Latest Posts by vervainandspritz - Page 5
Feel free to find out in part two, that will be posted today!
JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES
Thomas Shelby x Reader
Request made by @justsumtuffstuff: Could you do a tommy shelby imagine where you secretly have his kid but don’t tell him until one day aunt polly sees you and is like “holy shit” but that’s not the surprise, the surprise is you have twins. Just a lot of angst and fluff pretty please? ((:
This fic will have two parts!
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut
A/N: It's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more
PART ONE
~~
The land of Birmingham seemed to never change, not one bit. Ever since the first people settled there, the sky hung over them as if by force, never clear enough to see prospects for the future. Robbing the poor kids of dreams, of the loud thumping in their hearts caused by excitement for the good that never came.
It would seem that God has lost his way to Birmingham, not to mention Small Heath. Dirt, smoke and silence that rang too loud when working men would finish their shifts in factories seeking peace in their homes. After all, the human brain can get used to everything.
What was the difference between going to sleep hungry every night, and the relentless churning in the depths of her stomach that Y/N felt? Pain that never let go, waking up along her side like a loyal husband, never ceasing to accompany her throughout the day. Never loosening the hold on her heart.
Oh, how cruel the fate can be, Y/N thought, looking at the white ceiling of her bedroom. One she slept in for many nights too long, carrying the weight of the curse on her shoulders.
Because she was cursed, that one she was sure. Seeing the man she loved more than anything else in the world, losing himself in the grief after another woman.
Because that was the woman whose name Y/N dared not speak or even think. That's who she was, another woman. Embodiment of pain and betrayal of so many promises, taking away the beautiful, blue gaze Y/N yearned for so badly.
God must have been so cruel, putting her through the uncertainty of ever seeing him again throughout the war, and then taking him away.
Taking him away from Y/N, and letting her watch the process. Letting her see the distance growing, the dilated pupils in his eyes after each doze of opium, fruitlessly trying to numb the pain he carried.
Y/N couldn't help but wake up everyday, wondering how different his grief would be if it was her who died. Would he cry? Would he push the other woman away, like he did her? Sometimes the pain felt like too much to handle, but Y/N would never try to pull the trigger. Subconsciously feeling the weight of shame in her chest if she'd ever somehow found out she was right. That he wouldn't care.
So she lived, losing pieces of her heart day by day, warming his bed whenever he saw it convenient.
Until that one day came, that was. Hearing the... Scary, oh so scary news from her doctor she visited in secret. Putting both of her hands on her still flat stomach, she didn't feel anything physically. Yet it was enough to find the strength, buried so deep in her heart.
The love she felt for her unborn children outweighed the love for him.
The tension in Arrow house felt heavier than usual, as Y/N dragged her heavy suitcase down the stairs before slowly making her way to his office. The pain, longing in her heart slowing her down, extending the seconds into forever.
Y/N took a deep breath as her hand pressed down on the metal handle, the loud click echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Wordlessly she slipped inside, walking up to his desk quietly, letting out a shaky breath when she stopped mere inches away from the wooden furniture. His eyes didn't move from the documents he was reading, an empty gaze fixed on black letters despite knowing she was there. Y/N waited for a second, giving him a chance to look at her. Hoping he would.
But he didn't.
”I'm leaving” she said, loud enough to be heard. Silence followed her words, loud like never before as her heart squeezed in anticipation, silently begging him to stop her. To say something. Several moments passed before he finally did, making her heart stop for a mere second.
”Safe travels, Y/N Y/L/N” He responded in a cold, husky voice and for a moment, Y/N wondered who he was, wearing his face but sounding so different.
But the dust settled, just like the weight of his words as soon as she closed the door behind her back for what she thought would be the last time.
~~
Polly's eyes cut through his skin like a blade, her gaze never changing after that one feral day. The look of contempt and disgrace not even a bit different than one she gave him finding out what happened, back then.
”I was hoping you wouldn't be so stupid” She hissed, leaning forward, reaching for a cigarette with a shaky hand. Her eyes were teary, as she inhaled the smoke. ”When you were younger I saw your mother in your eyes. Now, they're full of greed and foolishness. Just like your father's” She spat out with contempt, raising from the chair. Quickly walking up to his own, she kneeled down for a moment, to meet his gaze.
One so empty, that gave her goosebumps.
”I will never forgive you, and... Neither will you.” She whispered. ”But you will have to live with the choice you made.”
Her words echoed loudly in his head several minutes after Polly left... And they never stopped ringing now, thirty eight months later. Thomas counted, every morning to be sure. After sobering up it was difficult to tell days apart. He rarely slept, fearful of the dreams he had at first.
He saw her, she was so close and yet no matter how fast Tommy ran, he couldn't reach her. Out of his reach no matter how hard he screamed or cried. Looking at him with the burning tears he caused.
It took him three months to sober up, give up on opium and... Feel. Thomas wasn't ready for the hellish pain that dawned on him once the drug wore off. The terrifying longing that dawned on him when he felt the remnants of her perfume on his pillow. The lack of relief he hoped for so badly, throwing away every single Grace's belonging he held onto previously, burning the photos and destroying the items, but it never came.
As time stretched, it became more intense. Thomas carried the pain and guilt wherever he went, finding the smallest bit of relief only in his office, searching for Y/N in every piece of England day by day.
Replaying the ways in which he treated her, internally setting himself on fire and forcing himself to feel every bit of it. Because that's what he deserved, to feel and carry the cross he created with his own hands.
Oh how beautiful the pain was, as he'd lean back in his armchair, closing his eyes and remembering her gaze. Her scent and her laugh, echoing so lively in his mind.
...but none of it worked, no matter how many people searched. How much money he spent on the search. Almost like she disappeared into thin air.
Day by day he was dying a little, bleeding through the wounds he so desperately prevented from healing every single time. Keeping the memory of her alive in his mind, not letting the hope die. Because it was all he had. Glimmer of hope. The leader of Peaky blinders became even worse than before. The pain shaped his mind in unknown ways, as the limitless cruelty became visible to anyone who dared to cross his path. Peaky Blinders were unmatched.
Nobody besides Thomas held onto the hope anymore. Knowing Y/N for so long, John and Artur knew she wouldn't come back. Not if her life depended on it. Polly only prayed for her safety.
...and Y/N? She stopped praying once her children were born. After finding out she'd have twins, she prayed every night for them to be born healthy. It was all that mattered.
Not the fact that she had to be using a fake name after moving to Coventry, mere miles away from Birmingham. But she couldn't afford to move further.
It's been.. so fucking hard. Everything. Y/N spent every night crying, begging any God that would listen to take away the pain in her heart. The pain that her babies only managed to lessen. Working as a waitress on nightshifts after accepting the kindness of her older neighbour. Mrs Wilson offered to take care of her boys while she works to help her make ends meet. Y/N had no idea what she would do without a woman she grew to call her only family.
”It's no problem, honey. They're little angels” She said quietly with a kind smile, taking one of the boys into her arms mere days after they were born.
The pain Y/N felt by having to leave her kids every night was stronger than the physical one. Having to work a demanding job after giving birth to keep the roof over their heads.
She cried, cried so much that eventually tears ran out and all she could do was.. keep trying. The two little people by her side were giving her strength. Light that she couldn't see before them, and only existed because they were here. Keeping her own heart beating.
***
”Are you sure? I can take care of them while you go, honey. You know how much I love them, don't you?” The older lady offered eagerly, caressing Nick's cheek with a smile, and a hint of concern while she glanced at Y/N.
”Thank you, but I will take them. The least I can do is spend time with them throughout the day.” Y/N responded, smiling sadly to her neighbour who just nodded along, understanding the allusion.
Letting out a sigh, she put her hands together.
”Be careful, dear.”
Y/N squeezed her hand lightly before pulling away as she held her son's hand, while carrying the other one on her hip.
”Always”
Travelling via train took no longer than forty minutes, and with each passing mile, Y/N's anxiety grew. She hasn't been in Birmingham for a long time now, not looking back.
Yet, because of her official address being still in the Arrow house, she needed to visit the office to complete documentation for boys. She put it off as long as she could, but it was inevitable now.
Despite the negative emotions, Y/N couldn't felt.. better, having her babies with her. The familiar facial expressions or blue orbs were enough to sometimes bring her to tears, but she couldn't love them more. They were a perfect little copy of the man whose name was engraved on her heart. The older they were, the more similar looking they were and now at dashing two and a half years, both boys were troublemakers.
Slowly making their way through Birmingham, Y/N held one little hand, chatting away with Nick, who was more energised than his brother who slept soundly in his mum's arms.
”...and dat?” He asked, pointing towards the building and glancing curiously at his mama. Y/N smiled at his curiosity, seeing how similar personality wise he was to her.
”that's a house” She replied calmly. The little boy cheered loudly, throwing his arms in the air.
"Yaay! Hooose!” He squealed making her chuckle, not caring about the scolding glances from other passengers.
A couple minutes later the other little one woke up, and started fussing because obviously he also wanted to walk now, while Nick wanted to be carried now. Sighing, Y/N put one of the kids down, and as she managed to pick up little Nick, she gasped loudly seeing her son's legs already in motion as he ran towards the crowd.
”Tommy! Thomas, stop!” She yelled after him, chasing him with Nick on her hip who watched the whole thing with his blue eyes wide open. ”Tommy!” She yelled once again, and he finally turned around, stumbling upon someone.
Y/N closed the distance as fast as she could, grabbing little Tommy and pulling him back to his feet, as she checked for any bruises – found none.
”I'm so sorry, i–” She started out, wanting to apologise to the random passenger, but words died on her tongue as soon as her eyes locked with the familiar brown ones.
”Y/N?” Polly stumbled out in shock.
Fuck
Part two upcoming
JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES
Thomas Shelby x Reader
Request made by @justsumtuffstuff: Could you do a tommy shelby imagine where you secretly have his kid but don’t tell him until one day aunt polly sees you and is like “holy shit” but that’s not the surprise, the surprise is you have twins. Just a lot of angst and fluff pretty please? ((:
This fic will have two parts!
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut
A/N: It's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more
PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE
~~
The land of Birmingham seemed to never change, not one bit. Ever since the first people settled there, the sky hung over them as if by force, never clear enough to see prospects for the future. Robbing the poor kids of dreams, of the loud thumping in their hearts caused by excitement for the good that never came.
It would seem that God has lost his way to Birmingham, not to mention Small Heath. Dirt, smoke and silence that rang too loud when working men would finish their shifts in factories seeking peace in their homes. After all, the human brain can get used to everything.
What was the difference between going to sleep hungry every night, and the relentless churning in the depths of her stomach that Y/N felt? Pain that never let go, waking up along her side like a loyal husband, never ceasing to accompany her throughout the day. Never loosening the hold on her heart.
Oh, how cruel the fate can be, Y/N thought, looking at the white ceiling of her bedroom. One she slept in for many nights too long, carrying the weight of the curse on her shoulders.
Because she was cursed, that one she was sure. Seeing the man she loved more than anything else in the world, losing himself in the grief after another woman.
Because that was the woman whose name Y/N dared not speak or even think. That's who she was, another woman. Embodiment of pain and betrayal of so many promises, taking away the beautiful, blue gaze Y/N yearned for so badly.
God must have been so cruel, putting her through the uncertainty of ever seeing him again throughout the war, and then taking him away.
Taking him away from Y/N, and letting her watch the process. Letting her see the distance growing, the dilated pupils in his eyes after each doze of opium, fruitlessly trying to numb the pain he carried.
Y/N couldn't help but wake up everyday, wondering how different his grief would be if it was her who died. Would he cry? Would he push the other woman away, like he did her? Sometimes the pain felt like too much to handle, but Y/N would never try to pull the trigger. Subconsciously feeling the weight of shame in her chest if she'd ever somehow found out she was right. That he wouldn't care.
So she lived, losing pieces of her heart day by day, warming his bed whenever he saw it convenient.
Until that one day came, that was. Hearing the... Scary, oh so scary news from her doctor she visited in secret. Putting both of her hands on her still flat stomach, she didn't feel anything physically. Yet it was enough to find the strength, buried so deep in her heart.
The love she felt for her unborn children outweighed the love for him.
The tension in Arrow house felt heavier than usual, as Y/N dragged her heavy suitcase down the stairs before slowly making her way to his office. The pain, longing in her heart slowing her down, extending the seconds into forever.
Y/N took a deep breath as her hand pressed down on the metal handle, the loud click echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Wordlessly she slipped inside, walking up to his desk quietly, letting out a shaky breath when she stopped mere inches away from the wooden furniture. His eyes didn't move from the documents he was reading, an empty gaze fixed on black letters despite knowing she was there. Y/N waited for a second, giving him a chance to look at her. Hoping he would.
But he didn't.
