Just Another woman in an fandom world. Tom Hiddleston, Robert Downey Jr, Benedict Cumberbatch, Sherlock, Supernatural, Doctor Who, Scream, Marvel, DC etc, REQUESTS ARE OPEN
Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F
Warnings: Explicit sex, oral (f rec), breeding kink (inferred), HEA
When Alfie Solomons pays a surprise visit to your home, Tommy has a serious *talk* with you about dealing with dangerous men...
Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.
Sunday morning should’ve been quiet, allowing him time for his family. Just one day.
Tommy had been in London for the last three days. Instead of staying in that city for one more night, he travelled home overnight, arriving in Birmingham in the early morning hours. Unable to sleep after that and not wanting to wake his wife and baby son, he came down to his office to get some work done.
Tommy had been working at his desk for about an hour when the door opened with no preamble. He was hoping it was his beautiful wife, already smiling.
But it was Rory who stepped in.
“He’s here,” Rory said meaningfully.
Tommy didn’t need to ask who. Somehow, he knew Alfie Solomons would turn up soon. Just not at his home.
Reluctantly, he said, “Bring him in.”
Only a moment later, Rory returned with Alfie at his shoulder.
He wasn't sure if Alfie was an ally or an enemy. The man took one step into the room before stopping, measuring the place. His hat was still atop his head, his cane tapping the floor as he walked.
“Right,” he muttered, glancing around. “So, this is where you do your thinking, yeah? Bit tidy for my liking, Tommy."
Tommy had no intention of rising to it. “I'm sure you’ve seen worse.” Gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Sit.”
But Alfie didn’t sit. Turning ever so slightly, he glanced back towards Rory. Tommy's new business partner took his time, sizing up his brother-in-law, the young man who had earned a reputation for himself as one of the most deadly men in Birmingham.
Rory stood by the door, too calm and still for a man his age. His gaze didn't leave Alfie for a second.
“Interesting one, that,” Alfie said, almost to himself.
Rory didn’t react at all. He just stood there, motionless and waiting.
Alfie smiled faintly. “Go on then. You can leave us. I promise I won’t rob him blind in the next five minutes.”
Rory still didn’t move, his gaze shifting to Tommy.
When Tommy gave him a small nod, Rory left without a word, closing the door behind him.
And in the silence of his exit, Alfie watched the door a moment longer. Letting out a slow breath, he turned his attention back to Tommy as he finally took a seat in front of his desk.
“Bloody hell,” Alfie muttered.
Tommy lit a cigarette. “Problem?”
Alfie shook his head, making himself comfortable in the leather-backed seat. “No, no problem. Just didn’t expect him, is all.”
Tommy didn't answer. Alfie kept talking.
“That one’s cold, Tommy.”
Tommy didn’t answer.
“I’ve met lads like that,” Alfie went on, his hands moving as he spoke. “War leaves ‘em like that, yeah? Takes everything soft out and leaves… something else.” Alfie frowned faintly now. “Thing is, I’d usually say war did that, yeah? Seen it a hundred times. But he’s too young for that, isn’t he mate?”
Tommy exhaled smoke, letting Alfie work his way through it. “He’s seen enough.”
Alfie gave that a moment. “Right, so it’s not war.”
Tommy watched him nod to himself, like he’d just solved a puzzle he didn’t enjoy solving.
“Because war, yeah?” Alfie continued. “War’s simple. You know what did it. You know where it came from.” Tapping his temple, he said, “But when it’s not that. What's in that lad was built. Bit by bit.”
Tommy just waited while Alfie’s gaze shifted to the door again.
“Which means,” he said, almost conversational now, “he didn’t end up like that by accident. No, he chose it.”
Finishing his cigarette, Tommy crushed it in the tray. “He’s loyal.”
Alfie let out a short breath through his nose.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Looking back at Tommy, he went on. “Until he isn't anymore. What happens then?"
Tommy wasn't about to engage in the conversation. Alfie was posing the question of what would happen if Rory ever turned on him, went against him. It wasn't impossible Rory would ever challenge him, just not in the way Alfie was thinking.
Finally, Alfie straightened, realizing Tommy wasn't going to take the topic up.
“I like him,” he added, lighter now. “I don’t trust him, obviously... but I like him.” A faint grin. “I wouldn’t turn my back on him, mind you.”
Tommy’s voice was flat. “No one asked you to.”
Then Alfie clapped his hands once, like shaking it off. “Right. Now we’ve done the introductions, let’s talk about London.”
Tommy leaned back in his chair. Finally.
“Camden’s not Birmingham,” Alfie said slower now. “You don’t just walk in and take a piece, yeah? You negotiate the air before you breathe it.”
Tommy leaned back in his chair, another cigarette between his fingers. “I’m not asking permission."
Alfie grinned. “Course you’re not. That’s why I’m here instead of sending someone else to tell you you’re wrong.”
Before he could say anything else, his study door opened again. No one knocked, and Tommy’s head snapped up instantly.
And there she was. His stunning wife was smiling and happy to see him. with the soft light from the hallway catching on her hair as she crossed the threshold.
“You came back last night,” she said, already moving toward him. “You didn’t wake me—”
She stopped short when she saw the man sitting across from her husband. A stranger in his black clothes and hat, running a hand over his beard as his gaze swept over her.
Tommy was already on his feet, but it was too late. There was a single moment of silence as Tommy walked over to his wife.
That's when Alfie lit up.
“Well now,” he said, slow and delighted. He was already out of the chair, stepping forward. His manner wasn't threatening as much as it was just inevitable.
Tommy moved, subtle but firm, placing himself just enough between them.
“This is my wife,” he said, tone controlled.
Alfie nodded like he’d expected nothing less. “Yeah. I can see that.” To her, his smile widened. “Though I'm not so sure I expected Thomas to find a wife that could put up with him and that looks like... you."
At the faint smile on his new partner's face, Tommy tried to guide her quietly from the office with a hand at her lower back. It was bad enough Alfie had gotten a look at her. He certainly didn't want her to linger.
“And there it is," Alfie said loudly. "You’ve got the lad's eyes.”
Tommy cut in, sharper now. “Alfie.”
Of course Alfie didn’t stop.
“No, hold on,” he said, lifting a hand. “Because now I’ve got it, yeah?” Gesturing loosely toward the door, he said, "That one, Rory, cold as winter, barely says a word...” Back to her. “Then you walk in smiling... Brother and sister, right?” he asked with no small amount of satisfaction.
Tommy didn’t confirm it, but his graceful wife nodded at his side.
Alfie was pleased with himself. “Right,” he said. “That makes sense now.” When he glanced at her again, he said, “You’ve got his way of standing your ground. You just look a lot better.”
That had her smiling. Goddamn it.
Tommy stepped in fully now. “That’s enough."
She didn’t shrink away from Alfie or retreat. She wouldn't. His wife had held her own alone with Luca Changretta. It wasn't really a surprise she wasn't intimidated by the latest stranger in front of her. Still, smiling, she met Alfie's gaze calmly.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to welcome my husband home.”
Alfie’s expression shifted just a fraction. He remained respectful. “Yeah, I imagine you did.”
Tommy wasn’t smiling, steering her towards the door.
"I'll find you as soon as I'm done here," he told her quietly, willing her to leave the room. Now.
Alfie just chuckled under his breath.
“Right, right. Business first,” he said, moving back toward his chair. “I’ll behave. Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Shelby. I have to say you're a strong reminder of why men make poor decisions.”
Tommy glared him down, but Alfie just grinned.
Nodding, she quietly made her way out of the office, leaving the two of them to talk business. The door closed behind her, but Tommy didn’t move right away. For a moment, he just stood there wishing his wife hadn't come looking for him.
And wishing he'd been alone so she could have. She would have kissed him, pressed her body against his like soft fire. He wouldn't have had a problem with it becoming more. All the way home last night, he'd considered that he'd only ever had her once on his desk. He was thinking he wanted a repeat of that...
Later.
Behind him, Alfie let out a low whistle. “Right, that’s… something, that is.”
Tommy got himself under control, slowly turning to face his unexpected guest. “Say what you came to say.”
“So,” Alfie said as he returned to his chair, his cane tapping. “Let me get this straight, yeah?” Gesturing toward the door, he said, “You’ve got that walking around your house. And then you’ve also got that cold little bastard for a brother-in-law.”
To Tommy's annoyance, Alfie was mapping out his family.
“Now I’m trying to work out, who came first?” He paused. “The beautiful wife? Or the cold lad?”
Tommy’s voice cut in, low and lethal. “Enough, Alfie.”
Alfie stopped, just looking at him. His smile was faint, but deliberate. “Yeah, you don’t like that, do you?”
Tommy moved closer now, slowly and quietly. There was nothing casual about it.
“My wife isn't your concern,” Tommy finally said.
Alfie let out a soft, almost amused breath. “No.”
The silence dropped like a weight, as Tommy regarded him coldly. Internally, he was cursing the bastard for just showing up to his home. His home was his private life. Not business. She was not part of his business.
