Future-Famous-Dead-Musician

May you be in Heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you're dead. 23 - Pisces

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

Masterlist

The Dark Night - Dr. Jonathan Crane

Series

Hideout (sister x Jonathan Crane) Pt1, Pt2, Pt3

Peaky Blinders

Stand Alone

Escape to the Eden Club (Shelby Sister x Shelby Brothers)

You Have a Deal (Shelby Sister x Alfie Solomons)

[mariean2inette]

House of Incest by Anaïs Nin

[imyourlittlechaos]

Cillian is at his funniest when he's not trying to be funny.

"Oh, hang on. I'll take these off so I don't look like a tool."

💀💀💀

[nicollekidman]

this wouldn't be happening if i had a mentor that was deeply interested in me and my life and guided me with a firm hand even when i was overwhelmed. whatever.

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

Jonathan Crane Core

[cillianmurphyaddict]

“Yeah. Your best mate since school, the man who saved your life in France!”

Peaky Blinders series 1.02

[theshelbyclan]

Thinking back on it, this scene is probably what sold the series to me, because the family dynamics and sibling whatever-the-fuck this is, is just too fucking accurate

[theshelbyclan]

Still true 😂 I’d forgotten id written this, but this is just me and my second brother. All the time.

[doctor-jonathan-crane]

Hereditary Hypothesis: The Unreachable Thing, 1980

A series in no particular order. 

PT.1 

The kitchen always smelled of chemicals and mildew. Even when the stove was cold, the air clung to the back of Jonathan’s throat: rust, damp wood, and the faint rot of something once alive. The whole house felt bleached of warmth, as if the grief in its walls had drained the colour from the air.

The food was always kept high. Canned things on the top shelf, bread in the cabinet above the stove. His father called it conditioning. Said a mind learned faster when it was hungry. When it feared.

Gerald Crane sat at the table in the next room, a still silhouette beneath the low bulb. The clock ticked steadily behind him. Jonathan knew the rules: no asking, no climbing while Gerald was present. That, too, was part of the test. He could almost hear his father’s voice in its malicious dispassion: Fear sharpens the intellect, son. Hunger defines desire.

Jonathan’s small fingers twitched at his sides. His stomach ached in hollow pulses. Above him, the can of beans glinted faintly in the dim light, impossibly high. He’d tried before, once, when Gerald pretended to nap. The sound of the can hitting the floor had been deafening like a gunshot.

He’d woken later beneath the floorboards, choking on the scent of damp earth and his own fear. The chamber had no light, no sound but his breathing, and sometimes the faint scrape of something moving in the dark beside him. Rats, perhaps. Or hallucinations. The air there pressed against his lungs until he forgot what breathing normally felt like. He no longer screamed, though. Screaming pleased his father.

Now he studied the room like a problem to be solved. The chair was too heavy, the floor too old and loud. But the stack of books by the counter…those could reach high enough if he balanced them right. He hesitated, listening. The tick-tick-tick of the clock. The dry flutter of a newspaper page turning.

Jonathan crept forward, silent as a breath. The boards whispered under his bare feet. He built his tower of books; one book down, then another, then another, and aligned each spine like a bricklayer. His hands trembled, not from fear—or not only from fear—but from the fragile tremor that always came when hunger and hope collided.

He climbed. The tower wobbled beneath him, swaying with his weight. He reached, fingertips grazing the can’s metal edge—

“Resourceful.”

The voice froze him in place. Gerald stood in the doorway, half-shrouded in shadow. His tone was neither praise nor reprimand, but the neutral cadence of a man taking notes. “Though clumsy. Still impulsive.”

Jonathan stayed motionless, his hand still outstretched.

Gerald stepped closer, slow and measured. “You think I don’t see the pattern, boy? Every choice you make is fear-born. Every thought, driven by it. You reach for comfort knowing it leads you to pain. But one day,” he said softly, almost to himself, “you’ll learn. Fear will not starve you. It will feed you.”

Jonathan’s throat clicked as he swallowed. The man’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. It was gentle, almost tender, but Jonathan had learned that gentleness could hurt the most.

“Back under,” Gerald murmured.

The books collapsed as Jonathan was lifted down. The can rolled across the floor, spinning to a stop near his father’s boot. Jonathan stared at it, dizzy with hunger and the smell of metal and dust, as Gerald retreated momentarily. The hatch in the floor yawned open.

He didn’t fight. Fighting made it worse. Instead, as Gerald’s hand pressed between his shoulders, Jonathan looked one last time at the can—the unreachable thing—and tried to remember how it caught the light. Something small and shining above the dark.

Then nothing was in the light anymore.

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: Costumes 🎃💉🥃

Pairing: Scarecrow/Reader (2.4k words)

Summary: Choosing to surprise Jonathan Crane with a naughty outfit was always going to be a risk but, as usual, there is at least some satisfaction to be had.

Link to AO3 ☆ Fic Masterlist ☆ Ko-Fi

Whole Day Off Masterlist

(trigger warning for: heavy petting, intoxication, teasing, handjobs, alcohol use, orgasm, lap riding, titty sucking)

The choice to surprise Crane with an unexpected visit was one which took more than a little organisation on your part. Quietly enquiring about his plans to suss out an evening which would not impact his work or allow you to be discovered by any of his costumed colleagues was a nightmare in itself. But you were persistent and subtle questioning and opportunity had been quick to knock as he revealed an ideal date, his confession of having no intention of leaving the basement that night making it perfect.

The nurse costume you had purchased was obscene.

A thin material, soft and barely there in its sheerness, hugged across your curves and the cut of it was so high that you could feel the breeze of the evening air brushing up through the jacket to the bottom of your ass cheeks as you quickly tottered towards the basement door. The neckline was just as naughty, a deep plunge which easily exposed the white push-up bra below and was only held in place by the thin criss-cross lacing of the bust design. White thigh highs, lace panties, and a delicate nurses cap which sat lightly against your skull completed the ensemble and you had to admit that you looked good.

Hell, you felt good.

And, as you stood at the bottom of the basement stairs and hugged your trench coat tighter around your body to hide the surprise, you watched Crane with playful eyes as his inquisitive expression glowered at you from the other side of the room.

“Hi, Dr. Crane.”

“I wasn’t expecting you this evening.”

