#y/n x cillian murphy

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic. (Part Thirteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirteen: Cillian's sons spend the evening with them, with a takeaway, and Y/N can see he loves their presence. But when their plans to have 'the talk' are thwarted, Y/N gets confirmation from Cillian that the love is there, their relationship is enduring, but that he knows they have issues to discuss. [Fluff/Comfortable - no sexual scenes but some sexual language]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @strangeions

“Ah, shut up!” Aran sticks up for himself as Malachy makes yet another joking dig, and you can see Cillian's face as he tries not to laugh. The rarely used dining table is awash with cardboard boxes, half finished pizzas, and the greasy but somewhat addictive smell of takeout fries that always taste better than homemade food. You lean back into your chair, holding your glass of Coke, and splutter a laugh over the mouthful you attempt to sip from it when Aran follows up his moan with a skillfully hidden middle finger directed towards his brother, that Cillian failed to catch, and Aran is grinning as he looks across at you when you laugh. You wink at him with a smile over your shared secret.

It falls quiet for a moment, but for the music coming from Cillian's Spotify playlist pulled up on the TV, and it's in that quiet moment that Malachy switches from their playfulness into something a little more serious. “You're flying back over to England in the morning, Dad?” He asks.

Cillian is sitting with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in the palm of his right hand. He's been fiddling his fingers in and around his mouth for a while - it's often a mindless sort of idiosyncratic quirk, but there are times you've watched him soothe himself this way when anxiety is high. He straightens a little and drops his arm down. He's wearing his glasses and he looks a mixture of blissfully happy at the family chaos and utterly exhausted by life in general. You are both a little hungover - and you'd finally gotten from him that morning the extent of his and Enda's additional drinks! - and you can tell he's still feeling it compared to you feeling better. “Eh, evening flight.” He answers and there's a smile that forms that is sweet. “I've a week or so then I'll come back for a few days, and then I'll be there until, um, a week before Christmas. And youse are welcome to stay when I'm back, you know that. Sure youse can stay here if I'm not, it's your house too.” he says with conviction and Malachy nods his head. Right then, you can't tell if the young lad is melancholic or just not particularly expressionistic. “I'll ring your Mum myself, but did youse mention Christmas to her at all?” He asks.

Aran nods, finishing a mouthful of pizza before he replies, wiping the side of his mouth as he speaks. “She said it's up to us.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't want to not see either of you for Christmas.” Malachy says, and you decide, by the tone of his voice, that he is fairly melancholic. “If we stayed with Mum, though, you'd come over or something?”

“I would, of course,” Cillian nods and he's frowning earnestly behind the specs. “I'll be here, like, and we can see one another whenever youse want. If you want to stay with your Mum, then do, it's fine. We can pick another day, and cook here or get a table somewhere. Honestly boys, it's fine. Same as last year.” He's reassuring them, you know, but you can see that same battle in Cillian that you know for sure the boys are having - their own feelings versus everyone else's.

“There's plenty of time off school and work ahead, you'll be able to come and go as you please,” you say quietly, and Malachy gives you a genuine smile, even if it is small, that you take as a thankful acceptance of your words. There's a quiet that falls again and you awkwardly look from one Murphy man to the other. Cillian's playlist seems to fall silent for a minute too, but when it restarts, it seems much louder. It booms the folky guitars of Lemon 7s by ‘A Lazarus Soul’, and you can see Cillian slowly and silently mouthing along.

“There's a video of you being passed around, Dad.” Aran speaks up and you know it's going to both amuse and disinterest Cillian to learn about it.

“Is there, yeah?” He raises his eyebrows and brings his glass to his lips. As he draws it back, he licks his lips and nods in Aran's direction. “G’on, what is it?” He humours his son.

“Ah nothing strange, just from last night, saying about us studying the book. Obviously it's way before you got locked.” Aran says offhandedly, and Malachy laughs at the declaration.

Cillian smirks and shakes his head. “I was not locked.” He weakly defends himself, but laughs a little when he looks up at both boys who are both making faces either at him or pretending to be ridiculously drunk. Malachy had picked up on his Dad's obvious delicate temperament the moment he'd got into the car when Cillian had picked them up, according to both boys, and had been slagging him on it ever since. Aran just found the idea that his Dad was hanging to be delightfully amusing.

“Even Y/N agrees,” Malachy continues his slagging, and gestures across at you. “Was he pissed last night?”

You chuckle as they all turn to you, and Cillian's subtle wink is amusing and also a sign that you're fine to slag as much as you like and he'll not get arsey over it. “Out of his mind,” you tease with a laugh. “Nah,” you say, “I mean he wasn't sober or anything, but there wasn't any falling asleep at the island with his shoes as a pillow.”

Malachy's eyebrows rise up and Aran's head whips to his Dad with gleeful expectation at your breadcrumbs for a story. “When was that?” Malachy laughs loudly.

“Easter last year,” you laugh. “We went to a birthday thing for a friend in Balbriggan, I think.” You smile as you look at Cillian, and you're glad he's smiling. “He learned his limit on the beer that night, and for three days after.” You laugh. He had been in a bit of a state the days after this particular party. While he had a drink or two fairly often, it was rare when he let the alcohol be the guide, so times like this one, while good for slagging and remembering, weren't anything you'd ever use as a resentment or a punishment.

“Oh! I remember, we came for dinner the next day.” Malachy laughs and points his finger towards his Dad playfully. “Y/N picked us up, she said you weren't feeling too good but you wanted us here for dinner still. Whole time we were here you were on the sofa there.”

Aran looks at you, then his Dad. “That when you were being sick upstairs when we got in the door?” Aran asks, laughing, and Cillian gives them the embarrassed reaction they want by covering his face with his hands, but as he drops his hands back down, he's laughing at the jibes. “You need a downstairs toilet.” He laughs.

“That's the one,” you say. “I don't think you went near any food for two days.” you laugh, and reach out your hand across the table and pat his hand. As your hand lifts off his, he turns his palm over and lovingly captures your fingers, holding you there.

“Laugh now,” he says and looks at his boys in turn, “When youse are out with your friends and coming rolling back home to your Mum, you'll be on your arses the next day yourselves. And, sure I'll laugh!” He says lightly, chuckling. He rubs his thumb back and forth slowly across your fingers in his hand. “You all done, or still eating?” He asks, and he releases your hand as he stands up. He pushes his chair back with his legs and starts collecting together the empty containers on the table.

Both boys begin pushing away half finished food and empty boxes, sliding them towards their Dad. You get to your feet and help with the clearing away, “No, stay there,” you say as Aran goes to stand up and help with the cleaning. “Finish your drink.” You smile.

“Ah, give over, the two of you get up there now and help,” Cillian says with amusement. “It's your home, you help with the jobs. C’mon. Mal, will you bring the empty glasses into the sink there? And eh, Aran, grab a dishcloth in the kitchen and give that table a wipe.” He says, piling the pizza boxes and containers into a neat stack. He's light hearted, but he is keen, as he always has been, that the boys are helpful around the house when they're here. Not that he'd have them scrubbing or anything, but it isn't the first time at all that he's had them clear up after dinner. “I'll throw these out in the outside bin,” he says, glancing at you. As he takes the tower into his arms, he peers around to see where the lads are, and leans towards you for a gentle kiss. You smile as he steps back again, “Dessert.” He says, cheesy and tacky and smiling like an idiot. You can't help smiling back, then you shake your head as you watch him head toward the front door to leave the containers into the recycling bin.

“Thanks, you two,” you say, entering the kitchen, where you find both boys loitering after finishing the tasks Cillian had set for them. “Slave driver, your Dad.” you joke and Malachy offers a smirk but you suspect it to be one of pity. “School tomorrow?” You ask, looking between the boys. Aran was approaching his leaving cert and Malachy was in a college you didn't know too much about.

“Study day tomorrow,” Malachy replies, and pulls his phone from his pocket. “If Dad isn't leaving early then tomorrow, can I stay here tonight?” At the age his was, Cillian did expect to see a little less of Malachy these days even if it hurt him, so hearing that he actually wanted to spend the night was a surprise.

You raise your eyebrows. It's been a long time since Malachy stayed over. You don't want to tell him no, but your stomach drops at the suggestion for one reason - that morning you and Cillian had agreed that you'd sit and talk this evening, and you were desperate to get it done. But turning Malachy away was the last thing you'd do, and you push a smile to your lips. “Yeah, I don't mind. I'm sure your Dad'll be happy.” You say, “You can stay too, Aran. I can always drive around and collect your things for school tomorrow from your mother, and Cill will drive you in the morning." Like summoning the devil, Cillian arrives in the kitchen, pushing up the sleeves of his thick jumper, and looks at you all in turn. “Cill, Malachy wants to stay,” you say, your eyes following him as he walks to the sink to wash his hands.

With his back to you all, he turns his head over his shoulder to his eldest son. “Grand, yeah, stay,” he smiles at him. “Sure I can drop you home before I leave tomorrow, or earlier if you want.”

“And you'll take Aran to school in the morning if he stays too, yeah?” You ask. Disappointed that your conversation is now on hold, you replace the feeling with the joy of the boys staying over for the first time in a long time, and the wonderful mood that you know it'll put Cillian in.

“I will, yeah,” Cillian says, turning off the tap. He turns around, drying his hands on the dish towel, and looks at Aran. “Do you want to stay or go home?” He asks, noticing he's a little quiet.

Aran shakes his head, “I'll go,” he says quietly. “I didn't finish some homework,”

“I can go out to your mother's and pick your things up.” You repeat your earlier offer.

Aran shakes his head again. Cillian reaches out and claps his hand onto Aran's back, “No bother, it's grand. Sure whenever you're ready I'll bring you home. You want to go now?” He asks and you can see a little bit of preempted separational upset creeping into his expression. Aran nods his head, indicating he's put up his walls and it's ready to return to his mum. Your anxiety questions whether it's something you've said or done that's suddenly seen Aran close up, but you can't think what. Cillian nods his head slowly. “Okay so,” he says quietly. “Let me get my runners on and I'll drop you home.”

By eleven pm, you and Cillian are curled together in bed, with the just audible sound of the TV in Malachy's room carrying through the upstairs. You lie with your head on his chest, in the region of his heart, and his arm is wrapped around the back of your shoulders to pull you in closer. His free hand is up on the pillow beside him with his fingers moving back and forth through his short hair. You keep your palm flat on his pyjama covered chest, but move your fingers a little, caressing against him gently. It's quiet and comfortable, and you're both exhausted, but you don't feel able to turn away and fall asleep.

“Sorry we didn't get to talk this evening,” Cillian says quietly, his voice a husky whisper.

You shrug your shoulders a little, “It's alright, Malachy being here is a good excuse to hold off.” You say, and consider that it is perhaps the only reason you two wouldn't talk tonight, knowing it was important.

“I didn't want to say no, it's rare he's about these days,” he continues and you agree fully. "And he's been gas craic there this evening, can't get over him and Aran growing up so fucking fast."

You hum softly at his sentimentality, and move your fingers softly against his chest again. “No, it's okay, I completely understand. We can talk another time.” You say with a soft sigh.

“It's important.” He says and you're glad he feels that way. “You were right with what you said yesterday, we need to talk about it all.” Despite wanting him on board this much, you also allow your anxieties to win as you wonder why he's so eager. What could he possibly have to say now? “Sure it's not like it's a discussion on splitting up, or that we don't love one another, fuck sake,” he says, “But I know it's a discussion that we both need to have and get united on.” You admire his confidence, and you sincerely hope that this is the case - reaching a point when you and Cillian feel the need to separate was a daunting idea - and you're so glad he understands that this needs to be aired and done properly. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer in against the left side of his body. He smirks into the darkness of the bedroom but you can hear the small breathy laugh that accompanies it.

“What?” You whisper.

“Just after getting a flashback of last night,” be says and you can hear by how his words form that he's still smiling.

“Which part?” You ask, though you're sure you know well. You tap your hand against his chest where it rests and he laughs a little more. “Could it be the part where you couldn't get your fucking shoes off, or are you being filthy minded?”

He laughs again and it vibrates against your ear pressed to his chest. “I think that's one for the memory bank.”

“The wank bank you mean!” You tease. “If you pull yourself off in a hotel to me, spread-eagle on our sofa, I'll die of embarrassment!”

“Sure I'm away a long while sometimes,” he says, once again tightening his arm around you. “Can't expect me to walk around with the horn.” You laugh a little too loudly, and he shushes you even as he laughs too. He sighs as you both settle and you feel a wave of sadness that once again, tomorrow he'll be gone.

[actually-mentally-ill]

when im being asked a question, but i was busy daydreaming about __ x y/n

[hllywdwhre]

Revenge - Tommy Shelby

Summary: Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy

Warnings: arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, reader leaves a message written in blood, smut, creampie, light degrading, oral smut (f receiving), overstim, p in v, let me know if I missed any

Notes: I made this text post about protective reader and decided to write it lmfao. I want Tommy with a feral woman. Thank you to @slut4thebroken for proof reading, encouragement, and suggestions💖

MDNI, 18+ only

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened.

Scratch that.

You knew exactly how it had happened.

Your father and Tommy had worked out a deal when Sabini had first started trying to intimidate your father. A bride in exchange for protection and both of them walked away with extra allies when the inevitable war against Sabini broke out. You’d protested the marriage at first, screaming that you were more than just a political pawn for your father to sell when he needed help, but it went through anyway.

You had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Sure, Tommy was distant and seemed obsessed with work, but you knew you could’ve ended up in a much worse situation. He treated you with respect, never let you open a door on your own if he was around, always had a protective hand rested in the small of your back, and… the sex was great.

Perhaps the thing you appreciated the most, was that he didn’t expect you to become the housewife you had feared you would be reduced to. You were your father’s only child, meaning when he died, you would become leader of his gang. You were a gangster the same way Tommy was and he seemed to realize that and respect it. You helped out with the daily runnings of the Peaky Blinders and helped with the daily runnings of your father’s gang at the same time. They both recognized your potential and weren’t afraid to use it.

It wasn’t until you were sitting in a family meeting about a year after your marriage that you realized you had grown to feel more than just okay with the marriage.

Tommy was a closed off individual and through the entire year you had been married, you felt like you were just starting to finally get to know the real him. You never pried because he never pried in your life. If you had general questions, neither of you were afraid to ask them, but anything more was left up for the person to tell. You had more questions than answers still, specifically about the matching scars on his cheeks, but you didn’t dare ask. He hadn’t asked about the scar that ran from your right shoulder blade down to your spine, so you didn’t ask about his scars.

It was a common occurrence for Esme, Ada, and Polly to sit with you at one of the desks in the betting shop, whispering things to you during family meetings to fill in any gaps and answer any questions you may have had.

“Alfie has informed me that the Sicilians are being provided aid by Sabini, in the form of cars and housing,” Tommy started, causing Arthur to let out a loud groan of frustration.

Before you could get dragged into hearing any more of it, you turned your head to Esme who was sitting next to you.

“Sabini’s a prick, I know that, but what has he done to us?” You asked quietly, your eyes still flickering back-and-forth between Tommy and the rest of his family as they spoke about what to do next.

Esme began explaining exactly what Sabini had done. How he and five other men came after Tommy in the dark of night, how he’d ripped out a tooth, sliced his cheeks, and beat him to an inch of his life.

The rage that settled inside of you was your first hint that you had grown to genuinely care for Tommy as more than just a friend and (amazing) fuck buddy. Your jaw remained clenched and set for the rest of the meeting, but as soon as the meeting was called to end, you wiped the look from your face and forced a calm expression to take over.

You stood up and walked over to Tommy, forcing a small smile to your lips,

“I’m not really feeling all that well. You go with your brothers for a drink, I’m just going to head back home, okay?” You said, meeting his eyes so he wouldn’t have a reason to not believe you.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to look for any sign you were lying. You had been fine that morning and fine two hours prior when you sat down for the meeting, but he had no reason to believe you were lying so he simply nodded, placed a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him, and kissed your forehead.

“I won’t be out long. Ask Frances for anything you need, okay, love?”

You nodded and the forced smile turned to a genuine one,

“I will, promise,” you told him before stepping away from him and waving goodbye to the rest of the family.

Yes. You had truly gotten lucky when it came to who you had been forced to marry.

The entire ride back to the Arrow House, you were silent and going over your plan in your head. You knew you’d have to earn Tommy’s trust back after this, but you didn’t particularly care. You were a force of nature on your best day. You were lethal when you were angry.

Once you arrived back, you immediately headed upstairs to yours and Tommy’s shared room. The marriage may have started off with the two of you in separate rooms, “I’m called the devil, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of monster. You can sleep in your own room until you’re comfortable sharing a bed,” but it didn’t take more than a couple weeks for you to eventually join him in bed.

Damn those blue eyes, full lips, and that jawline.

You grabbed a small bag and threw the first set of clothes you laid hands on into it, then, much more carefully, a dress. You grabbed everything else you needed and headed to Tommy’s office next.

I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry for lying, but I’ll be back.

You signed the note and left it in the center of his desk where you knew he would see it, held down by his ashtray.

As quickly as you had entered the house, you left it, getting right back into the car with the driver Tommy had employed for you. You told him the name of a hotel in London that you knew was just outside of anyone’s territory.

The drive seemed to pass by too quickly and soon you were saying goodbye to the driver and sending him home for the night. It was barely 7 in the evening when you got up to your room.

“If there is a God, please let me get through this. I’ll make it up to you… somehow,” you said quietly.

The beading on the dress swayed loudly around your body as you pulled the dress on. The pins in your hair seemed to be extra noticeable against your scalp. The straps on your shoes pressed into your skin more than usual. The blade held against your thigh and hidden by your dress seemed to refuse to warm up. Your left hand felt entirely too light with your ring missing.

You knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you. You’d worn this outfit before and it had always turned heads, which is exactly what you wanted.

You needed Sabini to notice you.

You greeted the cab driver politely as you stepped in and ignored the way his eyes seemed to follow you a bit too closely.

The doors of the club were held open for you and you made your way to the bar and took a seat, knowing you were just playing a waiting game now.

You could feel eyes on you. The wife of Thomas Shelby in Sabini’s club, hours away from Birmingham, far out of Peaky Blinders territory or her father’s territory. You stuck out like a sore thumb, even if you would have blended in during any other scenario.

