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iluvzaddies · 8 months

Note

imma need some tommy shelby w equestrian!reader omg like anything

(i’m a sucker for this man)

admiration

pairing: thomas shelby x equestrian!reader

warnings: none, just tommy fanboying over reader

summary: you are the first woman to ever join and win a horse-racing competition. thomas shelby, who loves horses, deeply admires you and your skills. you meet him in a pub called the garrison and there, you witness his admiration.

“well, i’ll be… win after win. victory after victory. all in different places. proud to say this woman’s a birmingham resident.” arthur shelby said as he held up a newspaper, a cigar in his mouth.

“i’m guessing it’s about that (y/n) (l/n) girl, eh?” polly gray or aunt poll as the shelbys liked to call her, asked as she downed a glass of whiskey. “she’s become quite the hot topic.”

“oh, she’s hot, alright.” john shelby smirked, fiddling with the cigarette in between his two fingers. “still a turn on despite wearing fucking trousers all the damn time.”

“john.” thomas shelby warned, not wanting to hear sexual remarks about you, especially from his own brother.

thomas admired you. how could he not? you were the one who raced his beloved horse, monaghan boy, and brought victory to his name.

he hadn’t gotten the chance to meet you yet. unfortunately. he wondered when you would be done with your little world tour and back in birmingham.

but lo and behold, you stood there at the entrance of the pub, wearing a loose blouse and a pair of trousers as you always do.

“what can i get for you?” grace, the new irish barmaid, noticed your presence and asked.

“you choose. i’m fine with anything.”

“you look worn out.” grace pointed out.

you did look worn out, like you hadn’t had a wink of sleep in ages, but you were beautiful nonetheless. actually, more beautiful than thomas imagined. he stared at you, mouth slightly agape, captivated by the mere sight of you.

“been rough for the past couple of months.” you sighed. “traveling, competing, attending social events. haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“i see.” grace nodded, pouring whiskey into a glass and handing it to you.

thomas couldn’t believe it.

you were here.

in the garrison.

in the flesh.

“well, aren’t you gonna talk to her?” aunt poll raised her brow at thomas, who couldn’t get his eyes off you.

“if you aren’t then i will.” john volunteered.

thomas quickly snapped out of his daze, whipping his head to john. “no.” he pushed his seat back and stood up.

“i never thought i’d see the day tommy boy falls in love.” arthur chuckled.

“i thought he was in love with the new barmaid.” john scoffed, taking a long drag from his cigarette. he was upset that his older brother wouldn’t allow him to talk to you let alone talk about you.

“apparently not.” aunt poll shook her head as thomas eagerly made his way towards you.

“how much for the drink?” you questioned.

“it’s–“ grace was cut off by a deep voice, belonging to the one and only thomas shelby.

“–it’s on the house, ms (l/n).”

“mr shelby.” you shot him a look of surprise. you had forgotten the shelbys practically owned the place.

“leave us be, grace.” he ordered the barmaid and she followed, resuming back to her duties and leaving you two alone.

“here. take a seat.” he pulled out a chair.

you did as told and he pulled out another chair, sitting across from you.

you took a sip out of your glass. “you’ve some fine whiskey, mr shelby.” then looked around the dimly lit pub. “nice looking place as well.”

“please, call me thomas.”

“okay… thomas. call me (y/n) then.” it felt weird to call him by his actual name. you had only just met and he already wanted to be on a first name basis.

“so, what brings you here, (y/n)?”

“felt a little homesick.” you shrugged.

“no, i mean, in the garrison.”

“oh, it’s been a while since i drank. i wanted a drink, so i went to the nearest pub. why?”

“nothing. just curious.”

“is that all you have to say to me, mr sh– thomas?”

“do you enjoy racing horses?”

you hesitated. “the fame can be overwhelming. i love racing horses, it’s my passion, it’s what i do… but i want to be away from people… just for a little while.”

“fame can be overwhelming, yes. i know a thing or two about that feeling. only difference is i’m not famous for being a horse jockey, i’m famous for being a gangster.” he joked. the thomas shelby, the man who always had a straight face, made a joke.

you let out a laugh. a sincere one.

god, your laughter sounded like music to his ears.

“i can’t believe i’m having a decent conversation with one.”

“we gangsters are capable of having decent conversations only with the ones who deserve it.”

you let out another laugh. “goodness. if that’s the case, i’m glad you approve of me.”

“you raced my horse, after all.” he reminded.

“monaghan boy.“ you remembered the beautiful, black horse that you were assigned to race. the horse that led you to fame. “he’s a good boy.”

“aye, that he is.” he agreed.