”I'm leaving” she said, loud enough to be heard. Silence followed her words, loud like never before as her heart squeezed in anticipation, silently begging him to stop her. To say something. Several moments passed before he finally did, making her heart stop for a mere second.
”Safe travels, Y/N Y/L/N” He responded in a cold, husky voice and for a moment, Y/N wondered who he was, wearing his face but sounding so different.
But the dust settled, just like the weight of his words as soon as she closed the door behind her back for what she thought would be the last time.
~~
Polly's eyes cut through his skin like a blade, her gaze never changing after that one feral day. The look of contempt and disgrace not even a bit different than one she gave him finding out what happened, back then.
”I was hoping you wouldn't be so stupid” She hissed, leaning forward, reaching for a cigarette with a shaky hand. Her eyes were teary, as she inhaled the smoke. ”When you were younger I saw your mother in your eyes. Now, they're full of greed and foolishness. Just like your father's” She spat out with contempt, raising from the chair. Quickly walking up to his own, she kneeled down for a moment, to meet his gaze.
One so empty, that gave her goosebumps.
”I will never forgive you, and... Neither will you.” She whispered. ”But you will have to live with the choice you made.”
Her words echoed loudly in his head several minutes after Polly left... And they never stopped ringing now, thirty eight months later. Thomas counted, every morning to be sure. After sobering up it was difficult to tell days apart. He rarely slept, fearful of the dreams he had at first.
He saw her, she was so close and yet no matter how fast Tommy ran, he couldn't reach her. Out of his reach no matter how hard he screamed or cried. Looking at him with the burning tears he caused.
It took him three months to sober up, give up on opium and... Feel. Thomas wasn't ready for the hellish pain that dawned on him once the drug wore off. The terrifying longing that dawned on him when he felt the remnants of her perfume on his pillow. The lack of relief he hoped for so badly, throwing away every single Grace's belonging he held onto previously, burning the photos and destroying the items, but it never came.
As time stretched, it became more intense. Thomas carried the pain and guilt wherever he went, finding the smallest bit of relief only in his office, searching for Y/N in every piece of England day by day.
Replaying the ways in which he treated her, internally setting himself on fire and forcing himself to feel every bit of it. Because that's what he deserved, to feel and carry the cross he created with his own hands.
Oh how beautiful the pain was, as he'd lean back in his armchair, closing his eyes and remembering her gaze. Her scent and her laugh, echoing so lively in his mind.
...but none of it worked, no matter how many people searched. How much money he spent on the search. Almost like she disappeared into thin air.
Day by day he was dying a little, bleeding through the wounds he so desperately prevented from healing every single time. Keeping the memory of her alive in his mind, not letting the hope die. Because it was all he had. Glimmer of hope. The leader of Peaky blinders became even worse than before. The pain shaped his mind in unknown ways, as the limitless cruelty became visible to anyone who dared to cross his path. Peaky Blinders were unmatched.
Nobody besides Thomas held onto the hope anymore. Knowing Y/N for so long, John and Artur knew she wouldn't come back. Not if her life depended on it. Polly only prayed for her safety.
...and Y/N? She stopped praying once her children were born. After finding out she'd have twins, she prayed every night for them to be born healthy. It was all that mattered.
Not the fact that she had to be using a fake name after moving to Coventry, mere miles away from Birmingham. But she couldn't afford to move further.
It's been.. so fucking hard. Everything. Y/N spent every night crying, begging any God that would listen to take away the pain in her heart. The pain that her babies only managed to lessen. Working as a waitress on nightshifts after accepting the kindness of her older neighbour. Mrs Wilson offered to take care of her boys while she works to help her make ends meet. Y/N had no idea what she would do without a woman she grew to call her only family.
”It's no problem, honey. They're little angels” She said quietly with a kind smile, taking one of the boys into her arms mere days after they were born.
The pain Y/N felt by having to leave her kids every night was stronger than the physical one. Having to work a demanding job after giving birth to keep the roof over their heads.
She cried, cried so much that eventually tears ran out and all she could do was.. keep trying. The two little people by her side were giving her strength. Light that she couldn't see before them, and only existed because they were here. Keeping her own heart beating.
***
”Are you sure? I can take care of them while you go, honey. You know how much I love them, don't you?” The older lady offered eagerly, caressing Nick's cheek with a smile, and a hint of concern while she glanced at Y/N.
”Thank you, but I will take them. The least I can do is spend time with them throughout the day.” Y/N responded, smiling sadly to her neighbour who just nodded along, understanding the allusion.
Letting out a sigh, she put her hands together.
”Be careful, dear.”
Y/N squeezed her hand lightly before pulling away as she held her son's hand, while carrying the other one on her hip.
”Always”
Travelling via train took no longer than forty minutes, and with each passing mile, Y/N's anxiety grew. She hasn't been in Birmingham for a long time now, not looking back.
Yet, because of her official address being still in the Arrow house, she needed to visit the office to complete documentation for boys. She put it off as long as she could, but it was inevitable now.
Despite the negative emotions, Y/N couldn't felt.. better, having her babies with her. The familiar facial expressions or blue orbs were enough to sometimes bring her to tears, but she couldn't love them more. They were a perfect little copy of the man whose name was engraved on her heart. The older they were, the more similar looking they were and now at dashing two and a half years, both boys were troublemakers.
Slowly making their way through Birmingham, Y/N held one little hand, chatting away with Nick, who was more energised than his brother who slept soundly in his mum's arms.
”...and dat?” He asked, pointing towards the building and glancing curiously at his mama. Y/N smiled at his curiosity, seeing how similar personality wise he was to her.
”that's a house” She replied calmly. The little boy cheered loudly, throwing his arms in the air.
"Yaay! Hooose!” He squealed making her chuckle, not caring about the scolding glances from other passengers.
A couple minutes later the other little one woke up, and started fussing because obviously he also wanted to walk now, while Nick wanted to be carried now. Sighing, Y/N put one of the kids down, and as she managed to pick up little Nick, she gasped loudly seeing her son's legs already in motion as he ran towards the crowd.
”Tommy! Thomas, stop!” She yelled after him, chasing him with Nick on her hip who watched the whole thing with his blue eyes wide open. ”Tommy!” She yelled once again, and he finally turned around, stumbling upon someone.
Y/N closed the distance as fast as she could, grabbing little Tommy and pulling him back to his feet, as she checked for any bruises – found none.
”I'm so sorry, i–” She started out, wanting to apologise to the random passenger, but words died on her tongue as soon as her eyes locked with the familiar brown ones.
”Y/N?” Polly stumbled out in shock.
Fuck
Part two upcoming
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
Teenage!Tommy Shelby x Teenage!Reader
Summary: One kiss and plenty of definitions to the meaning of it. Did it even have one? Y/N and Tommy seem to have different opinions on the matter.
Warnings: a bit of angst, swearing, violence, jealousy
A/N: interact please!!
~~
"Aren't you mad?! He was... Standing so close to her! How dare he!" Eleanor everything but yelled, pacing back and forth in her bedroom after she watched through the window how the middle Shelby brother chatted with Margaret on the street, while she was almost all over him. El was red from anger, hating when someone disrespected her dearest friend. Y/N on the other hand was sitting by the vanity table, curling her hair and sighing deeply at Eleanor's words.
"Well... We're not together, he's free to do whatever he pleases." She replied, trying to keep her voice in a stable line. Hearing her friend's dramatic gasp, she rolled her eyes and turned around to face her. "El, I'm serious."
"but he kissed you! Just four days ago! How can you not be angry?" She asked with disbelief, but Y/N shook her head and grabbed her hands.
"El, let's just enjoy this night out, okay? You know my father's not fond of letting me go often. And maybe, just maybe we'll show him what he lost, hmm?" She suggested, trying to soothe Eleanor's anger a little.
The other girl just sighed, fixing her hair in the mirror for the last time before glancing back at Y/N.
"Okay. Let's show him"
Less than twenty minutes later they got to the destination.
As soon as they arrived at Y/N father's pub, all guests started nodding with respect, knowing what her surname was, and that she was not to be messed with. Shortly after arriving both girls got their drinks even though it was illegal to sell them to women without a man by their side, yet the bartender knew better than to argue. Irish music was playing loudly, and people mostly danced, drank and laughed loudly, having a great time.
Y/N's and Eleanor's friends already took a seat by the big table, greeting them happily. Time was passing quickly, half an hour later a group of boys barged in, knowing them as the local troublemakers. Mostly Shelby's.
Eleanor immediately glanced at Y/N giving her a silent nod as she went ahead to grab more drinks. Y/N herself couldn't complain about boredom, especially because she caught the eye of David, a boy who was a year older, going to the same school as she was. He was kind and mostly a gentleman. Even though the glances he was sending her cleavage didn't go unnoticed.
He was smart, despite his little self obsession. Talking about his hobbies, asking about hers occasionally, but mostly she was nodding along. Y/N was well aware of Thomas' presence in the pub, so when David started leaning in for a kiss eventually, she also did. Letting out a quiet sigh in anticipation she braced herself for the kiss... That never came.
Instead, she could hear a loud thump of a body hitting the floor and as soon as she opened her eyes, she saw Tommy standing above David, giving him some solid bruises. Her eyes widened with another delivered punch, when the weaker boy's nose cracked.
"Tommy!" She squealed, pulling on his arm. He ignored her for a minute, only when she yelled again did he notice her holding him. As he looked back, she pulled him out of the pub immediately.
"What the fuck are you doing! Are ya mad?!" She yelled, punching him in the chest. He furrowed his brows angrily.
"Me?! What was THAT!" He pointed at the door, leaning down to her level so they could argue properly.
"What?" She asked, playing dumb. Y/N was quite a little actress. He groaned with annoyance, running a hand through his hair before looking back at her.
"I thought we were dating but–but you were.. all over him!" He said in an accusatory tone, pointing at her. Y/N gasped at the gesture, swatting his hand away.
"We're not dating!" She responded in a confident voice, looking into his eyes for a reaction. He glared at her for a second before huffing in anger.
"We bloody kissed! I kissed you!"
"it was just ONE kiss, Tommy! It happens!" She tried to convince both him and herself, keeping her cool almost too well.
He on the other hand folded his arms across his chest, taking a step forward.
"It was just one kiss?" Thomas repeated dumbly, and she nodded in an affirming way. He didn't say a word for a long moment and when Y/N glared at him with disappointment and grabbed the material of her longer dress to lift it and walk away, he stepped forward again.
Before she could react, his big, bloody hands got a hold of her cheek, pressing his lips against hers again, but this time the kiss was longer and he held her closer. More confident.
"There" He eventually said, slightly pulling away and looking down at her, still holding her cheeks. "Two kisses now. Now we're datin'" He said in a voice that does not indicate any opposition. Y/N's cheeks grew hot and it took her a second to collect her thoughts before he sighed with annoyance.
"Suddenly want to date now, do you? In the morning you were all over Margaret!" She said, pushing him away with renewed anger, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Tommy didn't let her step away though, grabbing her hands and pulling her back, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding them there.
"John broke her glasses." He said, caressing her cheek with a slight grin. "I was asking her to not tell on him to her mum, you know, Mrs Lanchester. Our teacher." He explained calmly, grabbing her chin and making sure she was looking in his eyes.
"Oh..." Y/N said, blushing even harder, causing him to smirk, to which she punched him again lightly. "Don't smile like that, Shelby!"
Thomas grabbed her hands, leaning down to kiss her knuckles as he smiled again, before leaning forward and stealing another kiss.
"Is three kisses enough to consider us dating or should I keep kissing you some more?" He asked, his blue eyes glistening with mischief and the feelings he held for her.
~~
"...later he went to war, and I waited. When your father came back, we got married. End of the story." Y/N said, blushing as she glanced towards her husband. Thomas was wearing his mischievous grin, while kids giggled in the background.
"Dad punched that guy!" Twelve year old William chuckled, and little George just cheered along with his older brother.
"He was a cunt anyway" Tommy mumbled, and Y/N shoved him lightly.
"Language!" She said scolded, putting a hand on his thigh under the table. "David was just... Being nice." She responded, to which her husband raised his eyebrows in annoyance.
"Shush, woman" He said, giving her a demanding kiss.
"Oh, stop it!" Fifteen year old Madeline groaned with disgust. "Tell me more instead! How did he ask you to marry him, mum?" She asked curiously.
"Well. He took me to a very special place, fell on one knee... And asked me." Y/N added, smiling wildly at the memory.
"...at least this time he asked." Madeline said with irony, smiling mischievously towards her dad, in the exact same way he usually did.
"Watch it" He warned jokingly.
"Better late than ever" Y/N said, squeezing her husband's thigh and looking at him with love.
Me when I upload my work
could you do a smut where it takes place after season 4, episode one when Tommy murders that butcher, so right after that he’s extremely pissed off and frustrated so he goes to the bedroom where reader is sleeping in the dark and he wants to let out his stress so he fucks reader roughly while still covered in all that blood it turns reader on a lot and Tommy’s very degrading with his words:)?
