#thomas x f!reader

[gayjesus2023]

the maze runner p.1

masterlist

~p.2

(Disclaimer: if I mess up some things about the female body I am very sorry!!!(fw: none (that I know of), potentially a little course language))

wc: 0.5k (beginner story)

back story: when the only girl in the pit died when she tried escaping the maze. The people of the laboratory freaked and had to get a girl back into the maze . Until one of the scientist had a plan…

“Where the fuck am i. It’s like a cage, why am I in a cage” you thought to yourself. You screamed for help but all it did was echo through the channel that brought you up. Until the box came to a stop, the doors opened and it took a moment for the light to make friends with your eyes. You could see people, multiple people all of them had big shoulders. So you knew they where all men you were carried out by two of them and hauled into a hut. Some of the boys waited around you then ,one boy told you “It’s ok darling” then you saw darkness.

You woke up after what felt like 3 minutes but when you woke up and saw the same person who said “it’s alright darling” to you. He was blond and you thought that he was a little British. as soon as you saw him, he ran out of the room and got 2 other guys both of them where American but they all stared at you. You focused on your surroundings the blonde one was the British one and the two Americans looked really sporty. Like Runners.

When you fully woke up. No one was around. when you stood up It felt weird, but all you could focus on was your skin. So you walked into the woods behind the little Hut and soon found a little waterway running through the woods, you stripped down and it felt like you just bathed in holy water. Fuck it felt good. It felt like you haven’t eaten in days. you got out and dried your clean body. “ I knew you would be here somewhere” you look over and it’s one of the American boys. he was leaning on a tree. cutting his nails with his teeth “I’m Thomas, call me Tom.” he was handsome with brown hair and a dirty black shirt with beige short cargo pants.

“actually I was just about to come and have a bath, but I guess not” he says coming closer the the water. You and him were on opposite sides of the river. “just wait there” a few minutes past and he brings back a dirty white shirt and some long gray jeans. “look away” you say “Oh! She talks now” you laugh. It was silent for a moment “uhm T-Tom.. do you have any pads or maybe tampons” you hear Tomas breathe for a second. Do you want to overlap your underwear?”

after you finish getting changed you walk out and Thomas is leaning on a tree looking into the thick mist that covers the trees in the distance. As soon as he sees you he looks at you, his eyes move up and down your body. “Hey… I’m sorry I forgot to mention my name… it’s Y/N baby the way” he smiles “hey Y/N … I’m sorry that we don’t have those lady… stuff. But I’m sure we can make something..” before he finishes his scentence there’s a boy running towards Tom. “who’s that…” Tom turns around. “Oh that’s Minho… right you don’t know anyone here”

Minho stops and talks to Tom. “he wants to see her. All the guys think it’s him who deserve.. well except for me chuck and newt and a few others.” he looks at you and smiles. “Your going to want to meet someone” he says smiling greedily.

-book note: eeeek first post. I’ve been looking forward to posting this but if you want me to continue just tell me and I might continue this… (next part at 150 likes)

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [OPEN THE WINDOW] ¡! ❞

↳ Chat: Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

characters: Pantalone, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wriothesley, Xiao & Zhongli x F!Reader

[moraxsthrone]

cockwarming?

how about pussywarming?

after so much whining and begging, you finally relent and let him sink his needy, leaking dick inside your wet heat, gripping your waist and biting back a moan as he goes. but he knows he has to be still like a good boy while you finish your work; otherwise you’ll pull off of him.

his strong, naked thighs flexing and trembling when you clench around him. he’s biting his lip, trying with all of his might to fight the urge to pull out until only the ridge of his angry cockhead peeks outside your hole before snapping his hips into you again, full and hard.

but he knows better.

he fights it until his teeth marks adorn his lower lip. he’s so good. he doesn’t move. not a single inch. such a good boy. <3

but he’s just so keyed up from hours of your teasing - squeezing his hard dick through his pants when you walk by, moaning his name into his mouth while kissing him, dipping your fingers into your wet cunt just to let him suck them into his waiting mouth while telling him “taste what you do to me…” it’s gone on for far too long. you feel his desperate cock twitch inside you, accompanied by the pitiful whispers of your name and apologies coming out in choked sobs.

“I- fuck- oh no…oh fuck, m’sorry ican’tholdit- hnnggg- i’m cumming!”

What do you do?

Do you let him cum inside you because he’s been such a good boy through it all?

Or do you pop off him and let his powerful, delayed orgasm send long ropes of his semen streaking across his own face and into his open mouth as punishment?

THOMA. tighnari. kaeya. ITTO. CHILDE. BAIZHU.

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven 5 - the end (Bruce Wayne x f!reader)

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. And then you asked for more :)

My masterlist is here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: no proof reading, fighting, language, violence, angst/comfort (in a way), pregnant!reader

Things went out of hand pretty quickly. Dick joined you home and saw Bruce speaking with you. He was towering over you. You seemed very uneasy. 

“So you knew”

“That I was with a man who was actually in love with me and taking care of me? Yes”

“I am your husband. Is it how you are loyal to me? No, no, don’t answer. You know what, I understand. I haven’t been the best. But once he’ll be back to his world, I’ll do better. I’ll take care of this child and we’ll be happy again. Don’t you want that?”

You didn’t answer because you realised how obvious the answer was: you were in love with the other version of Bruce, not with the one you actually married. You wished for him to go away, you wanted things back like when he was gone. You didn’t even feel guilty anymore. You were allowed to be happy, your children too. Even Barbara started to enjoy the new Bruce better.

“Don’t you want that?” Bruce repeated, losing it over your lack of answer

Dick walked over and with the way the man greeted him, he knew who it was. The new Bruce was always smiling at him, always grateful to have Dick around. This Bruce was a little bit annoyed, a little bit too cold to feel happy around him. Dick wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you relaxed a little bit.

“Stay away from mom” Dick groaned

“I’m not… For fuck sake, can you all stop acting like if I was the intruder here? I belong here, this is my world, my family, my home!” Bruce was getting angry

“Then start treating us better already” Dick continued

“How fucking dare you?! Without me, you’d be nothing” Bruce started to scream

“And you how fucking dare you talking with that tone in front of a pregnant woman? A woman you said you loved too. But really you never knew anything about that, did you?”

The batfamily had always been pretty protective of you, but it was even worse now you were pregnant. And to Dick, his former father was actually a threat to the family. Because it finally felt like a family and after everything that happened, he didn’t want to lose it.

Everything happened in a blur after that. The “real” Bruce threw a punch at Dick, out of pure anger and despair at being so easily replaced. They started to fight. They had no mercy. Actually, all the anger they always felt toward each other was finally getting free and making them even more ruthless.

Alfred quickly grabbed you and guided you away from the two men, finding you a safe place to lock yourself in until everything would settle down. Alfred wasn’t too sure what to do. He had guessed something happened when his Master started to treat everyone like Alfred always wished he would. For once, he had decided to pretend to not understand. But now, to be fair, he wasn’t recognising the man he raised and he thought that maybe he was gone in this other world. Or maybe he never truly existed. He just wanted them to stop fighting, but he didn’t know how to.

You called your lover, you tried to explain to him what was going on, but you were getting close to a panic attack. 

“It’s alright, my love, it’s alright. I’m on my way. Stay where you are, stay safe. This is all that matters to me. Jason will come find you so you won’t stay on your own, okay? I just need you to breathe in and out. Can you do that? For me? I know you are strong. You are amazing, my love. I just need you to trust me” he smoothly told you, trying to appease you no matter how tense he was himself getting.

But all that mattered was you. Always you.

“I… I trust you” you finally manager to whisper

“Good. Lay down and breathe, my love. I’ll be home soon”

After that, he called Kate for her to deal with the security breach while he was coming back to the manor. On his way, he also called Jason for him to protect you and help you calm down. Jason didn’t ask a question. If his father needed you to look after you, he didn’t need to know anything else.

You heard a car coming by, the front doors getting opened and then more sounds of fighting. You knew that your Bruce had started a war with your former husband. You guessed he asked Dick to leave, because he didn’t want his son to get hurt. Hopefully, Alfred was taking care of Dick now.

You started to cry.

You jumped when you heard a knock at your door. Soon enough, you opened the door to a very worried Jason who locked the door back behind him and settled on the ground by your side. He held you and rocked you, whispered words of reassurance to help you calm down. He hated to see you like that.

When he arrived at the manor, he did his best to follow the instructions he received for once, and to not intervene in the fight between the two Bruces. He was now praying to whoever divinity who might hear him to get rid of the former Bruce. He didn’t want to be in the same world as him again. You both heard the sounds of the fight and it was driving you sick with worry. 

“What if he kills him?” you cried our and Jason shushed you

“He’ll be fine” he whispered

“You haven’t seen the way he was acting. He was so desperate to get his life back here, he promised me things…” you felt like you were going to throw up

“Ma, don’t worry. He may want his life back, but I can tell you that dad is actually very desperate to keep this life as well. And you’re pregnant with his baby. He’ll fight with everything he has” Jason tried to reassure you

Jason was right. The two Bruces were on equal strength, on equal intelligence and on equal despair. They both wanted and needed this good life in this world, but for that, one of them needed to be gone.

Both Bruces had thought of so many plans and different contingencies to take care of the other. They hadn’t really planned on simply fighting the other one. But despair drives everyone crazy and makes them act like animals.

You heard screams of:

“This is my home! I’ll kill you or I’ll send you back to your personal Hell!”

“This is my Heaven and you can’t get it away from me. You didn’t deserve any of this anyways. Even my wife knows it”

“She isn’t yours”

“That’s no what she said. That’s not what the children said.”

