good company to be sinful | tommy shelby
summary: you are due to be married to the leader of an enemy gang to the peaky blinders. the night before your wedding, you make thomas shelby an offer he can’t refuse.
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, Canon typical gang/violence talk, Tommy is Mr. Steal Your Girl, Cheating/scandal, Virginity loss, Age gap (Reader is early 20s, Tommy is late 40s), Tommy uses reader to get to his enemies, Smut (v fingering, fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), Choking, Finger sucking, Possessive!Tommy, Dom!Tommy, Reader is a lil depraved, Reader wants that cookie so fucking bad, Spot the Twin Peaks reference, Dirty talk, Spitting, Biting, Bits of Soft!Tommy, Degradation, Overstimulation, Innocence kink? Bit of violence at the end
There wasn’t a soul in Birmingham that had not heard of Thomas Shelby.
Hearing whispers of his name throughout your mid to late teens made him seem, in your mind, like some sort of boogeyman.
Even now, you heard his name uttered through whispered breaths as though saying it too loud would summon him.
Like his name was a curse.
The first time you caught sight of him, the first time you put a face to the name, there was a momentary shift in the way you viewed the man.
In your mind, Thomas Shelby was a monster. He took, he killed, he robbed. Mercy was not something he entertained.
In reality, Thomas Shelby was just a man.
He commanded the entire room as soon as he entered it. An unlit cigarette between his lips, flat cap pulled low on his head. You almost could not see his eyes. His trench coat flowed behind him as he walked, surrounded by his cronies.
Heading straight towards you.
And yet, for some reason, you did not fear him at all.
He came to a stop beside the table you sat at. His brothers loomed behind him, but he took the lead.
“May I?” Thomas asked, nodding once towards the seat opposite you.
You nodded curtly. “Please,” you welcomed.
He took the seat before you gave your answer.
He posed it as a statement, not a question.
Your jaw flexed at the mention of your soon-to-be husband. “Not yet. He’s yet to tie me down in loveless matrimony, if you must know, Mr. Shelby.”
Thomas seemed impressed by your defiance, if just for a moment. His icy exterior was not broken for long.
“You seem smart enough. I’m sure you’re aware your fiancé wants me dead.”
“You want him dead too,” you reminded him.
Something changed in Thomas’ eyes. His lip twitched, like he was itching to smirk, but he resisted, remaining personal. Instead, he reached into his pocket.
In the presence of Thomas Shelby, anyone else would have flinched if he reached into his pocket, expecting to be met with the cold steel of a gun.
You could see his eyes now.
He was nothing like the stories you’d heard as a teen.
These weren’t the eyes of a boogeyman.
Wordlessly, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours, he extended a cigarette towards you.
You wondered if he did this often with future wives of rival gang members.
You took the cigarette regardless. Your fingers brushed against his.
You leaned forward, and with a flick of his lighter, Thomas lit your cigarette for you.
You took a long drag, exhaling deeply, as Thomas lit up his own.
“I don’t often share cigarettes with gangsters.”
He hummed in amusement, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your fiancé lets you plan every move his little gang makes. But he won’t let you smoke.”
Again, it was not a question. Like he already knew just how cowardly your future husband was.
You exhaled another puff of smoke, holding his gaze. “Men are strange creatures, Mr. Shelby.”
He smirked. “Indeed they are.”
You raised the cigarette to your lips again. “So you know.”
Thomas continued to stare.
His gaze made you feel X-rayed.
“That why you’re here, Mr Shelby?” you queried. “Here to kill me? Teach my fiancé a lesson?”
He seemed genuinely amused at the suggestion. “Being a gangster isn’t all about killing people, love. It’s about negotiation. It’s about fear.”
You paused. “Well, I’m not afraid of you.”
Thomas did not seem fazed. Like this was all part of his plan. “I’m not asking you to be.”
“Then what are you asking, Mr Shelby?” you challenged him.
“Nothing.” He said it honestly. You believed him. “Just need it to get back to your fiancé that I was here. Talking to his woman. Make his mind spiral. Then the fear starts.”
“So we’re just… talking.”