WHAT YOU'RE MADE FOR
Tommy Shelby x Reader
Warnings: death, angst, violence, angry sex, degradation, smut
A/N: Y'all better start sending requests istg
~~
It felt almost deranged, as Thomas stared in the almost dead man's eyes. Life leaving his irises, lungs choking on blood while trying to take a breath. One so desperately needed. His mouth wide open, pathetically attempting to inhale some oxygen which was already impossible. Last blinks, last moves before he fell to the floor, dirtying everything around and... Leaving the meat raw on the table.
Thomas looked around, only now noticing the state he was in. Covered in blood, almost head to toe. His expensive vest and suit pants absolutely drenched, not to mention the shirt. Letting out a sharp breath, he dropped the sharp tool to the floor, making his way out of the kitchen.
He had so much to do before Christmas. Since the cook died, he needed a new one. Tommy had to call around, find someone last minute and pay extra for cleaning and keeping silent about whereabouts in the Arrow house. So much to do, yet he could barely think with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, making his heart thump and his hands shake.
Normally he would take opium to make it better, but Thomas was well too aware of his wife's reaction to the drug. She hated when he was under influence.
Huffing angrily under his nose he thought of an alternative, and frustration grew as he thought about how difficult Y/N has to make it by arguing. Always arguing. Forcing him to eat better, to take care of himself. So damn loud and opinionated. Throwing back a glass of whiskey, his eyes landed on the staircase and the idea suddenly appeared in his head.
Without missing a beat he made his way up the stairs, leaving bloody marks on the handrail and expensive wood. Quickly walking through the corridor he barged through the door, his precious wife laying on the bed, beautiful as ever. Her white gown hunched up slightly higher than usual, revealing her creamy thighs and reminding him of the lack of underwear.
Standing there, simply staring Thomas felt his pants becoming tighter, all blood going south, exactly where he needed it. Quickly unbuckling his belt and pants he walked over, leaning forward he cooed quietly seeing her peaceful face.
His hand traced her cheek lightly, leaving a bloody mark that made his teeth clench. Deep, crimson red colour in such a stark contrast with the innocent face and white gown of hers. Without waking her up, he quickly pulled her to the edge of the bed by her legs, startling her awake.
"T–Tommy?" She mumbled, eyes barely open as he flipped her on her stomach with a growl. Adrenaline buzzed in his ears as he pawed on her skin, leaving mark after mark from the blood he had on. After a moment she lifted her head, looking back and seeing him completely red, which caused her to squeak in fear. "Thomas, wh–" but he cut her off, pulling his cock out and shoving her legs apart, spitting on her pussy to use as a lube.
"Shut up!" He hissed, climbing onto the bed and straddling her thighs. "I kept you safe. I've fulfilled my duty, and kept you safe!" He hissed into her ear, grabbing a handful of hair, nudging her entrance with the tip of his cock.
A loud moan caused by the sudden stretch and pain filled the air as he slammed himself to the hilt, not able to wait any longer. His hand immediately covered her mouth, two fingers shoved into her mouth to keep her quiet. "The least you can do is fucking take it" He growled into her ear, thrusting impatiently into her tight heat, feeling the wetness pooling from her entrance at his rough manhandling. "That's what you're fucking made for!" She moaned loudly, feeling the bitter metallic taste on his fingers, filling her mouth and making it hard to breathe which made her keep squirming.
Thomas laid himself over her, fucking her from the back, putting his complete weight on top of her.
"You feel it? The fucking taste?" He growled, pulling her hair with another hand. "It's a taste of your safety." His voice was different, clearly because of the chaotic situation he's been through just a couple minutes earlier. Y/N had no idea what was turning her on so much, whether it was the danger to this whole situation, or maybe him fucking her so roughly. "Answer me!" He roared, plunging even deeper than before, his tip kissing her cervix really hard, causing her to nod frantically. "Some cock and you're already too fucking dumb to speak, eh? Good thing your cunt 's always wet then" He added, cruelly almost, knowing how much she loved being degraded. "Nothing more needed to be my precious little fuckhole" He purred, picking up his pace, fucking her faster and harder. Whimper after whimper leaving her lips before he pulled his fingers out of her mouth and wrapped them around her throat.
"Shhhh" He cooed, "You don't want to wake up the kids, do you?" He emphasized the last two words with painful deep thrusts, making her feel like he was already in her belly.
"Tommy" She managed to stutter out, holding onto his hand which was squeezing her pretty hard, cutting off the blood flow and causing her eyesight to go blurry.
"I feel you squeezing my fucking cock. You like that, eh? Being fucked, covered in blood and treated like a cheap whore." He groaned by her ear, the free hand reaching underneath to pinch her clit and rub brutal circles, causing her to cry out weakly. "Nasty fucking cunt" He purred as she came around him so hard, before completely going limp on top of her. Pressing her into the mattress as his thrusts grew frantic, deeper and slower while her cunt milked him for all he had.
Only then did he let go of her throat, slowly threading his fingers through her hair, as they both tried to catch their breaths.
Tommy lifted his head up, seeing her so beautifully fucked out and smiled. Kissing the side of her face, he murmured.
"We need a cleaning service in the kitchen... and a new cook."
There's your answer
Gotham is an awful place to be why do we all want to be there lol
angry speech 😠
EVERY INCH OF YOU
Raymond Leon x Reader
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: angst, smut, fluff
A/N: interact please!
Summary: The best day of the year turns out to be a nightmare, at first. At least until Y/N goes looking for safety within the so familiar arms of a man she pushed away. Was sacrificing their friendship worth it?
Y/N couldn't believe what was happening. Her eyes opened wide at the… sight, or more like the sound coming from one of the cabins. The party she attended with her long term boyfriend turned into the worst nightmare. All the time wasted, broken promises and times she defended him to her friends playing on the back of her mind, as the obnoxious sounds of Luke having sex with another woman made Y/N stop in her tracks, unable to breathe.
Only when tears spilled down her cheeks, she almost ran out of the bathroom, the door slamming shut. Her eyesight was completely blurry, only the blinding lights and familiar faces occasionally blinked through the blur, some people calling out her name or slowly making their way to her, wanting to talk probably until they saw the state she was in.
“Y/N!” She heard shouting from behind out of a sudden, and without turning around or thinking she pushed through the crowd, not wanting to see or talk to him. “wait! It's not like that! Please!”
Luke's voice became more distant as the distance grew between them, because she managed to escape much quicker being smaller in size than he was. She fell out the door straight onto the sidewalk, rain mercilessly pouring from the sky. Drenching her to the last thread in mere seconds.
Hearing the footsteps behind her, Y/N tripped lightly, slipping in her heels and twisting her ankle which caused her to groan weakly. Knowing she had little to no time, Y/N quickly took off her high heels, clutching them in her hand as she ran through the street barefoot, not affording to care what other people thought seeing her in such a state. Only a couple streets away she managed to catch a cab, jumping in on autopilot. After telling the driver the right address, she pulled out her phone from the slightly wet purse, wiping the screen and doing her best to stop sobbing, immediately clicking the right contact.
Are you home?
She sent mindlessly and a reply came less than two minutes later. On the other side of the screen, he furrowed his brows seeing the message. It was a well known fact that THAT day she was going to celebrate with her long-term boyfriend, so he didn't expect to hear from her anytime soon.
R: What happened?
He typed out, sensing something bad. After knowing Y/N for a decade, Ray knew her better than his own pocket, even though she cut down on the contact with him lately, because Luke felt insecure about their friendship. He couldn't say he was surprised, because he wasn't. Even though he never admitted anything, nor to Y/N or himself, he knew there was… something else to their friendship, and he never strayed from flirting with her whenever an opportunity appeared, despite knowing how pointless it was.
As soon as Y/N read the message, she knew he was home. If he'd be at work, Raymond wouldn't respond nearly as quickly as he did. Shoving her phone back into her purse, she didn't bother with an answer, instead wiped the tears off her face, gaining back some eyesight as she realised that she reached her destination.
After handing the money, she got out of the car, also barefoot, quickly making her way to the right apartment.
Water was dripping from her dress, hair and every single inch of her skin, making her look and feel less than presentable but at this particular moment, she didn't care. All Y/N needed right now was to finally make the right choice, and… finally feel beautiful.
Raymond was pacing back and forth in his living room, impatiently waiting for a text back that never came. He was quite worried, uneasy and absolutely stressed, so when he registered the knocking on the door, he immediately darted to the corridor.
The last thing he'd expect to see was Y/N, standing in the doorway barefoot, with smudged makeup and wet hair. But before he could ask, she walked in, dropped everything she was holding to the floor and her hands immediately clutched onto his shirt, pushing him onto the wall. Her lips pressed against his own tightly, immediately demanding access to his tongue, deepening the kiss. For a moment he froze, caught off guard by her sudden bold move. But then his lips responded fiercely, kissing Y/N back with bruising intensity as years of pent-up tension boiled over. One hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped the hip possessively, pulling her body flush against his hard planes. Neither of them cared about her belongings, or the floor getting absolutely wet. Raymond's mind went blank for a longer moment, but when he finally pulled back slightly, his eyes took in the sight of her teary face. He grasped her face, tilting it up to meet her eyes. Breathing deeply, clearly affected by the sudden closeness, Raymond asked.
“What happened?” In a whisper, his stomach churning at the sight of sadness drawn all over her pretty face.
Y/N just shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her hands balled into fists, holding him close as if she was scared he'd completely pull away.
“Please. Please, Ray,” She managed to stutter out, before kissing him again. Y/N’s hands travelled underneath his shirt, tracing his muscles and freckles skin with her cold fingers, causing him to hiss quietly.
Raymond's eyes fell shut at the sensation, his heart pounding in his chest impossibly fast. He couldn't believe it was happening, her touch infatuating him like nothing else he ever felt in his long life.
Y/N clearly had no patience to take it to the bedroom, as she took off his shirt, then reached back towards the zipper of her dress, pulling it down. Raymond held her hips, pulling her close as he moved onto her neck, kissing and sucking marks on her skin. He felt like it was all a dream, completely helpless and weak trying to fight against the way her scent made him feel. Wrapping him from every single way, making him burn for more.
As her dress pooled down to their feet, his breath hitched, seeing Y/N reaching back to open her bra.
In that one moment his subconsciousness seemed to wake up, when Raymond saw a few tears streaming down her face. Clutching gently her hands, he pressed his chest to her own, keeping the material from falling, not letting her bare herself in front of him completely. Swiftly moving them around, Y/N ended up pressed to the wall. He held her wrists, caressing her skin as their noses brushed against each other once more.
“Tell me” he urged, seeing the sadness in the form of tears. She let out a quiet sigh, before burying her fingers in his hair gently.
“He… cheated on me.” She confessed quietly, feeling ashamed of her own choices that led to this moment. But he didn't let her drown, grasping her chin and tilting her head up once again. Their eyes meeting, and Y/n relaxed in the way he held her gaze. She braced herself for the upcoming pity she expected, like people always give hearing such a news.. but it never came.
“He never deserved you.” Raymond said, his voice a little rougher, almost tender despite the desire. “Not a single second he spent by your side.”
Y/N smiled through the tears, caressing his cheek with a hand for a second before pulling him to the bedroom. Pressing their bodies together once again, her hands running up and down his thighs as her tongue licked stripes over his pulse.
“I need you, Raymond. I need you to do what you have always wanted.” She whispered, breaching the silent agreement they had, to never address what was happening between them. Never cross the line, but it was too late now.
He groaned deeply, turning her around as his chest pressed to her back, greedy hands touching every inch of her skin like a man starved. Y/N was going soft in his touch, completely vulnerable and on his mercy, small gasps leaving her mouth with every kiss he was giving her.
Every touch, every whisper, every sound pushing past her lips was making him dizzy, his manhood throbbing so hard, he felt like he'd pass out when suddenly he heard her voice.
“Make me feel special, Ray. Please.” She almost begged, making his heart shatter with the tone of voice she used.
He stilled behind her small form, seeming to wrestle with himself for a long moment as he felt his throat tightening. He was never good at talking at… explaining his feelings. But Raymond couldn't get rid of the feeling that THAT was his moment and he couldn't afford to lose it. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper.
“You're so fucking special.” He stuttered out in a weaker voice, slightly trembling. His fingers held her a little tighter, almost like she'd turn into ash anytime. “No one can compare to you. In every woman I meet I look for you, but it's never enough. You're… you're a work of art, Y/N.” His voice turned more husky, but with each sentence it was easier to… talk. She was trembling in his hold as he turned her around, meeting her teary gaze once again. Taking a step forward, Raymond forced her to step back, her knee touching the bed frame while he slowly laid her down, climbing onto the mattress, gaze never faltering.
