy to loudly drop Tommy’s name and your connection to him as you pretended to drink—as well as your “top secret” facts about the Peaky Blinders. Your table was soon swarmed by the gang members you were targeting, each offering to buy you another drink in the hopes of loosening your tongue further.

As the night wore on, a few of the men began getting more familiar with you than you were comfortable with, but you maintained your drunken facade and smiled through it. In your line of work, you had dealt with much worse before. However after one man stuck his hand up the bottom of your dress, you decided things had gone far enough and you rose unsteadily to your feet as you announced you were taking your leave. The men tried to convince you to stay or let them walk you home, but you insisted you would be alright on your own—there was an empty Peaky Blinders stash house nearby that you could sleep in for the night. You bit your lip to hide the smile threatening to break across your face as all the men’s eyes grew wide and they exchanged telling glances. Tommy Shelby, you are one brilliant man.

As you made your way out of the pub and into the foggy night, you could hear the men following close behind you. This was the part of the plan that concerned you the most. Back in the pub, there were other patrons who would step in if one of the men went too far or you called out for help. But out here on the empty road in the middle of the night, you doubted anyone would come to your aid if the men decided to approach you. You just had to trust Tommy knew what he was talking about and they would be more interested in finding the fake stash house than harassing you. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as Tommy’s stable came into view. He had promised to meet you but as you got closer, there was no sign that anyone was there. Hesitating by the door, you wondered what you should do. There was no back door that you knew of so if something had happened and Tommy wasn’t there, you would be trapped inside alone with the gang between you and the only way out. But even if you decided to leave and continue on down the road, the gang would continue following you until they eventually grew suspicious and confronted you. So there was really no choice. You said a quick, silent prayer that Tommy was waiting for you, and you stepped inside.

You continued walking until you reached the far wall of the stable, but still, no Tommy. Your heart was beating furiously in your chest as the men behind you began to call out to you—crude, drunken taunts, and horrifying descriptions of what they were going to do to you. Spinning around, you looked everywhere desperately trying to find anything you could use to protect yourself with, but there were only a few hay bales. Trembling, you sunk to the ground and waited for the worst to come.

But just as the closest man was about to reach you, a figure stepped into the doorway of the stable, eclipsing the moonlight that had been illuminating the darkened space. Relief flooded through you as you recognized that familiar silhouette. Tommy had kept his word.

The men all turned and must have recognized him a few seconds after you did because a hushed murmur rippled through their group as they looked at him. Despite the fact they very obviously outnumbered him, you could sense the air of fear emanating from them, and you couldn’t blame them. While he may only be one man, this was Tommy Fucking Shelby they were facing. And that should be enough to terrify an army of men. 

Tommy began to slowly walk forward, closing the distance between him and the men. As he slipped his jacket off and tossed it to the side, he called out in a strong voice that filled the stable, “Word on the streets is that you boys are trying to move in on our territory. Take things that are ours while you think we aren’t looking.” 

He gestured to where you were still huddled on the ground. Now that he had come closer, you could just make out his face. He raised one eyebrow at you, a silent query if you were alright. You nodded shakily and rose to your feet, still pressed tightly against the wall. You felt his eyes scanning you for anything amiss, and he gave a satisfied nod when he deemed you safe. 

Then, addressing the men once more, he continued. “You are not the first to think you could come for the Peaky Blinders and I'll bet you won’t be the last. But I’m here to make certain that after tonight, you won’t be a problem any longer.”

Tommy came to a stop—his heels clicking loudly together—just a few inches before the closest man. Though his back was to you, you could tell the man was frightened by the way his hands shook as he raised them in the air. 

Tommy smiled at the gesture…. then ripped off his cap and slashed it across the man’s throat.

You gasped in horror and pressed your hands to your mouth as a trail of blood flew through the air and splattered on the floor. Almost in slow motion, the man dropped to his knees, a horrendous gurgling emanating from his ruined throat. Then Tommy swung his cap again, using the razorblades sewn in the brim to finish the job, and the man toppled over without another sound.

The stable burst into chaos. The rest of the men rushed at Tommy but he was ready for them. Normally, it would have been near impossible odds with Tommy outnumbered so, but the men had been drinking very heavily back in the pub and their senses were dulled considerably. Tommy was able to avoid most of their attacks while landing blow after blow on the men—his razorblades sending blood flying with every swing.

You of course knew of the Peaky Blinders’s signature weapon of choice, yet this was the first time you had seen anyone use it in action. It was a horrendously strange sight to see: Tommy swinging something so innocuous as his tweed flat cap at the other men just for a burst of crimson blood to bloom in that same spot. And the fluid manner in which Tommy ducked and dodged, weaving his way from one man to the next, was almost beautiful in a way. Like a dancer taking the stage—stage made of blood.

There was no avoiding it. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, burning your nose. Somehow, it even blocked out the pungent smells from all of the horses. Even in only the pale glow from the moonlight, everywhere you looked was dripping red. You had only been spared because you had dove sideways to huddle behind the hay bales next to you once the attack began, but they had taken the full brunt of the carnage. Blood was slowly filtering through the tightly packed hay as it traveled downward toward the ground—the pool on the floor steadily creeping closer to your feet.

You had to escape this massacre as soon as possible.

Eventually, you saw an opening but just as you gathered up your dress to make a dash to freedom, Tommy spun around and pointed one blood-soaked finger at you. “You! Stay where you are.”

You froze, unsure of your next move. Tommy had never said anything about you remaining once you had done your part. Your only job was to lure the men to the stable and he would take care of the rest. Surely he didn’t mean for you to remain here to witness this slaughter?

And yet, he remained standing there with all of his focus on you despite his remaining enemies still swarming around him, blood dripping off of the end of his outstretched finger. So you did the only thing you could. You released your dress, letting the fabric fall once more to the ground, and nodded to him even as you shrank back behind the hay bales, quivering in fear. 

Seemingly satisfied that you wouldn’t attempt to bolt again, Tommy slowly lowered his hand and turned back to the melee. There were only a few men still standing—the others were left moaning on the ground as they clutched at their wounds, or worse still, some lay perfectly still in growing pools of their own blood. 

With fewer opponents charging him at once, Tommy took a new, less frantic approach to the fight. Instead of attacking with the blades sewn into his hat, he began to use his fists— the sound of breaking bones echoing throughout the open area as his knuckles slammed into noses and cheekbones. One man even dropped like a stone as Tommy drove his fist into the man’s jaw. 

And you were forced to watch it all, terrified of what Tommy might do if you even glanced away. The one saving grace that made it even slightly bearable was that the clouds had shifted to partially cover the moon, hindering the visibility inside the stable. But that did nothing to shield you from the sounds or smells surrounding you.

Finally—mercifully—Tommy struck down the last of the gang members. He stood in the middle of the stable, chest heaving, as he looked around at the carnage surrounding him. Like this, he resembled some ancient god of war reveling in his battlefield, washed in the blood of his enemies.

Satisfied the fight was over, he picked his way through the maze of bodies on the floor and stopped before your hiding place. He held out his hand to you, but you ignored it, unable to touch the blood that coated it. Instead, you stepped out from behind the hay bales on your own and stood before him, unable to meet his eye.

He leaned in close until his face was only a breath’s distance from you and he said, “Next time I pay you for a service, you don’t leave until you are given permission. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Tommy,” you managed to choke out, tears stinging your eyes.

His eyes flickered over you, and even with such a slight gesture, you felt the weight of his gaze as it examined every inch of you. You had stood bare in front of Thomas Shelby more times than you could count, had him thrust into the deepest part of your core on a weekly basis, and yet, you had never felt as exposed or vulnerable as you did right now.

As his eyes settled once more on your face, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a stack of money. He placed it on the hay bale beside you and you shuttered to see his bloody fingerprints stained on the top bill. 

“I included a little extra for your trouble.” Your eyes snapped back up to look at him. Despite the circumstances, Tommy’s voice was as calm and level as always. It was the sort of tone one would expect to hear him use when he visited the church or held a business meeting, not when standing there surrounded by the corpses of his enemies and dyed red with their blood. 

“Now you are free to go.” He turned and walked calmly back towards the stable entrance. Pausing only momentarily to pick up his jacket, he slid it on in one fluid motion as he added, his back still turned towards you, “I’ll be round Wednesday at my normal time.” 

Then he disappeared into the foggy night, leaving you alone surrounded by the ghastly horror he had wrought. 

Part 2 coming soon and it will be much more relationship-heavy (plus pretty steamy😉)!

Tag list: @loverhymeswith, @heart-0n-fire, @that-sarcastic-writer, @eternallyvenus, @writercole, @deppresseddyslexic, @confetti-cakemix, @flamingdisputes, @callsign-phoenix

[3amfanfiction]

It’s just dinner

Kyle asks you to have dinner with his captain—that’s normal, right?

2.1k, CW: sex work, unknowing prostitution, manipulation, gazslighting, enjoy!

You don’t know how you got here.

You’d think it would be obvious—what actions caused which responses, what conversations indicated acceptance. But as most things do, it all started so innocently.

Kyle was the perfect boyfriend. He was caring, understanding, and gave mind blowing head. Sure, sometimes he got a little bossyprotective, but it was always in your best interest!

He needed to know who you were hanging out with to make sure he could find you if there was an emergency. And he ended up being right about your friends, they weren’t looking out for your best interest.

You had a good thing with Kyle and it broke your heart when he came to you about your best friend propositioning him while you were out of town. You never would’ve believed it if he didn’t show you the texts himself. Honestly, it’s for the best that you cut ties. You haven’t had a chance to find new friends just yet— scared to put yourself out there as well as Kyle becoming extra protective over you after that incident. He practically glued himself to your side, wouldn’t even let you out of the house alone after that. He always looked out for you — the perfect boyfriend.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t push back very hard when he first brought it up.

“I know this makes you uncomfortable love, but it’s the Captain. I trust him with my life and he’s done so much for me—for us, lately,” he brushed the tips of his fingers along your hairline, down to your temple in a soft caress.

You were sitting on his lap, both legs thrown to one side while you leaned your shoulder against his chest. He had pulled you onto him shortly after lunch, saying he had something to talk to you about. Honestly, you were expecting a vacation—not this.

When you don’t respond to his statement he continues, “Remember last month when I was home for your birthday?” you nod shallowly, eyes darting to the side, “Cap pulled in quite a few favors to make it happen. I told him how important it was to you and he delivered.”

You force a swallow, trying to work up any amount of moisture in your mouth as your stomach knots in discomfort, “I didn't ask him to do that, Kyle,” defensive, why did you feel like you were in the wrong? “Regardless, why would he want dinner with me?”

This felt so far out of the realm of ordinary you didn’t have a clear path forward.

You’d spoken with John Price a handful of times. There had been get togethers with Kyle’s team and you’d gotten to visit with all of them. While your conversations with John were always easy, you felt they weren’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Hey now, I don’t want to hear any of that," Kyle frowns at you in admonishment. "You’re gorgeous and smart and any guy would be lucky if you gave them the time of day.” He cups your face in his palms, turning you fully towards him, “I love spending time with you, is it any surprise that my captain, the man I admire, also wants to spend time with you?”

His eyes are warm brown pools and they pull you into his orbit with ease. You feel yourself begin to fold. “I mean, wouldn’t it be weird?” You try, searching for a handhold in this free fall, “We’re dating and you want me to go on a date with another man. Wouldn't that make you uncomfortable?”

You try and turn your head away, attempting to put some space between the two of you so that you could breathe. It felt like you were drowning in his pull. He gently guided your face back towards his before shaking his head exasperatedly. “Love, it’s John,” as if you were a toddler that asked if you would go down the drain with the bath water. He tilts your head down to kiss the furrow between your brows before pulling you back up, eye to eye, “there’s no one safer I would have you with. Now, no more of this, you’ll have dinner with him this weekend.” His ‘I mean business’ voice coming out and you knew you had lost any chance of further arguments.

“Okay,” you stammer weakly, “okay, you’re right. It’s just dinner with your captain. I can do that.” You try to reassure yourself. You honestly don’t know why you’re so nervous. He’s always been a perfect gentleman, if a bit of a flirt, whenever you would speak. And it was just dinner. It would be like going to grab a meal with a friend.

Really.

Why were you being such a baby about this? You felt kind of silly that you were making the situation bigger than it was, now that a decision had been made.

Kyle beamed at you as if you had just told him you loved him for the first time. He peppered kisses all over your face, his faint stubble tickling the sensitive skin of your jaw and neck. “Such a good girl for me, pet,” in between nips and flicks of his tongue, “you’re absolutely perfect, do you know that?”

You giggle and wrap your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close to you and tilting your chin to give him more access, “Yes, yes, I know, I’m wonderful.” You say in mock haughtiness.

You gasp as his hands work their way under your top to flick and pinch at your nipples, “so bloody wonderful,” is growled into your skin.

Before you can blink you’ve been flipped onto your back on the couch, Kyle pressing into your soft body, pinning you down. “Let me show you just how wonderful you are—” is all the warning you get before you’re stripped naked and he makes his way between your thighs, showing his appreciation. Again and again . . . . and again.

///

That led to tonight. Date night. With Captain John Price.

John was sitting across from you, eyes crinkled with the force of his smile as took you in.

“Doll, you look—“ here he trailed off for a second, looking for the perfect word, “like a dream.” He decided on with a decisive nod. You had to admit, he wasn't wrong.

Yesterday, Kyle convinced you that you needed a new outfit before your dinner with Captain Price.

"I can't have you showing up without looking your finest, babe," he said, bundling you into the car to head downtown. "We're going all out, do you hear me? New dress, new shoes, new lingerie."

"Kyle Garrick! We are not buying me new lingerie. This is just a dinner!" you screech at him in shock, astounded by his audacity and maybe a little bit hurt when he laughed at you.

"Calm down babe, it's nothing like that," he reassures as if you're a spooked horse, "that'll just be for us. You're going to be sitting with the Captain—eating dinner, laughing at his jokes, batting these pretty eyelashes for him— and I want to know that you're dressed like an absolute slut under your pretty dress."