It was absurd. If you told the teenaged you that you would be sitting in a bar, sharing a cigarette with Thomas Shelby - feared mobster and leader of the Peaky Blinders - she would have said you were fucking stupid.
“Just talking,” Thomas reaffirmed.
“I heard stories of you, growing up,” you confessed, tapping your cigarette into the ash tray before you. “You struck the fear of God into me, Thomas Shelby.”
His chest seemed to swell a little at that. As though striking the fear of God into a young woman was something to be proud of.
Or maybe it was the fact you had heard of him.
“And look at you now. You’re not afraid at all, are you?”
There was a feeling - deep within your chest, nestled in the base of your stomach. It was warm, burning like a fire. It did not feel like fear.
No. You weren’t afraid. You were intrigued.
“You’re not asking me to be afraid,” you reminded him.
Your cigarette fizzled out between your fingers, a symbol of your meeting coming to an end. “You’re not what I expected,” you admitted.
Thomas stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray. He stood, his chair scraping against the wood floor, echoing louder than it should have.
Everything he did left an impression.
Thomas took your hand, bent slightly, and kissed it politely.
His lips brushing against the skin of your hand sent a chill through your body.
“Neither are you,” said Thomas.
His gang began to retreat towards the doors of the pub. Their eyes raked over you as though you were something intriguing.
You did not look at them.
You just looked at Thomas.
He tipped his cap towards you, a gesture of farewell. “Good day, Miss.”
And like a beast disappearing into the night, he was gone.
You thought often of Thomas Shelby, even though you knew you shouldn’t. Should had never stopped you before. It was an odd word. You shouldn’t be involved in planning attacks for your fiancé’s gang.
You shouldn’t feel cold or unseen, laying next to the man you were supposed to marry.
And you shouldn’t be fantasising about your future husband’s mortal enemy. About his piercing blue eyes, the deep rumble of his voice, the calloused skin of his fingers brushing against your own.
That singular touch - one that lasted not even two seconds - ignited a fire within you that your husband never had. Never would.
The day of your wedding - your entrapment - crept up on you. One month. One week. Tomorrow.
Your groom had not been happy when word reached him that his woman had been sitting in a bar, sharing a cigarette with Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders. Insults had been exchanged aplenty. Names flew out of his mouth that bounced off your skin. An opinion of a man like him did not matter to you.
“Are you Thomas Shelby’s fucking whore now?” he had demanded, spit flying from his mouth.
Your response was meant to anger him. You wanted him to feel the words burrowing underneath his skin, feel them festering there.
But your tone revealed the truth in the words.
“I’d rather be his whore than your wife.”
It was dark when you said it. The words travelled out into the moonless night, floating down the street as if leading you somewhere. Luckily, your pathetic excuse of a fiancé did not follow you out into the cold evening air.
Down the street. Towards an address you had seen scrawled on the back of threatening letters to your fiancé - inviting him to come and try his luck on the life of Thomas Shelby.
Or maybe it was an invite to you.
The knock on his door reverberated into the night.
There was that word again: should. You shouldn’t be here. You should hope that he doesn’t answer.
But you are. And you don’t.
You hope he answers - and he does.
His usual stoic expression did not soften when he saw you. Despite it being deep into the night, Thomas was still dressed to work. His vest, trousers and shoes pristine as ever, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his elbows. A part of you was expecting him to be stained with the blood of his enemies.
Preferably the blood of your husband-to-be.
“Your man know you’re here?” Thomas asked.
You laughed, the idea ridiculous to you. “He doesn’t know anything about what I do.”
Thomas smirked. Like that was the answer he wanted. “And what is it you’re here to do?”
“I’d like to ask you something. If you can find the time, of course.” You added the last part almost scathingly. As though sizing him up, letting him know that you were equals. That you were not to be toyed with.
Thomas looked at you with an expression that suggested he was not used to being talked to like anything other than a leader, a boss.
But it didn’t look like he hated it. Not coming from you.
“Well,” Thomas clicked his tongue, and then he finally opened the door fully, stepping back and allowing you the space to cross the threshold into his home. “Come in and ask it in the warm, at least.”
It was almost like he cared.
