Tommy Shelby x Singer!Reader
Setting: S1, post-war
Summary: Reader and Tommy broke up after the war. When Reader finally sees Tommy, he's already moved on with Grace (unfortunately...)
The stage lights were blinding, but the satisfaction of hearing the crowd scream your name drowned everything else out. Tonight wasnโt about fame. It wasnโt about money. It was about him.
Tommy Shelby, sitting like Godโs gift to the world in the VIP section, his arm lazily draped around herโGrace Burgess. The polished, blonde, perfect-looking new woman on his arm.
Your stomach twisted when you first saw him walk in. Itโd been eight months since he shattered your heart, choosing late nights at Shelby Company Limited, bourbon, and business deals over date nights, kisses, and the simple act of remembering you existed. You begged for his time, his attention. In the end, the only answer you got was silenceโand his replacement for you wrapped in a sleek designer dress beside him.
But tonight? You had the microphone. And Tommy fucking Shelby was going to listen.
โFunny thing about heartbreak,โ you spoke into the mic, voice velvet-smooth over the quieting crowd, eyes locked shamelessly on Tommy, โsometimes it writes the best songs.โ
The crowd cheered. Tommy's jaw tightened. Grace leaned in, whispering something, but his eyes never left yours.
The music kicked in.
๐ค โYou said your phone was broken, just forgot to charge itโฆโ
The audience screamed. Tommy's shoulders stiffened. You smiled through the ache in your chest, lyrics slicing clean through the polished facade he wore.
Flashback. You, sitting in bed waiting for him. Cold dinner on the table. Dozens of unread texts. His excuse?
"Phone was dead, love. Big meeting, you know how it is."
โWhole outfit you're wearing, God, I hope it's ironicโฆโ
Your eyes raked over his designer suitโthe same cut, same colorโbecause heaven forbid Tommy Shelby evolve past his 1920s gangster aesthetic in 2025.
โDid you just say youโre finished? Didnโt know we startedโฆโ
Grace laughed beside him, but your gaze pinned him down like a blade. You remembered every moment he made you question if the two of you were ever real. You wrote every lyric for this exact night.
Pre-Chorus.
"Stupid, or is it slow? Maybe itโs useless... but thereโs a cuter word for it, I knowโฆ"
You leaned into the mic, head tilting, voice dropping sweet as poison. His gaze darkened. You could see the pulse in his jaw. Good.
Chorus.
โMan-childโฆ why you always come a-running to me?
Fuck my lifeโฆ wonโt you let an innocent woman be?โ
The crowd lost their minds, the words echoing off the walls. You saw him shift in his seat, hand flexing on the table.
Grace, oblivious, sipped her wine. But Tommy's eyes burned into you.
Verse 2.
โWhy so sexy if so dumb? And how survive the Earth so long?
If Iโm not there, it wonโt get doneโฆ I choose to blame your momโฆโ
You bit your lip through a smirk, eyes never wavering. His nostrils flared, that signature Shelby temper simmering beneath the surface.
He survived wars, empires, crimeโyet couldnโt survive loving you properly. Couldnโt even survive a breakup without trying to crawl backโuntil Grace.
Chorus.
Your voice soared. The words werenโt just a song. They were years of tears, disappointment, his broken promises, his hands in your sheets followed by empty beds. He flinched with every line.
Bridge.
โOh, I like my boys playing hard to getโฆ And I like my men all incompetentโฆโ
Your hips swayed as the beat pulsed.
โAnd I swear they choose me, Iโm not choosing themโฆโ
The crowd chanted along. You saw it thenโthe flicker of regret behind Tommyโs ice-blue eyes.
Because the truth? He never moved on. Grace was convenient. Safe. But you? You were the fire that burned him alive.
Final Chorus.
The last note hung in the air like smoke. You ripped the in-ear monitor out, walking off stage without sparing him another glance.
The applause roared. You heard Grace giggle beside him. But you felt his stare, heavy, haunted, following you.
Backstage, your phone buzzed. Unknown number. One guess who.
Man-child, indeed.
You tossed the phone aside. For once, youโd let him chase you.
Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader
Setting: S1, post-war
Summary: There is a new barmaid in town and Reader doesn't like it
The Garrison buzzed with the usual noiseโdrunken laughter, clinking glasses, murmurs about the races. You sat at your usual table, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching. Always watching.
Grace stood behind the bar like a fucking statueโperfect posture, practiced smile, batting her lashes every time Tommy walked past. And he did. Often. Too often.
She laughed at something he saidโlight, airy, like it hadnโt been practiced in front of a mirror a hundred times before.
"She's charming, isn't she?" Arthur muttered beside you with a half-drunk grin. "A bit too charming."
You scoffed. "Iโve met whores with more subtlety."
Arthur howled with laughter, but you didnโt crack a smile. Your eyes followed Grace as she leaned across the bar, lips too close to your husbandโs ear. Tommy didnโt pull away. He just nodded, murmured something, and walked off.
When his eyes met yours across the room, you didnโt flinch. Just downed the rest of your whiskey, rose from your chair, and made your way upstairs to your shared home above the pub.
