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idksmtms · 2 months ago

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The Comeback (Tommy Shelby x reader, Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess)

Request

A/N: I changed the request a little because the only person who comes back from the dead on Peaky Blinders is Alfie Solomons. He reserves the right. But I also felt like this could fit in so well with the end of S1/start of S2 story where Grace has gone and Tommy is on his own in Small Heath and she comes back out of the blue.

Summary: After Grace left and he couldn’t follow, Tommy decides to get on with his life and agrees to marry the daughter of a local businessman who could help further the Peaky Blinders’ operation. When the line of his feelings begins to blur, Grace reappears.

Word count: 6,862

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, some show spoilers, angst, era typical attitudes on men, women, and marriage, marriage of convenience, (seeming) one-sided love, (seemingly) unrequited love, smoking/reader + characters smoking cigs, cheating, divorce, (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Peaky Blinders characters. I do not claim to own any of the Peaky Blinders characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

When Thomas Shelby agreed to the proposal your father had set forth, you were initially quite surprised. You had heard talk of an Irish barmaid at the Garrison, or maybe it was that one black-haired prostitute in Small Heath, you couldn’t quite remember, but you had heard that his heart had been intrigued if not settled upon a woman.

Your father had mentioned a marriage between the two of you would be beneficial, which you took to mean that he would most certainly be proposing it, and had decided to do a little bit of snooping. Nothing major, you simply wanted to know a little more about the man you might be forced into marrying, and little whispers of his reputation reached you through the household staff.

He was intimidating, never smiled, was always focused on business, and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. With each word you felt a nail hammer into your coffin. But then it was also said he was loyal to his family, to his people, that he would do anything for them, and it made you feel a little better. It made him at least partially human, anyway.

You didn’t know much, the name Peaky Blinders was thrown, speculation about him was always in the air, but you knew very little else. You had no idea what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, what he thought of Small Heath. What did he think of your father? Was a marriage to you a worthy consequence of business? Did he know what you looked like? Did he think you were pretty?

So when your father had initially told you that he would be offering your hand to the notorious man, you had expected him to return with a furrowed brow and a gruff question as to why the hell the man wouldn’t want to secure a partnership in such a way. Instead, you found your father grinning in the living room, clapping his hands upon seeing you and telling you that the wedding date had been set for February 1st, 1921.

You had taken everything in stride. You weren’t really in a position to complain about a marriage that would give you security and allow you to keep the lifestyle you had been accustomed to. Though you had once had girlish fantasies of marrying a man who loved you to the fullest, who got down on one knee and proposed in front of everyone because he couldn’t bare the thought of never calling you his wife, you had quickly abandoned them when the realities of the world were slowly revealed to you.

You had seen friends get pregnant as young girls and thrown to the streets by disgraced families and left by men who couldn’t be bothered to care for them. You had seen women marry men they loved only to be beaten black and blue for the rest of their lives until they jumped into the river with their children to end their suffering. You had seen girls from well off families, who had fathers made rich off the war and mothers who spent their lives cajoling them, suddenly turned into prostitutes because the man they thought would marry them sullied their honour and left with nothing else to say.

You were alright with this marriage, you only hoped that Tommy would treat you with respect, that he would never lay a hand on you in anger, and that if love did not blossom then you could at least be happy with each other regardless. It was simple, it was realistic.

You met Thomas Shelby for the first time on the day of your wedding. He had sent you one letter before that time, brought to you in your father’s coat pocket after he announced that Mr. Shelby had accepted the proposal. His writing was clean if a little hurried, no random inkblots or crossed out words, and he addressed you as ‘Ms’. He expressed that you could do as you pleased for the wedding, he would show up on the day and say ‘I do’ and need not be involved any more than that. He told you about the new estate he had purchased, Arrow House, and how it would become your new place of residence after the wedding. He wished you well at the end, but signed only with his name. You had folded the letter again, pressed it back into the envelope, and then deposited it into your nightstand.

On the day of the wedding, you were suddenly alight with the nerves that had not presented themselves at the time of his accepting your father’s proposal. Minutes before you were due to walk down the aisle you began to question the entire event, began to question if this was really the life you would choose for yourself and how difficult it would be for his men to track you down if you ran away right at that moment and hid yourself somewhere in Cornwall. Instead your father gripped your arm and threaded it through his and walked you through the doors of the church.

When you saw him for the first time you were a little shocked that someone who was commonly described as a gangster looked so elegant. He wore a wool suit in navy blue with a matching bowtie and a little sprig of snowdrops in his breast pocket. They matched the flowers in your bouquet. He had the same haircut as his brothers, shaved on the sides and long on the top, and the blackness of his hair reminded you of coal. He was going a little grey on the sides, but you couldn’t tell how old he was and whether it made sense for grey hairs to already be appearing. He had very faint freckles all over his face and down his neck and a natural pout to his lips. On anyone else it would make them look endearing, on him it made him seem sullen and dangerous.