One large hand caressed slowly down her spine as the other reached around to cup her perfect breast, kneading the soft flesh.
“That pathetic boy never deserved you. He's a blind fool who couldn't appreciate perfection if it slapped him in the face.” He whispered into her ear, kissing her neck.
He rolled the nipple between his fingers, pinching lightly. “But I see you. Every inch of you, inside and out. And I'm going to worship you like the goddess you are, until you forget that worthless prick even exists.” As he finished, Y/N sighed deeply, stopping him with a hand on his chest, making him raise an eyebrow in question.
“Raymond, it's… it's not about him, I'm not heartbroken, just… I'm ashamed of the way I treated you. I should have never listened to him.” She confessed quietly, her lip getting wobbly at the pure beauty he was looking at her with. Raymond cupped her cheek, leaning down until their lips were brushing against each other. His eyes shone like never before.
“Forgiven” He whispered with a smirk, kissing Y/n deeply for a couple long moments, making her feel absolutely melty. Slowly pulling away, Raymond locked his gaze on her own, lowering himself onto her collarbone and leaving a little kiss, followed by another and another. Carefully making his way down, he kissed every imperfection, every lovely inch of her being. Slowly kissing away the sadness she held in her heart. “Beautiful” he murmured every now and then. Avoiding where she needed him the most and going lower until he caught her leg, lifting her ankle to kiss it too.
Only then, going up, Ray rubbed his rough hands up and down her inner thighs making her squirm.
“Patience” He growled quietly, lowering his head to kiss her in the right place. Y/n writhed in the sheets as he kissed, licked and sucked her delicate spots, bringing her to the verge of tears as eventually orgasm flowed over her mind so hard she became dizzy. Seconds later he hung above her like a raincloud, pressing his lips to her own, letting her taste the sweetness he got to finally try.
“Please” She squealed, unable to wait any longer, and he listened, lining up his cock with her entrance.
“You're so special. So–o fucking s–special” He stuttered out with a groan, slowly filling her up as she wrapped an arm around his neck, feeling the need to have him as close as possible. “To me” he finished quietly, squeezing his eyes shut at the heavenly sensation.
Raymond couldn't say that, not yet, he didn't remember how these words sound from his lips just yet, and Y/N understood it. He needed time to wrap his head around the change in their relationship. Kissing his jaw, Y/N pressed their foreheads together.
“I love you too”
TOMMY + SMILING requested by anonymous
PROOF IN CASE YOU NEED IT
UPDATE:
I put this in my reblogs but I’m going to attack this to the main post.
TRUMP HIMSELF DIDN’T CHEAT BUT SOMEONE DEFINITELY TAMPERED WITH THE ELECTION RESULTS.
^
Made by the amazing @the-gay-prometheus (genuinely thank you for saying this)
DANCE WITH ME, SHELBY
Word count: 2,4k
Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, Tommy is a silly goose, blood, injury
INTERACT WITH THE STORY PLEASE
***
How could it get that bad? That one sentence filled his head to the brim, causing a hellish headache. Staring at the ceiling in the small room in the back of the building, just a wall separating the frustrated man from the chaos in the Garrison. Blue eyes, usually sharp and focused, now glancing all around, internally looking for that one moment where he pushed her too far.
A race of thoughts caused an annoying gnawing at his insides, going back to all the situations he could have used to… speak up, but he didn't. His foolish ego wouldn't let him live that down.
The music was so loud he could hardly analyse, but he successfully brought in the sight of Y/N dancing in a Peaky boys’ arms.
If only he didn't ruin it back then, Thomas groaned. Running a hand through his hair, he set the cap on a table before returning to the main room.
Straightening his back and looking around, Tommy noticed his brothers dancing between all the drunk people, cheering happily and laughing obnoxiously, just like they always did when there was a reason to celebrate.
The Garrison wasn’t normally a place for song and dance, but after the victory at the races, Thomas made an exception for his men.
Winning races was a big thing in Birmingham, no matter whether the races were fixed or not. Nobody would dare to ask anyway.
Among other people sitting by the bar, he spotted her. The woman so unforgettable, that there wouldn't be a day when he wouldn't think of her.
The sound of the door slamming shut went unnoticed by the loud crowd as he made his way to the bar. Several chairs away from Y/n Thomas took his seat, letting out a quiet sigh as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey that Harry instinctively set on the counter in front of him. Pouring a generous amount he nodded towards Y/n, and the bartender immediately got the right idea, pouring her a glass as well.
Tommy planned on watching her reaction closely, but to his surprise she knocked it back without missing a beat, making him raise his eyebrows.
Harry nodded proudly seeing the same scene unfold, before turning around and serving other people.
Usually at least a couple of guests would line up to him by then, but Thomas’ horrendous mood was hanging in the air like a thundercloud, warning off anyone who would think of coming around. Taking advantage of the relative solitude he let his mind spiral down the familiar way.. again.
~~
“What happened!” Polly gasped, slamming the door shut behind her, seeing Thomas and Y/n make their way through the small living room. Blood dripped from the boy's nose, bloodying the already dirty carpet.
“I'll explain, I promise!” Y/N yelled from the bathroom before another slam of the door could be heard. Sitting him on the stool, Y/n tried to breathe steadily just to not start sobbing again. Her knees burned like hell, but she couldn't live down the way Tommy's face looked.
“I'm sorry” she said, shaking her head while reaching for a towel, and dipping it into the small amount of alcohol she had. Her hands were shaking, and so was her voice.
“Y/n” he said, but when she didn't react, his hand grasped her smaller one, holding it for a moment until she looked into his eyes. “It's okay, nothing big happened.” He tried to convince, smiling in a silly way despite his bloodied nose and a black eye. “C’mere” Tommy added after she shook her head, pulling her in for a tight hug. “It's okay, I'm fine, I promise. I didn't want them to hurt you, and I succeeded, like a man, yeah?” His voice soothed her slowly, just like his hand rubbing up and down her back. After a long minute she pulled back, nodding lightly as she held his head, cleaning up the cuts.
Tommy didn't say a word for another few minutes, just watching her face as she worked her magic until her cheeks turned bright pink. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke up.
“I'll be ugly for a while now.” Was enough to make her chuckle, and like always, Tommy's laugh followed right after.
“Thank you,” she said. “For saving me and… and being so fearless.” Y/n added shyly, not used to them saying all these nice things to each other.
Thomas shook his head with a breathless chuckle, before looking down.
“I wasn't fearless,” he confessed, making her raise her eyebrows in surprise. “After all, have you seen them? And me? I'm… short.” He chuckled and she immediately followed. “But I couldn't let them hurt you, no matter what.”
“You're not short! You're taller than me!” she argued with her cheeks all red.
“You're a girl, Y/N.” He pointed out, grabbing her hips as she started giggling some more, the gauze on his face shaking along with her arm. A comfortable silence fell between them for a couple moments, before he got up, standing right in front of her.
Taking a deep breath, Thomas ran a hand through his hair.
“Will you kiss me for bravery or am I too ugly for it now?” he asked, trying to appear even more confident with a smile still plastered onto his face, ready for a rejection… that never happened. Y/n nodded at him with a smile as she reached for his cheeks, standing on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his in a sweet kiss.
“Take me on a date. To the cinema. Tomorrow.” She decided as soon as they parted, looking at him with big, round eyes and Tommy couldn't help but nod, with his face completely red.
“Okay”
~~
After another two glasses sent her way, Thomas chuckled under his breath, eyeing the glass in his hand, when suddenly another hand pulled it out of his grasp. As fast as it disappeared, a feminine hand slammed an empty glass on the counter.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Shelby?” Y/N asked, coming into his view as she leaned on the counter, eyeing him with a serious expression.
“You were drunk before I stepped foot into the Garrison, eh?” he replied, turning around and facing her fully.
“Hardly” she said, tilting her head to the side as she noticed his hardened expression. “What's got you so down, boss? I thought we're celebrating tonight.” Y/N asked half seriously, gesturing to Harry for another bottle.
“Business as always” he responded, lighting a cigarette and offering her one. She only shook her head, leaning forward and pulling the cigarette out of his lips instead. Tommy kept looking at her, not caring enough to light another one. Just drinking in the sight of her eyeing him like that.
Only after a moment he looked away, glancing into the crowd with a barely audible sigh. Y/n knew him long enough to be able to tell how troubled he was feeling at the moment.
“Come on, Shelby.” She said, swiftly slipping off the counter and grabbing his hand. “You're gonna dance with me” Tommy immediately started shaking his head but didn't let go of her hand even for a moment.
“I don't dance, Love.” He replied in a hoarse voice, but Y/n wouldn't take a “no” for an answer when it came to dancing. Tommy somewhat reluctantly stood and let Y/N lead him to the dancefloor. The music was an energetic tempo leaving little to no space on the dancefloor between dancing, drunk people. Y/n led him through the crowd right into the middle of chaos, to ensure he wouldn't leave at any given moment.
By the time they weaved through the crowd, the celebratory song ended and the musicians played a sweeter slow song.
Hearing it, Tommy looked at her with eyebrows raised, making her giggle.
“Too late to change your mind now. Embrace me, Shelby.” She said sternly, in a joking manner.
Thomas didn't need much more convincing, the thought of getting to hold her was enough of an incentive. Stepping forward, Tommy pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her hip, keeping some distance between them for her comfort. She, however, closed the distance between them. Their bodies pressed together, moving in the rhythm. It came much more naturally than either of them would expect. As the music got more sensual, their senses became sharper. His big calloused hands kept her in a firm hold, leading her through the dance just right. Tommy felt suddenly a little more drunk than ever, taking in consideration that he had just two glasses of whiskey. The scent of her skin, her hair, the sweet flowery notes clinging to her skin made him want to get even closer. Closer than physically possible. Forget the alcohol, it was her he was truly intoxicated by.
Y/n could feel how heavy his breathing got, as he slowly let go of her hand, both hands wrapping around her hips and keeping her close. She leaned forward, both hands on Tommy's chest which made her feel even more… dizzy. His heart was beating even harder than hers. That was until he stepped forward again, and her face almost settled in his neck. The best part of the song came on, and the tension between them was palpable. Their breaths grew shallow and Thomas felt like he might explode if she didn't look him in the eyes just then.
Pulling back, he leaned down causing his nose to brush against hers, and as soon as Tommy's warm breath touched her lips, the song suddenly ended.
So did the moment, because Y/N immediately sobered, taking a step back and letting go of his touch.
Thomas could see the slightly panicked look in her eyes.
“Y/N” he started out, shaking his head lightly but she took another step back.
“Thanks for the dance, Shelby.” She replied, before turning around and pushing her way through the crowd towards the exit.
“Bloody hell” He hissed under his breath, trying to follow her as quickly as possible. It took him a longer moment, but Thomas finally burst through the door, immediately looking around and finding Y/N walking towards Small Heath.
“Y/N!” He yelled, going after her. For some reason it felt like an important moment which Tommy couldn't afford to fuck up. “Y/N, wait!”
Y/N kept walking, not paying attention to his shouting. Had he taken it too far with their almost kiss? She had kept drawing nearer to him throughout the dance, because the pull was impossibly strong, yet she couldn't bring herself to move past… that.
“Y/N!” He yelled, being mere metres away before finally a strong hand grasped her shoulder, making her turn around. He prepared a few words to say, but all of them disappeared from his head as soon as he saw her teary eyes.
“Why? Why didn't you come back then? I waited for you, Tommy, and you didn't show up.” She immediately said in a vulnerable voice, unable to keep it in any longer. “I was preparing for three hours to look pretty for you!” She was taking short breaks to sniffle quietly, and he tried to find words, but as always in such situations, it was difficult. Y/N had held onto the heartbreak of being stood up by him for years. The only man she could never hold at arm's length, making her feel so foolish. As he tried to stutter out an explanation, “and… and I..” Y/n started out, but got suddenly cut off by his voice.
“He took my fucking money!” He hissed out, pacing back and forth. Sighing deeply, he ran a hand through his hair while Y/N got… confused.
“What? Who?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed. Only then did he stop right in front of her.
“Finn” He replied, looking into her eyes with his own eyes wide. “Back then… fuck, I was saving for that moment, alright? Times were fucking tough and… and I wanted to go!” He said loudly, rubbing the side of his jaw with frustration. “But this little bastard didn't leave me a single fucking penny! Took all the money and I couldn't show up in my old, worn down clothes and then… not take you anywhere! Not YOU, Y/N! Fuck!” He gave up on trying to talk calmly, the old frustration and annoyance coming back to the surface. “..and then, then you left Birmingham for a while, and i had no fucking clue how to come back from what happened. What to do or say. I was… I was ashamed.”
Y/N remained silent for what felt like eternity which was probably less than a minute. Thomas sighed deeply, bracing for harsh words as he came up, grabbing her chin and tilting her head up to meet his gaze.