You were tugging the pins from your hair when the door creaked open.
โSomething wrong?โ Tommyโs voice was low, unreadable. You didnโt bother turning around.
โNo.โ
He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. The air between you was thickโsmoke, whiskey, and something darker.
โSheโs just doing her job,โ he said.
You let out a sharp laugh. โIs that what it is? Funny, I didnโt know her job involved undressing you with her eyes.โ
Tommyโs jaw clenched. โYouโre jealous.โ
You turned then, slow and deliberate. โDonโt flatter yourself.โ
โSheโs a barmaid.โ
โSheโs a leech,โ you snapped. โAnd youโre letting her cling because you like the attention.โ
Tommy stepped closer. โYouโre my wife.โ
You smirked, bitter. โBy arrangement. Not by choice.โ
His eyes darkened. โYou saying you regret it?โ
You shrugged. โDoesnโt matter. You can fuck whoever you want, Tommy. Thatโs how this works, right?โ You stepped past him, brushing his shoulder. โAnd I get to fuck whoever I want too.โ
Silence fell like a blade. Heavy. Dangerous.
When he spoke again, his voice was low, icy. โIs that what you want?โ
You turned, looked him in the eye. โNo. But it evens the field, doesnโt it?โ
His gaze was unreadable. โYouโre not going anywhere.โ
โI wasnโt aware I needed permission.โ
Tommyโs steps echoed as he moved toward you, stopping just short of touching. โYou hate her because she wants something I already gave you.โ
You blinked. โWhat?โ
โMy name,โ he said. โMy protection. My bed.โ His voice dropped. โShe can look all she wants. But I come home to you.โ
You swallowed. Goddamn him. Goddamn that voice.
โI didnโt ask for any of that.โ
โNo,โ he murmured. โBut youโve got it. And whether you like it or not, youโre mine.โ
You hated how that stirred something in you. How the fire in your chest wasnโt just angerโit was want, it was need, it was fuck you for making me feel like this.
You stared at him for a long moment. Then: โIf Iโm yours, then act like it.โ
Tommy didnโt need to be told twice.
And somewhere below, Grace poured another drink for a man who would never be hers.
It started with a laugh.
Yours.
Not the usual dry chuckle you handed out like rations, but an actual laughโsharp, unapologetic, bright like gunfire in the dark.
And it wasnโt for Tommy.
It was for some idiot with too many teeth and not enough sense, a businessman from London who didnโt know better than to flirt with the wife of Tommy fucking Shelby in his own pub.
You leaned against the bar, chin tilted, lips curled, nodding along to the man's story. And then, you laughed again.
Tommy saw red.
He didnโt storm across the Garrison. No, that wouldโve given too much away. He lit a cigarette instead. Took a long drag. Exhaled slow. Watched.
The manโs hand brushed your arm.
That was it.
The next second, Tommy was behind you, one hand on your lower back, the other plucking the cigarette from your fingers and sliding it between his own lips.
โEvening,โ he said coldly to the man.
The businessman, to his credit, didnโt flinchโbut his smile did falter. โAh, Mr. Shelby. Didnโt realize your wife had such a sharp wit.โ
Tommy didnโt smile. โShe does.โ His tone dropped. โAnd sharp teeth, too.โ
The man coughed, nodded, muttered something about getting another drink and disappeared.
You turned to Tommy, unimpressed. โSeriously?โ
โWhat?โ he asked, lighting your cigarette again for you. โDidnโt like him looking at you like that.โ
โIโm not your property, Tommy.โ
He exhaled through his nose, jaw ticking. โYouโre my wife.โ
โBy arrangement, remember?โ You snatched the cigarette back. โYou said it yourselfโI didnโt choose this.โ
โYou didnโt have to flirt back.โ
You scoffed. โSo itโs fine when you let Grace drool all over your boots, but God forbid I talk to a man without you pissing on my heels.โ
Tommyโs hand shot out, gripping your chin gently but firmly. โDonโt talk about her.โ
Your eyes narrowed. โOr what?โ
His gaze darkened. โIโve killed men for less.โ
A beat. Then another. You stared at each other like a standoff, heat thrumming under your skin.
And then you smirked, infuriating and unbothered. โSo have I.โ
Tommyโs lips twitched. God, you drove him mad. And yetโhe wouldnโt have you any other way.
He leaned in close, voice rasping against your lips. โLet them look, love. Let them fucking dream. But you? Youโre mine. You come home with me. You scream my name, not theirs.โ
You didnโt move. โAnd if I donโt?โ
He kissed you thenโhard, fast, desperate. The kind of kiss that started wars and ended them.
When he pulled away, he muttered, โThen Iโll remind you exactly who you married.โ
You licked your lips. โGo on, then.โ
And just like that, Tommy Shelby led you upstairsโhands possessive, mouth claiming, fury melting into lustโready to prove that for all your fire, you still burned just for him.
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Mafia Princess!Reader
Setting: 1900s | Post-Graceโs death | Pre-Michael Gray
Name: Chiara Mikaelson-Corleone
[Peaky Princess M.S]
Parent's POV....