He speaks shortly, his body stilling in position as he squints at you from a distance. Lab coat missing, a simple grey shirt and dark pants cover his lanky frame – glasses pushed high on his nose and his hair in a casual state of messy disarray. But it is not his appearance, as surprisingly nice as it is, that piques your interest but the slight sway of his shoulders as his eyes narrow more than usual while he takes you in.

Taking a confident step towards him, an unexpected scent cuts harshly across your senses. Typically, the basement held an acrid smell, his chemicals always hanging in the air to create a slight staleness which you were quick to adapt to, but this was different. It was familiar. It was-

“Is that whisky I can smell?”

You sniff deeply, eyes scanning the room until they land on the workstation to your left. A bottle, almost empty of its amber contents, sits between the papers and you smile slightly at the discovery. It was like catching a child being naughty and your gaze flits back to Crane as he makes his way across the basement to meet you directly, his movements too loose to be considered his normal style.

“Are you drunk?”

Crane pauses, his approach stilting slightly once more before continuing as he strides to stand before you.

“I have been drinking.” He confesses. “As I said, I was not expecting company and my latest compound needs at least a day to ferment appropriately while also requiring my constant presence.”

“So, you chose to get smashed while you just wait it out? Wow.” You tease but truthfully you are more surprised that you’re letting on. You’d drank with him before, seen him throw back sips of whisky like they were little more than water, and yet you’d never seen him cut this loose before. Even when he had arrived at your apartment to apologise in the only way he knew how, he still had more control than he seemed to have now.

It was something different and the opportunity to explore something new on his end nips at your psyche like an excitable pup.

“I am a grown man, as I’m sure you can attest. My business and drinking habits are my own.”

“Hey, I’m not criticising,” you hold up one placating hand, the other remaining clutching at your coat, “but if I’d known then I might have brought something nice for myself. As a treat.”

He finally steps forward to reach you and, from here, you can really see the intoxication in his features. His eyes are wild and lacking their usual intensity while his mouth appears almost slack – lips shifting as he again has to push his glasses up his nose and peer down at you after narrowing his gaze at the cheap nurse hat which sits atop your crown.

“I like this outfit.” Crane offers, his eyes dragging up and down the trench as he loosens the top button of his shirt. The light grey shirt wasn’t one which you had seen before and it looked good on him, the lighter colour pulling your attention to his exposed forearms and the dark hair which littered them. “I will admit to being curious about both this foolish little hat and that death grip which seems hesitant to leave your fingers as they cling to your coat, witty girl.”

“Then I suppose I really should let you see what I have hiding away underneath it.”

Uncrossing your arms and dropping the coat to the floor with a single dramatic flourish, you love how quickly the chill of the basement wraps around you – gooseflesh breaking across your skin as your nipples peak beneath the scant fabric. He had never once complained about your clothing, seemingly happy to take you wearing it and stripped of it, but there was something delicious in choosing a costume designed purely to please him and the anticipation of it made your cunt feel damp even before any action had been initiated.

The reaction from Crane is immediate and exhilarating as he inhales sharply at the reveal, his hands flexing against his sides as his attention narrows into something decidedly predatory - washing away some of the vague drunken haze in a blink. The stench of whisky on his breath is intense, making your eyes water as he sidles forward to fully invade your space and press his thin body against your own.

"What's this?" Crane asks, his blue eyes now only slightly dulled by the alcohol. "I don't recall this being brought up in our discussions."

Adjusting the nurses cap, you gaze up at him with a tilted smile as you subtly push your chest together with your elbows – the areoles peeking free of the very edges of the fabric.

"You're a doctor, so why can't I be a nurse for a little while? I'm sure you have some injuries that I could be taking care of. Or, some vitals to be checked. Y’know, since you take such good care of me."

Making a rough noise in his throat, you don't miss the instant heat which floods into his features as he picks up on your game and his fingers rise to ghost along your hips. His affections surprise you, the ease with which he offers his hands to your body to explore the nurses costume and how gentle he is in his touch leaving you more enchanted than ever - amused by how the alcohol thrumming through his blood is clearly lowering his inhibitions.

“Do you want me to take care of you? Kind of like how I have before. Every doctor needs a nurse, Dr. Crane. Don’t they?” You offer, batting you lashes up at him.

“Wanton, wicked thing.” Almost purring the words, Crane strengthens his hold of your hips as he pulls you flush to his body.

"Kiss me."

Shocked by the request but unable to resist such a simple ask, you stand to your tiptoes to catch his mouth with your own in a heated kiss, the taste of whisky on his tongue instantly filling your senses. He takes his time, slowly devouring your mouth in his own as his hands slide up the front of your costume to grope along the swell of your tits.

"Do you need a medical check-up, Dr Crane?" You ask, groaning the question into his ear as you pull away from his mouth and allow him to grip you as tightly as he wished. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

"My medical history is not available to mere trainees, witty girl. You'll need to be thorough to gain any real information."

Laughing at that, he doesn’t resist your insistence as you drag him over to the couch, forcing him to drop to the ratty fabric with a soft grunt. Without hesitation, you follow and drop to his lap with a much gentler descent – straddling his groin with your knees pressing against his side and your sex brushing his upper thighs, not quite touching the heavy bulge of his cock.

“Let me check your pulse.” Breathing the demand, you pick up his left hand and bring it to your mouth to brush your lips along his pulse point. The faint scent of his cologne wafts from the skin and you shudder in place at the familiarity as you place your two fingers along the area which you just kissed.

The quick beat of his heart pulses against your fingers and you drink in the rhythm with a quiet, thoughtful hum. “Hmm, pulse feels strong. Quick. Excited. Let’s maybe try to test your strength.”

Dropping his hand to your chest, you slip his hand within the bust of your costume and groan as his textured palm rolls across your peaked nipple.

“Squeeze.”

Crane follows instruction well as it turns out, and his hand grips at your tit with enough pressure to steal your breath. Having that little bit of control feels almost heady and you encourage him to repeat the feat until both of his hands are fondling your chest with a painful familiarity. His attention is shameless, eyes refusing to leave his hands as they watch how the skin bends to his touch, reddened marks quick to rise to the surface.

“Do you want to taste them?” You ask, surprising yourself with the question.