Alfie held up a hand before it went any further. “I’m not after her, Tommy. I’m not suicidal. But I can't unsee a woman who looks like that."
Tommy didn't blink, still staring Alfie down.
“Didn’t you realize what you did, Tommy?” Alfie asked. “You went and married a woman who looks like that. Now you're building everything around her. And your son. I hear you have a boy with her.”
When would the man realize, he wasn't going to discuss his family and bloody get on with it?
Alfie’s voice dropped, sharper now. "Now I understand something I didn’t before.”
Tommy’s gaze lifted to his.
“Luca Changretta,” Alfie said.
Tommy exhaled loudly. He didn't want to talk about the Changrettas. He wanted to move on to any subject that didn't involve his family. Her.
“All that noise. All that obsession.” Alfie shook his head. “The stories got really fucking loud, yeah? Territory, revenge, some girl your lot didn’t want near Angel Changretta. Some other girl.” His gaze locked onto Tommy’s. "That wasn’t just about business, was it? No, it was her.”
The man's words hung there, ugly and true.
"Luca Changretta is dead," Tommy said quietly.
Alfie didn’t argue that. “Yeah. And a good thing that is. But he won’t be the last man who notices her.”
Tommy stepped back then, just enough to reclaim the space. He lit another cigarette with steady hands.
Alfie watched him, but he wasn't smiling now. “That’s the problem, Thomas. It appears you’ve got something real. And men like us? We don’t get to have those things without someone trying to take ‘em.”
After one long, tense moment, Alfie clapped his hands, snapping the moment in half.
“Right,” he said, voice lighter again. “Now that we’ve established you’ve made your life unnecessarily complicated…” A smirk. “Shall we get back to discussing London?”
Tommy walked back to his desk and sat in the chair behind it. Finally.
“Sit down, Alfie.”
But the man's warning lingered in the back of his mind.
***
Since your husband was busy, you decided to tend to your roses while Malachy was asleep upstairs. You'd been trying to make time for days, but something else for you to do always arrived whenever you remembered. If you didn't do something about them soon, they'd be out of control. The men of your house could care less about the garden outside. Tommy would always tell you to leave it to the servants.
But when you'd been a girl, you loved books about fairytale princes and their castles. The princess who spent her days in beautiful gowns, wandering her garden and sipping tea. It had been fun to dream about anyway.
Now? Tommy was certainly not a prince, nor you a princess. But you'd never expected to live in a house like this, with so many rooms and staff to help maintain it. Only they weren't really staff to you. They were your friends. You certainly never imagined having a huge, beautiful garden either. But you were grateful, spending time there each day when you could. You were particularly fond of the roses and had, over time, taken over their care. Sure, you could have asked the gardener to do it for you. But it wasn't the same.
You loved the silence of the garden, an escape from the voices, footsteps, and constant movement of the house. Kneeling in the dirt with your sleeves pushed back, you carefully worked around the stems. The blooms were coming in strong in deep reds and soft pinks. There were white blooms but not many this year. Clipping one branch cleanly, you leaned back to inspect your work.
“Delicate work, that.”
You stilled at the sound of that unfamiliar voice, turning your head slightly to see a man standing a few feet away. You hadn't heard him approach, and that was something.
The man your husband had just been talking with didn't look like someone from Small Heath. The cut of his coat, the way he held himself, was deliberate and commanded authority. In that regard, he reminded you of Tommy.
But Tommy had just been talking business with him in his office. What was he doing out here? He was studying you.
With the shears in your hand, you slowly rose to your feet. “I suppose so,” you said, keeping a polite tone. “It took me a while to get the hang of it.”
That got a flicker of amusement from him. “I imagine it was the same with your husband.”
Oh, it was. But that was a little too familiar from a man whose name you didn't know.
You met his gaze fully now. “And you are?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering how much to say. “Someone your husband’s been spending time with."
"So you're curious about me, but you won't tell me your name," you pointed out.
He was fighting back a smile, trying to hide something that looked suspiciously like approval bleeding through his expression.
“You're a sharp one, yeah?” He shifted his weight slightly, hands casually gripping his cane before him. “Names are a bit of a commitment, aren’t they?”
You didn't answer right away. You'd watched Tommy do it enough times. He'd wait until the other person resumed talking just to fill the void. You started working on another branch.
“Alfie Solomons,” he said a couple of moments later like it really didn’t matter.
You introduced yourself.
“And you’re right. I am curious.” Another moment of silence, and there was mild tension in that quiet. Alfie moved closer but still kept a respectable distance. “You don’t seem particularly concerned, Mrs. Shelby."
You kept pruning. You weren't dismissing him, but you were hardly welcoming him to stay either. “Should I be?”
He paused behind you. “Depends."
You worked on clipping another stem. “On what?”
“On whether you know what kind of man your husband is,” he replied.
You were smiling now. Turning around, you met his gaze again. “I do know.”
“And what kind of man is that?” he asked.
You considered him for a moment. "Not the kind who allows strangers to wander into his garden."
Alfie smiled properly then. “But here I am.”
“For now," you said, still grasping the shears in your hands.
Interest sharpened his expression. “You’ve got a way about you. Like none of this troubles you.”
Glancing down at your hands, at the dirt under your nails, you spotted a small thorn mark along your finger. You thought about how you wanted to answer. “It does. But there's little point in letting it show.”
“That’ll either serve you very well,” he murmured, “or not at all.”
You looked back up at him. “I guess that depends on the day.”
That was when you heard Tommy’s voice. “Step away from her.”
His tone was calm, but for you, it only made it sound more menacing.
Turning, you already knew what you would see. You husband had entered your space as silently as your visitor, every line of him was braced and locked in. He wasn't looking at you, but the man a couple of feet away. And that told you everything.
For whatever reason, the man mattered. Was he dangerous? Was he trying to do business with your husband? Did he intend to harm him?
Glancing back at your unexpected visitor, you said, "Excuse me.”
Alfe inclined his head slightly. “Of course.” Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he added, "Didn’t mean to overstay my welcome.”
You stepped forward, passing Tommy. You were close enough to feel the heat of him and the tension he held just beneath the surface.
“Inside,” he said, quieter but no less firm. "Now."
You didn’t argue. You just nodded and kept walking. And as you crossed the threshold into you home, leaving the garden behind, you realized that you hadn't been afraid. But Tommy's reaction made you wonder if that was the wrong response.
reaction made you wonder if that was the wrong response.
***
Tommy's attention focused on Alfie even as the door shut behind her. For a long second, neither man spoke.
“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Tommy's tone was low and even.
Adjusting his coat, Alfie looked like he had all the time in the world. “I listen fine. I just don’t always agree.”
Tommy stepped closer. “You don’t come to my home and make yourself comfortable.”
Alfie glanced around the garden. “Comfortable’s not the word I’d use. Bit tense, if I’m honest.”
"You were supposed to have left. Now I find you still at my home, in my garden, with my wife. So why are you really here today, Alfie?"
"Just wanted to see exactly who I'm doing business with," Alfie said simply. "That's what we do in our world, innit?"
Unmoved, Tommy continued to stare him down. His wife was not part of his business. He'd already ended the Changrettas for her. He wasn't above making that list longer.
“You won’t speak to her,” Tommy told him, "or come near her again."
Alfie looked at him then, really looked. "I know what I needed to know.”
It was then that Tommy realized exactly what that meant.
Taking a step closer, Alfie looked him in the eye. “Your reactions say a lot about who you are.”
Tommy’s voice dropped another degree. “You’re done here.”
Alfie gave a small, humorless smile. “I am.”
Finally stepping back, Alfie adjusted his hat. “Nice garden, by the way. Worth protecting.”
Tommy didn’t respond, just watched Alfie turn and walk away.
***
You were quietly looking through the cabinets for Polly's emergency bottle of whiskey. You knew she probably took it with her when she moved into her new house, but it was worth a try. You'd just checked on Malachy who was still napping. Now, you just needed something to calm your nerves. It was rare for you to turn to spirits to do that, and you weren't proud of it.
You didn't immediately realize your husband was silently watching you from the doorway. As you closed the last cabinet, you noticed a slight tremble to your hands. You blew out an exhale, trying to center yourself.
“That bad?” Tommy's voice alerted you to his presence.
You didn’t turn right away. "Oh, I'm okay."
“Yeah,” he replied. “I can see that.”
You really hadn't sounded very convincing. “I just... need a minute.”
When you turned to face him, Tommy's gaze was intent on you.
It was all very odd. A man he was doing business with showed up at your house unexpectedly. That never happened. The same man found you in the garden by yourself. You'd handled yourself well enough, at least you thought you did. But you had to wonder how their second conversation went after you were told to go into the house. Tommy didn't look furious just now. But, as you knew well, that didn't necessarily mean anything.
“If it’s a drink you want,” Tommy said, calmer now, “come with me.”