Your damp panties made sure you couldn't look anyone in the eye the whole time you were at the boutique.

The fact that he made you pose for pictures before stepping into your dress tonight was very on brand for him. I need something to keep me company while you're at dinner. I'm going to be lonely sitting here all by myself while you're having fun.

You realized your date for the evening was looking at you, waiting for your response. You smoothed your palms over your thighs bashfully, "thank you, Captain Price. You look very handsome tonight also."

"Bah! I've told you pet, it's John. No need for formalities between us," he brushed you off with a smooth shrug of his wide shoulders, reaching across the table to pat your hand, leaving his palm to linger for a few heartbeats before withdrawing.

For tonight's dinner he had poured himself into a button up that was straining at the seams to keep his mass contained. A watch glinted at his wrist, drawing your gaze to his strong hands and thick fingers. His scarred knuckles causing something to flutter deep inside.

"John, then," you felt your cheeks warm with the gentle chastisement, taking a small sip of your drink to give yourself a moment to recenter. When you reached forward to set the glass back down you noticed John's eyes zero in around your shoulder, his gaze shifting away after a few moments, something flitting across his gaze, too quickly for you to make out.

"Tell me about your week, pet, what have you done?"

What followed was several hours of conversation and laughter, with good food and drinks mixed in. John had you eating off his fork, here love, you have to try these potatoes. I've never had them better, drinking his whiskey, you haven't had something this smooth in your mouth before, dove. Give it a sip, no I'll hold the glass, just tilt that pretty chin up for me, and slapping at his shoulder with an admonishing John Price! when he moved his chair around the table to whisper into your ear about the other patrons at the restaurant. His lips touching the sensitive skin with every gravely word spoken, those two over there? It's definitely their first date. Look at them, I bet he's going to have her dress up around her waist before they even make it out of the parking lot. I bet if we listen closely we'll be able to hear her squealing.

You did your best to mask the shudder that went down your spine as he continued, ignoring your censure as if you hadn't spoken, his deep voice causing the hair on your arms to rise. You were completely unprepared for his big palm to come down on your thigh under the table. If he wouldn't have been pressing down so firmly, your jolt would have sent your knee slamming into the underside of the table.

"Are you okay pet? Not cold, are you?" he asked in a concerned burr, already starting to reach for his jacket, ready to bundle you up if needed.

"No, no, I'm okay John," you reassured. As tempting as it was to be wrapped up in a thick coat that smelled like John's tobacco and woody cologne, it was probably best if you didn't cross that line. It felt too much like what someone would do when they were out on a date. You didn't want to send the wrong impression—you were here for a dinner between friends, that was all.

John of course was perfectly understanding. "Lovely. I'd hate to cover up that beautiful dress, anyways," he gave you a wink like you two were in on a joke together. He straightened back up to continue his comentary of the different dates happening in the restaurant.

You hadn't noticed it at first, but each table did in fact seem to be on a date. There wasn't a single group or family sitting down for dinner, it was all made up of couples. How strange.

With your last drinks finished, it was time for the night to be over. John pulled your chair back for you before offering his arm, walking you outside.

Standing under the stars, he reached up to adjust the shoulder of your dress with a secretive smile, fingers lingering to brush the soft skin before raising his hand to cup your jaw. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into your cheek, keeping your face still—pinned.

After a heartbeat too long, he pulled back, the car service reaching the curb. He helped you into the backseat with a soft 'goodnight, pet, until next time'.

///

When you get home Kyle is waiting up, watching a movie quietly on the couch. He stands to greet you with a smile and a hug.

"My best girl, I've missed that pretty face," he crows, drawing you in for a kiss that never seems to end, making out like teenagers. Kyle seems ravenous, like he will die if he doesn't get the breath straight from your lungs. Your fingers press into his tight curls while his hands grope and squeeze the fat of your hips, kneading you similar to a cat.

He finally pulls back, leaving you panting and dazed, unsure of what precipitated—a reward? That's what it felt like, like a reward for doing something correctly. Mistake after mistake and you finally nailed the trick, aren't you so smart?

One final peck to your lips and he's taking a step back. He glanced down towards your shoulder and gives a little laugh, 'your pretty new bra is showing baby, are you trying to tease me?'

|||

Next || Story Repository

[void-my-warranty]

Nooner (18+) Part 2

Pairing: Darth Vader (Anakin)/Fem Reader (she/her) Content Warnings: Dub Con, Prostitution, Aphrodisiacs, spanking, Forced Orgasm, Overstimulation, hand on throat, degradation, hate fucking, squirting, PIV Word Count: 4.4k

Part 2 (Part 1 here)

It has to be the drug.

That’s the only logical reason that you’re going through with this, because you absolutely should be getting out of here, and you’re not even trying. You haven’t even begun to try, at any point in this adventure.

The Perfect Man might as well be a droid for how much you want to fuck him – that is to say, not at all – but he’s hovering over you on the bed, and you’ve got your knees up so he can keep shoving his perfect fingers inside you, and it feels good.

“Yeah? You a little slut for my fingers?” he goads, making you gasp and clench around them — not in desire, but in anger.

You hate that fucker.

He won’t stop saying things like that, and it’s absolutely murdering the vibe. With how wet and achy you are, you probably would have cum by now if he wasn’t so set on being a jerk for no reason. It’s one thing to withhold the hookup with the masked man that you thought you were going to get, but it’s entirely something else to be treated like this by some gorgeous freak of nature. 

The Perfect Man pulls his fingers out to trap your clit between his knuckles, and you swear there isn’t a single emotion behind those eyes. Bland and selfish and uncaring, they bore into you while the drug forces your pussy to respond to his touch. You get wetter and more swollen, and you practically glare up at him, letting him know with your eyes that you don’t like him, not one little bit. 

“You know,” he says, releasing your clit to rub it a little softer with his thumb, “I get paid whether or not you pass.”

“So do I,” you retort, because you’re pretty sure that’s what you’ve been told. 

“Oh, come on.” He tilts his head and slow-blinks at you like you’re being stupid on purpose. “Everyone wants to be in his bed for this cruise. Don’t tell me you don’t know how much it pays to fuck him.”

No, no you don’t.

“Of c-course,” you stutter breathlessly. You’re clenching your cunt and trying not to cum because fuck this guy, even though you can’t seem to tell him to stop, since your body does like this quite a bit.

“Then you know—“ The man winds his hand back and gives your ass a sharp smack that hurts. “...that you’d better cum.”

You lock your jaw shut after the initial gasp of shock, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that spank affected you. He must see it in your eyes a little, though, that flash of humiliation that you couldn’t hide. That beautiful pain in your ass narrows his eyes at you, running his gaze over your clenched fists and braced body.

“You’re supposed to be submissive.”

And he’s supposed to be a scarred man in a mask. 

“Guess I’m not feeling submissive,” you grit back, pushing your knees closer together because you don’t like the way he’s looking at your pussy.

“Too bad.” His fingers wander up between your legs again, making your cunt flutter when he pushes them inside. “You’ll fail the test.”

Okay, that’s actually feeling really good. He’s pushing up nice and tight against your g-spot, and Maker you need to cum. You’ve never been this wet before, so turned on that every bit of your flesh feels alert and flooded with arousal. 

“Yeah,” he purrs, when you surrender and open your knees wide again. “Yeah, you like that, you little slut.”

So, you’ve never broken anyone’s nose before, but you’re sorely tempted now. You could just whip your foot up and crack your shin bone across his face, and it would feel better than any orgasm this slimeball could give you. 

He uses his other hand this time to slap your ass, smirking when you yelp and go tight around his fingers. 

“Aww, what’s the matter? You’re almost there, I can tell. Cum for me. You can do it.”

You won’t. 

Smack. “C’mon.”

No.

Smack. “I know that pretty cunt’s gotta be feeling so uncomfortable, with the juice you took. Let it happen.”

You’re grateful for the spankings. You focus on them, letting the pain distract you each time so you don’t accidentally give him the satisfaction of pleasing you. It’s bad enough that you find yourself whimpering and tightening up for him every time he hits you. It’s bad enough that you’re dripping down his fingers and going hazy with how good each thrust feels.  

You cannot let yourself cum.

The Perfect Man’s eyes flick up to a display you never noticed before, and you’re too upside down and far away to tell what it says. But when he glances back down at you, there’s ugly determination in his face. That’s all the warning you get before he’s wrapping his hand around the front of your throat and pinning you to the bed with it.

“Hey–” you sputter, clasping your hands around his wrist, but all of a sudden your mind whites out with the feeling of a finger rapidly working our clit. 

He’s not choking you, but there’s a definite gleam of competition in his eyes while he smirks down at your startled face. Your eyes widen with a new kind of horror, when you realize he’s going to force you to cum now. You don’t want to cum for him, but the drug is pushing you towards it despite everything, and the hand on your neck makes you forget every other option you have. 

All you’d need to do is snap your knees closed, or kick him, or literally just tell him to stop, but now all of your mental energy is narrowed onto that inescapable stimulation on your swollen clit. He’s apparently hell-bent on making you submit to him, and the fingers around your throat have your brain clicking into that space all on its own. All you can do is whine pitifully up at that disgustingly beautiful stranger, and mentally beg him to stop rubbing your clit like that, beg him to spank you again or deny your release or literally anything but make you cum like this when you don’t want to.

Everything goes tight and hot inside you, and your eyes slide shut so that when you cum, you at least don’t have to be looking at someone you hate. 

But then a twittering couple of beeps sounds from somewhere behind you, and to your shock, The Perfect Man instantly stops moving. His hand unlocks from your neck, and his fingers disappear from your pussy.

He sighs, wiping his fingers off on your stomach as if he’s bored now. “Time’s up. Too bad for you.”

Wait, you did it?

You failed the test. 

You lay there panting and weak and dripping your arousal onto the bed, and somehow you talked yourself into not cumming, and that means you failed the test. 

“I’ll have your clothes sent in.”

That… that means… this was all for nothing. 

You watch that chiseled torso turn and disappear out the door – notably with no tent in his pants – and straighten your legs back out because you didn’t cum, and that means it was all for nothing. This entire excursion was just a chance for you to get called a slut and fingered by the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, and then not even cum.

You still need it, so, so bad.

You find yourself thinking about it, as you sit up in the empty room. Picturing the orgasm you were supposed to have, with that masked guy. The voice you were supposed to have talking you through it, maybe even telling you nice things about your body or performance. It’s not fair that you didn’t get it. You went through the wringer just now, and you deserve that orgasm. 

Automatically your head turns to the door the masked man left through, and before you know it, you’re following your impulses again. It’s your pussy guiding you now instead of your loneliness, but you listen. You put your hand on the controls and somehow find it completely unlocked, swooshing open for you and revealing a dim room.

There isn’t a single display visible here. No glowing lights of electronic panels, no clocks, no buttons or switches to speak of. It’s a plain, rustic sort of bedroom, with one large bed low to the ground, a wide chair, and a large window looking out into empty space beyond. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You don’t jump at the sound of his modulated voice, you barely even twitch. It’s like your body was just expecting it, prepared for the difference in timbre from the too-beautiful man before. 

“I know,” you admit, turning your head to find him as just a shadow in the corner. “I just — I failed the test.”

“Disappointing,” he muses, taking a step towards the middle of the room, where there’s more light to see him. “You may have a higher tolerance for Jucinthe than most.”

Your tolerance is just fine, judging by the way your cunt is grinding into itself and your arousal is currently dripping down your left thigh. But you don’t want to insult him or his stupid, unnecessary drug.

The masked man does that thing again, where he appears suddenly right in front of you, and this time it feels good. It feels like he’s supposed to be this close to your body, like it makes sense that he’d come here to talk to you and touch you. 

But that’s the thing, you’re not certain he will. You feel like he’s a second away from escorting your naked ass out of here, and you can’t let that happen.

“Give me another hit,” you rush, pussy throbbing unbearably. “I— I can perform.”

The man doesn’t even blink, just goes absolutely motionless and stares down at you. Then he turns his head, takes a few steps to the side to find a drawer, and returns with another dose. 

You don’t complain when you feel that pinch in your arm again. You’ve got your eyes locked into his face, without an ounce of uncertainty existing in your body this time. You’re too horny to be shy. You got past all that with his ridiculous test, and now it’s just time to fuck who you came here to fuck.

Only, the man drops your arm, and then takes a seat on the lone chair, and just watches you without a word.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You ask desperately, trying not to touch yourself like a pervert.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” You’re getting upset now, raising your voice and turning your head to glance at the perfectly serviceable bed right over there. “Why would you inject me again if you weren’t going to fuck me?”

There’s a bit of a smile in his voice, somehow. “You demanded it.”

Oh, Maker, this is bad. This is the worst, this is— and your pussy— And there’s nothing you can— 

“Please.” It comes out in a little whimper, as you stand there and flex your thighs together, rubbing at the sting in your arm. 

“You think I want someone who needs two doses of Jucinthe to fuck me?”

“I didn’t even need one dose, asshole.” 

Shit. 

You clap your hand to your mouth in shock, uncomprehending how you just heard those words come out of you, in your own voice. They just poured out before you could stop it, with how overworked your nerves are right now, and that weird, fuzzy feeling in your brain when you’re around him.

There’s such a heavy silence then, it makes you want to die. Maybe taking two doses and then not getting to cum will kill you, actually. It’s not like you know anything about that drug.

“Do you know who I am?” The man finally asks, getting to his feet. 

“Uhh…” your eyes track over him frantically, searching for clues. “A… m-mayor… of some… war zone?”

That makes him laugh, for some reason. He turns his face away and barks into his mask, his shoulders shaking a little with it. 

And with how robotic his voice sounds through the mask, you absolutely cannot tell if it’s a happy laugh, or an I’m-about-to-kill-you chuckle.

“Go lay down,” he finally says, inclining his head towards the bed. “You’re a terrible prostitute.”

But he’s shrugging off his outer clothes, and that means you won. 