“Fuck you”

You had no idea how long it last. Forever, maybe.

“I’m going to get sick” you whispered when a terrible silence engulfed the whole manor.

Then you heard a lot of footsteps. The children arrived and were taking care of things. You jumped when Alfred knocked at the door.

“Mr Jason, Mrs Y/N, the fight is over. You can come out” he told you 

Jason had to help you get up because your legs didn’t want to obey you anymore. You opened the door and Cass helped you walk to the living room with Jason. Everyone was so tense.

“How’s Dick?” you asked Stephanie who walked by

“He is fine, Duke is with him right now, to make sure he is all good” she answered and you felt a little bit better knowing that

Damian was sitting on the ground with Tim. They were both looking at the two Bruce Wayne lying on the floor. One was stabbed, the other one was tasered. They were unconscious. Damian was lost, Tim was trying to take care of the wound. 

“Baraba called Leslie, Alfred is waiting for her” Cass told you before helping you sitting down on a chair

“What are we going to do?” you whispered

“We need to make a choice” Jason told you

After a little while, the whole family was in the room, looking at the two men. The choice was pretty easy to make. 

Your former husband was locked up in an unbreakable room. Leslie took care of him while he was unconscious, and after that only Alfred talked with him. Damian sometimes too, but he never let his father go. Deep down, you knew that this fate was even worse than just killing him. But you couldn’t kill him; you needed to send him back to the other world, because this world didn’t have any Bruce Wayne now and who knew what the consequences could be.

When your lover woke up, he was in his bed. You were sitting next to him, holding his hand in yours. 

“Welcome back, darling” you whispered

“You choose me” he understood, fully relaxing against the mattress

“We choose happiness. Whenever we’ll find out how, we’ll send him back to the other world. For the last time, hopefully”

“I’ll make sure of it” he hummed before kissing your fingers

The man you loved never had any more nightmares about the other Bruce.

And you neither.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

Taglist for this series <3 (you’re my heaven)

@bat1212

@karakento

@kneelforloki

@nosebeers

Thanks for the ideas & the comments <3

@motherofdragons1998

@silverklaus

@alishii

@kazuko-stuff

@navs-bhat

@hisuitfgg6

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 ♡

In a world where trust is earned and betrayal met with swift and ruthless consequences, you'll do anything to protect your family, even if that means you'll have to do the unthinkable, marrying the criminal kingpin of Birmingham, Thomas Shelby.

Tommy Shelby x reader || Series playlist || Main masterlist

Chapter 1 Family Business coming soon

Chapter 2 Long Live The King

Chapter 3 Peonies and Razorblades

More chapters to come

[queers-gambit]

If Speaking is Silver, Then Listening is Gold

a Turkish proverb

prompt: ( requested ) you require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman.

pairing: Tommy Shelby x hard of hearing female!reader

fandom masterlist: Peaky Blinders

word count: 4.4k+

note: you hit me in the chest with this request. as someone who is hard of hearing (HoH) and progressively losing what they have left, this got personal.

warnings: author projects, mild angst, hurt and comfort, specified frustration, working with customers SUCK, mild violence, Tommy's a little OC 'cause he doesn't know what to do with emotion!

"Excuse me! God, the service here is terrible! Aren't you listening to me, barmaid!?" The woman with polished finger nails slammed her manicured hand to the bartop aggressively, glaring at you as if you had backhanded her mother.

The sudden slap made you jump slightly, turning your head to acknowledge her before deflecting, "In a moment, ma'am, I'm trying to listen to this man's order."

"I've been trying to get your attention for 10 minutes now!" She argued, the noise of the bar dialed up as the night droned on and the patrons drank more.

"And I'm busy assisting other customers, I'll get to you when it's your turn," you reminded her, blinking at the man in front of you. "I'm so sorry, sir, I, uh, what were you saying?"

He sighed, "You don't remember? Or didn't hear me?"

"I couldn't hear you over the woman yelling at me," you snipped, perking your brows. "Would you like to order or should I move onto another customer?"

He scoffed, "Just get me a fucking bourbon."

"One fucking bourbon comin' at'cha," you rolled your eyes as you turned from the people to grab the bottles of liquor lined up behind you. You poured the man his drink, set it in front of him, and pocketed the bill he slapped in front of you - not offering change as you instantly looked to another customer. He grumbled with displeasure, but you were asking the next person, "What can I get you?"

"Uh, no, I'm next, I've been waiting long enough," the woman with polished fingernails insisted, literally pushing the customer out of her way.

You sighed, "Know what? All right, fine, what can I get you, ma'am?"

At that moment, the doors swung open and a new wave of drunkards stumbled in; the bar roaring to greet the newcomers as the woman ordered her posh drink that had no business being ordered in The Garrison.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You asked, staring at her mouth in the hopes of reading her lips. She repeated her order, but her tacky lipstick made her lips stick - making it hard to read. "What? I'm sorry, ma'am, it's loud, you're gonna have to speak up."

"Are you fucking with me right now!?" She screeched, making your eyes widen. "You're the fucking deaf - you can't hear a simple order!?"

"I only asked you to repeat yourself," You defended.

"You asked me three times!" She raged.

"So tell me a fourth and shut the fuck up!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Harry stepped in, hand to your shoulder when the woman looked ready to launch over the bar, "I got this. I'll man the bar, you go on - there's some tables that need bussing."

You sighed and stepped back, nodding, "Sure, Harry."

You hated when he did this. Instead of defending you and your inability to hear - something you have no control over - he would always just push you aside and send you to do other chores. It wouldn't cost anything to tell the customers to calm down, it was loud in the pub and you had a hard time hearing as is - but nope! The customer was always right, or whatever bullshit he would remind you.

You were constantly accosted at work for your difficulty hearing clearly. It wasn't that you couldn't hear at all, it was just difficult! Sometimes, you could hear bits of their sentence and just inference whatever words you missed, but that wasn't an exact science. You mostly depended on reading people's lips, always hating asking anyone to repeat themselves; but at work, it wasn't always possible. The people you interacted with seemingly took personal offense that you had a hard time hearing, and each of them made their displeasure known. Again, a great time for Harry to defend you, but the older man didn't like rocking the boat.

You didn't necessarily blame him, knowing the Peaky Blinders kept a close eye on the pub and would probably reprimand (cut) Harry for discipling customers instead of firing you. So, you kept quiet about your displeasure over your treatment because you needed this job - you never wanted to give reason or thought that you were difficult. Maybe that was why Harry would send you off to do other chores, he didn't want you to lose your cool and this job. Though, some of these people deserved a good tongue lashing.

Picking up a spare pail, you went around to a few tables and cleared them of empty glasses before using a rag from your bucket to wipe them down for the next set of people.

Apparently, in that moment, someone decided to move past you, and to their credit, they did say, "Excuse me, luv, behind yah," but you didn't hear him. So, when you straightened up from cleaning the table, you took a natural step back and bumped into a body; gasping when something wet splashed over your neck, shoulders, and down your back and chest. "Oh, fuckin' hell, lass! Watch where yer fuckin' goin'!" The man raged, his empty glass shattered on the floor.

You blinked in shock.

"What? Didn't fuckin' hear me when I told yah I was there!?" The man continued to reprimand you. "Gotta fuckin' listen in a pub like this, lass, you'll cause worse fuckin' accidents!"

"I'm so sorry," you offered meekly, shaking the ale off your arms and glancing at your front to see it trickled in alcohol. You needed to take a deep, long breath before turning to head for the bar.

"What happened?" Harry asked when you arrived, looking mild concerned.

"Another spill," you spoke through a clenched jaw.

"Oi!" The man who dropped his drink all over you approached the bar, barking at Harry. "It's not our fault you hired some deaf bitch! That can't fuckin' hear 'round her! She didn't move from my way, I lost me pint 'cause of her stupidity!"

Stupid...? Did this drunk asshole just call you stupid because HE bumped into YOU and spilled HIS OWN drink? Maybe the money you made at the bar wasn't worth this...

Harry had no issue giving the drunkard another pint of ale as you tried in vain to dry off, but your dress, hair, and skin was completely plastered in sticky alcohol. You felt your eyes burn with stress, wanting to burst into tears and sob your frustrations out, but you didn't have the strength to break down right now. That's how tired and upset you were - you didn't even have the energy to cry.

You went about your evening, bussing tables and avoiding whatever customers you could; keeping your head on a swivel to avoid any other accidents. You felt a little better, but the stress still lingered around the bar; feeling as if the customers were glaring at you no matter what you did. When a natural lull came, Harry let you back behind the bar with the promise of staying near in case you needed him, but you were ready to drop.

Your final straw was about an hour after the usual Peaky Blinders and Shelby brothers had come in for the nightly round(s) of whiskey. You smiled at Arthur when he approached the bar, all too happy to greet you loudly - the lad never having an issue with speaking up when you couldn't hear. Arthur was always happy to accommodate you, having a soft spot for you since his brother, Tommy, had made his interest in you known that past year.

Speaking of, Tommy Shelby, notorious gangster of Small Heath and the head huncho of the Peaky Blinders, entered after his brothers and made an instant approach. "Harry," he greeted when he stepped around the bar.

"Mr. Shelby," Harry nodded.

"Love," he acknowledged you, pecking your cheek sweetly. "All right?"

"Hmm?"

"Doin' all right?" He asked clearly, being similar to his brother and not minding speaking louder, slower, clearer, whatever you needed to hear him better. In fact, Tommy wasn't know for being patient, but with you, he'd repeat himself as many times as it took - but only for you.