The way he'd so easily guessed your intentions stopped you cold. His office door shut behind you once you reached it. You watched as he moved to the cabinet and pulled out two glasses. His hands were perfectly steady, unlike yours, as he poured even measures. It was the whiskey he favored, and it was a bit strong for you. But when he handed you a glass, you took it. You took a couple of drinks right away, closing your eyes as it burned its way down into your stomach.
Tommy's gaze stayed on you. “Sit.”
Taking a seat in the same chair where Alfie Solomons had been sitting, you took another drink. For a moment, neither of you said anything.
“What did you think of him?” Tommy asked.
That got your attention. Tommy wasn't asking if you were okay or if you were scared. No, he was asking what you thought of the man.
Looking down into the glass in your hand, you could only be honest. "I wanted to like him. But he made me uneasy."
Tommy didn’t react. “Why?”
Taking another small sip, you continued. “I mean... He was polite and charming... It's hard to explain."
Tommy crossed in front of you, sitting on the edge of his desk as he drained his own glass and placed it next to him. Then his attention was right back on you, watching you closely.
And you knew, you knew, Tommy used small silences like that to prompt you into saying more. To expand on what you were saying. And damn it, you did it anyway.
“I just felt like there was something under all the charm and conversation,” you continued.
Tommy pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking his time. “And what was that?”
You considered that carefully. “The only thing I can say for sure is that it was really about you." Draining your glass, you leaned forward and placed it on the desk next to his. "Now when I think about all the questions he didn't ask..."
Tommy exhaled smoke before grabbing your glass with one hand, bringing the cigarette to hold between his lips with his other. "And what did he learn?" he asked, refilling your glass and bringing it back to you.
You took the glass back, meeting his gaze solidly. "There are things you care about. Your family."
Your husband's expression didn't shift. "And does he view that as a weakness?"
The whiskey had eased the tension in your body that the man's visit started. You took another sip.
"It's not a weakness." You shook your head. "The way you protect your family, Tommy? It's you at your most dangerous."
"No, I asked if he viewed that as a weakness."
Your husband's cool blue eyes took you in as you took another drink. The burn was less now, and warmth spread through your body.
"I don't know for certain what the man was thinking," you had to say.
Exhaling slowly, Tommy held your gaze for a moment. "Exactly."
You frowned. "I don't understand."
"No, you don't, and you can't." Tommy leaned back slightly, cigarette balanced between his fingers. "That's the point."
You watched him carefully.
"I held my own with Luca Changretta." Folding your arms across your chest, you said, "And despite that, he was civilized with me."
"Civilized?" Tommy actually laughed. A short, disbelieving sound. "Changretta wanted you."
Where was he going with this? "Yes, but—"
"No." His voice remained even. "He wanted you."
The room fell quiet.
You lifted your chin. "He never laid a hand on me, Tommy."
Tommy leaned forward, his gaze locked with yours."You were less than a month from having a babe. He threatened you, ordered his men to hunt a pregnant woman. Laying a hand on you is the only thing he didn't do because he never got the chance."
You opened your mouth and closed it again. Was he right?
Tommy's expression softened slightly. "I need you to adjust your beliefs when it comes to our world."
Our world now?
Your answer came immediately. "I guess you're right. I'm your wife after all."
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"That's only one aspect of it." Your husband took a final drag on his cigarette, taking his time to expel a plume of smoke.
You drained your second glass of liquor, realizing it was spinning your mind. The drink went straight to your head, making your skin warm.
"Solomons wasn't interested in me, Tommy." You shook your head, but the movement made you a little dizzy. Your hands gripped the arms of his heavy leather chair to steady yourself.
And your husband watched you like a predator the entire time, catching every movement.
"It doesn't matter. You don't understand how men like him, like me, think." The intensity of his gaze froze you to the spot. "You don't understand how we evaluate risk, how we choose targets... I need you to be smarter in how you handle yourself. I need my wife, and Malachy needs his mum.”
While your heart squeezed in your chest at that last thought, Tommy was still studying you in a way that set your nerves on edge.
Snuffing out his cigarette in the tray on his desk, he turned that high-powered perception back on you. “You will not be talking to anyone I do business with from this point on. Not unless I'm there and only if necessary.”
You tilted your head slightly. "How is that going to be possible, Tommy? I get the feeling that you didn't know Mr. Solomons was coming to our house today. I'm supposed to just hide when something like this happens?"
Tommy shook his head, still entirely focused on you.
You frowned. "What?"
Tommy sighed, looking at you like he was trying to decide how to explain something impossible. “If you were a man, you’d understand it.”
Understand what?
Tommy’s gaze held yours. "You look in the mirror every day and you don't see it.”
"Really?" That pulled a nervous laugh from you. But it was false bravado and he saw right through it. “Luca was one man."
“His brother Angel was another.” There was no humor in his expression now, and all you could do was stare at him. His gaze dropped to your lips, slowly roamed over the rest of you. “There will be others. The Changrettas weren’t even the worst.”
Confusion had your brow furrowing. "Who was?"
Something darker bled into his eyes. “You married him.”
His words settled heavily between the two of you. You married him.
Your breath caught at that. But Tommy continued before you could answer.
“I remember the first time I ever saw you,” he said quietly. “I had a coat that needed mending. Arthur gave me the address of your mum's shop. Said the girl on Gray Street could fix it proper.”
You remembered that day. It had been terrifying enough when Arthur Shelby started bringing his mending to your mother's shop. Still, from his first visit, Arthur had been kind to you. In time, he became just another customer. Until the bet...
Tommy Shelby had been another story. You'd recognized him standing in your doorway with his expensive clothes and unreadable expression, light winking off the razors sewn into his cap. The energy in the entire room changed the moment his gaze found you.
You'd been polite and brief, trying your damnedest not to draw more of his attention. But he'd lingered, his gaze intense on you. Much like it was right now.
“I saw you,” Tommy went on. “And I wanted you.”
His admission had your heart racing in your chest. He wasn't even trying to soften it or paint himself in a better light.
“I put Arthur up to that wager with Sean O’Grady,” Tommy admitted. "I gave him the idea of making a night with you his prize."
You knew the entire story now. But the two of you had just never talked about it before. The dark greed in his gaze sent just a hint of fear racing through you.
“I knew Arthur would win. I also knew I'd never let him claim that prize." Tommy straightened, taking the glass from your hands just like he did that first night, and placing it on the desk behind him. “I took Arthur a bottle from the Garrison that afternoon and I made sure he wouldn't be upright for long.”
The room felt smaller now. You remembered John Shelby and another blinder, Liam, escorting you from Gray Street to Arthur's apartment that night. You hadn't been there long when Arthur passed out cold. Hope had swelled in your chest, had you thinking you could run from the most dangerous men in Small Heath.
"I knew you'd run." Your husband's icy blue eyes stayed locked on yours. “All I had to do was wait.”
You remembered that too. The fear and panic you felt darting out of that apartment, praying that no one saw you. You'd planned to claim that the deed was done, praying Arthur would assume you had since he'd been so drunk.
But you'd run right into Tommy. He'd caught you so easily.
"You remember that night." His voice dropped lower. “I caught you. Then I took what I wanted.”
The honesty of his words hit harder than if he’d tried making excuses.
Your gaze searched his face. Yes, you remembered all of it. He'd taken you that night just because he could. But to have him lay it out so baldly?
“I'm no different than the Changrettas," he said, "or any other man who will take one look at you and make the same decision."
Slowly, your husband pushed off from the desk. Planting his hands on the arms of your chair, he invaded your space. Crowded against the back of the chair, your heart hammered away in your chest so loudly he could probably hear it.
His gaze never left yours.
"Look at you. All alone with me and a locked door." His gaze shifted to the whiskey bottle on the desk and back. "You've had two glasses now, sitting here proving my point."
The silence between you felt electrically charged.
"If I weren't the man you know," he said with unbearable calm, "well, you've already given me every advantage. You trusted me enough to follow me in here, to drink with me. You've allowed me to get this close to you." He skimmed a hand up your arm to cradle the side of your face in his warm hand, his thumb brushing covetously along your cheek. "You don't have your brother here. You don't have Polly... You don't even have a clear head anymore."
Just like you had that first night with him. You had more experience now than the scared girl you'd been in that quiet apartment. Yes, your stepfather had put you up as a wager in a bet, an agreement you hadn't consented to. Even though it was hard to push thoughts through the haze of the whiskey you drank, you understood now. You'd just gone along, assuming you had no other choice than to allow Tommy Shelby to just take anything he wanted from you. And he had.
"That's what concerns me. Because there are men in this world who would see every one of those things as an opportunity... They don't even have to force their way in." Tommy's face was mere inches from yours when he leaned in. "You're trusting and kind. But those are qualities dangerous men know how to exploit. And I need you to be more aware of that."
You swallowed hard. The words felt like the ending to his lesson. So why was he still staring at you like he was ready to strike any second?
"You took me home with you after that." Your voice sounded as small as it had that night. "After you got what you wanted. Why?"
Tommy didn't back away, his expression didn't soften. "Before the war, I wanted what any lad did. To find a pretty girl to marry. Start a family, have a simple life."