Thomas lead you through his hallway into a room at the back of the house, where a fire was crackling welcomingly. The warmth of the room filled your whole body. A desk stood before the fireplace, half-written letters strewn across its surface.
Thomas did not invite you to sit. He resumed his position at his desk, the one you assumed he had been in before your knock derailed his work. You stood in front of his desk with your hands clasped in front of you, as though you were a choir singer about to serenade him, or a salesman about to con him.
“Your dear fiancé fears what I might do to you. That’s why you’re here, eh?” He did not look up from whatever important words he was writing when he spoke.
You tilted your head. “Partly,” you answered honestly. “What’s he got to fear? What might you do to me? Tommy?”
The use of his nickname made him raise his head. Those eyes met yours. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Tommy leaned back in his chair, placing his pen down on his papers. “What do you want me to do to you?”
You shuddered at his words. “It would be sinful of me to say it.”
He quirked an eyebrow, as if he already knew what you were about to say. He welcomed it without batting an eyelid. “I’m a killer. I know all about sin. You’re in good company to be sinful.”
Tommy looked like sin. He smelled like it. Maybe he was your sin. And this time, you weren’t looking to repent.
“So go on,” he ordered. “Ask away.”
You stared into his eyes for a moment. They were the colour of a lake you could happily drown in. Thomas Shelby was captivating.
Really, you were just another of his victims. A victim of his words.
A victim of your own desire.
The words left you calmly. There was no more room within you for shame.
“I want you to fuck me, Tommy.”
Like him, you did not ask. You demanded.
Tommy raised his eyebrows inquisitively. He leaned forward, the proposition intriguing. “You want me to fuck you?” he repeated.
He wanted to hear you say it again.
“I want you. To fuck me.”
He chuckled. “Fiancé not satisfying you?”
“He never has. And he never will. I will not let him own that part of me. I want it to be you.”
Something glinted in Tommy’s eyes.
Tommy stood, his eyes never leaving yours. He moved slowly around the desk, as if taunting you with the proximity between you both growing smaller and smaller. “You came here to ask me to fuck you. Pathetic, really.”
“I’m to be married tomorrow,” you informed him calmly, trying desperately to ignore the hammering of your heart against your ribcage and the growing pool of desire between your legs. “Tonight I make my own decisions.”
“And your last decision before you marry your husband is to fuck the man who wants to kill him.” Despite his degrading words, Tommy’s tone was not judgemental. It was almost impressed. Like he admired your honesty.
Like he wanted this as much as you did.
Tommy dared to touch you first. His large, manly hand caressed the side of your face, thumb running delicately along your jawline. “Why is it you’re not afraid of me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, low and gravelly in his throat.
There were a million ways you could answer that question. But you went with the one that flipped your stomach whenever you thought it. The one that felt like a crown of thorns wrapping around your heart. The one that was being whispered into your ear by the Devil on your shoulder.
“You’re not the only one who wants my husband dead.”
A proud smirk made its way onto Tommy’s infuriatingly handsome face. His whole hand fit around your face. He could cover your mouth if he wanted to. The way you were sure your fiancé would do.
But Tommy Shelby was not him. He was everything the man you were set to marry would never be. To your future husband, he was the man he hated the most. To you, he was the object of all your desires.
Tommy did not cover your mouth. He heard you. He worked with you. Instead, he gently squeezed your soft cheeks between his hand. Gentler than you had ever thought Tommy was capable of being.
“You’re his from tomorrow. So you’re mine for tonight.”
You would never belong to your husband. But you would take being Tommy’s. So you nodded. Opened your mouth enough to whisper, “Kiss me.”
He did. His lips were rough against yours, moving with passion. The same lips that threatened and cursed, that humiliated and insulted the man who was supposed to kiss you like this.
The hand that had been cupping your jaw moved down to your throat, wrapping around with no effort. Tommy squeezed gently, eliciting a desperate gasp from your mouth. He smirked against your lips, like that was the reaction he wanted.
With his other hand, Tommy touched every part of you he could. His fingers combed through your hair. He cupped your breast. He squeezed your ass. His hand roamed as though he wanted to mark every part of you he could, taint your soft skin with the sin the two of you were about to commit.