He doesn’t answer that but the speed at which his head dips forward to catch your left nipple between his lips is shocking. His mouth is warm, tongue wet and busy as he alternates between licking and suckling at your tit – the pressure of the pull going straight to your cunt as you grind against his lap.

“Wow, such a strong mouth. Maybe I’ll have to test it out on another part of my anatomy.” You tease between pants, looping your hand around his head to press his face harder into your chest. “But since you’re so busy with my little tests, let me give you a helping hand.”

Hand dropping to his groin, you move quickly to undo his fly and release his cock. Taking him in hand, you feel the velvety weight of his length and the dampness of the pre-cum which leaks freely from his slit. He was shameless in his excitement, alcohol having stolen a little of his self-restraint and your touch seems to ignite him – his teeth joining the assault on your chest as he pulls off your right nipple long enough to bite playfully at the flesh of your tit.

Falling into a sweet rhythm, not frantic but certainly not calm, his muttered words are lost against your chest as he scrapes the stubble of his chin across your abused skin. You jerk him in the way you know he likes, keeping a firm pressure on his shaft while paying a lot of attention to his ultra-sensitive cockhead as you run your fingers along the flared rim which separates the two.

He comes after only a few minutes with a muted grunt, his hips jerking into your palm as his release dribbles free of his cock to stain along your fingers. His breath, hot and heavy in your ear, comes in sharp pants as he lazily fucks his cock between your fingers – stealing every drop of pleasure he can with a familiar greed.

You continue until he’s clearly finished, his head thrown back and eyes fluttering while his mouth wraps around soft noises which only make you want to keeping going. Instead, you give him a little bit of mercy as you release his cock and instead drop your head to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting the residual whisky there before bringing your come stained fingers to your mouth and licking off the mess.

Removing yourself from his lap with a gentle motion as you allow him to collect yourself, you make a swift exit to the bathroom to grab some toilet roll. Snatching a few sheets, you wipe off what’s left of the mess on your fingers before allowing it to fall into the small bin which sits against the wall.

Taking a moment to check your appearance in the mirror, you’re pleased with what you see and you adjust the silly little nurses cap before finally returning back to Crane on the sofa.

“Ready to prove yourself as my number one patient by using those fingers to show me a good time?” Asking the question as you once again drop softly to his lap, your focus is on his hands as you ensure that your knees are not trapping them – allowing them to roam free and give you what you wanted. “What do you think of that, Dr. Crane? Or maybe that greedy mouth?”

A soft noise slips free of his throat, his head tilted so far back that you can’t quite see his expression until you push gently at his chest and his head falls forward. Eyes closed, his chin rests heavily on his chest as he fails to respond to the questions.

“Are you- hey?!” Poking at his shoulder, the attempt to rouse him fails miserably as his eyes remain closed and his breathing even.

Asleep.

Goddam asleep.

“Bastard.”

Throwing your hands up in frustration but without an audience to enjoy the theatrics, you slip quietly from his lap as you stand up and stare down at him. Costume dishevelled and clenching cunt thoroughly unsatisfied, you can’t help but laugh at the sheer audacity of him.

Too drunk and too exhausted to fulfil his part of the deal, it seemed only fair that he paid some sort of due.

Crossing the basement to grab your handbag, you slip your phone free from the front pocket and return to the couch, gently dropping to curl up around Crane’s side as you ensure that the flash is switched off before snapping a quick photograph of you both; your expression little more than a smile while his is significantly less dignified.

He would be pissed off if he found out, you knew that.

But, if Crane had taught you anything in your time together, it was that sometimes making the selfish choice was the only choice.

And you really had learned from the best.

[doctor-jonathan-crane]

Hey doc,

If you had a young woman in your life, a daughter or little sister perhaps, would you view them strictly as a protégé or would you have a soft spot for them?

All the very best

That’s a curious hypothetical. Is there one I don’t know about?

I should begin by clarifying that sentimentality is not my natural posture. Particularly not when it threatens the integrity of objective study. Emotional interference is anathema to proper methodology. That said…even the most disciplined cognitive framework may allow space for anomaly. It’s simply a function of the human condition: the limbic system often finds ways to override the neocortex, especially under conditions of prolonged proximity or perceived kinship.

If such a figure existed in my life—a sister, a daughter, a ward—yes, she would be of intellectual interest. Not merely a protégé, but something more…intricate. A mind to nurture, certainly. But also a presence I might…protect. Not out of affection, necessarily, but because certain experiments would only be valid when consented to, and others are wasted when inflicted too early.

A soft spot? Perhaps. I’d categorize it as a studied bias. Every scientist has one. Some acknowledge it. Others lie.

[choosethemoon]

TO PUT IT PLAIN, I JUST DON’T LIKE YOU

NOT A THING ABOUT THE WAY YOU IS

AND IF THERE EVER COME A TIME I GOT RABIES

YOU’RE HIGH ON MY BITIN’ LIST

[mypoorsoul]

“Crane is not a good guy. I think it comes from serious, deep issues from a very young age. I think he’s got a serious inferiority complex, although he’s brilliant at the same time. And the Scarecrow incarnation—well, aren’t all of these villains a little whacked out? I think it’s much more interesting when there’s a distinction between the two sides of the character because when you put on a mask you want to justify it. The freedom the mask allows someone is to live all those fantasies in your head, good or bad, without revealing yourself.”

Cillian Murphy SFX June 2005

[soapsmoviesfootballfan]

[cherryjennn]

Tommy shelby through photographs

[drowninginmyheart-deactivated20]

𝑫𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒅𝒐, 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. 𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎, 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆. 𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒍, 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚, 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓. 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏, 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆. 𝑺𝒐 𝒏𝒐, 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒅𝒐. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒐. 𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒌𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑. 𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.

[thatgirlwritess]

“ I have a feeling you got everything you wanted. And you're not wasting time stuck here like me. “

behind closed doors - t.s. | oneshot

fandom: Peaky Blinders

pairing: thomas shelby x fem!reader

content warning: gangs/gangsters, smut 18+ (male masturbation, watching for several seconds), innocent reader

summary: After attending an arranged married with Thomas Shelby you need to get used to living with the distant man. That requires catching him in moments of relief.

author's note: should I make a part two for this?

masterlist.

You can barely recall the ceremony. It wasn’t a blur; rather, you had steeled yourself against any emotion. The flowers were white, the champagne tasted off, and Thomas Shelby stood at the altar like he was finalizing a business deal rather than marrying someone he barely knew.