With mortifying eagerness, you race to the bed and sprawl out on it, soaking in the sensation of cool satin under your flushed skin. It’s like every possible nerve in your body is awake and getting feedback from even the air surrounding you. Your pulse is a discernible throb in your clit, and you swear your nipples feel good just for existing right now, contracted tight as if they’re being touched. 

You only exist to be fucked right now. That’s what your body’s for, soft and dripping and swollen for it. That’s what your mind is for, blank and stupid and uncaring of how you’re handled now. You don’t care at all, when it’s him.

You’re watching your masked man without realizing it, as he removes the last of his clothes. Your head is turned and your eyes are lingering on the lean muscle, the fine-tuned physique that doesn’t typically exist in the occupation of mayor. He looks like a fighter more than anything, with so many scars and large areas of grafted skin, you can’t even comprehend how badly he was hurt.

It’s not until he approaches that you wrench your gaze back up to his face, and away from the definite hardness between his legs. Your brain goes fuzzy again when he wraps his hands under your hips and drags you to the edge of the bed. 

“Why did you fail the test?” He asks quietly, running the underside of his shaft forward and back through your messy folds.

“Um—“ Your eyes flick back and forth between his face and your disgustingly needy pussy, mesmerized by the sensation of getting pushed towards an orgasm just from that minuscule contact on your clit. “I wasn’t attracted to him.”

“Really?” He stops moving to frown down at you. “What do you require, the Maker himself?”

“N-no, I—“ your words cut off to a whine, when you feel him slipping lower, teasing the head of his cock slightly into your pussy. 

You’re gonna cum. The instant he pushed that into you, you’re just going to start cumming on it. The realization has your toes curling and tears springing to your eyes, as you helplessly lay there and wait for relief.

“Tell me,” he prompts, wrapping his hand around the back of your thigh to push your knee up and out. 

That stupid fuzz infiltrates your mind again, and all you can do is confess in a rush, “I like s-scars. And— hnnggh— masks— and scary blue eyes.”

You don’t even really register that he’s penetrated you, you just know that you’re cumming. Your head flexes back and you gasp and pant and practically yell it into the quiet room, while your cunt spasms so hard it almost hurts. 

“Stars,” the man mutters, thrusting carefully, just enough to prolong your perfect agony. “Scary blue eyes. You really are the worst prostitute.”

“I’m not a prostitute.” It comes out before you can stop it, and by the time you’ve clamped both hands over your mouth, the damage is already done. 

The masked man goes motionless above you again. He ignores your damp, pleading eyes to grab your wrists and pry them away from your face, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head.

“What did you say?” he practically purrs, boring those scary blues into your soul until you can’t even stand it. 

There must be some kind of truth serum in that aphrodisiac, because even though you’re lifting your hips in an unconscious bid for more fucking, it’s literally impossible to shut yourself up.  

“I’m just some nobody on the cruise,” you babble. “I accidentally wandered in here, and I have no idea what happened to the prostitute you hired, and I only wanted to fuck you, and—“

He cuts you off with a firm roll of his hips, making your fingers curl themselves in pleasure above each of his fists. “And?” He prompts again.

“I’m going to cum again,” you admit in a small voice, just as the orgasm starts licking through your pelvis. 

It’s not fair. He’s making you blab, and cum, and there’s nothing you can do because he’s still holding you down, and you like it. You accept that crackling fire in your bloodstream, enjoying the way it’s a little sharper than the first time you came, pushing you a little more out of control with each wet spasm.

When you return to your senses again, he’s released your wrists and pulled out. You have a split second moment of panic that he’s going to leave you now, but he just tucks his hand under your lower back and tosses you to the middle of the bed, like it’s nothing. 

Your legs are shaking and weak, but you still hold them open for him when he settles himself over you. You still gasp and flutter around his cock when he gives it to you deep and hard, and to your absolute shock you just start cumming again. 

There’s a muttered curse above you, and you can’t tell if he’s mad at what your body is doing, or intrigued, but it humiliates you all the same.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp between breaths, once your head clears, “I didn’t mean to cum.”

The man sighs, and pulls almost all the way out of you, glancing down your naked bodies to see all those sticky lines of your arousal connecting to your skin. “You’ve made a mess on me.”

“Sorry,” you whisper again.

“Hmmm.” His eyes wander back up to your face, your sweaty hair sticking to your neck, and whatever fucked-out expression you have on. And then you feel his thumb sliding over your clit, beginning to rub a relentless circle there while he begins to fuck you in earnest. 

“W-wait—“ you whimper, shoving your hands down your stomach, but stopping there because it suddenly feels too good to pull his hand away. 

“It’s okay,” he tells you, as if he can pick up on the conflict in your mind. “No one else knows, it’s alright.”

Your stomach tightens with something unfamiliar and vicious, and you feel an actual tear slide into your hair with the way your eyes are watering all on their own. Your knees tremble on either side of him, while he tilts his head to watch the emotions flash across your face. 

But whatever he sees melts away into absolute pleasure, as your eyes roll back with that thunder clap of an orgasm. It feels good at first, and then it hurts, and then—

You’re squirting. All over him. You can hear it, and you can feel it, alongside a fresh wave of sensation you can’t escape. You can’t escape it, because he won’t stop rubbing your clit and fucking you, even when it turns into raw overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” you wail, “Oh, m-maker, I’m so sorry— fuck.” Your voice trails off into an overwhelmed whine, and your knees clamp into his hips.

And then you squirt again. 

You’re not even sure if you’re cumming this time. You’re not sure that it matters. He’s not trying to make you cum, he’s trying to make you humiliate yourself in every way he can come up with. 

He’s breathing hard, when you’re finally able to blink the water out of your eyes and focus on his face again. “What the fuck,” he mutters to himself, running his hand down your damp body. “What the fuck.”

You’re too exhausted to process anything new. All you can do is let him keep rolling his hips into you, and just be grateful he’s leaving your clit alone. Both of your lower bodies are wet with what just happened. The bed is wet. There’s an obvious sound of something slick and slutty getting fucked, and there’s nothing you can do but tilt your pelvis up to get him a little deeper, and try not to be embarrassed by it. 

“I like you,” he says, for some reason, resting his eyes on your face. “I really like you.”

And that has a completely different sort of warmth expanding inside you, filling your lungs with something soft and pink. 

You’re doing a good job, and he likes you. 

“Thanks,” you say stupidly. “I like you too.”

He exhales heavily, bringing his forearms down to frame your shoulders, and smoothing his hand over your hair. “You gonna cum again?”

“I’ll try not to,” you offer.

“Don’t need to do that. We’re going to go slow now, okay? If you need to cum, just let it happen.”

You blink stupidly up at him and whisper, “Thank you, sir.”

“Mmmph.” You can feel his cock jump a little inside you. “Do not call me that.”

“Sorry.” You’re starting to not be able to tell when you’re about to cum. You’re quite afraid it’s just going to slam into you out of nowhere, so you close your eyes to try to concentrate on what you’re feeling. 

A thumb swipes that little trail of wetness on your temple, stroking it into your hairline. “Oh, you are so pretty.”

You gasp out a startled cry, your face screwing up as you begin to cum again. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” He slow-fucks you through it, grinding in deep to make your toes curl at the pleasure-pain in your cervix. “You’re doing so good. There you go. Aww, there you go.”

You just start convulsing around him again because he won’t stop bullying himself against your cervix. Your eyes spring open with a fresh wall of water blocking your vision, panting through the aching shockwaves. 

Finally your gaze focuses on his face, blinking the tears away and just staring up at him like he’s some force-blessed entity you never knew existed. 

“Do you have one more for me?” he asks, dragging his thumb alone the line of your jaw. 

“No,” you lie.

“Yeah, you do. Come on, you’ll feel better. Just one more.”

You shake your head slightly, fighting your body, even though you know he’s right. You really do need to cum all of that stuff out of your system, but you feel so vulnerable right now. You feel like you want to kiss, but he’s got that metal thing on, so all you can do is blink at him and focus on every place where your bodies are connected. 

Your clit keeps getting smushed with every drop of his hips, and even though you feel like the next orgasm is going to flatten you, it’s coming whether you like it or not. He’s being relentless with his thrusts, and it’s starting to feel warm and gooey between your legs again. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, finding his fingers with yours, and stroking them gently. 

His eyes lower to watch that touch you’re doing, but you soon lose track of them when your tired pussy begins to pulse again, and a little dribble of liquid comes out of you, onto the bed below. 

“Good girl. That’s going to feel better, isn’t it?”

Fuck, it won’t stop. That orgasm clings to you, raking through your pelvis and continuing to ruin the sheets every time he bumps your clit. 

“Please,” is all you can manage to communicate, clamping your hand into his wrist and tilting your hips up for something deeper.

So he gives it to you. He shoves his elbows higher on the bed and fucks you hard. Makes stars explode in your vision while he grunts and gasps his release into your body. 

It’s over. Finally, you’re finished.

He seems to have some trouble meeting your eyes after that. You both do, if you’re being honest. You catch your breath while he climbs off you, because between Quorl and what just happened, you’re practically disabled in the leg department. You just stay there, sweaty and twitching, while he efficiently puts his clothes back on. 

“Stay there,” he orders, accessing a door you didn’t notice before. 

And then he’s gone.

And the fucking weight of what you just did settles like a stone in your gut.

You spring to action, stumbling to the other door you came through, and you practically sob in relief to see your clothes folded there on the small couch. You don’t even bother putting shoes on, just throw the necessary things haphazardly on your body, and then roll the rest into a ball and tuck it under your arm. 

The entry room is empty, when you peek your head in. There’s no sign of that hateful pretty guy, or the droid, so you just take your opportunity for what it is, and book it.

You race through the rich people hallway and back to the transport belts, and then there’s this euphoric rush of relief when you wedge yourself in with all the other unimportant life forms. 

You did it.

_________________________

“How was your nooner?” Your friend asks brightly, turning all the lights on as she walks through the room.

Groaning, you toss your arm over your eyes and try to bury yourself farther in blankets. Exhausted, you had just managed to fall asleep when she came back. 

“It was fine,” you grumble, blinking and squinting at her. “Did you win?”

“Seventy-third place,” she gripes. “I think they were cheating.”

“Well, that’s Quorl. You lose some, you lose some.”

“Ha-ha,” she returns, planting her ass on your bed and ruffling your hair. “You definitely won’t win if you never try.”

“Yeah, but it’s a lot safer that way.”

There’ll be a lot fewer warlord beds you find yourself in, when you stick to your normal life and never try anything new, ever again. 

Now you just have to never show your face on this ship, and stay anonymous, and forget the afternoon ever happened. You can do that, you’re good at staying hidden. You’re nobody, remember?

Except, you can’t be late.

That’s the only thing, you can’t let yourself be late again.

[silvery-orchid]

Okay but imagine: prostitute! reader x neuvillette. Do you see the vision?

Do you see how insane that power dynamic would be? Do you understand how he would hate your other clients? The medical checkups he would force you to take?

The way you would slowly start to lose customers because odd things have been happening to the bussiness that sustains their relationship to you. Maybe he knows your reason for why you choose that profession or maybe he doesn't actually even care because he needs a place and a person who doesn't rely on him or sees him as a perfect ideal. He has always been so curious about humans and he cannot help when that curiosity takes over and mixes with his dragon instincts huehue.

The way you would have to sit there and watch him sentence one of your good friends only to end up on your knees sucking on his cock because he pays good money and he brought you here and you should be thankful it wasn't you up there.

The sex would go crazy, insane that is obvious but the fact you are the ONLY thing chief justice Neuvillette cannot help but try to hold for himself? The way you would be his only dirty secret and crime???

Nobody else pays more money and he just waits until your debts are repayed so that you can stop making him jealous when he walks in and sees new jewellery from someone else. Stop servicing other men !! The rains are heavy enough already!! If he wants to pay outlandish sums of money to fuck someone else's cum out of you, you will let him !!

Seriously, just stop the masquerades to meet and let him pay off your debts so you can change your identity and be only his !!

[strafepanzer]

i’m queen (of sandcastles he destroys) | y.endo

▸ ▸ ▸warnings: 18+ mdni, prostitution, voyerism, creampie

▸ ▸ ▸word count: 700ish words

▸ ▸ ▸a/n: the beginning.. i do promise more. i am feeling crazyyy

Endo watches from his vantage point, unable to take his eyes away.

It’s been years since something has awakened anything remotely explosive inside him, since he’s felt what he’s feeling now. Hell, it's been a decade since high school.

Your eyes stay locked on Endo’s as the stranger tugs your dress up, and up, and up, his mouth on your neck, your hands on his shoulders keeping you grounded. There’s a ghost of a smile on your face as he ravages you, as he drops his pants, as he lifts one of your legs over his hip.

The look on your face changes as the man pushes against you, into you, his ass muscles tensing and head dropping to your tits. Your head falls back against the dirty wall of the alley, the security light above you illuminating your face, the shine of your eyes almost ethereal as you meet Endo’s again.

Shit.

He’s half a mind to jump over the railing, abandoning his smoking spot on the third floor’s fire escape. But this… Watching?

His pants tighten when the man finally elicits a moan from your pretty mouth, and Endo takes a long drag on his cigarette to compensate.

The man kisses up your neck, your jaw, catches your lips in a messy, wet kiss, but your eyes stay on Endo’s. Even as your hands travel up the man’s neck, into his hair, as he groans deep and low, as he fucks into you desperately, as he pushes a strap from your dress and exposes one of your breasts to the crisp night air, your eyes stay on his.

Endo sucks his lip ring, worries it between his teeth, watches as you tug at his hair roughly to pull his mouth away from yours, as you lean forward to sink your teeth into his neck.

Fuck, Endo thinks, practically feeling your teeth against his skin.

"Fuck," the man curses, the sound of wet skin slapping together intensifying. "Fuck, baby, yeah," he breathes, voice trailing higher and higher with each thrust of his hips against yours.

"You can come inside," you promise, those captivating eyes of yours staring into Endo’s, your voice carrying across the alley and up to him.