“Get on the desk.” Tommy moaned the words into your mouth, one possessive hand still wrapped around your throat, the other grasping your lower back, pulling your body as close to his as possible.
Tommy practically shoved you into a sitting position on a free space of his wooden desk. Even now, he was anything but gentle - and you weren’t complaining a bit.
You weren’t here to be handled gently.
You were here to get fucked by the gangster you’d grown up hearing stories about. To feel his blood-stained hands all over your body.
Tommy wasted no time, kneeling before you like a man at a confessional about to confess his deepest of sins. This definitely wasn’t his worst of discretions. It was just another addition to his growing list.
And you were happy to be that, just for tonight.
“Those letters over there are to your fiancé,” Tommy murmured into the tender skin of your thigh, nodding towards the papers beside you on the desk. With one hand, his fingertips pressed into your thigh so hard you were sure you would be bruised in a matter of minutes. With the other, he tore off your underwear like they were a hinderance, ripping them clean in two. He tossed the fabric over his shoulder like it was nothing. “Shall I put this in writing?” he asked darkly, pushing apart your legs, revealing your already dripping pussy to his hungry eyes.
You had no time to respond, because Tommy seemingly could not hold himself back any longer. He licked a long, singular stripe along your folds, the sound of your loud moan music to his ears.
“If he could fucking see this.” Tommy groaned, moving his lips from your pussy to pepper sweet, tempting kisses along your inner thigh. “His woman, spread open on my desk.”
“Not his woman,” you breathed, your hands tangling in Tommy’s hair. “Yours tonight.”
Tommy smirked at you from between your legs, moving your legs so they were draped over his shoulders. The scratchy fabric of his vest irritated the back of your thighs but you were beyond caring about discomfort at this point.
“Good fucking girl,” Tommy practically growled, before reconnecting his tongue to your aching pussy, licking and sucking and nipping from your folds to your clit.
Your head hung backwards, eyes squeezed shut. You were certain at one point you could see stars bursting across your vision as Tommy continued his relentless lapping at your pussy. One hand pulled and tugged at his dark hair with every move his tongue made on your cunt, the other gripped the edge of his desk so hard your hand was aching already.
“Fuck yes, Thomas… Keep going, please,” your whines and moans spurred him on, sucking and licking at your clit like his life depended on it. You had never felt pleasure like this before and you were certain you never would again.
You let out a strangled gasp when Tommy shoved his index finger inside of you, continuing to suck on your clit like a man starved. He slipped a second finger inside of you, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth. With his fingers pumping rhythmically and his mouth sucking determinedly, your orgasm ripped through you. Incoherent words and gasps and moans spilled from your mouth as you came all over Tommy’s tongue. He lapped up every last drop, coaxing you through it with praises and groans that sent vibrations through your entire body.
Eventually, Tommy stood, his mouth slick from your juices and his eyes almost feral for you. Your chest heaved, your entire body trembled from the force of the orgasm he had just brought you to.
But Tommy was nowhere near done with you.
And Tommy Shelby got what he wanted.
Almost towering over you now, staring down at you with lust-filled eyes, Tommy continued to pump his two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to reach that sweet spot inside of you once more. “You can handle another one, can’t you?” Tommy murmured into your skin, pressing soft kisses up your neck and across your jawline.
“Tommy,” you whined, clutching at the shoulders of his vest now, the scratchy material bunching up in your fists from the sheer force of how hard you were holding onto him. “It hurts.”
“But it feels good, doesn’t it, love?” Tommy sighed into your ear, his free hand clutching your face.
You nodded. Because fuck, it felt good. Your entire body shook and you felt like you were on fire, but that sensation building up in your lower stomach was Heavenly.
“You’re a good girl, you’re gonna take it,” Tommy shushed you, teasing a third finger at your entrance. “You look so pretty when you cum for me.”
His words, combined with his fingers and their relentless work inside of you was enough to tip you over the edge. You clutched his shirt and let out a strangled moan, feeling yourself about to fall apart once more.
Tommy had one more request to make before you did.