“you know, thomas, you’re not half-bad.”

he found himself gleaming, enjoying every bit of the conversation, whilst the two shelby siblings and their aunt watched the scene unfold from afar.

you took another sip of the whiskey, humming at the taste, while thomas lit up a cigarette.

then, came silence.

none of you spoke a word, but you enjoyed each other’s company. it was evident in the way you looked at each other. you looked at each other as if you were the only people in the room.

“i’d like to take you somewhere tomorrow.” he suddenly said, breaking the silence.

“oh.” you perked up. “where?”

“the stables. let’s race, you and i. no audience. it’ll be just the two of us.” he proposed.

“is that a date?” when he didn’t deny it, you couldn’t fight off the smile that was making its way to your lips. “you’re rather bold, aren’t you, thomas?”

“what’s your answer?”

“i’ll have to check my schedule first…” you trailed off, but then you decided, why not? it sounded like a good offer. “you know what. fuck it. sure.”

thomas grinned at your rebellious behavior.

“what do you think about two in the afternoon?”

“fine with me.”

uncharacteristically, thomas’ heart fluttered. it had never done that before. it was an odd sensation yet it felt good at the same time.

you informed him your address, so he knew where to pick you up. “need me to write it down or you got it?”

“i got it.” he reassured.

you finished your drink and got up. “it was lovely talking to you. thank you for the drink.” you began walking towards the exit, but before stepping outside, you turned to look at him and uttered. “see you at my doorstep tomorrow, thomas.”

“see you tomorrow, (y/n).”

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x you #peaky fookin blinders #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you

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enviedear · 5 months

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BILLY HEADCANNONS PLS HES FHE LOML

billy the kid hc's

request

— he’s a genuine sweetheart in general, but with you, he seems exalted by your presence. because he is.

— he’d devote his life to you, i know it. he’ll always have his yearning for justice, but it’s you he lives for.

“c’mere honey, let me help you.” / “the boys wanted me to go practicin’ with ‘em, but you look too damn pretty to say goodbye to.”

— if he’s playing cards, better believe he’s both playing for you and your honor. billy doesn’t mind losing, but when you’re around he’d rather get bitten by a rattlesnake than meet defeat.

you’d be nervous he’d waste all his money, “that was pure luck, billy! come on, pack up and take me home.” he’d smile at you, lovestruck expression in his eyes, “yes ma’am.”

— i see him falling pretty quick for you. he’d also be quick to figure out his own feelings.

— he’d be cleaning the barrel of his gun, staring at the stars, and realize that it can’t be normal for his mind to drift to you so much.

— billy will find any excuse to ride into town and see you. someone needs something from the general store, he’s offering to go. the boys want to drink their lives away at the saloon, billy will tag along. anything, to see you.

— he’d love listening to you talk. it could be about anything too, he’d listen so intently with a little grin on his lips.

“what’d y'do then, honey?”

— better believe that if you’re billy’s girl, no one is messing with you. if they do, they’re a dead man. he’d try his hardest to be just with his retribution, he’d never blow a man’s brains out just for speaking with you— but let them touch you with any immoral intentions and he wouldn’t even hesitate.

you try to pry the older man’s fingers away from your waist, head twisting away from his puckered lips, “let me go!” he ignores you, pushing you further into the secluded bars’ wall. “get your fucking hands off of 'er!” billy’s voice cuts through your terror, warming your heavy heart. the man drops you, backing away from you as fast he can. you look to billy, he’s got his anger bubbling up underneath his loving gaze, “run outside, darlin’. m’just gonna talk to our friend here.”

— he’d swear to settle down with you, and he’d mean it. he’d start saving and everything. he’d start the beginnings of establishing himself as a true gentleman for you.

“see that ranch o’there?” he asks, pointing to the serene homestead in the distance. you nod and he smiles, “m’gonna set us up with one. one day. for my pretty lady.”

— he’d sing for you, if you ever ask. mostly just beautiful irish songs he remembers his momma singing him.

— speaking of his momma, he’d be very scared if you ever got sick. even if it’s nothing too serious, he’s fretting over you and calling the doctor back before the man’s even left the property.

— i also seeing billy singing to you when he’s drunk. coming over to your place, being loud, causing you to shush him.

“wan’ sing to you, honey! be practicin’ since i left the bar!”

— billy will take you riding with him any chance he gets, if you need to clear your mind or get out of town for a little, billy is offering himself and his horse.

"packed us some food, 'case you wanna stay out."

— the gunslinger would generally try to be realistic. he knows he should be, living where he does. but when it comes to you, he's completely romantic. if your pretty eyes are on his he can't help but to think that everything's going to be okay.