"Shit, baby, yeah… God your pussy, your fucking pussy…" he moans, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting one last time before he stills.

Ash falls from the end of Endo’s cigarette.

The man pulls away from you, and you finally break your spell, dropping your eyes to your body to fix your dress— pulling the strap up, tugging the skirt down. Then you’re opening your purse, holding your hand out.

He fixes himself too, the jingle of a belt, a sweaty hand through mussed hair. "How much?"

"Two fifty."

"You said one fifty!"

"You came inside me, bozo."

"You said I could!" He whines. You level a glare with him, and he gives in, slapping the money in your palm and watching you count it. "Are you gonna be working next weekend too?" He sounds hopeful, sounds nervous.

You shrug as you fold the bills and slide them into your purse. "Do you want me to work next weekend, sweetie?"

"H- I," he laughs awkwardly. "Y-yeah, it’d be good to see you again. You’re just, ah, god you’re so beautiful—"

"You should go," you interrupt him, looking left and right. "I’m not actually allowed to do this; that’s what the brothels are for."

"Right! Yes! Okay! Well, I’ll… I’ll uh,"

"Bye," you wave, sending him running with a fake smile.

A minute goes past. You reach into your purse and pull out a cigarette. "Got a light?”

Endo laughs. Head thrown back, eyes to the moon, laughter. “No, I lit the cig I was smoking the entire time that dude fucked you with my mind."

You level him with a look, but there’s humour behind your eyes. "You could have looked away at any moment, but you didn’t. Do you want a turn?"

Mirth glows in his eyes. "You’re full of come."

Your smile widens. "Yeah, I know."

He stares down at you, a used toy.

Glorious.

Endo snuffs what’s left of his cig into the metal step at his ass, grins wide as he leans a little closer to the railing to stare down at you. "You wanna just do it down there?"

A pout forms on your petal lips as you contemplate his question. "Is that your apartment?" You ask, putting the cigarette away and fiddling with your hair as he nods. One look to the left, one to the right, and you’re stepping a little closer, craning your neck to look up at him. "You got ramen?"

Giddiness bubbles up inside him at the prospect of you in his bed. On his couch. Against his dirty kitchen bench. His pretty, dirty, used thing.

"I’ll buzz you up."

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Job (Part 1)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 23. Forced to Watch, Alt 25. Stalked Fandom: Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby, f!reader, prostitute!reader Summary: Tommy has been hiring you for your services for a while now, but this is the first time he has asked you for help concerning his family business... Word Count: 3205 TW: Fighting, Razor Blades, Blood, Forced to Watch, Stalked, Prostitution, Reader as Bait, Smoking, Implied Death Notes: A HUGE thanks to @loverhymeswith who not only sent me the ask that inspired this fic and supported its writing, but also for getting me into Peaky Blinders in the first place! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Mastlist (coming soon)

Part 1, Part 2

“I want to hire you for a job.”

You grinned at Tommy over your shoulder as you finished buttoning up your blouse and began to pull on your skirt. “I’m pretty sure you just did.”

But Tommy didn’t seem amused by your joke. His piercing blue eyes stared at you for a long moment, his face void of emotion and completely unreadable. Then he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. As he placed it between his lips, he said, “A different sort of job. On Friday night, I need you to make yourself look pretty and go down to The Marquis of Lorne.”

“The Marquis of—” you turned to look at him straight on. “Why would you want me to go to that pub when The Garrison is right here? Places like that on the edge of your territory… People there don’t always take kindly to me. Not with my reputation and all that.”

Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette. “It’s precisely because of your reputation that I’m asking you to go.”

Placing your hands on your hips, you asked, “And why, pray tell, is that? What are you expecting me to do once I’m there? Because I’ve told you before, I pick who I service and I won’t have you demanding–”

“It’s nothing like that,” Tommy said, calmly. “Like I already told you, it’s a different sort of job. Your reputation alone is more than enough to fit my needs. Just go to The Marquis, order a few drinks ‘til you’ve created the illusion you’ve become intoxicated, and then walk out the pub, simple as that. I’ll be waiting for you after at my stables down by the canal.” 

“And why do I feel like that’s not your whole plan? It still doesn’t explain why The Marquis and not some other pub.”

Tommy tapped the end of his cigarette into the glass of water you had left out on the table. You had scolded him about doing so countless times but now did not seem like the moment to comment on it. Raising the cigarette to his lips once more, he said, “There is a new gang trying to move in on our territories. They think we haven’t noticed and we mean to put an end to it before they realize we caught on. They frequent The Marquis on Friday nights so I need you to go in, get their attention, and once you have made them believe your tongue is nice and loose, I want you to start spilling all of the Peaky Blinders’s secrets— the false ones I tell you to say, of course.”

“Ahhh…” you nodded, the final pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “You want me to make them believe you’ve let slip sensitive information when you come to me for my services. Which is why you want me for my reputation. They’ll think Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore has caught him with his pants down in more ways than one.”

“I’ve always said you were a clever one.” For the first time since he had gotten dressed, something akin to a smile ghosted across Tommy’s lips. 

Walking over to where he was sitting, you plucked the cigarette from his fingers and placed it in your mouth. You inhaled before slowly blowing the smoke out right in Tommy’s face. “So, that’s it? I provide these fools who are crazy enough to try and challenge you false information on the Peaky Blinders and then just go along my way?”

Tommy ignored the smoke as he reached out and took his cigarette back, his fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed against yours. “Like you said, these men are fools. They’ll believe your deception. And when you leave the pub announcing you are going to sleep it off in one of the Peaky Blinders’s empty stash houses, they will follow you. And I will be waiting.”

You had to admit, it was a clever plan. Due to the popularity of the Peaky Blinders and the constant gossip surrounding them, everyone throughout Birmingham knew who you were and about your weekly dealings with Tommy Shelby. Everywhere you went, whispers seemed to follow you and you often caught people pointing or staring. Not that you usually minded. It was actually rather good for business. After all, what man wouldn’t want to say they had bedded the same woman as the head of the Peaky Blinders?

But while you had been servicing Tommy weekly for almost a year, he had never asked you to get involved in any Peaky Blinders business before this. In fact, Tommy had made it very clear from the start that you were to have no part in that aspect of his life. You were his momentary escape, a place where he could spend an hour or so without the weight of the world on his shoulders. So for him to come to you now asking this…. He must be more concerned about the other gang than he was letting on.

“And what happens once I lead them to the stables? I’m guessing you aren’t looking for a friendly chat.”

“You just get them there and leave the rest to me,” Tommy said as he dropped the remains of his cigarette butt into your glass of water. Standing, he placed his large hands on your shoulders and gave you a tight smile. “So, do we have an arrangement?”

Biting your lip, you mulled the question over for a moment. Tommy was a brilliant strategist and you had no doubt his plan would work. But his brush off of your questions about what happened afterward had a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. However, it was ill-advised to say no to someone as powerful as Thomas Shelby, so somewhat reluctantly, you said, “Fine. But I expect double my usual fee.”

“Done.” Tommy gave your shoulders a soft squeeze then turned to grab his cap off the table. “I’ll send Polly around in the morning with the details of what you should say. She can also help you find something to wear. Then head to The Marquis on Friday at seven and you know what to do.” 

His hand reached for the door, but you called out, “Tommy” – he paused and turned to face you – “I’ll do what you want this once because it’s you who’s asking, but I’m not a Peaky Blinder. And I won’t have anything else to do with their business or transgressions. I don’t want to be involved with that lot. Are we understood?” 

For a moment, Tommy didn’t move as he stared at you, save for one exaggerated blink of his icy blue eyes. You wondered if you went too far and said something you shouldn’t have. But then, he nodded, his tongue sliding across his full lips. “Understood.”

You smiled in relief and ducked your head, but before you could thank him, Tommy walked out the door.

As with most of Tommy’s plans, everything that Friday night went exactly as he predicted. Polly ended up bringing you a flashy new dress to wear that Tommy had purchased and from the moment you stepped into The Marquis of Lorne, you felt the weight of dozens of eyes on you. From there, it was easy to loudly drop Tommy’s name and your connection to him as you pretended to drink—as well as your “top secret” facts about the Peaky Blinders. Your table was soon swarmed by the gang members you were targeting, each offering to buy you another drink in the hopes of loosening your tongue further.

As the night wore on, a few of the men began getting more familiar with you than you were comfortable with, but you maintained your drunken facade and smiled through it. In your line of work, you had dealt with much worse before. However after one man stuck his hand up the bottom of your dress, you decided things had gone far enough and you rose unsteadily to your feet as you announced you were taking your leave. The men tried to convince you to stay or let them walk you home, but you insisted you would be alright on your own—there was an empty Peaky Blinders stash house nearby that you could sleep in for the night. You bit your lip to hide the smile threatening to break across your face as all the men’s eyes grew wide and they exchanged telling glances. Tommy Shelby, you are one brilliant man.

As you made your way out of the pub and into the foggy night, you could hear the men following close behind you. This was the part of the plan that concerned you the most. Back in the pub, there were other patrons who would step in if one of the men went too far or you called out for help. But out here on the empty road in the middle of the night, you doubted anyone would come to your aid if the men decided to approach you. You just had to trust Tommy knew what he was talking about and they would be more interested in finding the fake stash house than harassing you. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as Tommy’s stable came into view. He had promised to meet you but as you got closer, there was no sign that anyone was there. Hesitating by the door, you wondered what you should do. There was no back door that you knew of so if something had happened and Tommy wasn’t there, you would be trapped inside alone with the gang between you and the only way out. But even if you decided to leave and continue on down the road, the gang would continue following you until they eventually grew suspicious and confronted you. So there was really no choice. You said a quick, silent prayer that Tommy was waiting for you, and you stepped inside.

You continued walking until you reached the far wall of the stable, but still, no Tommy. Your heart was beating furiously in your chest as the men behind you began to call out to you—crude, drunken taunts, and horrifying descriptions of what they were going to do to you. Spinning around, you looked everywhere desperately trying to find anything you could use to protect yourself with, but there were only a few hay bales. Trembling, you sunk to the ground and waited for the worst to come.

But just as the closest man was about to reach you, a figure stepped into the doorway of the stable, eclipsing the moonlight that had been illuminating the darkened space. Relief flooded through you as you recognized that familiar silhouette. Tommy had kept his word.

The men all turned and must have recognized him a few seconds after you did because a hushed murmur rippled through their group as they looked at him. Despite the fact they very obviously outnumbered him, you could sense the air of fear emanating from them, and you couldn’t blame them. While he may only be one man, this was Tommy Fucking Shelby they were facing. And that should be enough to terrify an army of men. 

Tommy began to slowly walk forward, closing the distance between him and the men. As he slipped his jacket off and tossed it to the side, he called out in a strong voice that filled the stable, “Word on the streets is that you boys are trying to move in on our territory. Take things that are ours while you think we aren’t looking.” 

He gestured to where you were still huddled on the ground. Now that he had come closer, you could just make out his face. He raised one eyebrow at you, a silent query if you were alright. You nodded shakily and rose to your feet, still pressed tightly against the wall. You felt his eyes scanning you for anything amiss, and he gave a satisfied nod when he deemed you safe. 

Then, addressing the men once more, he continued. “You are not the first to think you could come for the Peaky Blinders and I am certain you won’t be the last. But I’m here to make certain that after tonight, you won’t be a problem any longer.”

Tommy came to a stop—his heels clicking loudly together—just a few inches before the closest man. Though his back was to you, you could tell the man was frightened by the way his hands shook as he raised them in the air. 

Tommy smiled at the gesture…. then ripped off his cap and slashed it across the man’s throat.

You gasped in horror and pressed your hands to your mouth as a trail of blood flew through the air and splattered on the floor. Almost in slow motion, the man dropped to his knees, a horrendous gurgling emanating from his ruined throat. Then Tommy swung his cap again, using the razorblades sewn in the brim to finish the job, and the man toppled over without another sound.

The stable burst into chaos. The rest of the men rushed at Tommy but he was ready for them. Normally, it would have been near impossible odds with Tommy outnumbered so, but the men had been drinking very heavily back in the pub and their senses were dulled considerably. Tommy was able to avoid most of their attacks while landing blow after blow on the men—his razorblades sending blood flying with every swing.

You of course knew of the Peaky Blinders’s signature weapon of choice, yet this was the first time you had seen anyone use it in action. It was a horrendously strange sight to see: Tommy swinging something so innocuous as his tweed flat cap at the other men just for a burst of crimson blood to bloom in that same spot. And the fluid manner in which Tommy ducked and dodged, weaving his way from one man to the next, was almost beautiful in a way. Like a dancer taking the stage—stage made of blood.

There was no avoiding it. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, burning your nose. Somehow, it even blocked out the pungent smells from all of the horses. Even in only the pale glow from the moonlight, everywhere you looked was dripping red. You had only been spared because you had dove sideways to huddle behind the hay bales next to you once the attack began, but they had taken the full brunt of the carnage. Blood was slowly filtering through the tightly packed hay as it traveled downward toward the ground—the pool on the floor steadily creeping closer to your feet.

You had to escape this massacre as soon as possible.

Eventually, you saw an opening but just as you gathered up your dress to make a dash to freedom, Tommy spun around and pointed one blood-soaked finger at you. “You! Stay where you are.”

You froze, unsure of your next move. Tommy had never said anything about you remaining once you had done your part. Your only job was to lure the men to the stable and he would take care of the rest. Surely he didn’t mean for you to remain here to witness this slaughter?

And yet, he remained standing there with all of his focus on you despite his remaining enemies still swarming around him, blood dripping off of the end of his outstretched finger. So you did the only thing you could. You released your dress, letting the fabric fall once more to the ground, and nodded to him even as you shrank back behind the hay bales, quivering in fear. 

Seemingly satisfied that you wouldn’t attempt to bolt again, Tommy slowly lowered his hand and turned back to the melee. There were only a few men still standing—the others were left moaning on the ground as they clutched at their wounds, or worse still, some lay perfectly still in growing pools of their own blood. 