"Oh, yeah," you sniffled, trying to hide your frustrations.

"Why's your dress wet?" He worried, petting a sticky lock of your hair back, his concern mounting.

You shrugged, "Bit of an accident, 's not a big deal."

"Someone run into you, again?"

You nodded, "It's fine, though. He got a new pint and calmed down."

Tommy shook his head, gritting, "Who?"

"Tommy."

"Tell me who, love."

"No, Tommy, it's fine," you insisted, petting your hand down his chest in a show of affection; seeing another customer approach the bar. "I'm sorry, I'm working, love, can we talk later?"

He nodded, pecked your temple, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey and moved for the snug - where his brothers and Aunt Polly waited for him. You got back to work, and barely noticed the time ticking by... Until a new customer approached you with a sneer already marring his face.

"What can I get for you, sir?" You asked kindly, needing to raise your voice over the usual drunken yelling. So, you preemptively warned him, "Sorry, 's bit noisy tonight, you'll have to speak up."

The man ordered his drink clearly, but another few men in loosened slacks and disheveled button-ups stalked up to the bar; crowding around the other two men who stumbled over in obnoxious laughter. You felt your panic spike, already overwhelmed by them all trying to talk over one another.

You were bombarded with drink orders from them all, eyes flickering between them because you didn't know who to listen to first. You tried to get the drinks together at the same time, but in truth, it was overwhelming because the men changed their orders, but got mad at YOU when you didn't quite hear them clearly.

Their drunken words added to the bar's noise level sprinkled with you being hard-of-hearing just resulted in a cluster fuck. "This isn't what I fucking ordered!" The original man complained, glaring at you with distain. "It's really not that hard, girl, my God. If you can't get our drinks right, how you gonna make any man a decent wife? Gonna fuck up his dinners, too?"

"Jesus - I'm sorry, there's just a lot going on. Why don't you remind me your drink and I'll get it now," you offered as kindly as you could.

"I doubt you'll be able to get it right," he sneered, but you missed half his sentence.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!? Just fuckin' listen - it's not hard!" He snarled, literally chucking his glass just past your ear so it shattered into the liquor bottles behind you. "You can't even get a fucking drink right! Fuck you doin' workin' here, then!?"

This caused a huge commotion, obviously.

The Shelby's don't play games, you see, and the moment the glass shattered, they were moving out of the snug to investigate. When they realized someone had offered you disrespect, it was a shit show as the drunkards clashed with the men with razors stitched in their caps. Still in shock from the show of violence, you felt something in your heart snap you into motion.

So, you silently untied your apron, grabbed your coat and home keys, then literally walked out the backdoor - while the men all scuffled. The moment you stepped outside, you let your emotional dam give out - sobbing into the stinging cold air as you moved up the street.

You weren't sure what emotion you felt - be it anger, disappointment, shame, fear... Crippling insecurity. Once at the Irish pub, The Black Lion, you settled at the nearly empty bar and ordered your own drink, something you rarely did anymore. Something about working with alcohol all day made you less inclined to drink, but tonight was different than previous nights.

"All right, lass?" The bartender asked, pouring the whiskey in front of you. "Look a bit put out, huh?"

"Just a long week," you answered. He hummed, nodding and asking something. You felt tears in your eyes when you asked, "C-Could you repeat that?"

Louder, he repeated, "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, no, thank you," you waved off. "Just... Customers being unruly."

He laughed, "Oh, don't I know it. What happened?"

You shrugged, "Nothing important."

"C'mon, lass, if it's made you come inta a place like this, searching for a drink, it's probably important enough."

You sighed, "Honestly, I think I appreciate the silence."

He smirked, "I can respect that. Here," he poured you a new glass, "this one's on the house. I deal with unruly customers, too, so, I know you'll need this second one."

You chuckled and grinned broadly when he went to walk away, did a double take, then left the whiskey bottle to your side with a smirk. He moved off to sit at a different table with some other older men, leaving you alone for the first time in what felt like a long time. It felt ironic for a moment that you sought solitude and silence, but you just wanted time to digest all that happened tonight and move on.

Why couldn't people understand that despite you being a public servant, you were still a human being? A human with human emotions, human disability, who makes human mistakes. Yet according to those entitled pricks that think YOU work for THEM, you were a second class citizen who was underserving of empathy. How dare you ask them to repeat themselves! How dare you misunderstand their order - and quickly replace it! How dare you have a disability past your control that affects your day-to-day life!

There was a heavy, looming feeling of being inadequate.

Being alive was hard enough as it is, more so when a bodily function most others take for granted malfunctioned within you. It made life harder; you had to work harder than everyone else just to operate on their same level. However, if you dare show exhaustion, frustration, any degree of weakness, you were quick to be labeled as "lazy" or "entitled" or your favorite, "dramatic!"

Those people can hear pins drop, they couldn't ever fathom what this felt like. It wasn't that you couldn't hear, you could. It just wasn't on the level other's could heard at, and for whatever reason, it seemed to frustrate everyone else more than you. You were the one dealing with the predicament, and yet, everyone else was seemingly the most inconvenienced! They thought it mortally offensive to be served by someone "like you", thinking your disability was unacceptable in their proximity.

Fucking assholes.

If only they knew the way your stomach knotted itself every time you asked someone to repeat what they said. Every time you said, "Huh?" or "What was that? What did you say?"

You were embarrassed because it made you feel as if you couldn't even be a human "correctly", and it's not like you chose for this to happen! It's not like anyone chooses to make the obligation called life ten times harder by putting you at a functional disadvantage. You felt like "damaged goods" because you felt constantly out of the loop; missing a lot of what's said if you're not paying explicit attention.

However, years ago, you had perfected the ability to read lips. Yet this was difficult when most people you couldn't hear were your customers, majority of who are slurring their words. You worked in The Garrison, meaning that on any given night, there was loud discussions that added to your frustration - but the tips were too good to quit. So you endured. You felt pathetic and borderline like a failure if you quit any job; feeling as if your disability had won by emotionally crippling you. So, while it didn't make a lot of sense to work in a noisy place when you're already hard-of-hearing, you remained at your place of employment simply out of spite.

It was difficult reminding yourself it wasn't your fault, that you were still doing a great job - no matter how many customers catch attitudes, get snippy, or throw full-on adult tantrums. You despised needing to be the "bigger person", but figured nobody else would be willing to accommodate you, so, if you wanted a semblance of peace, you had to be the one to create it.

You reached for the bottle of whiskey after downing your second glass. With a harsh sniffle, you glanced around the pub and realized how many people had arrived to fill in the place. You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, acutely aware that you were so deep in your emotional tarpit that you missed the noise rising.

So much for a quiet night.

You poured a new glass, praying to whatever God would listen that you're granted deliverance from this empty, helpless feeling that was pitting your stomach and chest.

After hearing the glass shatter, Tommy and his brothers were rocketing to their feet to investigate. They saw a man, red in the face, yelling hatefully at you behind the bar - liquor dripping off the shattered shelves from the man's bout of violence. There was no thinking for any of them. Tommy recognized you were in a predicament; striding forward first, and the chaos began.

It'd been a good bit since the lads had a good fist fight. No razors, no guns, no advantages - just bare fists and bar furniture.

It cleared the place out, and when the drunkard was hauled off by his companions, Tommy was wiping the blood from his knuckles. Harry frowned at the sight of blood splattered on the floor, shaking his head before calling your name - knowing you had some secret to getting blood out before it stained. However, there was no response. The Shelby boys all looked around expectantly, waiting for you to reappear, but it was evident by the way Harry searched for you that you weren't in the building.

Tommy placed a cigarette to his lips, just lighting it when Harry returned from the back room, informing, "Her belongin's are gone, she must've left early."

This made Tommy whip around sharply to use his own eyes and scan the room. "Nobody saw where she went? How was nobody watchin' her!?" Tommy asked demanded. There were several shakes of different heads, Tommy's anxiety flaring in his chest. He quickly rushed to grab his coat and flat cap, tugging them on in haste, hearing Arthur question where he was going. "Gotta find her," he explained through his panting-panic. "City's dangerous enough for people that can hear properly. God knows what can happen when she's alone at this time of night."

"We'll help," John offered, nudging Arthur, Finn, and their cousin, Michael Gray.

"I'll find her faster," Tommy answered, already out the door.

Michael shared a look around the room, wondering, "He acts like this all the time or just with that one pretty barmaid?"

Arthur smirked broadly, "That one pretty barmaid is Tommy's girl. Don't get caught lookin'."

"He's like this with just her," John chuckled, "always has been, always taking care of her the way she cares for him."

"What did Tommy mean? She can't hear?" Michael questioned innocently.

"Nah, girl's got some hearin', just not a whole lotta it," John explained as if common knowledge. "Never thought I'd see Tommy so patient, so fuckin' doting. He doesn't mind repeating himself if she asks, in fact, he does what he can to talk to her how she needs."

"What's that mean?"

"Like," John paused, sighing through his nose, "he'll face her directly, speak slower to let her read his lips. He speaks up, he's clearer, he wants her to feel like she's not a burden if she can't hear like us can so he does it all organically."

Michael smiled softly, vaguely impressed by Tommy's show of humanity. Speaking of, everyone's favorite gangster was prowling through Small Heath; stopping in each and every open business, searching for the familiar sight of you, and moving on when he was unsuccessful. You weren't at the Shelby home, nor your apartment, church, or anywhere along the Canal - places you frequent when overwhelmed.