Sicily, Midnight.
The villa was bathed in candlelight and the smell of citrus trees. Fleur Mikaelson-Corleone lay atop crisp white sheets, naked, limbs still tangled with her husbandโs, the air thick with post-coital bliss and Sicilian humidity.
โFinally,โ Fleur murmured, dragging a cigarette across her lips. โWe fuck without interruption.โ
Michael kissed the inside of her wrist. โPeace in our time.โ
Ring. Ring.
They both froze.
Michael blinked. โDonโt answer it.โ
โI have six kids, Michael,โ she said dryly, sliding off the bed with the elegance of a predator. โAnd a horde of grandchildren. Thatโs never a good ring.โ
Fleur picked up the phone, the old Bauhaus receiver tucked against her ear.
โHelloโahโDio mio! Chiara?!โ
Her daughterโs voice crackled through: โHi, Mama. You busy?โ
Michael winced. He knew that tone. That was not a checking-in voice.
โYou better be dying,โ Fleur said flatly, brushing hair off her shoulder.
โYour husband and children arranged my marriage without telling me,โ Chiara said sweetly, like cyanide in tea.
There was a pause.
Fleur turned to Michael with the slow, mounting rage of a Sicilian thunderstorm.
โโฆYou knew?โ
Michael blinked.
โIโโ
WHACK. She slapped him hard across the chest.
He fell off the bed.
โOwโFleur!โ
โYou knew?! You sold our daughter like a pig at the Palermo market?!โ
Michael, still half-naked and disoriented, scrambled upright. โIt was strategic!โ
โStrategic?! She was on vacation, Michael! A fucking mental health break! She told me she was gonna drink, flirt with some poor European waiter, and repent on Sunday! NOT stumble into a back-alley marriage with a Shelby!โ
โShe didnโt marry him!โ Michael barked.
โYET!โ
Fleur gripped the phone again. โChiara, who is it?โ
โTommy Shelby.โ
There was pure silence in the room.
โโฆDid he wear that grey coat?โ Fleur asked.
โMama!โ
โIโm just saying,โ Fleur shrugged. โIf youโre gonna pick a one-night-stand to later be arranged to, at least heโs hot.โ
Michael blinked in betrayal. โFleur.โ
โIโm not dead, Michael. I can see.โ
Fleur listened in rage as Chiara explained the glass-throwing incident and her siblings' smug silence. Her chest rose and fell with fury, her free hand already reaching for her discarded trousers.
Michael spoke carefully. โFleur, this could be a good alliance.โ
โYou want an alliance? Try not lying to your fucking wife! You sold our daughter like she was a lamb for Sunday roast!โ
โSheโs a grown womanโโ
โThen why are you all playing matchmaking like sheโs sixteen with a dowry?โ
โShe doesnโt listen to anyone unless they tie her down first.โ
โShe inherited that from you!โ
Michael stood, fully naked and furious. โYou used to be a consigliere. You arranged more marriages than a Roman bishop!โ
โI also warned my clients first, you idiot!โ
Michael opened his mouth. Closed it.
Fleur narrowed her eyes.
โโฆYouโre sleeping on the floor tonight.โ
Michael blinked. โThe floor?โ
Fleur lit her cigarette, dragging slow and deadly. โNext to the dog.โ
โWe donโt have a dog.โ
โIโll buy one. And train it to piss on you.โ
Later, at 2:00 A.M., Michael lay curled on the villa floor, a spare pillow beneath his head.
He stared up at the ceiling.
โFucking Birmingham,โ he muttered.
Fleurโs voice called from the bed. โYou better hope Tommy Shelbyโs worth this bullshit.โ
Michael muttered, โHe is.โ
โI hope so.โ She paused. โBecause if Chiara cries, Iโll shoot him in the dick.โ
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Mafia Princess!Reader
Setting: 1900s | Post-Graceโs death | Pre-Michael Gray
Name: Chiara Mikaelson-Corleone
[Peaky Princess M.S]
The Garrison thrummed with noiseโvoices, laughter, clinking glassware.
Chiara leaned against the bar, a third whiskey burning down her throat. Her stormy blue-gray eyes swept the crowd and locked onto him.
Tommy Shelby.
Dark hair slicked back, tailored suit like sin. He was nursing a drink, but his gaze was already on herโsharp, assessing. There was a spark. A challenge.
He pushed off the wall and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps.
โYou look like trouble,โ he said, voice a low rumble.
Chiara smirked, switching to English with effortless charm.
โAnd you look like you can handle it.โ
He took the stool beside her, his knee brushing hersโa flicker of heat. She ordered another drink; the liquor scorched her throat. His hand landed on her thigh, heavy, possessive. She didnโt move away. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
โWant to fuck?โ
Tommyโs eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous smile curled his mouth.
โLead the way, darling.โ
They stumbled into a nearby hotel, indifferent to the peeling wallpaper and sagging mattress.
Chiara spun to face him, back against the door.