It felt like an eternity passed before you finally saw the man that made your blood boil, but one glance at the clock above the bar told you it hadn’t even been an hour.

“You seem lost. I thought we had made it clear that your kind weren’t welcomed here,” Sabini said once he was in front of you.

A charming smile graced your lips and you looked up at him,

“My kind?” You questioned, playing innocent.

“Yes. Your kind. You’re the wife of Thomas Shelby and I don’t appreciate him ignoring the last warning I gave him and sending you-“

“I wasn’t sent here,” you stopped him, lifting your left hand and pushing a piece of hair that hadn’t fallen back behind your ear, “and I’m not really a Shelby or a Blinder, am I?”

His eyes were drawn to your hand and noticed the lack of a ring you wore and he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Is that so? I was under the impression the two of you were lovebirds.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your lips and looked away, trying to come off as shy. When you looked back up to him, you hoped the look on his face meant he was intrigued and believing you.

“Perhaps we could talk about it somewhere else… somewhere private?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you did so.

Gods help you. The smirk he gave you made your stomach twist and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, but patience was something you’d adopted a lot of.

“Allow me to show you to my office then,” he said, offering you a hand which you forced yourself to take.

He guided you through the club and towards the back. Some amount of luck seemed to be on your side as his office was behind the stage and provided some cover for any noise you might make. Even more so as you noticed a window just large enough for you to be able to crawl out of.

Once the door was shut behind you, he sat down behind his desk and motioned for you to take a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side.

“Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Sabini said as he poured you both a drink.

“It was never paradise to begin with,” you replied, thanking him for the drink and taking a sip.

You had grown used to Tommy’s Irish whiskey and the bourbon he gave you wasn’t nearly as smooth going down.

“Was it not? From what I’ve heard, you two have quite the fairytale. Gang leader’s daughter married off to another gang leader, uniting two empires.”

“That’s not the way I see it,” you lied.

“And how do you see it?”

“A desperate father sold off his daughter to a desperate gang leader in an attempt for the both of them to gain more power and disregarded the woman’s wishes,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“And so you’ve come to London for what?” Sabini questioned, wanting to hear you say it.

“Because I think we can help each other, Mr. Sabini,” you said, downing the rest of the bourbon and standing up.

His eyes followed your movements, his eyes trailing up your body before resting on your legs again.

“And how do you think we could help each other?” He asked.

You moved to stand in front of him, placing one leg over the side of his and straddled him, placing your arms around his neck.

“They trust me, Mr. Sabini. They don’t suspect me of anything,” you started. The shiver of disgust that rolled up your spine due to his hands trailing up the back of your thighs was one he apparently took as excitement as he gripped slightly at the backs of them, “I can tell you everything and, in return, I get out of my marriage once they’re all gone.”

“They don’t even realize the ticking time bomb they’ve got in their fingertips, do they?” He asked and a chuckle left your lips as a genuine smirk took over.

“They don’t…” you said, trailing your hands down his chest and then up your thigh, trying to make the move appear seductive. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife, “and neither do you, apparently.”

His eyes widened and he realized the trap he had walked into at the same time as you pressed the blade of the knife to his neck.

“I’d say that if you ever threaten my husband or our family again, you’ll regret it, but you won’t be,” you told him, unable to resist pausing for a touch of dramatic effect before adding on, “Never fuck with a Shelby.”

In the next second, you were quickly slicing the knife across his neck and flinching back as his blood coated you.

You knew your next move was morbid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It had been morbid for him and five other men to attack your husband when he was alone. It was morbid for him to rip out his tooth. It had been morbid for him to slice his cheeks. It was just as morbid for you to quickly and quietly clear off his desk, dip your fingers into his blood, and leave a bloodied message across his desk.

Revenge is a scorned Shelby

As soon as the message was written, you grabbed one of the coats from the coat rack and slipped it on, then crawled out of the window. The coat was long enough to cover all of the bloodied mess that was now your dress.

Sabini is dead.

That seemed to be the only thing you could think of as you were driven back to the Arrow House. It wasn’t the first time you had killed a man and you knew it wouldn’t be last.

But you hadn’t told anyone about this time. You hadn’t told anyone your plan, where you were going, or why you were doing it. You had also just started a war.

You weren’t surprised to see almost every light in the house still on when you arrived, and you made sure to slip the cab driver a little extra for the long drive.

You hadn’t risked staying in London longer than you needed to. You had gone into your hotel room, grabbed your bag, and promptly left, only taking the time to slip your wedding ring back on when you were in the cab.

When you stepped into the house, Tommy was in the hallway. All he saw as you stepped in the door was you, in another man’s coat, your wedding ring still on your finger, but your hair and makeup done much differently than it had been you had left.

You stayed silent as you stared at him with nervousness written on your face.

He put out his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for you to explain yourself.

Your silent explanation was to undo the tie on the coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing your blood stained dress.

“I need a fucking drink for this one,” Tommy grumbled, motioning for you to follow him. He guided you to his office and poured both of you a drink, handed you your glass, then sat down in his office chair. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he looked up at where you still stood across the room.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shrug his shoulders,

“Humor me. Short version first,” he told you.

“About a year ago I got married, and tonight I started a war.”

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and running a hand over his face, “Long version.”

“About a year ago, I got married. Over the past year my husband has been nothing but a respectful gentleman, making it nearly impossible for me not to fall for him when you combine it with his fucking blue eyes that could bring the devil to his knees,” you started, feeling the hint of a blush creep into your cheeks, which you knew he noticed by the way his eyes flicked to your cheeks and then back to your eyes, “then today we had a meeting with his family where he mentioned Sabini. When I asked, his sister-in-law told me about what Sabini had done to him. About how my husband had been beaten to an inch of his life and brutalized, leaving him permanently scarred, and I knew I had to make the bastard pay.

“So, I lied to my husband and said I didn’t feel well. I went home, packed a bag, left him a note saying I’d be back, and went to London. I rented a hotel room where I changed into a fancy dress and did my hair and makeup, then I wrapped a knife to my thigh and slid my wedding ring into my bag and went to The Eden Club. News of a Shelby woman spread quickly and Sabini showed up to question me within an hour. I lied to Sabini, told him that I didn’t want to be a Shelby and that I had never wanted to be one. He took me back to his office and I sat on his lap and made him think I was about to cheat on my husband when I slit his throat and made sure he knew it was because of what he’d done to my husband. I left a message on his desk, went back to the hotel, grabbed my bag, and then headed back to our house.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment as Tommy stared at you. His eyes were unreadable as he watched you.

“What did the message say?” He suddenly asked.

“Revenge is a scorned Shelby.”

“Nothing about the Peaky Blinders?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t Peaky business,” you answered confidently, watching him just as closely as he watched you as he stood from his chair and came to stand in front of you.

“Was it not?” He questioned, taking the untouched glass of whiskey from your hand and setting it on the desk before turning back to stare you down.

“No. It was Shelby business, but not Peaky business.”

“Explain.”

“He didn’t just harm a Peaky Blinder. He harmed a Shelby, my Shelby.” Your gaze was unwavering as you held eye contact with him. You wanted him to know you meant your words. He was yours, and the protective touches on your back when you were in public and the way he intimidated and glared at any man who tried approaching you was all the proof you needed to know that you were his.

“So I’m your Shelby?” He asked as he took a step towards you and continued to do so until you pressed against the office door.

“Yes.”

“And that means you’re mine?” He questioned, his hands now pressed against the wall on either side of your head.

You could feel that you were walking into some sort of trap, but you didn’t have a way out of it right now. All you could do was be honest.

“Yes.”

“Then you should know something about what it means to be mine.”

“What’s that?” You asked, your breathing getting shorter as he lowered his face so it was level with yours.

In a second his hands were on your waist and he had you picked up against the wall with legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

“My Shelby is to never come home wearing another man’s coat again,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.

You don’t know what reaction you had expected from him, but being pinned to his office door and him kissing you hadn’t been one you had thought of. Your shock wore off after half a second and you returned the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close.

“You’re not mad?” You asked against his lips.

“At you starting a war?” He questioned, leaning down and beginning to trail kisses hastily down your neck.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Livid,” he said with no hint of joking in his voice.

“This is quite the punishment,” you replied sarcastically. A moan fell from your lips as he nipped at your pulse point.

“Oh, I’m livid,” he said, looking up at you, “but also extremely turned on at the thought of my wife slicing a man’s throat over me and coming home still covered in his blood.”

You weren’t given a chance to respond before he was kissing you again. Your hands came down to his tie, pulling it loose before starting to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.

He didn’t bother setting you down, only turned the two of you around and walked you over to the couch in the office. He laid you down on it and then pulled the waistcoat off before leaning back down between your legs and kissing you again once. His lips started trailing down your neck again while your hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teased as nipped at your skin again.

“You’re the one who pinned me to the door after I revealed I killed a man for you,” you replied in the same teasing tone as him. You undid the last button of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his undershirt following a second later.

He reached his hand to the side of your dress and unzipped it, pulling the fabric down your body while his hands grabbed hold of your underwear, stockings, and garters in the same move and pulled them off, leaving you completely naked underneath him.

He stared and looked over your body a moment longer before running his hands up your thighs and giving a gentle tap to your thigh,

“Up,” he said, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

You did as told though and sat up, leaving him enough room to lay on his back and pull you up to straddle him,

“Was killing a man not enough work?” You teased, not actually minding if he was going to have you ride him. At least it meant you wouldn’t be subjected to him teasing you when all you really wanted was for him to fuck you.

“That’s cute,” he said sarcastically, gripping your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his torso, “that’s not where you’re sitting tonight.”

The man was no stranger at using his mouth to make you see stars, but you’d never ridden his face before. You looked at him, the question obvious on your face.

“Seriously?” You asked even though you knew by his face that he was.

“Seriously. You were enough of a leader to go after Sabini, you’re enough of a leader to sit on my face. Up,” he repeated again while his grip on your thighs tried pulling you forward.

You did as you were told this time, shuffling forward until you were straddling his face. You weren’t given a choice of when to sit as his hands came to your hips and pulled you down, forcing your full weight onto his waiting mouth.

If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Thomas’ ability to use his tongue and lips in more than just outsmarting his enemies.

His tongue trailed through your lips, his hands keeping your hips in place, while his tongue slowly explored you at first.

It had only taken a couple weeks for you to crack and make the first move on Tommy, joining him in bed one night when you’d decided you could trust him, and you’d been insatiable and addicted to him ever since, though he never complained. He’d spent the first couple times figuring out every move that made you tick and every name that made your cheeks flush and used them to his advantage at every turn.

His tongue was a gift with the way he knew exactly how to use it. He dragged it up and down between your folds, drinking in every bit of your arousal before focusing on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and long drags.

Tommy’s hands on your hips began guiding them, silently instructing you to take control. You didn’t hesitate in going along with what he wanted you to do and began rocking your hips. One of your hands trailed to his hair while your other went to lay on top of one his that gripped your hip. You hadn’t realized the volume of your moans until you felt the vibration of his moan against your clit.

Your hips jerked at the added stimulation and he hummed against you purposefully, his eyes never leaving you as your hips sped up, chasing your own high. Within moments you could feel it approaching and your grip on his hair and hand tightened, moans of his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

“Please, fuck,” you cried, whimpers falling from your lips, “Tommy, Tommy…”

Your high crashed over you a moment later and you felt Tommy’s movements begin to slow down as you rode out your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

You went to move off of him, but his grip on your hips tightened at the same time that his tongue started speeding up again.

Your moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of over stimulation and you squirmed against him, but he didn’t let up. Your hips jerked as you tried moving away from him, but all it did was add to the stimulation.

You could practically feel him smirking underneath you as he continued on, watching as your eyes clenched shut and you relented yourself to letting him torture you so beautifully.

If it wasn’t for the way your body was on edge from not being given any type of break after your first orgasm, you might have felt slightly ashamed at the way he was able to bring you to your second orgasm so quickly.

And then your third.

Tears were freely falling from your face when he finally slowed his movements to a stop and helped you to lay down on your back.

He trailed soft and slow kisses along your thighs and stomach to help bring you back down to earth. When his lips reconnected with yours, you returned the kiss, letting your eyes fall shut at the surprisingly tender moment.

“Next time you want to start a war, at least let me know your plans,” he said, causing you to open your eyes and be met with a smirk dancing across his lips, “and don’t doubt my punishments.”

You could’ve smacked the smirk off his face if it wasn’t for the fact he had turned your entire body into mush.

“Think you can be a good girl and handle one more?” He asked.

Your cheeks flushed at the praise and his hands moved to his belt and pants, pulling them off after you nodded your confirmation.

Once the rest of his clothes had been removed, he gently lifted your legs and positioned himself between them. He was gentle as he pushed inside you, but the smirk on his face from the way your voice cracked when you moaned was obvious.

The stretch was familiar at this point, but it didn’t mean you didn’t need the moment he gave you to adjust. When you nodded your head, he started moving.

Tommy knew your body like he knew his own after your time together. His hips immediately changed position as he started thrusting, making sure to hit the spot inside you that added to the ways your legs shook underneath him.

He leaned down and placed his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss right as a moan parted through them. One of his hands came back to cradle the back of your head and his fingers tangled into your hair to keep you close to him.

His other hand went to one of your legs and pulled it up so it rested in the crook of his elbow, causing him to hit even deeper inside you.

The action caused you to let out a high pitched moan and you wrapped your arms around him. Your next moan broke the passionate kiss the two of you had shared while your nails raked down his back.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, beginning to speed up the movements of his hips.

“Y-you,” you moaned out, your back arching underneath him.

“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” He repeated.

“Thomas Shelby,” you answered and dropped your head back.

“Good girl. You’re my fucking wife,” he moaned out. He sat up, using one hand to keep your leg up in the same position while his other hand went to your already over sensitive clit, “all mine. No other man gets to touch you, look at you, or even fucking think of you. It’s my cock that you’re whimpering over right now, and it’s the only cock you’ll ever be whimpering over again.”

“I’m yours, Tommy,” you repeated, your voice breaking as moan after moan fell from your lips.

“Then cum for me. Be a good Shelby wife and make a fucking mess on my cock just like how you made a mess of this war tonight,” he commanded.

You didn’t need any more encouragement from him as your fourth orgasm hit you, causing your back to arch again and your nails to run down his arms.

His moves start to become more sloppy and his pace sped up as he began to chase his own high, the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock only driving him closer to the edge.

“Want to feel you Tommy, please,” you moaned underneath him, “please, cum inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swore out. His hips pushing against yours as his high hit him and his arms came down to either side of your head again while he shoved his face into your neck, completely claiming you as his own while his cum filled you.

His hips slowed as he rode out both of your highs and your arms came to wrap around him, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his head you could reach.

Once the two of your breathing had slowed down to a normal pace, he moved to push himself up and your legs around his waist tightened along with your arms.

“Don’t. Not yet,” you said in a quiet voice.

“I’m going to crush you, love.” He placed soft kisses along your shoulders between his words as he tried warning you.

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you replied and began running your nails softly along the shaved part of his head, knowing the motion worked on him every time.

“Stubborn,” he falsely chided, but relented and relaxed back into your hold.

“Little late to the party if you’ve just worked that out.” Your reply causing both of you to chuckle. “Remind me to start more wars if it means you fuck me like that every time.”

His hand came down and gently slapped your thigh in response while a burst of quiet giggles left your lips.

“Stubborn and a brat,” he teased, sitting up again and carefully sliding out of you.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” you responded with a smirk.

“I don’t think of it that way,” he said as he stood up and wrapped his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you up into his arms.

“How do you think of it?” You asked him as he carried you across the hall and into your shared room.

“I think I’m lucky enough to be married to a woman who killed for me over a years-old attack even though we’d never even said that we loved each other.” He set you down in the middle of the bed before crawling in next to you and pulling you into his chest.

A bright blush rose to your face as he pointed out that you had never even said you loved each other, even though you had admitted to him earlier that you had fallen for him. You didn’t know how to reply immediately and you turned in his arms to look up at him, his arms staying locked around your waist.

He didn’t seem to expect you to reply though, because he leaned in to you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and sweet, as if he was trying to communicate what your actions had meant to him without having the words to say it.

“I fell for you, too,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I realized it tonight. The panic I felt to see your note and to see you come home covered in blood. The anger I felt over seeing you another man’s jacket. The way I felt when you revealed what you had done and why…” He trailed off, looking down at you and seeming to try and memorize every part of your face, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m yours and you’re mine.”

[call-sign-shark]

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

[dilf-issues]

Vanilla | C.M

Requested by Anon: hey dunno you take requests but since your writing is so hot , I'm willing to ask if you consider writing about roleplaying with Cillian and his wife or gf to break the dull routine they were stuck into , the way he suggested that to her being embarrassed and the sweet moments they ditch the characters in bed. He could bring his characters *cough cough * Tommy shelby. Thank you x

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend, Cillian, finds out you’ve been reading erotic fiction about his character in the Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby. Cillian shows you how much of a great actor he is.

Warnings: Age gap, the reader is in her 20s and Cillian is in his 40s. Roleplaying, extremely rough sex, dumbification, degradation, face slapping, spitting, pussy spanking, oral sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, and a little cnc. THIS IS KIND OF DARK SO BE WARNED. Everything is consented it’s just that... Cillian’s gonna be rough, like ROUGH

.

Cillian had been busy. He had an upcoming new season this year and his schedule was packed. You haven’t spent time with him in quite some time now. He constantly apologized for not giving you enough attention and promised to make it up to you.

He decided to fulfill this promise.

Since he was the main character in his series ‘Peaky Blinders’, he did have massive privilege in the production. He had never done it before since he had been such a dedicated person to work with, however, he felt like he should sacrifice his work just for you. He wanted to spend the time with you, maybe have some dinner together at a nice restaurant. Just the usual things the both of you would do. Every time he had some free time he would do some nice things for you, treat you like a princess.

He came home from work that day, he got permission to take the week off and he even got back early from set. He wanted to surprise you, he had a flower in his hands a box of your favorite soft cookies. It was all so perfect.