Tommy was beginning to get cold, but he wouldn't say that. His determination would keep him warm, and even as the snow began to fall once more, Tommy hiked through the wind. Luck seemed to be on his side because when he entered the third pub, one he doesn't usually step foot in outside of evident emergencies, there you were; sat at the bar looking miserable.

"Thank God," Tommy breathed in relief, straightening his jacket and swiping his cap from his head. He approached your side and reached a hand out to the bartop in front of you, minimally startling you by announcing his presence without words. "Hey, love," he greeted you.

"What're you doing, Tommy? Blinders don't come 'round in here."

"We do when one of our own goes missing."

Your eyes rolled, "I'm not missing, I just needed a break."

"I know," he nodded, "but I'm here to make sure you get home safe."

"I don't need an escort."

"I don't think you do, but it's dangerous at night. You know I care about you and that includes your well-being."

"Oh, don't tell me, you're trying to play the gentleman card?" You scoffed, taking another swallow from your glass. "C'mon, sit down, I don't like drinking alone," you commented, "makes me sad, leaves me alone with my thoughts."

"We can drink at home, love."

"I don't want to go home yet."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'll have to explain why I got fired."

"You didn't."

"Huh!?" You yelped.

"You didn't lose your job," he assured softly.

"No?"

"No, not fired."

"Oh," you mulled over your thoughts, "that's good, then."

Tommy sighed and pulled his coat off to take the empty barstool beside you. "All right," he decided, going through the motions to stick a cigarette between his lips and light it. Smoke wafted from his mouth as he asked, "What happened tonight?"

"You already know, I'm sure."

"I want your truth."

"Doesn't matter," you refused, downing the last of the whiskey in your glass. You went to leave a few bills for your tab, but Tommy stopped you and covered it himself. Your eyes rolled and hand snatched the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey before heading for the exit.

Tommy followed not far behind.

"Love, c'mon, wait up," he grit, catching up to you and tossing his coat over your form, "you're gonna catch ill."

"I'm fine," your eyes rolled. Truthfully, the consumed whiskey in your system acted as an internal heating mechanism; warming your blood, wrapping you in a fuzzy grip.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

"I just - I'm frustrated, okay?"

"Sure, all right," he agreed, "but why?"

"You don't get it, Tommy," you felt emotional, rounding on him with tears in your eyes. "You don't know what it's like, you can hear just fine, you can still see, you don't know what it's like to progressively lose one of your senses! The way people get angry for something I cannot dictate - it's like they're the one being vastly inconvenienced!"

Tommy nodded, just listening.

"And they crucify me for it!" You sniffled, feeling defeated. "Like I'm some pariah that will infect them with my loss of hearing. They treat me as if - as if I've asked for this, as if I'm doing it on purpose!"

"What would help?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore, Tommy, but this town is seriously lacking in their ability to empathize. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do - I get so angry now. It happens more and more, people getting angry or frustrated at me 'cause I need them to repeat themselves. What am I supposed to do, huh?"

He smirked slightly, but the sight angered you.

"Oh, fuck off, Tommy!" You turned from him, moving back up the street. "I don't need to laugh at me like the rest of them - "

"I'm not!" Tommy insisted, reaching for your wrist to halt you, whip you around, face him again. Both his hands extended to hold the area above your elbow, speaking clearly, "Listen to me. I was going t'wait, but I think now's a good time."

"Good time for what, Tommy?" You growled, now just wanting to go to bed and hide from your emotions; hide from people; hide from reality.

"I have a new job for you, in the company," he smirked. "We're still getting things structured, but why don't you step away from the bar and come work for me now? Help us build what's left, and then transition into your company job?"

You paused, just staring at him in mild shock.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Why would I joke?"

"You're... Offering me, what? Some job as your receptionist?"

"No, I was thinkin' something a little more paramount."

"Like what?"

"Like Chief of Operations?"

"COO?" You laughed, "For what company, Tommy?"

"Come home with me, we'll talk all about it," he bargained, "but if you accept, you've gotta quit The Garrison, love. We'll need your head in the game, no other distractions."

You felt something in your heart crack, asking, "What if you lot can't stand working with me, too?"

"Because of your hearing?"

"Or, you know, lack there of."

"Love," he smirked, "there's nothing you can do - intentionally or unintentionally - that would make any of us distance ourselves. If we get frustrated, it's not because you can't hear - it's never your disability, love."

"So, if you get frustrated, it's just, what? My personality?"

"More than likely," He grinned, arm snug around your waist again to walk down the snowy lane together. He laughed when your hand rose to pinch his side; squeezing his rib tightly, causing him to flinch and grunt lightly. "Hey, hey, easy with that," he chuckled, seeing your happy smile. "You all right, love? I know tonight was a lot, but... You feelin' any better?"

"I think so," you sighed. "The whiskey helps," you joked, raising the bottle to your lips.

"Mhm," he mused, taking the bottle after you.

"But present company helps more," you complimented softly. "You know, I'm sorry for today..."

"You're sorry that you couldn't hear a bunch of drunks in a packed-out pub?"

"Maybe?"

Tommy smirked, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. It's not your fault; like you say, it's not something you can control. I'm the one who's sorry you had to endure all of that... The lads got that guy pretty good."

"Good."

"And now you've a new job, yes?"

"After I hear about it," your eyes rolled in humor, taking the bottle back. "What's this big idea for a company anyway? What's it even called?"

"The Shelby Company Limited, and we're gonna change the whole of England, love."

requesting rules and masterlist

Peaky Blinders masterlist

[ay0nha]

An Ode to Ruination | T.S.

SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. 

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit.  This is inspired by @zodiyack​‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.

“You’re leaving.”

Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.  

The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.

“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”

Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.

The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.

There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.

“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”

With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.

“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”

—

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  

The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.

Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn.  It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible.   It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.

It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.

“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”

Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.

“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.

“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”

“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”

The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”

A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”

There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough.  You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.

“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.

“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”

“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.

You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.

“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”

I miss you.

Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”

“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”

The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.  

—

You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.

“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”

Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.

“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”

The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.

“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”

“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.

It was all or nothing; you were it.

You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.

There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”

“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”

To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.

“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.

“It has its moments.”  Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.

Tommy was never a blind man.

Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.

“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.

A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”

Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”

That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.

“I’m going to—

There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.

“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”

“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.

Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.

“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”

You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.

It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.

“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.

“Exactly right.”

You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.

To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality,   as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.

The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.

Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.

“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—

“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”

[truedove]

wanna play a game?

word count - 2,742

content - smut (minors dni), f!reader insert, extremely dubious consent, basically fuck or die, unprotected piv, slight breeding kink, twisted and fluffy feelings

synopsis - a dangerous escapee finds refuge in a haunted house and blends in seamlessly with the crowd of costumed goers. he continues his deadly spree only to run into you.

a/n - i honestly have no idea what this is :/

this was a terrible idea. the thought runs through your mind on repeat as you stand in line for the haunted house, the chill in the october air doing nothing to cool your nerves. your best friend had begged you to come along, promising it would be a night of laughs and good scares. but as the line inched closer to the gaping maw of the house, with its flickering lights and eerie sound effects, you felt less amused and more…trapped.

you weren't a scaredy-cat, no. you were an avid horror movie watcher and only just slightly quickened your steps when the lights were off at home. but this was different. you weren't watching from the safety of your sofa, plush sheets tucked tight under your chin; you were walking into the very heart of it.

in the recesses of your mind, you knew everything around you wasn't real, that the monsters masquerading in the shadows were just actors paid to make you scream. but as you stepped through the creaking doorway and into a dimly lit corridor, the rational part of you took a backseat to the instinctive fear that pumped adrenaline through your veins. the walls closed in around you, painted with scenes of gore that seemed a little too vivid.

your friend lets out a giddy laugh after one of the actors pops out from behind a curtain, a plastic chainsaw buzzing in his hand.

"wooh-boy!" your friend exclaims, leaning into your side as she catches her breath from the jump scare. "that was a good one."

all you can offer her is a strained smile as you will your heart to slow down. the corridor opens into a grim room filled with cobwebs and the scent of fake decay fills your nose. a scream echoes from somewhere deep in the house and you jump, your hand shooting to your chest.

a buzz starts from your toes to the very tips of your fingers, light at first but growing stronger with each step you take into the house. your friend grabs your hand, pulling you deeper into the maze of horrors, her excitement palpable. you swallow hard and try to keep up, the floorboards groaning beneath you as if the house itself were alive and aware of your fear.

suddenly, a strobe light flashes on and a multitude of figures lunge out of a rusty side doorway, your friend's grip on your hand slips away. for a moment, you're lost in the chaos of flashing lights and ghastly shrieks, searching for her familiar form amidst the strangers dressed as creatures of the night. your breath catches in your throat as the strobe light dances off the walls, casting eerie shadows that twist and distort the space around you. you're dizzy, disoriented, and utterly terrified.

you veer off the given path in a panic, stumbling through a foggy hallway that seems to stretch on forever. your eyes strain to make out the way forward, faux cobwebs sticking to your face like a clingy mist that makes you cringe. the air is thick with the smell of fake smoke, and somewhere, distant thunder rumbles. your heart is racing, and the adrenaline is making it difficult to think straight. you call out for your friend, but the echoes of your own voice are the only response.

a cold hand brushes against your arm, and you jump. you whirl around, ready to face whatever horror lurks in the fog, only to find a grinning skeleton, its plastic bones rattling with every jerky movement. a laugh bubbles up in your throat, part relief and part embarrassment.

heavy footsteps begin to approach from the other end of the foggy hallway you find yourself in, growing louder with each echoing thud and your chuckle dies in your throat. the faint flickering lights go out, plunging you into a sudden and absolute darkness.