His kiss was slow and deceptively careful. But you could feel the restraint behind it.
"But I came home from the war a different man," he whispered against your lips. "I'd watched soldiers become corpses and I'd watched officers make decisions that buried entire sections alive. I saw men who did everything right but died anyway. Good things didn't just come to good people who waited their turn... I watched good men die waiting their turn."
Tommy very rarely spoke so intimately about the war, how it changed his views on life. You didn't dare interrupt.
"If the world wasn't going to play fair with me," he went on, "I was going to respond in kind."
Anyone who didn't know him would think Tommy's greatest desire was power. He'd built so much from pure ambition, from the betting shop and street gangs to the expansion and all the violence holding it together. But now, looking into the haunted depths of his eyes, you realized power was never his goal. It was security. Everything he'd done was to protect his family, to keep all threats away. To ensure Malachy never in his life faced the fear his father knew.
You were now part of the family he worked so hard to protect. You'd given him a son. And in rare moments like this one when he opened up just a sliver, you realized Tommy would never crown himself king. Your heart ached to realize that scared young soldier who returned from France was still in there, believing that if he became powerful enough, he could protect those he loved from tragedy.
"I rejected that simple life I once wanted." His plush lips pressed soft kisses over your forehead, over your mouth. But you felt the raw need just beneath the surface. "Until I saw you."
Lifting a hand, you smoothed it over the back of his arm. The lean muscle beneath his crisp shirt shifted powerfully beneath your touch as you kept listening.
"I knew you were scared of me," Tommy said in a deeper tone. "I knew I didn't deserve you. But that didn't stop me. All I could think about was how you'd look sleeping in my bed, walking the halls of my house every day, waiting for me to come home."
When he kissed you again, there was heat and need. You welcomed it.
"I took you home with me. And the next morning, there you were, sleeping away." His lips blazed a trail over your jaw, seeking out all the spaces that made you tremble, the way only he could. "You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. You'd never learned a woman's artifice. You'd never known another man's touch."
His tongue tasted the salt of your skin, his lips teasing your flesh in a way that left you shivering.
"I promised myself another night with you," Tommy explained. "Then another. But it was never enough."
His palm was rough and warm as it skimmed over your face and hair. Slowly, it dropped to the front of your blouse, undoing each tiny button efficiently.
You sucked in a desperate breath, making no move to stop him.
"I convinced myself that I wanted to send a message to Small Heath," he said finally. "I wanted everyone to know what happens when you cross the Shelbys. But the truth was... I just wanted you. Guilt pushed at me every day to give you back. But I left selfishness win."
Faster than you could blink, Tommy snatched you out of the chair. He roughly dropped you onto the hard surface of his desk, sending one of the empty glasses flying off the desk to shatter on the floor. Your breath came out in a rush when he pushed you onto your back, his impatient hands grabbing your blouse and ripping it open. The tiny white buttons he hadn't undone flew everywhere.
When your husband ripped open your chemise, you just stared up at him in alarm, excitement running through your veins.
Tommy's expression was dark and feral. One rough hand slid possessively over your breast before sliding up to wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly.
"This is what men like me want," Tommy whispered, pinning you in place. "To claim and take... And you're so fucking beautiful."
You knew you should have been embarrassed to be as turned on as you were in that moment. The flesh between your thighs was slick, your body was literally humming in need.
"I took you that night," Tommy whispered, dropping quick scorching kisses over your skin. Teasing your nipple with his lips and tongue. "And I'm going to take you again now."
The moan his words pulled from you was a desperate plea. You were pushing yourself into his palms, up for his mouth. The hand on your neck didn't move, even when his other hand yanked up your dress until it could slide into your drawers to find you wet and aching for him.
"Please, Tommy," you whispered.
"You survived Luca Changretta because he underestimated you." Your devilish husband chained more kisses over your chest, blazing a trail down your body.
"I survived you." You could barely breathe to talk, taking all the challenge out of your statement. You just writhed under him in need.
"You survived me," Tommy's words were muffled against the warm flesh of your tummy, "because I fell in love with you."
And you could read the truth of his words in the deep blue of his eyes. You felt it in the possessive way his hands explored your body like it was his as much as yours.
"No other man will ever touch you," he said heatedly, tearing your drawers away from what he wanted. "No one touches what's mine."
All you could do was nod, everything else was forgotten. You were struggling to breathe, focusing on the devilish touch of his fingers on your clit.
The hand at your throat slid down to play with your breasts as he buried his face between your thighs. Your hands scrambled for something, anything, to hold onto as he took you apart in the most intimate way. While his tongue twisted in your folds, lashed at your clit, your hands grabbed at the edge of the desk, his strong shoulders, and the short black locks of his hair. Pleasure rose fast and intense, he was relentless. Your high cries filled his study when you came on his tongue, his tight grip keeping your hips immobile.
Those blue eyes stayed on you, enjoying the sight of you drowning in pleasure. Tommy lifted his head, triumph bleeding into his expression as you lay there trying to breathe.
"As much as I enjoyed how needy you were when you carried my boy," he said, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, "I forgot how much I love watching you scream for me like this."
Your husband dove back in, this time wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold them open for his torment. With the whiskey still running through your veins, you were somewhere between trying to escape his sensual torment and pushing yourself at him, begging for more without words. The second time you came with his fingers sliding against your front wall and his tongue a barely-there flutter against your clit that had you begging for me.
Tommy left you wilted on the desktop as he stood, his hands fumbling with his fine leather belt. Once he'd pushed down his trousers, he took himself in hand, red and swollen. Your gaze was riveted on the movement of his hand, the sight of his cock. You needed him so much.
He let go of himself only long enough to grab your thighs and drag you to the edge of his desk. Pulling your thighs over his hips, he positioned himself at your entrance. Tommy roughly grabbed your hips with his hands. You weren't sure if he was thrusting roughly into you or working you back and forth on his cock.
All you knew was that you craved being filled by him, and he gave you what you wanted. You arched your back, pleading like a mindless thing atop his desk as he fucked you like he never meant to stop. Your thighs clamped around his slim hips, your slick inner walls trying to grab him with every pass. You moaned and pleaded, an indecent chorus that kept in time with the rhythmic sound of slapping flesh.
Tommy kept shifting his thrusts until he found that space inside you that shattered your sanity and sent you sailing over the edge. At some point during your release, your husband captured your hands, pinning them to the desk on either side of your head. Now he hovered over you, watching your face as he fucked you harder and faster. The expensive fabric of his waistcoat was a cool slide against your breasts. The chain of his pocket watch was a cold shimmer against your heated skin.
"Want you to feel me for days," he whispered hotly into your ear as his lips seared the side of your neck. "I want to keep coming in you until my spend is dripping out of you."
You wanted to grab him, to hang onto him, but his hands held yours to the desk. His thrusts came harder and faster as he chased his own release.
"Want you full with my child again," he whispered as his lips and tongue teased the shell of your ear. "Swollen and beautiful... needing my cock to split you open every night. You begged me so sweetly..."
His eyes squeezed shut as he came, pumping into you with everything had. His lips parted as he struggled to breathe, furiously pushing into you over and over until he gave you everything he had. Until he had you trembling under him, making you take everything. All of him.
***
Ledgers lay open across his desk, untouched. The fire had burned low and the midday sun was dimming as clouds began to gather in the sky beyond his study windows.
Tommy sat in his chair with his six-month-old son asleep against his chest, one impossibly small fist wrapped around the fabric of his waistcoat.
For once, business could wait.
A quiet knock at the door drew his attention.
"Come."
Frances stepped inside carrying another stack of correspondence, but paused when she saw them, smiling. The older woman he'd hired to help run his house was more than capable, but she was also caring.
"I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You haven't," he said.
Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling. "Mrs. Shelby is asleep."
Tommy glanced upward instinctively.
"She usually isn't at this hour," Frances added. "I hope she's feeling well."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "She's tired."
Frances smiled knowingly. "The little master keeping everyone awake?"
Not the little one. Tommy looked down at the sleeping boy. "Something like that."
The woman hesitated. "I could take him if you've work to do."
"No." Tommy shook his head. "He'll stay with me."
Frances nodded, leaving the correspondence she brought where she always did. "As you wish, Mr. Shelby."
Once she left, the room settled back into silence.
Tommy watched his son sleeping. Malachy stirred, making a tiny dissatisfied sound before settling again.
With a hand smoothing against his son's back, he said, "You've no idea where you've landed, have you?"
Another sleepy sigh.
"You'll meet dangerous men one day," he explained, watching the tiny fingers flex against his waistcoat. His thumb absently stroked the boy's back. "Men like Alfie Solomons. They'll make you laugh. That's the first thing."
His smile faded as he thought about Alfie catching him off guard today. Showing up at his home, getting an eye full of his wife.
"Never mistake a sense of humor for harmlessness," he continued, shifting the baby higher on his shoulder. "Men like Alfie want you comfortable because comfortable men stop paying attention."