Tommyโs mouth crashed onto hersโhungry, demanding. She tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged him closer, her tongue fierce against his. His hands roamed her body, rough and urgent. He grabbed her ass, lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He broke the kiss, lips trailing down her throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. She moaned, her head tilting back. He ground against her, cock hard against her center. She reached for his belt, undid it, and freed him. Her hand wrapped around him, stroking with intent.
Then she pushed him back onto the bed and dropped to her knees.
She took him into her mouthโslow, deep, unrelenting. Her tongue teased the tip, her hand working his base. He groaned, fingers tangling in her hair.
She pulled back, met his eyes.
โYou like that, donโt you?โ
Before he could answer, she took him in againโdeeper, faster. He bucked into her mouth, his hips meeting her rhythm. She gagged once but didnโt stop. Her lips were slick and tight around him, her eyes watering.
He yanked her off him, panting.
โFuck, youโre good at that,โ he muttered.
Then he flipped her onto her stomach.
He hiked up her dress, slid her thong aside. Two fingers slipped in, then a third. She gasped, pushing back against him, aching. He teased her clit, circled it with his thumb.
โI donโt do slow,โ she warned, voice ragged.
โNot tonight,โ he growled.
He slammed into her, a sharp cry ripping from her throat. He was big, stretching her open. She buried her face in the sheets, nails digging in as he fucked herโhard, relentless. He leaned over, chest against her back, biting her shoulder, her neck, marking her.
She met every thrust, her body slick with sweat.
He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, exposing her throat. He bit down again. She moaned, shuddering, her body flushed and tight.
He slowed, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her. She whimpered.
โYouโre gonna make me come,โ she warned, frustration laced with pleasure.
โGood,โ he said roughly.
His hand slipped around her, thumb on her clit. She came hard, back arched, body spasming. He followed, groaning low as he spilled inside her.
They collapsed in silence. Chiara lay on the bed, slick with sweat. Tommy leaned against the wall, chest heaving. Their eyes met.
โThat was... fun,โ she said flatly.
Tommy just nodded, already pulling his shirt back on.
โYeah. It was.โ
He didnโt know it yet, but this night would come back to haunt them both.
In the morning, Chiara was gone. No note. No goodbye.
She didnโt look back as she walked toward her train, her thoughts already on Italy. She never told her siblings what happened. That night stayed locked away, just hers.
Two years later โ Birmingham.
The air buzzed with tension. The Peaky Blinders expected the Corleones.
They didnโt expect Chiara.
She entered like a storm in heels: sober, suited, and furious. Between her three brothers and two sisters, she looked like war wrapped in silk and steel.
Behind his desk, Tommy stood stillโexpression unreadable.
Until he saw her.
Her.
The woman who swore like the devil and fucked like a storm.
Chiara didnโt flinch.
Niccolo stepped forward, calm and cutting.
โWeโve reviewed your operation. Efficient. Brutal. Catholic enough for Mother not to scream at us. My proposal is simple, Mr. Shelby. We seal this alliance with marriage.โ
Chiara blinked.
โWhat?โ
Vincent sipped his espresso, unbothered.
โTo you. Obviously.โ
โTo who?โ
Chiaraโs voice cracked like a whip.
James, beside her, winced.
โChiara, we were gonna tell youโโ
She turned, smile sweet as arsenic.
โYou fuckers arranged a marriage without telling me?!โ
Nebula whispered something to Vedette. Both sisters shifted, suddenly fascinated with the floor. Tommy remained frozen, cigarette burning between his fingers.
Chiara grabbed a whiskey from the tableโand hurled it.
The glass exploded against the wall inches from Tommyโs head.
โThatโs my answer,โ she snarled.
โYou motherfuckers.โ
(Niccolo: Nebula's twin,
Don Corleone
Husband of Lucia Barzini
Face claim: Keanu Reeves, Devil's Advocate)
(Vincent: Vedette's twin
Underboss
Husband of Selene Beckinsale (assassin)
Face claim: Theo James in Divergent)
(James: Chiara's twin
Consiglieri
Husband of Emilia Clarke (Lawyer)
Face claim: Tom Cruise: a few good men)
2 sisters:
(Nebula: Niccolo's twin,
Head of diagnostician department. (Dr House vibes)
Wife of Don Damon Salvatore
Face claim: Marisa Tomei Only you)
(Vedette: Vincent's twin
Bounty hunter
Wife of Don Atticus Cuneo
Face claim: Shalom Harlow)
The siblings (except Chiara's) kids:
Niccolo's kids: Tom, Christopher, Mattheo, Carrie
Nebula's kids: Hades, Ares, Nyx, Eris
Vincent's kids: Apollo, Artemis, Hercules, Nemesis
Vedette's kids: Kratos, Kali, Ivana, and Victor
James' kids: Alexandros
Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader
Setting: S2, Grace never existed.
Summary: Reader and Alfie reunite from childhood when Reader interrupts Tommy's meeting with Alfie.
The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered thick in the air, curling through the corridors of Arrow House. You were halfway to the sitting room, fingers dusted with flour from baking with Polly, when you heard low voices โ one deep and growling, the other smooth and clipped.