whoever is on the other end of the hallway is slow in their approach, seemingly not in any rush to get to you. maybe it's a fellow patron lost like you, you convince yourself, but the muted glint of a machete in the person's hand suggests otherwise. you try to rationalize, it's probably just another actor, trying to build suspense before the next jump scare. but the darkness is thick, a velvet shroud that blocks out all other sounds except for the methodical steps.

all logical thought leaves you as the footsteps creep closer and you bolt.

if this was an act, it was one of the best you've ever encountered. the footsteps follow you, unyielding and deliberate before they start to speed up and the person behind you is full on chasing you through this creepy ass haunted house. you can't see a thing in front of you, your eyes having not fully adjusted to the sudden blackout. all you can do is feel your way through the cold, clammy walls, your hands sticking to the damp residue of who-knows-what as you go.

you trip over something—because of course you do—and go sprawling, the wind knocked out of you. the footsteps are closer now, and you can hear the raspy breathing of the person with the machete, their excitement apparent in every exhale. your own breath comes in short, sharp bursts, the sound of your own fear amplified in the silence.

you manage to find your footing only to slam into an apparent dead end. panic sets in as the footsteps are now right behind you. your palms sweat against the flaking wallpaper, searching for any sort of out. there's no escape, no hidden door, no exit sign. trapped, you're trapped.

as you whirl around to face your pursuer, the overhead fluorescents flicker and you're met with the sight of a towering, hulking man with a machete in hand. your mind reels—hoping this is when the actor breaks character with a cheesy grin and a 'gotcha'. but there's no grin, only a wild-eyed stare through a botched halloween mask that sends a jolt of terror down your spine. you're frozen, unable to move or even scream. so terrified that your body seems to have turned to stone, you watch as the man approaches, his machete glinting in the sporadic light.

the man's hot breath fans across your face. he brings with him the scent of sweat and something else—something metallic—that sends your stomach roiling.

was he an actor gone rogue, some deranged psycho who liked to take things too far? you squeeze your eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners, and brace for the worst.

instead of a painful blow, you feel the man's ragged breath inch towards your face and then a pair of chapped lips press upon the damp skin of your cheeks. they're scorching, and you flinch when his tongue snakes out to taste the salt of your terror. your eyes fly open to see his masked visage only an inch away, his eyes low lidded and a furrow to his brows just barely visible through the slits of the mask.

he crowds you, his armed hand coming up to steady himself against the wall, the other finding it's place on the wall beside your head, trapping you in a prison of cold plaster and sweaty latex. you attempt to scream, but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper, your throat constricting with fear. you're acutely aware of the weight of the machete's tip pressing against your ribs, a silent reminder of the power he holds over you.

a grin forms against your skin and the man idles closer, his teeth scraping against your cheek like the sharpened edge of a serrated blade. with his bulk pinning your frozen body to the wall, you feel a suspicious lump press against your navel, and panic shoots through you anew.

no, no, no. this couldn't be happening to you right now.

there was no way you were lost in some haunted house with a disturbed, possibly murderous stranger grinding his erection against your stomach. it just couldn't be.

you let out a plaintive cry as the gravity of your situation sinks in and the man coos, a sound meant to be soothing but only makes your tears fall faster.

he seems genuinely distressed at your tears, his shoulders slumping slightly as he hunches in on himself. but his grip doesn't lessen, nor does the pressure of his body against yours. if anything he presses closer, seemingly trying to comfort you in the most perverse way he knows how. but that was crazy, right? this monster couldn't actually be trying to console you. right?

when your cries only continue to escalate, the hulking man silences you in the only way he knows how to. he covers your mouth with his own and swallows your sobs greedily. you squirm, the 'fight' part of 'fight or flight' finally kicking in. your hands push against his chest, feeling the solidity of his frame beneath his grimy costume. but your efforts are futile, like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands. the man's kiss is wet and sloppy, his tongue pushing against your teeth as if he's trying to taste the very depth of you.

his hand snakes down from the wall, gripping your waist and pulling you closer, his machete now digging into your spine. your muffled protests are ignored in favor of his deepening of the kiss and you feel his other hand move to the back of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as if he's trying to cradle your skull.

growing increasingly frustrated with your constant struggling, he slams his hand into the wall beside your head, making the plaster crack and sending a spray of dust into the stale air. the sound is deafening in the enclosed space, and you feel the vibration in your teeth. you flinch— hard—and the sudden stillness of your body seems to be what he's been waiting for. his grip on you grows less punishing and more consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a fervor that turns your stomach.

you force yourself to calm down enough to finally take stock of your situation. this man, this monster, chased you down and seemed pretty intent on killing you before apparently deciding you'd make a better paramour than a corpse. was it your tears? did the sight of them get this sick fuck hard and he allotted you a different, more twisted fate?

you don't know and frankly don't care to. all you know is that you have to make it out of this alive, even if it meant playing into his twisted games. so, with trembling hands, you tentatively wrap your arms around his neck, feigning compliance. your stomach turns with every touch, but you force yourself to respond to his kiss, moving your mouth against his with as much passion as you can muster. he groans, a low guttural sound that makes your blood run cold, and abruptly lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep from falling.

"little lamb." he croons into your mouth, his voice thick with undeniable lust.

terror is a living thing inside of you, desperate to escape, but you keep it buried deep. your body goes rigid as he starts to grind his cock against your clothed cunt, mere fabric the only barrier between his sick desires and your trembling flesh.

he's quick to rectify that though, impatience getting the better of him as he full on tears the denim of your pants open with one swift motion. the sound of the fabric ripping echoes in the small space, making your heart stutter. the cold air hits your exposed skin, the difference between the chilly room and his burning hands a veritable assault on your senses.

his own pants are next and you feel the heat of his cock pressing against you. the heavy, leaden weight of him pokes you through the fabric of your underwear and he grunts, hips rutting against you. your eyes widen in horror and you squeeze them shut, trying to think of anything but the reality of what's happening. you can't help the whine that escapes your throat as he starts to tug at your underwear, ripping them away with a sickening sound.

some fumbling occurs and you feel the tip of his cock pushing at your entrance, and fuck. he's big, stupidly so, and you know there's no way he's fitting without tearing you apart. you pant at the thought, cold fear making your cunt clench tight around him. he seems to like this, though, because his grunts turn to growls and he shoves harder, pushing through your tightly wound muscles until you're forced to open for him.

there's a sharp, burning pain as he breaches you and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. you relish in the wince he gives, the bitter sap of his blood that fills your mouth when you bite down just that little harder. he's oblivious to your silent rebellion as he starts to fuck you, his strokes rough and unyielding; desperate. the wall bites into your back with every frenzied thrust, sending shocks of pain throughout your body that you don't mind as much as you should. this whole thing isn't revolting you as much as it should, which in itself is a horror to grapple with. you fervently try to ignore how good his strokes feel inside of you and the way your body seems to be betraying you with every shiver of pleasure that races through your veins.

his cock stretches you wide and broken moans escape you unbidden, muffled into the crook of his neck. you hate the way your body responds to the intrusion, the way your hips instinctively rock to meet his thrusts as if seeking the relief it knows is on the other end of this. he seems to notice your shift in demeanor, a smug grin spreading beneath the mask. his tongue traces the line of your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin and leaving little indents in his wake.

"you like this." he says with a definitive air, his voice deep and sure like he's simply stating a fact. an irrevocable truth.

your head shakes instinctively—the act slipping for a moment—but even you're not sure if it's in protest or in response to the dark thrill his claim sends through you.

when his groans lower in pitch and his already desperate rutting becomes more frantic, you realize with a jolt that he must be close. a swooping sensation fills your stomach—part fear, part relief—knowing that this might soon be over. but you can't just wait for him to finish and hope he lets you go, you need a plan. especially since the idea of him coming inside of you is too much to bear. you're not on birth control and nothing is shielding him from painting your insides white with his seed.

your barely-formed plans for escape are promptly cut off and interrupted by your own impeding climax, the alarm in your veins mixing with the sudden, not totally unwanted bliss.

it's blinding, all-consuming and leaves you feeling more than a little light-headed when it hits. the whole of you tenses around him, muscles clenching, and you can't help the cry that's torn from deep within your chest. the man grins into your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he lets himself go, filling you with a thick, hot rush of his cum.

the only sound that fills the space between the two of you for a long while is his labored breaths and your own shaky ones. his cum drips down from between your legs, viscous and pooling in the crevices of your inner thighs, your body still trembling with the aftershocks. when your head clears, you register the soft nips and kisses he's pressing against your neck and shoulders, as if he's trying to be sweet in the aftermath of his violation. aftercare, you think with slight hysteria.

it's silent, too quiet, and this is where your supposed to do something, get him while he's open and exposed but your body is a traitor, limp and spent against the wall. worse yet, his cock is still lodged inside of you, pulsing with the last of his orgasm and you feel his weight shift, his chest rumbling slightly as he murmurs, "again?"

[fishyvamp]

Masterlist

FtM!reader | F!reader | M!reader | GN!reader | AFAB!reader

The Knight

Eldritch!reader [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X]

Balancing the humors [X] [X]

The Ghostface

If only you'd join me

Dominate him

A fuck a day keeps the pain away

Someguy™

The design is whatever we want

Jekyll and Hyde!reader [X] [X]

The Trapper

Such a Brat

It's you, It's always you

smut drabbles [X] [X] [X] [X] [X]

Au!drabbles [X] [X]

History... [X] [X]

The Legion

I will own you

Stop saying that! [X] [X]

The Executioner

Killer!reader [X]

Make me small

The Pig

So cold

The Hillbilly

Something Soft

Fae!AU

Meg Thomas

Why are you so horny?