Tommy watched the dying embers of the fire for just a moment.
"He'll tell you a story, and half of it will be true. The other half's there to stop you asking the questions that matter."
Malachy's eyes fluttered open, gazing up at him for just an instant before closing again. Eyes that looked much like his own.
"If a clever man starts talking too much..." He quietly chuckled. "...listen to what he isn't saying. And don't underestimate him. The moment you do, you've made a mistake."
Tommy thought of his wife sleeping in the safety of his bed. The moment he had with his son, knowing the devils were far from his gates. For now. That security was earned through hard work and calculation. He'd teach his son what do and he'd adapt to whatever path life took him on.
"Respect dangerous men, Malachy," he said slowly. "Never admire them."
Admiration clouded judgment, and he'd seen men become fascinated by power, reputation, and charisma. Alfie Solomons possessed all three.
"You'll like him," Tommy went on. "Most people do."
His wife had although she'd also feared him on some level. Not enough. But he'd teach her too.
"That's what makes him dangerous."
A long silence followed.
"But you'll learn," he told his son with quiet certainty. "I'll teach you."
Tommy chuckled under his breath. "You'll think your father's suspicious, probably tell your Mum I'm impossible. And she'll agree with you."
His wife still believed there was good to be found in most people and somehow married a man who searched every room for exits.
Tommy sincerely hoped he inherited his mother's heart. But he intended to give him his eyes.
He sat there without moving for a little while longer, the warm weight of his son in his arms, something he wanted burned into his memory. His ledgers remained untouched.
For once, there was no business more important than the ones sleeping in his arms and in his bed.
Summary: When the English king Henry stands to take over the city of Harfleur, he says he and his army will pass peacefully...if you, the Governor's daughter, spend the night with him.
Word Count: 2784
Warnings: Dub-con and P in V Smut. I write this not because I think this would be okay in real life, but I write this because this is ultimately an erotic fantasy that I frankly think is hot and worth sharing with all of y'all. So read with discretion.
Smut begins at "You let go, already trying to catch your breath" and ends at "I’m going to talk to your father." Yeah, I know it's at the very end. Sorry, not sorry, the smut is crucial to this fic.
A/N: Hello! It's been a minute, but I had this idea forever! Ever since teh infamous Harlefleur scene from Henry V. I hope y'all like it!
The king of England arrived at the gates, and no one knew what to do.
How slow they came, their horses at a mere trot. Their white flags with red crosses waving in the wind. Everyone crowded before them. One officer dragged forward your father, the Governor, and forced him to kneel.
You stood nearby, your mother hugging her arms around you, to shield you, protect you. You could hear the faint, worried murmurs of the crowd all about you. Wondering what would happen. You heard the king of England was making a conquest of France, but how distant it all seemed until he was here.
You looked up at the king in front and center on his white horse. You had never looked at a king before.
You could not deny he was a handsome man. Young, but not boyish. Virile. He was tall and lean, with auburn-blonde curls and a short, cropped beard. High cheekbones. The most piercing blue eyes you have ever seen. And bedecked in his armor, one would think him a knight from a story. Except for the crown.
“Do you understand what happens when an army goes through and sacks a city, governor? What will happen if you do not let us through?” He asked.
There was silence from your father.
The king then spoke, his voice rising.
“Houses will be destroyed, lives will be taken. We will pull your old men by their beards. Your daughters will shriek when they are handed to soldiers. Hungry for their viriginities. Your infants we will set on spikes as their mothers scream. That is what will happen.”
You heard sounds of worry and shock from the crowd. Mothers looked down at their children.
The king looked over. He noticed you. You felt your eyes on him. Growing warm in your face, you lowered your eyes in timidness. Not daring to glare at a king.
It felt like one was at the edge of a cliff and dreading the gust of wind that would fall. One word from the king would release chaos and horrors of all unspeakable kinds. Upon your family. And you.
“But…all this we will avoid, on two conditions…” the king announced. His voice softened.
“Two?” asked your father.
“One, that you let us pass….” began the king.
“And the second?” asked your father.
The king’s eyes fell on you again.
“Who is this woman?” he asked.
“My daughter.”
The king paused a moment before he spoke.
“You offer your daughter to me for the night.”
You felt your heart race. Your stomach began churning. Already, you were trembling all over your limbs. No, you thought, no, no, no, no…
Your mother pulled you in tighter.
“She will not be yours!” she blurted.
The king silenced her with a look.
“You will let us pass. And your daughter will be in my bed. Or I will set my soldiers upon the town,” repeated the king.
But…what choice did you have? If you refused, if your father refused…then how many more women would be raped? How many lives lost or ruined?
“My…my daughter’s honor…” muttered your father, still on his knees.
“Will be compensated, with a wealthy dowry,” assured the king. He nodded at one officer beside him, who pulled out a bag of coins.
“She is not a whore! My daughter is worth more than any of your gold can buy!” your father spat back.
Pulling out of your mother's arms, heart racing, you stepped forward. You walked over and kneeled next to your father.
“Mon pere…let it happen,” you whispered.
Father looked at you, his jaw dropped.
“Tell the king you accept,” you assured him. “I will go to him. It’s only one night, and it will be over. I’ll have a dowry worth more than the one saved up for me. Afterwards, I can marry whoever I want.”
Father turned his head back to the king. He then spoke.
“Your soldiers may pass. And you may have her.”
A deep exhale went throughout the crowd. Your mother put her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Soon enough, Henry took the reins of the horse. He looked over to the man on the horse next to him. An older man with long, grey hair.
“Tonight, we stay here as guests. Grant them mercy,” he ordered.
The older man nodded. He then turned, and word trickled down to the soldiers.
A path was formed among the crowd as the people stepped away, and the king and his horse and army rode through it.
Two hours later, the older man approached you at the door in your home.
“My lady, the king has summoned you,” he announced.
Your mother got out a handkerchief and began to weep. Your father hung his head down in shame. You then walked outside and followed the gentleman through your city of Harlefleur.
You knew already where you were going. Your father may have been the governor, but the Dumont’s were the wealthiest family in town. Their mansion in the center was the largest. So it was there that the king stayed. And it was there that the older man, who was the lord of Exeter, escorted you.
The lord of Exeter walked you through the front door. He guided you upstairs, past the servants of the house. He then led you to one separate room. It had a fireplace and a cream four-poster bed. Inside was a large tub and female servants with cloths and soap.
“The king ordered you to bathe.”
“I’m not dirty,” you said. You were still a lady who took care to always appear proper, especially in front of men. And in front of kings.
“Still, you must be clean before the presence of his majesty,” the lord of Exeter declared. He then closed the door.
They set you in the tub, already full of water. Making sure not to make your hair too wet, they scrubbed all over your body until you were truly clean. You then got out and dried with a towel.
One of the servants, an older woman with wrinkles and grey hair, brought forward a golden dress.
“The king said he would like you to wear this,” she announced.
The maids helped you step into the dress and secured it in the back. They gave you a jeweled belt. They then took care of your hair as you would have liked it. At least you had a little say in these matters.
It was a dress even more beautiful than the ones you owned. It had long sleeves and a small train. The jeweled belt flattered your figure. There was an ample cut square collar that flattered the top of your chest. You were then given a jeweled headdress placed on top of your head.
How did they get this? Was it stolen? From a common woman attacked by a soldier? No, for these were not the clothes of a common woman. From the lady of the house? You didn’t know.
There was a knock on the door. The older woman opened it and revealed the Lord of Exeter.
“Now…it is time,” he announced.
You followed him out, holding up your skirt so you wouldn’t trip. Heads of servants turned towards you, eyes curious. He then led you to a large door. He knocked on it.
“You may enter,” came the king’s voice.
He pushed open the door, and you stepped inside.
Inside, it was lit with candles. There was a table with chairs. Chests here and there. And a great, large bed in the center of it, with thick red blankets and feather pillows. A crackling fireplace. There, dressed in red leathers and his crown in front of the fire, was his majesty the king of England. He was leaning against the railing, but straightened himself once he saw you.
You dipped into the lowest curtsy you could.
“Thank you. You may now leave us, uncle,” said the king.
The lord of Exeter closed the door behind him. Your heart picked up again. You stood still and folded your hands.
“Do you speak English?” he asked.
“Like my mother tongue, your grace,” you answered.
The king walked forward. You kept your eyes down as he circled you. He then stopped in front of you. Hands gesturing forward to the table.
“Here, sit.”
You walked over and sat down. The table was bare except for a bottle of wine and two goblets.
“Would you like some wine?” asked the king.
You did not answer, eyeing the bottle with nervousness.
“Rest assured, there is nothing in it. Only wine,” replied the king.
“Yes, of course.”
He poured out some in a goblet and handed it to you. Inside it was a deep, dark red. It looked almost black. The taste was dry and bitter, but it was strong.
“What is your name?” he asked.
You gave it to him.
He poured his own cup and took a deep drink. He then set it down. You could feel something in his eyes. There was a stillness. As if he was doing everything in his power not to reach out and grab you at once. No, he was showing restraint.
