#robert gray it

[thesightstoshowyou]

Hi hi! I was wondering when you come back to writing requests, could I ask for a Pennywise/Bob Gray FanFiction with a Fem reader sharing her first time with him but it’s noncon but he tries to be gentle with her. She knows about him through the town they live in, reader is home from college which thrills him and finds a way to take her. Maybe some chest play from Penny? I really hope this is okay to ask! I love love love your penny stories there so good! Can’t get enough ❤️❤️

You are an angel for waiting so long for this. Thank you for your patience 🙇🏻‍♀️

Idk if Penny can be considered gentle in this one, but I suppose he’s gentle compared to how I usually write him ��

~~

Use

Bob Gray/Pennywise x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon in the back of a van baybeee, social anxiety, age difference, objectification, degradation, supernatural elements, nipple play, fingering, loss of virginity, threats, crying, a little daddy kink, put that reader in a mating press—readers love mating press, creampie, cum eating

It starts with a prickle.

The fine hairs on the back of your neck and along your arms raise as your skin tightens and tingles. In your belly, unease writhes like a thousand snakes. Your shoulders tense as your feet dig into aging tile, ready to flee should your nervous system give the order.

Except…. You’re standing in the middle of the grocery store bakery, a warm loaf of freshly baked French bread clutched in your white knuckled grip, paper cover crinkling against your palm. It’s 1:00PM on a Thursday. Why on earth do you feel like a cornered animal here of all places?

Cautiously, you glance to your right. You find nothing more than muffins, croissants, and danishes all gleaming temptingly from their plastic containers. An employee restocks the organic section, her back to you.

To your left….

Your throat goes dry when you meet the piercing blue gaze of the lanky man hovering at the end of the aisle. Buck teeth peek out between full lips, lips that glisten with spit and curl into an unnerving grin. Long fingers slip from a tattered, tweed pocket and raise to greet you with a cartoonish waggle.

Recognition is instant. Robert Gray is unmistakable, even if the last time you saw him was as a child. Though, why the hell he’s staring so intently is beyond you. You barely know the guy.

And he hasn’t aged a day….

Suddenly, the room tilts and your stomach lurches. Your shoes squeak on tile when your legs flail, as though they’ve come unstuck from the ground beneath you. Wildly, you reach out to grip a shelf when you begin to float right up into the air.

You blink.

The feeling vanishes as quickly as it came. Your feet are flat on the floor. On the shelf, your hand shakes as you hold on for dear life.

Had anything even changed at all?

Mr. Gray still leers at you from the end of the aisle. Gasping, trembling, and not knowing what else to do, you raise your own hand and tentatively wave back. He responds with a titter and a wink before slinking away.

Once more you glance around, wondering if anyone else saw this bizarre exchange or your strange behavior. You’re only a little relieved to find yourself alone. Saved from embarrassment, but not the fear that still clings to the back of your throat.

**

At the checkout sits Marge, as round as ever. You recall the powdery smell of her perfume, unchanged from when you clung to the hem of your mother’s dress as a child. Derry remains as static as ever.

She greets you generically as you set your purchases on the conveyor belt. The beep as your goods are scanned fills the space between the two of you and saves you from conversation. You’re thankful she doesn’t recognize—

“Well, goodness gracious, I hardly recognized you!” You spoke too soon, it seems. Marge says your name like a question and you force a smile and a nod. “Where have you been, missy?”

Awkward chuckle, “Ah, college. Just back for a few weeks, visiting mom.”

“Oh I bet she is loving that.”

“Ha, yeah….”

“You kids just grow up so fast. So, tell me about school! How many boyfriends do you have?” You bite the inside of your cheek when she ends her question with a self-satisfied giggle.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Just…focusing on school, you know….”

You continue on this like for another agonizing minute or two, forcing out answers to Marge’s barrage of questions until she prattles off your total and hands over your groceries.

“Say hi to your mom for me!”

“Will do, thanks Marge.” The bell above the door jingles as you flee to the parking lot. Afternoon sun catches you full in the face and momentarily blinds you. You manage a scrunched glance left and right before crossing the road to your vehicle.

Strained huffing from somewhere nearby makes you pause. Furiously blinking to adjust to the light, you find Mr. Gray at the rear of the white panel van parked next to your car. The back doors are wide open as he attempts to load what appears to be a folding table all on his own. Attempting, and failing.

You only hesitate for a heartbeat. He’s a weird guy, a bit unnerving with his nineteenth century garb and knowing smile, but he doesn’t deserve to throw his back out.