And yet, that’s it.

You were aware of the murmurs, the arrangement made away from prying eyes. Your father had debts to the Peaky Blinders, and Thomas didn’t demand payment in cash. He demanded people—specifically, you. You held back tears and didn’t protest; that would have drained you. Instead, you remained composed and elegant, like a lamb clad in satin, while he slid a ring onto your finger, eyes averted.

Later, after the last guest had left and the silence settled in like a weight, you found yourself alone with him in the suite. As he unbuttoned his collar, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “You can stop pretending,” he said. “I’m not a romantic hero.”

You leaned against the edge of the bed, silent as his expression softened. He saw your youth—not naive but vulnerable.

“I’m not heartless,” he continued, tentatively brushing your cheek as if gauging your reaction. You stood resolutely still while his thumb lingered at your jawline.

His eyes searched yours, looking for fear, resentment, perhaps even a trace of fragility. You met his gaze, unwavering, though your pulse raced. “I understand this wasn’t your choice,” he said, quieter now. “And I recognize your age. I know the mess your father has created for you.”

His hand dropped, fingers grazing your arm in a manner too gentle for a man with a violent past. In that moment, you sensed not tenderness but restraint—like he was containing something within. He turned away, pouring himself a drink from the decanter. You noticed the tension in his shoulders as he lifted the glass to his lips, then set it down untouched.

“I won’t lay a finger on you unless you wish it,” he said, still avoiding your gaze. “You won’t have to plead or fake anything for my sake.”

Stepping forward, the sound of your feet on the floor echoed in the silence. “Why marry me, then?”

He turned to face you, meeting your eyes without a hint of arrogance or charm. Just the stark honesty that defined Thomas Shelby.

“Because your father made a grave error,” he replied. “Because the world is merciless, and being mine is safer than being alone.”

You believed him, and that realization filled you with dread. You believed him. He took your hand, enveloping it within his rough grip, then brought it to his lips—not to kiss, just to rest. A simple, unembellished gesture.

“I can wait,” he whispered.

His touch against your skin was so careful, so at odds with the violence you knew he was capable of, that it nearly broke you. But you couldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of this dangerous man who already held so much power over you.

He lowered your hand. His gaze flickered over your features—your lips, your eyes, the subtle tremble you couldn’t quite disguise. You felt exposed under his gaze, laid bare in a way that was equal parts alarming and thrilling.

Thomas continued to study you, his thumb tracing slow, distracting circles on the back of your hand, making it hard to think clearly. Finally, he said softly, “You’re trembling.”

You hadn't even realized it until now. The subtle tremors that ran through your body, a silent reflection of the storm raging inside you. You tried to control it, holding yourself still, but he already noticed.

He released your hand, his touch leaving a ghost of warmth on your skin. You almost missed it, the absence of his grip, the sense of security it provided. Thomas reached out again, his fingers gently grasping your chin, tilting your face to the light. His gaze was intense, like looking directly into the sun. "Look at me." His deep voice was so commanding that you obeyed without thinking, meeting his eyes. He held you there, his touch gentle but firm. “Do I need to wait?”

A part of you yearned to say yes. To say that you needed time, that you couldn't be the wife he was expecting. But another part, the part controlled by him and his touch, wanted the opposite. You nod your head, not trusting your voice.

Thomas' gaze darkened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His thumb moved from your chin, slowly traced along your jaw, following the line of your pulse. "Alright,” he said. “I’ll give you time.”

He stepped back, creating distance, and your body instinctively yearned to close it, to feel the proximity of his body again. But you held yourself back, standing there, trying to regain some control over yourself.

Thomas picked up his drink, swirling it thoughtfully. He watched you, his expression neutral, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was taking you in, memorizing every part of you. You felt like prey watched by a predator, but instead of fear, a strange heat coiled in your stomach.

"Sit." His command was simple, yet it held an edge of authority that was impossible to ignore. He gestured to a chair near the fireplace, and you found yourself moving towards it without hesitation.

You sat down, your body still trembling slightly as if it had a mind of its own. Thomas took a seat opposite you, his shoulders relaxed but his gaze sharp. He sipped his drink, studying you quietly.

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fireplace. You felt his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting. He made no effort to fill the silence with small talk, instead letting the tension build between you.

Thomas put down his glass. His attention was fully focused on you now, his eyes roaming your face, searching for any sign of fear or submission. "You're nervous," he stated, not a question but an observation. “Why is that? I just said I wouldn’t touch you.”

You fought the urge to look away, keeping your gaze locked with him. You were nervous. Of course, you were. You were alone with a man known for his ruthless nature. But more than that, it was the way he looked at you, like he could see straight through you. It made you feel vulnerable, exposed.

Yet, in that vulnerability, there was a strange kind of connection. A mutual understanding that you were both trapped in this situation—you, a caged bird, and him, the hawk waiting to devour you. “People talk…”

He smirked, a small scoff falling from his lips. "Do they now?" His expression was a mix of amusement and curiosity. He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. "And what do they say, eh? 'That Shelby married a pretty young little thing.' Or maybe, 'That Shelby's bride looks like she might break in half under his touch'?"

Your cheeks flushed at his words, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He was right. The whispers had reached your ears. They whispered of your youth, your innocence, and your lack of experience. They talked about how delicate you were, and how a man as rough and relentless as Thomas Shelby would snap you in half if he got too carried away. “Shouldn’t it concern you… that people talk?”

He chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair as if he was thoroughly enjoying this game. His gaze was still on you, studying every little reaction. "Why should it concern me what people say?" he replied, a hint of challenge in his tone. "They talk because they fear. They talk because they know who I am and what I'm capable of. But you…"

He paused, tilting his head to one side, his eyes roaming over you once more. "It concerns you, doesn't it? It worries you, little bird."

Your heart skipped a beat as he called you that—little bird. It was a term of endearment, but also one of possession. You were his now, and he could do with you as he pleased.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the flush on your cheeks betrayed you. Yes, it concerned you. It worried you—how people saw you, how he saw you. How he talked about you like you were some fragile object, ready to snap under his touch.