#you better keep spamming my inbox with billy thoughts #i need him... viscerally #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy bonney #billy bonney x reader #tom blyth!billy the kid #tom blyth #coriolanus x reader

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slutforsilverfoxes · 1 year

Text

He's a God, He's a Man

[A/N: This… is filth. Absolutely shameless PWP (there’s a hint of plot for context of their relationship if you squint). Thomas Shelby could literally step on me and I would apologize for being in the path of his foot tbh.]

—————

Thomas Shelby is many things- ever intelligent, inexplicably cunning, unfathomably brave, sinfully wicked, and the luckiest son of a bitch in the Peaky Blinders to walk around with a spitfire of a woman on his arm every day and take her to bed every night.

“That’s enough outta you now!” Your sharp reprimand carries over the din of the tavern, piquing Tommy’s interest. Casually enjoying his first love, aged Irish whiskey, as the hopeful business associate before him prattles on about his prize-winning horse, Tommy subtly knocks twice on the wooden doors to the window hiding the private room from the remainder of the Garrison.

One of the barmaids eases the doors open so Tommy can get a view of what’s going on, ducking her head in deference when he waves her away, his use for her satisfied. A sleazy looking man with an even sleazier-looking shock of hair above his upper lip trails his fingers along your arm as you place a pint in front of him, and your raven-haired lover’s mouth sets into a hard line as he watches the scene unfold. You deflect yet another advance with a swipe of your hand and exaggerated eye roll, and Tommy returns his attention to the man before him, secure in the knowledge that you can handle yourself against the likes of that scum.

Until he hears lousy fuck and useless whore.

Excusing himself from his meeting, Tommy drains the remainder of his tumbler with an eerie calm and rises from the table, opening the door to the main room of the Garrison with the full intention of sending this man to meet his maker.

Your lover watches with rapt fascination as you emit a playful, two-toned whistle before a glint of metal flies from your hand, landing between two of the man’s splayed fingers on the bar top, a trickle of red oozing down the side of his middle finger where the knife Tommy gifted you for your anniversary has just grazed skin. “There’s only one man in this world who talks to me like that and you sure ain’t him, eh?”

He lewdly sucks on the bleeding finger before firing back, “Oh yeah? And who’s that, lovey?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Tommy loudly clears his throat to announce his presence as he lazily strikes a match, lighting the cigarette dangling between his lips and cocking his head in a silent challenge. His icy eyes are trained on the nuisance who won’t take no for an answer and you smirk to yourself, relishing in the power that radiates off of his lithe body. “Why, that would be one Mister Shelby,” you simper, “and he once killed a man for looking at his horse the wrong way. Imagine what he’d do to the likes of you.”

“Shelby? As in Thomas?”

“Ay, lovey,” you spit the term back in his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know whose pub you’re in.” He swallows audibly and you carry on with a wicked grin. “If you want to walk out of here on your own two legs, I’d suggest leaving right about now.” As the alcohol-induced rose of his cheeks fades into a pallor of fear, you lean in and drop your voice. Tommy can’t hear your final comment, but his lips quirk into a smile at the sound of your warm laugh ringing out across the Garrison as the man topples off his stool in his haste to escape from your presence.

Flicking the match he was playing with to the floor, Tommy makes his way over to right the fallen seat before taking up the vacated spot, easing the knife out of the wood and tucking it back into your skirt pocket. “You enjoyed that a bit too much.”

“It would seem I’ve got a little Shelby in me now, eh?” You place two fingers of amber liquor before him, leaning against the bar top on your elbows and coyly glancing down at his lap. “I suppose little isn’t quite the right word, though.”

Tommy swipes a thumb over your bottom lip turned up in a wolfish smile, icy blue eyes crackling to life. “Careful, pet, or you’ll bring Arthur’s temper out.”

Leaning closer and letting your eyes drift closed as the heady scent of Tommy mixed with his signature smoke and whiskey envelops you, you ask, “How so?”

“Because,” your eyes snap open when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips against your skin, the pressure of his grip on your chin gentle yet possessive, “he’ll lose money if I kick everyone out of the pub to fuck you on this bar.”

Snagging the cigarette from between his lips, you take a long drag before sighing contentedly and replacing it in his mouth, his sharp gaze tracking your every move. “I’ll meet you in your office, Mister Shelby.”

______

You hear the telltale sounds of the office door creaking open then closing, followed by the familiar padding of Tommy’s footsteps leading him to his desk, fourteen unhurried paces. You don’t dare raise your head or disturb your position, on your knees, palms resting on your thighs, eyes cast downward. Tommy lets out a quiet hum as he cards his fingers through your hair when he walks by- a simple motion, but one that has your blood singing in your veins nonetheless. He shuffles some files around on the desk before settling into the leather chair with a soft groan, casually flipping through the morning paper as he lights another cigarette and the smell of smoke permeates the room.