Somehow you were unsurprised that his eyes were so blue. In the dim light of the church they were greyish, but piercing like the distant beam of a lighthouse on the blackest night. They fit him, you thought as you walked closer and closer. They were so open, yet they revealed nothing. They were the eyes of a dangerous person, of someone who didn’t smile often. They were rather terrifying. You wanted to know what he thought of you.

Your father shook Tommy’s hand as he gave you over to him, smiling a proud smile as if he were marrying Tommy himself, and kissed you on the cheek quickly before finding his seat at the first pew. You glanced at his eyes once as he took your right hand, but then turned to look at the priest and kept your eyes there.

You felt distant from yourself at the ceremony, like you were at the shop counter waiting for the grocer to hand you your items so you could pay and leave. You said ‘I do’ mechanically, pushed the ring over his finger like it had been rehearsed a hundred times, and let him press a soft, unfeeling, kiss to your lips.

He kept your hand in his as you walked out of the church, and he helped you step up into his car. He waited until you had gathered your dress around you before closing the door and walking around, then waited for you to finish waving to your family before driving in the direction of Arrow House. You would see them all in a few hours for the celebration dinner at the estate, but it felt like such a final goodbye that a few tears slipped down your cheeks.

He didn’t say anything as he drove, just casually rested an elbow on the door and kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. But you were impatient, and surprised to find that you had actually enjoyed the sound of his voice the few times he had used it in the church and wanted to hear it again.

“Your brothers seem nice,” and you winced because how could those be the first words out of your mouth when you were alone with your husband for the first time. His lips twitched in amusement and you flushed with embarrassment.

“Not one of my siblings could ever be described as ‘nice’.” You frowned but the way he said it wasn’t insulting, it was almost as if he was proud that they weren’t nice people and it made you turn to look at him for a long moment.

“Hm, I’m not sure what that says about you, Mr. Shelby,” you hummed, pressing your lips together then releasing them then pressing them together again.

“Must it say something about me?” He asked, one eyebrow raising as he glanced toward you. You smiled then, letting out a little laugh as you shook your head.

“I suppose not,” you sighed, “I suppose not.” You turned to look at the road ahead and shrugged your shoulders. “I guess I’m just attempting to learn more about you Mr. Shelby, however roundabout my methods may seem.” His face looked a little calmer then, less severe, and you felt triumphant that you had somehow caused it.

“Ask your questions, miss, and I will find a way to answer them,” he replied with a nod, but you smirked.

“It’s Missus now, Mrs. Shelby,” and the way you said it made him huff out something you believed was a chuckle. Another success.

“Ask your questions then, Mrs. Shelby.”

“Why did you agree to this marriage?” He raised an eyebrow again, changing the hand he used on the steering wheel and turning a little in his seat to look at you. The road ahead was empty, but he still glanced back every few moments to ensure he was driving straight on it.

“Your father’s business can process the money from mine and turn it into legitimate investments. It would have been stupid not to agree,” he said it simply, with slightly wide eyes and his head shaking a little, like it was an obvious answer. You hummed and nodded, but were left a little unsatisfied. The juvenile part of your brain hoped that he would say something about how he had seen a picture of you and felt in his heart of hearts that you were the one for him. Though now having met him you supposed he wouldn’t say something like that even to the true love of his life.

“What do you think of me?” You asked. You had tried to sound confident but it came out small and apprehensive, as if you weren’t sure you actually wanted the answer to the question. “Be honest,” you added hastily, and he looked at you again. His eyes were so focused on your face that you turned away bashfully.

“I believe,” he began slowly, thoughtfully, and paused to pull his cigarette case from his pocket. He pulled one out of it and rubbed it along his bottom lip once, then twice before settling it at the corner of his mouth. He began to reach down for the lighter in his outer pocket but you quickly slipped your hand into it and pulled it out. He looked at you with that raised eyebrow frown he seemed to enjoy using, but let you flick the flame into life and bring it to the tip of his cigarette. “You are someone intelligent enough to know that you have limited choices in the world,” he sucked another breath from the cigarette, “but strategic enough to accept only those that benefit you.” You smiled at that, a small conspiratorial smile that you aimed at your own lap. “That is why you allowed this engagement in the first place.”

“You seem to think highly of me. How do you know I didn’t simply bend to my father’s will?” You asked, raising an eyebrow in return and looking at him as if you were daring him to answer.

“You could be right,” he hummed, nodding in thought, “I may have completely misjudged you, but I don’t think so,” he shrugged and you just watched him as the car brought you both closer and closer to your new home.