With fewer opponents charging him at once, Tommy took a new, less frantic approach to the fight. Instead of attacking with the blades sewn into his hat, he began to use his fists— the sound of breaking bones echoing throughout the open area as his knuckles slammed into noses and cheekbones. One man even dropped like a stone as Tommy drove his fist into the man’s jaw. 

And you were forced to watch it all, terrified of what Tommy might do if you even glanced away. The one saving grace that made it even slightly bearable was that the clouds had shifted to partially cover the moon, hindering the visibility inside the stable. But that did nothing to shield you from the sounds or smells surrounding you.

Finally—mercifully—Tommy struck down the last of the gang members. He stood in the middle of the stable, chest heaving, as he looked around at the carnage surrounding him. Like this, he resembled some ancient god of war reveling in his battlefield, washed in the blood of his enemies.

Satisfied the fight was over, he picked his way through the maze of bodies on the floor and stopped before your hiding place. He held out his hand to you, but you ignored it, unable to touch the blood that coated it. Instead, you stepped out from behind the hay bales on your own and stood before him, unable to meet his eye.

He leaned in close until his face was only a breath’s distance from you and he said, “Next time I pay you for a service, you don’t leave until you are given permission. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, Tommy,” you managed to choke out, tears stinging your eyes.

His eyes flickered over you, and even with such a slight gesture, you felt the weight of his gaze as it examined every inch of you. You had stood bare in front of Thomas Shelby more times than you could count, had him thrust into the deepest part of your core on a weekly basis, and yet, you had never felt as exposed or vulnerable as you did right now.

As his eyes settled once more on your face, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a stack of money. He placed it on the hay bale beside you and you shuttered to see his bloody fingerprints stained on the top bill. 

“I included a little extra for your trouble.” Your eyes snapped back up to look at him. Despite the circumstances, Tommy’s voice was as calm and level as always. It was the sort of tone one would expect to hear him use when he visited the church or held a business meeting, not when standing there surrounded by the corpses of his enemies and dyed red with their blood. 

“Now you are free to go.” He turned and walked calmly back towards the stable entrance. Pausing only momentarily to pick up his jacket, he slid it on in one fluid motion as he added, his back still turned towards you, “I’ll be round Wednesday at my normal time.” 

Then he disappeared into the foggy night, leaving you alone surrounded by the ghastly horror he had wrought. 

Part 2 coming soon and it will be much more relationship-heavy (plus pretty steamy😉)!

[sirensea14]

Can you draw Milo? (Which is KC in your story, remember?)

I wonder what he looks like! :)

NAME: Milo Starrling

AGE: 9 years old

GENDER: Male

APPEARANCE:

Red hair, green eyes, light skin.

Wearing an oversized yellow-orange striped shirt paired with orange shorts.

PERSONALITY:

Calm and cool. Always showing off something he deems cool, especially does it to the orphans during freetime. Does well in the History subject, but he can't handle Math. Playful and quite troublesome in recess and freetime. So rowdy he managed to catch some adults tweaking something under the statue of the Smiling Critters and get to talk to some of them. Sometimes refuses to sleep and tried his best to evade the Poppy Gas. His favorite toys are KickinChicken and Huggy Wuggy. He often plays with his best friend.

HISTORY:

A product of streetwalking, he didn't know who his father was. His mother meanwhile, beated and neglected him. He was left in the streets at the age of 6, forcing himself to survive the harsh conditions of heat, rain, hunger and homelessness. Two years after his homeless state, a Playtime Co. employee found him and took him to Playcare, the underground orphanage of Playtime Co.

Arriving at Playcare, he was quiet and untrusting. But after months of hopeful interaction, the other orphans and teacher have finally made him speak. Being at Playcare, he was troublesome for the workers, often messing around with them and despite the employees' protocol to NOT interact with any of them, the child will always create ways to play with the workers. Often acts cool and strong in front of the other orphans in the Playcare. Though he is exceptionally caring and close towards a certain child, seemingly having interest on her/him. From observation, they seem to be forming a bond.

In the Home Sweet Home, he shares a double deck bed with a friend.

Then after 2 years of bond, his friend got adopted. His demeanor dropped drastically, seemingly back to his emotional state of when he first arrived. But notably worse.

He is subject to be a candidate for Experiment # [REDACTED]. Further study and testing is required for such procedure.

Oops, i accidentally made a profile info of him lol.

[3amfanfiction]

It’s Just Dinner pt 2

Part 2 to this. Kyle offers you to John for the night (no smut). MDNI

Cw: gazlighting, manipulation, forced prostitution

What?

Your ears tune back in, the whine receding, just in time to hear, "—and then the way he wouldn't stop downright bragging about your date last time, it finally hit me what he would enjoy for his birthday—you!"

Your eyes stay focused on his hands, chopping through vegetables, getting ready to add them to the pan. His thick fingers holding the blade steady with his strong wrist controlling the downward motion.

"I don't—Kyle—" you finally manage, voice thin before it chokes back out, as if a fist is squeezing your throat, denying you the words.

Was this happening again? Something's wrong—isn't it?

You'd had a good time with John the last time you saw him. You were beyond mortified when you realized you'd been flashing your bra at him all evening and he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. But that's the kind of man he is—respectful, kind, considerate. But you still felt . . . uneasy . . . with this.

"What's all that fussing for, babe?" he asked, concerned as he set the knife down and finally turned towards you, leaning back against the counter with his palms pressed to the edge on either side of him, emphasizing his broad shoulders while his biceps curved out from the ends of his short sleeves. He frowned, brow furrowing as he looked at you. "What's going on in that beautiful, silly little head of yours?"

You shake your head as if trying to make your thought sort into their correct place, "I just—" just what? Were being anxious? Were being purposely difficult? "don't think I want to?" you finally settled on, voice upticking at the end despite you trying to be firm.

You watch as a quick wash of—dismay?—crosses Kyle's face, there and gone in a flash before he walks over and places his hands on your shoulders, "did something happen?" he squeezed firmly, grounding, before attempting to peer into your soul, "did he do something, love?" His brow was furrowed with concern, searching your eyes for the truth, "something that made you uncomfortable?"

You looked up, franticly rushing to reassure him, "no, no nothing like that!" oh god, what if he complained to John about you? What if you made them argue and then because they were distracted, one of them ended up dead? Because of you. Because of this? Your hands raised to press against his chest, taking in his warmth, how solid he was, still alive, still with you in your home. This was still able to be fixed. "John was fine—he was great even, I promise! It's jus—"

"Good," he cuts you off in relief, not realizing you were still talking, "that's good to hear. Cap would be heartbroken if he found out he'd scared you away. He looks tough," his voice lowered as if imparting a national secret, "but he's the best out of all of us."

///

At least you got a new outfit out of it.

Kyle makes a great shopping buddy, he makes sure to always carry the bags and get the bill. He didn't even mention your pouting in the beginning, simply stopping by a food truck on the way to get you a treat. You were almost embarrassed by how quickly your mood did a 180.

He also normally likes everything you pick, but today—

"Not that dress love."

"You don't like it?" You ask, taken aback for a moment before turning in the mirror to take another look. You though it was quite flattering when you'd first put it on. The material swished nicely as you twisted your hips, trying to look at the back of the dress and see what he saw.

Kyle scoffs almost dismissively, "that's not it, you're bloody gorgeous in everything you wear and that dress is stunning on you." You watch in the mirror as he comes up to you, wrapping his arms around you before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "The captain just asked if you could wear gold tonight is all."

What?

He—he was picking out your dress too? It felt like you just ran face-first into a brick wall, a cheeping trio of birds flapping around in a circle above your head. Kyle clearly didn't see an issue and continued, "since this is a birthday dinner the brass are hosting for him, matching helps him blend in a bit better."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, palms resting on your stomach before he pulled you firmly into him, fingers digging into any softness he could find. He began nibbling on the thin skin behind your ear as one palm crept up to pinch a nipple. When you gasped at the shock of it he pulled away to pat you on the ass, "well—blend in as much as he can with such a stunning woman on his arm."

///

As was apparently becoming tradition, Kyle wanted a picture of you in your new underthings. This time you were standing at the bathroom counter, just your panties and bra on while you leaned towards the mirror, finishing your hair. You had made eye contact with the phone through the mirror right as he snapped it, a wide, doe-eyed startled look being portrayed.

///

"—and who is this charming creature?" one of the men John had been speaking with asks, looking over to you.

John answers with subtle delight, "this stunning vision is my date for the night," not trying to hide his warm regard for you.

You closed your mouth, half-formed words bitten back behind your teeth before you smile at the man, extending a hand when he reaches out.

Fading into the background as you've been doing for most of the night, you let this most recent conversation wash over you. John had been steering you around the room with a hand pressed low on your back all evening, moving from one group to the next with ease, seeming to know everyone.

A half hour in had you surreptitiously checking John's watch. That's how long it took before you were no longer entranced by the beautiful dresses and stunning suits, admiring the women with too much jewelry and the girls standing next to men old enough to be their father. Although, you really couldn't jud—

"Of course," John said agreeingly as he turned to you, "you don't mind do you, pet?"

You scrambled to remember the last few moments of conversation, drawing a blank before John took pity on you, smiling indulgently, "our conversation is going to be too boring for those pretty ears, why don't you go find something to drink and we'll meet back up once I'm finished.

"Of course!" you reassure, not upset in the least to leave the conversation you've had no part in, "I'd love a moment to freshen up." You smile up at him, preparing to step away when he reaches a hand to the back of your neck, careful to not muss your hair.

A half-step forward as he leans towards you, gapping the distance, causes his kiss to brush the corner of your mouth rather than land on your cheek. He holds for a moment, his warm hand cupped around the back of your neck keeping you still before pulling away; a muted pop sounding as his lips left your skin.

"Have fun, sweetheart," smiling down at you, eyes warm and inviting, "you come find me later." With that commandment he turned away to fall into conversation with the two gentlemen, no longer concerned with your presence.

///

The door almost dented the wall when you reached the restroom and flung it open, the muted bang causing the trembling in your hands to worsen.

What was that? Why'd he kiss you at all, let alone like that? Was it an accident or did he do it on purpose?

Whirling around your brain in a fury, these thoughts all screamed for your full attention. You couldn't focus on any one emotion until dread claimed first place with the thought, what's Kyle going to think?

Your partner of years, the person you loved most . . . and his boss had kissed you. If you thought them getting into an argument before would be bad, this is going to be catastrophic. You need to tell him what happened.

But.

But it might've been an accident. John was definitely aiming for your cheek before he moved—the adjustment skewing his trajectory. Maybe he stumbled and that was the only way to keep from falling. There were people all around, someone could have bumped into him, causing him to need to hold onto you so he didn't embarrass himself.

You were grasping at straws and you knew it but it was—technically—a possiblity so was it truly worth upsetting Kyle about it?

He would be so angry and so hurt, possibly at both you and John with how emotions sometimes work. Did you want to open that can of worms when there was a chance—however slim—that it was an accident?

What kind of person did it make you if you said no?

You blinked at your reflection, leaning down on the counter with a conflicted expression before resolve began to peek through.

No, you weren't going to tell Kyle . . . yet.

You were going to wait. You were going to wait and see how John acted the rest of the night. If he tried to push boundaries or if he, god forbid, tried to kiss you again, then you'd tell Kyle as soon as you got home. You would lay it all out for him from the beginning to the end and let him deal with it.

But if John behaved appropriately, if he didn't try to touch or kiss you, then you would assume it was an accident.

It wasn't perfect but it was a plan. How John acted would determine what you told Kyle. It was out of your hands now, you were just an observer. The relief at coming to a decision washed through you, causing the trembling to begin again before you clenched your hands tightly and took a deep breath.

You could do this—act like nothing is wrong because nothing is wrong. You're going to leave the bathroom, get a drink, and mingle for a bit until John came to find you.

With one final look in the mirror to see the determination pointed back at you, you turned to head back to the party.

///

It was late by the time you got home and you were exhausted. Your feet ached, you had a headache brewing behind your eyes and you were starving. Why had you done this again?

Before you could make it passed the entryway Kyle was coming into view, called by the click of the door closing. His face lighting up at seeing you home.

"There's my best girl, how did your night go darling?" he smiles as he comes over for a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you, squeezing firmly.

You take a steadying breath, leaning into him for a moment, borrowing his strength. The whole ride home you had second guessed your bathroom decision, running through the pros and cons repeatedly. And now it was time.

How was tonight?

"It was great love. I had a good time," you pulled back to smile at him, hoping your gaze reflected nothing but honesty.

///

Next || Story Repository

[void-my-warranty]

Nooner (18+)

Pairing: Darth Vader (Anakin)/You Content Warnings for this chapter: Dub Con, Prostitution, Aphrodisiacs Word Count: 3.6k Setting: A Cruiseliner

Part 1 (part 2 here)

Stars, you hate Quorl. 

It’s the stupidest, most confusing, least-fun thing you’ve ever done in your life, and that’s including your last relationship. In a last ditch effort to figure it out, you pick up what you believe is the correct piece and set it on what you hope is the correct puck, and then the system blinks red and rejects it out across the stadium to some other poor sap. 

Fuck this. 

You turn to leave, but your ill-fitting game boots get stuck in the mud that feels more like slime, and your legs are so weak from dragging yourself through it for the last hour that you have to just stand there for a moment and catch your breath.

“Having fun?” your best friend asks breathlessly, spraying you with artificial swamp goo as she sloshes by.

“No. I’m quitting.”

“What? We just got here! There are still seventeen more rounds to go!”

She looks disappointed, but barely, her eyes lit up with the high of competition and glancing excitedly at her score displayed on the dome. 

“I’m gonna go take a nooner,” you grumble, abandoning your boots to squish barefoot through the muck.

She laughs. “Do you even know what a nooner is?”

“A nap,” you answer irritably over your shoulder.

“Alright then, see you at dinner! You’ll be feasting with the champion, cause I’m gonna stomp everyone else...”