He chuckled at your silence, his gaze sharp and shrewd. He could read you like a book. Every flinch, every expression, every tiny gesture. Thomas reached for his glass again, swirling the amber liquid inside before taking a slow sip. He set it back down, his eyes never leaving you.

"They talk about your inexperience," he said bluntly, his words hanging heavily in the air. "About how delicate you are. How you've never been touched by a man before. Is that true?"

Your cheeks grew hotter at his question. It was true. You had never been with a man, not even been kissed by one. And now you were married to a man known for his ruthless nature and carnal appetites.

You didn't trust your voice enough to speak, so you simply nodded your head in confirmation, watching him closely for his reaction.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth at your confirmation. His gaze darkened, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "I see. A pure little thing, untainted by the world," he murmured, his tone almost mocking. "Untouched by a man's touch, untouched by my touch."

He pushed himself away from the chair and stood up, coming closer to you. His eyes roamed over you, appreciating your innocence, your vulnerability. “A monster such as me… married a saint.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat as he stood in front of you, his presence overwhelming. You felt small and exposed beneath his gaze, like a butterfly trapped under a microscope.

He was standing incredibly close now, looking down at you. He reached out, and for a moment, you braced yourself, expecting him to touch you, to claim you. But instead, he simply lifted a strand of your hair, rubbing it between his fingers, as if assessing its softness. "Go to bed," he murmured.

The sudden command surprised you. Go to bed? Is that all? No touch, no claim, just... nothing? You tried to conceal your disappointment and confusion, staring back at him with wide eyes. "Alone?" you heard yourself asking before you could stop yourself. Immediately, you regretted it. That hint of desperation in your voice was pathetic.

A slow sigh played on Thomas' lips as he heard the hint of desperation in your tone. He tilted his head, studying you, clearly amused by this unexpected moment of weakness.

"Yes," he responded, his voice gruff yet controlled. "You'll go to bed, alone." He let go of the strand of your hair, his hand dropping back to his side. The loss of his touch felt like a sharp stab, but you forced yourself to remain impassive, to hide the disappointment that threatened to surface. “I have business to attend.”

You nodded silently, trying to hide the conflicting emotions churning within you. Disappointment, relief, confusion, and a strange sense of desire all battling for dominance.

You pushed yourself to stand up, breaking eye contact with him as you did so. The thought of spending the night alone on the cold sheets, knowing that he'd be out dealing with god knows what kind of 'business' was almost... unsettling.

"Good night then," you managed to mutter, your voice betraying none of your inner turmoil.

He watched you carefully, his gaze never leaving your form as you stood up. A smirk played on his lips, as if he could see through your indifferent facade.

"Good night, little bird," he replied, his tone deceptively soft. "Try to find some sleep. I'll be back soon."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving you standing there, watching the door close behind him. The click of the latch echoed through the now silent room, the weight of his absence palpable.

Next couple of weeks were the same— you’d wake up alone and go to sleep alone. You’d have breakfast alone and dine alone. You’d simply be left alone with servants inside the big Arrow house. At least it felt like it.

When Tommy was home it still felt like he wasn’t. He was distant and kept his promise of waiting and not touching you. Whenever he was home he’d be in his office to which you only set foot on when he was away.

Today was different— you decided to confront him about going shopping alone in his office. Your hand grabbed the door knob and you slowly opened it just to check if he’s in… and were you welcomed by the sight— Tommy Shelby stroking his dick in his office.

The sight of him, his hand wrapped around himself, was so shockingly unexpected that you froze in place, unable to move or speak. Your cheeks flared with heat, and you felt like an intruder, watching something you shouldn't be.

But your mind was racing. Why was he doing this? Why now, when he'd been keeping his distance for weeks? And why right at his desk, in the office of all places?

You watched him for mere more seconds before stepping back and walking away without a word. Your retreat was swift, fueled by a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. As you retreated down the hallway, your mind was a storm of conflicting feelings. The image of him in his office had shocked you, yet it had also stirred some unexpected sensations in you.

As you walked away, you couldn't shake off the image of Thomas, the usually in-control man, losing himself in his own private moment. It was a side of him you'd never seen before and it had left you confused and strangely affected.

That night dinner was served for both you and your husband. The two of you sat close to each other, dining in silence. You didn’t dare speak a word. A thick, uncomfortable silence filled the air between you. The clinking of cutleries against the plates sounded unusually loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Thomas, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered. His gaze would occasionally flick in your direction, taking in your tense shoulders and averted gaze, but he said nothing. He continued eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

You tried to focus on the meal, to act like everything was normal, but you couldn't shake off the memory of that moment in his office, the image of him like a dagger in your mind. The silence was unbearable, yet, you didn't know how to break it.

Finally, Thomas spoke. His gaze had turned from the food to you. "I’m taking you shopping tomorrow," he said, his voice low and steady. “To buy more of whatever ladies your age buy these days.”

Your eyes darted up to meet his gaze, a mix of surprise and relief washing over you. He was finally breaking the silence.

He continued, his tone still flat and matter-of-fact. "You'll need more dresses, I suppose. Some new shoes. Maybe some hats and all that nonsense ladies like." He took a nonchalant bite of his food, watching you for a reaction.

You sat there, trying to process his statement. Part of you was happy he was talking to you, especially about something so normal as shopping. But the other part, the one that had been dwelling on the image of him in his office all day, was still caught up in confusion and desire.

You managed a small nod, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You should prepare a list," he continued, as if discussing some business matter. "Of what you need, that is. Whatever… lady things you need.”

He sipped his whiskey, his gaze still fixed on you, his expression giving nothing away. You couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. Was he really just talking about shopping? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

You nodded again, a bit awkwardly this time. "Yes, I can do that."

The rest of the dinner passed in this strange, stilted conversation, with Thomas rattling off additional items you might need, and you nodding along like a puppet. Throughout it all, he would glance at you every few seconds, studying you.

As the meal came to an end, he leaned back in his seat, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Good. We'll set off early tomorrow then."

As he stood, you instinctively did the same, the movement feeling as if you were simply following his lead, a puppet on a string.

He didn't say anything at first, just stood there, looking at you with that inscrutable expression. You were acutely conscious of his gaze, of the unspoken words between you. Finally, he spoke, his voice a hushed murmur. "Oh and, [Y/N].”

There was a pause, a moment where the air felt thick with anticipation. You looked at him, awaiting his next words, your heart beating faster than it should. Whatever was coming next was important, you could feel it.