“Need any help?” you ask, setting your purchases on your trunk and hurrying over to him. Where did he even get this from…?

“What a good girl, gracious little thing, helping old Mr. Gray.” The strange lilt of his voice almost makes you wince. His wide, blue eyes rove over your face and down your neck until the hair on your arms raises in alarm once again. Your own eyes flick down to his wetted bottom lip, so slick it appears drool will spill over any moment. You swallow thickly for him.

“Uh, yeah, let me just, um—

Bob moves to the end of the table still sitting out in the parking lot so you have no choice but to take the other end that is half lodged in the vehicle. It’s awkward, crouching and backing into the van while maneuvering the load, but you manage to shuffle all the way to the front seats until the damn thing comes to rest on the floor of the van. Easy enough—

SLAM.

All at once the sunlight disappears but for the weak imitation trickling in through the windshield. It takes your brain a moment to realize Bob has followed you into the van and slammed the doors shut, though how he managed to move so quickly is beyond you. He now sits between you and the exit, cast in shadow.

“Little treat might be too gracious for her own good, hmm? She makes it too easy for ollllld Mr. Gray.”

‘What are you playing at?!’ The question is there, right on the tip of your tongue, but it freezes and dies when Robert Gray’s eyes glow, glow like golden fire burning unnaturally from the shadowed corner of the van. Terror zips up your spine as you choke on a shout and scramble away, intent on clambering over the center console for the driver’s side door.

Long fingers wrap around your ankle and yank. Your own digits slip on vinyl seats and you crash face first into the accursed table top. Onto your back you roll as Bob slinks over you, wedges his hips between yours, and pins you down with an impossibly strong hand around your neck. Every muscle strains as you try to buck or twist or anything, but he doesn’t even budge, doesn’t even give a millimeter.

How, how…?

Wet warmth splatters onto your cheek. Drool has spilled over his lip, a steady stream of spit that reeks of decay raining down on the side of your face and dripping into your hair. It’s further smeared up to your brow when Bob crushes his lips to the side of your head to noisily inhale. He titters, a little giggle you feel inside your head that rattles your teeth.

“Its fear is unsoiled, yes, fresh like a babe.” Confusion at his words plucks at the back of your mind, but your panic is too intense and overwhelming to spare it full attention.

“What—p-please, please stop, I don’t—

“You don’t, no, no, you haven’t. Have you, little treat?” The deep growl of his voice shakes your own chest. He looks at you expectantly as he speaks, buck teeth on full display, golden eyes wide and staring. One of them drifts to the side and you try your best to melt into the tabletop at your back.

Furiously, you shake your head back and forth and stammer out a, “Bob, please, I d-don’t understand—

“No boyfriends, it says. No fumbling hands that prod and squeeze, no one to use it like the meat it is. Sweet. Untouched. Meat.”

You blink and shake in shock. Your mouth opens but no words escape. Bob laughs, high and piercing and you flinch at the ferocity of it.

How…how could he know that…?

“No hiding from me, little bite. Mr. Gray can see it allllll. Now he has you here, all to himself. And he’s soooo hungry.” The last, rumbled word reverberates around the van and you scream, arch, kick your legs only to freeze in place when Bob ruts against you. The hard girth straining against his trousers slides deliberately along the length of your clothed cunt and, suddenly, the end game becomes frighteningly apparent.

“N-n-no, no, oh god please, don’t—

“Not like you had imagined it, is it, tiny thing? No candlelight. No love. Just old Mr. Gray and his teeth.” He sets them against your cheek, his teeth, as his free hand weasels under your shirt. You loose a protesting grunt when spidery fingers push aside your bra to pinch a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Gently, they tug and, thoughtlessly, you squirm. You tense and fall still when the movement grinds your clit against his bulge, a little zing of pleasure shooting through your belly at the contact.

Bob hums knowingly like he can hear what you’re thinking and twists his fingers ever so slightly. Instead of a grunt, a little whine slips past your quivering lips. More unbidden pleasure, more curling heat where it shouldn’t be.

“Mr. Gray’s good little girl. I can smell it now, needy, needy.” He snuffles along your jaw, and slides his thumb away so he can press slick lips to your fluttering pulse. “You stink like a virgin, too stupid to know what you need, hmm? Let him show you. Let him put your meat to use.”