You try to calm your breathing, to quell the excitement growing in your body at the thought of what’s to come. Out there in the real world, you’re all sharp edges and fiery comments; in here, in the sanctity of Tommy’s presence and his presence alone, you love to give yourself up completely. To let him think for you, to command you, to own your very mind, body, and soul. You live and love to serve him- he’s not just your man, he’s your god, and oh do you love to worship at his feet, to prostrate yourself before him, to pray to his visage.

He merely pats his thigh twice and your body comes alive, fueled by a primal urge to bask in the aura that is Thomas Shelby. You’re by his side in an instant, cheek pressed against the deliciously rigid muscle of his thigh as his fingers knead your scalp.

“Such a good little pet,” he murmurs softly, and your eyes close in contentment as you let out a happy sigh. His fingers suddenly tighten in your hair, yanking on the dark strands until you’re forced to meet his eyes, a hungry wolf gazing down upon his lamb, a reverent parishioner looking up to her deity. “Mine. And only mine.”

“Yes, sir,” you gasp out, but not from fear. You could never be afraid of him. “I belong to you, Tommy.”

He’s caressing your face now, the rough pads of his fingertips causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin that’s already humming from his touch. “Mm. And yet other men have the fucking audacity to touch what’s mine.”

“Maybe they don’t know I’m yours.”

His eyes flash with rage moments before you register his hand around the column of your throat, pulling you up to stand before him. “And just what the fuck does that mean, pet?”

“I only- mean-” You feel your legs growing weak from the lack of oxygen, and Tommy shifts his grip higher, thumb pressing into your cheek to pull you even closer. His breath fans across your face as he growls, “Spit it out, love.”

“I mean that you should mark me,” you whimper pathetically, what was once a dull ache between your thighs now an insistent throbbing. “Leave your fingerprints on my neck. Bite me hard enough to draw blood. Brand your fucking initials into my skin, Tommy.” You hurriedly unbutton your blouse and bare your unadulterated skin to him in offering. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” he smirks with a slight shake of his head, in awe of your complete and utter devotion to him.

And then he’s on you, pouncing like a hungry predator upon his prey, forcing his tongue past your lips as he undoes the fastenings on your skirt. You help him shimmy the fabric down your legs and rid yourself of your undergarments as well, desperate to feel his masterful hands roving your naked body. His fingers dance along your throat creating a roadmap that his lips follow. You let your head fall back with a whine, granting him access to nip at the soft flesh as you fumble with the buttons of his vest and then his shirt. Tommy pulls away from you to shrug his upper layers off, and you take advantage of the momentary reprieve from his sensual assault to trace the sun rays on his pectoral muscle with your tongue as the ink is revealed to you.

He releases a breathless chuckle when you moan at the taste of his skin and asks, “Ready to put that quick-witted mouth of yours to good use, my girl?”

Pressing a final kiss to his chest, you pull back and nod with a smile, legs parting instinctively when he eases you backwards to sit in his worn leather chair. You let your hand fall between your thighs to spread the wetness growing there with every passing moment in Tommy’s dominating presence, coupling a pout with an indignant whine when he takes his cock out and strokes it languidly just out of your reach. “Come closer,” you beg, saliva pooling in your mouth at the mere sight of him.

“Stop touching what’s mine, brat,” he orders, eyebrow cocked and gaze trained on your fingers as they slide between your glistening folds. You emit a huff before dropping your hands obediently to your sides, lips parted and tongue out in anticipation of your reward. Tommy praises you softly, then guides his cock inside your eagerly waiting mouth, placing his hand around your throat and pushing deeper until he can feel the substantial bulge against his palm. You moan and inadvertently swallow several times around him, the twin sensations causing Tommy to release a low groan that sets your nerves alight with unabashed lust.

Placing your hand over his, you tighten your grip suggestively and look up at Tommy from under your lashes. You earn yourself a sinister smile in response, and you shift your hands to the arms of his chair, an open invitation for him to do with you as he desires.

Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, his fingers on your throat expertly placing pressure on the points that have you seeing stars as his left hand tangles in your hair to guide your mouth along his cock. You moan with abandon as he mercilessly fucks your mouth, tears spilling over your waterline to match the drool slipping down your chin. The chair shifts back sharply, protesting Tommy’s frenzied pace, and you hook your fingers into his belt loops to try and steady your body. Looking up, you find the absolute picture of ecstasy, sweat-slicked strands of the brunette’s hair dancing across his forehead in time with the rocking of his hips, his supple bottom lip captured between his teeth just barely muffling his feral grunts. The distinct taste of his precum pervades your senses and a whimper escapes your lips that are stretched comically around his thick cock.