When he came home, he saw that the first floor was empty and there were no signs of you anywhere. He went upstairs since he reckoned you were in the bedroom, probably taking a nap or reading a book.

Cillian was so happy. He was a man who barely showed any emotions in public but with you, it was different. He had a wide smile on his face, ready to surprise you but when he opened the door, he didn’t see you on the bed.

Instead, he heard the shower running and so he hummed to himself, setting the gifts down as he sat on the bed to wait for you.

As he patiently waited, he noticed your phone was still on. You were the type of person to let the screen go on forever instead of turning it off every 3 minutes like him. He glanced absentmindedly as he saw you were reading some sort of story on your phone. His actions were harmless, he just wanted to see what you were reading.

His eyes skimmed through the words as his blood runs cold.

‘Tommy had me bent over his desk, ass red and swollen from all the beatings. My pussy was leaking down onto the expensive wood, desperate for his cock to ram inside me.

“Please, Mr. Shelby, I need your cock!” I plead like a good whore as he growled.

“You are nothing but a filthy cocksleeve”

Tommy? Shelby? His Tommy Shelby? The character that he played?

It seemed like all of the blood started circulating to his face as he flushed at the filthy thing he had just read. Y/N? His sweet Y/N was reading something like that?

Cillian couldn’t believe it because someone as young and pure as he would never be this dirty. Because of their age gap, he saw her as someone that he needed to protect, shield from the rest of the goddamned world. His fragile little princess that he wouldn’t dare to inflict even a slight force in fear that she might break and shatter into pieces.

The sound of the shower became silent and it interrupted his thoughts, he quickly placed her phone where it belonged as he stood up and smoothened the spot on the bed where he sat to make it seem like he just came in.

When you had walked out, it took you a moment to notice Cillian standing there with your gifts but when you did, you gave him a small scream as you ran towards him, your figure wearing nothing but a small towel.

“Cillian?! You’re back? You brought me gifts!” You exclaimed as her wet body embraced him in a hug. Cillian was somewhat still blank from what he was reading earlier.

‘If she had liked that kinda stuff so much he could push her on the bed and beat her ass right now’

His eyes widened at his own thoughts as he tried to push them away, “Yes princess, I thought maybe I haven’t been paying attention to you now have I? I’m all yours for the week, baby”

You pouted as you nodded at him, and then he realized how submissive-looking you were. You had always had a demeanor of what he would expect someone much younger than him to have, however, Cillian was starting to look at it in a new light.

It doesn't help the fact that he still has his Thomas Shelby haircut for the filming.

It also doesn’t help she was almost naked in front of him, he hadn’t fucked her in weeks. It’s almost fitting.

Maybe doing something about it wouldn’t hurt now would it?

Oh... But it’s definitely gonna hurt you...

Cillian watched closely as the girl before him admired his gifts for her in awe. His eyes became more and more lusted as he figured out a way to approach you.

“Love, can I ask you a question?”

You hummed at him innocently as she raised her brows at him, “Anything, Cill...”

“What have you been reading on your phone, hmm?” Her eyes widened slightly as her heart started to pound in her chest. Cillian was looking at her so intensely that it was slightly scary. She didn’t know if she should lie, or if she should tell him the truth. However, since he had asked... It was obvious he knew the truth.

“Cillian I can explain” You sputtered, panicking on the inside as Cillian started closing whatever gap that both of you had, he was looking down on you in a way he had never done before. You felt the chill run down your spine as you felt the back of your knees hitting the bed.

“Explain” He commanded.

“It’s just... You know I love you and you know I should be honest to you no matter what. But... I just... We haven’t been together in a long time lately and even when we do... It’s always the same...” You felt guilty saying this to him, it’s not like he was bad at sex. He was great. However, you were getting bored with the same soft and loving sex you two always had. “I just... I hope you can be a little rougher, that’s all. You’ve always been... So soft”

“Soft... Hm?” He tilted his head to the side as he stared at you almost mockingly, “Be careful of what you wish for, love”

You had felt your heart stop when Cillian’s smooth Irish accent suddenly turned into the dark Brummie accent you had always heard about on the TV. The one you had always touched yourself to when he wasn’t around.

Then out of nowhere, Cillian had roughly pushed you on the bed as you fell down and whimpered softly. He pulled off the towel on your body as you were left naked, “C-Cillian!”

“Who the fuck is Cillian, eh? Have you been fucking whoring yourself out to another man?” Cillian cursed at you as he quickly took his clothes off, “You’re my whore. You’re mine to fuck, you got it?”

Then you can physically feel your gears shifting in your brain, “T-Tommy?”

Your body shivered as you felt yourself getting wet, you were all naked and you were ready for him. You felt your legs spread instinctively as you heard him laugh, “You really are such a desperate fucking cunt, eh?”

‘Tommy’ had bent down as he gripped your face by the cheeks and roughly shook your head, “Who do you belong to? Who do you fucking belong to?”

“Y-You Cill-Tommy! I belong to you!” Tommy smirked, as his hands traveled down to your navel, teasing you as he drew figures on the skin, making you whine, “Open your fucking mouth you dirty whore”

You wasted no time opening your mouth for him, wide with your tongue out. Suddenly, he did the unexpected when he spat in your mouth, “Fucking swallow it, princess”

You swallowed his spit like a good girl as you held out your tongue to show to him, suddenly seeking his praise and validation however it never came. Tommy just hummed as he let go of your face harshly, almost slamming your head onto the plush bedding.

Characters aside, Cillian was never like this. Throughout the year of your relationship, he had always been gentle and kind, treating you like a soft feather and taking care of you. Maybe because it was because he was much older he had felt like he needed to treat you gently. You never realized Cillian had this side to him. He had always had this side, you just never awaken it.

“Spread your legs wider” He commanded, his voice dark as his character, you listened to him, eager to show him you were his good girl as he hummed looking down at the glistening flesh in between your legs. You were so wet it had dripped down and leaked onto the bedsheet. Without a warning, Tommy gives a hard slap to your cunt and you screamed out. You thought he was doing it once but it seems like it came over and over again, beating your swollen pussy and clit until it was throbbing and red. You cried out of pleasure and pain, as you begged him. You didn’t know what you were begging for but it was sure not for him to stop.

“You fucking like this don’t you? Fucking hell, look at you. You’re fucking wet, you like getting fucking beaten and bruised huh? What a fucking whore. You are nothing. You are only good for fucking, you are only here to fuck. Remember that, you fucking cunt”

Tears were flowing down and you were desperate you were so desperate for his cock. After each word, Tommy spat on your body, leaving you all wet and filthy combined with your own sweat and arousal.

“P-Please! P-Please, fuck me, Tommy! Please I need your cock. Please I want your cum. I need it inside me!” You pleaded like a whore as he slapped your face. You moaned out as his hand traveled down your neck and choked it just enough to make you feel the air around you restricting. “Tommy, I can’t, I need your cock”

He scoffed, pulling down his pants as whipped out his cock. It was so hard to the point where it became purplish-red, the veins covering the base as the head leaked with pre-cum.

“You want my cock?” He lined up his tip on your vagina, “You fucking get it you cocksleeve”

Without giving you a warning and time to adjust, Tommy slammed his cock inside your cunt and he wasted no time ramming into you roughly. Not like you needed time to adjust since you were sopping wet. All you can do is choke out his name and moans as he grunts with each slam.

His pace was rough and deep and for someone like hin with his age, he had the stamina to go on and on fucking you so rough till you can feel him ramming in your stomach.

No words could even cum out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back as he fucks you braindead.

Spit drooling at the side of your mouth as you babble like a cock hungry whore underneath him.

“I’m gonna fucking cum and you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna fucking carry my babies, and even then it is not gonna stop me from fucking you stupid”

You could feel him twitching as his thrusts were getting sloppier and sloppier, you could also feel your orgasm coiling in your tummy as you cried out once you let it all go, the liquid splashing all over the both of you as you squirt on his dick.

You were heavily overstimulated and you screamed as Tommy fucked the cum out of him.

The warm seed spilled inside your walls as he grunted in pleasure, leaning down as he bit your neck and drew blood to the surface.

Tommy looked at you all fucked out, eyes still rolling at the back of your head as you continue to babble nonsense to nothing.

He breathes heavily as he lays down beside you, carefully moving your body to cuddle up to him.

“Like I said, my love... Be careful of what you wished for”

[queenshelby]

Uncle Tommy (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Niece Reader

Warning: Smut, Incest, Taboo Relations, DDLG, Dub-Con

And yes, this was a request! Please comment and engage!

It was during the month of August that you moved back to Birmingham after having spent almost twelve years travelling with your mother Esma after your father died and whilst your mother disliked the idea, you were eighteen now and to put it bluntly, you were no longer a child and had to make your own decisions.

Your mother had met and married another man a few years ago, and you had no desire to be a burden on their newfound happiness so, when your Aunt Polly suggested for you to move in with either her or your Uncle Tommy, you were grateful for the opportunity.

Your Uncle Tommy had horses and you had always loved the idea of working with them, so it was an easy decision to move in with him. Your Uncle Tommy had a new wife. She was his third wife and whilst you thought that living with a man like him and his newfound love would be slightly awkward, you settled in easily. 

After a few days, you began to feel more comfortable in your new surroundings, enjoying your work with the horses and even though you had not seen your Uncle Tommy for over 12 years beforehand, he seemed genuinely happy to see you.

You came across as bright, intelligent and respectful and found yourself in your uncle's office quite often, helping him with paperwork and other business-related tasks. However, there was something peculiar about your Uncle Tommy. Something that made you feel slightly uncomfortable but also somewhat exited when he was around, although you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

He was a mid-forty-year-old attractive man with a commanding presence, handsome, with piercing blue eyes and jet-black hair. You never remembered him like this from your childhood. Now he seemed to have acquired a distinguished elegance - a byproduct, perhaps, of his wealth and power.

It wasn’t just his looks, but also the way he carried himself. Confident, commanding, yet respectful. He treated you like an adult and didn’t hesitate to give you the responsibility you craved.

But then, occasionally, you felt as though he made some advances towards you which you were not sure whether or not you should reciprocate. He was your uncle after all. He was a married man, and you were in a relationship with a good young man who happened to be working in your uncle's factory. 

On occasion, your uncle would put a stray hand on your waist, his fingers lightly tracing your curves as he leaned in close to whisper something mundane, his warm breath tickling your ear in a way that made you shiver.

You would quicken your pace, eager to escape the alluring pull of his nearness and return to the comfort of your own room. However, sometimes, you got lost in the moment, in his mesmerizing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through you.

One evening, after a particularly long day of work with the horses, you found him in the study.

He was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other. His eyes were focused on some documents in front of him, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"Uncle Tommy," you said softly, not wanting to disturb him.

He looked up, his gaze softening as he took in your appearance. You were wearing a simple dress that hugged your curves and showed off your legs. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks under his gaze.

"Come in, Love," he said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I just wanted to talk to you about something," you said finally. "It's about James, the young man I am seeing," you told him, causing him to furrow his eyebrows.

"What about him?" your uncle asked , setting his glass aside and giving you his full attention. There was a hint of something in his tone that you couldn't quite place, but it made you feel slightly uneasy.

"Well," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I just wanted to let you know that we're getting serious. I think we might even get engaged soon which means that, maybe, I would be moving in with him."

Your uncle's expression didn't change, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes that made you feel uncomfortable.

"Love, you are fucking 18 years old, " he said, his voice low and controlled. "You should not be making decisions like that yet," he said honestly as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he looked at you thoughtfully.

"I respect your feelings for this young man," he said finally. "But I urge you to be careful, eh? Don't be a fool. You are a fucking Shelby and you  do not commit yourself to just anybody," your uncle said and you sat there in silence for a moment, digesting his words. You knew he was right, of course. You were young and had a whole life ahead of you. You should not make any rash decisions, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"I understand Uncle Tommy, but I really love him,"  you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your uncle chuckled in response before leaning over the desk and caressing your cheek.  His touch was gentle, but the heat of it sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and danger at the same time.

"You are a beautiful young woman Y/N, " your uncle said, his voice dripping with suggestion. "And you deserve much better than a factory worker like him who seems to have no fucking aspirations to become anything more, eh," he added, his fingers tracing your jawline.

His fingers lingered longer than necessary, and you felt a strange heat spreading through your body. You knew you should pull away, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Instead, you felt yourself leaning into his touch, your heart racing as your mind filled with forbidden thoughts just before his wife walked into the study.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt," she said as she entered the room, her eyes flickering between you and your uncle.

Your uncle quickly withdrew his hand, his face becoming impassive as he greeted his wife with a warm smile.

"No, it's alright, love. Y/N and I were just having a discussion about her future," he said, his voice betraying no emotion.

You quickly stood up, eager to escape the tension in the room, but you took what your uncle had said to heart. You knew that he was right and, over the next few weeks, the relationship between you and James became strained.

A few weeks later...

It was around 10 o'clock when you heard a knock on the door of your bedroom. You were sitting on your bed, reading a book and trying to clear your mind. 

"Come in," you called out, setting your book aside and straightening your posture as the door opened and your uncle stepped inside.

He looked striking as ever, his hair perfectly styled and his suit tailored to perfection. His eyes scanned over you in a way that made you feel both excited and slightly uneasy.

"Uncle Tommy, what are you doing here?" you asked as he entered your bedroom, closing the door behind him, before sitting down by your side.

"I just came to check on you, Love," he said , eyes gleaming as he looked at your young and naive figure. "To see if you were doing alright," he continued, running his fingers ran through your hair. "Frances told me that you have been having some problems with this boy you were seeing," he then admitted  , with a hint of concern in his voice.

You couldn't help but feel grateful for the attention, and somehow, comforted. You thus sat up next to him, wearing nothing but your satin nightgown, confiding about what happened between you and James.

"We had a little argument because he wants things that I am not ready for, you know. So, I have distanced myself a little from him for now and it's really making me sad," you answered honestly, and your uncle nodded before resting his hand on your bare thigh. 

Your uncle's touch sent a jolt of pleasure throughout your body, his skin was warm and rough, you leaned in slightly towards him, letting out a soft sigh.

"Well, I told you before Love, you deserve better than a boy like James fucking McFallon, eh," your uncle said with a gentle voice, running his fingers up your thigh, causing you to shiver.

"Now, tell me though Sweetheart, he didn't make you do anything you didn't want to do, did he? Because if he has, then I will need to deal with him,"  Thomas said, his voice a low growl.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and safety in your uncle's presence. You knew that he would always be there for you and protect you from anything that could harm you.

"No, he didn't. I just didn't want to take the next step with him yet," you said softly, looking up at your uncle.

His fingers were still tracing their way up your thigh, sending tingles throughout your body.

"And he hasn't touched you in any placed you didn't want to be touched, has he?"  Thomas asked, looking into your eyes with that piercing blue gaze.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, in your rather naive mind, causing your uncle to chuckle.

"I mean, he hasn't touched you down here without your consent , has he?" Thomas clarified, his hand vaguely brushing over your clothed sex.

You felt a sudden heat rising to your cheeks as your uncle's words finally sunk in.

"No, he hasn't. I wouldn't allow it," you said, but your voice wavered slightly, giving away your uncertainty as your uncle's eyes gleamed as he nodded his head, pleased with your answer.

"Good, because if he had touched you right there without your consent, then would have had no choice but to fucking cut him, eh?"  Thomas said, as he gently caressed your cheek with one hand while rubbing his fingers over your panties with the other, before pulling the fabric to the side. 

You froze almost immediately , tensing up as you tried to comprehend what your uncle was doing.

"Uncle Tommy, you shouldn't touch me down there, I think," you stammered while, at the same time, inadvertently spreading your legs.

"You are right Love, I probably shouldn't. But doesn't it feel nice when I touch you there?" Thomas whispered as you rubbed his thumb over your clit, creating a strange wetness between your folds.

"It feels really weird, Uncle Tommy," you moaned as your uncle started to move his thumb in a circular motion, building up a strange and unfamiliar ache in your lower belly.

"Do you want me to stop?" Thomas asked, his voice husky and full of desire as he slowed down his movements, waiting for your answer.

"No, don't stop," you panted , your body coming alive under his touch.

Thomas smiled and resumed his previous pace while feeling himself grow hard beneath the confides of his pants.

"Do you think I could have a closer look at your treasure, Sweetheart? I would love to see that beautiful little hole of yours now, because it is getting so nice and wet for me,"  your uncle whispered in your ear while slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties.

"Uncle Tommy, I don't know if that's a good idea," you said, gasping slightly as you felt your uncle's fingers touch your intimate areas.

"I promise, Love, I will make you feel really nice down there," Thomas reassured you, sliding his index finger over your wet folds. 

"Okay , but just this once," you agreed, reluctantly but with a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Good girl. Why don't you lie down for me , Love?" Thomas suggested, removing his index finger from your wetness and giving you a soft pat on your bottom, encouraging you to lie back down on the bed.

You didn't resist and followed your uncle's instructions, biting your lip as he slipped off your panties, leaving you bare before him.

Thomas couldn't help but admire the sight of your body laid out before him. Your legs were slightly parted, giving him a glimpse of your beautiful, wet sex. Without warning, he then spread your labia open with his fingers, exposing your clit and inner folds.

"Such a beautiful sight, eh" Thomas whispered while gently tracing your folds with his index finger, causing you to shiver at the touch.

"You are simply stunning, Love," Thomas continued, awe in his voice as he leaned down to get a closer look.

"Have you ever put your fingers inside your little tressure box here?"  Thomas asked, his voice low and deep as he gently circled your clit with his thumb.

"No, I don't think I have," you replied, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves as your uncle asked you such a personal question.

"Would you like me to be the first one to do it?" Thomas asked, his eyes gleaming with desire.

"I-I don't know," you stammered, feeling yourself flush at the thought. "Is it going to hurt?" you asked, biting your lip as your uncle's fingers continued to explore your wet sex.

"Only for a moment, Sweetheart. But I promise, it will feel so good after that," Thomas reassured you, before slowly and gently running his index finger over your wet sex again. 

"Okay , let's try it," you agreed, feeling yourself getting more and more aroused by your uncle's actions and words.

Thomas couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as, very carefully, he pushed his index finger inside your tight sex, feeling your inner walls clench around it.