“I'm sorry, Love.” He added, when suddenly… she burst out giggling, making him cock an eyebrow in surprise. Only then did she manage to reply between the sniffles and giggles.
“You're an incredibly silly man for a gang leader, Thomas.” She started out, and then.. he knew it would be okay. “If you came wearing a bloody potato sack and wanted to sit under a tree and talk, I would be the happiest girl in the fucking world!” She exclaimed loudly, pushing him lightly. “I never cared about what you wore or where we went, bloody hell, I was following you everywhere! Because I wanted to be around YOU, and that's all that mattered, Tommy.” Her hand covered his much bigger one, eyes becoming more shiny as she spotted the little grin on his face.
“I panicked. I can't explain how sorry I am, Love.” He added, his hand caressing her cheek while his softened gaze remained on her eyes. “I thought about you every single day. Not a thing ever changed for me.” He confessed with a heavy heart.
Y/n became quiet for a moment again before her fingers grazed his reddened, cold cheek.
“You look like you've seen a ghost.” She eventually said, making him chuckle as she pushed his hair away from his eyes.
Thomas took a final step forward, his face mere inches away from her own.
“Well… am I too ugly for a kiss then?”
“Shut up, Shelby.” She sneered, pulling him into a deep but sweet kiss. One she waited for so long, too long.
tommy & lizzie + 🚬 peaky blinders — 4x03 created by steven knight
any trans person reading this I love you
any woman reading this I love you
any poc minority reading this I love you
any queer person reading this I love you
edit:
no matter how many trolls or trumpies come in my comments and spew their nonsense I will keep saying it over and over and over again no matter how many times to show them I will not change. I will never choose violence or hate ever.
any disabled person reading this I love you
any person out of country that wished they could desperately help I love you
Any parents of a queer child who did everything they deemed “right” to protect their child and still feel as though they failed I love you
any person on the spectrum I love you
Any SA survivors I love you
Any person that needs life threatening healthcare and can’t afford it I love you
Any diabetic person I love you
I don’t know you. But I love you. I will always choose love that’s not a bad thing nor will I ever feel bad about choosing it
I actually can't stop thinking about how the losing party last election dressed like vikings and tried to break into the white house and the losing party this election are sharing suicide prevention hotlines
RECOUNT AND REVOTE!
For those in the US, there is a petition demanding a recount and revote as well as an investigation about the sudden change in support. Your voice matters and I encourage you to sign!
That feeling when your favorite writter still aint post the next chapter...
Im jp yall, i just be talking shit lol
Plié, Jeté, Relevé (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)
A/N: Here you go my lovelies! I have literally never done ballet in my entire life, so any knowledge of this has come from watching tiktoks of ballerinas, movies with ballerinas in them, or my best guesses… anywaysssss, I hope you enjoy it!
Also, would highly recommend watching the performance of Still Life at the Penguin Cafe on youtube, the music and the dancing is *chefs kiss*
Summary: You were ready to admit that you hadn’t been at your best the past week or so, but surely you hadn’t been so bad as to deserve this much wrath from Mister Murphy…
Word count: 3,750
Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mean!Cillian, SMUT, dub-con bc of the power imbalance (?), fingering (technically?), humiliation (not as a kink tho), only reader orgasms, depiction of toxic teaching environment, (please let me know if I missed any)
Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario.
Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)
If anyone out there believed in the stereotype that all Irish people were happy and jovial then they clearly hadn’t met your ballet master. The man may speak with a lilting musical accent but there was not a thing jovial or happy about him. The master was harsh, verging on cruel. If anyone was caught slacking even the littlest bit, something that would go unnoticed by the rest of the troupe, his voice would crack like a whip through the studio.
Recently, that whip had been directed at you. You knew you weren’t doing your best. You had hit a rough patch in your entire life. You had been late more times than ever before, more times than you ever would usually be, more times than you would like. And your dancing had been affected as well. Your posture wasn’t straight enough, your pliés weren’t deep enough, your toes not pointed enough. Everything was going wrong, and while you had hoped it wasn’t noticeable, Mr Murphy never failed to find every SINGLE one of your mistakes.
Today differed in no way. You had dilly-dallied a little too long while getting ready in the morning, only to end up running late for rehearsal. It was no more than five minutes, but from the start of training it was the rule that all ballerinas must be lined up by the barre at exactly ten o’clock every day. For every minute you were late, the worse your punishment got. Usually if someone hit the five minute mark, they went home and sprained their ankle on purpose for an excuse.
At four minutes, you had run into the hallway outside the studio and thrown your bag onto the ground, disregarding the sound of your water bottle rolling away and one of your keychains cracking under the weight of your things. At five, you were throwing the door open and running inside, slipping into the back of the line and getting into first position.
Mr Murphy paused in his speech to gaze at you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at him. Slowly, his eyebrow rose, scrutinising you with a frown that made shame curl in your stomach and tears make themselves known behind your eyes. He slowly brought his hands together, rubbing them as he sighed and began shaking his head.
“Kind of you to join us,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way closer to you, stepping leisurely, dragging out the fear that made your throat hurt. He stood a few feet away, staring at you in that impenetrable way of his, ice eyes sharp and painful wherever they gazed. He clapped his hands once. “Girls, turn and look at Ms. Y/L/N.” He waited until each of them had turned in their spots, some craning their heads to the side to make sure they were looking at you lest they somehow disobey him. You could see the pity, the sympathy, the smug triumph in each of the girls’ eyes, the frowns and subtle smirks, and you could do nothing other than keep staring ahead of you as your hands and knees suddenly began to tremble. “What is wrong with her?”
He didn’t ask it in a rude or incredulous way, but as if you were a diagram in a textbook, and this was simply an exercise the students were completing. You were sure your shame was visible on your face, the embarrassment turning your spine to liquid. One of the girls put her hand up, near the front of the room, and you only recognised her for the little kiss-ass she was once she spoke. She had always been that way, desperate for Mr Murphy. Always at the front of the line, always gleeful at the downfall of others, always ready to point out any mistakes. And you were always happy to watch her desperation help her in no way whatsoever. A lot could be said about Mr Murphy, but favouritism was not something he had ever displayed. Whichever ballerina was doing well, recognisably well, was given her dues, and it was left at that.
“She’s not wearing her tights and leotard, or at least, she’s wearing sweatpants over them. Her pointe shoes are dirty, and her hair isn’t in a bun.” You could almost imagine her satisfied little smirk when she finished speaking, that evil little smile that you had always wanted to punch off her face. One swing, you thought, just one swing…
“Correct,” he simply responded, threading his fingers through each other and raising his eyebrow at you again, as if confused and annoyed at you for not doing something. “Leave, get your shit together, and then come back inside. If you have not returned within ten minutes, don’t bother returning to rehearsal ever again.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the door and you nodded obediently, eyes downcast as you stood up straight and slowly walked back out.
When the door was closed behind you once more, you stood silently for a minute, eyes clenched shut and hands curled into fists at your sides. You pressed out a scream behind your pursed lips, teeth clenched so hard your jaw began to hurt. You slammed the heel of your hand against the side of your head again and again and again until your shoulder hurt a little from the motion and your brain felt sufficiently jumbled. Your chest was heaving and you were overwhelmed with rage. You wanted to kick something, to throw something, to go back in there and rip that bitch’s hair out of her bun. You resolved to pulling your pointe shoes off and lobbing them across the hallway as hard as you could, letting out another clenched scream before walking all the way down to pick them up and bring them back.
You stood in front of your bag and took three deep breaths. You picked up your water bottle from where it had rolled between another two of the ballerinas’ bags, and took huge gulps of water until you felt a little less sweaty with anger. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you hadn’t wasted your ten minutes, then set about carefully pulling off your joggers, folding them up, and placing them inside your duffel. You pulled out a new pair of pointe shoes, cursing yourself for not having prepared them in time and preemptively wincing at the blisters you knew you were going to get by the end of rehearsal. You walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall in the pointe shoes, hoping to at least break them in a little bit with the short time you had, and used the mirror to quickly pull your hair into a bun, securing it with pins in a practised dance you had learned from years of repetition. You checked yourself once more in the mirror and then looked down at your phone before sprinting full on back to the room and sliding through the doors. You made it just in time.
Mr Murphy glanced at you as you slipped into position at the back of the line, following the exercises he had been calling out to the ballerinas while you had been out. He methodically looked at every inch of your body, from your pointe shoes to your pink tights and black leotard, from the careful set of your bun to the determined set of your brow and sheen of sweat on your temples. He didn’t say anything directly to you, and you took it as a win.
At the halfway point, you were all allowed a little break to drink water and have a rest before you switched from exercises to rehearsals for your next performance. You were all practising for your various roles in a performance of ‘Still Life at the Penguin Cafe’, and though you would have to wear a huge mask of a ram on your head, you were ecstatic for the performance. While it wasn’t technically a solo, you were the centre of the piece, being the only one not dressed as a penguin. Now, everything felt so precarious. You couldn’t quite be sure Mr Murphy wouldn’t take the role from you after the past two weeks spent in a slump, and the worry was becoming your ever-present companion.
Just as the girls were all leaving the room to get water and lounge around on the floor of the hallway, Mr Murphy cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at you.
“Ms. Y/L/N,” and he pointed at the spot right in front of him. It took everything within you not to sprint to the spot. You took careful, measured, steps and stopped a few feet in front of him, spine straight and head held high. You weren’t sure where to look. You could never meet his eyes, something in your soul was opposed to it, so you chose a spot on the wall just next to his head.
“You will stay for another hour at the end of the session to make up for your failures this morning, understood?” He raised both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. You closed your eyes, trying not to burst into tears like a child throwing a tantrum on the spot. You nodded, whispered a ‘yes, sir’ in a clogged voice, and waited until he dismissed you to walk out of the room.
You sat down by your bag with a sigh, arms slung over your knees as you cradled the water bottle close and pressed your face to it. You closed your eyes and allowed your head to dip down as some of your friends came to sit around you, offering pats of sympathy and words of comfort. You tried to smile, nodded in thanks, but you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up.
The next few hours were spent going through each section of the dance. You felt lucky that you didn’t get to the Ram piece, you were sure you couldn’t hold it together long enough for that, only to be doused with cold water at the thought that you needed to stay longer afterward.
When rehearsal was over, Mr Murphy dismissed everyone right on the dot. He didn’t acknowledge you as the girls started leaving, the chatter slowly beginning to rise as they reached the door. For a moment you wondered if you could get away with leaving with everyone else, but just as you reached the door he called out “ten minutes at most, Ms Y/L/N, then I want you back in here.” Your bones seemed to disappear and you thought you would collapse to the floor in a heap of mushy flesh. Instead you nodded and wobbled your way outside to chug what was left of your water bottle, refill it, then chug the contents again as tears of exhaustion slipped from the corners of your eyes and mingled with the sweat dampening the hair by your temples and ears.
The ten minutes were up far too quickly and you stood with a groan, heading to the door once more. You gazed at the room from the door, the light hardwood floors, the wall of mirrors and the bar spanning the length of the room, the huge windows letting in swaths of natural light. You often forgot how beautiful the space was.
You walked slowly to where Mr Murphy stood, typing something on his phone and moving the speaker to face the room again. You stood before him, hands clasped and eyes downcast, waiting for instructions. For a while, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer on his phone, his hands hanging by his sides, and he stared at you. Every few seconds you glanced, trying to glimpse what was going to happen, but he just continued watching you, stoic as ever.
You could never tell what he was thinking. Never once had you been able to guess at his thought process, to figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe that was one of the reasons he intimidated you so much.
He walked closer, so close the toes of his shoes almost touched the toes of yours and you gulped, staring at the contrast, the black and the pink, the background of wood. His hand came up and he tapped up under your chin with the side of his index finger, waiting for you to lift your head. When you did, your entire face felt hot under the skin. He was so close, you could see the freckles splashed on his skin, the careful set of his cheekbones and jaw. You gulped. His eyes were so much more terrifying up close.
“You’ve been given a gift,” he began, slow and firm, “your ability, your natural rhythm, that is a gift. Unless you put in effort to finetune this gift, it goes to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You nodded but he shook his head once. “Speak.”
“Yes sir,” you breathed out quickly, gulping when your mouth was closed again.
“I’m not sure you do, though,” and it felt like the hammer falling. His eyes seemed to harden a little, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “The past two weeks all I have seen is a sloppy, unprincipled, uncommitted dancer who deems merely showing up a success.” Each word was a stab to some part of you, and it took everything not to wilt completely to the floor. “You have been given one of the more difficult roles in the performance, and I once believed you deserved it. For the life of me, I cannot remember why.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you closed your eyes, throat bobbing as the despair that felt inevitable finally began to land.