“Do you like the wine?” he asked.
“Yes. It is good, my lord.”
“Would you like any food?”
“No, no thank you, my lord.”
You took another drink, deepening it. If the wine affected you, this would be more pleasant. You could drink your way through this. The king leaned forward, his hands together. He looked all over you.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, my lord,” you replied.
“It pleases me when you say that. You may keep calling me ‘my lord.’ And your majesty.”
“Of course, my lord.”
You took another sip of wine. You were already getting to the end of your drink. You felt your body warmed by the fireplace. Outside, one could hear an owl.
“Why did you make this request, my lord?” you asked.
He was still. Then he spoke in a soft voice.
“My lady, because I want you beyond what words can describe.”
He then stood up and walked to you. He held out a hand, and you accepted it. He led you to stand up. His hands traced over your sides, then up to your face. He even tipped your chin up with his hand.
“Look at me,” he said.
You obeyed.
“Promise me one thing?” he asked.
You looked up at him.
“Never stop looking at me.”
He then leaned forward and kissed you. It was…warm, his lips were soft. Already, you could feel yourself melting in, giving away. It was a sweet kiss, far sweeter than anything you expected would happen tonight.
His hands wandered to your back, supporting you as he gave you another kiss. He leaned down further. His hands clutched onto you.
You let go, already trying to catch your breath. His hands went to the top of your head and took off your headdress. He then went to your belt and undid it as it fell to the floor. His hands then went to the back of your dress, and began to undo it.
You let him. Something in you was growing.
Soon enough, the dress fell to the ground before you. You wore only a shift. Your own breathing was deep. You looked right at him. He took his hands and went to the sleeves on your shoulders of your shift. It was already loose with an open collar.
He then pulled it down by the sleeves.
Soon it fell, revealing your breasts, then the rest of your body as it fell in a circle around your feet.
He looked down at you. His hands grazing your breasts.
“Beautiful,” was all he said.
He took you in his arms and picked you up. You wondered how strong he was; it was as if you were nothing but air. He carried you over to the bed and laid you down.
He took off his own doublet and the shirt beneath it, revealing his chest. You wondered at his muscles. He then removed his codpiece. You could see he was already hard. You wondered how hard he had been the entire time. He took off his boots in a hurry. You leaned forward to have a look. He then removed his pants. Already, his large manhood was reaching high, leaking precum.
He joined you on the bed and hovered over you. You could feel his cock graze your stomach. Hearts racing, you saw him reach his hand and use it to part your legs.
He tested you. He plunged a finger inside your core. Already, you could feel yourself getting wet at his touch. You moaned at it, feeling him inside, digging around.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked.
You gave him your answer. And he nodded.
He prepared you, his finger spreading you open, and then found a spot and teased it. It swirled around you, making space. You then felt him add another finger.
“My…my lord…”
“Spread your legs wider, your king commands it,” he breathed.
You obeyed, going as wide as you could. He set himself between them. He then pulled himself forward, his face meeting your own. His cock at your entrance.
He then thrust forward.
You let out a small sound. He was quite large; there was a pinprick of pain. He pulled out, and then he entered again. And again. He then began a rhythm.
“Oh…oh God…” you moaned out.
He then took your legs and hooked them so they were around his waist. He was breathing in deep. He plunged, this time further.
“Oh!” you cried out.
“Sweet lady-yes- dear, sweet lady,” he panted out between thrusts. “Yes-yes-keep-don’t be quiet. Don’t be timid-oh-just-just keep telling me- let them know, let them all know how the king pleasures you.”
He dove in again, letting out a grunt. A sound you never knew you could make flew out of you. His hand then dove into you. It found your bud and began to strum you as he continued to thrust in and out.
“Does-does your king give you pleasure?” he grunted.
“Yes-yes, my lord!” you began to cry out.
It began to speed up. Something in you was spinning, spinning up. Your voice was starting to rise; you were gripping the bedsheets.
He then paused, and he pulled out of you. Before you could ask any questions, he had you flipped onto your stomach.
“Hold onto the bed,” he demanded.
You grabbed the headboard. Gripping it tight. Knowing exactly what was going to happen.
He then took you again from this different angle, and you felt him behind you.
“Oh, oh god, my lord!” you cried out. The pain mixed with pleasure from his position. He himself let out another cry.
He increased the pace. Pounding into you with a fury. Breasts bouncing, your own cries and moans grew louder and louder. But the pleasure was immense. The filthiness of this act, of him being behind you- it rose something in you that you couldn’t name. You only held tighter onto the headboard as he started to pound into you.
“Oh god- oh god! My-my lord!”
“Call-call me Henry!” he then demanded.
“Oh-yes, yes, my lord! Yes, Henry!”
“Yes-yes-use-use my name- keep saying it!”
His hands reached between your legs and fiddled with your bud again. Going at a more furious pace, the bed shaking. His own grunts and moans increasing. But so did the strength of his strokes on your bud. That, mixed with this position, gave you that spinning feeling again. That rising sensation.
“I-I am too-hold on-yes, yes, like that-make me have you, come now, your-your king commands you-”
Soon enough, it broke on you. You felt suspended in bliss, in pure, pure pleasure. With a final cry, he came too, and you felt his hot seed spurt inside you. Both of you lay there, panting. Your hold onto the headboard slipped, and you fell into the bed.
He pulled out of you and then grabbed your waist. He pulled you down to lie beside him, still panting hard. You placed a hand on his pectorals. The sudden warmth seeping through you. Here he was, holding you. He held you tight to him; you could hear his heartbeat and smell the woods on him.
“I’m going to talk to your father. I’ll keep you as a concubine. You won’t leave my side,” he said as he caught his breath.
The second Henry was like "She spends the night with me I was like"
BOOM SHAKA LAKAAAAA YES GAWD
And like we know how Reader got here and the circumstances surrounding it, but I appreciate how he was at least a bit considerate to have her dressed and cleaned before he absolutely ravaged her with a royal mango ride.
Like when he said "Hold on to the bed"????
Though I have to be honest if after all that and then he capped it off with "I will make you my concubine"? Like yes I would agree so that my family is taken care of but also the way that I would be an absolute menace to this man. Like good sir you are the king, you can find a way to bend the rules. Make me your damn Queen and don't ever think about concubines fucking ever again thank you and goodnight--
Summary: You and your partner, Loki, are in a happy relationship - but sometimes you crave to... spice things up a little...
Warnings: MDNI 18+! SMUT (threesome, making out, grinding, oral (m+f receiving), dry humping - kinda, nudity, mention of a threesome with Natasha, heh), talks of sex, swear words, thirst, shy!Daryl - kinda, bickering, humour? established relationship, Daryl miiight be a little ooc, dunno...
...set in an alternate Universe...
Word Count: 4,1k
a/n: What can I say? I'm just a girl... 👀 And I had to write this at some point. There was no other way.
Also, I hope this is okay... I never wrote something like that before, so... Please go easy on me. I tried. Part two is in the making... Huge shout-out to @angelwings-crossbowstrings ! Murda kept encouraging me on this and tried to help wherever she could. Thank you. 🧡
PART TWO IS IN THE WORKS!
°☆• discover more... •☆°
MDNI divider by @jiyascepter <3
The door fell gently into its hinges behind you; bag hitting the floor. You had finished your work in the laboratories earlier today - leaving Banner to it. Not that he had something against it.
The reason?
You just couldn't concentrate and set your focus right. There was this... nagging thought in the back of your mind, demanding attention. And the worst of it all? It was actually ridiculous. Not even something of high importance. Just a quite... tempting one. A question demanding to get asked - and the person who could give you an answer was who you immediately looked for.
"Lokes?"
Namely, your boyfriend, Loki. Avenger, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard - and the man you chose to spend your life with.
"Outside, darling!" Came the answer back promptly. Following his deep timbre, you made your way through the living room and stepped through the French doors out on the balcony. The sight? Beautiful. And you weren't just talking about New York City to your feet of the Avengers compound, no...
Loki was enjoying this relatively warm day in late Summer on his day off sunbathing half naked - only in black speedos, sunglasses and an emerald green satin robe, on the sun bed; raven locks spread out like a halo.
Loki being Loki, you thought; biting your lip. Like mentioned before. The view was delicious. Sweaty, pristine alabaster skin and muscles.
"You're home early, my love," the God remarked; taking off his sunglasses to be able to look into your eyes properly - being the gentleman he had been raised to be.
You gave him a short nod and bent down. Getting the hint, of course, Loki met you halfway for a kiss. "Yeah... Couldn't focus - which isn't beneficial at work. Especially not when working in a laboratory." "Quite right," he said; smooth, delicate fingers reaching for yours. "Everything alright, Y/N?" You nodded once more. "Of course. I just... have something on my mind and I gotta ask you. It couldn't wait until tonight."
"Is that so?" A small, mischievous smile darted across the God's face. "You're stroking my ego, darling." You couldn't help but giggle at his words; rolling your eyes and shaking your head.