Her voice fades away as you gain distance and painstakingly make your way to the entry platform. You pass thousands of other life forms who, like your friend, somehow grasp the concept of the game effortlessly, and have mountains of pucks assembled. Star Cruise, they call it, the first luxury cruiseliner to traverse the galaxy with half a million life forms on board. At least, it was the first one a few hundred years ago. Now its claims to fame are the incredibly dated decor, the enormous dome for Quorl, and the fact that it’s really, really cheap to book. Your friend joked that you’d actually be saving money by coming with her for a few weeks here, and in a way she’s right. 

It’s nice though, to vacation without being constantly surrounded by rich entities parading by with their harems. You’re anonymous here. Just one quitter among a stream of others, making their way to the showers after exhausting themselves in the slime. You click the lock closed on a private shower and try to clean yourself quickly, which isn’t easy because your legs are trembling from overworked muscles. But the hot water feels amazing so you diligently work over yourself, cleaning muck out of every crevice until you’re satisfied that you can forget about Quorl for the rest of your life. 

After taking advantage of the instant hair dryer — you definitely don’t have that back home — you make your way out with everyone else, checking your direction card even though you’ve memorized it in the week you’ve been here. 

The way the ship is arranged, it’s made for efficiency. Everyone can presumably journey from any corner of the ship and back to their room in under twenty minutes. Feet on the ground cause traffic, they say, so the faster they can get people to their destination, the fewer clogs in the system. 

Even so, you’re endlessly surrounded by fellow travelers, despite the Quorl game still going on. You get your jelly legs off one transport belt and onto another, get your shoulder jostled by an unapologetic-looking insectoid, and inwardly start pouting to yourself. Yes, you’re having a pity party while you’re on vacation. Beings are starving and enslaved across the galaxy, and you’re here on a cruise ship, wallowing because you’re no good at everyone’s favorite game, and that means you’ll be alone today.

Pathetic, really.

There’s so much to do here, it doesn’t feel right that you’ve got this suffocating cloud following you, making you feel as if this giant transport were a tiny closet. It’s like your sense of normalcy is what’s holding you back, directing your feet to your boring room so you can lay on your boring bed and think your stale, stupid thoughts. You have access to so much , and yet you limit yourself, and then mourn it, like some victimhood-addicted slug. 

It’s stupid. You’re stupid, you’re useless, there’s nothing interesting about you. You could die in your room today and it would make no waves in the galaxy, probably wouldn’t even make it to the daily ship update log. Most of what you’ve learned in school has already evaporated from your brain and you’re so fucking normal, you bore yourself. You’re sick of yourself. Nothing matters.

Nothing matters. 

That thought has your feet stalling when you get to the next transport belt. Bodies smack into you, and people grumble at the disturbance in their monotonous journey, but you barely notice. You step out of the way and look around, stare down the line of pristine carpet alongside the transport belt, where no one has probably stepped in weeks. There are hallways branching out there, empty hallways because this is a midpoint in travel. There’s no reason for anyone to be here, the area might as well be closed off for how line after line of people cruise right by it, their eyes glued to the directional signs overhead and their cards in their hands. 

This isn’t against the rules. There are no warnings to keep out, or doors to force open. No one looks at you, as you choose an empty hallway and head for it. You can simply walk down the abandoned passageway, farther and farther from the crowd of passengers, and no one is going to stop you. 

Eventually you stop straining your ears for shouts or commands. The security system surely monitors movement where it isn’t allowed, so if you were doing something wrong, you’d know. Exploring, that’s all it is. If you’re not doing something wrong, and if this continues to feel so fucking good in your chest, you must be doing something right. Even your depleted legs find some new energy to pull from, propelling you faster and faster towards the unknown.

The hallway dead ends in two directions, turning into passageways lined intermittently with numbered doors. You choose the left one, and just barely remember to note it in your mind because the hallway is suddenly different. The decor changes, becoming plush, but also more muted in color. The bold and flashy decor of the rest of the ship melts away, and you’re soon surrounded by blacks and greys and champagnes, with artwork hung on the walls. The lights are warmer here, almost romantic in their tasteful dimness. The clash of worlds is disorienting, almost like you’ve just stepped straight from a casino and into some merchant’s townhouse. You can’t even hear the rumble of the crowd anymore, and it makes you feel small as you automatically slow your steps to creep down the hall, like you’re some rat sneaking through a king’s pantry. 

A wide doorway is open up ahead. You tell yourself you’ll walk past without looking, because you’re really not supposed to be here, but when your feet carry you alongside it, your head automatically swivels to peek.

“Ah, there you are.”

You stop in your tracks when a droid immediately addresses you, looking up from where it’s hunched over a datapad on a desk. It’s shiny and polished for a droid, so it’s probably a companion droid for someone wealthy.

“Oh, um—“ you start to say, but it cuts you off in the typical droid monotone.

“You’re late. He doesn’t like that. Please have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.” The droid quickly disappears behind a door, which whooshes shut behind it.

He? An insane giggle tries to crawl its way out of your chest but you tamp it down into a gulp, looking incredulously around the richly furnished room. This is obviously the Wealthy People Area, secluded away from everyone else so that no gutter trash will come accidentally wandering by. Just for the hell of it you step a little ways into the room, glancing around at the intricate floral hangings. 

‘Oh, hi,’ you senselessly recite in your mind. ‘Why yes, I am the princess of Blahblahia, here to meet my betrothed for the first time. How ever do you do?’ 

Your friend is going to laugh herself hoarse when she hears about this. You should probably leave now before the droid returns, but you childishly remain there for a few seconds, eyeing the delicately carved chair where you’re supposed to be sitting. Unfortunately, that’s a few seconds too long. A door slides open behind you, and you turn your head with a ridiculous, smug smile, which instantly drops away when your eyes connect with the man standing there. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is the ‘he’ who doesn’t like to be kept waiting. It’s written in every line of his body, from the rigid way he keeps his shoulders back, to the scarred eyebrow framing the glare that’s currently being leveled at you. He’s dressed in all black, not the spongy sort of suit that you’d expect from a rich diplomat or politician, but plain fabrics draped to hide most of his form. He has some kind of breathing apparatus encasing his lower face from nose to jaw, leaving only clear blue eyes exposed, and a decent stock of red-brown hair that’s sprinkled with silver. 

“Oh!” you fidget your fingers together, taking a step back, “I’m– um, actually—“ 

“You will not be late again,” comes a firm, sculpted voice from behind his modulator. 

Immediately a pleasant haze settles over you, and it’s like you’ve never heard anything more true in your life. You will never be late again. Why the hell would you even let that happen? Being on time for him makes so much sense that you feel it down to your very bones. If you ever accidentally stumble into this mystery man’s office again, you will be so on time it’s not even funny.

“Now,” he says, moving past you to press a gloved hand to the panel, closing the doors to the hall. “How are you?”

You blink stupidly, trying to shake off that weird, floaty feeling, and unable to look away because you’ve never in your life seen anyone move like that. The man’s strides are slow but fluid at the same time, and yet he’s somehow able to cross the room in just a few seconds. How does that even work? Do the laws of physics somehow not apply in this secret, rich person suite?

He’s suddenly standing right in front of you, tilting his head down to look you over, and holy fuck he’s tall. Wait, he asked you something. 

“I’m… good…” you croak, trying in vain to swallow enough spit down your throat to speak normally. You can’t decide where to look, because the mask over his face is obviously off limits, and the scar, and his body, and all that’s left are his fucking eyes— 

“I was told you’d be shorter.”

“Oh, haha. S-sorry,” you stammer, nervously glancing towards the door controls and wondering if you should cut your losses and just launch yourself at them. This is not going well. What if he really does think you’re some kind of diplomat’s daughter? What if you’re supposed to be sold into slavery or someth—

“Look at me.”

You obediently yank your eyes straight to his, though it’s nearly an impossible task. They’re so fucking blue, so clear and intent that it’s like this complete stranger can see right through you, and at this point you’d rather get in trouble with the ship’s security than stare up at him for very long. His eyes rove over your face, and you can’t help but drop your gaze, following the ragged scar down his neck to where it disappears into the collar of his tunic. 

“I said, look at me.” 

That bizarre feeling grips you again, compelling your eyes up while his modulated voice wraps around your mind. It somehow infiltrates you, gets into your nervous system and forces you to obey, and it— shit— the dominance of it sends a little blood between your legs. 

“You’re pretty,” he murmurs, and that sends heat rushing up your neck. It’s the bad kind of heat, the kind that makes your heart gallop and your anxiety spike and all logical thought evaporate out of your head. 

“Thanks,” you say stupidly, moistening your annoyingly dry lip. “You too.”

He makes a kind of bark into his mask, sounding so foreign to your ears that it takes you a few seconds to realize it was a laugh. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?” He finally asks, his eyes narrowed in what you think might be a smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper. Really fucking new, like right-this-moment new to whatever is happening right now. You have got to get out of here. Make your apologies, explain yourself, fuck, pretend you left something outside even, because things are rapidly spiraling out of your control. 

“I’d like to conduct a test of your responsiveness, before any sort of understanding between us occurs. You’ll be paid for it, of course.”

“A…test?”

The man reaches into his pocket and withdraws a tiny metal object, displaying it in his leather-covered palm for a few seconds so you can see the glass cylinder already loaded into it. You may be an idiot, but you recognize a hypodermic when you see one. 

“Jucinthe,” he explains quietly, taking the last step into your personal space to tower over you. “From Felucia. It will enhance things for you.”

“This is… for the test?” You ask quickly, jumping a little when his hand makes contact with your arm. Shit, this is insane, you can’t do this. 

“Hey,” he says in that low, tinny voice, and your eyes automatically fly up to his. “You’ll barely notice it.” 

It’s getting easier now to look at him, partly because you’re getting used to it, and partly because he’s no longer glaring at you. There’s a softness in his gaze now that wasn’t there before, which is worrisome because that means he’s mistaking your anxiety for nervousness. If this is something that someone who would assumedly know what the fuck was going on would still be nervous for, then—

“Ow,” you gasp, jerking your arm away from his grasp, but it’s too late. He’s already tucking the hypodermic back into his pocket, and you rub your fingers over the faintly stinging mark on your arm while you stare down at it with a growing sense of dread. You just let some completely random stranger inject you with some unknown substance. Stars, what is wrong with you?

“You should feel it soon,” he says. He’s got his head tilted again, casually observing your features while he waits for some undisclosed physical reaction.

But you don’t feel anything. All you feel is frustration at yourself for not getting out of this mess sooner, because you know exactly why you haven’t spoken up yet. There’s something about this man, something about this adventure, that you can’t seem to resist. You want to do this, to find out the hard way what sorts of things were meant for whoever you’re impersonating. There’s only a flimsy door between you and escaping back the way you came, and it feels safe enough right now. 

You know you should be more afraid of this objectively dangerous man, but instead you just feel flustered at the way he’s looking at you, like he’s expecting you to perform for him. Stars, you want to. You want to impress him in any way you can, because he’s somehow stroking some deep seated daddy issues that you never knew existed.

If only you could think past those blue eyes, and say something charming. But it feels like your lungs are limiting you to shallow breaths, and your hands are sweaty, and you don’t even know if you’re pretty enough for someone like him. Genuinely all you’re capable of is stupidity and pathetic impulses at this moment, so if that drug is supposed to make you feel powerless and brainless and a little bit horny, it’s working.

Oh, shit. It is working. You suck in a quick, panicked inhale when you realize, when you have to adjust your legs because of the sudden tingly pressure between them. That — holy fuck — that was an aphrodisiac that you just willingly took in your arm. Shit, shit.  

“There we go,” he says, somehow gleaning your internal distress by just the look on your face. He takes a step back, and oddly that makes you upset. “Your responsiveness will not affect your pay today, it only decides if you will be asked to return.”

There is going to be – and you know this for certain – absolutely no trouble with your responsiveness. He steps around you to your back, and a delicious shudder ripples down your spine when you feel his confident hands begin to work at the fastenings of your tunic. He’s getting you naked. You know this probably isn’t part of the ‘test’ but you can’t help your reaction to it, with your skin flushing hot with arousal. You’re simply aching to feel his fingers roaming your body, to acclimate to having his hands on you while the drug continues to sensitize your skin. 

Maybe the aphrodisiac was a good choice because it actually allows you to relax into what’s happening. One by one the articles of clothing slide off your body, and you dive headlong into that obedient mental state. All you need is some fucking fingers between your legs and you’ll be good with pretty much anything. You don’t even think about what it means that he’s apparently paying you for this, you don’t plan your escape, you just stand there clenching your thighs as you become more and more naked, and you like it.  

A Starliner hookup is good for you, your horny brain reasons. You were planning on trying to get one anyway, so the fact that it sort of fell into your lap like this is actually perfect. Sure, you don’t know his name, but he’s hot, and older, and that synthetic voice coming from his modulator is sort of doing it for you right now. You’ve never been with someone so in control of themselves, so focused on you that you don’t think you could twitch a single finger without him noticing. 

Now you just need to-– stars, now you just need to get fucked. 

Finally you’re nude in front of him, shifting your weight back and forth between your bare feet on the soft carpet. How he’s managed to take off all your clothes without touching any of your erogenous zones, you can’t fathom. He must have been expressly avoiding stimulation, whether out of customary politeness or some twisted method to torment you. 

Your nipples are tight from exposure to the cool air and your pussy is wet, drooling a slow, embarrassing trail of slickness between your legs that you hope he won’t notice when he gets between them in a minute.

“Are you ready for the test?” He asks as his eyes finish their slow journey from your toes to your face. 

Shit. The test. What kind of test was it again? Fuck, you insides feel like they’re grinding themselves together in search of friction. Stars, what was the question?

“Tell me,” he orders, and that same feeling flutters up your throat, that inescapable need to obey. 

“I want to get fucked,” you confess with a whimper, almost as if the humiliating words vomit themselves out of you without your permission.

That barking laugh again, a little quieter this time. “Alright. Follow me.”