“Would you like to know what I think of you?” You asked, but regardless of his answer you would tell him anyway.

“Go on then,” and he sounded a little exasperated but you ignored it.

“I think you’ll be the death of me.”

As the days, weeks, and months passed on your marriage, you and Tommy found an easy companionship with each other. You wouldn’t say the two of you ever found a routine, per se, you believed he would never not be all over the place running and expanding The Shelby Company Ltd. but the moments that the two of you did have together were enjoyable, pleasurable.

The days he was on time for dinner, whether that be coming home on time or leaving his study, you would eat across from each other at the dining table and you would fill the silence with chatter. He didn’t often speak, but neither of you minded really, he was still a part of the conversation. He would huff out a laugh at anything humorous, offer a sarcastic comment or thoughtful observation when he felt it prudent, but otherwise sat there and took in all the details.

Tommy found that he enjoyed listening to you, learning about your day or any little details about yourself you offered in your little speeches. Though he had never thought himself domestic, never imagined himself in a scenario such as this where he was sat eating a calm dinner with a wife, he found he secretly enjoyed it.

He began looking forward to the evening time where he would breeze through the doors of the dining room to find you about to have a seat in your usual place at the far end of the table. His place was always set, and he wondered if you looked at it and imagined him on the days he wasn’t there. You would smile when you noticed him, grazing your eyes over him as if looking for something, then sit down carefully in your seat as Frances began bringing the dishes out from the kitchen.

“How was your day?” You always asked it first, always looked at him with big open eyes as if you were genuinely interested and anything big or small he had to tell you would be appreciated. He would nod, pulling out his own chair and settling himself down quickly, offering you a distracted little smile.

“Alright,” that was always the answer, whether it had actually been ‘alright’ you would never know, especially because you refused to question him further than that unless it had been a particularly boring day for you and poking and prodding at his stony facade would be your only fun activity.

You always hummed and stayed quiet for a little while, smiling brightly at Frances and thanking her as she put down the last dish and began serving you both a first course of soup. You were all manners, waiting politely until both bowls had been filled and Frances had stepped away before taking a sip and humming in delight. Then you would dab the corners of your mouth and begin speaking without looking up from your bowl.

“I went out for a ride today”, “I went to a little afternoon tea at Mavis Weatherby’s”, “My mother came for lunch”, “I’ve started reading a lovely little novel”, “I’m planning a little trip to London to see a milner’s and a tailor”.

You always had something to tell him, no matter how mundane, and he always listened despite his stoic and almost disinterested face. He found your voice enjoyable, if nothing else. The hum of it in his ear was pleasant, and sometimes if he lost himself in his thoughts, it would be like a soft little kiss against the shell of his ear as he traversed the paths of his mind that needed tending to.

You would tell him in extreme detail about whatever it is you did that was taking your fancy for the day, describing and explaining wherever you felt it prudent. You always looked him in the eyes when you spoke to him, and if you noticed him start to drift away, a mischievous little smirk would cross your mouth and you would suddenly go silent, waiting for him to refocus before continuing. Neither of you would say anything about the minor interruption, but he would often feel his own lips twitch in response to your little smile.

Once dinner was finished, the two of you would walk out together and pause in the hallway. You would stand as close to him as you could get without actually touching him, the cloth of your dress brushing against him as you looked into his eyes with a warm little smile. At this point you would tell him that you were going to read until it was time for bed, either in the library or in the sitting room, and every single evening you offered him an invitation. “Would you like to join me?”, “You could join me if you wished”. And every single evening, he refused you politely, “it’s alright, sweetheart, you go ahead.”, “I’ve got some work to finish, you enjoy yourself, darling”. He knew you knew he would refuse the invitation, but the fact that you offered every single evening, without fail, made something warm bloom in his chest. Something that now seemed to slip over his eyes whenever he looked at you and made him see the world in a way he hadn’t seen before.

You would nod simply, a smile on your face that said “I knew this was going to happen but I enjoy our little routine” before reaching up and pressing your lips to his cheek in a soft kiss that always made him stiffen up a little then unwind a little more than he had before.

You both shared a bedroom, something he hadn’t expected but you had insisted upon. You took the left side of the bed, saying you preferred to sleep away from the door, and he obliged because he had never cared what side he was on anyway. You seemed to enjoy the view you got from the windows on that side of the bed and far be it from him to deny you something that gave you joy.

Your respective nightstands were so clearly depictions of yourselves. Yours was covered in books and jewellery and little trinkets of yours and creams you forgot to put on before going to bed but kept there anyway. His often only had a single book on it, his cigarette case, his lighter, and an ashtray. Sometimes in the evenings, when he was lying in bed next to you, trying to read with tired eyes, you would lean over him, crushing the book to his chest and pressing the side of your torso to his face, as you reached for his cigarette case and lighter.