Again you shake your head and open your mouth to protest, but this time the words are a cry as Bob humps you and tweaks your nipple all at the same time. Your head spins, overwhelmed by new sensation and fear of who…what causes them. Something deep down in your guts knows this is no man hovering over you.

The thing called Bob shifts his hips to the side and you tense to act, to shove, to fight, but he’s so much faster. His hand leaves your breast and burrows into your pants. Tricky fingers find your clit and stroke, perfect pressure that makes your limbs twitch and your lungs gasp. Hands poised to claw just moments ago instead fly to his shoulders and grip on reflex.

His digits sink inside you faster than you can inhale. They curl until they reach some spot you didn’t know existed until now. Even just this stretch is more than you’ve ever experienced, but the surprise comes not in the pain, but the pleasure. It doesn’t hurt, not even a little.

Didn’t they all say it would hurt?

You emit a strangled sound and then, to your dismay, a wanton little mewl follows after as Bob works his hand and rubs euphoric little circles inside you. The nails intent on scratching his eyes out have curled into the fabric of his dingy button-up and your legs fall open like they have a mind of their own. No, no, stop, you’re not enjoying this….

You shouldn’t be enjoying this….

Robert chortles in glee and finger fucks you faster until your eyes go out of focus and you arch—toward, not away this time. Still, your mouth tries to lie about your body’s obvious reaction with a stuttered, “S-Stop, I don’t…want….”

“‘Don’t.’ There’s that silly word again. ‘Don’t!’” He mocks your pathetic timbre. Next, his lips move to yours so he can growl against your panting mouth, “You don’t know what you want. Listen to that slippery little hole, hmm?” He jostles his arm and your cunt squelches in answer. “Desperate for purpose, isn’t it?”

Without warning, he rips his fingers from your channel, grabs hold of the waistband of your pants, and gives three sharp tugs. They’re down and off before you can even think to shriek. Bob grips you behind the knees and shoves, bending you in half and spreading you wide.

Fear returns with the sound of his zipper, trepidation that makes you scramble to grab hold of something and pull yourself away. His iron grip keeps you from budging, however, and you’re helpless when his thick cock lines up with your glistening slit.

“And a one, and a two, and a—

“Wait, wait, wa—

The last ‘wait’ is lost in whatever garbled nonsense escapes your throat when Bob eases forward. Unused muscles part around cock and you experience that foreign stretch and pressure for the very first time. Bob makes an inhuman guttural sound low in his throat when your walls squeeze his girth. It’s a sound that dumps icy terror into your veins, but you think what startles you most is the absence of discomfort.

Maybe it hurts, but the main sensation you feel is…delicious. Blissful. Addictive. You close your eyes to keep them from crossing.

“Useless until I found it,” Bob coos against your lips. Heat jolts in your gut and you can’t help the pitiful moan it brings. Is he the reason you’re reacting this way? Are his horrible words spurring you on? What the hell is wrong with you?

“B-Bob,” you choke out when he bucks his hips. In your shoes, your toes curl. He snickers and does it again, and again, each thrust eliciting more desperate sounds than the last. Moans and cries fill the interior of the vehicle and mingle with the sounds of wet slapping and the harsh grunts escaping from Bob’s throat. Any fight left in your fists is gone, replaced by need that has you gripping his shoulders like you gripped that shelf in the store. You could float away like this….

“Float, yes, that’s right, little girl. You’ll float. But first, you’ll cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“I-I….”

“You want to. Say it.” You shake your head and Bob snarls, “SAY. IT. Or I’ll sink my teeth into that supple little throat and paint us both in pretty red.”

“Iwannacum! I want to, p-please…D-Daddy—

“It’s learning, it’s poliTe.” The “t” sound hurts when it snaps off his tongue and Bob cackles when you jerk and shudder in his grip. Still, you don’t release him. You can’t, the insistent, hot pull in your belly too great to ignore.

Frenzied tears well in your eyes as you beg again, “PLEASE, please, I need…need….”

“Neeeeed, now it knows, now it understands what it NEEDS. Cum for Pennywise, little treat. Give it to Me.”

Pennywise…?

Climax hits you like a runaway train and wipes all sense from your mind. You shake and scream, rippling ecstasy washing over you in wave upon endless wave. Bob follows suit and hilts himself, spilling so deep you feel him twitching behind your navel. There’s so much, too much. It spills over and pools beneath you, a sickly sweet scent filling the air.