Tommy pulls back abruptly, and you whine his name in protest at the loss despite the stinging sensation in your lips. He admonishes you with a click of his teeth for the bratty sound, tightening his fingers around the column of your throat in a grip that’s sure to leave bruises, just as you requested. Using his free hand to uncurl your fingers from his belt loop, Tommy guides your hand to his throbbing cock. You immediately know what he wants, and a strangled curse falls past your lips. Applying pressure, you twist your hand along the length of him, feeling his cock twitch against your skin and closing your eyes seconds before his cum is coating your face. He releases your throat from his grasp and you fall back in the chair, darting your tongue out to wet your chapped lips and moaning at the taste of his release.

“Thank you, sir,” you offer in an utterly cock drunk haze with a demure smile. Tommy feels himself already growing hard again at the sight of your delicate fingers drawing his cum into your greedy mouth, your chest heaving, face flushed, and legs parted in invitation. He kneels to get on your level and you surge forward for a heated kiss, raking your nails along the shaved sides of his head before tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging sharply. He laughs at your eagerness, a low and dark sound that sends yet another wave of arousal shooting to your core.

“I’m sure you’ve left your mark now,” you speak between desperate kisses, moaning as he breaks away from your mouth to drag his nose along your burning skin. You cry out sharply when his teeth follow the same path, nipping and sucking down the hollow of your throat to the curve where your neck and shoulder meet.

“I’m not through with you yet,” he murmurs against your flushed skin before sinking his teeth into the sensitive spot. You throw your head back with a low groan at the prickling sensation followed by the soothing of his velvet tongue, wrapping your legs around his lower back and trapping him against your body. Tommy can feel the heat emanating from your center, and he mercifully slides his middle finger between your folds as he shifts to mark the blank canvas on the other side of your neck.

“Tommy!” You rock your hips against him, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit, absolutely desperate for release. He adds a second finger, expertly curling them in time with your movements and grinning wickedly at the sinful sounds he’s able to draw from you.

“Who do you belong to, love?”

“You,” you’re panting now, climbing higher by the second. “Only you. You own me.”

The pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves and the languid pace of his fingers is driving you wild in the most sensational of ways. He licks a stripe up your neck, collecting the sweat beading there before pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. His voice is deathly low when he growls, “Say my name. Who do you belong to, love?”

“Thomas,” you gasp as your orgasm washes over you in waves, your nails digging into his broad shoulders and legs shaking against his muscular back, using his body as an anchor to try and tether yourself to this world. “I belong to you, Thomas.”

“Good little whore,” he praises softly, making sure to hold eye contact with you while he licks his fingers clean. “Now,” he smirks as he tugs on your bottom lip and you dart your tongue out to brush against the pad of his thumb, “we’ll revisit this idea of branding another day, hm?”

You nod bashfully, and Tommy presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth before untangling your limbs from around his body. “Bend over the desk facing the door with your legs spread.”

Blinking hazily at him in your post-orgasm stupor, you shake your head, not comprehending his words. “What?”

He leans against the mantel, crossing one ankle over the other as he slides a cigarette out of the box from his pocket. Lifting one eyebrow at you as he casually strikes a match, he speaks around the stick between his lips. “You’re not going to like what happens if I have to repeat myself.”

You scramble to stand on your jellied legs, grateful for Tommy’s foresight to have the desk hold your body up. You tuck your fingertips over the smooth edge of the front of his desk, inhaling sharply as your bare breasts meet the cool wood when you fold in half. You hear Tommy groan softly as he sinks into his now vacated leather seat, and he easily kicks your feet apart to bare your body completely to him. You can feel his hungry gaze on you and the wisps of smoke wafting over your body with each controlled exhale from between his beautiful lips. Closing your eyes, you envision the way he balances the cigarette between lithe fingers, how the tip of his tongue meets the end of the stick before each drag, how his lips curl to clear the smoke from his lungs. Craning your neck to look at Tommy because the image in your brain pales in comparison to the man himself, you all but purr at the sight of him casually leaning back in his chair, one hand cradling a cigarette, the other lazily stroking his rock hard length. Saliva pools in your mouth, and you swear you can taste him on your tongue, feel the stretch of him filling you where you need him most.

His cigarette gradually dwindles until he’s forced to put it out. Still, he remains seated and silent, the very picture of dominance and self-control.

“Tommy,” you finally break the silence, the ache between your thighs having grown into an insistent throbbing, “I’m ready for that little bit of Shelby in me now.”

Instead of the heavy weight of his cock filling you as you’d hoped, you feel the sharp sting of the flat of Tommy’s hand against your pussy, the thick ring on his finger sending a jolt through your sensitive clit. You let out an indignant cry and try to rub your thighs together to alleviate the twinge of pain, growling in annoyance when you’re blocked by Tommy’s leg between yours.