This little moment, this little instance, endeared you to him the most, somehow. The little huff you would let out just before, placing your book on your cluttered nightstand before offering a quick ‘sorry’ and then just draping yourself over him with a disregard for his focus to haphazardly grab at his nightstand until the cigarette case and lighter were in your hand before falling back into your place. The reach over always managed to press your breasts to his face, and he supposed he would never complain about that regardless of who the woman was doing it.

You always took out a cigarette for him first with a sheepish smile, as if knowing you had disturbed the fragile thread of attention he had been trying to stitch to the book, and brought it to his mouth, rubbing it across his lip before settling it into the corner of his mouth like he always did. You would light his cigarette as he smirked a little, turning away to blow the smoke so you couldn’t see the expression as you shook one out for yourself and lit it before handing both the case and the lighter back to Tommy so he could toss it onto his nightstand himself this time.

You had an awful habit of forgetting your own cigarettes everywhere, and then stealing Tommy’s. The first time you had taken one of his, you had complained about the brand he smoked, said it was much too strong for you, but you kept stealing and smoking them regardless. He found himself refilling his case a lot more since you came into his life. Not only that, but he found himself filling half the case with the brand of cigarettes you liked so that you would have them whenever you misplaced your case or simply couldn’t be bothered to look for it. You had never mentioned it the first time he had done it, but he had seen your little smile when you opened his cigarette case for the first few weeks after and it had motivated him to continue his new little routine.

Then, after you had placed the cigarette in your mouth and taken a gentle drag, you would look at him out of the corner of your eye with a little smile quirking at your lips despite your best efforts to try and hide it. He would smirk, the clearest smile he would ever give you, and with a little giggle you would take the cigarette from your mouth and stretch your arm out to hold it away from the two of you as you draped your body over his and pressed your lip to his. His mouth would already be parted slightly, his tongue leaping out to caress yours, and your giggles would muffle against his lips. He took the cigarette from your fingers and pressed it to his own before mashing the ends haphazardly into the ashtray on his sidetable and wrapping his arms around your torso.

All you could say was that these evenings were long and… pleasurable. Subsequently, it came as no surprise that within three months of the wedding you were pregnant with your first child.

You had mentioned to Tommy that you weren’t feeling your best for a few days when Polly decided to make a ‘surprise’ trip to Arrow House. Within one look at you she had smiled broadly and mischievously and congratulated you on your pregnancy. It had come as a shock, an undulating mix of fear and joy and elation churning in your chest and gut.

When you had told Tommy, he had stood still for a few moments, gazing at your face as you smiled hesitantly. You had hoped he would be happy, and despite his status as your husband, you could never quite be sure of his reaction to anything. His face hadn’t changed at the news, but quick as a flash he was standing so close to you that you felt almost attacked. His hands gripped your face, almost squishing your mouth into a pucker, and he was kissing you like you were keeping air from him in the moments your mouths weren’t pressed together. Salty tears made the kiss briny and you almost sobbed against his lips but he didn’t let you go.

Nine months later, and you were welcoming a beautiful little boy with Tommy’s eyes and your hair into the world. Eighteen months later, a little girl with your eyes and Tommy’s hair took her place in the nursery. Your little James and Margaret.

In that time, slowly and carefully, you had somehow built the dream family you had once imagined for yourself. One evening in the sitting room, after the children had been put to sleep and you were curled up on one of the sofas with a book, you looked up to Tommy at his desk to the side of the room. He had taken to doing his work there in the evenings during your first pregnancy, and as if feeling your eyes on him, he had glanced up, a little smile at the corner of his lips. You simply smiled in return and brought your gaze back down to your book, but your heart was racing without your control and you had to clench your jaw to stop yourself from yelling ‘I love you!’ over and over again without a care.

In the time Tommy had been married to you, everyone had noticed the change taking place in him, except him. Though no one other than Polly dared to say it to his face, they noticed the new threads of gentleness that appeared when you were near. They noticed how much easier his smiles came (despite the continuing rarity) and how he watched you without wavering when you took care of the children.

Polly often teased him to shut his mouth lest he catch flies around you, and would whisper about him to you in front of him in a way that made his mouth set into an almost petulant frown (that only made the two of you giggle further). He wasn’t sure why Polly liked you so much when she had felt no fondness for Grace. If all her teasing was right, was he not just as distracted with you as he had been with ‘the Irish barmaid’? But she seemed to dote on you like she had done on Ada, and took time to come see you and the children every week.