He went silent, and that felt worse somehow. The backs of your eyelids began to burn and you clenched your hands tighter around each other, hoping the little pain it brought would distract from the tears. You berated yourself in your head. You yelled in your mind that this was a pathetic display, that it would be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done if you began to cry in front of him. He would think less of you, it would only confirm what he believed; you were weak. When you opened your eyes again, one traitorous tear slipped out and down your cheek. You could feel the hot, ticklish track it made down the skin. If you didn’t know better, you thought you saw Mr Murphy’s eyes soften.
He breathed out, long and tired, and reached up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. Your breath caught in your throat. His hand was warm. Your chest felt tight. His skin was soft. You stared into his eyes. He left the side of his hand against your face, as if allowing himself to feel the skin. Something in your stomach writhed impatiently. Everything seemed to have changed within a second. Some deep seated urge whispered in your ear to open your mouth and lick his thumb. You shivered.
“Turn around,” his voice was low, rough, and you almost moaned at the sound. You gulped again, but obeyed almost instantly. You heard some shuffling, and then the music started, the slow long notes interspersed with the quick little strums, a beautiful, almost joyful piece of music. Then Mr Murphy was pressed right against your back, and suddenly the music was secondary. His chest, firm, solid, was moulded to your back. You could feel the soft fabric of his black shirt, the puffs of his breaths against the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered. He was warm, like a heater on a middle setting, and if you weren’t so tense, you would melt against him. You could feel his nose against your head as he bent slightly. You could feel his lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered “relax.” You tried, forcing your muscles to loosen like you would before a performance.
His hands trailed down your arms, his fingertips running down your biceps, then your forearms until you shivered against him again. When he reached your wrists, he hooked his own hands under them and began raising them in time with the music. You turned your head to the right, watched his hand raise your own, your lips parted and breaths heavy. You couldn’t move past the feeling of him pressed to your back.
You almost missed the cue to move, almost, and pulled away from him slowly, carefully, using the measured steps required by the music. You left your right hand in his, just the barest touch of your fingertips against his, the illusion of contact as you moved to the left, feet lifting high. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and suddenly you enjoyed the feeling in a sick, scary way. You walked forward until you were in line with Mr Murphy, still an arm’s length away before he stepped forward and your arms moved to a waltz position. He settled into the space, gripping your hands firmly in his. He was pressed as close as he could be, closer than your actual partner would be for the dance, and you set your eyes on his face. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, you were in your element.
You went through all the steps of the dance like you had been born knowing it. Your bodies were like water as they moved, smooth, graceful. You hadn’t felt this intune to the music in a long time, hadn’t felt this much like a dancer in a long time. You could almost see the crowd in front of you, the blinding lights, the smooth fabric of the dress.
At the final step, Mr Murphy gripped your hand and spun you into him, changing the ending of the dance. You gasped as you leaned back into his chest. His head was bent down, pressing his face into your hair. You were panting, torso moving up and down quickly but trapped in the confines of his arms crossed over you. You leaned your head back a little, pressing the curve of your skull into the curve of his neck as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The music was fading out, and the only sounds in the room were your mingling breaths, heaving into the air of the room.
His left palm pressed against your stomach, firm and insistent, but you couldn’t be bothered to look down. It seared into your already boiling skin and you closed your eyes. You tuned into the sensation of his hand slowly sliding down, bit by bit, inching down over your stomach then pressing against your pelvis. You gasped as you felt his fingertips brush over the leotard just at the top of your pussy. Your hand moved behind you, gripping his sides, clenching into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against the side of your head, and you didn’t stop him. His hand moved farther down, pressing against the softness atop your core. Gently, his index finger moved to the centre line and began pressing in. You lifted up on your toes a little when you felt the pressure through the fabric, the indent of his finger pressing against your clit. You were hot and wet, he could feel the heat emanating from your core against his hand.
He kept his finger pressed there until you became restless, impatient, pressing your hands a little harder against his ribs. Slowly, keeping the pressure, he moved his finger down until he was pressing against your hole. The warm tendrils of pleasure slowly undulated up your insides. He repeated the motion, up then down and pressing a little harder against your hole.
You breathed out heavily, shakily, and bent your knees to press a little harder into the feeling.
Up, down, press. Up, down, press. He circled your clit through the fabric, pressing against the pulsing little bud. Up, down, press, drag up, drag down, press. You were panting into the air, face contorted, mouth up and head tilted up, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes were screwed shut, hips moving to chase the motions. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against your ear, held you tighter against his body.
You were both standing in the middle of the large studio, bathed in the early evening light. Your hands clenched a little harder against his sides. The warm tendrils were lasting longer, becoming more frenzied, curling up into your stomach and making your hole flutter. His right hand moved up and cupped your breast, gripping firmly and burning the heat of his hand into the flesh.
You were engulfed by him, wrapped up in both his arms as he pressed his fingers harder and quicker against the seam of your core, moving up and down, pressing and releasing. He ran the edge of his thumbnail against the fabric over your nipple and your pelvis shook. You writhed in his arms at the spark it shot to your core, at the electric pulse it created and ultimately pushed you over the precipice. A moan, a high-pitched whine shot from your mouth, echoing in the room. You pressed yourself so hard against him he almost lost his balance, moving one foot back to keep the two of you upright. Your hands hurt from how stiff they became clenched into the fabric of his shirt.
Slowly, he released the pressure against your core. He grazed his finger up until he could press his hand to your stomach again. He left it there and the two of you heaved breaths in sync. You began to flutter your eyes open, still lost in the blood rushing through your head. His right hand came up and gripped your chin, pushing it so you faced to the left where his head had dropped down. He leaned back a little, you tilted forward a smidge, your eyes met. Your lips were still parted, his mirrored. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, his nose sliding into the crease between your cheek and nose. He tasted warm and minty. His lips were plush and cushiony soft. He pulled away and you looked into his eyes again.
Neither of you said a word.
Taglist: @4ria790
Peaky Blinders isn't even about Tommy Shelby it's about getting Cillian Murphy to wear classic menswear accessories like a slut
To the men who voted for Donald Trump today:
When your girlfriend gets pregnant, and you’re not ready to become a father, and you’re forced into a position that cripples you emotionally, financially and irreversibly, remember: you did this.
When your sister’s pregnancy turns out to be ectopic, and she can’t get the life-saving medical care she needs and dies a completely pointless, preventable death, remember: you did this.
When your 12-year-old daughter is raped by her soccer coach — after he’s legally allowed to strip off her pants and peep at her genitals, because the existence of trans kids terrifies you — and she steals your shotgun and kills herself in your garage, remember, first and foremost: you did this.
Hundreds of thousands of people are going to die because of the decision you made today.
You did that.
Hi! I'm a little less active now but I saw your post and thought about something.
What would Emmett do if Y/N grew... Impatient of being alone beforehand? Before they got to be together.
Let's say at the time when they were not JUST neighbours, they were interacting and KIND OF more friendly but before they started flirting, she would start going out with someone. What would Emmett do? Would he react or just give up completely?
@vervainandspritz OMG, I LOVE this ask!!!
Ooooo, if she was casually dating, like when she first started taking care of the boys?
He would NOT be happy. Even if it was subconsciously, because he didn’t fully realize how he felt about her yet, Emmett would be sooooooooo jealous.
But he’d cover it up by making fun of whoever she was dating. Like saying something like, “Did you have fun on your date last night with that mama’s boy/pretty boy/moron?” etc.
Or he’d make it sound like whatever the guy drove, wherever he took her to eat, etc. was lame. “He drives that piece of shit? He took you to that dump?”
Soooooooo jealous. 🤭🤭🤭
I am become boop, the destroyer of worlds.
A lot will go wrong before everything goes right.
Keep moving forward.
-@lipikkawrites
I love when trauma makes characters messy. I love when characters don't know how to show love. I love when they lash out. I love when they're vile and break down. I love characters who aren't perfect victims. I love when stories don't excuse behaviour but allow you to understand it
lay down my body | raymond leon x reader
summary | after a disastrous event, you find your favorite timekeeper at your door. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | explicit smut, light degradation, sort of toxic dynamic, power imbalance, dirty talk, oral (female receiving). word count | 2k+ a/n | not beta'd because i just wanted to write something because i haven't in a hot minute.
Raymond brackets your face between his hands, his eyes glacial, his lips pressed into an unimpressed line of dissatisfaction as he examines you. An ugly surge of desire forms in your lower belly as his calloused fingers brush against the bruised skin around your eye.
“Stupid girl,” he admonishes. The warm timbre of his voice draws a lick of want through your aching body, mean as it is. You grab onto his wrists, pushing them away from your face.
“I told you not to come tonight,” you say.
“I come when I please,” he says, indignant.
Tuesday night found you desperate, fighting as you never had before while the minutes on your arm dwindled down to seconds. An angry part of you wants to punish Raymond, to look at him with your bruised flesh and say, “What was I supposed to do, wait for you?” but you’re half afraid he’ll say something infinitely more unkind. He does that sometimes: punishes your cruelty with a form of violence you hadn’t known existed until you started to care for him. He has spent too long not looking after anyone but himself, so it is a self-preserving form of affection he administers.
This man doesn’t seem to know the totality of borrowed time—not with the way he turns your head in his hands again, looking over bits of you he’s already seen. You try not to tell him he’s wasting time, but it’s hard—you feel the full measure of a minute every time it goes by, and hate to spend it like this.
“I worked harder last week so I could have this night off,” you grumble, despite yourself. You push his hands away from you again, this time more firmly.
His jaw tenses. The irritation has begun to set in the crevices of his wearied soul.
“You don’t want me to go and I suggest you stop pretending you do. I might just do it, and then you’ll have a lot more than some common thug on the street to worry about.”
He nudges your arm pathetically, the green clock slowly ticking away on it. You despise the way he holds his favors over you. No matter how snug he’s got you under his thumb, he won’t ever receive your blind submission. In a flare of anger, you knock past him and head to the none too lavish bed. Bending over it, you look back to him expectantly.
“What are you doing?” he says.
You raise an eyebrow - a daring challenge. “Thought I better give you what you want before—“
Raymond rushes across the room like he’s forgotten the luxury of his long, sure minutes. Taking your arm in his hand, he tugs you upward with the sheer force of his anger. His fingers grip onto your chin; you watch as a dangerous fire alights within him. “Better not do that, kitten,” he huffs, voice steady even despite the evident anger etched in his features. He presses your body into his own, the grip on your arm beginning to ache.
“You’re hurting me,” you tell him softly.
He loosens his hold on you, but not his vitriol. “If you want to be fucked like a common whore, just ask for it. No need to suggest that I’m some kind of…creep when you know I’m angry because I—“
His words trail off, all that meaning floating in the air between you. Because I care. To him, that’s more dangerous than stolen time.
You soften, putting your hand on top of his. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“Who says I do? You’re nothing to me. Not really,” he responds coolly.
You run your tongue over your teeth, observing him, watching the carefully designed face of neutrality staring back at you. His indifference is a cruelty.
“We’re running out of time,” you remind.
He looks down at your arm. Two minutes. With lips pursued, he looks back at your eyes. You see the wheels turning in his head, all that careful calculating. Of all the things he is, and he is many, clever was not what you expected. But he is clever. You wish he would use it for better.
“You think I make you earn your life,” he enunciates, a tinny quality infecting his voice, “so earn it.”
There’s a sick pleasure that you derive from the lack of emotion in his eyes. You want him so badly it confuses you. There’s an ugly thing that exists inside of you and it wants, wants, wants him. He feeds it. It’s the same thing that makes you bend back over the bed, fingers gripping the comforter, your ass high. Beneath your dress, you wear a flimsy excuse for underwear.
You feel the bulk of him behind you. He smells of leather and sandalwood. If you close your eyes, you can remember what desire looks like on him. There’s heat in your belly that doesn’t simmer as you listen to him take a step closer.
He leans over and knocks your hands from beneath you, forcing you to lie on the bed. The cool of his leather ensemble against the warmth of your skin is an enthralling contrast. “Keep your wrist down,” he demands, voice low and sultry. “We’re gonna play a game, whore.”
Whore. The word causes a confusing pool of desire to gather between your legs. You want to punch him in the mouth. He’s never called you that before. But you like how the grit of the word sounded in his throat. You like how he takes charge. You always have. Every desperate person wants a God, and there’s something comforting about the way he tells you to kneel at his altar.
With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your cheap makeup rubbing off on the shoddy comforter, you await his next move like a prisoner awaits death. Anticipation courses through you as you listen to the sound of his voice, the rustle of his movements, feeling the ghost of him against you as he plots your demise.
“I’ll give you your beloved time, baby,” he coos, his fingers resting on your hips. They squeeze at your flesh there greedily, a warning for what is to come. His nose brushes against your neck, his breath hot against you as he says, “But you’re going to have to cum first. Not a second before. I think you can do that, can’t you? Because despite your pissy attitude, I know just how wet you get for me. And there’s the matter of life and death too. Everyone’s a whore when it comes down to seconds.”