“Little bit?” he mocks from his spot behind you, smoothing his hand threateningly over the globe of your ass. “Shall I get one of my brothers to fuck you, love?”

“My sincerest apologies, Mister Shelby,” you hiss over your shoulder. “I need your long, thick, perfect cock inside me. Please,” you’re quick to tack on.

“Better.” He presses a kiss to your delicate lips before cracking his hand against your flesh. You whimper at the duality of the sensations, desperate to feel his mouth on you again and excited to see the bright red imprint of his hand on your cheek tomorrow morning. The wooden legs of the chair squeak against the floor as Tommy stands abruptly, and you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. “But next time without the attitude.”

You nod dumbly, overwhelmed by your need for him and ready to vocalize this very thought when a knock sounds at the office door.

“Enter,” Tommy calls, sheathing himself inside you with one sharp thrust as Arthur’s broad frame fills the doorway. Your jaw falls slack and your eyes roll back at the exquisite stretch, a strangled moan catching in your throat.

“You bastard,” the eldest Shelby laughs, “you’ve stolen everyone’s favorite barmaid during the rush of the afternoon.”

“She’s serving me quite well, Arthur,” Tommy cracks easily in response. With the way your man brags about you, you’re sure the three oldest Shelby brothers possess more knowledge about your most intimate bits than even you do, but still you feel your skin grow hot at Arthur having found you in such a compromising position. You try to tuck your face into your shoulder for even a modicum of modesty, but Tommy yanks on your hair and forces your head up as he maintains a steady rocking of his hips, pathetic mewls falling past your lips every time he bottoms out and your knuckles turning white from your tight grip on the desk.

“You realize,” Arthur starts with a wicked grin, “the door says Shelby Company Limited, don’t you, Tommy? And Johnny and I are very much part of this company.”

Tommy barks out a laugh that holds no humor. “You boys so much as lay a finger on my girl and you’ll be in the Cut before your next breath.” The low growl of his voice and his overt possessiveness has your walls fluttering around him, and Tommy folds over you to speak directly in your ear. “Tell him who you belong to.”

You lift your gaze to meet Arthur’s with a gleam in your eye as Tommy picks up his pace, forcing you to raise your voice over the lewd sound of his skin slapping against yours. “I belong to Tommy.”

He gathers your hair into a ponytail, using it as leverage to pound into you even harder and commands, “Louder.”

You barely register the door slamming shut as you clench around Tommy’s cock, his warm release painting your walls as your own juices flow down your thighs and you come undone with the declaration, “I belong to Thomas Shelby!”

He presses a line of gentle kisses along your spine while your body writhes beneath him in the aftershocks of your afternoon tryst. “That’s my girl,” he praises, tenderly stroking your hair. “That’s my good little girl.”

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 6 months

Text

After Bebbanburg

Note: reaaaaally struggling to get back into my writing flow after the line between Arnas and Modern!Sihtric was so awfully thin last weekend. So here's some SKMD!Sihtric as I try to get back into it again.

Warnings: fluff/angst. mention of blood and death.

pairing: SKMD!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: Sihtric came back after the battle of Bebbanburg.

wordcount: 2,3k

Masterlist

'Valhalla came too close.'

You had been waiting for days. Days that felt absolutely endless. Days of anxiously waiting for your husband to return from battle. You were prepared for every scenario. You always feared he'd get severely injured, and this time was not any different. Except Sihtric was older now than the last time he had fought in a shield wall. And you were terrified of what injuries he would come back home with. If he even came back home at all. Too many innocent lives had been lost prior to this battle already. Would the gods spare your husband? And if so, then why?

But the gods did spare him.

And you ran outside when you heard some sober cheers and the sound of hooves stomping into the camp that was made for the wives and children of each warrior. You first saw Finan, the Irish man, who had only recently lost his wife. He hadn't been doing well ever since. You and Sihtric had kept an eye on him, as well as Uhtred, and even though Finan would tell you he was okay, you all knew better. You worried Finan would have lost his mind in the battle of Bebbanburg, and that he would not make it out alive. But he survived. However, his face told you that he probably wished he hadn't. You watched Finan approach with a concerned, colour deprived face as he sat upon his horse, riding along next to your husband, who looked just as concerned and even slightly lost, you thought. And you tried to figure out what was wrong as you made your way over to Sihtric, who ordered the warband behind him to a halt with a gesture of his hand. And then you realised you didn't see Uhtred anywhere. You gasped and clasped your hands, impatiently and anxiously waiting as you watched Sihtric dismount.