One evening, Tommy watched you from his place at the desk in the living room, and even the simple activity of laying his eyes on you made his chest feel a little calmer. He wasn’t quite sure when the tide had turned in his feelings, when he had so unforgivably lost control of his own heart, but here he was now, absentmindedly rubbing his cigarette against his lip, wondering if love might be real…

Times of peace weren’t meant to last. The first thought that crossed your mind when you learnt the news. You stood frozen in front of Tommy’s desk, staring at the little card you had pulled out of the drawer while searching for his spare lighter. Your cigarette was already dangling from your lips, unknowing the turmoil it’s user was going through.

You had only gone in search of the spare lighter. You knew Tommy kept one in there for you when he was out of the house and you couldn’t find your own. There were dozens of spares all around the house for you. He knew how absolutely lazy you could be when you wanted to and he left a lighter in every room to make sure he didn’t have to hear you moan and groan about getting up when you were already comfortable in your space.

The children were busy with lessons in their playroom upstairs, and you had been doing some correspondence in the sitting room so you could be near the big radio. You had hummed along as you got up and moved to the desk, pulling open the first drawer, the one you had seen him pull the lighter out of countless times, and there, right at the centre, as if carefully placed lest the paper be ruined, was a card with the name ‘Grace Burgess’ written in pretty looping handwriting. The lighter sat right next to it.

Everything seemed to tilt and for a moment you thought you would fall over. You picked up the card gently by the corner, depositing it onto the top of the desk before pulling out the lighter and hurriedly lighting your cigarette. If you didn’t have a drag of it within the next second you might collapse.

You took at least three drags from the cigarette before you were ready to turn the card over and read whatever was written there. It was in the same loopy, feminine, handwriting in a bright blue ink that reminded you of Tommy’s eyes. You almost picked up the lighter again to burn the paper.

It was short and simple, an invitation to meet at a hotel, dated about a week prior. You dropped it back onto the desk, watching the thick cardstock fall with a light thump, and closed your eyes. You took deep, heavy, breaths of the cigarette until your hands stopped shaking and your mind felt like it had settled again. You grabbed the lighter but left the card on top of Tommy’s desk, turned the volume of the radio as high as possible, and returned to your position on the sofa. Every time one cigarette finished, you lit another, but you didn’t move from your position on the sofa.

At one point the children came tottering in and you haphazardly wiped at your eyes before smashing the cigarette into the ashtray and patting the spot on the sofa beside you so they could come in for a snuggle before dinner. You hadn’t even realised the sun had set long ago. You kissed them on the tops of their heads and tried not to cry into their hair.

Frances came in to tell you that dinner could be served when the main door opened and Tommy came whirling in. The children scrambled off the sofa and ran down the hall to greet their father who was already reaching down, ready to pick them up, one in each arm. You weren’t sure you could face him yet, so you slinked through the side door and went straight for the dining room.

Tommy went first in the direction of the sitting room, but as Frances came out of the door for the dining room to gather the children, she cleared her throat and informed him that Mrs. Shelby was already there. He nodded, turning around to get to you, realising how odd it felt that he had been in the house this long and you hadn’t come to greet him, hadn’t pecked him on the lips and beamed up at him as you usually did when you heard the door open.

You were sitting in your usual seat but he could tell something was wrong. You were staring at the plate as if you had never seen one before, and your hands were tightly clasped in your lap. He could see how tense your forearms were, and after depositing the children in their seats, he went over to you and reached down to gently pry your hands apart. He watched your face for any sign, anything that would tell him why you were acting this way, but you just closed your eyes until he let you go and went to his seat.

Could you perhaps be pregnant again? But that would be happy news, something to celebrate, not despair over. Was there something wrong with your father? A death in the family you had been phoned about during the day? He couldn’t tell. And he hated it.

Dinner was an awkward affair. You spoke very little, and when you did speak it was only towards the children, asking them about their lessons and how they were enjoying their days thus far. You refused to look at him during the entirety of the meal, and anger and frustration were slowly beginning to rise inside of him. As soon as it was over, you were ushering the kids out and up the stairs so they could start readying for bed. You went with them, a clear attempt at avoiding Tommy’s company, and he stormed into his study, slamming the door behind him.

You took as long as you could, kissing their little heads and pulling the sheets up to their chins before steeling yourself and heading downstairs. The door to his study opened just as you hopped off the last step but you continued into the sitting room. Tommy followed, and stood just inside the door with wary eyes. He watched you walk all the way over to his desk and pick up a piece of card sitting on the top. You held it up so he could see the sender but your face betrayed nothing. He had never seen you look so stoic.

“Did you go?” Your voice was quiet, small, the kind of voice Margaret used when she had a nightmare and came knocking at your door.