You couldn't help but gasp at the sensation, as your uncle's finger penetrated you for the first time. It felt strange and unfamiliar, but also incredibly pleasurable.

"How does it feel, Love?" Thomas asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"It feels...weird, but also kind of nice," you replied, finding it hard to put your feelings into words.

"Good, that's great Love," Thomas praised you, as a proud smile appeared on his face. "Now, I want you to relax and breathe deeply while I move my finger inside of you, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, taking deep breaths as your uncle slowly moved his finger in and out of your sex. It was an odd sensation, but also incredibly arousing.

You couldn't believe what was happening in this moment, but at the same time, you couldn't deny that it felt incredible. Thomas's fingers were now exploring every inch of your wet sex, causing you to moan and writhe in pleasure beneath him.

"You're so fucking tight, Love," Thomas groaned, as his finger moved deeper inside of you. "But I think I can get a second finger inside without breaking your barrier," he said tentatively  , looking deep into your eyes for consent.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, but you also couldn't deny the arousal that was building up inside of you. You nodded your head in agreement, and Thomas slowly slid in a second finger, causing you to gasp at the feeling of being stretched.

"That's it, Sweetheart. Just relax and breathe," Thomas whispered softly in your ear, as he continued to move his fingers in and out of your wet sex.

The feeling was still strange and unfamiliar, but the pleasure that accompanied it quickly overshadowed any discomfort you might have felt earlier. Your breathing became heavier and more ragged as your uncle's fingers continued their slow, teasing movements.

Thomas could feel your body tensing up beneath his touch, so he leaned down to whisper in your ear once more, "You're doing great, Love. Just relax and let me make you feel good."

He moved his fingers slowly at first, allowing you to get used to the sensation of being penetrated in this way. He could feel your tight walls gripping his fingers, and he knew he had to be gentle.

"Oh God," you moaned, your head falling back as you felt your arousal build. "Something strange is happening," you admitted, as you could feel a pressure building up inside of you, along with a warmth spreading throughout your body.

"Explain it to me, Sweetheart. What do you feel?" Thomas asked again, his fingers still working their magic inside you.

"It feels good, but I feel like I am about to wet myself," you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

"That's good. This means you are close," your uncle said as he started to circle his thumb faster on your clit, pushing his fingers deeper inside of you at the same time.

"Let go, Sweetheart," Thomas coaxed you. "Don't hold back, just let it happen."

You listened to your uncle, allowing yourself to fully immerse in the sensations rippling through your body. His words were like a switch, releasing all remaining tension and inhibitions, sending you crashing over the edge in a dizzying wave of pure pleasure.

"That's it, Love. Let it all out," Thomas encouraged you with a gentle smile, as he watched you ride this new and exciting experience.

"Oh my god. Oh fuck," you moaned as your body trembled and shuddered, the pleasure radiating outwards from your core  , pooling in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Your orgasm hit you hard and strong as you released your wetness all over your uncle's hands, leaving you panting and sweating. You squirted for several seconds, leaving the sheets soaked and you blushing with embarrassment.

"I-I didn't know that could happen," you stammered, your cheeks flushed red as you tried to regain your composure as Thomas carefully pulled his fingers out of you, resting his hand on your thigh, as he studied your expression. Your face was flushed bright red, and you looked utterly spent.

"How are you feeling, Love?" he asked softly, his voice thick with concern.

You blinked dazedly up at him and nodded slowly. "I...I'm okay, I think," you finally answered, your voice still trembling slightly as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Thomas smiled at you and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead. "Good," he said simply before standing up, leaving your side for a moment.

You watched him through hooded eyes as he walked towards the en-suite bathroom, before returning with a warm washcloth to gently clean you up. His touch was tender, caring and you ought to ask whether you had indeed wet yourself , but you couldn't summon the words. He then threw the washcloth into a nearby hamper before reclaiming his prominent position on your bed.

"Don't be embarrassed, Love. That's completely natural," Thomas murmured softly as he traced the curve of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling down at your amazed expression.

"I've just never... felt anything like that before," you admitted shyly, feeling just slightly overwhelmed by how strong your reaction had been.

"It wasn't bad, though. In fact, I think I might like it," you added, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you looked up at your uncle. "Do you think I could make you feel that good too?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at your uncle with wide eyes.

"I am sure you can, but not tonight, Love. Tonight was all about you," Thomas replied, his voice gentle and soothing. "There is no need to rush things, we have all the time in the world," he added affectionately, before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead once more.

"Now, why don't you have a rest and we can revisit this tomorrow if you like," Thomas suggested, as he tucked the blankets around you, tenderly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You watched him as he turned off the lights and left your bedroom, before letting your heavy eyelids fall closed and slipping into a peaceful sleep.

T

ags:

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@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[michaellangdonswhore]

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

----------------------------------------------------------

You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

[brummiereader]

Binding Love

(Masterlist)

Summary: Soon to be divorced and co-parenting with the notorious leader of the Peaky Blinders was never going to be a breeze. But when a number of unanswered calls and a string of dead bodies surface in your attempts to move on, you gain the attention of a detective and the pressing matter of his colleagues whereabouts, with whom you had spent one evening on a date with. Promising you witness protection in return for the evidence he was sure you had on his sole suspect, your husband. Your future is left in the balance when Tommy's paranoia and inability to let you go makes itself known as your codependency continues to show no signs of surrendering. Will you let yourself be free of the man whose love for you has consumed him? Do you even want to be?

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, smut, psychological abuse, murder.

Authors Note: This is a Dark!Tommy series that some readers may find triggering. Please review the warnings before continuing.

Teaser Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven (completed series)

Gif credit: @mushroomseb. Go check out their amazing work!

[your-nanas-house]

Can we have Thomas Shelby having lactation/breastfeeding kink? The reader is a new mother and her tits are full of milk 🥵

Damn yess, I'm such a sucker for this kind of fics. 🫣😳

Mother

◇ Pairing: Dad!Thomas Shelby X Mom fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, lactation kink, breastfeeding, mention of twins, Tommy is pathetic and desperate, past pregnancy, breast milk, cumming.

◇ Summary: Tommy tastes his wife's milk for the first time.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. And for making you wait so long! 🙏

A mother.. that's what she was, with her round, full, heavy breasts that made their little bundles of joy wiggle in excitement every time, Thomas thought.

The mother... of their twins.. theirs. His and hers.

A mother... with her mature curves, her swellings and her glowing self, her soft hips... and her, damn, swollen tits that were now leaking drops of her milk. A milk that should be for their babies... who already were sleeping, milk drunk from their dinner. A milk that was screaming at Tommy to be tasted by him... even if it looked like such a taboo thing to do.

"Tommy" Y/n said firmly, snapping him out of the trance he was in since nearly 5 minutes now.

Her hands were on her hips and a soft pout was adorning her face... the same one that appeared every time he didn't listen to what she said and so he had her repeat things more than once.

"You can taste it if you want" her soft voice informed him as her tensed and scolding language disappeared, giving space to an amused and mocking one. The woman saw how he looked at her since the pregnancy started to change her body... expecially how he looked at her full, painful breasts.

It really was entertaining the way he tried to play it off, pretending he didn't stared at her while she breastfed. Or when the milk started to wet the fabric of her clothes.... expecially her nightgown, in which it was even more noticeable.

"Our little angels already had it and my boobs are aching, still full and... lonely" she murmured softly while crawling closer to her husband, who was sitting on the bed, holding his breath unconsciously.

Tommy looked hesitant, millions of battles kept going on in his head as his heart beat hard against his bare chest. His blood rushed down to his cock as the gorgeous body of his woman positioned itself on his lap and her hands slowly lowered her nightgown to expose more skin at the cold night breeze.

As soon as his baby blue eyes stopped on her breasts now fully on display, his mind stopped struggling and his head moved on its own, attracted by the shiny nipple like a hungry baby. In a split second his lips were wrapped around it and his free hands grabbed her hip and the back of her neck to prevent her from moving as he started to suckle on it.

Her own milk landing on his greedy tongue, causing a low growl to escape his throat. His hips bucked against hers, in search of a relief, almost humping her clothed cunt shamelessly.

Tommy was in his own world, his mouth focused on stealing the warm liquid from his wife as his body got even more aroused by the intimacy of the moment.

He slowed down just when Y/n grabbed his hair, pulling them to warn him silently as his teeth started to brush and tease her abused nipple.

"That's a good body, fuckk... Tommy. Suck it all for mommy" his wife meowed out after taking a deep sigh, her hand still holding his hand close to her chest as her husband feed himself, moving to the other breast as soon as he felt enough satisfied.

She could tell the effect this mere action was doing to her husband, the way his body twitched and he groaned against her skin before starting to suck again... indicated her that he actually just allowed himself to cum in his pajamas pants, too focused on her tits to actually care.

So desperate and pathetic, she thought, but very arousing to watch.

That sure wouldn't be the last time she would let him.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fourteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and all total bollocks.

Gif credit - @remembering-angels

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

TRIGGER WARNING for MENTIONS OF ABORTION.

We Got Issues

Part Fourteen: Y/N and Cillian's morning buys them more hours than expected before he has to leave for England again. They have a lovely morning and Y/N feels sated with the domesticity - then Cillian bites the bullet and instigates "the talk". [Soft domestic life followed by adult themes and mentions of abortion]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @meadowshelby @strangeions @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @lavender-haze-01

References that might not be got by those outside of Ireland/those who don't visit/ and/or just to clarify -

Store Street and Busáras: Busáras is the central bus/coach station in Dublin city and it is located on Store Street.

Gaa - this is the GAA, Gaelic athletic association, which covers Gaelic football, hurling, that kind of thing. My referencing here and in my experience is using "the Gaa" to refer mostly to Gaelic football. In terms of the jersey being split - my half brother in Ireland has our Dad from from Cavan and his Mam is from Monaghan, and they got him a Gaa jersey that is literally like the 2 halves sewn together.

.....

You wake before Cillian, a single minute before seven am, with a day of work ahead of you. You fight the temptation to wake him, and just glance at him sleeping peacefully before you sit up on the edge of the bed, still exhausted despite a settled night. Having him beside you was lovely, even when you had turned your backs to one another to sleep. Knowing he was there, and hearing the sounds of his breathing, made you feel warm and safe all night. But tonight he would not be there; he'd be gone once again, and you were already preemptively dreading the prolonged time alone ahead. He didn't move a muscle as you climbed up off of the bed and pulled in your fleece quarter zip lounge top that was balled up on the floor by the nightstand. It was a little chilly, and despite the fact that you knew the heating would either be on or would kick in as needed, with the duvet and Cillian's radiator-like body heat now removed from you, it feels very cold. He's sprawled out on his front with his head facing your side of the bed and tipped back a little on the pillow that hides his arms beneath it; his lips are parted and his breaths, though not even close to being snores, are deep and audible. You take your phone from the nightstand and slip it into the pocket of your fleece, then push your feet into your slippers from beside the armchair, then creep out of the door with your steps as quiet as you can make them. You pull the door closed quietly behind you, not fully shut in the jamb but pulled right across, and then you make your way down the stairs slowly.

You make yourself a mug of the flavoured coffee you still had from the Food Festival in Monaghan that had been held the summer. Cillian had insisted on it after some review of the company he'd read, but he ended up hating it. You love it though - it’s a strangely flavoured ground coffee that's marketed as tasting like rum and raisin; while you can't taste either of those things, you do like the flavour. You know that if you don't wash out the coffee press, Cillian will bitch about the smell of it, so try to keep it in your mind to do so before you start work. Coffee in hand, you grab a vegan-friendly, but not absolutely awful tasting, caramel flapjack from Cillian's secret-but-not-really-secret stash at the back of the cupboard that houses cereals, teas and coffee options. You know for certain that Cillian will offer to cook a real breakfast when he gets up, especially with Malachy also here. You flop down onto the sofa to enjoy the slow hour you have to wake up - at around eight, you would force yourself up into the office space in the eves and work like a demon until after five - but this hour was yours. You flick through Amazon Prime for five minutes, then settle on the Kneecap movie. You know you won't get the chance to watch the lot, but you've been desperate to watch this since the first whispers. Silently hoping there are English subtitles, you turn it on and draw your legs up beside you on the sofa and take a careful sip of your steaming coffee. You are about halfway down your coffee and not even ten minutes into the film when you hear, then see, someone walking with slow, heavy steps down the stairs. It's a small surprise to you whomever of the two men it is, at this early hour, but you are particularly surprised that it is Cillian.

“Hey,” you say softly as you pause the movie. “What're you doing up so early? Get your sleep in while you can.” By the look of him, you know he's been awake mere moments - his hair is insane, his pale face has little red lines from the pillowcase creasing up, his eyes are barely open and blinking slowly with the threat to close as he stands on his feet, and the erection that tents out his pyjama bottoms is appealing to look at, but clearly not based in arousal. Together, it all gives his sudden and reluctant wakefulness away at a sweeping glance. “What woke you?”

“Malachy,” he says, huskily. He reaches his arms up, hands around the back of his head, and groans as he stretches his back. “He just, umm, flew in the door, there,” he says, as he drops his arms back down. You smirk to yourself as he pulls out the waistbands of his pyjamas and boxers shorts in an attempt to adjust for comfort. “Doesn't have the study day he thought he did,” he shakes his head. He stands with an adorably unmasked, miserable pout, then yawns with a tightly pulling jaw and doesn't cover his wide open mouth at all. “I've to throw him into college for half nine.” he says after his yawn abates. He's so petulant and grumpy in his sleepiness that it's funny to watch and listen to him.

“I could do that.” You say, drawing down your mouth to give him a sympathetically sad look. “I can take him, Cill. I don't mind, I'll use my flexi hours and just work later into the evening. Go back up to bed, tell him I'll drop him to college.”

He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, “No, you're grand.” He says and yawns a second time. “Sure I'm up now anyway."

You smirk and shoot your childish shot at humour. “Oh, I can see that.” The look of derision he throws you is hilarious, though you're sure there's a faint dimple formed into his left cheek with the threat of smile, and you throw your head back on the sofa as you laugh.

He groans and rubs both hands across his face then drops his arms down to his sides. “Aran’s right, we need a bathroom down here." He mumbles as he turns back to the stairs. “Get me a coffee, will ya? I'll be back in a sec.” He calls as he jogs back up the stairs out of view. You get up from the sofa with your mug and oblige his request, and decide you'll make yourself a fresh coffee as you do so. You rinse the coffee press out as the kettle boils and fill it with plain ground coffee. True to his word, he returns just as you push down the plunger on the newly brewed coffee. He walks slowly over and wraps his arms around you from behind, placing his chin on your right shoulder, and squeezes his arms around your waist gently as you pour out your coffees. “Have you much on for work today?" He asks. His voice is still full of sleep, gumbling and strained, and it makes those frequent butterflies awaken in your belly.

“Transcribing mostly. It's a bad case - I imagine there'll be news coverage at some point.” You say sadly and he hums sympathetically in your ear as he kisses your cheek before letting you go. He takes his coffee cup before stepping away just enough to give some personal space. You know that he appreciates that this is one of the more difficult aspects of your job - listening to interview and statement tapes of children detailing the crimes and abuse against them - and he has always been understanding of how the things you hear can sit in your mind. You give no details; not only can't you, but you wouldn't want to, either, but he seems to truly understand that you hear some harrowing tales of true darkness.

You stand in the kitchen facing one another - him leaning back on the counter along the wal,l and you with your back pressed against the island - with your coffees gripped in your hands and a soft silence between you. Cillian yawns again, another deep one that pulls his jaw tightly down, and you smile as he shakes his head as it eases off. “Fuck,” he mutters. It hadn't been too late when you had broken apart from your loving hug and silenced your ‘close if the day’ conversation in bed to settle to sleep last night, and in fact Cillian had been out of it before you had, and you're fairly certain that it was before midnight, too. Clearly it still hadn't been enough for him - perhaps the lack of sleep and abundance of alcohol the night before had had more of an effect than just giving him a thick head and mild nausea yesterday. “Will I make us a late breakfast after I've dropped Malachy off?” He suggests, smiling a little. “Pick something up on the way home?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Subway.” You say with an excited smile, “They make breakfast subs.”

He rolls his eyes at you as he sips his coffee. “Ah, go away,” he tuts. “I meant I could fly into like SuperValu or something.” He shakes his head at your eagerness for fast food. "Here, will I make us those bagels, remember the ones from that hotel in Monaghan.” He looks animated at the suggestion and you're immediately as delighted by the prospect.

You smile brightly, “Oh yeah, with the eggs, and the sausage-thing and the sauce.” You lick your lips comically. Cillian's dedication to vegetarianism could be flexible in its staunchness at times; while he chose to lean towards plant based or vegan options on occasion now, too, he was just as inclined to make the odd step back into meat-eater life, and the delicious egg and chorizo bagels you both were salivating over the thought of now was one of those examples.

“I'll run into the supermarket after I leave him in Tallaght then, so.” He says, and lifts his mug again. For whatever reason, you feel like this is the first time he's actually told you where Malachy is studying. You can't think at all if he's ever said anything before, and hate to sound as though you hadn't listened or aren't interested in asking him for clarification or details.

“What has he got on today?” You ask, wondering if he'll give you enough to work it out without asking him directly.

Cillian turns down the corners of his mouth and shrugs. “I haven't a clue,” he says, “But the business courses there go on the whole way, like Bachelor's and all.” He answers and you feel your anxiety subside a little. Malachy studies business at the Tallaght Campus of TUD - and you're more sure than ever he's never given you details before. “This little shit,” he shakes his head in amusement and places his mug down beside you on the island. “Hs fucking drags me out of the scratcher, and he's not even materialised down here yet.” You laugh lightly as he walks to the bottom of the stairs. “Malachy? Hey, Malachy? Are you up?” He shouts up, then gives a shrill whistle when he doesn't get an answer. “Hoi, Malachy, get up or I'll drag y’up!” He shakes his head as he walks back towards you. “Hes a fucker.”

You can't help finding the amusement in it all. And you can see he's happy to be doing day to day Dad things, too, despite his clear fatigue. “He wasn't expecting to be up, he'll be tired.” You say with a smile, then glance around at the clock above the cooker hood. “I have to go up and start work,” you say and move a step closer to him. You plant your mouth against his for a gentle kiss, and love the warmth of his arms as he wraps them around you.