You werenโt supposed to interrupt. You knew that. But then again, Tommy didnโt say who the meeting was with.
You pushed the door open slightly, the creak of the old hinges giving you away.
โI told you toโโ Tommyโs voice cut off when he saw you.
But your gaze had already landed on the man seated across from him.
โAlfie?โ
Alfie Solomons turned, fur draped over his shoulders, beard just as wild as the last time you saw him โ though now streaked with more grey. His eyes widened for a split second before they crinkled with a laugh.
โWell Iโll be damned.โ
You didnโt think twice. You darted across the room and threw your arms around him. Alfie grunted, but hugged you tightly in return, lifting you slightly off the ground.
โI thought you were dead, you bloody pirate,โ you muttered, eyes brimming.
Alfie chuckled, โWell, I almost was, love. But look at you, eh? Still got that same bite in you. Fucked off and married him, did you?โ
You laughed, ignoring the tension that suddenly coiled in the room like a living thing. โTommyโs full of surprises.โ
Behind you, your husband sat back in his chair, jaw ticking, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His face was unreadable โ smooth, like a calm sea that hid the rocks beneath.
Alfie patted your back, stepping away with a wink. โRight then, Iโll let you two lovebirds be. Weโll catch up soon, yeah? Iโll bring cake, you bring that temper of yours.โ
โDeal,โ you smiled warmly.
Tommy stood, silent as a viper, and walked Alfie to the door. Not a word exchanged.
When the door shut and the sound of Alfieโs uneven footsteps faded, Tommy turned around slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly.
โYou didnโt tell me Alfie Solomons was coming,โ you said softly, walking toward him.
โI didnโt think it mattered.โ
You raised a brow. โHeโs an old friend. From before the war. We used to play stickball in the alleys of Camden, steal sweets together. We were practically siblings.โ
Tommy nodded once. Then again.
โDidnโt seem like a sibling reunion,โ he muttered, pouring himself a whiskey. He didnโt look at you when he said it, but the burn was there, subtle.
You blinked. โAre youโฆ jealous?โ
He turned, glass in hand, that infamous Shelby smirk curling his lips. โI donโt get jealous.โ
You stepped into his space, standing toe to toe.
โThen why do you look like you want to shoot the next bearded man I speak to?โ
Tommy took a long sip, then placed the glass down with a soft clink. His hands found your waist, fingers dragging slowly across the curve of your back.
โBecause I donโt like being reminded that someone else knew you before I did.โ
You smiled up at him, amused. โThatโs not jealousy?โ
โItโs possession,โ he said simply. โAnd love.โ
Your smile softened. โYouโve always had me, Tom.โ
His lips brushed your ear. โThen remind me again.โ
Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader
Setting: Post-War Birmingham, Small Heath โ late night, Tommyโs estate
Summary: Tommy comes home late and hears you singing โSun and Moonโ to his son, Charlie. He doesnโt interrupt โ he just listens.
The hall was dim, the scent of tobacco and coal dust still clinging to Tommyโs coat as he shut the door quietly behind him. The house was asleep. Or mostly asleep.
He loosened his tie, the nightโs business still clinging to him like a second skin. But then โ soft. A voice. Yours.
He froze.
The bedroom door was ajar. A golden line of candlelight spilled out into the hallway like a secret.
He stepped closer.
Through the crack in the door, he saw you โ silhouetted in the soft light, sitting at the edge of Charlieโs bed. His boyโs mop of curls peeked from beneath the blanket, tiny fists tucked beneath his chin.
And you โ still in your silk slip, hair a bit undone, lullaby on your lips.
โYou are sunlight and I moonโฆโ
Tommyโs breath caught in his throat. That voice โ your voice โ low, soft, and sure. There was something about the way you sang that line that made him feel like he was still at war, still hiding in some trench, listening to something so gentle it almost didnโt belong in the same world as him.
โJoined by the gods of fortuneโฆโ
He leaned his shoulder to the wall beside the door, unseen. The house was silent save for your singing โ and it didnโt feel like Small Heath anymore. It felt like a dream heโd once had before France, before the tunnels, before razor blades and whiskey nights.
โSharing the skyโ
You looked down at Charlie and gently pushed back a stray lock of his hair. The boy was asleep now, or close enough, lips parted just slightly, face serene.
โWe have been blessed you and I*โ*
Tommy exhaled slowly, closing his eyes just as you finished the song.
You didnโt know he was there.
You leaned down and pressed a kiss to Charlieโs forehead. Then another to your wedding ring, murmuring a prayer under your breath.
Something about that cracked him open.
He didnโt make his presence known. Not yet.
He stood in the hallway a little longer, listening to the silence after your song, letting it settle inside him โ like the first breath after surfacing from water.
He would never tell you โ but in that moment, he believed in God again.
Tommy Shelby x spy!Reader,
Warning: CNC, bondage, slave, foreplay, blood kink, gun kink, knife kink, face fucking, degradation, anal, Dead dove do not eat, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, non con.