You had thought that despite the circumstances that began your marriage, the two of you had found love. You loved him, you were sure of that. But looking at the note, knowing who it had come from, you felt like the naive girl who had once wished for true love and hadn’t yet realised that wasn’t possible.

Of course it was unrealistic for you to think he had grown to love you just because he was kind to you. Of course it was unrealistic to think he felt he needed to be faithful to you, he was a man after all. Of course it was unrealistic of you to think your beautiful family would last…

You could feel tears press behind your eyes but you simply gulped again and again to push them away. Tommy’s face hadn’t changed, his usual stoic expression that you once found intriguing, then endearing, now only annoyed and enraged you.

“Yes,” he answered, and he didn’t say anything else. You just stared at him, at the way he reached into his coat pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. At the way he opened his cigarette case and offered it in your direction before taking one. It meant walking over to him to take it. You stayed where you were and he slowly picked a cigarette out of it and rubbed it against his lip before lighting it and putting everything back where it usually resided in his coat pockets. You gulped again. The tears were getting more aggressive in their mission to escape your eyes.

“Did you fuck her?” You whispered, hands shaking as they clenched on the edge of the desk. It was quiet for a moment, and you wondered if he had even heard you. “Did you fuck her?” You asked it louder and then cringed. The word felt so crass coming out of your mouth, so wrong.

“Yes.” And that was all that needed to be said, wasn’t it? What else really mattered? Because in that one word lay everything you had wanted to know in the first place. Did he feel the need to be faithful to you? No. Did he care about you and your little family? No. Did he love you? No…

You stood there for a few minutes, fingertips pressed as hard as possible into the top of the desk. Your eyes were closed, hoping to trap the tears inside. You didn’t move, and Tommy watched you the entire time.

Then, like a radio being switched on, you took a deep breath in and opened your eyes. You straightened up a little and slowly took your hands off of the desktop. You looked at Tommy and nodded.

“Ok,” and then you walked past him and out of the room without a second glance.

By the time Tommy came up to bed close to midnight, only the lamp on your vanity was lighting the room and you were under the covers, turned onto your side to face the windows and breathing slowly as if you were asleep.

The next few months were different in a way that Tommy despised. You had pulled away from him but in such a subtle way that no one else would recognise that everything had changed between the two of you.

You still accompanied the children to the front door when he came home, but you no longer kissed him there. You still asked him about his day and engaged the children in conversation over dinner, but you barely spoke of yourself anymore, no longer telling him the stories of your mundane activities or unnecessary details about little things of no consequence. You still read next to him in the evenings, but you no longer leaned over him to grab for his cigarettes. In fact, you no longer took cigarettes from him ever. You were careful about taking your case and lighter with you everywhere, and if you didn’t have it around you, then you went out of your way to leave the room and get it rather than ask him for one. The cigarettes he kept for you in his own case were now left unused.

Everything became so much worse when Grace revealed that she was pregnant. She had been so happy to tell him despite her own marriage, and he could never be sad knowing that a child of his was coming into existence. He loved James and Margaret with all the soul he possessed, he could never be sad about a child. But the news caused a turmoil inside of him that he didn’t know how to handle, because now came the time to decide, to look into himself and question if everything he felt for you was love, and not only love, but a stronger one than the one he had with Grace?

You didn’t give him the time to decide. When he told you about Grace’s pregnancy, you had walked out and refused to speak to him. You had taken your things into Margaret’s room and slept curled up on the edge of her bed.

When Tommy arrived home the next evening, there were no children to be greeted by, no smiling wife, just Frances holding an envelope with his name on it in your careful writing.

Dear Thomas Shelby,

Please do not be alarmed at the absence of the children or myself, it was of my own volition that we have gone. Though I know it is cowardly of me to express all this in a letter, I could not bring myself to face you.

The children and I have gone to my sister’s home for the time being while everything is finalised. Enclosed in a file on your desk, you will find the papers required for us to be divorced. You need only sign them, everything else can be handled by a lawyer.

From my father, I understand that your business has become fully legitimised, but for extra safety I will ensure that it is understood by all that this divorce is my own fault and you were merely subject to it.

In due time, I will begin looking for a place to live near Arrow House or Small Heath so you may visit the children as often as you please. I would not dream of keeping them from their father or vice versa. It is my assumption that you and Grace will take Arrow House as your residence when the child has arrived.

Please be happy with her. If the love I hold for you is even half the strength of the love you two share, then I would rather deal with my own pain than keep you from it.

Love,

Y/n Shelby

Frances watched Mr. Shelby carefully place the letter back into its envelope and turn and walk into his study and close the door behind him. There was a crash and the smashing of glass and then some more crashes and smashes. A guttural scream that made her heart clench in fear and her eyes close.