Wet fingers prod at your lips and you crack an eyelid open one at a time to find Bob insistently poking at your mouth with slick-covered digits. Not thinking, your lips part and the taste of rancid cotton candy bathes your tongue when the fingers push past your teeth.

You grimace at the flavor. Bob grins, too wide, terrifyingly wide. Fear renews like a bolt of lightening to the heart and rational thought whirs to life in your pleasure-addled brain.

Pennywise…. He’d called himself ‘Pennywise.’ Where had you heard that before?

“Pennywise was right to save you for later, yes, yes he was. Let you marinate. Let your meat age.”

Pennywise…. Pennywise the clown….

Your heart beats so fast you fear it will burst. Bob’s eyes are jaundiced, wide and wild. Familiar.

The clown. The clown from your childhood nightmares. The clown from the house at the end of the street.

Pennywise.

“And now you see it all, don’t you?” Bob’s voice is a warbled whisper, slow and solemn. “Now you know why.”

More tears burn their way down your cheeks.

“Purpose, hmm?” Bob chuckles, light and airy. “You’ll be of good use to IT.”

[linnytheseagull]

A gothic literature hyperfixation has possessed me so I made this

(This took way longer to make than it reasonably should have)

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Sleepless Nights

Thomas Shelby x Pregnant Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas cares for his wife.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings:

soft Thomas!, kissing, soft talk, lovely husband things.

Thomas prowls the grand corridors of Arrow House with a mixture of determination and unease. The mansion is a labyrinth of opulence, each corner dripping with the wealth he’s fought tooth and nail to secure. Yet, tonight, none of that matters. His mind is solely focused on one thing—finding his pregnant wife.

The house, with its vast rooms and endless hallways, feels both protective and suffocating. The heavy silence is broken only by the distant ticking of an antique clock, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Thomas’s polished shoes echo on the marble floors as he moves through the dimly lit spaces, his keen eyes scanning every shadow and crevice. The opulent decor, a testament to his success, now seems to mock him with its cold grandeur. He enters the library, where shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books line the walls, their spines gleaming in the faint light. The room smells of old paper and cigarette a sanctuary for his restless mind on many nights. But tonight, it offers no solace. He moves on, his pace quickening, his heartbeat mirroring his urgency.

As he strides through the dining hall, the long table stands like an island in the middle of the room, set for a feast that never seems to be eaten. The chandelier above it sparkles, casting prismatic reflections around the room, but Thomas’s eyes are unseeing. He is a man on a mission, driven by an anxiety he rarely allows himself to feel.

Finally, he reaches the living room, a vast space dominated by an enormous fireplace. The flames within flicker and dance, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. And there she is. His wife, his beacon in the storm of his life, sitting on the couch in an awkward yet somehow comfortable position. The sight of her instantly softens his stern expression, though worry still shadows his features. She’s nestled into the corner of the couch, her swollen belly making her position look ungainly to anyone else, but Thomas knows better. He sees the way her hand rests protectively over her stomach, the way her eyes are half-closed in a state of meditative calm. She’s wearing a loose, flowing nightgown that accentuates her maternal glow, the fabric cascading around her like a gentle waterfall.

“Love,” Thomas says softly, his voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the silence. “Y’alright there?” His thick Birmingham accent adds a rough edge to the tender words, a contrast that defines him so well.

She looks up, her eyes meeting his with a tired but loving gaze. “Tommy,” she replies, a small smile curving her lips. “Just needed a moment. The baby’s been restless tonight.”

Thomas nods, understanding immediately. He crosses the room in a few strides, his presence a mix of power and protectiveness. He sits beside her, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. Gently, he places a hand over hers, feeling the life within her. It’s a moment of connection, grounding him in a way few things can.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. “Worried me, y’know.”

She chuckles softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I’m fine, Tommy. Just... needed to be alone for a bit.”

Thomas’s eyes soften further, the hard lines of his face easing as he takes in her serene expression. “Y’should rest more, love. Don’t want you overexertin’ y’self.” His voice is firm yet gentle, the protective husband surfacing through the tough gangster exterior.

She nods, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “I know. It’s just... there’s so much to do. So much to prepare for.”

Thomas sighs, his hand moving to gently caress her cheek. “Leave it to me. I’ll handle everythin’. You just focus on our little one, yeah?”

He could see the strain in her eyes, the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. His heart ached for her, wishing he could take away her discomfort. "I wish I could do more," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She smiled again, squeezing his hand. "You're here, Tommy. That's enough."