Sihtric gave the reins to a young boy as he laid eyes upon you, and as the boy took the horse to the stables, Sihtric took off his leather gloves while he walked over to you. Walked. You knew something was truly wrong then, as Sihtric would always run to you when he came back, no matter how tired he was. And you knew he was tired, but you could also tell he wasn't just tired. You saw a different kind of exhaustion and he was unsteady on his feet as he closed in on you. Your vision became blurry with each step closer he took, as with each step another injury became visible, and you teared up more and more. Sihtric grabbed your arms as soon as you were in reach and he fell down to his knees. He wrapped his strong but sore arms around your waist without speaking, and he pressed his blood stained face into your grey tunic, leaving traces of battle behind. You carefully brought your hands up to his head, but you refrained from touching him as fresh blood dripped out from several cuts.

'S-Sihtric,' you finally breathed as he squeezed you tightly, and you placed your hands on his broad, armoured shoulders.

'My love,' Sihtric sighed and looked up at you with his empty, mismatched eyes.

Everything around you faded for a moment when you stared at each other. Both feeling relieved yet afraid. You were relieved he was back home again, but afraid at what cost when your eyes darted over his face. Blood came out of his right ear and ran down his neck. A large cut next to his right eyebrow caused the same fluid to run down his cheek. His forehead was smudged with blood, not just his own you figured, as well as the other side of his tired face was painted red all the same.

And Sihtric was relieved to have you in his arms again, but he was afraid of what would happen to Uhtred. And when you finally remembered how to speak, you asked where Uhtred was.

'In the cart,' Sihtric swallowed hard, 'he's alive… but… I need to take care of him, we need to… he…'

You watched Sihtric struggle to find the right words, and you hushed him when he tried to speak again.

'People will take care of him,' you reassured your husband, 'but you need to be taken care of too. Come,' you urged him to stand up.

Sihtric reluctantly agreed, and you helped him back up on his feet. You wrapped your arm around his waist and pulled his arm around your neck, in an attempt to support him. But Sihtric was a well built man, muscular, tall and all dressed in chainmail and leather armour. You both knew you could not carry him to the tent all by yourself if his feet gave out underneath him. You groaned in your desperate attempt to hold him up, and Sihtric let out a pained moan.

'S-stop,' he breathed, 'I can… I can walk, my love,' he said, stubbornly and not wanting to show you his pain.

Regardless of his words, you still tried to support him as much as you could, and you stumbled to the tent you stayed in at the camp. You helped him sit down on one of the wooden stools and you ordered someone nearby to fetch warm water and clean rags. Then you kneeled down in front of him.

'Are your legs or feet hurt?'

'No,' Sihtric said softly, and you carefully took off his leather boots.

You tossed them to the side and the water and rags you had asked for were brought in. You ordered the young lady who served you to close the tent and to prepare some food and hot tea. You moved up a little and started to unclasp the leather belt around your husband's waist with care. Your eyes darted over Sihtric's leather armour, and you were relieved when you couldn't find any cuts or holes that would suggest he had been stabbed. You slowly removed the heavy belt, his knife and axe still attached and painted with blood from the men he had killed only hours before, and you shoved it to the side, next to his boots.

'Are your arms hurting?' you asked as you rolled up his sleeves a little.

Just because you couldn't see any blood, didn't mean he wasn't hurt.

'Just bruised and sore,' Sihtric confessed, 'no cuts.'

You gave him a firm nod, and Sihtric watched you closely and quietly. His big, tired eyes completely locked on you and every movement you made. He watched how your delicate fingers untied the laces of his leather arm braces, and everything slowly became quiet in his mind again once you had taken both of his braces off and looked up at him. His cold, blood stained and trembling hands slowly reached up to your face, and you let out a soft sob when his fingertips touched your warm cheeks.

'Kiss me,' Sihtric whispered, and his breath hitched in his throat while his huge eyes stared down at you, 'please,' he whined.

Your fingers curled around the neck of his leather armour, and without any hesitation you pulled him down towards you. You crashed into a kiss and your eyes closed at the feeling of his cold and chapped lips pressed against yours. His hands trembled their way down to your neck, and he pulled you even closer up to him. Tears rolled down your cheeks at the taste and touch of your husband, while Sihtric tried his hardest to not break down as he desperately tried to kiss your face everywhere he possibly could.

'My wife,' he breathed, and his lips brushed lightly against yours, 'my love,' he moaned against your lips before he captured you in another firm kiss.

'What happened there?' you sniffled after he broke the kiss, your hands holding his cheeks while his blood stained forehead leaned against yours.

'Death,' Sihtric simply said, 'Death happened,' he leaned slightly back and looked at you while tears escaped his eyes, and he gently caressed your face. 'It came too close,' his voice broke as he whispered, 'Valhalla came too close,' he sighed and buried his face in your neck as he pulled you in his arms, finally allowing his emotions to run freely.