A warm, gloved palm lands on your lower back, his fingers splaying out across your bare skin, nearly hip to hip with how large he is. He guides you through a door, and you’re expecting to be met with a bed, or a shower, or hell, a fucking bench would do. And while it is indeed a bedroom, what actually happens is you find yourself face to face with someone entirely new. 

The most conventionally attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on stands up as soon as the door opens, and smiles at you. He’s shirtless, wearing only some loose-fitting pants. And his body is fucking gorgeous.

“No names,” your masked man says, hand still right above your ass. “He’ll be conducting the test. If you need to stop, tell him.”

Motherfucker. You twist to look at your masked man’s face, suddenly terrified, and feeling quite naked and vulnerable. “Why aren’t you doing the test?”

“It wouldn’t be a test then, now would it?” Your masked man pauses, tracking back and forth between your eyes like he’s searching for something. His hand drops from your body. “It was nice to meet you.” 

No. This isn’t fair, he was supposed to fuck you, not this... holo-perfect... chiseled... fucking inhuman embodiment of consumerism. 

“Are you going to be watching?” you blurt out desperately, watching your man access the door to leave. Maybe there’s some way you can spin this as hot, maybe the stimulant is enough to imagine him watching, to allow you to still perform for him the way your mind is screaming that you need to.

He doesn’t look back as he steps into the next room. “No.”

Part 2

[companionjones]

I Swear

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader (can be taken as platonic or romantic)

Fandom: The Hunger Games

Summary: You’re a new victor of the Hunger Games, and you’ve found out what desirable victors are forced to do after the games. A previous victor visits you and assures you that you’re not alone.

Warnings: Many vague references to forced prostitution

*******

    “I can’t believe you beat me.”

    You had been sitting up in bed with your knees pulled up to your chest when you heard a voice from the doorway. “What?” your voice was scratchy from crying.

    He kept talking. “And only a year after me, too. It’s kind of insulting.”

    Upon a further observation, you recognised the boy talking to you as the Victor of the last year’s Hunger Games. The youngest Victor before you. “You’re Finnick Odair.”

    He smiled, “In the flesh. Can I come in?”

    You weren’t used to someone asking your permission for something. You answered after a moment. “Yeah?”

    “Great.” He stepped into the room. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/n L/n. I saw you in the games. I’m sorry.”

    “Sorry?” That was another word you weren’t used to hearing.

    Finnick nodded. “I’m sorry for it all. The Reaping, the Games, what they’re making you do now...”

    You huddled into yourself. “How do you know about that?”

    “Isn’t it obvious?” he smiled, but you could see from his eyes what he was really feeling. “They’re making me do the same thing.”

    Your heart broke as your remembered what you had to do earlier that night. You started to cry.

    Finnick came across the room and sat down on your bed. He didn’t touch you.

    “I thought this would be over after the games, but this--this is our life now.”

    He apologized again. “I know. I’m sorry.”

    “You’ve had to do this for a year already.” You realized. “We’re just kids.”

    “Can I hug you?” he suddenly asked.

    It occurred to you why consent was so important to him. You nodded.

    Finnick wrapped you in his arms, and you cried.

    You felt your shoulder get wet as well from Finnick letting a few tears slip out.

    “Can you stay with me tonight?” you asked, not wanting to be alone.

    Finnick nodded. “Of course. I can sleep on the other side of the bed, if you want, and not touch you.”

    Even the hug was becoming too much physical contact for you after what you were forced to do earlier. “Thank you.” You broke from the hug and dried your eyes. “Thank you so much for this. Why are you being so nice?” you wondered.

    He shrugged. “Because no one was there for me.” He crawled to the other side of the bed.

    “Well, I swear to be there for you too, okay?”

    Finnick chuckled, “Okay,” as he got under the covers. Once he was settled, he looked at you to see that you were holding your pinkie out to him.

    “Swear that we’ll always be there for each other?” you offered.

    Finnick smiled as he hooked your pinkie in his. “I swear.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Finnick & the Princess

Note 1: Voters wanted this series to be fem!reader, so here she is. But I'm going to try to keep her as neutral as possible in other ways. Note 2: Also I'll be using Princess in place of y/n Note 3: Because we don't know exactly how Volunteering works in Career Districts other than "it's more complicated" I just decided to make up my own hc. In Career Districts after people stop volunteering the escort goes through a process of talking with each volunteer and then picks the one they think will be more entertaining for the Capitol. Pairings: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader Warning(s): Canon typical content - Violence, death, human trafficking, blackmail. Also parental neglect & emotional abuse.

Princess volunteered at the reapings of the 68th Hunger Games, not because she actually wanted to but because her parents had made it clear that if she didn't volunteer, be selected for, and win the Games before she aged out, she would be disowned.

So for years she'd been constructing a persona she knew would not only get her selected for the Games but would get her at least a few sponsors.

She spoke at a higher pitch than usual, she giggled and hummed and frolicked. And the Capitol ate it up. She only ever dropped the facade when she was completely alone with her mentors. Finnick liked to dip back and forth between complimenting her acting skills and teasing her for the things she did and said in her false persona. Not even her District partner saw her true personality, so he fell for the act as well.

As much as the Capitol citizens were enthralled with the District 4 girl, no one expected her to actually be skilled. She didn't engage in any combative skill in training, she skimmed over the survival skills and she didn't speak with the other Careers. Between her facade and her ignoring them, the Career Pack excluded her and only took in the boy from her District.

Then came the training scores. And everyone was shocked when Princess got a 10. What could she possibly have done to land a score that high? Many speculated that the Gamemakers had merely pitied her, or were so mesmerized by her that they accidentally added a 0 after her real score.

In her interview with Caesar Flickerman, Princess batted her eyes, and sounded naively optimistic.

During the countdown for the Bloodbath, everyone was betting Princess would be dead before the day's end. Then the gong sounded and Princess was off before anyone else could react. It was clear she was by far the fastest of this year's tributes. By the time the District 2 female (Lilith Creswick) and District 1 male (Riesling Munza) caught up to Princess, she'd grabbed a decent amount of supplies including 2 bags which she had shouldered, and a sword.

In what seemed like a single flowing motion, Princess slipped around Lilith, raised her sword arm, and sliced open Riesling's throat. She then proceeded to practically twirl past other tributes, snatching up a wicker basket full of food on her way and ran off.

Everyone was in shock from the Capitol elite, to the other tributes, even Finnick and Mags who were privy to the fact that Princess was putting on a fake persona. The only people who weren't surprised were those present for her private session with the Gamemakers.

Princess continued to surprise during her games, presenting a persona of a naive but mesmerizing girl one moment and in the next efficiently killing or otherwise causing the death of other tributes. One thing became clear to everyone Princess had a sharp mind.

After her win, Princess was able to drop her facade whenever she was home in District 4 and cameras weren't on her. Otherwise, she kept up her whimsical act.

Unfortunately, this persona didn't save her from President Snow threatening her family to force her into prostitution. If anything it increased demand to have her. Too many elite pricks manifested or discovered a corruption kink for Princess.

Princess' only reprieve from her trauma was Finnick. They couldn't make their quickly developing relationship public but that was fine with the both of them. It made their relationship feel more real because it was just for them and not for the Capitol.

[patheticbabie]

Hi, author, I'm the anon who requested about jason and prostitute reader👋👋

How are you doing? Do you feel alright? What happened to your upper arms? Sending hugs to you cos I won't be able to help much but I hope my blessings will reach to you🫂🥰🙏... In either ways, please take good care of yourself and always remember there's no rush in anything, your own pleasure and quality come first😘😘

And... tbh, I kinda forgotten what I requested 😅😅 so, can i have a little peak lol🤏 Bye!

hello my lovely...thank you for the hugs and reassurance 💕

I feel okay, just still in a bit of pain is the doctor gave me strong painkillers to help me out for when I sleep at night. so I had surgery on my upper arm cause the doctor noticed there was a kink in my veins so they had to cut into the area and unkink the veins (kinda complicated lol). also I wanna give you a symbol or nickname for whenever you message!!

jason todd x prostitute!reader summary: reader was a prostitute working for a greedy man who promises that she'd make a lot of money to pay for her rent, her boss is manipulative. Reader was in debt to her greedy boss, Jason 'takes care' of her boss and paid off her debts in full. Now as a sign of gratitude she serves Jason and only him.

he's watching her from the rooftop he's on. He watches as she works the corners in the shady parts of gotham, it's a cold night, but she's wearing a crop top, mini skirt that barely covers anything. She was promised that she would only have to work as a sex worker until her debt is cleared to her manipulative boss. She had to find a way to make quick money, it wasn't her first choice to be a prostitute, let alone one in gotham, but she needs a way to pay for rent, food and her college. She leans against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself as her boss 'visits' her. His sleezy self, has a smirk on his lips as he grabs her face with enough force to hurt and bruise her. Jason can faintly hear what her boss is telling her, "you're my number one girl, why would I ever let you go if you still have your debt to pay off." "you belong to me, no other man would like someone who whores themselves out to make money"

send a message and meet and talk to the muses

[wallwriterstuff]

Healing Hands ||Finnick Odair x Female!Reader||

Warnings: Explicit content, 18+ Minors DNI. Mentions of non-consensual knife play and blood drinking. Descriptions of trauma, a lot of angst. Talk of Finnick’s prostitution. Fluffy ending. Female Reader so she/her pronouns and body descriptions used. 

Word Count: 4280

Summary:

Finnick tries to come home to her in one piece, but when he shatters, its only her that can put him back together again. 

“Don’t talk.” He grumbled. 

In a matter of seconds since entering her apartment he had her pinned her against the wall, her wrists trapped above her head in one hand while the other tilted her mouth up to meet his in a bruising kiss. He pushed his knee between her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs for him as tongue, teeth and lips collided.

“Finni-“ he cut her off with a sharp nip of her bottom lip, eyes dark as he pulled back and shifted his hand from her cheek to her chin, gripping her jaw firmly.

“I said, don’t talk. Only time I should hear you is if you’re saying your safe word. Tell me.” He ordered. She stared at him with wide eyes, frozen for a moment as her mind raced with a thousand and one possibilities as to why Finnick could be so riled up, but they fled her head as quickly as they had come when he squeezed her jaw lightly and pressed her for an answer.

“Seasalt.” She breathed. Finnick’s eyes were not the gentle, seafoam green she was used to but more of a harder shade today. Whether it was lust or something else she wasn’t sure, as he was never usually so forceful with her, but she couldn’t deny the quiet thrill it sent through her to think about what he might do like this.

“Are you using it now?” he asked. There was her Finnick. For just a brief moment he shone through, his thumb grazing her jawbone as he intently studied her expression for any sign of discomfort or discontent with the situation he’d put her in. She swallowed, taking a deep breathe in through her nose before exhaling deeply.

“No, but…are you okay to do this?” she asked. Finnick’s expression faltered for only a moment, and she saw a storm of grief and aggravation in his eyes before he pushed it all down again, his eyes flickering to her mouth, then her forehead, anywhere but her eyes in case she saw through him.

“I need this.” He huffed, smothering her mouth once more with the sloppy heat of his desire. Whether it was driven by true passion or something else she wasn’t too sure but she let it lead her for now, the underlying hint of desperation in the way he licked into her mouth telling her just how much he really did need this. To feel her. To claim her. To know she was there and whole and his. With a groan, Finnick dropped her hands in favour of getting a firm grip on her thighs, hiking her up the wall and pulling her legs around his waist. She gasped, head thunking back against the wall as Finnick buried his mouth in the crook of her neck next, biting and sucking marks into the skin like he wanted to devour her whole and keep her safe inside him.

Finnick grunted, reaching up with one hand to forcibly tug her shirt away from her collar bone, mouthing his way along the bone before biting down on the fleshy part of her shoulder with a grunt. With a soft cry, she moved her hands from his shoulders to his hair, pulling on the carefully styled strands until they were tousled beyond saving. Heat simmered in her veins as he kissed her once more, setting her down and giving the hem of her shirt a firm tug in quick succession. Panting, she lifted her arms to oblige him, and one hand immediately went to her chest to pull and pinch her nipples stiff. With quiet pants, she kept one hand tugging at his hair while the other raked down his back, making him arch into her. She moaned, feeling his free hand push down into her pants and firmly press against her before he began to rub in harsh, quick movements.

“Fuck, Finnick!” she yelped, eyes screwing closed as she threw her head back, “Fuck, t-too much!” It was a dizzying, overwhelming experience to feel so much of him at once. His mouth was hot against her neck and collar bone, his hand warm and strong on her breasts while the rough and calloused pads of his fingers created a delicious kind of friction against her clit.

“Take it.” he growled, pulling back just enough to press his forehead to hers. There was a light sheen of sweat covering both of them know, his breath coming in harsh little pants as she floundered, desperately looking for something to cling onto and ground her. The ebb and flow of her pleasure was not gentle. It felt more like a shock, quick to come and quick to go, but it was building the all too familiar sensation in her gut all the same. She gasped, pleaded, attempted to move his hand away as her hips jerked, but it was all to no avail. Finnick didn’t move until he was ready to, his fingers dipping down and slipping in with ease. She was soaking wet and squeezing at the intruding digits, close to release and losing her mind at the overwhelming sensation of him abusing that one little rough patch that always bought her such relief.

“Finnick.” She whined, flexing her hips in time with the bruising pace he had set to try and ride his fingers. Finnick’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and she almost whimpered at the sight. He was practically ethereal in the fading light of the early evening. Bronze skin and golden hair glowing in the sunset, he was firm and lean against her, smelling of salty sweat and sea breeze and something so distinctly Finnick she could never quite name. The growl in his voice when he spoke to her was enough for her to lose all sense of rhyme and reason.

“Fucking take it!”