But it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do more, to alleviate her pain in any way he could. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that might help. Then she spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Tommy, Ada said if it gets too heavy, you can lift my belly a bit with your hands. It might help.”

Tommy's brow furrowed as he processed her words. It was a simple gesture, yet one that could provide her with some relief. He looked into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and he knew he had to try. "Alright, love," he said, his voice firm with determination. "Let's give it a go."

He moved closer, positioning himself in front of her. His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, gently interlaced under her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Slowly, he lifted, supporting the weight of their child. She let out a sigh of relief, her body relaxing into his touch.

"Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, her eyes closing once more. "So much better. Thank you, Tommy."

He held her there, his strong arms supporting her, providing the comfort she so desperately needed. In that moment, all the worries and burdens of their world faded away, leaving only the two of them. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply be present, to cherish the moment.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Strongest woman I know."

She smiled, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. "I have to be, married to you."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Yeah, I suppose you do." His gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "But I wouldn't change a thing. Not a bloody thing."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and reassuring. Tommy's thoughts drifted to their future, to the life they were building together. It was a life filled with uncertainty and danger, but it was theirs. And as long as they had each other, he knew they could face anything. Eventually, he shifted, carefully lowering his hands and easing her back into a more comfortable position. He smiles, before cupping her face; his hands calloused from years of work, are surprisingly gentle as they cup her cheeks. He brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear with a care that belies his hardened exterior. The feel of her skin under his fingertips is a reminder of all that he has fought for, and all that he stands to lose.

“Love,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, thick with his Birmingham accent. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The words are simple, but they carry a weight of sincerity that is unmistakable.

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and fatigue. Pregnancy has been both a blessing and a challenge, but in this moment, with Thomas so close, she feels a sense of peace. He leans in, closing the small distance between them, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is intense, filled with a passion that speaks volumes of his devotion. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise, a silent vow that he will always be there for her.

His hands move from her face to her shoulders, sliding down her arms and resting on her swollen belly. He can feel the life growing inside her, their child, the future of the Shelby legacy. The thought fills him with a fierce protectiveness, a determination to shield them both from the dangers of his world. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’ve got to know,” he whispers, his voice husky with emotion, “I’d do anything for you. Anythin’ to keep you safe.” His words are punctuated by the gentle movement of his hands, caressing her belly as if to reassure both her and their child of his unwavering commitment.

Thomas stirred from sleep, his body instantly alert despite the lingering remnants of exhaustion. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes, casting faint, golden lines across the bed where he lay. His hand reached instinctively to the other side, expecting to feel the familiar form of his wife beside him. The cool, empty sheets met his touch instead, sending a wave of unease through him. He sat up abruptly, the fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead catching the light. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face as his sharp blue eyes scanned the room.

The clock on the mantel ticked softly, marking the time as just past nine in the morning. Thomas swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor against his bare feet grounding him. He rose to his full height, stretching out the tension in his muscles. He was dressed only in his boxers, the morning air cool against his skin. The bedroom was silent, save for the sounds that nature produced in the waking hours of the morning.

His mind raced through possibilities as he left the bedroom, each step measured and deliberate. The house was vast, and his wife could be anywhere, but his instinct told him to check the usual places first. The corridor outside their bedroom was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the morning light. Thomas moved with purpose, his eyes darting to each doorway as he passed. He checked the nursery, but it was empty save for the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. The sitting room was similarly deserted, the furniture untouched and the air still.

Thomas’s worry deepened with each empty room. He descended the grand staircase, his hand trailing along the polished banister. The ground floor was no different – the study, the drawing room, all empty. He paused at the doorway to the dining room, listening intently. The faintest clink of cutlery reached his ears, a sound so subtle it could easily have been missed. Relief washed over him, but he kept his composure as he moved toward the kitchen, the source of the noise.

The kitchen was a contrast to the rest of the house – warm, filled with the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and other culinary delights. The sight that greeted Thomas made him pause in the doorway. His wife was at the counter, her back to him, completely absorbed in her task. She was preparing her favorite pregnancy craving, a look of contentment on her face as she worked. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she had her loose, flowing nightgown, made of soft, breathable fabric, was adorned with delicate lace and ribbon trims. He had it made especially for her.

A soft chuckle escaped Thomas’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Hungry, eh? For whatever you're eatin' at what... nine in the mornin'..." His voice was low, the thick Birmingham accent adding a familiar roughness to his words.