The stale air of the abandoned warehouse was thick with the scent of gun oil and the sweet, metallic tang of blood. Tommy Shelby, the notorious Peaky Blinder, had a new prize, and he intended to relish in shattering her. My wrists were raw from the coarse rope binding me to the chair, the fibres digging into my skin with every slight movement. My legs were splayed wide, ankles lashed to the chair legs, leaving me spread open and utterly exposed. The chair was rusted and uncomfortable, the cold metal seeping through the thin fabric of my distressed white dress, chilling my skin. My heart pounded in my chest, a drumbeat of dread and dark anticipation.
Tommy prowled around me, his leather gloves smeared with crimson, a sinister gleam in his eyes. He twirled a revolver in his hand, the barrel tracing a fiery path down my cheek, lingering at the pulse point in my neck, before skimming over my collarbone and down to my heaving breast. The gun was cold, the metal unforgiving against my heated flesh. He leaned in, his breath hot and ragged against my ear, the smell of whiskey and violence heavy on his tongue.
"They sent a spy, but they didn't send a fighter," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my body. I shuddered, but not from the cold.
"Maybe you thought you could sneak in here and catch us off guard. Maybe you thought you could take what you wanted and run. But you're mine now. And I'm going to use you. I'm going to fuck you, break you, and leave you a hollow, used-up shell."
He stepped back, his gaze roving over my bound form, taking in every detail. The rope biting into my wrists, the dress hiked up around my thighs, the chair digging into my flesh. He ran a gloved finger down the side of my neck, the leather rough and abrasive, leaving a thin, stinging trail of blood. I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my pussy, my body betraying me with its dark hunger. Tommy's fingers dipped lower, tracing the swell of my breast before squeezing hard, his thumb and finger digging into my flesh. I gasped, a sharp cry escaping my lips. He smirked, a cruel, twisted curve of his mouth, before moving to my other breast, repeating the torment. His touch was brutal, possessive, and I could feel my body responding, my nipples hardening, my breath hitching in my throat.
He leaned down, his mouth replacing his fingers, his teeth sinking into my flesh, biting and sucking until I was moaning, my body arching towards him, desperate for more. He pulled away, leaving my nipples red and swollen, the marks of his abuse a stark contrast against my pale skin. A thin trail of blood trickled down my breast, the sight of it making my head spin, my pussy clench.
He stood, his eyes locked onto mine as he unbuckled his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss that echoed through the vast, empty room. He wrapped the belt around his hand, the buckle cold and heavy against my inner thigh as he ran it up my leg, the metal biting into my flesh. I flinched, a whimper escaping my lips as he pressed it against my pussy, the buckle grinding against my clit, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through my body.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "All bound and helpless. All mine to do with as I please."
He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "You're going to bleed for me, darling. You're going to scream for me. And then you're going to take my cock like the good little spy you are. You're going to take it all, every inch, every thrust, every drop of my cum. And when I'm done with you, you'll be nothing but a used-up, fucked-out mess."
He straightened, his eyes never leaving mine as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The click of the blade echoing through the room, a harsh, menacing sound. He ran the tip of the blade down my arm, the cold metal sending a shiver down my spine. He pressed it against my flesh, a thin line of blood welling up as he carved a shallow cut into my skin. The pain was sharp, intense, but it was the sight of my blood, the coppery scent filling the air, that made my head spin, my pussy flood.
"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his voice a low purr. "You like the pain. You like the blood. You're a filthy little slut, aren't you? A filthy, blood-loving slut."
He leaned down, his tongue lapping at the cut, the warm, wet sensation contrasting with the cold metal of the blade. He sucked at the wound, the pull in my breast, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through my body. He pulled away, his mouth and chin slick with my blood, a dark, savage smile on his face.
"You taste like sin, love," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And I'm going to make you scream."
Tommy stood, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. He unbuttoned his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing in the vast, empty room. He kicked off his boots, shedding his clothes with brutal efficiency, his cock springing free, hard and thick, the tip glistening with precum. He ran his hand down his shaft, gripping it tightly, a dark smirk on his face.
"You're going to take this," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "Every inch of it. And you're going to love it. You're going to beg for it."
He positioned himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I could feel my body tensing, a mix of fear and dark anticipation coursing through my veins. He leaned down, his mouth against my ear, his breath hot and ragged.
"Tell me you want it," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Tell me you want my cock inside you. Tell me you want me to fuck you, to use you, to break you."
I hesitated, my body trembling, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Tommy gripped my chin, his fingers digging into my flesh, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Say it," he snarled. "Say it, or I'll make you regret it."
I took a shuddering breath, my voice barely a whisper. "I want it," I said, my voice hoarse with desperation. "I want your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me, to use me, to break me. I want it all."
A savage grin spread across his face, and with a brutal thrust, he entered me, his cock filling me completely, stretching me, claiming me. I cried out, a sharp, desperate sound, my body arching against the ropes, my breasts heaving with each ragged breath. He began to move, his hips pounding against mine, his cock thrusting deep inside me, each stroke brutal and unforgiving.