You fought your own tears as you felt him tremble, and you wrapped your arms around him.

'Valhalla wasn't prepared for your arrival yet,' you whispered and kissed his cheek, 'and I wasn't ready to live without you yet either.'

'I wasn't ready to die without seeing you again,' Sihtric sniffled.

'You will not be dying any time soon,' you cupped his cheeks, 'I will not allow you.'

Sihtric smiled softly at your words, and pulled your lips back to his again for another tender kiss. Then you took one of the rags, wetted it and wrung it out before you cleaned his feet and his hands. And as he had told you, he indeed didn't seem to be injured there, except for some bruising on his hands and wrists. You kissed both his hands and then moved up to kneel in between his thighs, to untie his dirty, leather armour. All while Sihtric kept his eyes on you, keeping track of your every movement, every breath and every change of expression on your face.

'Are you hurting here, my darling?' you asked and carefully pressed your hands onto his armoured chest.

'Just bruised, my love,' Sihtric said, and he moved along with you to slip out of the leather protection and chainmail underneath, which had saved his life more than once.

He took off the tunic he wore underneath it all, and you let out a soft gasp at the sight of his bare, muscular, bruised and battered torso.

'Sihtric,' you whispered as you reached out, 'you're… you,' you were about to cry, but Sihtric was quick to hush you.

'No,' he said softly, 'don't. It's fine. Just bruised. Nothing that won't heal.'

You swallowed hard and collected yourself again to carefully bring the wetted rag up to his neck. You slowly removed the stains of blood, sweat and dirt off his sensitive skin, and then you moved on from his left shoulder to his right shoulder. Sihtric hissed lightly at your touch as a sharp pain shot through his body and he flinched.

'It's not broken,' you said after an inspection of his shoulder, 'but you need to take it easy for a few days, sweetling.'

'How am I supposed to take it easy,' Sihtric whispered with a cheeky smile as he held your chin with his tattooed fingers, 'when all I want and need is to make love to my wife?' he leaned in and pecked your lips, 'my beautiful wife,' he murmured and kissed you again, 'tell me?'

'I guess you will have to abstain,' you teased and got up to get a clean rag.

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed as his eyes followed you, 'I don't think I'm strong enough.'

He smiled and bit down on his lip as you returned to him. And instead of letting you kneel down on the floor again, he pulled you in his lap. You straddled him and chuckled softly as you brought the rag up to his face.

'You're strong enough to survive battles,' you smiled as you cleaned his forehead, and you saw Sihtric struggle to hold back a grin.

'Maybe,' he said as seriously as he could, and tilted his head playfully to the side, 'but that doesn't mean I am strong enough to resist you.'

You felt his already warmed up hands sneak under your tunic, move up your thighs and on to your waist. He chuckled softly and leaned in to nuzzle your nose, then leaned back and took off his hammer pendant, which he hung around your neck before he pulled you closer again.

'Come on,' Sihtric smiled and pecked your lips, 'the gods brought me back for a reason,' he said, 'perhaps, to bless us with another pup?'

'I surely hope not,' you laughed and continued to wipe the blood off his face.

Sihtric furrowed his brow, 'You don't want another pup from me?'

'Sihtric,' you chuckled and placed your hands on your hips, 'you're a great father, but you have not been around much for our other pups when they were young-'

'That is not my fault,' he quickly said.

'I know,' you agreed, 'but I will not give birth to another pup and go through most of it without you again. I don't want that anymore. Not now that I finally have you all to myself again.'

Sihtric smacked his lips and looked at you while you wiped the last blood off his neck.

'We know how to prevent pregnancy,' you continued, 'don't think I will stop using the potion just because the gods brought you back to me again, they may just take you away if there would be another battle.'

'Reasonable,' Sihtric smiled, 'but then can we at least enjoy the act of humping?'

'Perhaps,' you threw the rag in the large wooden bucket, 'after your shoulder heals up.'

'You don't mean that,' your husband murmured as he brushed his lips against your neck.

Your heartbeat quickened when you felt the soft, slow, open-mouthed kisses your warrior left while his facial hair tickled your skin. You smiled, moved your hands up to his hair and untangled his braids one by one, while Sihtric smothered you with his lips and held you close with his big hands. And when you had taken out all of his braids, you leaned back and tucked strands of his long, wavy hair behind his ears and you pecked his lips. You grinned and got up, to which Sihtric groaned and quickly pushed himself to stand up, despite the discomfort he still felt in his body after the battle. He took off his breeches and snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around you before you could move down onto the bed.

'You haven't fully cleaned me up yet,' Sihtric chuckled in your ear.

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