He presses his lips to the back of your neck, moving down your body gradually. Eventually, you feel the ghost of his breath on your nearly exposed ass. Raymond wastes no time drawing up your dress.
“Spread your legs further,” he instructs. You do, eyebrows drawing together as his fingers grope at the flesh of your ass. There are angry imprints no doubt forming as he hums in delight.
“You’re just as wet as I thought you’d be.” His finger ghost downwards, rubbing over your clothed cunt. You can feel the desire that coats your underwear as he presses down. If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be humiliated by the way your body wants him.
Pulling aside the fabric of your flimsy underwear, he presses open mouthed kisses on your ass cheeks. His teeth glide dangerously across the skin too, until he reaches your cunt; when he reaches there, he dives in, his tongue plunging in the warmth of you while two of his fingers rub against your clit.
This is new, and would hardly be a punishment at all if not for the fact that your clock is running out and you can’t see it. Raymond eats at you like a man starved, the slick of his salvia lubricating you better than your own want. He moves his fingers furiously, grunting into you when you dare to push back into him for more.
“Stay still,” he demands gruffly, taking his mouth off of you. You comply, hard as it is to do when he’s touching you like this. “I know you’re close, baby. You’re gonna come on my tongue, aren’t you? Like the good little whore you are for me?”
His tongue swipes through your folds again, lapping up your combined fluids as his fingers press down with more intent on your clit. You fight with everything in you not to move. Your grip on the bedspread tightens and you huff quietly into the mattress, the tension boiling up inside of you. He could split you open right now and you’d thank him for it.
“Ray—” you moan. His nose edges against your cunt as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking obscenely. You can’t stop the way the orgasm takes you, nor do you want to; it’s overwhelming, a thing that happens all through you. Every sense is heightened. When he moans against your cunt, you nearly shatter against him.
He yanks you down quickly, pulling your limp body back on top of him. Before you’ve got time to figure out what he’s doing, he’s flipping over your arm. The green fluorescent numbers tick away. 55 seconds. 54 seconds. He sheds his leather jacket, exposing his forearm. You close your eyes when he holds it over yours. He cradles your jaw with his other hand, an oddly intimate act.
When he moves his arm off of you, you open your eyes. You don’t look at how much time he’s gifted you, but at him. His face of neutrality is all broken up before you, lips smooth with your slick, cheeks red from his own want. Even his eyes betray him as they glance down at you.
You’ve frightened each other. It's intoxicating. You feel the thrum of your heart beating against your chest. He struggles to catch his breath.
Raymond presses his lips to yours in a furious kiss. His hand tilts your head for easier access, and you push up, moving yourself further up his body.
“Not so tough now,” he growls. His fingers pinch at your chin.
You lick your lips, which now taste of you, rolling your eyes up at him. “Doesn’t seem like you are either.”
He grunts in displeasure, running his calloused thumb lightly against your wet lip. “You just want to be fucked dumb, don’t you?”
You turn your wrist. 2 days he’s given you, which is about 24 hours more than usual. The hunger for him makes you ravenous as you consider what he’s just said to you. You ignore it in favor of something more substantial: asking why.
“You don’t usually carry that much time with you.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “One of my little birdies told me about what happened to you.”
“So, what—you gave me some more time to be robbed of as a solution?”
He shakes his head, slightly annoyed. “No. I gave you more time so I could keep you here and show you how and where you should be spending it.” His fingers dip below the collar of your dress. “Stop being a fucking brat.”
“I never liked being told what to do,” you murmur as his thumb skirts over your nipple. He watches your eyes grow heavy as he swirls his finger over it.
“And yet,” he smirks, nodding down to your body.
You mirror his smirk, knowing he’s right. Even if you’ve got something of a paltry life, things like this can still happen, and that’s something, isn’t it? Knowing that things - people - like him, even in all the cruelty, can still rescue you.
Your fingers reach up and run over the pout of his lips. As your eyes search each other’s, you come to a silent agreement: a pledge to care. It’s a stupid, foolish flash of sentimentality you see before it’s masked again by your own respective desires and lust.
It’s almost as good as the time he’s given you—almost as good as all the time he could ever give you.
WICKED GAMES
Summary: Jackson had one task, to protect her while her house wasn't a safe place anymore, not after her fiancé got them in trouble with the wrong people. How is it going to work out with her combativeness and Jackson's feisty approach? The story begins when things get slightly out of control.
Word count: 4.6k
A/N: There will be part two
Rushing to “my” room, I couldn't even sob properly. Even breathing was a struggle after the situation that took place just a mere hour ago. Not to mention the conversation that followed, and hurtful words from my fiancé.
The only person who was supposed to be always on my side.
The whole situation turned on me, and yet, he had absolutely no interest in listening to a word coming from my mouth. I could still hear Harry's raised voice, hushed by a quieter tone coming from Jackson as he said something that I couldn't really hear. Fury was filling me head to toe at the lack of understanding. At the whole fucking situation that Jackson, basically, put me in. Getting into bed, I hid my face in a pillow, finally able to sob quietly. Ringing silence followed by a sudden, dramatic slam of the front door.
“Don't cry” Low, husky voice echoed throughout the hall, as Jackson's steps grew closer to my room.
I didn't even have the strength to get up and push him off the bed after he decided to sit down next to me.
“He doesn't want me anymore, he won't marry me.” I said quietly, my head turning to look at his face. Resentment growing at the memory of every detail of the conversation with my fiancé.
“Harry doesn't think like that, he just… got carried away, yeah? Got a little angry.” Jackson was convinced, trying to make it all sound better, but he was clearly lacking skills on how to cheer someone up. My blood boiled.
“Angry?” I sat up abruptly. “I was the one who almost got sexually assaulted and he didn't even bother to hug me or take me home.” I growled, my eyes becoming teary once again.
He licked his lips out of habit, I noticed. I had made a pretty strong argument, so he thought for a moment.
After a long minute Jackson sighed deeply, his brows furrowed and eyes focused on the floor in front of him. Suddenly he took off his jacket and threw it on the dresser.
“I'm mad at you too.” I said, sniffling in the meantime and wiping my nose. “For leaving me, and it's not the first time. You were supposed to protect me.” My voice grew shaky as I spoke the truth. We both knew it was right.
Jackson looked at me without emotion. Then he looked down at his fingers.
“I had no choice.” He eventually said, straightening his back, running a hand through his thick hair.
“You could have told me you were going with your goblin girlfriend, then I wouldn't have gone.” My eyes locked onto his face, I could see the twitching of his eye. He was clearly uncomfortable, but so was I and it was all his fault anyway. “Do you know how I felt when you just followed after her, and left me alone?” My tone grew sharper, accusatory.
“I'm not proud of what I did.” He admitted, clearing his throat beforehand. Jackson's body heat was slightly distracting. The warmth from him was highly appreciated, even if I wouldn't admit it. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
"--and that's fine, I hate you with all my heart." My lower lip trembled. “I wanted to be friends with you, I tried to make our time more pleasant, I even fed you when your girlfriend simply refused to do so, and you know what? I've learned that it's better to be a cold bitch or you'll get your ass kicked like I did. Like I always do.” After my words, silence filled the room for a longer moment. I thought that maybe they landed right, but then he spoke up again.
“That's not true, you don't hate me.” Jackson stated. Like he was stating something obvious, looking at me emotionlessly. I got even more angry that THAT was the only thing he caught.
“I do hate you,” I growled, grabbing him by the collar. Jackson was clearly surprised, and I clenched my jaw. “I wish you would suffer like I did.”
It was the first time in my life that I was this close to him. He looked down at me without breaking eye contact.
“You didn't even admit to him that it was all your fault.” I shook my head with anger, fingers tightening around the material.
“If I did, he would have immediately packed and taken you back to England.” His voice was hoarse, blue steely eyes still locked on my face, not daring to create more distance between us.
“Good.” I perked up. “That's what I would have wanted.”
“But I wouldn’t. I don't.” He said out of the blue.
To add to my confusion, Jackson's hands landed on my ass, pulling me towards him. My pelvis touched his chest and I didn't know what was so irrationally fucked up about that, that I couldn't get a word out...or push him away, for that matter. I just stared with wide eyes at his moving lips.
“I am aware that it's all my fault and I really don't know how to repay you. I regret it.” His voice was confident, eyes empty and hands firm on my body. My breath quickened and I had no idea what to make out of it.
“Grabbing my ass is not the best move.” My voice was dripping with sarcasm and brows furrowed in surprise before he spoke up again, shutting me up.
“You like it, I can see it in your eyes.”
…and then something very important occurred to me. At first I ignored it because I thought every woman was prone to it, but no. I pulled myself out of his grip and sat down next to him.
“Harry was right, I really do deserve to be called a whore.” I chuckled, shaking my head lightly.
Jackson’s fingers only dug deeper into my hips as he cleared his throat.
“I’d tell you something, but wouldn't want to spoil your wedding plans.” He responded with a thin layer of mockery, looking at me without blinking even.
“I know about his fleeting affair with his secretary.” I cut him off, sighing deeply. “It was a long time ago, I forgave him.” Shame burnt in my face as I said it out loud, hearing how stupidly it sounded.
Jackson hummed, just nodded and took a deeper breath.
“I assume you didn't have any,”
“Exactly.” I looked at him with regret. “So what if I sometimes wear a dress that's too short and nothing else? I'll be a whore anyway, Harry said that himself.”
He put his arm around me completely by surprise. I raised my eyebrows at him, taking advantage of the fact that I had the material of his shirt close to my face. Without missing a beat, I pressed my nose against it.
“Did you just rub yourself in my shirt?” His voice echoed throughout the room suddenly. Tone annoyed, pierced with amusement. My head tilted up, eyes locking with his own.
“I'm a mess and I could really beat you up if you start complaining about my snot on your shirt.” I spoke in a quiet yet threatening voice, which made Jackson shake his head lightly.
“It's disgusting and unhygienic.”
Couldn't care less, I thought before moving away slowly. Suddenly I gasped, swinging my legs. I was looking at the color of my nails when something came to mind. It just came to me out of the blue, I knew that if I didn't ask him now, I never would.
Turning around I moved closer, facing him. Jackson's brows were raised at my sudden body language change, but my mind was set on getting answers.
“I'll ask you straight out, have you ever spied on me? Like.. in the bathroom?” My cheeks turned bright red as words started slipping off my tongue.
And it was such a casual question, I thought he would immediately deny it and get it over with, but he didn't say anything for too long. I looked at him instinctively to see his smile.
“I always do.”
I blinked a couple times, his words not really registering in my head. Was he mocking?
“Don't make fun of me, I really saw you” I huffed with annoyance. Jackson was unfazed, still smiling and looking me in the eyes carelessly.
“Because I was actually standing there.”
I took a deep breath not believing him. He was lying like always, I knew him... or at least I thought so.
“You are a fucking prude, you certainly wouldn't do something that your lady wouldn't like.” My voice was full of mockery and amusement, but my brain was still in shock at his behaviour and words.
Jackson slowly began to unbutton his shirt. He didn't look at me, as if I wasn't even there.
“What are you doing?” I muttered as he removed it completely.
“When you undress in front of me, you don't make a problem out of it.” Jackson replied, not looking at me as he casually started stripping like it was an everyday thing. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Nobody said I was making an issue out of it.” Doing my best for my voice to come out unfazed, I couldn't help the low, hoarse edge to it.
“So you won't be offended if I take off my pants as well?”
I scratched the back of my neck at his.. question.
“If you're going to do this.” I sighed, pointing at the standing figure, now almost naked. “What's your point in doing this anyway?”
Jackson shrugged. His wider, athletic, firm body now on display. I did my best to keep my eyes on an appropriate level.
“I'm hot.”
I nodded, glaring at him. He sat down next to me and loosened his boxers at the crotch. It was the second time I noticed it, but I didn't look into it.
“You know.” I paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m hot too.”
I didn't know what was driving me when I simply took off my blouse. I was cold, but I was doing something that completely contradicted my reason. Then I took a seat on the left side of the bed and burrowed under the blanket.
“I think you should go now.” I murmured from beneath the cover. I could hear him clearing his throat as Jackson's blue eyes followed every single move of my body.
“Why?”
“Because it's inappropriate.”
He didn't move quickly. It took me a moment to see his massive back as he headed for the exit.
“Good night." he said before closing the door behind him.
Good night, what's wrong with him?
~~~
“Do you think pretending to be contrite will get his attention? Don't be ridiculous, I'll destroy you if you do something I don't like.”
“Jackson” I growled, turning the screen brighter so he could see. He looked at me from the kitchen “I want you to see something.”
I shoved my phone under his nose. He frowned as he read the first message I got when I got home from the hospital, and the second one this morning. Reading it, Jack sighed.