He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of my neck, his tongue licking at the blood that welled up. He growled, a low, animalistic sound, his hips moving faster, his cock plunging deeper. I could feel my body responding, my pussy clenching around him, my hips rising to meet his thrusts, my breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
Tommy's hand wrapped around my throat, his fingers digging into my flesh, cutting off my air. I could feel my vision swimming, my body on the edge of release, my pussy throbbing with each brutal thrust. He leaned down, his voice a low, menacing growl in my ear.
"You're mine," he snarled. "Every fucking inch of you. Your body, your mind, your soul. You're mine to do with as I please. And I'm going to use you. I'm going to fuck you, to break you, to leave you a hollow, used-up shell. You're nothing but a toy for my amusement. A filthy, blood-loving slut who exists for my pleasure."
He released my throat, his hand moving to grip my breast, his fingers digging into my flesh, squeezing hard. I gasped, a sharp cry escaping my lips, my body writhing against the ropes, desperate for release. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into my nipple, his tongue licking at the blood that welled up. He pulled away, his mouth and chin slick with my blood, a dark, savage smile on his face.
"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "All bound and helpless. All mine to do with as I please."
Tommy increased his pace, his hips pounding against mine, his cock thrusting deep inside me, each stroke brutal and unforgiving. I could feel my body tensing, my pussy clenching around him, my breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of my neck, his tongue licking at the blood that welled up. He growled, a low, animalistic sound, his hips moving faster, his cock plunging deeper.
"You're going to come for me," he demanded, his voice a low, menacing growl. "You're going to come all over my cock, and you're going to scream my name. You're going to beg for it. You're going to plead for it. And then you're going to take it all, every inch, every thrust, every drop of my cum. And when I'm done with you, you'll be nothing but a used-up, fucked-out mess."
Modern Michael Corleone x Maddy Perez!Reader [M.S]
The bass thumped through the floor, rattling the overpriced tequila shots on the counter. The lights in the penthouse flickered between crimson and gold as bodies writhed in tandem on the makeshift dancefloor. You were at the center of itโof course you were.
Wearing that fucking dress.
Short, black, strapless. Tight in all the ways that drove men crazy and made women whisper. And you danced like sin had a bodyโlike every beat in the song had been made just to trace the curves of your hips.
Michael watched from the corner of the room, jaw clenched, whiskey untouched in his hand.
"You're gonna break the glass if you grip it any harder," muttered Sonny beside him, raising a brow. "Relax, Mikey."
Michael didnโt respond. His dark eyes were trained on you like a scope. You laughed as some pretty boyโwho clearly didnโt value his lifeโgrabbed your waist. You didnโt stop him. You even leaned in, whispering something into his ear that made the guy grin.
Michael moved.
He didnโt storm, didnโt shout. He was calm. That terrifying Corleone calm that meant something was about to go down.
You didnโt notice him at first. You were too lost in the music, too drunk on the way people watched you, wanted you, craved even a second of your attention. That was your power.
But then your skin prickled, like you were being hunted.
You turned.
And there he was.
Michael. Your on-again, off-again, toxic-fucking-soulmate with a mouth like silk and hands that knew your body better than you did. Dressed in all black, jaw tight, eyes dark as hell.
He walked right up to you, no hesitation. Grabbed your wrist mid-twirl.
โOutside. Now.โ
You smirked. โJesus, possessive much?โ
He leaned in, voice low and venomous. โIf you donโt walk out of here right fucking now, I swear to God Iโll fuck you against that goddamn speaker in front of every asshole in this room.โ
Your heart stuttered.
And suddenly, the game wasnโt fun anymoreโit was dangerous. Deliciously, stupidly dangerous.
You followed him without another word.
The door slammed shut behind you two on the balcony. You were high above the city, cool air rushing past your burning skin.
Michael turned on you.
โWhat the fuck was that?โ
You crossed your arms, still smirking, still playing the brat. โDancing.โ
โThat wasnโt dancing, Maddy,โ he spat your name like it was a sin. โThat was you grinding on some frat boy like a goddamn stripper.โ
โAnd?โ
โAnd?!โ His voice rose. โYou think Iโm gonna stand there while every fuck in the room imagines what you look like bent over their bed?โ
You took a step closer, eyes lit with fire. โYou donโt own me, Michael.โ
His mouth crashed onto yours before you could finish the sentence.
You gasped as his hands gripped your waistโtight, bruising, like he was reminding you exactly who the fuck you belonged to. His tongue was fierce, demanding, his body pressed you back against the glass railing like he wanted to mark you here, where the whole city could see.
When he pulled away, your lipstick was smeared, breath ragged.
He whispered against your lips, voice low and lethal: โNext time you wear that fucking dress, Iโm the one youโre dancing on.โ
You grinned, pupils blown wide.
โThen maybe next time, donโt make me jealous, Michael.โ
Too quiet, considering you were supposed to be home two hours ago from your girls' night out.
Tommy sat in his leather chair, whiskey untouched in his glass, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He wasnโt worriedโnot really. You werenโt reckless, and the bar you went to was owned by Arthur. Still, the unease in his gut didnโt ease until the front door clicked open.