Finally, he finished his sentence, his tone almost casual. "Next time, after you’re done watching me, close the door.”

[mothhball]

Ok, you asked for it…

I NEED to know what BTAA!Scarecrow would think about having a partner with a mask kink? Specifically begging him to keep his mask on while fucking😏

Andddd why not toss some predator/prey into the mix😌🙂‍↕️ thinking about being chased around by this Scarecrow specifically is always on my mind I fear😮‍💨

HELLO?? JADE??? 🤤🤤🤤 your mind is so powerful

I was drooling all over the keyboard. This is messy and not proofread OR formatted well, but I'll make it pretty tomorrow. Right now, I'm tipsy and horny lmao

Minors DNI

To you, it was a spur of the moment suggestion, to him, it was something that had been in the works for weeks.

Ever since you accidentally slipped up and told him about a certain fantasy of yours.

During a lull in the conversation of picking a date night activity, the two of you got to talking about one of your shared passions again: Horror Flicks.

While you rattled off a list of your favorites, you missed the way how his eyes glazed over with something dangerous; something interested.

Especially when your voice wavered when mentioning one key detail: The masks of the antagonists.

Oh, he had you figured out immediately. His jaw clenched at the way you talked about the masked killers. How your eyes avoided his, and your teeth caught your lip.

At that point, you already were his favorite brain to pick, but that elevated your status even more.

Hey, he'd be an idiot to waste this opportunity.

So, while you leaned your head against his shoulder to watch The Prowler for the fifth time, Jonathan's mind was wandering elsewhere to make sense of the logistics.

He'd be indulging the both of you, after all.

Now, a few weeks later, you were on the run.

He gave you a countdown, sending you scrambling down spiraling, twisted hallways and never-ending corridors of an abandoned warehouse. The world felt like it was caving in on itself, churning shadows licked their way up your thighs and the back of your neck, while panicked whimpers spilled from your lips in a constant stream of noise. A frightened little bird, desperate for freedom.

And he was closing in. Fast.

The noise of his approaching footsteps was a constant in your ears, accompanied by your racing heart as you tried to find your way out. But it was futile.

Locked doors, boarded up windows, air vents that were bolted shut.

You were trapped.

Eyes flitting about to find a place to hide, you settled on the oldest stereotype. A closet. You were almost too preoccupied by the circumstances to grasp the irony of the situation, but two nagging feelings still managed to surface in your panicked mind.

First: certainty. Certainty that he was going to catch you. That he would find your pathetic hiding space and you'd be completely at his mercy.

And second: aching, burning, desperate arousal at the very thought of it.

It didn't take long before the doors of the closet flew open, and he stood before your cowering frame, chest heaving from the chase and slacks tented by his cock.

You could only stare at him, doe-eyed and frozen in place, trying to ignore the heat simmering like molten stone in the pit of your stomach.

And then, he was on you.

His burning gaze found yours through the holes in his mask, stripping you down along with his hands that were tearing your clothes apart.

He was panting, shaking from arousal and adrenaline as he grabbed onto your hips, dragging you halfway into his lap.

Greedy. Impatient.

"Hah, look at you," he rasped from beneath burlap, tongue heavy with need.

"Not even struggling, hm?"

The only response he got from you was the hitch of your breath as two of his gloved fingers spread your cunt apart.

"On the contrary," Scarecrow continued. "You're already dripping before I even got the chance to sink my teeth into you."

Once he stuffed his cock into you, his pace was relentless. Frantically, he bucked his hips up into yours, keeping your pretty body bouncing in his lap as he crowded you against the wall of the closet.

You could hear how he swallowed heavily, reaching up to lift his mask–most likely to steal a kiss or leave a bruise on your throat. But your hand snapped out to catch his wrist, preventing him from showing his face.

"Please," you gasped. "Please, please keep it on– I... fuck, I'm–"

You were a mess, eyes glazed over and unfocused, lips parted as he fucked the sweetest noises right out of your lungs along with a garbled mess of words, which he miraculously understood.

"If you insist," he chuckled, moving his hand to wrap around your neck instead. The tone of his voice was too eager to just be teasing. You knew he was enjoying this as much as you did.

Jonathan's own expression was hidden under his mask, the burlap rustling and moving from his heavy breathing and muffled grunts. He didn't feel human in that moment. Not with your mind muddled by his toxin and your cunt spread apart by his cock.

He felt like a hunter.

With his body pressed against yours; with his arms caging you in and forcing you to endure every punishing thrust, you felt like he was devouring you whole.

And it was a dream come true.

[peakycillianblinders]

Peaky Blinders | S05E01.

[invisibleinkarchive-deactivated]

Good Girl (Mike Kiernan x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Mike Kiernan x Fem!Reader Summary: After 6 months of silent flirtations, you finally have a riding lesson with the best teacher you know. Word count: 2,929 Contents: (Minors DNI). Protected sex, power imbalance (technically he’s your boss), oral (f receiving), hickies, spanking. Author's notes: Oh my god. I'm sorry for taking so long. Nothing happened in my life; I just got lazy lol, sorry. Once more, it's a collab with my girl @fuckiingloser. I love you guys, thank you for your patience!

The last few months, you had been shadowing Mike Kiernan, a nice, incredibly handsome secondary school teacher, for your university internship. And you felt like you had struck gold. 

Mike, besides being the generous eye candy who eased your five consecutive days of work per week, was understanding, helpful, and patient. Gently guiding you through the overworked world of teaching and talking you through it. Not hard to believe you had grown quite fond of him.

Extremely fond of him.

It was the last day of the semester, and you and Mike had stayed late after the school day ended to finish grading some tests. Your eyes were glued to his thick fingers as he flipped through the last stack of papers for the night. His soft brown hair fell perfectly over his forehead, his slutty square glasses framed his beautiful baby blue eyes as he read names and numbers, and you, sitting right next to him, couldn’t help but admire. 

Intelligent, kind, helpful and so fucking sexy. 

He was perfect. 

You snapped out of your temporary lust-filled haze as he turned to you, putting the tests into his desk.

“You survived 6 months as a teacher, congrats...” He said cooly, flashing that charming little smile that bothered you too much in certain spots. Unconsciously, you crossed your legs, and for a split second, his pale blue eyes flickered down to the smooth skin your skirt revealed, before very politely returning to your face.