“I'll talk to her” Turning around he went back to making himself food. I sat there, dumbfounded and annoyed with his lack of reaction. After several weeks spent together he could be a little more empathetic.
“And that's it? You won't even react appropriately?”
Swiftly turning around once again, he crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.
“How am I supposed to react?” The tone of his voice mocking more than anything else. I took a deep breath, smiling wryly at him.
“You could at least say she's a bitch and you'll deal with her.”
He looked at me, irritated.
“She's my girlfriend, it would probably be inappropriate.” I snorted, and shot right back, unable to hold back.
“But taking your pants off next to me wasn't?”
Jackson tensed so I could see it landed well, but he chose to ignore me, making me sigh.
“Don't blame me for the fact that your wedding plans are slowly disappearing.” Came from his lips suddenly.
I felt a lump in my throat.
“They are not. I called Harry today.” My voice was weaker than a couple seconds ago, but I spoke up with confidence. Jackson suddenly snorted, throwing the dirty fork into the sink and turning to face me as he leaned on the counter.
“How so?” I raised my eyebrows at the.. weird tone of voice he had asking this question. Accusatory almost.
I looked down, putting my phone in my pocket.
“His mother answered, and then—” I paused for a moment, wondering if I really wanted to tell him this. “—it occurred to me that I might want to postpone the wedding. I regretted getting that fucking phone back.”
He ran a hand through his hair before folding his arms across his chest.
“This is probably a matter between you and Harry, I shouldn't get involved.”
I looked him in the eyes for a second, nodding lightly.
*Yeah, you're right.” I shook my head. “I just wanted to tell you to do something about this fucking message and I'm also worried about whether the contract was signed. Was it?”
“Yes, I quickly signed it that evening.” He replied with an unreadable expression. I thought for a moment, his words ringing in my head. Quickly.
“Are you aware that you may have agreed to something inappropriate? Have you read it?” I asked quietly, knowing how silly it sounded to him as he's probably done thousands of such deals before. To my surprise, he shook his head.
“Of course not. You know, I'm a human and I actually felt sorry for you.” he pouted. “That's why I came here in the first place. To check on you.”
I had no idea whether his words were true, but the lighthearted approach was annoying nevertheless.
“I don't need you to feel sorry for me. As you can see I'm doing fine.” I snapped back, straightening my back and narrowing my eyes at him.
I leaned back in the chair, not knowing why I was still standing there. I had planned to leave him, but I wanted him to make me food as well, but obviously, he wouldn't agree so I didn't even bother asking. Although it didn't look like it would happen, he only put scrambled eggs on one plate.
“Would you like to go out today?” Jackson asked suddenly in a normal, genuine voice as he sat down in his seat, grabbing the cutlery. I licked my lips, feeling hungry.
“I'm not in the mood.” I murmured back, my eyes fixated on his breakfast.
“I was thinking about a… club, actually. I need to drink.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise as I took a clean fork out of the set and sat down next to him.
“You, my dear? Aren't you too good for a club and drinking?” I asked with a grin, getting a bite of his food.
He looked at me strangely as I simply scooped up a piece of egg and popped it into my mouth.
“Um, from now on, you make breakfast.” I muttered with a mouthful of his scrambled eggs. Looking at me, he sighed.
“You should have told me earlier, I would have cooked a double portion.” I chuckled.
“You have plenty of it, we'll both get full, for sure.” I waved my hand as I started eating, reaching for the rye bread. Rippner didn't make any movement at first, but later - seeing my full mouth - he slowly started eating. And I even shared the bread with him, he took a slice from me quite distrustfully, which made me roll my eyes.
Well, that was progress. We ate from one plate, two weeks ago he would have thrown me down the stairs for that. “Actually” I started, leaning against the back of the chair, stroking my round belly. “I could go with you. Unless your goblin steps in again, then I promise you that I'll cut off your balls and you'll never fuck again.”
“She's not supposed to know anything about it,” He stood up, carrying the dirty plate away. I gasped dramatically.
“Are you going to spite her again? What if she doesn't let you eat like the last time?” Jackson rolled his eyes at my words, taking a gulp of water from the glass.
“I came to the conclusion that I also need something.. fresher.”
My eyes widened at the sound of his words. Fresher? What the fuck could it mean coming from HIS mouth?
“What do you mean?” I frowned. Jack shrugged with a barely visible grin, raising his eyebrows.
“I've known her all my life, I don't know what it's like to have another girl.”
I exhaled with relief.
“You finally saw the light.” I sighed, raising my hands high, towards the heavens. “I'm proud of you.” My words were nothing but mockery and jokes, but Jackson just rolled his eyes.
Once again I noticed him loosening his pants at the crotch and mumbling something to me as he went away. I just shrugged wondering what I was going to wear to the club.
When I got ready, I wondered if I was doing the right thing by going there. Last night, I was almost assaulted but I tried not to think about it, and… trust him again this one time, as I left the apartment with Rippner. We arrived a few minutes later but not without my groaning again because of the loud music. After a few drinks, Jack clearly relaxed, and after a second order, I managed to drag him out onto the dance floor. He was a little tipsy, I was a little more, but we didn't spare each other insults when I'd accidentally step on his polished shoes.
It was after two AM when we decided to finally leave. A taxi took us to the apartment building, and then we went to the apartment.
“Damn heels, my feet hurt, do yours too?” I asked, doing my best to stay upright.
“Mhm” he mumbled back, not looking at me. I grimaced as I walked straight after Jackson across the tiles. I grabbed the back of his shirt as he climbed the stairs.
“Will you carry me?”
“No” I groaned with despair.
“You were supposed to say ‘mhm”
He didn't expect me to jump clumsily on his back, almost hitting my head against the wall. Luckily Jackson caught me just in time and, sighing heavily, carried me to the bedroom. I sprawled on the bed, mumbling strangely as my bones began to creak.
Only after a second I realised that Jackson was still standing in the doorway. Swaying on his feet slightly, he breathed deeply while looking at me.
“Don't puke in my room” I warned with a chuckle, but he didn't respond. The silence caused me to glance at him, and breath got stuck in my throat.
“Mhm” he murmured, taking his shirt off slowly. Jackson's eyes were half lidded, and I could see him looking.
“What are you doing? You're hot again?”
My words hung in the air that thickened so much, I could barely breathe. His drunken gaze was even more intense than usual. Jackson tilted his head to the side, grazing over my body.
“No,” he replied, taking a step forward. “Just calculating how much longer I can stand not fucking you.”
Breathless gasp pushed past my lips at his words, as I slowly sat up higher, suddenly feeling naked under his predatory gaze. I didn't even respond, just shaking my head slowly as our eyes locked onto each other. I slowly got on my shaky legs, taking a step back.
“We can't, Jack” I repeated, even though my face was already burning hot. I didn't know whether I loved, or hated the way he became now. So… intense. I was losing my mind.
“A-and Harry…” As soon as I started, I heard a huff coming from him before he pushed me against a wall.
His eyes were dark with anger, lust and the dark, heavy desire he felt at the moment. Without missing a beat he took a step forward, pushing my body at the wall as his lips crushed mine. Jackson's hands found their way to my shoulders, pressing harder against the hard surface as his tongue pushed past my lips, finding my own. I didn't get a chance to even think for a moment before kissing him back, hands gripping onto his muscular shoulders, movements so shaky and frantic that I almost couldn't breathe.
”I don't want to hear it.” Jackson breathed out as we parted for a moment, looking deep into his eyes I could see a reflection of my own. Dark, full of lust and need. “You want it, and I want it. So we'll have it.” He groaned, leaning down and biting on my neck hard, making me groan out loud. He gladly took the opportunity, lifting me up, and pushed me back onto the bed.
“You don't even love him.” He purred into my ear, rough hands travelling down my body, touching every inch of my hot skin before I could even process him being so close.
“Shut up” I hissed back, my nails digging deeper into his shoulder to cause some pain.
His hot, firm body pressing against my own with full weight, pushing further into the soft bed. I couldn't help but let out a sigh, feeling it, hands falling off his shoulders and spreading flat on the warm surface, attempting to find some release in the fire smouldering beneath my skin. His eyes were just as sharp from a little distance, more.. dangerous. Cutting into the skin, leaving open wounds that would keep bleeding unless he'd decide to smooth them out with his rough palms.
Jackson pulled my leathery pants down, panties ending up as a piece of material on the floor impossible to wear in the state they were in. Ripped to pieces.
”You don't look at him like that” His voice coming much lower, booming right into my ear, accompanied by the sound of his pants shuffling, zipper coming undone. Blood in my ears was so loud, I almost couldn't hear my own breath. It felt like an out of body experience.
My left hand moved into his hair again, tugging on the strands and making him lean down even more. His masculine, heavy scent was all I felt, surrounding my senses forcefully and relentlessly..
”You’re ruining everything. You.. you don't even know.” I stuttered out, breathing heavily, struggling to stay as he started leaving wet kisses on my skin. His possessive hands grabbing and groping every piece of skin he could get a hold of. A low chuckle followed by a laugh left his lips.
”Shhhhh” He cooed, while one of his hands lined up his hard, throbbing manhood with my entrance. His red tip rubbing against the wet folds, making me cringe from the pleasure I felt. ”That's what you need, isn't it? Should have come to me sooner.” Jack chuckled, his hips pushing forward with a sudden thrust, filling me up to the brim.
”Fuck!” I yelled out in a muffled voice. The fullness ripping a cry out of my throat. As soon as he started moving, my brain felt foggy. The way his girthy cock stretched me wide, moving back and forth and grinding at all the right spots made me feel vulnerable and unable to fight him longer. My head fell back onto his shoulder, little whimpers and cries leaving my mouth as my hands kept holding onto his hair and neck.
”That's a good girl. Be a good girl for me.” Jack whispered with a grin, the pace of his thrusts becoming more animalistic with each passing second.
”Jackson please!” I whimpered as another thrust went right up to my cervix, the big tip of his cock slamming against it. The pain and pleasure mixing into a foreign combination.. one too addicting to let go. Practically hammering the tip of his cock into my wet, warm heat was overwhelming. Not a single thought going through my head. Jackson's hands groping and squeezing every inch of my body he could reach, his lips and tongue licking on the small, bleeding wound he created on the side of my neck, Bruising and soothing at the same time, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. Complete opposite of how rough he was.
One of his hands sneaked down, skilfully squeezing my breasts in the meantime, heading down the smooth skin until he'd reach my mound. Wet pussy getting pierced with every thrust, and his fingers pressed onto my clit indelicately, rubbing circles at a brutal pace.
”Come for me.” His demanding voice filled my ears, followed by the sensation of his tongue driving me crazy, licking and marking the skin on my neck. Jackson's hair fell forward a little, brushing against my sensitive skin with every thrust while he held my body firmly against the wall, preventing my legs from giving out. Subconsciously my shaky hands clamped on his neck, long nails digging into the skin on his throat and ripping a loud moan out of his mouth while his cock throbbed viciously inside me. ”Oh my god!” I groaned in a shaky voice, when the sound of his moan pushed me over the edge. The sudden orgasm that I single handedly has never been able to achieve with other men went through my body like lightning. Shocking every cell and paralysing me completely for a good moment but Jackson kept overstimulating me further, thrusting relentlessly into my pussy even though it was squeezing him like a vice. Tears started going down my face at the impossibly painful and pleasurable sensation and he watched, looking into my eyes with a barely visible grin. Not letting go and holding tight for several moments before I went completely brainless, on the mercy of him and his big cock stretching me so well.
”That's it” Jackson hissed, quickly pulling out and grabbing a fist of my hair, I hissed as my scalp burned when he pushed me down on my knees suddenly. His cock just centimetres away from my lips while his face twisted into strong pleasure, blue eyes falling shut while Jack kept stroking his dick at a crazy pace. After a couple seconds finally, thick ropes of cum shot out from his tip, landing on my face. His facial expression and the way he stroked himself looked like a scene from the best porno, and I couldn't help but moan as his essence hit my skin. My jaw just fell slack open. Catching some of his cum I wasn't thinking, mind still foggy after this heated and sudden encounter.
He kept pumping until there was nothing coming out anymore. My face covered, eyes staring blank on his face. Jackson sighed deeply, letting go of his still hard manhood, using his own shirt as a towel before running a hand through his hair. Crouching down in front of me he pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face before grabbing my jaw.
“Much better. So pretty.” He purred, petting my red cheek for a moment before pulling me up on my feet, and back into bed, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“Oh my god” I eventually said, after the realisation settled and my brain started working. Aching between my legs present like never before.
“Quiet, woman. Some people want to sleep” He groaned with annoyance, and I couldn't believe he was the same man who just railed me into oblivion.
Memes to keep time
more Cillian character memes
Been sick for a while and its starting to get even worse again. But I am working on everything right now. So to keep ya'lls time here some memes of the cutie
Ps. Sorry if not accurate