She turns to him, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes are bright, despite the early hour, and there's a certain glow about her that he finds both endearing and reassuring. "Well... I originally woke up because I had to throw up... but then it wore off and I just sat there for a bit before I actually did throw up..." she explains, her voice trailing off as she takes another bite.

He crosses the room to her, his worry giving way to a tender affection. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and careful. "You alright now?" he asks, his voice softening. "You and the little one?"

She nods, placing the bowl on the counter. "Yes, we're fine. Just one of those mornings."

Thomas wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He can feel the slight swell of her belly against his skin, a constant reminder of the new life growing inside her. "You should've woken me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She laughs softly, resting her head against his chest. "You need your rest too, Tommy. Besides, it’s nothing I can’t handle."

He holds her for a moment longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The kitchen, with its warm morning light and the comforting presence of his wife, feels like a sanctuary. A stark contrast to the chaos and violence that often defines his life outside these walls. He pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a mixture of love and concern. "If you need anythin', you come get me. Don’t try to be too strong on your own."

She nods, understanding the depth of his worry. "I will, I promise."

They both stood there looking at each other.

"Any plans for today?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She looks up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I was thinking of organizing the nursery a bit more. And maybe take a walk in the garden if the weather holds."

He nods, appreciating her simple plans. "Sounds good. I’ve got a meeting later, but I’ll be back by lunch. We can go for that walk together."

She smiles, the idea pleasing her. "I’d like that."

Author’s Notes:

Credit for the smol sparkle divider: CafeKitsune

[murasaki-cha]

This is literally Paedyn @ Kai in Reckless

[loafofsunshine]

NEW KAIPAE FANART JUST DROPPED BITCHESS

[thejudeduarte]

Being part of a small fandom is liking every single post you see about it because on tumblr little to no people have actually read the books 😭

I'm totally not talking about powerless and legendborn

[highladyofterrasen7]

Heheh

[parsleepotato]

Two Mercs Dancing: Encore (2023) The piece above was a redraw of the piece below, which was my first CSP art piece (2 year gap between the two), back when I hardly knew how to use CSP, and my art style was much rougher. I've come a long way, and I'm so proud of myself! It's currently my best and favorite Sniper x Spy work I've made so far! 💙❤️

Two Mercs Dancing (2021) The reference I used is from my favorite Queer photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe! I studied his work a lot in college, and honestly, if any of you haven't seen his work, I recommend y'all check it out! (But be weary! Some of his work is VERY 18+)

Two Men Dancing (1984), by Robert Mapplethorpe

I love cross-faction TF2 ships, especially RED Sniper x BLU Spy. Two mercs hired to kill each other, but catch feelings for their enemy, then subsequently having to keep their love a secret. I love them either overcoming or succumbing to the challenges of loving their enemy, leading to either one or both of them being put in danger, or them fighting and/or running away to stay together, etc... These two have such an engaging and varied dynamic in my opinion. So much fanfic and fanart brings unique perspectives and ideas to the ship! Enemies to lovers is my absolute fav, and this is definitely one of my favorite ships!

Reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated! Please don't steal my work, or repost it without my permission. I hope you all have a wonderful day!

[dollvre]

did I finish the book or did the book finished me?

yes I am talking about reckless by lauren roberts

[girllblogging777]

if i had a nickel everytime i read a romantasy book about a poor girl from the streets who got picked to participate in a trial between rich kids with superpowers, while having to live at the palace where the two brothers fell in love with her before she betrayed them and ran away, i'd have two nickels.

[from-the-stars-to-the-moon]

I’m so in love with older men it’s really getting out of hand

[starrynightsxo]

them: he can't hurt you

him: "I think I would fall on my sword if it meant you mourned me"

WHEN I CATCH YOU LAUREN ROBERTS-

[linnytheseagull]

More classic literature YouTubers because it's so funny to me

Bonus content:

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Forever a Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas and you get married.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author’s Notes:

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

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

[murasaki-cha]

My honest reaction as I am currently reading Powerless (my friend lent it to me).

This is peak romance if you ask me!

YOU KNOW YOUR GIRL HERE LOVES A GOOD ENEMIES TO LOVERS!!

[perpetualprocrastinationisme]

I just want to know what happened between the Merry Thieves Generation to the Circle's generation to make them the way that they are. Like, how did these families go from being so respectful and kind to downworlders to their direct descendants forming a downworlder hate group that almost destroyed the Shadowhunting world. Like, was the Circle's generation just on something or was this a horrible, gradual shift that made these families unrecognizable to what they once were?