“All thanks to your help…” You pointed out, making him chuckle.

“Don’t give me too much credit, you’re a natural...” The way he said it, with that sincere, pretty man charm, made your heart and pussy flutter in unison. God, he was sexy in that cozy blue sweater, especially when praising you. He was one “good girl” away from killing you.

Hot, sweet, funny… Mike Kiernan was the whole package, and you wanted to see his whole package.

Now, to point out the painfully obvious, he was technically your boss. But he wasn’t much older than you. Only about 7 or 8 years. AND, you both definitely had an unspoken mutual attraction stemming from day one. Nothing you had addressed or dived into, but it had been looming over you the past six months, tempting you to explore it.

A few flirty comments at the beginning, a lot of flirty looks and laughs, but neither of you had made a move… Yet. 

As you started to pack your things, ready to go home and relax by fantasizing about him, you heard him speak again.

“I’ve got a nice bottle of red at my place if you’d like to share a celebratory drink tonight. No pressure, of course, just figured we could cheers to a great semester…” 

Your eyes, sinful as ever and widening a bit, focused on his soft pink lips as he spoke. Holy fuck.

“I’d love to.” You said with a smile, trying to play it cool yet screaming inside your head.

Next thing you knew, you were at Mike’s apartment sitting on his couch. The Smiths played quietly in the background, briefly overpowered by the sound of him pulling the cork out of a wine bottle.

“It's an aged merlot…” He said, joining you on his sleek leather couch with two long-stemmed glasses. You pretended to know whatever an aged merlot was as you watched him pour two glasses of it.

God, he was pretty. How could somebody pour wine sexily? How could the simple motion of handing a glass of wine be attractive? The light of the fire he started when you got there only made him more handsome. Licks of gold bounced off his smooth skin like they loved him, his bright blue eyes bore into yours hypnotically, and stroked the other fire between your legs.

“Well…” He held up his glass, maroon-tinted light filtering through. “Cheers”. 

You copied his motion and clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. His eyes never left yours as you drank and took in the flavor of his aged merlot. An oddly calming moment for how instantly this turned you on. 

In between sips, you chatted about anything, from mutual feelings about work, to music, literature, movies… Until you had downed two glasses of the sweet red wine.

There was a pause in the conversation as he filled up a third glass for each of you, allowing you to look around his living room, specifically his bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with books, records, and some DVDs, perfectly curated and organized and so him.

When you turned back to him, his pretty eyes were fixed on your now exposed thighs, thanks to your skirt riding up. It was like clockwork with him; anytime you would walk into school early with a skirt and tights, you’d find him staring throughout the day. And it only incited you to keep wearing outfits like that.

“I've gotta be honest…” He started, his hand tentatively reaching out and running his fingertips over the soft skin of your thigh. “These skirts drive me crazy…”

You nearly choked mid-sip as he finally said the quiet part out loud. 

“I had a feeling…” You flirted back, fueled by the wine and the maddening heat between your legs, the anticipation alone making your pussy clench around nothing. He let out a little laugh.

“Guess I wasn’t very subtle, was I?” He replied with a cute smile, so charming it could drive you insane. You laughed in response, shaking your head and setting your glass down.  

“Not particularly… but is it bad to admit I enjoyed it?” You said sensually, eyes taking him in detail, from his desire-full eyes all the way down to his twitching cock in his pants.

Mike smirked, and with no hesitation, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a warm, wet, rich kiss. His hand moved up your thigh under the hem of your skirt, and his tongue slid into the tempting heat of your mouth so slowly, savoring you like the feast you were. He cupped your cheek tenderly yet firmly, as to make sure you wouldn’t disappear from him.

“I can’t even tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that...” he whispered into his lips. “Wanted to stay professional but-“ You cut him off with another needy, searing kiss.

Professionalism couldn’t matter less to you in this moment, with his soft, plump lips on yours. And while the sentiment and respectfulness from him was appreciated, and very admired, you had waited so long to fuck this hot ass teacher, you didn’t want to waste a single second more.

You made out for a few minutes, melting into each other’s mouths and touch, savoring every moment like you were starving. The six-month-long anticipation finally freed you from its grasp, making you realize that you both wanted it much more than either of you had thought.

“Stand up..” He suddenly whispered into your lips, parting from the kiss. The lust fogging up your brain demanded you to pull him back in and kiss him some more, but the tone of his voice, firm and demanding, like you were a student in his class, turned you on incredibly.

Obeying, you stood up from the leather couch, not thinking twice. You feasted your eyes as Mike sank to his knees in front of you, like you were a holy apparition and he the most devoted. His beautiful pale blue eyes stared into yours so intensely your heart rate sped up and your pussy fluttered.

Large hands ran up your smooth legs with a slow, reverent pace, until they were at the hemline of your skirt.

“I’ve thought about eating your sweet cunt for months….” He practically purred to you as your chest heaved, staring down at him in anticipation. 

There was so much you wanted to say in that moment, so much you had thought about telling him. This had been the scenario of many of your fantasies, the fuel to the fire, the idea you pictured and clung to while touching yourself in bed. But as you searched through your lustful mind, Mike spoke again.

“Can I take these off, love?” He said gently, his hands snaking up under your skirt, fingertips ghosting over the edges of your lace panties with barely contained anticipation.

“Yes… ” You replied instantly, making his smirk widen. His fingers hooked the band of your underwear and slowly pulled them down, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The fabric glided down until it hit the floor, and you stepped out of it.

With a spark of mischief, Mike picked up your white lace panties and brought them to his nose, inhaling with delight and closed eyes, a contented, savoring groan leaving his lips. When he had his fill, he balled up the undergarments, shoving them into the back pocket of his khakis.

Your heart pounded in your chest at the constant realization that this was real life and not another one of your “alone-with-your-vibrator” fantasies.

“I’m gonna eat your cunt…” He warned sensually, his eyes looking into yours with longing. As suspected by your daydreams, he was the kind of guy who talked you through it. Perfect for you.

In a moment, his head disappeared under your skirt. You felt his hot breath caressing your aching core for a second before his warm, wet tongue slid between your delicate folds, separating them and sending you straight to heaven on earth. 