Frances had helped you pack your things earlier in the day. She had helped the children ready to leave, had listened as you phoned a lawyer in London and had the papers drafted and sent over to the house, had watched as you wrote the letter to Mr. Shelby. You had kissed her on the cheek and told her to come visit you as a friend, and she had promised she would with tears in her eyes. It felt as if the world was ending.

But she knew that eventually you would find a nice house for you and the children, supported by your father’s money. You would send them to visit Tommy at Arrow House where Grace would pretend to care for them and they would slowly grow unhappy with their father and his wife.

Or maybe Tommy would go over to you and you would tell the valet to only open the door for your former husband as you walked the grounds to avoid having to speak with him. And he would try all he could to speak with you, try and surprise you so you would be forced into speaking to him, but you were an intelligent woman, and Frances knew you were highly capable of avoiding someone you didn’t want to see.

And eventually, despite your heartbreak, you would meet someone truly worthy of you, and he would be willing to become the father of your children and you would want to love him, and everything would feel right for you again.

But what did Frances know?

Taglist: @4ria790 (I wasn't sure if you wanted to be tagged in only Cillian Murphy RPFs or his characters too so I added you here! Pls let me know if I should only tag you for the RPFs)

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shewrites444 · 1 year ago

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arranged [thomas shelby x reader smut]

[ i’ve never written about one of cillian murphy’s characters but oppenheimer has me feeling a bit inspired lately. i haven’t watched peaky blinders in ages, so apologizes if it’s not completely accurate to the storyline. ]

[update: arranged part 2 ]

word count - 2.1k

[ summary - the reader and tommy agree to an arranged marriage that suits both of their needs. despite their disliking of each other, the two seem quite fond of each other in the bedroom, especially on their wedding night. ]

[ warnings - enemies to lovers trope that includes unprotected sex, oral, roughness, etc ]

thomas shelby was the last man i ever imagined myself being wedded to, but when my father unexpectedly passed and i no longer had the protection of his people, i had to find another way to make sure i wouldn’t be a victim to any gangs of birmingham - including the peaky blinders.

of course, tommy would never have married me if there wasn’t something i could offer him in return - that happened to be a ton of inherited money from my father, and several breweries i now technically owned, and numerous meeting spots that only i knew about, that the coppers would never find him or his family at, during anytime of the day.

despite the convenience of our arrangement, there was nothing favorable for either of us past the business side of things. our families had been at each other’s throats for years and now that my father was gone, a lot of that tension was, but nevertheless, you can’t expect a peaky blinder to not hold a grudge, even on their wedding night.

“see, that wasn’t so bad.” i mutter to my newly wed husband, walking into the dimly lit bedroom as i took off my white heels, setting them aside the now shut door. i watch as tommy began to unbutton his white dress shirt, and i sigh to myself, but loud enough to quirk his brow.

i tuck my hair behind my ears, walking to the bed and pulling the sheets down to prepare for what would hopefully be a fairly long sleep, given that i’d prefer not think much about who i was now standing across from.

“you don’t have to stay in here tonight if you don’t want to or even at all, tommy. you already have children and i’m aware you don’t want more, and frankly, i don’t want any, so just lie and tell polly the marriage was consummated tomorrow morning. go on.” i gesture my hand up and towards the door, watching his blank expression as i spoke in a more demanding, harsh manner.

he walked towards the bed, untucking his side, his shirt now unbuttoned and his toned, pale body at my exposure, which only made my cheeks redden as the muscles flexed with his movements. i may have despised the man for his profession, but it’s not like he wasn’t physically attractive.

“i may not be so found of you, mrs. shelby, but i do keep my marriage duties, at least to sleep beside you.” he says plainly, sitting down on the white sheets before looking up to me with a teasing expression. it almost felt wrong to see him show any emotion besides, well, none. “now, do i have to make you turn around while i fuck you, or can you bare the sight of me while doing so?”

i roll my eyes with a smirk, laying down and hovering my face above his before biting my bottom lip, glancing at his own with a bit of temptation, but nothing i couldn’t ignore for the sake of my ego. “i’m shocked you even asked to touch me, mr. shelby. peaky blinders have always seemed so forward with what they want.”

he tilted his head, his well-groomed hair bouncing lightly at the movement, now reaching over to hold the back of my neck, running his fingertips through the ends of my hair. “would you prefer i not ask? you didn’t strike me as the type of woman who’d prefer to be fucked like an animal.”

“you didn’t strike me as the type of man to wait until we were wed to even discuss sex, so we’re both a bit surprised. have you been distracted with other women through our engagement, dear husband?”

he scoffed at my comment, sitting up and leaning himself down to peck at my neck lightly, his heated breath against my tingling skin, a pit forming in my stomach at the touch he never dared grant me until now.