“That sweatshirt is like a blanket.” He smirks as you pull away.

“I know, I love it. Especially up there, it's nice to be cosy while I'm working. I'm at the office tomorrow so I'm savouring the freedom to work in my pyjamas today.” You chuckle.

“You could work naked if you wanted, it's not like they're watching.” He laughs. You shake your head in amusement. But he continues with more ridiculous ideas. “Sure, we could be riding on the chair, and you in the middle of a string of emails….”

“Stop!” You laugh, and swat against his arm with an open palm. “You're an idiot.” you shake your head, but he's grinning at you and it's beautiful. “God! Do you think of anything other than sex when you're at home?”

He nods his head and you widen your eyes, waiting for another smartarsed comment. “Cheese,” he says, then laughs at himself as you turn and walk away, chuckling brightly.

You didn't hear him leave with Malachy, nor did you hear him get back home, but you can certainly hear him clattering about in the kitchen now, even two floors up. There's music blaring through Spotify on the TV and he's singing loudly to every track. You can hear it as clearly as if you were sitting down there, and that's with you having a single earbud in for your transcription tape. You pause the tape and save your document, then reach for your phone. It's a little before ten thirty and you know Cillian will be rattling around the house for a few more hours yet. Just knowing he's here is enough to make you feel comforted. You consider slipping down the stairs for a coffee, then you remember that Cillian has promised you breakfast bagels. Suddenly his banging around makes more sense. You reposition yourself in the chair and replace your earbud before continuing with your work.

You weren't exaggerating when you had told Cillian it was a big case. The details you'd read before were meek and mild in comparison to the testimony of the two children themselves. Not even over the age of ten and they'd seen and experienced horrors that would drive adults to insanity. You didn't know how anyone could treat children in these ways, and you didn't know how they'd survived at all. What you took from this aspect of your job, though, was that these children's voices were being heard - sometimes directly off the tapes, sometimes just metaphorically - and that meant those who had caused them harm were being exposed and more often than not, thankfully, being brought to their knees by the judicial system. For that reason, harrowing though it was, you knew there was likely never another role you'd want to take up. You felt, even in your small way, that you were a part of an instrumental band of people who helped these little ones out. Even so, it broke your heart and after a further twenty minutes, you pause the tape again and sit back in your chair with a sigh, drying the tears on your cheeks with the sleeve of your jumper. In all the cases you'd been part of up until now, this one was really hitting you hard. You sniff, determined not to fall too deeply into the darkness, and you're thankful of the disturbance when Cillian opens the door into the office and appears with a tray carrying not only your bagel and a coffee, but his too.

“Ah Y/N,” he says empathetically as he sets the tray onto the small table behind your chair. Your spin slowly, facing him fully. You're always amazed at his ability to read your emotions at a glance - not always to know your exact experiences but to always seem know when you're not your ‘default’ self. “Is it that bad?” He asks.

“Fuck, Cill, it's awful.” You tell him and sigh, shaking your head. You sniff and breathe out deeply. “The poor kids.”

He stands looking at you for a moment with such a gentle expression that you swear you can feel every feeling associated with your work here stepping back, even just a little. “How you can hurt your kids, I'll never fucking understand.” He shakes his head. “But here, c’mon and get this into ya.” He gestures at the table and sits down onto the sofa bed. You scoot the chair closer to the table and smile as he hands you your plate. The bagels - with toppings of smoothly sauced scrambled eggs, chopped chorizo, and spring onions - look simple, but it smells delicious, and you gratefully begin to tuck in with the knife and fork he's provided as Cillian sits back into the sofa with his own plate.

“Malachy get off okay?” You ask, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you talk over a bite of your food.

His own mouth stuffed, Cillian nods with his eyebrows raised as he chews. When he clears his mouthful, he swipes his tongue around his lips before he speaks. “When he finally appeared, yeah.” There's an edge to his tone, a minor irritation, but he's not angry in all sincerity. “He came in and woke me there for the lift out, and only went and got back into his own fucking bed.”

You shake your head with a light laugh, “Oh, he didn't?!”

“He's a messer, and he thought it was deadly craic once we were in the car!” Cillian smirks, and takes another bite from his bagel. “I thought about a nap but, sure, fuck it.”

You turn to your laptop for a moment, refreshing your emails, and reply to one from Amanda, the barrister you're assigned to. You leave your plate on the desk beside you - your bagel half attacked - and focus on your words to respond to her appropriately. Once sent, you snatch your plate back up and turn around to Cillian again. “Have you got plans for the next few hours? Last minute jobs or anything?”

He gives a single nod as he swallows the last mouthful of his food. Leaning forwards, he places the plate back onto the tray and brings his mug of herbal tea with him as he sits back again. “Sitting here with you.” He says.

“You'll be bored, Cill; I've got so much to do.” you say softly, but you're very endeared by his suggestion.

“Ah no, but sure, I can get a book,” he says and sips his tea, then his tone changes a little bit. “Or we can talk.”

You sense it immediately that he means ‘the talk’, and you look at him with a gentle frown, “Cill, now's not…”

“Now is the perfect time,” he says. “I'm going to be gone, bar the odd day here or there, until mid December. I can't carry it all for that long, Y/N, and neither can you. Sure, we shouldn't have to. The wondering or questions, or the guilt and concerns for each other. We're not angry here, not to the point we're hating one another I hope, at least.” He smirks and you can see he's nervous. “But you deserve answers to questions I know you have, and rightly so. I owe you those. And I want to explain myself, my choices and reasons, and without sounding like a cock, you owe me that.” He sits forwards and puts down his mug. “Contact Amanda, ask her for the afternoon off - annual leave, sickness, whatever you want to say. But I've from now ‘til around three-,” he says, “And I want to go to the airport later knowing we understand one another properly. And knowing that when I call ya, or when I come home, we're not gonna be arguing,”

You look back at him with a panicked feeling in the centre of your chest. He's right about needing to do this, you know he is, and he's right too about it being better now than later. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and blink slowly as you breathe in deeply though your nose. You release your lip, sigh out your held breath noisily, and nod your head. “I'll email Amanda now, I'll say I have a migraine and I'll see her tomorrow.” You say and nervously turn back to your laptop. You tap out a brief but sufficient email and send it across. You sigh once again as you turn back around to him and then raise up your eyebrows. “Okay, so…” you shrug your shoulders. “Where do we start?”

You watch Cillian's expression change, like he's just realised the gravity of this, and he sits back on the sofa again. He raises his eyebrows back at you and absentmindedly runs his tongue over his lips. “I'm sorry I put it before you to be ready for a baby when you weren't. I know that maybe you wouldn't even have come to the decision you did want a baby if I hadn't pushed it. I'm sorry I changed my mind - and I'm going to be sorry for the rest of my fucking life for the way it eventually got told told to you that I had changed my mind.” He speaks with a measured and calm voice, and you know he's thinking about the words he says carefully. “But I changed my mind because of Mal, and Aran, and you, and me, and because of work and because of things that happened before now. I'm away so much, more now than ever, and being away from the boys in not living there, I feel like I'm putting extra distance there, like I don't give them enough. I changed my mind because if we had a baby, I'd be away from you and them too, more than I was for the boys, and that baby being here, with me, would look to the boys like I just moved on and started another life, and left them behind. Like, I can't be there for them all the time but I'd be living with this new child and it wouldn't be fair. And here, maybe they wouldn't think that way, but maybe they would - and I don't want to hurt them like that. I've hurt them enough. And I don't want to up and leave you and a wee one constantly with work; that's not fair on a child, and it's not fair on you. Y/N, I didn't change my mind because I don't want a baby with you - a baby with you would be amazing - but it wouldn't be worth all the sacrifices and...upset we would all be faced with. I just realised I couldn't do it, not to any of us.”

You'd suspected almost exactly this reason, and it was because of that you'd been able to so easily reconcile yourself with his change of mind for the most part, though his mention of past things had made your heart flutter. But the issue wasn't there, it was his choices surrounding that decision that were harder for you to accept or understand. “It's almost exactly what I expected. That's why I kept saying that I could deal with you changing your mind. What I can't understand is why you told her you weren't sure, and that you'd changed your mind once you'd come to that. I can't understand why you could call her up, or meet her, or go in for coffee when you were driving the boys, but you couldn't tell me when I've been right beside you.”

He sighs and it's loud, heavy, and you don't know if he's looking for reasons he hasn't got, or gearing up to tell you something you won't like. You're not sure which is worse - he turned to her because he had always turned to her in the past, which stings, or he turned to her because he had changed his mind about you, too. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest as you wait for his answer. “I never found the moment here but that's not your fault at all, it's mine. I was waiting for the perfect moment, but sure there wouldn't have been one, would there? I'd no fucking sense and put it off. I only talked to Yvonne because she caught me on the phone in bad humour one day, and I just let it all out at her. And I'd talked to her again about the kids that Friday day time before we went out. She was saying that Malachy wasn't coming, but Aran was, and she'd asked if I'd talked to you yet. Obviously I didn't know that you'd made your mind up and were going to tell me then, so when I got thick with you in the restaurant, it was because she'd reminded me of needing to sew me bollocks on and talk to you. But you got there first and I felt like a fucking eejit.”

*Did she change your mind for you?” You ask him and suddenly you feel like your anxiety is asking the questions now. There's an edge to your voice and you know he hears it by the way his brows twitch in together at the bridge of his nose. “In you, um, having concerns, did she give you a few more, and guilt you with Malachy and Aran?”

“No.” His reply is blunt, immediate, and with a single shake of his head. “I feel how I feel because it's - it's how I feel, it's what's I'm fucking afraid of. It isn't because of Yvonne, not in the way you think it is anyway. She didn't tell me it was a bad idea, not to do it. The only thing she encouraged or insisted on was that I shut up fecking moaning at her and tell you.” He sighs and shakes his head, and while he is staying so calm you can hear that accent creeping in and know the passion is behind his words. “When you said it yesterday, that if she was the reason for my decision then we'd need to talk about our relationship - fuck, Y/N, you floored me. That you'd think I’d be going behind your back, that you'd think I'd go back to her and be miserable like I was for months or more before we met. Or that I'd let her dictate anything that goes on here, with us. Jesus fuck, Y/N! Sure, I wish you'd let go of your own fucking guilt there, so that you'd stop expecting me to be fucking about because we did jt. You didn't break us up, you didn't cause an issue, you didn't…lure me off. I didn't fuck about on Yvonne then because I'm an arsehole, seduced like, by a young one! I didn't then, and I'm not now - not with anyone, and definitely not with Yvonne. I'm not talking with her outside of that there, and the kids, and pleasantries. You and I got talking that day in Busáras, and we'd a good chat. I didn't expect to be bumping into you again, but there you were a week later and you got me right after the worst week Yvonne and me had had in months. You didn't ruin us, you didn't break us, but by fuck, boy, did you make all the difference for me straight off. Since I made up my mind with where I was, all that’s been important to me is you and the lads. It's why I make half the decisions I do. My own stupidity would be the reason for the rest of my fucking choices.” There's a smirk and a shake of his head that you know means he's trying so hard to keep this a conversation, to not cause a row at all. “I'm gonna be forty nine next year; I've two grown sons, a failed fucking marriage, …but I have you.” He smiles softly as he looks at you. Your eyes haven't left him, you're scanning his face and taking mental notes on his words and his accent and pitch changes. You read it all, remember it all, because it gives everything away about him. So far, it's working. “I never want to be in a position again where something I've done comes back negatively on you again, or the boys. I know you think I don't care, but I do keep the perceptions of me in the back of me head. And of you. I don't want you slagged on th’internet, nor the kids to suffer.”

You take a deep breath as he falls quiet for a moment and watch him bring his right hand to his face. His fingers move back and forth over his lips, his tongue flicks around in his mouth and you can see it through his parted lips as it assaults the single, set-back lower tooth with side to side swishes. “All I could think about, after we'd had sex and not used anything, was about going back to that place in England by myself.” You watch his eyes close slowly at your words and you know he feels something there, the same as you. He'd reminded you of this, now, when he said that past things had helped him change his mind. Your mind flies straight back... You didn't blame him for the need to go, nor that you were alone - he wasn't able to do anything about that at all, and you were not punishing him for it - but you hated the thought of it ever being repeated like that. “Because you'd changed your mind, and we still fucked like that, and all I could think about was sorting it sooner this time, knowing sooner this time, so that we didn't have to do that - so that I didn't have to feel that again. I don't regret the termination, but I think I resented the possibility of having to feel those feelings again and feeling like you would just expect me to, because you'd changed your mind.” You take a deep breath and it shakes hard in your chest. “I'm not saying you would, I'm saying that's what I was scared of, what I was worried about. That and the feeling like I'd had my head whipped around because I'd finally wanted what I thought you wanted now, too.”

He's listens to you talking with his eyes closed and you know he is feeling it hard. He swallows hard, audible across the quiet room, and he drops his hand as he opens his eyes. “It kills me all the time that you'd to get the termination at all. I know we decided and it was the right thing - it was, I'll never change my mind on that; Yvonne and me weren't even separated at the time, but it was coming and if…" he takes a deep breath in, and his tongue swipes out over his lips in an anxious stim. “Y/N, it kills me that you'd to go through it, and alone, and that all I could do was fucking ring ya - and not see ya til, what? Four days later? Maybe it's half the reason I thought about a baby together being a good idea at the start, so you knew I'd never let you go through that again if it could be avoided. I dunno…” he sighs, and his breath shakes too. “I was an arsehole to have sex with no precautions around your birthday, because we were only after talking that little bit. It fucked with your head, and it put us in a position where we might have had to have had that fucking conversation again and I am so fucking sorry.”

You puff out your cheeks as you breathe out at his words, his declarations, and you nod your head slowly. “Yeah, but you were right that night in London. I didn't mention a fucking condom either.” You push your hands onto the armrests of the chair and get to your feet. His eyes stay on you as you round the table and drop down to the balls of your feet, crouching before his knees. “The termination before you were separated was the right choice. And it being some of the reason you're sure now, among other things, that kids aren't on the cards is understandable. And I am okay with that. You're a good man. You're not perfect, at all, but you're not intentionally cruel. I know my anxiety is a bone of contention, and so is my guilt, and I am sure it'll never go away completely. But I want you to know, please, that in this exact moment, I don't think you're sneaking around, or going back to her, and I completely understand why you changed your feelings. And I need you to know that I'm okay with those feelings, and that it's going to take me time to get back there, but I will be fine with us remaining just us.” Your palms rest on his knees - to steady yourself as much as to touch him - and you sits forwards more and places his hands over yours. “And I am forever thankful for my delayed coach, and Malachy's late trip return, on that day on Store Street. I never thought that Busáras would be a landmark for me in Dublin, but it is!” You smile and you can feel your eyes slowly welling with tears. You close your eyes and let them fall as he leans even closer, moving his face close to yours, and pushes his lips against yours.

He wraps his fingers around yours and takes your hands, pulling you up, “Sit down here,” he says, and insists you join him on the sofa. When you do, he wraps his arm around at his side and pulls you in. “You know I can even remember the top you had on.” He says after a moment of quiet. His cheek is resting on top of your head and your right hand is toying with the fingers of his right hand where they sit together on his thigh. You flick at his fingers and smooth your thumb back and forth, and you smile as he speaks about your first meeting. “A fucking Gaa jersey that was, eh, half Dublin and half fucking Galway. You said you hadn't a clue about Gaelic football but your friends were getting married and it was their respective counties, so you were meeting up for the hen do, and all the girls were wearing these jerseys!”

You laugh lightly, “That's right!”

“And me there hanging around like a knob for Malachy to come in from the school trip. You moved your bag off the chair there and let me sit down, and you'd not a fucking notion who I was, and it was so fucking cool.” He smiles and you can feel the movement of his cheek in your hair.

“You talked my ear off about Lennon, your boys, and a book about some journalist who fucks off to Europe.” You laugh a little. “Who'd have known we'd be here now?” He lifts his head from yours and, when he does, you look up at him. “I'd never have imagined but there's very little I'd change, or do differently, if we had a do-over.” You say softly, and a smile slowly pushes into his cheeks. “I really think that I do regret nothing with you.”

He fights his hand out of your fiddling fingers and brings his palm up against your cheek, then draws your face to his for a passionate kiss. His thumb smooths over your cheek as you move your head back slightly a moment later. “I love you.” He whispers, desperately quiet.

You haven't magically become fine, but his words are so important and affirming that you know that it will be okay. You can get through the future because you're dealing with the past, you tell yourself, and you've got him by your side as a rock or strength. You move until you can place your head on his shoulder and it's warm and loving when he wraps his arms around you and holds you close and tight. You're safe, you're reassured, and you can handle it all.

[mothhball]

Beneath me

Pairing || professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader

Warnings || 18+ SMUT, NON-CON, DUB-CON, forced breeding, fingering, p in v sex, housewife kink(?), humiliation, dumbification, misogyny, unprotected sex, age gap (professor and student, everyone’s an adult), brief dacryphilia, condescending use of petnames, jon is a prick in this but gets better towards the end (if you squint hard enough)

Summary || The professor suspects you cheated on your exam, but you’re determined to prove him wrong.

Words || 3.7k

Notes || First ever fic and it’s smut because I love suffering. English isn’t my first language, so I hope everything makes sense. Please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned in the warnings

Afternoon lectures. The bane of many students’ existence, yours included. You’d been on campus since 9 am, trying to catch up on homework and study material for the most dreaded class of the day. Abnormal Psychology, presented by none other than Professor Jonathan Crane. Crane with his smart suits and piercing eyes. Crane with his condescending remarks and off-handed insults. Crane with his ridiculously handsome face and –

“Are you even listening to me?” The man in question is now standing in front of you, staring you down with narrowed eyes as his lips pull down into a frown. Yes, right. It’s 5 pm now, almost the end of the lecture and time to get your exam results back. You shake yourself out of your stupor, glancing down at the paper he left on your desk. But instead of a grade, you only see a bold red question mark which takes up almost a fourth of the entire first page. Crane clears his throat impatiently, and his mood sours more and more the longer he has to stand next to your seat.