“Look at me,” Tommy ordered, fingers knuckles deep inside of you. You did, lips parted and eyes heavy with desire. His ocean blue eyes met yours, his expression deadly serious, like this was an art form to him.
Your second orgasm in five minutes came rushing, every inch of your body shaking as you chanted Tommy’s name like a forgotten prayer. He continued to finger you through your orgasm, eyes watching you intently, almost intrigued by you and how your body reacted to him.
When the feeling of immense pleasure subsided, Tommy smirked satisfactorily and removed his fingers from your soaked pussy. His fingers were wet with your slick. “Taste yourself,” he ordered. “Taste how fucking sweet you are.”
You took his fingers in your mouth without question, swirling your tongue around them and tasting your own juices. Tommy’s breath actually trembled as he watched you. He used it to his advantage that he had you wrapped around his finger, but in reality, you had him exactly the same way.
“Good girl,” Tommy praised you, removing his fingers from your mouth. “All sweet and innocent. Just for me, isn’t it?”
You nodded, too overwhelmed and overstimulated from his mouth and his fingers to form a coherent sentence.
“Words, sweetheart,” Tommy commanded. “Use your words or I won’t fuck you.”
“Just for you, Tommy,” you breathed, barely louder than a whisper.
“He’s never gonna make you feel like this, is he?” Tommy growled possessively, lips ghosting over yours. “Never gonna make your pretty pussy cum like I do.”
You shook your head. Completely at his mercy.
“Open your mouth,” Tommy ordered, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb before you even processed the request. You stuck your tongue out before he even asked you to, and when he spat onto your tongue, you gladly closed your mouth. “Swallow,” he told you, still clutching your jaw in his hand. You did as he asked, opening your mouth and showing him the smooth surface of your tongue once more to show him you’d complied.
Tommy groaned. “Such a good little plaything for me, aren’t you, sweetheart? Makes me want to keep you. He doesn’t deserve to have you like this.”
“Tommy, please,” you whimpered, tugging at his shirt, bringing his body closer to yours. You wrapped your still shaking legs around his waist, grinding your naked pussy against his clothed, hard cock. “Need you to fuck me.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows, smirking as he began to undo the buttons of his vest, tossing it away and then beginning to work on his shirt. “Want me to ruin you now, hm?”
“Think you want it just as much,” you argued, eyes raking over Tommy’s now bare chest. Even the faded ink of his tattoos enthralled you.
Your index finger ran over the tattoo on his pec. He watched you admiring him, his eyes still hungry, but something else shimmered behind his blue irises now. Something almost sweet, practically affectionate.
Tommy Shelby was not sweet.
But maybe for you he was willing to be.
You leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss over his chest tattoo. Your mouth acted before your mind did, your teeth softly grazing the skin just above his nipple. You bit him.
Tommy hissed through his teeth in surprise at your action. Though when you looked up at him, he was actually smiling.
You had never seen Thomas Shelby smile before.
Smirk, yes. But never smile.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked me, Mr. Shelby,” you smiled sweetly back at him.
“I do like you,” Tommy murmured, resting his forehead against yours, his nose brushing against your cheek. Your hand once again came up to rest on the back of his head, bringing him closer to you. “I like how innocent you are even with all the blood on your hands. I like that you’re about to give this sweet little virgin pussy up to me.”
You heard the clinking of his belt and the rustling of the material of his trousers as Tommy freed his hard cock from his briefs. You stole a glimpse at his length, watching as his strong hand pumped his cock a few times. You were pleasantly surprised. You had no idea a dick could be so pretty.
Tommy’s lips feathered a soft kiss upon your jawline. “I’ll be gentle if you want me to.”
You shook your head. Tommy raised his head from your neck, his traditional Shelby smirk back on his face. “You don’t want me to be gentle?”
“If I wanted gentle, I wouldn’t have come to Tommy Shelby.”
You’d heard stories of the Boogeyman.
And you wanted the fucking Boogeyman.
Tommy tilted his head to the side, his hooded lust-filled eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever you like.”
