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sturnmaee · 3 months

Text

Bookworm.

summary: getting caught reading smut while having to spend the night with chris.

warnings: reader x chris, no established relationship, smutty smut, unprotected sex (don’t be silly), a little swearing.

requested: yes !!

wordcount: 1,563.

quick little a/n: this took my whole soul to write 😭 i hope it’s okay <33 also to the person who requested this a whole ass month ago i’m so sorry babe 😭😭. and i was half asleep while i proofread this, so im so sorry if theres mistakes xoxooo

i let out a small yawn as i sat around the large wooden table with nick and chris. matt had already said his goodnights and helped packed the cameras away after about an hour and a half of filming content.

"tired already?" nick asked jokingly.

i hummed in response while grabbing my book from the other side of the table. the crisp scent of pages filling my nose as i flicked through them looking for my book mark.

"what a nerd." chris teased while giggling.

"leave her alone," nick said, "we can head up to bed now if you'd like?"

nick and i were close, so of course each night i spent at their house we had sleepovers like little kids again, making dumb jokes and giggling all night.

he shut his laptop and tucked it under his arm as he got up, signaling for me to follow him, in the corner of my eye i watched as chris got up and headed the other direction, down the stairs.

i tiptoed up the stairs following nick, his hands lazily pushing the door open before he sunk down onto his bed, immediately opening his laptop to keep editing. i got straight into reading, i had been dying to finish this chapter, especially because it was one of the more interesting chapters.

about thirty minutes had passed and not a single word was spoken from nick. nothing but frustrated huffs and tossing and turning as he typed away. i shut my book before putting it down onto the silk covers.

"nick i can leave if you'd like, go hang with chris, i'm sure he wouldn't mind?" i quietly said not wanting to ruin his focus.

"really? are you sure, i'm really sorry i'm just so behind in editing." he replied.

"of course," i said while holding my hand onto his, "have a good night." i smiled before walking out of the room quietly, book and phone in hand.

i quietly made my way down both flights of stairs not wanting to wake matt. i stood in front of chris's door, my ear pressed against it, the faint sound of music playing let me know he was still awake. i tapped lightly on the door before opening it and poking my head in. the scent of a coconut candle intertwined with chris's scent filling my nose.

"come in," he said faintly his attention still on his phone before turning his head to see who it was, "oh hey." he said with a smile, patting the spot on the bed next to him inviting me to lay down.

i filled the spot next to him, lying on my stomach before reopening my book. he lied next to me on his back, one hand holding his head up as the other scrolled on his phone.

i looked at my page while trying to contain myself, excited for what was coming. my fingers gripping the cover tighter than before, my teeth lightly biting down on my bottom lip, my legs now squeezed together trying to satisfy the heat growing in between them.

i was so lost in a trance i forgot chris was beside me. he had changed positions and was now facing me, head propped up on one arm, his blue eyes locked onto mine. i felt heat rising in my cheeks before quickly closing my book.

“what?” i asked shyly.

“nothing,” he replied, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, “what’s so good about that book anyways, it’s got you acting like a damn book worm.”

“it’s just interesting, i guess.” i said sheepishly, not mentioning the fact i was reading straight smut with him right next to me.

“let me see.” he said while trying to grab the book. my reflexes instantly pulled it away from him, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“it’s really boring, trust me you won’t like it.” i said bluntly trying to keep my cool. i turned my gaze away from him to play it off, my book sitting in one hand with one finger inserted to keep my place. before i could react he snatched the book from my hand while giggling, opening to the page i had saved.

“chris-!” i whisper yelled not wanting to disturb the rest of the house, my hands flying over to him. he turned away and held the book out of my reach. his eyes frantically scanning the page as the corners of his swollen pink lips turned up. i turned away from him, burying my face into my hands.

“here's your book back.” he said while trying to wave it at me, my face still turned away from him. “you don't have to be embarrassed you know.”

“are you serious chris!” i replied while turning my body to face him, snatching the book from his hands. “that’s so embarrassing.”

“not really,” he said while taking me in with his eyes, “i see why you’re so interested in that book now.” he continued while licking his lips slightly.

i found it hard to keep my gaze locked with his, my core still throbbing, a wetness coating me. his lips parted while his chest rose and fell.

“what do you mean?” i asked innocently, placing the book on the bedside table before propping my head up on one arm to match his position.

his eyes fell from mine, moving to my body, taking me in. his hand placing itself on my side exposed by the short top that hugged my skin, i felt myself shudder beneath his touch as he stroked me lightly. his finger hooked around my waistband, toying with it, asking for permission almost.

"chris," i whispered, "we can't."

"mm, why not." he replied huskily while still playing with the fabric of my sweats.

"nick might hear." i said while slowly moving his hand from my side, keeping it in mine as i watched his eyes.

"c'mon, you have to be at least a little freaky if you're reading shit like that," he teased, "i've wanted you for so long, don't pretend you havent noticed ma." he continued speaking while watching my lips.

i looked down in defeat before moving my face closer to his, closing the gap in between us. my mouth hovered above his as he breathed lightly coating my lips in a hot air.

before i could say anything his hand gripped my face roughly pulling me into him, his lips showing how hungry he was for my own. he broke the kiss only to move to my neck, leaving harsh bites before soothing them with his tongue. i rushed to take my sweats off, tossing them to the floor leaving me in nothing but a short top and black panties.

"turn over," he said while pulling away, "all fours baby."

i followed his demands and pressed my face into the pillow, facing the side of the room where a large mirror sat, i watched him in the mirror as he pulled his sweats down letting them rest below his thighs, followed by his boxers. his cock sprung out hitting the fabric of his shirt as he causing him to let out a hiss through his teeth. his tip red and needy, leaking with precum.

"try and be quiet." he said while rubbing my lower back with his hands. i hummed in response while still watching him in the mirror as he lazily tugged on his cock before lining it up with my entrance, rubbing it up and down my slit, collecting my arousal before placing his tip into me.

"god you're wet."

he let out a quiet grunt before bottoming out, reaching places i could never on my own. i clenched onto the bedsheets trying to contain my whimpers, my knuckles going white.

quiet moans and curses left his mouth as my ass bounced off his pelvis, the sound of our skin slapping filling the room.

“oh god chris” i moaned, not being able to stay quiet anymore.

“shh baby, don’t wanna get caught now do we?” he gripped my waist as he spoke, pulling me into him harder.

i could feel my slick dripping down my thighs as he picked his pace up, my eyes having no place to go but the back of my head. we both gave up on being quiet a while ago, more whimpers and groans filled the room.

“mmh, s-so close.” i said pathetically while gripping onto the pillow.

with one quick movement he pulled out and flipped me over, his eyes now locked onto mine as he pushed back in.

“i wanna see your pretty face while you cum.” he breathed out.

his thrust becoming harder as i came closer to the edge, the feeling growing at my core as my nails dug into his back for support.

“oh f-fuck.” i whimpered, feeling the waves of pleasure fill me.

his eyes watching my face twist in pleasure, his thrusts getting sloppier.

“s-shit.” he stuttered before snapping his hip into me, his warm cum filling me up as he left a soft kiss on my lips.

both out of breath while he pulled out of my softly, fixing my underwear and his pants.

“why don’t i clean you up?” he said quietly while looking over at the bathroom door.

i nodded in response while kissing him softly, his fingers running through my hair.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #fanfic #smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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awritesthings1 · 5 months

Text

Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

ao3 link

A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

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