โDarling, Iโm home!โ
Your voice rang through the hall, far louder than necessary. Tommy stood, his jaw ticking as he moved toward you.
You were leaning against the wall, trying to toe off one heel, the other already abandoned halfway across the floor. Mascara slightly smudged, lipstick kissed off, hair a little mussed. And grinning like a fool.
โThere she is,โ Tommy murmured, catching you just as you wobbled forward. โThe ghost of gin and bad decisions.โ
You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck with more force than finesse. โTommy, love of my life, youโve got two heads. Whenโd that happen?โ
โYouโre fuckin' pissed.โ
โWho, me?โ You hiccuped. โAbsolutely. Gloriously. Marvellously.โ
Tommy sighed, sliding his hands to your waist to steady you. โLetโs get you upstairs.โ
โWait!โ You slapped your palm to his chest dramatically. โDid you miss me?โ
He raised a brow. โYou were gone for four hours.โ
โThatโs practically forever in marriage time, Mr. Shelby.โ
โYou reek of whiskey and trouble.โ
โAnd you,โ you whispered, poking his nose, โreek of brooding and disappointment.โ
That earned a low chuckle. โCome on.โ
He scooped you upโheels, purse, and allโdespite your surprised squeal.
โTommy! Iโm a grown woman!โ
โA grown woman who canโt walk straight,โ he replied, carrying you up the stairs like it was nothing.
You nestled your head into the crook of his neck. โYouโre strong. Like, stupidly strong. Itโs hot.โ
Tommy let out a small huff, trying not to smile. You always got talkative when drunkโsweet, unfiltered, messy. He both loved and hated it. Loved it because he got to see the softest corners of you. Hated it because something in him always felt like he didnโt deserve it.
Once in your shared bedroom, he sat you gently on the bed and knelt to unbuckle your shoes.
You swayed forward, fingers burying in his hair. โTommy?โ
โHm?โ
โYou know I love you, right? Likeโฆ stupid, stupidly in love with you. Iโd punch anyone in the throat who looked at you funny.โ
โI know.โ He looked up, eyes softer now. โYou tell me every time you drink.โ
โWell, then you should really believe it,โ you said seriously.
He tugged your dress off gently, replacing it with one of his shirts, letting it fall to your thighs. You flopped onto the pillows with a sigh of contentment.
Tommy turned off the lights, slid in beside you, and pulled you to his chest.
โThanks for not being mad,โ you mumbled into him.
โIโm not mad,โ he whispered into your hair. โJust glad youโre home.โ
A pause.
โI brought you a sausage roll,โ you murmured. โItโs in my purse. Itโs probably squished.โ
He laughedโactually laughedโand kissed your forehead.
โMy girl,โ he said quietly. โDrunk, messy, but always thinking of me.โ
You fell asleep with a smile on your lips, his arms around you, and the softest man in Birmingham tucking the blankets around your body like you were made of glass.
Would it be alright to ask for a Vito Corleone fic about giving birth to their first son? Please and thank you! โค๏ธ
My my my here bae<3
Rockabye Baby
Vito Corleone x Wife/Mother!Reader x Sonny Corleone
[M.S]
The cold night air sliced through the streets of New York, but inside the Corleone apartment, the world was aflame.
She screamed againโraw, primalโher voice bouncing off the walls like a warning to the gods. The midwife, sweat clinging to her brow, barked quick, steady instructions in Sicilian. Vito stood outside the door, fingers clasped so tightly they turned white.
He had faced men with guns, begged for scraps of dignity, stolen bread to surviveโbut nothing compared to this helplessness. He could not fight this. He could not protect her from this pain.
โSignore Corleone,โ the midwife called suddenly. Her voice cracked like thunder.
He rushed in without hesitation.
There she wasโhis beloved wifeโface pale, lips trembling, but eyes burning with a fierce kind of joy. And in her armsโ
A boy.
His son.
The baby let out a cry, a tiny, defiant wail that seemed to challenge the world itself. Vitoโs breath caught in his throat. His knees almost gave out.
The midwife gestured. โWould you like to hold him?โ
He approached slowly, as if afraid he might shatter the fragile thing swaddled in cloth and miracle. When the child was placed into his arms, Vito stared down at the wrinkled face, the dark hair already thick, the scowl that somehow mirrored his own.
โHeโs loud,โ he whispered, in awe. โLike a lion.โ
She chuckled weakly from the bed. โTakes after his father.โ
โNo,โ he murmured, eyes still locked on his son. โHeโll be better than me. Stronger. Iโll make sure of it.โ
The boy quieted, as if recognizing the man who would shape his future. Vito pressed his lips to the babyโs forehead, reverent.
โI name him Santino,โ he said softly. โMy sunshine. My fire.โ
In that moment, something shifted in Vito. The orphan, the immigrant, the boy who ran from fearโdied. In his place stood a man who would build an empire from blood and love, who would burn the world if it ever tried to take this child from him.
And outside, the city carried on, unaware that a king had just cradled his crown for the first time.