“I said, you will meet me in my office after class. Is that understood? And I’d suggest you get your head in order until then,” he hisses, icy blue eyes filled with disdain. Your heart sinks, and you can feel the blood leaving your face as you manage to nod rather stiffly.

“Of course… Professor Crane, “ you murmur in reply, and upon hearing that, the professor quickly resumes his round around the lecture hall, handing back grades to your fellow students. As the first people pack up their things and begin to file out of the room, you slowly pack up as well. Your hands are cold from anxiety as you zip up your bag and get up from your seat. Meeting Professor Crane in his office was the last thing you wanted to do right now. The plan was to go home, grab takeout on the way and curl up in bed with a movie starring this forty-something year old actor you have the hots for. But God forbit anyone in Gotham wants to have a nice time.

Soon enough, you find yourself in Crane’s office, taking the seat in front of his desk and folding your hands in your lap to keep from fidgeting. The professor runs a hand through his hair, looking you over with a skeptical glare before he straightens his posture and gets to the point.

“I’m disappointed, shocked and quite frankly, I feel personally insulted.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can speak, he pulls out two stacks of paper, smacking them down on the desk. You quickly recognize one stack as a copy of your exam, but as you look over at the other, it feels like someone froze time for a moment. It’s someone else’s exam, but they wrote down the same answers. Not word for word, but in a way and structure that’s quite obviously plagiarized. Squinting at the name, you remember the guy sitting next to you, and anger bubbles up inside of your chest.

“He cheated off of me,” you mutter, trying to stay calm.

“Brennan said the same thing. Funny how that works, huh? And in case it went over your head, I don’t find it funny at all. But I will have to fail one of you. The question is, which one will it be?”

He takes his glasses off, gingerly setting the spectacles aside before he pinches the bridge of his nose. A little dramatic, but very much expected from him.

“Look, I’m not saying you were the one cheating off of Brennan,” He starts, sounding exhausted and absent at the same time. Like this is all beneath him. Like your future in his class has as much importance as the piece of lint he’s picking off of his sweater vest. “But there’s no real proof that he cheated off of you either. It’s a case of ‘he said, she said’. And it’s not like Brennan had much reason to cheat. He has had consistently good grades, whereas you-“

“I’ll prove it, “ you interrupt him without thinking, clenching your hands so tightly that your nails dig into the skin of your palms. Crane looks visibly taken aback, perplexed that you have the gall to intercept before he could expose your rather mediocre academic history in his class. You know you’re average. A face in the crowd; one of many names on an attendance sheet he barely pays attention to.

“I’ll prove it to you,” you repeat, swallowing dryly. Your mouth suddenly feels like you ate sand, and you really want to clear your throat, but you’ve done so thrice within the past five minutes, and you can tell it’s starting to piss him off. “Give me a chance, please. Please, Professor Crane. I know the material, I swear.”

Crane’s eyes briefly dart down to your lips, and his eyebrows furrow in thought before he nods slowly, thoughtfully. He’s making a show of it. Portraying himself as the generous teacher while you’re desperate for even the smallest chance of passing this goddamn class.

“Alright,” He sighs, and the weight seems to lift off of your shoulders. A smile begins to spread on your face, and –

 “Get out a pen. And paper. You’re going to write an essay.”

Eyebrows raised in confusion, you tilt your head a little. You almost feel stupid to ask.

“What, right now?”

“Of course, right now. At home, you’d get the chance to cheat again, wouldn’t you?”

Again. He’s still convinced you were the one to cheat on your exam. His tone is bitingly condescending and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further as he gets up from his chair to head over to the almost overflowing bookshelf next to his desk. You’re still sitting there, hands in your lap until he lets out an exasperated sigh, signaling for you to get a move on. Not wanting to incur even more of his wrath, you dig through your bag to get out a pen and some loose sheets of paper.

In the meantime, Crane has chosen a book from his shelf, and he’s wordlessly flipping through the pages until he lands on a fitting topic for an essay. He snaps the book shut and returns to his desk, fixing his tie as he nods to himself.

“Alright. I want 5 pages on fear conditioning. If you truly studied for the exam, this should be a piece of cake. If you didn’t, this will be an embarrassing little lecture you’re in dire need of learning.”

Your eyes widen, and you stammer for a moment, unable to find the words while staying respectful.

“That many? But it’s already –“

“Five-thirty pm? I hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight. And you should be grateful that I don’t have plans either. I’m staying late for your sake. Because you convinced me to give you a chance. I don’t have to do this, you know? I could just fail you and go home. So, I think a little gratitude would be more than appropriate.” There’s an odd expression in his eyes. Halfway between hunger and conflict. He’s usually so composed. You must really be testing his patience.

“Thank you, Prof –“ “Thank me by getting to it already.”

You nod meekly, grabbing the pen and beginning to jot down the date and your name in the corner of the first page. While you’re focused on the introduction part of your essay, you miss the way that Crane folds his hands on the desk, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white. His icy gaze is focused on every twitch of your muscles, every swoop of your handwriting, every time you softly bite your lips in thought. If only you’d look up. You’d see the way his jaw is set and his pupils expand. You’d realize the situation you’re in. A bunny with its neck in the jaws of the wolf.

You’re about two thirds done with the first page when he wheels his chair around the desk, closer to yours. Once his arm brushes against you, you pause to lift your gaze, looking at him with equal parts confusion and curiosity.

“Uhm… professor? What are you doing?”

“Checking on your progress,” Is his curt reply, but he leans in even closer, staring down at your half-baked essay. “Eyes on the paper.”

You comply, getting back to writing after a short second of sorting your thoughts. It’s more difficult to write with him basically breathing down your neck, and your heart skips a beat when he scoots even closer. Despite this, you keep on writing. Until his hand lands on your thigh.

You tense, looking up at him. Your lips part, and you’re about to say something before he speaks first.

“Eyes. On. The. Paper. We’re going to simulate a stressful, distracting environment. Not unlike a lecture hall during an exam. If you can keep your cool, I’ll know you didn’t cheat.”

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“Or I could fail you right now, and you’ll prove me and my suspicions right.”

Back to writing it is. Your hand is a little shakier during the next few sentences while the warmth of his fingers seeps through the fabric of your skirt into your skin. But you get back into the motions, almost able to ignore him until his hand flexes and begins to wander. A shiver runs down your spine as his touch slips underneath your skirt, feeling the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“That’s it. Keep writing. Try to show me how smart you are.”

Crane’s voice is a snide whisper right next to your ear. His breath sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep your focus on the essay. Well, at least some of it. Once his fingers brush over the crotch of your panties, your breath hitches as heat builds in your core. But you can’t even get a word in.

“Run your mouth and your final grade drops to an F. You’re on my time now, understood? Not a fucking word to anyone or else a failed class will be the least of your worries.”

You’ve never heard him curse before. The man sitting beside you, the man with his hand under your skirt isn’t the professor you’ve known throughout the semester. No, at this point, the mask is slipping and the difference is startling. Crane pushes your skirt up with one hand and your legs apart with the other, letting out a low, appreciative hum at the sight of your wet panties.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through the lace, aren’t you? I didn’t even touch you yet… Are you always this easy? Almost adorable… Keep writing for me.”

His words make your ears burn with embarrassment, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek as you get back to your essay. It’s getting harder to think. Especially once his fingers slip underneath your panties, running between your glistening folds. Crane quickly finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves for a deliciously brief moment before he moves his hand further down to your entrance.

“Now you’re being grateful, hm? Is this what you were thinking about while everyone else was making an effort during my lectures? While everyone else was busy doing their work… you were getting worked up in your seat thinking about me. Thinking about me playing with your little cunt.”

The corners of his lips pull up into a self-satisfied grin as he plunges a finger inside of you, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure. You’re so wet that he’s not meeting any resistance from your sweet pussy, so he quickly adds a second one. The slick noises are obscene, and you duck your head in an attempt to hide your flushed face and focus on the essay, but it’s futile. You’re writing complete and utter nonsense at this point, and he knows it. Crane scoots his chair even closer, pressing up against your side as he works his fingers inside of you, caressing that spongy spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. As he looks over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your writing, he scoffs out a laugh.

“Goodness, sweetie. That’s what your pretty little head managed to come up with so far? All this talk about wanting to prove yourself, and you deliver this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more pathetic attempt at an essay in all my years of teaching.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the harshness of his words, and the sight of it makes Crane’s cock harden in his slacks. He licks his lips, curling his fingers inside of you with a little more urgency as he leans in to whisper into the crook of your neck.

“Let out those noises. I guarantee they’re worth more than every brainless contribution you’ve ever made in my class.”

It’s an order, not a request, and you find yourself unable to keep quiet anymore as his thumb comes up to rub your clit again. Your wetness is starting to drip down onto the seat below you while you let out a breathy moan, and you begin to doubt yourself. Maybe you really are as empty-headed as he says. To your dismay, this thought only causes the tension in your core to build up even faster.

“There we go. Close to cumming from being fingered by your professor. You’re so needy, so eager for the slightest bit of attention. A toy that needs to be played with 24/7. Aren’t you ashamed?”

You let out another moan of pleasure and humiliation, clenching around his digits as he stretches you open. When did you forget how to speak?

“Trying to play in the big leagues while you’re just a dumb little fuckpet for my enjoyment,” he hisses, before he sinks his teeth into your earlobe, causing you to squeak. It hurts. But that’s the point. You’re so close to the edge, toes curling inside of your shoes. And then suddenly, he withdraws his hand. You catch a glimpse of his glistening fingers, and you turn your head just in time to watch him lick your juices off of them. He lets out a groan, satisfied by your taste.

“Get up. Hands on the desk.”

You scramble to get up, standing on wobbly legs as you bend over Crane’s desk. The professor wastes no time, grabbing onto your sopping wet panties and ripping them off of you. The fabric shreds beneath his hands, leaving your skin stinging where it cut slightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your skirt is flipped up, exposing your rear to him, and he moans out another sound of appreciation. His hands come up to grab onto the meat of your ass, spreading them apart to allow him a perfect view of your dripping cunt.

“Lord knows you’re not made for higher education.”

Crane leans in, licking a stripe up between your folds, and you bite down on a knuckle to keep in the pathetic moan that hangs on your lips. Your body is desperately begging you to just let him take what he wants from you, but your mind clings onto the last shred of dignity you have. When the sound of his belt being undone tears you from your thoughts, you turn your head, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“Wait –“ You start, suddenly struck by the reality of it all.

Crane chuckles at the expression of wide-eyed apprehension on your face.

“You’re not braindead already, are you? What did you think was going to be the logical conclusion of this? Of course, I’m going to bury my dick in you. Fuck, if you were this tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock….”

“No, I –“

“Shh, no need to worry. Judging by your essay, you don’t have the mental capacity anyway.”

Crane roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek meets the wooden surface of his desk while he hurriedly unzips his slacks. He’s painfully hard at this point, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a relieved hiss once he’s finally freed himself. He leans over you, pressing his weight into your back and aligning himself with your tight hole before he pushes his hips forward. You’re immobilized under him, squished against the desk as he fills you with his length. Crane’s lips find your pulse, licking and nibbling at your neck as he bottoms out inside of you, shuddering from the sensation of your plush walls around his cock.

“Good girl… you’re so wet. All for me, huh? Yes… just for me.” He moans through his teeth, leaning back a little to watch as your pussy stretches around him when he begins to slowly thrust into you. You let out a soft whine in response, not quite adjusted to him yet. But if you know anything about him at this point, it’s that he doesn’t care.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot. Just relax – shh, shh, that’s it. You feel so good, squeezing me like a proper toy. All obedient and sweet… you really were built for this.“

He lifts his hand, landing a smack on your ass before he pulls out all the way and pushes back in, letting out a condescending laugh at the way you shiver. You can feel how deep he reaches, hitting every spot while he stretches you out with calculated thrusts. His pace begins to speed up, and his other hand wraps around your throat to keep you close as he pounds into you. Coherent thought becomes difficult for you, and even if you did want to say something, it’s suddenly made impossible when Crane pushes two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Needy little thing. Bent over and babbling like a whore. But you -fuuuck - you take me so well, don’t you? All tight and sopping wet for my cock to stretch you out...”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, yanking you back by your hair to make you lift your torso up from the desk. The carefully crafted persona of a calm, reasonable Professor Dr. Jonathan Crane has completely slipped from his face now and shattered by his feet like Fine China. His hands move quickly, urgently as his rhythm begins to stutter. The fingers that are now soaked with your saliva make their way back between your legs to circle your clit while his other hand leaves your hair to tear open your blouse, sending the buttons flying everywhere.

His teeth find your neck again as he grabs at your chest, kneading your soft breasts as he marks you up. Hickeys, bruises, bite marks. He leaves them behind to claim. To own. Your climax hits you like a truck, knocking the air from your lungs as he fucks you through your orgasm, not faltering for a second. Stars fill your vision for a moment, and you’re only vaguely aware of the kisses that he’s pressing to your cheek. Your walls are clenching him tightly, causing him to curse under his breath.

Crane swallows heavily, rasping into your ear between shallow breaths.

“Tell you what… No more thinking about essays. In fact, I don’t want you to think ever again. No more exams… no more studies. As if you’d ever be someone of importance in this field to begin with. No, no… I won’t let you waste your time on a silly little Bachelor’s anymore... Fuckpets like you only need to be bred. I’m gonna be generous and fuck a child into you.”

Your eyes snap wide open, and even with your cock-drunken brain, you realize just how serious he is about this. In an attempt to get away, you begin to struggle in his grasp, but he replies by kicking your legs further apart, forcing you down against the desk again. The wooden edge digs against your thighs, keeping your hips in place for him as he plows you into the piece of furniture. Your cheek is pressed up against your unfinished essay, reminding you of your failure on all accounts as you drool onto the paper.

Your hands are clawing at the desk, trying to find purchase when his own hands find yours, linking your fingers together in a frighteningly intimate gesture. Crane continues to moan your name, pressing his face into the crook of your neck before he pushes his cock as deep as he can into your poor cunt, filling you with his hot cum. He lazily rocks his hips back and forth a few more times, trying to push in his load as far as he can before he finally stills, panting against your skin. He stays on your back for another few moments, breathing in your scent and idly squeezing your hands with his.

Once his breathing has evened out once more, he straightens up, kissing the top of your head before he pulls out. Crane watches as his seed drips out of you, a glint of amusement and possessiveness in his eyes as he pushes it back into you with two fingers. You feel completely boneless, crumpled on the desk as you try to make sense of what happened and what will happen. The silence doesn’t last long before Crane speaks up again.

“In the morning, you’ll make me breakfast, and in the evening, you’ll cream on my cock. Like a proper little housewife. And I’ll get to see your tits swell and your belly expand as our kid grows inside of you,” He muses, running his hands over your shoulders and down your back, a gesture that’s more meant to ground himself than it is meant to soothe you.

His voice is soft, yet eerily determined. A man that’s planning the future out loud. Unbeknownst to you, he’s reaching into his suit pocket behind you, pulling out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“And if you get bored again and your mind starts to wander, I’ll knock you up again and again until you know your place. Face down, ass up. Beneath me.”

[cillianhead]

I Want To Be ManHandled By Tommy Shelby Like My Life Depends On It

tommy shelby smutty blurb because i’m bored and horny

(warnings: SMUT, age gap (age isn’t specified but i will say reader is at least 20+, and tommy is older), Daddy kink, size kink, rough sex, Tommy is a bit mean, degradation kind of??, praise, unprotected p in v, ADULT CONTENT)

18+ MINORS DNI :)

smut under the cut —-

It would be a good way to go out. Your face stuffed in a pillow as Tommy fucked you like you were just a doll. Suffocating to death isn’t ideal but having his cock stuffed in you certainly was.

“Takin’ it like a whore would, aye?” Tommy grunted in your ear as he pressed his body over your bent and twisted shape. His body weight on top of you was addicting but you were growing lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, as one would.

You were so wet you could hear the slick between your thighs every time Tommy bucked his hips into yours, ass red and sore from all his previous roughings. Each thrust left you wincing yet whining, whimpering for more.

“T-Tommy fuck I can’t… can’t breathe…” You huffed out, eyes drooping and drool drizzling down your chin. “Pl-Please…”

And then another harsh smack was placed on your sorry ass, you yelped out a cry. “What the fuck did you just call me?” He roared deep in your ear, breath hot with disapproval. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sting. And the clap.

“Daddy… sorry… daddy!” You quickly corrected your minuscule mistake. He didn’t seem to care much that you said you couldn’t breathe, he knew you would be fine. In fact, you responded very well to his ‘lack of care’ you got off on the fact he used your body, and only yours, for pleasure. You loved the arrogance of it all. “Please… go softer… too much, daddy… too much…” You mumbled into the sheets, going dumb at the feeling of being full.

“Shut the fuck up,” He grinned from ear to ear, letting out satisfied grunts as he felt you squeeze around him, gushing out more of your own cum. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, his grip tightening on your hips and moving your body for you… back and forth… back and forth… back and forth over and over again. You were cock-drunk and brainless on his stupidly good dick. “See? See what happens when daddy fucks you?” Tommy huffed, chest pressing into your arching back as he fucked you into the mattress.

He moved so gracefully that it only turned you into more of a mess. “You cum… over and over… and over again and don’t act like you don’t fuckin’ like it when I stuff it in ya and toss you around a bit, you like being nothing but a hole for me, eh? And a nice pair of tits too…” All of this whispered directly into your ear made you collapse further into the bed, sheets underneath you damp with your own spit.

“Oh,” You moaned, vibrations muffled into the bed as he continued to rock you through it, still destroying you on his cock. It was almost hypnotic the way he moved, the pace reassuring your body over and over again that you were his. You’d be feeling each stroke even when he pulled out later on.

“Fuck… and let’s not forget your pretty mouth either, eh?” Tommy nipped at your ear, before pulling out of you entirely and leaving you a gasping mess. Before you could let out another word of complaint he was flipping you over onto your back and throwing your legs over his shoulders, slipping right back in to continue his mind-numbing assault on your body.