“Oh fuck…” You whispered in between breathless whimpers, inciting his tongue to dive even deeper before circling over your needy, sensitive clit. Mike groaned happily; your moans, your scent, your sweetness, they all made him hungrier, devouring you whole.

“You taste like heaven.” He whispered against your cunt, head covered by your skirt. His big hand held you steady by the hip while you placed a leg over his strong shoulder, giving him better access to you. Mike moaned in approval, not detaching himself from your pussy.

His talented tongue slipped down, sliding inside you and making you cry out. You could see stars as he lapped against you like he was a starving man and you the only thing in this world that could satisfy him.

“P-please-don’t stop- m’gonna come…” You stuttered rather pathetically as his tongue flicked over your clit once more. However, much to your dismay, Mike stopped and pulled back from under your skirt, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal and pupils wide with lust. 

He gave you a look of beautiful vulnerability, silently telling you that if he didn’t stop now, he would come in his pants before he had the chance to fuck you.

Moving quickly, he got up from the floor and fumbled with his belt, tugging down his pants and boxers in one go, and sitting back on the couch. Your mouth watered at the sight of his thick, veiny cock standing at full mast, just waiting for you to sit on it, precum leaking from the red, eager tip.

“Condom?” You asked, shocking yourself with that wave of reason. Safety was first, even if the thought of him coming deep inside you drove you wild with need.

“Oh shit- yeah… my wallet’s in my pants.” He regained his wits, even if his chest heaved with anticipation. 

You quickly reached down and grabbed his wallet, pulling out the silver wrapper and tossing it to him. You watched his alabaster teeth tear the foil open before his swift fingers rolled the condom down his thick length. Such simple actions yet so incredibly hot, arousal dripped down your inner thighs.

“You’re gonna ride my cock like a good girl with that pretty little skirt on, aren’t you?” He smirked and leaned back against the leather couch, you nodded obediently.

“Yes, Mr Kiernan…” You purred sweetly, playing into the little fantasy and putting a bigger smile upon his handsome face. You moved to straddle his thighs, your desire getting the best of you and making you steal a kiss from him. Your tongues swirled together and you tasted yourself in his mouth, moaning in delight.

“Christ- you are so fucking sexy” Mike husked against your lips in between hungry, slick kisses. His hands slid under your skirt to palm your ass greedily, giving both cheeks a hard, self-indulgent squeeze.

Carefully, you leaned back, lifting your skirt up to look at his rock hard cock, then, you looked into his eyes, and he got the message loud and clear. His big hand grabbed the base of his cock, angling it steady so you could perfectly lift yourself onto him.

The air felt thick around you as the tip slid inside easily, making you both moan in unison. His hands grabbed your hips for support, his grip tightening the more you sank down. You went slowly, allowing yourself to adjust to his girth.

“So tight…” He moaned, feasting his eyes on your pussy swallowing him before fluttering them shut and letting his head fall back against the couch. You moaned in agreement, adjusting to him.

It had been a while since you had fucked anyone. And now, being with your dream guy who also had the thickest, perfectly curved cock, it was actual heaven.

You let out a strangled moan as you sank down fully, his tip sitting snugly against the end of you. Your tight, wet cunt held onto him with a vice grip, every delicious inch fitting perfectly inside you.

His eyes opened wide, finding yours again as you started to bounce on him. Non-stop whiny moans fell from your lips without even thinking as his cock poked your g-spot repeatedly. He guided your movements with his hands, gripping your hips rather possessively.

Soft pink lips found yours again in a sloppy kiss, you moved as one and got lost in each other. Eventually, he kissed down your jaw to your neck, tongue flicking over it, then sucking at the skin, pulling a guttural moan from you.

“God this little pussy is so perfect…” He whispered into your neck in between kisses. “Wraps around my cock so fucking good…” 

His words added more gasoline to your fire, urging you to go faster. You gripped the couch behind him for support and started to roll your hips expertly, moaning his name like a mantra.

The look on his face and the way his cock pulsed deep inside you, you knew he wouldn't last much longer. Neither would you. A familiar burn filled the pit of your stomach.

“Gonna come…” That was all you could manage to squeak out, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He nodded and readjusted, planting both feet on the floor and using the leverage to pound up into you from below.

The sounds of skin slapping together quickly filled the room and harmonized with your even louder moans. Your eyes rolled back and so did your head, you could only see the ceiling as Mike fucked you deeper and faster, as if his entire life depended on it.

His hand reached up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he railed you.

“You look at me when I make you come.” He demanded with such grit and intensity, his words went straight between your legs and sent your cunt to the edge. You nodded frantically, desperate to please.

“So fucking close…” You whimpered, tears of intense pleasure brimming in your eyes. Much more intense than anything you had ever felt with any other sexual partner before. Mike was so focused on getting you there first it made you weak.

“Come for me, pretty girl…” He urged you, even if he was short of breath from putting in work to jackhammer his hips to fuck you deep. His hand gave you a swift, hard smack on your ass over your skirt, the sound vibrating in your ears. You arched your back and cried out at the pleasure mixed with pain.

That was when it hit you like a truck. You came so hard you saw spots for a second. Your pussy convulsed and tightened around his cock and you practically screamed his name, along with a string of curse words. Your thighs shook from the intensity and your hands gripped the couch behind him.

Mike saw and felt everything. The sight of you falling apart on his big cock completely disarming him. He came hard as your pussy milked him for all he's worth, moaning and pulsing inside you, spilling his load into the condom. When he was done, he slowly pulled out and discarded the used latex, setting it on the coffee table.

“Holy shit…” He breathed out in exhaustion after recovering for a minute. You both tried your best to regain your breath and composure, your foreheads damp with sweat and your hearts still racing. Slowly, you leaned in and pressed your forehead against his, your breaths mingled as you sat in a comfortable silence.

“So… you ready for round two?” You asked with a cheeky smirk, watching in amusement how his eyes widened and he let out a huff of a surprised laugh.

“Someone’s eager…” He chuckled, giving your hips a playful smirk, before sliding to give your asscheek a playful swat over your skirt. 

“Ready for another lesson from the best teacher I know, that's all…” You purred, eyes twinkling, looking into his. Mike smirked, his cock coming back to life under you, awakened by the way you played into the fantasy again.

“Alright… flip over and keep that skirt on…” 

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