One of Tommy’s hands gripped your lower back, pulling you as close to him as possible. The other rested on the smooth surface of the wooden desk so hard his knuckles were already turning white, giving himself balance as he shoved himself into you inch by inch.
Your head tilted backwards, mouth open in a breathy moan. You felt lightheaded at the length and the thickness of him, like you could fall backwards, but Tommy was supporting you and wouldn’t let that happen. Your eyes watered, a combination of the pain and the pleasure.
Tommy didn’t move for a moment, allowing you time to adjust to the new sensation of his cock buried inside of you. His eyes met yours, tone deadly serious as he asked, “Feel okay, sweetheart?”
“Feels- Feels good,” you breathed heavily. “Please move.”
Tommy tutted, giving a single shake of his head. He pressed light kisses along your tear-stained cheeks, whispering against your skin, “You’re gonna need to beg better than that.”
“Please,” you whined, pulling his lips down onto yours, moaning against his mouth. “Please fuck me, Thomas.”
Either he was satisfied with just your few seconds of begging, or he was just too impatient to wait. Tommy snapped his hips against yours, reaching an unforgiving, brutal pace, his cock hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. His movements drew out every moan, every whimper, every guttural sound from your very soul.
Something animalistic glinted in Tommy’s eyes with every hard thrust. His arm wrapped around your back, supporting you as each roll of his hips forced you further back onto the desk until you were led on your back, splayed across Tommy’s important letters, the savvy businessman side of him overtaken by the primal beast of a man now hovering over you, pounding harder and harder with each passing second.
Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pushing him as far inside of you as possible. With his now free hands, Tommy pushed your thighs back to allow himself deeper access inside of you. His cock stretched you out painfully, but the pain was delicious. He slotted inside of you perfectly, like you were made to be fucked by him.
Every moan and shriek that left your mouth spurred him on, feeling himself getting closer and closer with each pretty sound you made.
“You feel - fucking - perfect,” Tommy groaned, each word punctuated by another brutal thrust that caused tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.
Tommy’s hand curled around your neck once more, his pace never faltering. “Look at me, pretty girl,” he growled.
When you did, you saw him. Thomas Shelby - leader of the Peaky Blinders - the monster you’d heard stories about.
The monster you used to fear.
The monster stealing your innocence on the desk at which he had drafted countless death threats - smearing your lipstick all over a letter addressed to the man you were set to marry in a few hours.
He had officially fucked every ounce of fear out of you, and replaced it with an inhumane, Unholy dedication.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” Tommy ordered in what you were sure was his gangster voice - it was hot as fuck. The muscles in his chest and arms flexed with each thrust, he bit down on his bottom lip gently, his brow furrowed with concentration, a bead of sweat running down his temple.
He was fucking gorgeous. You couldn’t even resent him for it.
Your nails scratched at Tommy’s biceps as his thrusts became more sporadic. You could tell he was close based on his movements and the desperate pants leaving his mouth, his hot breath fanning on your cheek.
“I’m close, Tommy,” you cried. “Gonna cum again.”
“Cum for me then, pretty girl. Let me feel it.”
Whatever Tommy wanted, Tommy got.
Your pussy clenched around his cock as you reached your climax. White spots burst across your vision. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and your legs shook. Your third orgasm crashed over you like the sea onto rocks, and with a string of exclcamatorys from his filthy mouth, Tommy’s orgasm followed yours, spilling his cum into your newly fucked-out pussy.
There was silence as the two of you caught your breath. Tommy helped you into a sitting position, his arm around your waist supporting your trembling body.
Tommy opened his mouth to speak.
Tommy froze, eyes locked on yours. “Who?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
There was that word again. Should.
You should not have just allowed the man who lusted after your future husband’s blood to lust after you.
You should not have just let Thomas Shelby fill you up with his cum.
You should not have a deadly gangster wrapped around your little finger.
And that’s what made you decide it.
Whatever Tommy wanted, Tommy got.
What he wanted now, more than anything, was you.
And he was going to get it. With just one bullet, a bloodstain on your wedding dress and a glimpse at the merciless monster you’d heard tales of growing up.
And still, you did not fear him.
Tommy Shelby - your perfect fucking monster.
areudirty
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
izzy806