You squirmed and wriggled, back arching off the bed as your tits bounced with each ragged rock of his hips. Tommy’s hands slid up your hips, squeezing at your waist and molding you into his perfect little sex doll. He pressed down on your ribs, using the advantage of you having such a tiny frame to coax you into compromising positions. Tommy fucked you like you were just a mere fleshlight to him, holding you up to bounce you on his cock. God this was the best thing to ever happen to you.

He held you down to stop you from squirming, hands squeezing at your waist and thighs. You were like clay that he could mold perfectly into shape. You were perfect for him, your body absolutely divine.

Tommy's eyes locked on your cunt and his cock disappearing inside of you. It was a sight to see. One he would try his best to memorize no matter how many times he fucked you. "God I love you," Tommy huffed, leaning down to connect your lips in a sweet kiss. Spit dribbled out of your mouth as you kissed him back... in a sloppy manner. Too fucked out to focus on his lips... too spaced out to fully process the feeling of his kiss. "So sweet... mmm.... my sweet little girl..." His thighs tensed as you squeezed around him, muscles spasming with each thrust. He was getting close and you knew it. "You want my cum?" He moaned gruffly in your ear, cock twitching against your quivering walls. "Y-Yeah... daddy... please..." You mewled out, back arching to the point it was nearly painful. "Fill me with your cum, baby.... I need it... need it... mmph! Need it so bad..." And he did just that, he fucked into you harder, like an aggressive animal trying to prove its dominance over you... as if he hadn't already done that a million times ago. Eventually, he stilled, letting out a long, choked groan as the tip of his cock spurted out hot and heavy ropes of cum into you. "Fuuuuuck..." Tommy drawled out, eyelashes fluttering as his jaw hung open. His hands held you in place, forcing you to take it.

Oh, you just loved being his.

-

Hi everyone :) This is just a short little blurb I wrote ages and ages and ages ago. I don't know how many times I've said this by now but I want to sincerely apologize for my absence over the past like ten months or however long it's been. If I'm being honest, I've been really struggling with my mental health and I've barely had the energy to do anything at all really. I think about writing everyday and I want to... I've been experiencing writer's block sooooo badly. Anyway... I am very sorry... if there is anyone out there who still cares idk... I hope you liked this! I've got a couple of other things in the works at the moment so I'm hoping to become more active on here again! I love and miss you all!

[chillian-murphy]

Let Your Big Brother Take Care of You

SUMMARY: While visiting your stepbrother at college, you have a hard time falling asleep after some drunken mishaps. He helps you out.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, dubcon, stepcest, intoxication, fingering, comfort sex kinda??, gratuitous mention of Taco Bell

Beta read by @sasybanana

Actually visiting with your step-brother had been the last thing on your mind when you told your parents that you would be visiting him this weekend. Sure, you got along fine, but you barely knew each other and it felt like he was moving out for college as soon as your families joined. Instead, you were hellbent on finding the best partying and hooking up opportunities his film school had to offer. Framing it as a sisterly visit and a chance to learn about campus life was purely an excuse to convince your parents to let you travel on your own, which they seemed to buy as you were headed off to school yourself next year. Besides, Neil had an off campus apartment you could crash at, which would be cheaper than a hotel.

He greeted you with a hug as you entered and set your stuff down, instantly being assaulted by the scent of unwashed laundry and old weed smoke. Still, it was comfortable enough, and was a nice taste of freedom from your mom’s house.

“So, my baby sister wants to visit me for the weekend, for reasons not at all related to my school’s reputation as a party campus?” He smirked as you situated yourself.

“Of course! Just like how my big brother spends all the money he gets from our parents on textbooks and tuition.” you shot back.

“Touché. Well, whatever trouble you’re determined to get into, fuck, I dunno, be smart about it. Use condoms, don’t get drugged. Don’t drink so much that you puke, or at least, try to puke somewhere other than carpet.”

“Wow… so caring.” you rolled your eyes as you headed to the bathroom to get ready for the evening. You snatched a flyer off of a phone pole for a house party, and the directions you got off google said it was only a few blocks away. As soon as you had your heels and your lashes on, you were off.

**********************************************************************************

Stumbling back to Neil’s apartment with your heels in your hand, the night had been a bust. You finished too many mystery drinks too fast and ended up puking in the lap of the one guy who was interested in you, locked yourself in the bathroom to cry for the better part of an hour, and bolted for the door as soon as you pulled yourself together. Thank fuck Neil had the first apartment on the first floor, otherwise you might not have been able to find it in your impaired state.

The door was unlocked, and Neil hadn’t moved from his place on the couch in the hours that you had been gone, presumably wrapped up in whatever it is that he does in his spare time (Watch movies? Play video games? Jerk off? You really didn’t know). This was fine, you really didn’t need him noticing you at the moment. You tried to enter quietly, but tripped over yourself as you moved.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Neil rushed over to you to make sure you weren’t hurt. Unable to form words, you started crying again when you met his gaze, big fat mascara tears rolling down your cheeks. Even as he helped you to stand, you wobbled on your way up and had to lean on him for support.

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Dunno… a lot.” It was true, you had chugged whatever you were handed and helped yourself to a variety of half-finished cups that were abandoned by their owners. You had never drank this much before, and had no idea how much was too much until it was too late.

“Shit, um, let’s get you to the bed. The room is yours tonight, don’t worry about it. Do you think you can walk that far?” There was genuine concern in his tone, even if he was a bit panicked and clueless. He looped an arm around your waist and guided you as best he could to the tiny room. Your flop onto the twin bed wasn’t exactly graceful, but landing on a mattress was about a thousand times more comfortable than landing on the floor.

As soon as Neil turned to leave, you began fighting your way out of your tight, itchy dress. Unfortunately, the zipper was stuck (damn cheap clothing) and the garment was too fitted to pull over your head. Refusing to spend any more time stuck in scratchy fabric hell (Seriously, Forever 21, who sells unlined sequined dresses?), you continued wrestling with the zipper and wiggling to find a better angle until you rolled off the bed and landed with a thud. Not knowing what else to do, you shouted for your stepbrother.

The worried look on his face quickly turned into an eye roll as he entered the room and saw you on the floor again.

“So are you like… determined to spend the whole night down there? Undeniably attracted to shitty carpeting? Horny for the floor?” Having a laugh at your drunken expense might not have been the nicest thing for Neil to do, but you were being such a handful tonight.

“I can’t get my dress off,” you sheepishly mumbled as you avoided his gaze. “The zipper’s stuck and I need your help.”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” Neil soothed as he knelt down to meet you on the floor. “If anything, I’m flattered… Usually I have to buy a girl dinner before she even thinks of asking me to undress her.”

You shot him an unamused glare, but nonetheless turned and leaned towards him so he could reach the zipper. His touch was warm and gentle as he fiddled with the impossibly tiny hook-and-eye clasp atop the zipper, one hand gently pressed against your upper back to steady you while the other went to work. Before you knew it, the dress slackened and you were able to free yourself from its confines, modesty be damned.

“A tiny little dress and no bra? You really were planning to have fun tonight.” You were still turned away from Neil and couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

“It has built-in cups, pervert!” you huffed as you rushed to cover yourself. You groped around for a t-shirt or something before remembering that you were in an unfamiliar room and not at home. “Get out, I just wanna sleep.”

“That doesn’t explain the little lacy panties, though.” Neil let his eyes trail over you before tossing you one of his own shirts. It was true, you had gone out partying with the hope of hooking up as quickly and anonymously as possible, but you weren’t going to admit that. All you wanted was to gain a little sexual experience of your own before heading out to college, but now the only boy to see you naked was your weird stepbrother. “And I’m not leaving you alone tonight. You can’t even stand and I’ve had to help you up twice. You’re too much of a mess to be alone.”

He helped you onto the bed again, only this time he climbed in behind you after hitting the light. The bed was small enough that there was almost no choice but to snuggle up to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. As weird as the whole situation was, it felt nice having him there, like a grounding tether against the spinning sensation in your head.

“For what it’s worth, I thought you looked really cute tonight. Before all the puking and crying and falling, I mean.” He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. As sweet as the gesture was, you couldn’t ignore the growing gurgle in your stomach.

“Neil… I want Taco Bell.”

“I’ll buy you all the Taco Bell in the world tomorrow if you settle down and go to sleep.”

“Okay…” you buried your face into the crook between Neil’s neck and shoulder as he pulled you closer and idly rubbed your back. You couldn’t help but moan softly at the sensation, which Neil tried his hardest to ignore.

Had you been a little more awake or a little more sober, you might’ve noticed the hitch in Neil’s breath as his hand trailed up and down your back, or the way his hand soon opened into a flat palm and started exploring lower, dangerously close to the waistband of your panties. Instead, you continued to lay silently, dozing off as his hand inched lower.

Eventually, his hand made its way to your ass and cupped the supple flesh. Feeling emboldened by your lack of response, Neil began to squeeze and knead. This made you squirm away, but in doing so, you were met with the perfect amount of friction as your clothed pussy rubbed against Neil’s thigh. Neither of you had realized just how closely you were snuggled together until now, when it dawned on you both what was happening.

Part of you panicked, part of you realizing that this was wrong through your drunken haze, but another part of you only cared that you were being touched, and it felt pleasurable. That was the whole reason you made this trip, right? you rationalized to yourself as you attempted to grind against your stepbrother’s thigh a second time. 

Instead of being met with the delicious friction, you felt Neil shift beneath you. Did you fuck this up? Were you just imagining his hand on your ass? But before you could worry any further, he was rolling you onto your back with his thick, firm leg pressing between your thighs and spreading them, and the unmistakable poking of his erection against the spot where your hip met your belly. He pushed his thigh against you, inviting you to grind it.

“Is this what my horny little sister needs? Can’t fall asleep without coming?” His voice was low and husky, in equal parts from being half asleep and his obvious arousal. You were starting to transition from drunk to hungover, feeling more drowsy and dizzy than anything else, and the most you could answer with was a pathetic little whimper as he nudged you.

You rubbed yourself against him as best you could, unable to find just the right angle from the new position you were placed in. In a fit of frustration, you tried pushing Neil off of you so you could rub yourself with your hand, but he was deceptively strong and had you pinned.

“Neeeeeeeeeiiiillllll” you whined, once again wondering if this was all a mistake, maybe you should just try to fall asleep and forget this ever happened. Forget the whole night ever happened. Change your name, move across the country, and never talk to anyone who witnessed tonight ever again.

“Shhhh, it’s alright, just lie there and let your big brother take care of you.”

Just lying there was about all you could do as Neil snaked one of arms between your legs, stroking your folds through your panties a bit aimlessly before gathering the courage to reach beneath the cloth and explore further. After a bit of awkward poking around, he found your clit and began circling it gently with his fingertips, eliciting another whimper, this time of pleasure.

“See? I know exactly what you need. M’gonna play with your little pussy until you relax and fall asleep, like a good girl.” His fingers began teasing your slit, tracing up and down its length without daring to breach inside. It never would have occurred to you that Neil would know his way around pussy, he never brought any girls home when he lived with you. He must’ve gotten a lot of practice after moving out, because the way his fingers were just barely ghosting over you was driving you crazy in a way you couldn’t understand. You wanted him to stop, you wanted him to continue exactly what he was doing, you wanted him to start giving you more. All you knew was that you wanted him, and for him to keep touching you.

As if he could read your mind, he spread your innermost lips and plunged two of his fingers inside. The stretch was sudden, but not at all unwelcome. You were wet enough for him to thrust his fingers in and out of you easily, spreading your slick wherever he touched. As soon as he began alternating between fucking you on his fingers and roughly toying with your clit, you started seeing stars.

“You like that? You like me finger fucking your tight little pussy? I wish I could see it, I bet it's all pink and cute, like your nipples. I bet you’ve never even taken a cock before."

Too drunk, too horny, and too tired to form words, the most you could do was shyly squeak in affirmation.

“Next time I’ll have you bounce on my cock so I can watch your face as you come. Or maybe I’ll eat you out so I can really get to see how cute your pussy is. Or maybe you’ll just want to pay back the favor I’m doing you now and suck me off.”

Next time? You hadn’t considered something like this happening again, or even the fact that you’d have to see him again. In mixed company. With your parents around. Would he fuck you in your childhood bedroom while everyone else was downstairs cooking dinner? Or would he keep your liaisons a dirty little secret that only happened away from home?

You didn’t care. You were coming from your stepbrother’s touch, in your stepbrother’s bed, far away from anyone else you knew. You felt your stomach tighten and your toes involuntarily curl, much stronger than you ever felt sneakily rubbing yourself in the shower. Thank fuck you were in a dark room, because you swore you could feel your face going all stupid.

You must not have realized how much you were panting and clenching around his fingers, because Neil seemed to know exactly how close you were and began whispering in your ear, encouraging you to come. You could barely register what he was saying, you were so lost in the sensation of his breath on your neck and his hand on your cunt.

Your orgasm finally took hold, and you could hear yourself babbling in pleasure but had no idea what you were saying, if you were even forming coherent words, as the pleasure ripped through your body like an electric shock. After the initial burst, you felt your body relax in a way you didn’t know was possible, releasing tension you didn’t even know you were holding. You swore you could feel yourself melting through the mattress before realizing that no, that was just sweat.

Noticing that you were lying there like a limp noodle and no longer squirming and moaning, Neil rolled off of you, withdrawing his hand from your panties. His fingers were completely soaked with your wetness, and while his initial instinct was to wipe them off on his shirt, roll over, and go to sleep, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was rock hard. In a stroke of genius that would soon lead to literal stroking, he realized he had the perfect lube on hand.

He shoved his drenched hand down his boxers and began tugging his desperate member, softly grunting in rhythm with his pumping fist. Part of you felt bad that you weren’t helping, you had kinda forgotten that Neil was a complete person with desires of his own and not just a machine to get you off, but you were cozy and half asleep and he seemed to be handling the situation well enough on his own. At least, well enough that he was coming all over the front of his shirt.

He carefully pulled his soiled shirt over his head and wiped off his hand and what was left of his mess before tossing it on the floor and reaching for the blanket that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed amidst all the excitement. You felt yourself being tucked in as you gently dozed off, snuggling into Neil’s side as soon as he laid down beside you.

Yeah, you were going to visit your step brother a lot more often now.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Sleepless Nights

Thomas Shelby x Pregnant Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas cares for his wife.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both stood there looking at each other.

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

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

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

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

Author’s Notes:

Credit for the smol sparkle divider: CafeKitsune

[queenshelby]

Siblings (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Half!Sister

Warning: Incest

It was around 10'clock at night when you heard a quiet knock on the door.  You couldn't help but feel a little surprised—and a bit nervous. You had never had a visitor this late before as usually your siblings were out, getting themselves into trouble, and your Aunt Polly, who had taken it upon herself to look after everyone, was in bed.

Your sister Ada, with whom you shared a room, had sneaked out earlier to see her boyfriend Freddy, so it was just you that night, alone in your small room, lying on your single bed, wearing a nightgown and reading a book. 

"Who is it?" you called out, your heart skipping a beat.

"It's Thomas," came the reply. His voice was quiet and calm. 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should let him in that late at night. He had just come back from the war a few weeks ago and his demure had changed towards you. It was almost like he had become obsessed with you, wanting to keep you company more often than you were used to. 

Thomas was gone for five years and came back more handsome than ever.  He had a rugged jawline, and deep-set blue eyes. He wasn't tall, but well-built with a perfect gentleman's body.

The war had hardened him, made him stronger, but also wiser. He had seen the worst of humanity, and you could tell that it had affected him deeply. It was understandable; he had been through hell and back.

"May I come in?" Thomas eventually asked, his voice still composed.

Without saying a word, you stood up and covered yourself with a robe , before opening the door slowly.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating Thomas's figure. He looked a bit tired, but his eyes were still bright and clear.

"Of course," you said finally, as you walked back to your bed and folded your book closed. 

"I have heard that there was trouble today, at the docks," Thomas  said as he sat down on the edge of your bed. He looked tired, but fatigue failed to sap the confidence and dominance from his demeanor.

You sighed and nodded. "Ada told me not to go there, but curiosity got the better of me Tommy," you admitted whereas, the truth was, that just recently you began to involve yourself with Isiah, another Peaky Blinder and your new-found love had gotten you into trouble. 

"Curiosity, eh?" Thomas chuckled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Isiah wouldn't have anything to do with this curiosity now, would he?" he then asked, his eyes locked on yours.

You looked away, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. "He never meant for me to get involved, Tommy. It just kind of happened," you replied quietly, seeing how Isiah took risks and those risks involved you. 

"Listen Y/N, you are a fucking Shelby," Thomas said, his voice stern but not unkind. "And you need to be careful about who you associate with."

"But Isiah is your friend, is he not?" you asked, slightly confused with Thomas's sudden change of tone.

"Isiah works for me Love. That doesn't make him a friend," Tommy replied curtly, his gaze still fixed on you. "Despite, even if he was my friend, I wouldn't allow him to be involved with my fucking sister,"  Tommy added, the veneer of calmness cracking a bit.

You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a knot forming in your stomach. The way things were going, it seemed as though you had made a mistake. With the tension in the room growing thicker by the second, you felt compelled to speak.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I got myself mixed up with him, Tommy," you admitted, shame coloring your voice. "I suppose I was bored," you added as an afterthought.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed your face. "You're better than that, Love," he finally said, his voice steady and firm. "And if boredom is what bothers you, then I am sure we can make arrangements for you to work at the betting house," he then told you a lot more gently than before, placing some stray hair behind your ear. 

"Aunt Pol won't allow it," you  said quietly, not because you didn't want to work there, but because you believed that your aunt would not approve of such an idea.

"It is not up to Pol," Thomas said shortly, his fingertips  tracing the curve of your cheek gently. "But out of curtesy, I will discuss it with her, alright?" he added after a short pause.

Before you could respond, Thomas's hand dropped from your face, and he stood up, his presence in the small room suddenly overwhelming.

"But Y/N, if you are going to continue seeing Isiah...," he began to say and you quickly interrupted him. 

"Not after today," you replied firmly. "Not after what happened at the docks. I promise," you added, reassuring your brother.

Thomas looked at you, relief visible in his eyes. "Good. I'll hold you to that Y/N," he said before leaning down to give you a peck on your forehead.