Claudette Morel

Headcanons

Extras/multi-character drabbles

Fae!AU

[paradiseprincesss]

hello, im 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚! 🫧

im in my early 20’s and im a nursing student. i write sometimes (by sometimes i really mean sometimes)! this is my main and only blog! i will occasionally post some blurbs but only for ethan landry.

feel free to send me asks, thoughts, ideas, tell me how ur day is going — anything! my inbox & my messages are always open!

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

-> fluffy, smutty & angsty themes

-> ethan landry content occasionally once i get back into writing !!!

-> my thoughts & random posts which will be tagged under #.addieischatty

𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇𝑆

𝖼𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗁𝗒 & 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 (INACTIVE)

jack champion & 𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗒 - 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣!

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

[moraxsthrone]

thoma promising not to cum inside you, but the way your pussy sucks him back in makes him lose all self-control. he’s already shot most of his load inside you when he pulls out, the last of his release spurting from his winking slit to paint your clit milky white.

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Your new family (Part VI)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of stress, not a lot of plot here but little snippets of moments with all the kids

You were a little bit stressed out to meet all of Bruce’s children but you also felt like it was going to be alright. Jason was there, always by your side. Dick and Tim liked you and they had said only good things about you to the others. Especially Dick, because he was well aware that Jason wouldn’t agree to spend time with him again without you. The fact Bruce was much nicer since you were together was also working in your favour. Alfred was approving of you too and he had personally asked all of the children to treat you well.

The children were also aware that Bruce would be very unhappy and disappointed with them all if things didn’t go well. It was obviously very important for him.

At first, everyone was a little bit silent and awkward. It was the first time a civilian was introduced to the whole family. And technically, they already knew a lot about you without knowing you, so they weren’t too sure how to act around you. They didn’t want to scare you off by showing they made research about you… and stalked you.

After a little while, you gently teased them all, saying that for vigilantes they were quite shy. It quickly put them at ease.

Things went actually a lot better than you thought and you could tell no one really believed you would that easily get along with the family. You felt Bruce relaxing through the dinner, his hand on your thigh under the table. His warmth helped you feel safer around everyone as well.

Soon enough they all were chatting around and asking you questions. It was a true interrogation but you didn’t mind. For once, you were the one answering questions and not the other way around. It was fun.

Damian was the only silent one. He wasn’t too sure how to deal with you. He didn’t need you. He wasn’t used to seeing his father around someone. He wasn’t too certain how to react when his father kissed the back of your hand with such love shining in his eyes. 

You noticed his uncertainty but you weren’t too worried about it. You knew you were fitting just right in there. You had never felt like that before, or just with your grandma. It was a nice change in your life. And you were really eager to start spending some time with all of them, like you were doing with Jason already.

You went to concerts with Dick. He wanted to go to those classic piano concerts but no one was eager to follow him. He had asked you, half certain you would politely decline his offer. But on the contrary, you had been more than happy to agree to come with him. Your eagerness warmed his heart. It had been a long time he hadn’t had a motherly figure in his life, and he knew you were fitting perfectly. Since then, whenever one of you wanted to go to a concert - no matter what kind - you had to go together. It was your thing. None of you went to so many concerts before, but it was a pretext to spend time together. You talked a lot before the concerts too and Dick could only agree with Jason: you were easy to talk to.

You played video games with Tim. You were waiting for Bruce to come back from patrol one night and you were bored out of your mind. You found Tim playing in the living room. At first, you just asked him if you could hang around. He agreed without thinking much of it, before offering you to play with him. He needed another player and no one else was around at that time. It appeared you were a gamer and you enjoyed fighting against one other. But you enjoyed working together on co-op games even more. You spent a lot of evenings with Tim on the couch, screaming together when you were losing or winning. Everyone knew better than to annoy the two of you when you were gaming.

You watched movies with Stephanie. Stephanie was clearly not too certain how to be around you. Things weren’t always easy with Bruce and after the way her parents betrayed her, she felt like she couldn’t trust adults any longer. But Jason loved you so much that she thought she could give you a chance. Watching movies allowed the two of you to bond, without having to interact too much at first. Then you started to talk a lot about what you just saw, and then about everything else. Watching movies snuggled up against you started to become Stephanie’s comfort zone and you were more than happy to give her that. Even though you were a tease, you never said anything when she fell asleep on you.

You took dancing lessons with Cassandra. It was clear the girl was a classic dancer; she was really amazing to watch. You loved to dance too, even though you never really took any kind of lessons, so you thought it would be a nice activity to do together. Cass instantly agreed. It allowed her to observe you and your body language. She had more fun than she thought, and she offered to keep going dancing together. You improved a lot thanks to her help and she liked to discover other kinds of dances thanks to you. You also came to watch her repetitions and her representations. She started to always look for you in the spectators, happy to be taken care of that way. 

You did puzzles with Duke. You started to spend a lot more time at the manor, even when Bruce wasn’t around. You were currently doing a mind game on the living room table as Duke went by. You started to chat around and you saw Duke was quite eager to play with you, so you invited him to settle by your side. Once you were done, he looked for a puzzle he hadn’t finished yet so you could do it together. When the weather was pretty bad in Gotham, you quite liked to get some hot cacao and to do puzzles with Duke. Because you both were pretty good with puzzles, you had to always find more challenging ones. Looking for them was also part of the fun.

For Damian, things were a little bit more difficult, as he made it clear, he had no interest in spending time with you. It hurt you a little more than you wanted to admit but didn’t say anything at first. You eventually went to an animal care centre open to the public with Damian and Bruce. Bruce offered for you to come with the two of them so his son could get used to your presence. He had noticed he was the only one who was avoiding you. Damian stayed cold to you for a long time, eyeing his father holding your hand with a frown until you let go of Bruce’s hand to come closer to the lions. You really loved the animals and Damian thought you couldn’t be that bad then. That evening, Alfred the cat fell asleep on your lap, so Damian started to be more polite to you. It was the first step. You started to bond over taking care of his pets.

You also met Barbara, Kate, Luke and Lucius. 

Kate and you instantly became friends because you were seeing things quite similarly. You also loved to tease everyone together. You had a real complicity between the two of you, and you often hang out together just for the sake of being together. And annoying everyone.

Barbara needed some time to trust you but she could tell you were a good addition to the family. She slowly warmed up to you. You didn’t take it personally and you showed a lot of patience. You were happy to be part of this group of amazing people, and Barbara couldn’t deny how kind you were to all of them.

Luke trusted Duke’s approval of you. You talked a lot around a drink in a bar in Gotham after Dick invited everyone for his birthday. You asked him questions about the army and the way veterans were taken care of. You promised him to do an article about it, which touched Luke a lot.

Lucius and you enjoyed talking together, as ones of the only civilians of the family, with Alfred. For Lucius, it was quite refreshing to be able to discuss with someone who was also shaking their head at the Batfamily’s antics. Lucius quickly saw how much of a good asset you could be for Wayne Enterprises as well and he hoped that at some point you would agree to help Bruce with it.

As months went by, you started to all know each other a lot more. And to start to love one another quite fiercely. You were their Batmon. You got confirmation of it when the children playfully and yet tenderly brought you a bracelet with the bat logo on it. You swore to always wear it.

--

PART 7

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

@randomnamedmira

@elleclairez

[limehaspassed]

Hello! I love your work so I wanted to request this.

I have afew slasher OBSESSIONS! But at the moment Thomas is my biggest one.

I see many stories of the slashers being so excited for having lil ones. It warms my heart so big VwV

However I've been thinking alot on the scenario of "what if for some reason a child can't be had?"

With Thomas being such a family man... would he no longer want s/o if they can't have a child or maybe don't want them? Would they find another way? Or maybe just be happy with just having eachother for the rest of their lives?

It can be a sad thought, ik. But for ppl that for one reason or another cant and/or don't want lil ones... how would Thoman (or others) respond to this?

I very much need this if you're willing to do it.

Thank you so kindly either way ^w^

Unprecedented

(Thomas x F!Reader)

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬

In which Thomas Hewitt wants try for a baby, a wish that can never be granted.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Diagnosed Issue

The doctor has diagnosed you with infertility, a fact that ruined any image you had of having a baby.

For a while, you went without really caring, your mind more focused on meeting bills and moving out to Texas to a family home you inherited from your father, who had passed recently.

You had no little time to think about the baby situation until you moved to Texas and met the Hewitt’s boy, Thomas. It was here that you fell in love and ended up moving in, finding a home within the Hewitt family.

For a while you and Thomas live happily together but eventually he begins to ask about a baby, seeing as he is a rather big family guy himself.

The very mention of a baby sets you off and you bawl your eyes out because you did in fact want a baby with Thomas. You wanted your own family with him but you couldn’t have it. The words of the doctor rung louder than ever the day Thomas asked you.

It took you a while to calm down before you could tell Thomas, before you could inform him that you couldn’t have a baby. He was perplexed at the situation at first but after you explained why, he understood.

He was deeply saddened but understanding, rubbing your back softly as you cried about how sorry you were for not being able to conceive.

Yes Thomas was saddened and disheartened but he didn’t hold it against you. You were glad he didn’t hold it against you.

It would take both of you a while to get used to the news but you had each other and that’s all that really matters now.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Want Issue

You had been living with the Hewitt family for a few years now. Within those few years, you’ve grown particularly close to Thomas, the adopted son of Luda.

The two of you had an open and honest relationship, one that you both strived to make as happy and healthy as possible.