“F-Finnick! Oh!” the noises she was made were loud and obscene. Her thoughts scattered like dust in the wind. Her knees quivered and her body nearly folded in two, jerking and spasming as her orgasm hit her hard. Finnick’s pace didn’t let up, not until he was satisfied he had completely robbed her of the ability to walk, and when his fingers left her pants he immediately began smearing her essence over her lips in a silent demand for her to clean them off. Completely drunk on pleasure as she was, she obediently opened her mouth and began to suck the remnants of her orgasm from his fingers, her eyes locked with his as they both tried to catch their breath. Though her mind was a little hazy, relaxed and sated, she became aware of the feeling of pressure against her thigh, and her hand lazily drifted down to find it was Finnick rutting against her. It stopped when her hand found the straining material at his crotch, replaced instead by her hand massaging the outline of his arousal as his head tipped back slightly and his eyes fluttered closed.

She watched the way his mouth moved, opening and closing a little as he tried to form coherent words. His throat bobbed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhaled sharply in a pant.

“Want you on your knees.” He rasped. She reached up to grasp his wrist, pulling his fingers from her mouth slowly until they came free with a quiet pop. His head slowly lifted, eyes watching her as she slithered out from between him and the wall and began to walk backwards, leading him by the hand into the living room. Finnick watched her every move with intense scrutiny, but obligingly helped her unbutton his shirt and push down his trousers before she pushed him onto the sofa. He landed with a huff, reaching for her eagerly as she bent at the waist to press a kiss to his lips. Finnick tried to chase her mouth before she pushed him back against the cushions, moving her mouth instead to his throat where a few gentle bites were left. She couldn’t mark him up, not when he had so many patrons who would become incensed if they thought their favourite toy had been played with by somebody else. It was an unfair part of their dynamic, but she had accepted that the price to pay for being with Finnick was having no claim to her lover whatsoever and wondering whose bed he was in on lonely nights.

Pushing the thoughts away, she focused on sucking the tension from his body via his cock.

The moment she sucked him into her mouth his hands flew into her hair, gripping tightly at the roots as a low moan of relief escaped him. She felt him throb against her tongue as she began to vigorously work him over, her tongue lapping at the underside of a swollen, sensitive head whenever she bobbed back up while her hand pumped synchronously at the base. He had been trimmed recently and the little pinpricks of hair stabbing into her fist were only a minor distraction compared to the symphony of noises escaping him. Finnick had always been one to enjoy quieter moments of intimacy, but the Capitol had changed even that about him – his patrons needed to know their pathetic attempts at pleasing him work ‘working’ after all. Not that he even managed to get it up for them without help. No, that was a privilege he tried to save for her and her alone, but there were days when the Capitol took even that from him to.  

“Fucking hell sweetheart,” he groaned, “Oh, oh that’s good, good fucking girl.” The rambling praise was new and it distracted her enough she wasn’t quite prepared for him to suddenly thrust up into her throat. She gagged a bit and had to pull back, taking a moment to catch her breath and clear her throat as Finnick thrust into her fist instead. His head had snapped up at the sound of her cough and he seemed tense, only relaxing again when she gave him a nod and a smile to let him know she was alright. She would have been lying if she had said that the praise hadn’t sent a bolt of need straight through her. She needed to hear it again, needed to make him feel good like that again. Closing her lips back around the leaking head of his cock, she gently tapped his hand to let him know he could control the pace, could take what he needed, and Finnick immediately set to work thrusting up into her mouth, a broken string of curses and whines escaping him.

She whimpered quietly, her jaw beginning to ache but the rest of her alight with want. When she peered up at him through her lashes, she got a halo of gold and glistening skin, and she was quite sure that nobody in this world or the next would have ever been able to say no to him. His chest heaved with every gasping breath, the toned muscles of his abdomen twitching and jumping beneath her fingers as she skated them up over his stomach. Finnick Odair was hers. No Capitolite would ever know the planes of his body better than her. No patron could ever tell him secrets he would hold as dearly as he held her own. Nobody could make him come apart like this.

Except he didn’t.

Without warning he pulled her off of him and urged her up, hands immediately shifting down to her pants.

“Don’t you want to-“

“You, need to cum in you.” He panted, his eyes pleading as her heart shot into her throat. This wasn’t the Capitol, there were no fancy injections or pills here to prevent childbirth, and she certainly wasn’t going to risk having to take those herbal teas that did terrible things to your insides just to ensure you wouldn’t add to the infant mortality rate. This wasn’t her Finnick. Her Finnick knew well how she felt about the mere thought of children in their current world and had never pushed the issue, even agreed with her.

“Seasalt.” She spoke firmly, clearly, and Finnick immediately froze, staring at her with wide, unfocused eyes. She crouched in front of him, taking her face in his hands and brushing her thumbs along his cheeks.

“I…I…”

“In another life, I’d say yes, but this is the one we live, so you do it on my back or stomach or no dice, you understand?” she said. Finnick swallowed thickly, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers and whispering an apology. She kissed the tip of his nose, then his lips, and gave him a little smile of reassurance. He reached up to cover her hands with his own, squeezing lightly.

“I understand. I’m sorry, I just…I need…I can’t…Snow…” he could barely stutter the words out, his expression more agonised than usual, and it was all the explanation she really needed. The President had threatened him many times before, and it usually resulted in some outward display of behaviour that wasn’t quite the norm for him. She pulled her hands back to push down her pants instead, letting the soft, cottony material pool at her feet so she could step out of them. Finnick kicked his pants away and was quick to welcome her into his lap, shifting so he could guide her down until she was laying beneath him. Heart fluttering at the sudden tenderness behind his gestures, she gave him an encouraging nod and smile that quickly melted away into a gasp as he pushed into her.

For a moment, they simply stayed that way, two people intertwined, chests pressed together, hearts ricocheting against each other. For a moment, there was no Capitol, or patrons, or Snow. For a moment, there was only their little home, the sound of waves lapping the shore outside their window, their own heavy breathing. Then, Finnick pulled his hips back and gave a firm thrust forward. Her legs tightened around his waist as he found himself a punishing rhythm, moving deep and strong inside of her like the pull of the tide, stealing her breath and giving her life anew with every careful movement. When he worshipped her with every inch of himself like this, she was certain he meant it when he told her he loved her.

“Oh baby.” She moaned, hips meeting his in perfect timing that only made that coil tighter and tighter. Finnick had been mouthing along her collar bone, muffling his own pleasured grunts and groans into her skin, but he pulled back just enough to skim his mouth along her ear, biting and tugging at her ear lobe.

“Right here sweetheart, so good,” he breathed, “Feels so good.” Temple pressed against hers, he increased his pace a little, squirming a bit to push deeper with his thrusts and be closer to her. He held her tighter, fingernails leaving little crescent moons on her skin, but she didn’t care. The gentle pulsing in her core and the sharp pin pricks against her skin mixed well together and simply pulled her that much closer to the edge. Another pant, a whine of her name, the blood in her veins roaring like an inferno as her heart enveloped the rest of her, an overwhelming adoration for Finnick and all his little idiosyncrasies as he dropped a hand to her clit and began to circle it. He was close then, closer than she was, but he’d stave off his own release until she came. It made a pleasant change and only egged her on towards her release knowing that he felt safe and good.  Finnick had been through so much physical trauma he didn’t always get to finish, no matter how desperate he was for it.

The gentle pulsing suddenly became a crescendo, her every muscle seizing and her mouth hanging open, a choked whine the only sound that escaped her as she clenched around him hard. Finnick groaned loudly in her ear, his thrust becoming a bit more erratic as he tried to push her through her high, her fingers raking down his back again. He pulled out suddenly, desperately fisting his cock until he painted her torso white, and then he almost collapsed on his side. The only sound was their shared, heavy breathing and the creaking of the sofa as he leaned against the cushions with a puff, his arm slung across the back of the seat so he could rest his chin on his bicep and watched the sun disappear over the horizon. She simply closed her eyes, basking in the pleasant buzzing in her head while her core throbbed its way through a few after shocks.

She pretended not to hear the first little sniffle. Finnick was never one to show her how hard he took it all if he could help it, only ever wanting her to be happy and safe, but he couldn’t shield her from everything, and when she opened her eyes to view him she saw the red rimmed irises staring solemnly at the moon as if it might deliver him some sort of freedom or redemption. If there was anything she knew for sure, it was that Finnick Odair did not need redeeming.

“Snow threatened me, didn’t he?” she asked quietly. Finnick tensed, and then he sniffed, wiping his eyes on his bicep briefly and nodding once. “How bad is the situation?” her question remained unanswered for a while, and she felt her frustration begin to grow when she was forced to call his name and press him for an answer.

“He was going to kill you,” he snapped, his face full of so much horror and anguish when he faced her that it broke her heart, “He was going to kill you if I didn’t…if they couldn’t…” he sucked in a deep breath, his voice wavering as he finally confessed to all that had happened to him before he got home. “They used me, Y/N. Degraded me and beat me and cut me and I just…I had to take it.”

Immediately, her eyes raked over his form, ready to spot any sign of injury and help him soothe his wounds, however he was shiny new and the only marks on him were from her own nails. The Capitol had once more scratched their cruelty into his marrow and then erased all traces of it.

“Oh baby.” She whispered, angry and hurt and sorry all at once. She wished she could protect him better, keep him far away from Snow’s clutches, but there was no chance of it when his grip on Panem was still so vice like.

“They drank my fucking blood!” Finnick raved, standing now and starting to pace as he ran a hand through his hair.

“They what?” she sounded as shocked as she felt, her stomach curdling at the thought.

“They used a knife, they cut me and they drank from the wound, but they call us fucking animals,” he scoffed, eyes wild and brimming with self-loathing, “And I couldn’t do a thing to stop them.” Reaching for her trousers, she used it to quickly wipe away the remenants of Finnick’s release from her skin, and got to her feet to gently grasp his face between her hands.

“Stop. Don’t trap yourself there.” She ordered.

“But they-“

“Stop.” She repeated. His eyes grew wet, shame painted all over his face. His hands trembled when they reached up to grasp her wrists. She hushed him, her thumbs gently scrolling over his cheekbones.

“I feel so dirty. I just want to feel like me again.” He whispered brokenly. Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she nodded in understanding and slowly leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He didn’t respond, but his eyes were closed when she pulled back and took his hands instead. He sucked in a sharp breath, looking at her with so much vulnerability that she almost let the tears pricking her eyes spill.

“Let me take care of you.” She said softly. Finnick looked at her for a moment, and then he nodded, letting her lead him to the bathroom. He stood numbly, not willing to look in the mirror at his reflection as she got the shower running. Step one would be to clean all remenants of the Capitol from his skin, whisper her praises and affirmations of love into the abused flesh to replace all the filth they’d tried to fill him with. Finnick remained silent as she washed them both down, her hands running gently over his skin and her lips pressing delicate kisses to the places her hands had been. He took the shampoo from her to help her with her hair, his fingernails scratching lightly at her scalp as he massaged in the suds.

“Is this new?” he asked. She hummed in agreement. “Smells real nice.” The compliment made her smile slightly. Only as he washed the soap away down the drain did she turn to pull him into another gentle kiss.

“It smells like you, like home,” she murmured, brushing her nose against his, “I love you, Finnick. I’m glad you’re home.” Finnick sighed slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. She felt the first wave of chill crawl over her skin as the water began to lose its warmth, so she reached for the dials and turned it off. Finnick was the one to hand her a towel, but she made sure to wrap it around herself securely in favour of drying him off with a smile – she could wait. With his towel wrapped round his waist, he patiently sat on the edge of the bed while she detangled his hair with his comb, carefully styling it to coif up just as he liked.

“Don’t stop.” He murmured. She had pulled the comb from his scalp but realised he must have found the sensation quite relaxing, as his shoulders had dropped and his eyes were closed, not a wrinkle on his forehead in sight. He smiled briefly as she began to comb his hair again with a hum.

“You know, I don’t think it’s possible to make you any more handsome.” She mused, kissing his shoulder.

He snorted slightly, “They always find a way.”

“No, they don’t. You are and always have been enough as you are.” She murmured, kissing at his spine next. Finnick shivered a little. With a hum, she let the comb fall onto the bed and moved to wrap her arms around him from behind instead. He hissed and drew back from her with wide eyes, making her frown in confusion.

“You’re still damp!” he protested. Rolling her eyes, she got to her feet and made a show of towelling off, changing into her usual pyjamas as he watched her with mild intrigue.

“Those pyjamas are new to.” he noted. He’d only been gone a week, yet that was two new changes for him to discover and adapt to. Perhaps two too many given the week he’d had. The pyjamas had been necessary, but she was feeling a tad guilty to have surprised him this much. He hated missing time with her and had confessed that when he came home and found she had moved furniture or bought new things, it made him feel left behind, like a foreign object in his own home.

“My others one were beyond saving. I would have been better off wearing my birthday suit.” She sighed. Finnick smiled faintly.

“I wouldn’t mind.” He assured her. With a grin, she shook her head and pointed to the door.

“I know you wouldn’t, now get out and let’s make some cocoa to take to bed with us, okay?” she suggested. He nodded his head, keeping his hand in hers as they exited the bedroom and went to find the necessary things. He stayed close, finding any excuse to touch her, and she leaned back into him every time with a contented hum, just to remind him she really was glad he was home.

“Marshmallows?” he asked, frowning in confusion as he closed the cupboard they were supposed to be in. She bit her lip, cheeks flushing pink.

“The little table by the armchair. I got snacky.” She admitted. He chuckled and went to retrieve them, looking happier as he dumped a handful into his mug. Only when he was curled up against her, the two of them content to simply sit in silence and appreciate the other’s presence, did he really seem to come back to her.  She stroked his hair, humming a song she had sang with her mother once years ago as they baked bread in their small kitchen. With his eyes closed and his head on her stomach, he looked peaceful, like he might be able to rest for once. She knew it wouldn’t last. The nightmares always came, and she would hold him as she always did and lie once more about how he was safe now. There was only one real certainty she had. One fact that would remain constant no matter what Snow threatened or what nightmares ravaged him.

She loved Finnick Odair whole heartedly, even if she had to say goodbye so he could belong to another just three weeks later, as was their tradition. This was their cycle, the never ending loop that had become their lives, but she would endure it, for him, and one day, they would be free of this game they played. Until then…until then, she would smile, wave, and miss the man she loved while he went to love another.