You blushed slightly, shocked by this sudden display of affection from your half-brother. But before you could react, Thomas walked out of your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and, when you settled back on to your bed, you couldn't help but wonder what just happened. Thomas and you have always had a close relationship since him and Arthur had assumed responsibility for you after your father got arrested by the police, but you have never witnessed such a display of emotion from him before.

As you lay there in the dark, the silence was broken by the moonlight filtering through the blinds. The light cast a soothing glow on the room and made the floral quilt on the twin bed look more inviting. Your mind was abuzz with thoughts, each one trying to get a different message across. You tried to silence them and focus on the recent events.

This whole situation with Thomas, your curiosity, the sudden shift in your relationship - you knew that it was not something to take lightly. It felt different, and you could not ignore the strange tension that lingered between the two of you.

You sighed deeply and turned to face the window. It was then that you noticed the stars twinkling in the night sky ever so slightly. They were there, silent and unassuming, much like Thomas. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

Thomas had always been a mystery to you, even before he left for France, but now it felt like there was a whole other person behind the blue eyes that you had grown up with.

Days had passed and you indeed started working at the gambling den , which was located in the heart of Small Heath. It was a bustling place, and it was chaotic during peak hours, but you found joy in the chaos. Surprisingly, Aunt Polly did not seem to mind much; she knew that this was one of the ways to keep you out of trouble.

While you were working there, your brother Thomas kept a close eye on you and as different men attempted to flirt with you, they quickly learned that you were untouchable, a notion further solidified by Thomas’s warning glares.

On two occasions, he even threatened gamblers with a gun after you were propositioned for a date, and it was clear to you that he wasn’t playing around. Thomas Shelby never made idle threats, after all.

"You do realise that most of these men are harmless, Tommy,"  you said to Thomas one evening, after you had closed the betting shop for the night. The sky was a deep indigo and the stars were shining brightly.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes sharp and piercing. "That may be true, but you are my sister and they need to show you some fucking respect,"  he retorted, his voice steadier than before.

"But Tommy," you began, still unsure of what to make of this sudden outburst. "I am capable of handling my own affairs. I can fend them off," you assured your brother who appeared somewhat overprotective of you.

"I am sure you are," Thomas agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But what kind of employer would I be if I did not at least protect my employees from unwanted advances, eh?" he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a half-smile.

"A pretty shite one I suppose," you admitted, returning his half-smile with a lopsided grin as he locked the door.

"Exactly," he concurred, shaking his head as you stepped onto the sidewalk, right by your brother's side. "Now let me walk you home. It's late," Thomas said as he always did when you worked in his betting house until after dawn. 

As Thomas and you walked side by side, the silence between you was comfortable, but there was still something that kept niggling the back of your mind. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it seemed like Thomas was hiding something from you.

Nonetheless, as you walked to the house you shared with Polly, Tommy and the others, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to gauge what it was that was causing this strange behavior lately.

It was like he took a liking in you that almost felt, more than brotherly, but you decided not to focus on the matter and instead enjoyed the warmth of his company while it lasted.

Days passed, and your routine at the gambling den turned into sort of a normality, despite the occasional tensions between patrons and your brother that threatened to boil over.

On evening, at your house when you and Tommy were on your own, you ought to address it, his overprotectiveness and  the strange tension that kept building between you.

But, Tommy simply brushed it off and told you that he was simply concerned for your safety.

"But I am safe here Tommy, with you and the others," you reminded him, your tone gentle yet firm. "And at the gambling house, even if some of the customers are inappropriate, it is a safe place because no one would dare to fuck with you, Arthur or John and  I think you know that," you said, unable to mask the frustration that crept into your voice.

Tommy looked down at you, his gaze intense but soft. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully.

"Y/N, I know that you can look after yourself but, what I have learned over the years, is that no one is safe. Not here, not anywhere," Thomas said, his voice still firm but softer than before.

You stared into Thomas's eyes, feeling a strange mix of emotions coursing through your veins. Awe, admiration, and... something more. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

"The war changed you, you know?"  you said the words before you could stop yourself. 

Thomas sighed and looked at you, his expression filled with a mix of sadness and guilt. "Yes, I know," he admitted quietly. "I can't help it, Y/N. I've seen and done things that most people couldn't even imagine." 

You nodded, understanding dawning on you.

"No, you are right Tommy. I can't imagine," you said softly, caressing the scar on his cheek, causing Tommy to lean in closer, his eyes locked on yours. 

You felt your heart race as you looked into Thomas's eyes. There was something about him that made you feel safe, yet also intensely aware of your feelings for him. You had never felt this way about anyone before.

"But you know what's amusing though?" you murmured, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room as Thomas leaned over some more, his fingers lightly traced your jawline, you couldn't help but play along. "You are so overprotective towards me when it comes to potential suitors and there is almost no reason for you to be that way, because I never even kissed a boy before, so it just seems so absurd to me," you continued, allowing yourself to drop your guard, just a little.

"I find that hard to believe, Y/N," Thomas murmured, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of your lips before slowly moving to trace the length of your jawbone.

Your breath hitched in your chest, hearing his low voice uttering your real name; you always felt an odd sense of familiarity from him, especially when he chose to use your given name, just for a brief moment. It almost felt like the two of you were not step-siblings. 

"No, it's true. I never kissed a boy before, Tommy," you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn't know what had come over you, but suddenly, you couldn't help but feel drawn to your half-brother. "What is it like?" you

asked, your lips barely moving as Thomas continued to trace a path along your jawline.

"What's what like?" Thomas asked, his voice low and husky, as he leaned in even closer to you.

"Kissing," you clarified, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks as you admitted this.

Thomas seemed taken aback by the question, his gaze lingering briefly on your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"I guess it depends on who you are kissing," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes, it's just a kiss and it feels like nothing because it means nothing. But other times, it's more than that. It can be a way to express your feelings for someone. To show them how much you care about them," Thomas explained, his gaze still locked on yours.

"Do you think you could show me?" you whispered, surprising yourself with your own boldness.

Thomas's eyes narrowed as he looked at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your breathing had quickened.

"Seeing that you are my sister, that would be inappropriate, don't you think?"  Thomas said, a subtle hint of amusement in his voice. 

"It's just a kiss, Tommy," you replied, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. "And no one needs to know," you continued, your heart pounding in your chest as you confessed this vulnerable part of yourself to your brother.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes searching yours as he processed your words. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to tell you no . But then something shifted in his gaze, a heat that made your heart race.

"Alright. Fuck it," Thomas muttered, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped slightly, surprised by how sudden the kiss was and how soft and gentle his lips were.

Your  hands reached up to grip his arms, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss. Thomas's other hand reached up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Not knowing what to do, you followed his lead and when he parted his lips, you did the same before tentatively touching your tongue to his, experimenting with the new sensation. 

Your brother's lips were warm and as the kiss deepened, you felt a fire ignite within you, spreading from your core to every inch of your body. Your heart was racing as Thomas's hand dropped down from your hair, tracing a path around your neck as he deepened the kiss once more before, suddenly,  he pulled away.

You stared at Thomas, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You could see a storm of emotions raging within his eyes, but you couldn't quite decipher what he was feeling. Was it guilt? Shock? Excitement? Pleasure?

"I am sorry Love, but I have business to attend to," he told you with a horse  voice, his breathing heavy and uneven from the kiss.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath as well. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks as you moved away from him, giving him some much-needed space. Thomas looked at you, his eyes heated with desire, before turning away and leaving the room without another word.

Even after he had left. a jolt of pleasurable heat still lingered on your lips where Thomas’s mouth had just been, you couldn’t believe what had just happened. Your stepbrother, fucking Thomas, he had just kissed you and you didn’t know if you should feel guilty about it or if you should be elated.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself as you ran your fingers through your hair, still feeling dazed. Your mind was racing, replaying the image of Thomas kissing you, over and over again.

Your lips were still tingling from the contact, but the room felt cold and empty once he left, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts.

You couldn't believe what had just happened. Thomas had kissed you. He fucking kissed you and you were the one that had asked him to do it. 

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[dilf-issues]

Fuck or Die | Jonathan Crane & Jackson Rippner

Synopsis; You’re stuck in a locked cell with the twins, a mysterious gas emerged

Warnings; Sex pollen, non-con/dubcon. Smut, threesome. PWP. LIKE NO PLOT AT ALL, DOUBLE PENETRATION, breeding kink, anal

A/N; Sorry for being M.I.Im so busy OML but here is a gift <3

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A loud hiss can be heard in the air as the three of them snap their heads up to see what is going on. The confusion was written all over their face, they could only hear the sounds but they couldn’t exactly see what was occurring. Jonathan was the first one to realize it as the panic struck across his face, walking towards the door they once entered he tried opening it but to no avail, it was locked shut. He cursed to himself not wanting anyone to panic, especially Y/N who’s most anxious when things like this happen. Jackson caught on, as he walked towards his brother, trying to pull open the steel door but it was still latched shut.

They were trapped.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Y/N questioned, trying to see what the fuss was with the two as they stared at each other hesitantly and then back at her, “What?”

“We’re trapped” Jonathan stated as he could see the color of the girl’s face pale as she took a step back. “Calm down, Y/N. We’ll find a way out. We always do, alright?”

“That’s the thing. You found a way out. I’ve never been in a situation like this before…” Y/N could feel her heart pounding violently in her ribcage as her lungs started to constrict, limiting the air as her breathing started to pick up. Jackson walks towards the girl, carefully placing a hand on her back, trying his best to calm her down. The last thing they need was her freaking out. She needs to be as calm as possible so that she can think straight and find a way out.

Jonathan motioned Jackson to look up and pay attention to the noise and mist coming from above them, Jackson nodded as he caught on to what Jonathan was trying to say. “Do you know what it is?” Jackson asked as Jonathan speculated a few answers in his head.

“It can be a few things, non-lethal… doesn’t kill it’s subject until they were tested” Jonathan answered as Jackson received the information while looking around the room. Y/N was in the corner, trying hard to calm herself down and not be a burden to them. She barely heard what they were saying, she was too focused on healing herself.

They monitored this facility for months and months and nobody was here. They came here to collect more information on the organization. This room was probably automated.

The hissing in the air lasted for about three hours and they still had no idea what it was. It wasn’t making them feel dizzy or pain or sleepy, at least it hadn’t kicked in just yet.

Jonathan’s best bet was that the door would open by tomorrow, it’s what they always did with prisoners. It’s automated so a door towards their observing room would probably open up, it explains why there was a big ass mirror staring right back at them. They didn’t stop looking for an escape whatsoever, for all they know this gas could carry diseases—if it was that, they were in big big trouble.

But oh boy, were they wrong.

Jackson was the one to feel the symptoms first. The room was cold but he was excreting a crazy amount of sweat that made him take off his jacket and toss it to the floor as he shags his hair, feeling it growing damper and damper by the second. It felt like his blood was boiling, his skin was burning. Jonathan eyed him carefully, studying his manners to see if it was anything he was familiar with. “Hot?”

Jackson nodded, wiping the sweat on his forehead as he took a seat right next to Y/N, checking up on her once again. She was calmer now, at least now that Jackson explained what Jonathan told him they should be fine.

Jonathan starts to get what Jackson is saying. The room was hot. It was getting hotter and hotter for both of them, they were sitting in a goddamn oven.

“Hey, is it just me or it’s literally burning?” Jackson asked as Y/N shook her head, furrowing her brows in confusion as she stared at both men back and forth. “It’s fucking boiling in here” Jackson unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, he wanted to take off all of his clothes but he didn’t want to make Y/N feel uncomfortable.

The second symptom came in when both of their throats suddenly went dry, their mouth was dry but it wasn’t producing any saliva to lubricate their throat. Jonathan’s eyes widened when he starts to realize what was going on.

“Jackson, we gotta get out!” He shouted suddenly, startling Jackson and Y/N as they stood up quickly. They wanted to walk towards him but Jonathan pointed at Y/N to stay where she was. “Don’t fucking come near me!”

“Jonathan, what’s going on?” Jackson implored as he told Y/N to stand down. “You’re acting weird…”

“It’s not fucking safe, Jackson! We gotta get out of here, right now!” Jonathan saw this one too many times. He was so sure it was what he thought it was. Hell, he even managed to create this himself once.

The thing they were inhaling wasn’t gas. It was pollen. It is a stimulating pollen that made humans turn into sick monsters. These people used the pollen for breeding purposes. They wanted to make an enhanced being without needing any serum. They wanted someone gifted to exist biologically. Jonathan had experienced this himself but he had never seen what it did to other people. He was lucky enough he had an antidote before he went completely feral.

It was terrifying.

“Y/N… Y/N’s not safe” Jonathan swallowed the nonexistent liquid as he took shallow breaths for himself. Jackson started to feel the same thing Jonathan was feeling and it made him frantic. Jackson forced Jonathan to tell him what was going on or he was going crazy. Their stomach churned and they felt hungry.

Only this time it wasn’t for food.

“J-Jackson… We need t-to… Get o-out… Y/N’s not safe” It was getting harder for him to talk now. He was starting to feel it. They were starting to feel it. It was coiling in their bellies, growing hot and heavy. They were goners now.

“Jonathan, you’re freaking me out. Stop talking about me like I’m not here! At least let me help…” All she did was stood closer to him and touched his back but Jonathan’s response was beyond feral. He grunted, taking her wrist with his arm as he gripped on it, not wanting to let her go. Jonathan pushed her against the wall as she whimpered, feeling the wall colliding with her back as she whined in pain. “J-Jonathan?”

His other hand took her free wrist. Pinning both of them beside her head as he buried his face in her neck. He took a long whiff her scent—fear. It fueled him to the brim with the desire to absolutely destroy her, break her into tiny little pieces.

“J-Jackson, help… It h-hurts…” She pleaded but Jackson did nothing. He stood there, watching Jonathan feel her up and he liked it. He liked seeing his brother grope her, feeling up her perky breasts, rubbing her pussy through her pants.

God, he loves it.

Y/N felt the lump in her throat growing as the tears start forming in the corner of her eyes. Y/N stands no chance against Jonathan, she couldn’t do anything. All that is going through her mind was that maybe Jonathan was triggered but she had no idea why Jackson just stood there, watching her and did absolutely nothing.

“Why are you d-doing this, Jonathan?… Jackson!” She exclaimed, wanting him to do something, anything. Jonathan’s hand traveled down to her pants as he eyed them down. With a swift motion Jonathan effortlessly tore her pants off as he immediately kneeled in front of her, letting go of her wrists because he was positive she wasn’t going to go anywhere. He stared at the sheer cotton covering the most prized possession and out of nowhere he went and darted his tongue out, licking the nub of her clit as she whimpered to herself. Jackson stood there, his cock was dripping and heavy in his pants. He took them off, palming himself through his boxers as he watched his brother licks Y/N’s pussy softly, wetting the garment as her knees starts to become weak.

Jackson then steps forward, tearing her suit off of her torso and so does her bra. She cried when Jackson groped her breasts, leaning down to lick her pebbled nipples that had hardened from the cold air. Jonathan took off her panties, and his fingers attacked her swollen and puffy clit, rubbing it harshly as she thrashed against the wall, not having the power to even help herself up. She fell down to the ground, naked and afraid as Jonathan spreads her legs and starts entering his fingers inside her tight little cunt.

“Jonathan, Jackson... Please... Stop!” The stretch was excruciating and Jonathan didn’t show her mercy, he pumped his fingers in and out of her hole at a rapid pace, earning a scream of agony that had only made them even more feral. When she looked to her right, she can see Jackson, stroking his big and hard cock to the sound of her crying and being molested on the floor. Y/N was ashamed, there was nothing more than humiliation, fear, and disappointment running through her mind. She was drenched, leaking onto Jonathan’s fingers as she kept looking at Jackson’s cock that was dripping with pre-cum. She was ashamed that her body was enjoying what was happening to her.

Jonathan curled his fingers inside her pussy as she felt the pit growing inside her tummy, her pussy was tingling and she knew what was going to happen.

She was going to cum.

“J-Jonathan…!” She shouted as she let it all out, her thighs shaking and her body quivering as she moaned out loudly. Despite him being emotionless, the subtle smirk on the corner of his lips can be seen and there’s nothing more sinister than that. “Please… S-stop… Jonathan… Jackson… This is not like you…”

Both of them completely ignored the words that were coming out of her mouth. Jonathan stripped off of his clothes and pants, showing him and all of his glory. His cock was hard, deep purple veins were poking out as the tip leaked with clear pre-cum. They both hovered over her body like predators as Jonathan picked her up. Y/N didn’t fight, she didn’t say anything because nothing she said can change anything. She doesn’t know why this was happening to her.

Jonathan lined up his cock on her dripping entrance as Jackson came behind her, and what he did next made her scream the loudest she had ever scream.

Both of them impaled her holes at the same time, thrusting together at the same time, and she can feel herself psychically break. Their huge cocks filled her up to the point where they can see the curve of their bulges in her belly, moving up and down. Y/N hides her face into Jonathan’s neck, whimpering and pleading, hoping that the real Jonathan was still there to stop all of this.

Both of the men groaned and grunted loudly, loving the way how tight and warm her holes were. Their mission was still clear in their mind.

They wanted to fill all of her holes full of their cum. So full until it leaked onto the floor.

Jackson held her neck lightly choking her as she strained from her breath. They were both having the time of their lives, having their cocks stuffed into a pretty little cum rag all for them to use.

The noise they made was a mix of pleasure and pain, Y/N couldn’t form words out of her mouth anymore, she only screamed and screamed as she felt every inch of their dicks thrusting inside her.

Y/N could feel them twitching inside of her and she knew this was finally going to end.

Jackson and Jonathan grunted at the same time as the warm liquid was released inside her, painting her walls white as she could feel them filling her up. The small bloat in her tummy can be seen, she was so full of their cum.

When they were done, hey laid her onto the floor as the tears start pouring down her face. The cum inside her pussy seeped out onto the floor, pooling underneath her.

Jackson and Jonathan watched their seed escape her pussy and her ass as they felt themselves hardened again. They both stood up, picking her back up to repeat what they were doing.

Y/N was going to spend the next twenty-four hours with all of her holes filled with Jackson’s and Jonathan’s cum and there’s nothing she can do about it.