"So? What is the question? You got me all curious." "Well," you started and moved to sit down on his lap. It was a little awkward due to the surface Loki laid on, but manageable. "It's about... sexy time."
One of the God's eyebrows quirked up and a wolfish grin spread over his lips. "You have my full attention, darling. Speak your mind," your partner said; hands gripping your hips and thumbs stroking the clothed fabric in a reassuring, caring way. He clearly enjoyed your decision of sitting down on his lap. "Okay, so... You once said you are open to share me with another man - as long as it isn't your brother or an Avenger, correct?" Loki nodded in confirmation. "I did say that, yes. Who is it you have on your mind to join us in the bedroom? I'm sensing you wish to ask me for my consent of another pleasuring adventure in a threesome."
You nodded; blushing a little. "Yeah, I do." Loki raised another eyebrow. "You're stalling, my love. I can feel your uncertainty and nervousness. Who is it. Spill." "Okay, okay," you answered; biting your lip for a long moment and then...
"Daryl."
Loki blinked. Once. Twice.
"Daryl?"
You nodded; lip tucked between your teeth once more. "You know who I mean, right? Daryl Dixon - one of our mechanics. He works here at least three times a week and-" Loki held up a hand; gently interrupting you. "Yes, yes, Dixon. I know who we are talking about." You swallowed; letting a moment of silence pass.
"So? What do you say?" You questioned your boyfriend then; giving him a rather uptight smile.
See, you were quite a little nervous about his reaction, since you knew that he wasn't quite... best friend's with the mechanic. Rather the opposite. They didn't have that much to do with each other but when they did... It always led to small - admittedly ridiculous conflicts and unnecessary teasing from both sides. Their ways of seeing the world was just... different. And it had taken the God a good while to come around the fact that you and Daryl were friends. Deep down, though, you knew that they actually held a lot of respect for each other.
Loki didn't need words to signal you that he wasn't amused about this idea. The look in his eyes and on his face told you everything. "He's not an Avenger, babe..." You reminded him; trying to... sway him? "Thank the Norns, he's not," Loki stated gruffly with his arms now crossed over his chest. "But he's a wild, brutish barbarian, darling."
You inhaled deeply. This was what you had prepared for. Here we go...
"And the mere thought of those rough, calloused hands touching you - my delicate, graceful and precious queen?" Loki exclaimed - way more dramatically than necessary. Sometimes you questioned who the diva in this relationship was... "No. Darling, no. I agreed to share you with Miss Romanoff, but that filthy deer hunter? No." "Now you're being mean, baby." He shook his head; raven curls gently swinging with the motion. "I'm not being mean. I am stating facts, darling."
You inhaled deeply; sighing. "Fine. No Daryl, then. I won't force you into anything." Loki sighed as well, uncrossed his arms and instead placed his hands on your hips; again massaging gently. "What is it you find so appealing on Dixon? I want to understand." You crooked your head; smiling softly. "Seriously, Lokes? I clearly got a type. Tall, dark and handsome." Loki blinked and looked at you quite irritated and even almost a little offended.
"Are you intending that this barbarian looks like me?" You nodded confidently. "A little, yes. And it's not just the looks... I see quite a few parallels."
"You cannot be serious about that, my love."
"I am."
An offended, dramatic gasp left the God's lips. "Dixon's appearance is not even close to mine. Neither is his persona." Again you raised a eyebrow; still smiling.
Bickering like an old, married couple.
"Oh no?"
"No."
"What about the long hair then? Or the quite similar height of you two? Or the fact that you're both kind of anti-heroes? Having a difficult childhood. Fighting for acceptance, recognition and appreciation? Oh, and you both got an older brother. Like I said... Tall, dark and handsome. Sure, he's got a beard and is on the chunkier, dad bod side, whereas you are well-toned - but that's hot. Both. Both is hot and I really really want you both to rail me into oblivion at the same time."
Loki listened to your words; the muscles in his jaw working. He was thinking. Weighing your words.
"It's still your decision. Like I said, I won't force you," you added again; fingertips trailing over the taunt muscles of his stomach. "Plus, he's a friend. No stranger." Your partner didn't say a word; still contemplating. "You can think about this in quiet if you wish. We can talk about it tomorrow again, or even next we-" "Fine," Loki finally said; giving your hips a squeeze. "On one condition, darling." You nodded; eyes twinkling. "This encounter is your call - since you wished for it. However, I get to decide what Dixon is allowed to do or not to do. At the end of the day, you are my girlfriend, not his. He is just lucky enough to get a taste of paradise."
You nodded quickly; wholeheartedly agreeing to his terms. "Really, babe? You are truly okay with it?" "Yes. This one time." An excited squeak left your mouth and you leaned down to smash your lips on Loki's; kissing him. Then you straightened up again and quickly shuffled to get off of him. "I'm gonna go, ask him," you started. "Although I'm not even sure he wants this. I doubt it a little, honestly." Loki just casually shrugged his shoulders and slit the sunglasses back on his nose. "If Dixon is not agreeing to this, I am not sad." You giggled. "I reckon, babe."
"Daryl," you addressed the man who was currently changing tires on Tony's sports car. As he heard you, the mechanic turned around to face you. "Hey," he said; jutting his head at you, "What brings ya 'ere?" and wiping his grime stained hands on a red rug which had been tucked in the butt pocket of his mechanic overall. "Hey," you returned the greeting; giving him a smile. "Looking busy." You gestured at the red vehicle. "Nah. Jus' changin' tires. Ain't a big deal. 'M finished for today after that." "Well, in that case, you surely got a minute to spare for me?" "'O 'course. For ya? Always." He cleaned up his hands some more, then leaned against the hood of the car; arms crossed over his chest and looked at you - waiting for you to talk.
"I, uh... Wanted to ask you this for quite a while - and now that I finally talked to Loki about it, I can..." You started; a little unsure how to voice this rather... special request. "Ask me wha'?" You swallowed.
It was now or never, was it? Just... say it. Don't beat about the bush. Bull at a gate. Shoot.
"If you want to join Loki and me for... a threesome." Daryl's rather stoic impression wobbled for a moment as he almost lost his composure at your words. "Join ya fer a wha'?" He exclaimed; visibly thrown off guard and a little shocked. You bit your lip; looking at him. "You heard me, handsome."
You had always called him handsome - since day one. It was his nickname - even before you got together with Loki. It was nothing new to the mechanic, but in combination with your question it felt a lot different now...
Daryl needed a moment to reboot his brain and just... process this.
"Why?" He asked then. "Why would ya do tha'? 'N why would our drama queen even allow or agree to tha'? I mean, we kinda can't stand each other, right? 'N now yer tellin' me he agrees 't lettin' me fuck his girlfriend? Hell nah." "Weeeell," you started; drawing out the word. "It took me a little persuasiveness but he agreed. Truly." The man looked at you for a long moment; chewing on the inside of his bottom lip - a habit. Then he shook his head, "Nah." and turned to pick up his work where he left off.
You sighed and pouted. A little sad and a tiny bit disappointed. You knew he wouldn't agree to this 'easily'. To be so open and do something like that wasn't him. Unlike Daryl. You wouldn't push him or force him into this - but you wanted to give it one more try.
"You don't have to touch your enemy, you know," you said playfully and stepped beside him again. "This is about me - if I say so selfishly. I want you to touch and fuck me, not Loki. However, this would be hot too, can't deny that," you muttered the last sentence rather to yourself than Daryl - who looked at you with a soft blush on his cheeks. "Stop. Ain't nothin' special 'bout me." "Yes, yes, there is. I want you. My point stands - and I know the feeling is mutual." He scoffed. "Mutual? Dunno whatcha talkin' about."
You crossed your arms over your chest; smirking. "Oh yes, you do, Dixon. You really think I didn't notice how you are looking at me? With those hungry eyes? How often you check me out? Please... I've noticed for a long time." Daryl blushed even more at your words; the tips of his ears which poked out of his long bangs even turned red. He shook his head; mumbling almost ashamed: "Shouldn't do tha'. Ain't right. Yer taken. Off limits." "I am taken, yes - and that won't change. I love Loki. So yeah, I'm off limits - but not physically. You have my consent and most importantly, Loki's. All you have to say is yes." Daryl's blue eyes flickered up to meet yours again; chewing on his bottom lip.
A firm knock against the wooden door to yours and Loki's shared apartment announced his arrival - causing a rush of excitement swooping through you. It was time. Finally you'd get to quench your hunger for both, Loki and Daryl.
With a happy skip in your step, you made your way to the door, "Babe, Daryl's here!" "I know, darling. Was hard to overhear." and opened it with a giddy, excited giggle.