Naturally, sense there is so much love and chemistry built up between the two of you, Thomas brings up the idea of having a baby with you.

You’re first instinct is no. You don’t want a baby, you never have because it was simply a burden you didn’t want to carry.

Thomas feels rejected by this, his dream crushed because all he’s ever wanted was a baby that he could raise as his own. Of course, he believes he won’t be the best parent but he wants to try and he’s confused on to why you don’t want one.

For a while, he goes about and tries to convince you but you deny him each time. You eventually start feeling bad but you stand firm.

After a few days of failed convincing, Thomas decides to drop the subject and refuses to mention it anymore. If you try and bring it up to apologize, he’ll shrug it off and physically remove himself from the room.

You don’t know what to do because Thomas also begins distancing himself. You want him to be happy but you don’t want a baby. It causes a rift to form between the two of you.

You ended up finding a baby kitten along the side of the road and adopted it, allowing Thomas to have a “baby” without having an actual child to take care of.

Thomas was iffy about it at first but grew fond of the little cat and quickly grew into an excellent cat father. You were the mother but you allowed Thomas to be the main parental figure, seeing as you never wanted a child in the first place. However, if Tommy asked you to hold the kitten for a while, you wouldn’t object.

After all, the kitten wasn’t so bad.

Thomas became more vocal and close after that, as if a breath of fresh life had washed over him. You were glad he was feeling back to normal and he was smiling again.

[tommyshelbyswh0re]

maybe i’m just not enough part 2- Tommy Shelby

warnings- abit of angst.

summary- it been a year since thomas broke your heart and he shows up at your door.

part 1

It had been a year since tommy left you and kicked you out. you had moved to manchester and you became a business woman. you were proud of yourself. if someone had told you 14 months ago that you would be a single, independent woman running your own successful business selling machine parts, you would have laughed in their face. up until a few years ago you knew next to nothing about machine parts but you suppose you had tommy to thank for learning. that was the only thing you would consider thanking him for.

moving to manchester was the best thing you could have done. you had made numerous friends, met multiple business partners and enjoyed your fair share of men. in fact, you had one of your men over who was just about to leave. key word is ‘was’ because just as he was putting his shirt on, someone knocked on your door.

“can you get that for me? i’m still very naked” you laughed.

“on it” he said whilst buttoning his shirt and walking downstairs.

he opened the door and you heard a very familiar voice coming from the other side. you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“is there a y/n y/l/n living here?” none other than thomas fucking shelby asked.

“what the fuck? what the fuck?” you whispered trying to tie your silk robe. you looked in the mirror and realised that the post-sex look was very obvious.

oh fuck it. he’s the one who fucked someone whilst we were together, not me. i can sleep with who i want. you thought.

you slowly made your way downstairs until you made it to the front door.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you bluntly asked him.

“y/n can we talk?” he asked.

“no”

“please. all you have to do is listen” he asked.

“im just gonna head out” your man of the hour said to you kissing you on the cheek and heading upstairs to get his things.

“please leave” you asked tommy calmly.

“can you just listen? it will take two minutes” he near enough begged. as he finished his sentence, your man ran down the stairs and squeezed past tommy to leave.

“what, grace fucked off and now you want to talk to me?” you scoffed.

“can you just let me in?”he deadplanned.

“no”

“okay well can you at least hear me out and then i’ll leave i promise”

“tommy i wouldn’t trust your promises even if we did get married” you laughed in his face.

“listen. i’m genuinely sorry for sleeping with another woman whilst you were at home planning our wedding. i thought i loved her. as soon as it became an official relationship with her i realised the version of her i wanted was a completely made up fucking person in my head. i missed you. waking up without you there, coming home to you singing in the kitchen whilst baking something which was going to end up burnt. not having you keeping me company by simply just sitting in my office so i wouldn’t go insane by reading words on a page for 10 hours straight. not having you moan at me for not eating, tortured me. not having you with me tortured me. if i could go back and burn that fucking letter, i would. I miss you.” he blurted.

“but you can’t go back. life doesn’t work like that. the letter was delivered days before you went to london which meant you had time to change your mind and you didn’t. you were certain you wanted to sleep with her. you fucking kicked me out tommy. i have my life back. i have friends, i have a business i’m happy thomas. do you want to fuck that up for me?” you asked him. you were stern. you were not going back to play housewife with a man you treated you like you were nothing. no fucking way.

“no ofcourse not. i just want you to come home. you have friends at home.” he sighed out.

“i am home. this is my home. i have made it my home” you desperately pleaded with him.

“this isn’t your home. this isn’t you. sleeping with men you don’t know” he looked at you in disgust.

“how fucking dare you? you don’t know anything about me now. your the one who slept with another woman whilst i was sat at home worrying about if you would like my fucking wedding dress. or if you would cry when i walked down the aisle. you don’t get to call me a whore. when i met you, i though i had found the person i was going to spend the rest of my life with. you chose grace. i’m all pieced back together now. you do not get to come to my home and ridicule me about how i chose to repair what you broke” you raised your voice. you chose to pull him into you home after that in fear that your neighbours would stare at you through their windows.

“y/n i didn’t mean it like that” he shook his head.

“yeah you seem to do a lot of things that you regret” you scoffed. you walked into your kitchen knowing that he would follow you. you poured rum into a glass and handed to him as he sat at the kitchen table.

“i don’t-“ he started.

“just drink the fucking rum thomas” you said sternly.

“where grace then? did you kick her out aswell?” you asked.

“she moved out months ago. and before you ask it was on her own accord. ‘said it was clear i was having second thoughts and that she was going back to america”

“well at least she was smart enough to get out” you smiled fakely and to which he sighed.

“look i know you hate me but is there anyway we can fix this?” he said very candidly.

“no. no theres not” your eyes welled up.

“can you just think about it?” he asked

“think about what? what do you want from me thomas?” you deflated.

“coming back to birmingham” he asked you.

“i’d say yes but we both know i wouldn’t. and i’m not about be a liar as well as a whore like you” you laughed.

he started laughing with you which surprised you.

“this is fucked. can we atleast be friends?” he asked.

“we can be business partners” you proposed.

“i’ll take what i can get” he shook your hand.

[slashwhores]

First Customer

[ay0nha]

Venus Rising | Thomas Shelby

SUMMARY: Three moments in which you run into Tommy, the final provoking a deal neither of you are prepared for.

“I am afraid of getting older. I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free…I want, I want to think, to be omniscient.” Sylvia Plath (1949)

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader 

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking (tobacco/weed), criticism of time-period misogyny/misogyny in general, canon-typical things, angst again, rich people being annoying, no proof reading, rushed ending, slow burn, etc.

A/N: Oop, another Tommy fic, apparently it’s not quite out of my system. Inspired by the film How to Steal a Million (title is inspired by the original title of the book!) and @huntingingoodwill‘s post (here), ESPECIALLY with the third part of this as it comes from Carmen’s beautiful brain. Inspo is taken from various feminist writing and particularly an Agnes Varda quote. MIGHT do a part two, idk yet.

Comments are VERY encouraged! Enjoy. 

“Thanks for that…” Tommy was finally catching his breath but still searched for your name. He hadn’t seen you in the gathering below and questioned if the room he found himself in belonged to you.

“We’re better off strangers.” You weren’t defensive, nor was your guard up; you were just focused. Fixated. The painting was borderline mesmerizing, and you struggled to tell if it was from the art or how your joint dwindled steadily.

Your isolation was purposeful.

The reception provoked the start of a migraine; its noise bleeding through the thick walls of the stately home only grew more deafening as the evening furthered. To find relief, you wandered the empty halls, the stairs that led to darkness, and every door that seemed particularly off-limits.

It was a simple measure of self-preservation until your seclusion was fractured.

The door opened abruptly, a body sliding through the narrow space to hide in the most prominent shadow. You thought you were caught, but the man held a finger to his lips, expression prepared for the obvious chase.

You were the perfect accomplice.

Those who came looking for him were met with your theatrics, a role well-rehearsed; your eyes never glanced to where Tommy hid in the most prominent shadows; your upset alone secured you hadn’t seen the man with the razor-lined cap; you simply wanted to return to your silence.

“You stick out, you know…” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought was absentminded, your lips tingling with indifference.

“I have an invitation.” Tommy had it forged, making it nearly identical to the one you’d received in the post.

You hummed with amusement. “I mean—you don’t belong.”

Considering how you equated his presence with his class, Tommy considered taking offense. However, your humor exposed no ill intent. You were trying to relate to him. To offer some solace, you offered the joint to him between pinched fingers.

“Let me guess, neither do you.” Tommy accepted your olive branch with a drag.

“Oh, I never will.” Although your smile remained, your tone became distant. You didn’t glance at Tommy until he took another puff. His eyes were ahead, just as yours were, attempting to see what had enraptured you in the painting. “Just like her.”

The face of the young woman depicted was covered, but her body was exposed. You were sure the owner of the canvas only valued the misinterpreted eroticism. Yet, the scene’s voyeuristic purposes were to convey the end of a very long day. You were convinced if you reached out, you could soothe her aching muscles from her obviously laborious job.

The painting's size didn’t speak for its cost. You wanted to laugh at how something so precious was stored on a wall as a forgotten decoration. However, you would do the exact same if it were in your possession. It would hang on your ceiling that way; when you rested your head against your pillow, you could get one final look at it as if it were a mirror, a grounding reminder that there was company in such an empty space.

“You pity the poor.” The statement held a questioning tone. Tommy interpreted the painting and your thoughts literally; a woman relieved of farm work was being judged by you—someone worse than the bourgeois.

“Don’t you see it?” Bitter ecstasy carried your words. You wanted to be heard. “Her and I are the same…”

Tommy returned the joint, realizing its purpose was to aid and calm you from the turmoil you hoped to escape. He felt an odd sense to comfort you but wouldn’t.

Instead, he repaid his earlier debt with unaccustomed humor, “I doubt someone like you shovels shit for a living.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You let the smoke settle in your chest, its warmth comforting. “From inception, we’re indistinguishable, born with an innocence that is only nurtured to be stolen. Our very being is never our own. Once our bodies are pried from our minds, we starve because of it.”

“Ah, I see…” Tommy started, “You’re a modern woman.”

The joint was almost a roach, but you passed it back, ridding yourself of its responsibility. The man beside you was a stranger, and you were thankful for that position. Anything said didn’t matter. It would evaporate and leave no trace. Tommy understood this well, participating in a game he didn’t know the rules of.

“Modernity is irrelevant.” You corrected. Your words sunk into your stomach, weighing you down. “This is beyond time.”

—

“Gave a try shoveling shit, eh?” Tommy crossed his legs, leaning back with an ease you were envious of. A cigarette was rolled along his lips, a habit formed by comfort.

Once lit, the image was complete. It had clicked. “You.”

Thomas Shelby. Your memory of him held a haze, that night's intoxication cherry-picking how you retained the interaction. But your vague image of him was enough to understand his occupation. You were warned against his world, but you could only do so much when your worlds overlapped so bizarrely.

“Me.” He confessed with mitigation. There was a cadence even in his silence. Clearly, he was thinking of how to approach you, but you failed to recognize how he always remained ahead in his business. “You were found near the stables.”

“Apparently, I’m a witch.” You mused. Cheltenham was never dull.

Tommy hummed, entertaining your wit only slightly. “They think you’ve cursed the horses.”

Horses were efficient beasts that were often mistreated, that much you knew. However, they intimidated you into submission. Their role in your life was distant, typically involving a reflection of wealth and nothing more.

You hid behind the stables because you misunderstood the distance you created. It had a false bottom that showed those in your world never enter their stables, allowing others to do the hard work. Those around you wouldn’t dare stain their fine fabrics how you chose to.

Although the air was foul, the stables were the only place you could breathe without the hands of your arranged date finding home where they weren’t welcomed.

You knew the man who caught you was Tommy’s brother. Though they looked different, the air surrounding them was suffocating. They were driven by brutal confidence that manifested physically and for Tommy mentally. The mind game you were presented with was just as predetermined as the races.

“I want us to understand each other.” Ash fell from Tommy’s cigarette in thought. “We do not share the same fantasy.”

“And what fantasy is that?”

“Poor little rich girl—” His words were punctuated. “—thinks she can play gypsy until she hears the dinner bell.”

Your laughter made him flinch. “And what’s for dinner?”

Tommy had vetted you. No one knew anything worthy about you. So everyone simply fantasized about you, spinning tales. Yet, you were an extraordinary nobody—an amazing unknown. Suspicion wasn’t necessary, but there was no need for his growing intrigue.

“That man you came with…” Tommy knew who he was. He was another kid that thought one day he could rule the world. But all he was capable of was poorly executed white-collar crime. “Who is he?”

You shrugged. “To him, I am his girlfriend.”

“And to you?”

“Does that matter?”

Tommy quickly learned that your only form of retaliation was posed through questions. The more philosophical, the more your guard remained. “I've been thinking about what you've said…”

The admission alone was out of character and also misrepresented. Tommy's mind was riddled with your sentiments. It was a thoughtful comment on something broader, something Tommy knew of and was growing to understand. But that wasn’t what preoccupied him.

It was how your poise wasn’t carried through your posture. It was how you expressed yourself indifferently but spoke so sharply. You were a constant contrast that perplexed him, possessed him to look into you, into your life. He planned to search until he found a moment where you put your thoughts to use the way he had.

“You, a suffragette?” Your lip curled at the thought. “Now, that, Mr. Shelby, is a fantasy.”

—

Planning an escape was satisfying but little compared to the follow-through.

The feeling solidified when the silk hem of your dress billowed was the only trail of your escape. You could hear your name echo along the corridor wall, someone sent to find you and force you back into the festivities.

“Where are you going?” The voice was a mix of a whisper and shout, reflecting nothing but urgency. The guests weren’t privy to your behavior, but your absence was clear. You heard your name again.“You must come down! You’re upsetting the guests!”

Although your home, the walls felt like they were shifting, creating a maze to your safety. The click of your heels was like a countdown to being caught. That was until your hand frantically found an antique handle of the most inconspicuous door.

Sliding into the broom closet, darkness invaded your senses.

With its veil, you could make out the sliver of light that fought to illuminate the room from the other side. It tracked the shadow of who chased you, showing you how they inched closer, hoping to hear your rapid breathing. Once enough time was given to their search; the footsteps receded in the wrong direction, their voice calling after you growing faint.

Your relief was borderline euphoric; your body demonstrated success as the tension drained the further you calmed. You sunk toward the door, forehead against the smooth, cool wood.

The sound behind was as quick as the movement. Identifiable and surprising.

The match created friction that illuminated the small space with an orange glow. You moved fast, your breath pinned to the roof of your mouth.

“Cigarette?” Tobacco filled the cramped room, the burning end of the cigarette not quite exposing your companion. But you could feel the amusement at the situation radiate from the corner.

Your stupor made you move with shock. “Christ!”

Your hand shot up to feel around for the light switch above you, yanking on the cord. Awash in light, you took in the sight of the man who was casually nursing a cigarette.

“Mr. Shelby?” You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Tommy.”

“What are you—

“I’m a guest.” The cigarette bobbed with his chiding.

“A guest.” You repeated, your tone brimming with doubtful sarcasm. “And what is a guest doing, hiding here, so far away from the party?”

“I could ask the same of you.” He quipped, icy expression holding your own.

“Ah, but I’m not a guest.” You defended yourself, holding up a finger as you corrected him. “This is my family’s party. I am technically a host.”

“Well—” He began, taking a puff of his cigarette, silver smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. “—not a very good host if you’re hiding up here, eh?”

Your eyebrows cocked as you took him in. His presence meant business. “I don’t seem to remember my father mentioning gangsters would be on the guest list tonight.”

“Why not?” He replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “We’re good fun at parties.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” You mused. “But I doubt this is your kind of party.” You wished to witness him in action, for him to live up to all the stories you’ve heard about him firsthand. And you could tell he was itching for you to ask. “What have you got planned tonight?”

“If you must know—” Tommy remained externally stoic but revealed himself bluntly. “—I’m here to rob your family blind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your father has come into quite a bit of money recently,” Tommy said, words calculated and measured. “He’s been stepping on the Blinders’ business. So, I came here tonight to take back what’s ours.”

“How much?” You asked.

“A million dollars.” He sighed, highlighting his statement with a drag of his cigarette.

“That all?” You scoffed.

“You’d hardly miss it,” Tommy explained. “And, with your family’s yearly legendary holiday party going on tonight, I figured I could hide until all the…” He took a second to ponder, searching for the words, “...rich fucks down there were drunk enough. Then, I’d take what’s mine and leave. No one would be any the wiser.”

There was a pause. He wanted you to protest, but he knew you wouldn’t. You were reading him just as well. It quickly became a stalemate, but you had the advantage of toying with him.

“Well, I should fulfill my host duties.” You sighed, tone wrapping up the unorthodox interaction. “Find my father while I’m at it; tell him bookkeepers are infested in our walls.”

“You’re not going back down there.”

Another pause. Your skin crawled with jest. “And why’s that, Mr. Shelby?”

He shook his head casually, eyes boring through yours. “You’re not going back down there because you don’t want to.”

“What?” Your laugh was soft and unexpected. It was hard to determine, but some of you would have rathered a threat. This was almost as entertaining.

“I can tell you don’t want to go down there. So don’t.”

Behind your back, you reached for the doorknob, but as your fingers grazed it, you lost your nerve. You sighed, flexing your fingers.

“Move over.” You instructed, and Tommy listened. He slid closer to the wall as you squeezed beside him, arm against him in a one-sided comfort. “Poor little rich girl opening up to a gangster. Never saw that in the cards.” You plucked the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag, carefully considering your next words. “It’s never as simple as it seems, really.”

“Sure it is.”

“It really isn’t.” You chuckled, eyes trained on the glowing end of the cigarette.

“Enlighten me.” He replied, taking the cigarette back as you passed it to him.

The emotions you kept bottled up bubbled in your throat. Living in the gilded cage of high society had privilege but was equally emotionally destructive. It felt foreign, the thought of exposing yourself with such vulnerability; you grew nervous at the prospect of having to do so.

“Simplicity is a pipe dream when your life relies on codependency.” Just the thought of it made you dizzy. “It’s better to hide than risk being a blemish to the family.”

Tommy stayed quiet. Then against better judgment, he spoke. “Why not just leave? You’re a clever girl. Surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” You countered without edge; you knew his slight dig was only to lighten things. He said his part out of decency. “Why do you think I was at those stables? If it weren’t for your brother…”

The crackle of your drag filled the new-found silence. You weren’t sure how long you’d stay there nor how long you subject Tommy to your company. It was a moment of brevity you both seemed to need. You hadn’t meant to find him, and his plan had nothing to do with you, but that in itself sparked your idea.

“Hey, Tommy?”

He turned to meet your contact, eyebrows raised, air mixing from the proximity. “Hmm?”

“How’d you like some help with stealing that million?”