The mechanic stood in front of you; clad in a black shirt with the sleeves ripped off and grey sweatpants. His hands were shoven deeply in his pockets in order to stop them from fumbling and to somehow mask his nervousness. "Hey, Dar," you greeted him with a big smile on your face. The man's eyes widened slightly as he looked at you properly; taking in your appearance as well and noticing that you wore nothing but lingerie underneath an open bathrobe. He swallowed hard. "Christ... Ya get right to the point, eh? Ain't beatin' 'bout the bush, do ya?" "Nope," you said; popping the 'p'. "Straight down to business." You smiled and opened the door further. "Come in."
Daryl did as you asked him to and stepped inside. His gaze fell instantly on Loki, who was casually leaning against the wall opposite the door. The men's eyes met - nothing but looks exchanged. It felt like two alpha wolves meeting out in the wild... "Alright, let's go!" You threw in happily; clearly trying to skip this tense moment.
Loki graciously pushed himself off the wall and started to march towards the bedroom. You followed your partner and Daryl followed you.
Once inside said room, you giddily shed your bathrobe - the one Loki gifted you; made in Asgard by the best sewers. You were more than ready to dive head first into this tempting encounter. Expectantly, your eyes travelled to meet Loki and Daryl. The God jumped immediately into action and shed his green t-shirt; leaving his upper body bare, abs flexing almost provocatively - whereas the mechanic stood there a little awkwardly and like anchored to the floor beneath him.
"I cannot believe I truly agreed to..." Loki started and gave the other man a once over as he adjusted the waistband of his black sweatpants around his hips; muscles flexing again slightly. "...this." Daryl scoffed lowly and did the same; crossing his arms over his chest. "Yah, same," he spoke in a low almost threatening tone.
You noticed the tension right away - hence, you already felt it as Daryl stepped into your apartment, and knew that you had to intervene. "Guys, guys, guys..." You stepped between them. "We're all here for some fun and my sexual fantasies, remember? There's no reason for a fight or such, so please... Could you both lay your conflicts and egos aside for an hour? Please?"
Daryl eyed Loki, then you and gave a nod. "Yeah." "Babe?" You asked your partner; arms crossed over your chest. "Of course, darling," he answered and gave you a charming smile. "Thank you."
You stepped closer to both men, "Now that this is settled..." and reached for Loki to kiss him seductively; teeth and tongue. Hands roamed his bare, toned chest and stomach, while Loki's hands caressed your barely covered sides.
Daryl stood at the sidelines quite clumsy and just watched - unsure of what to do and how to interact. He never did something like that before, after all. Hence, he not even had that much sexual experience - something he wasn't ready to say out loud. At least not when Loki was around; knowing the God was the complete opposite of him - at least in that category.
Suddenly, though, he felt your hand on his and how you playfully yanked him forward and literally into you. "C'mere, Dixon," you purred. "Not doing this without you." He 'crashed' against your backside as you placed his hand on your hip, so he let the other follow a bit hesitatingly.
Daryl was a little overwhelmed - due to the lingerie you wore and the skin and curves it showed off. In comparion, this was nothing new to Loki, of course.
You kept on kissing your partner; thumbs now hooked inside his pants, whereas the God's hands had cupped your cheeks to keep your mouth locked to his. It didn't slip your notice, though, that Daryl still just stood behind you motionless. Apparently he needed another small push.
Freeing your lips with a wet pop, you turned your head to look over your shoulder, "You're allowed to touch me and be a part of this, Dar." and simultaneously pushed your ass back against him. The mechanic gasped - your aim being quite on point. You smiled; knowing your attempt was successful.
"Go for it. Trust me." Daryl swallowed hard. Feeling you pushed up against him and your words echoing in his head caused him to become a little braver; hips starting to gently rut against your ass and hands now gripping your hips a little tighter.
You bit your lip; being able to feel his growing arousal, of course. "That's it, Dar. Let me feel you, yes," you praised and motivated him. He let out a soft grunt in return and dipped his head to shyly kiss your neck.
Smiling and with sweet desire pumping through your veins, you shifted half your attention back to your boyfriend again. While you kissed Loki once more, you let one of your hands wander to his front; cupping his growing arousal as well and teasingly rubbed him over his sweatpants - which resulted in a low, muffled moan from the God against your lips.
You and the boys played that little game for another long moment before Loki took over the control for a second; grabbing you by the hips and 'yanking you free', so that he was able to hook his thumbs in the slim waistband of your lace panties. "Want that off, darling," he purred and graciously - almost teasingly for Daryl's eyes - slid the piece of fabric over your ass and letting it fall to pool on your feet. "This as well." Your boyfriend's right hand unhooked the clasp of your matching bra, while the left hand already wandered between your legs - testing, teasing.
A gasp left your lips as you felt the God's delicate, skilled fingers touch you; hands holding on to his strong shoulders and fingertips digging into the skin there. "F-Fuck, Lokes," you whispered; biting your lip and clenching your thighs together on instinct - which didn't stop Loki's hand from moving and a smirk to spread on his face. He was clearly pleased with his work and your reaction.
And Daryl? The mechanic still stood rather on the sidelines; still not exactly knowing what to do or how to join the fun. His hand was at the front of his sweatpants. Instinctively. Big palm leisurely rubbing the prominent bulge there while his eyes were stuck on you; switching between your bare chest and ass.
But then the scenery in front him changed as Loki removed his hand, grabbed you by the hips once more and playfully threw you on the bed.
The God didn't mind Daryl. Why should he? If the other man didn't decide to join in, he couldn't help. He wouldn't pick Daryl up like a stray puppy and tell him what to do. Certainly not.
"May I put my silver-tongue to use, darling?" Your boyfriend's raspy, undoubtedly sexy voice urged to your ears and sent another rush of arousal downtown. "Mhh, of course. How could I ever deny that?" The God chuckled as he crawled over you. A kiss to your lips. To your neck. To your sternum. Then his tongue traced a line down your body with a little detour - namely your breasts - and landed straight where you needed him most.
Well, almost...
Loki was a giver for sure - but he was also a tease. And that's what he did. Teasing you. Kissing your thighs and outer lips; nipping softly at the sensitive skin but never hitting the target. "Lokiiii!" You almost whined and pushed your hips against his face. The God chuckled. "Patience is a virtue, my love." You groaned but knew you had to go through this because the longer he teased you and kept you on edge, the better it was gonna feel.
Loki kept on teasing you for another while, before he situated himself between your legs; hoisting them over his shoulders. Then he dived in - and your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head. A moan slipped past your lips - on which a soft grunt followed... But not from your partner.
Your eyes snapped to your right; watching Daryl stand a respectable distance from the bed with his eyes stuck on you and his hand still clued to his crotch. You didn't forget about the shy mechanic. Definitely not, but Loki was messing with your brain as he did all those pleasuring things to you.
"Dar..." You called out his name softly to grab his attention. His beautiful blues snapped up to meet yours and his hand fell almost instinctively to his side - as if he was being caught. You had to really concentrate hard on talking - which wasn't an easy task with Loki's face buried between your legs. Your gaze dropped from his slightly flushed face to the hard to miss bulge in his sweatpants. You swallowed hard and licked your lips; eyes tracing the outlines of him. "C'mere..." You prompted; reaching out your hand in emphasis.
Cautiously, the mechanic stepped closer until his knees hit the edge of the bed. "Let me help you with this, big boy," you whispered - as seductive as possible and put your hand on him; feeling him. Daryl grunted low in his throat; breath hitching. You smiled and started to slowly rub him over the fabrics; feeling his hips buck into your hand.
Now and then your fingers twitched around him - due to the pleasuring shocks Loki sent through your body. Even though you were highly distracted, you tried your best to pleasure Daryl; keeping your attention split and on both men.
"Want more of you, Dar," you panted slightly; one hand meanwhile buried in your boyfriend's raven curls. "G-Get this off, please." You tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. The mechanic got the assignment, of course and swiftly pulled both pants down in one motion; leaving him just in his shirt and socks. Your eyes fell once again on the prize - now freed of its cage. Licking your lips, you sat up a bit and instantly put your mouth on him. All in. A soft whine escaped Daryl's mouth and his eyes slipped shut; fingers balling to fists at his sides. You smiled around him and sucked him off; enjoying the feel of him on your tongue.
Not for long, though.
As Loki brought you closer and closer to the edge, the harder it got to keep your mouth on Daryl. And when Loki's silver-tongue flicked perfectly over that little bundle of nerves, you were done. A moan wanted to break free - and it did. Daryl's manhood slipped out of your mouth as you arched your back; head thrown back in pleasure. Your boyfriend's oceanic blues were on you; watching you reach your high with a satisfied smirk on his lips. Daryl watched you as well; dick twitching and glistening with his arousal and your saliva.
Loki pressed a last kiss to your sensitive core before he sat back on his haunches; still smirking.
You, giving Daryl head caused the mechanic to get braver; gathering some confidence. "Lemme get a taste, too," he said; voice husky and already moving to get where the other man was previously. But a strong arm in front of his chest stopped him. "By the Norns, certainly not. Tasting her is off limits for you, Dixon. You may put your lips on her body - but that sweet nectar is only mine to taste. I'm not giving you a chance to get accidentally addicted to what's mine."
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