“you never gave me any suggestion to fuck before tonight, [y/n]. i assumed you wouldn’t allow me to lay a finger on you. this all seemed like a business opportunity, a plan for protection and financies, nothing more.” he muttered through his kisses, trailing his lips down to my covered chest before looking up to me again. “so, how about i ask you like a gentlemen, mrs. shelby. is this for business, or not?”

i shrug softly, glancing down to meet his seductive, icy blue eyes. “i think i’ll be able to tell if it is or not when you fuck me, mr. shelby."

he reached over to pull me on top of him, grabbing the white gown that dressed me and helping me to slip it off my core and past my arms, tossing it to the floor, which exposed me in nothing but my underwear, my breasts falling out of the fabric and resting before him. he took one hand to hold my back, the other cupping one breast and his thumb flicking at the hardening nipple. i feel him push me down, his lips attaching to the bud as i let out a soft moan, shocked by how sensual thomas shelby could be if directed to do so.

i could feel the bulge in his pants growing, beginning to grind myself against the black pants while he fondled my breasts with his mouth and free hand, the other that was once on my back now guiding itself down to my ass. he pulled himself away from my breast, panting softly to himself as the tension began to increase between our moving bodies.

“take off your panties and lay down on your back, won't you.” he said to me in a more demanding tone. i stood up and did so, spreading my legs before him as he undressed himself at the side of the bed, soon leaning down in front of me.

i chew my bottom lip at the sight of the man before me, but gasp as his tongue links to my clit, swirling and flicking around the sensitive bud of skin, while i only grow wetter through his touch and the saliva that collected against my entrance. i reach down to hold his head of black hair, my other hand resting against my chest while he continued to give me nothing but pleasure.

“this… this doesn’t seem… like b-business to me…” i stutter my words, my back arching at every sensitive touch he brought to my body. my words made him pull away, a smirk on his wet lips as he stuck one finger inside of me, pumping and curling it slowly enough to draw a loud moan from my lips before pulling it out right after.

he leaned down and gestured for me to open my mouth, sticking his finger inside for me to taste my own juices before pulling it out and licking it himself.

“neither does this, how wet you are for me. are you sure you want to take back the consummation of our arrangement, hm? it seems you like my tongue, mrs. shelby. do you think i’ll like yours?” he grinned, standing up and pointing his full erection towards me, holding it in one hand as i sat up on the bed.

i blush, getting off of the bed and onto my knees before him. i take his length into one hand, pumping it slowly as i look up to him, our eyes locked when i lean forward and take his tip into mouth, a heavy sigh coming from his lips as i begin to suck him off. he was thick and much longer than any man i’d ever been with, and frankly, if we were to sleep together tonight, i was a bit nervous of how my body would take him and the aftermath of it all tomorrow morning.

“fuck, fill your throat with me, [y/n]..” he moaned, both hands holding the back of my head as he thrusted himself towards my face. i took his cock down my throat, my eyes closing almost immediately as a tear runs down my cheek from the unexpected penetration, moving my head back and forth as his balls slap against my wet chin.

he tilted his head, mouth hung open as he watched me take him down my throat. i could hear his breath cutting short each time he thrusted, his cock twitching inside my mouth as he edged himself through each stroke. when he could tell through my reddening expression and glossy eyes that i was a bit overstimulated, he slowly pulled himself out of my mouth, leaning down to help me back on my feet and onto the bed.

he kneeled down before me, grabbing my face with both hands and pressing a passionate kiss against my lips, his tongue pushing itself into my mouth, which distracted me from the way he was moving my body off the bed again. he wraps his arms around me and guides me across the room and to the dresser, where he then breaks the kiss and turns me around, bending my body against the wood to where i made eye contact with the mirror that connected the furniture.

"i think this is worth the watch, don't you?" he teases, a devilish smirk across his face as he takes my neck in one hand, the other trailing before my pussy, his index and middle fingers attaching to my clit as he pushes himself inside of me without warning.

i gasp, watching my mouth open as he begins to fuck me, hard, against the dresser. the stimulation above my insides didn't make this any easier to take, given the fact i could already feeling my climax building in a matter of seconds.

i rest both palms against the wood, watching tommy's lips trail to my shoulder as he kissed against my sweating skin, leaving fresh hickeys from time to time, marking me like i was more than just an arrangement to him. if anything, this showed me that thomas shelby may not favor me, but he sure wanted the world to know i was his wife, and no one else's.

"i could fuck you all day, [y/n]. nothing fucking... compares to... how good you feel, fuck.." he muttered between kisses, looking up to meet my eyes in the mirror, his hand moving from my neck to hold my left breast tightly, halting it from bouncing throughout his thrusts. "do you feel me as much as i feel you?"

i nod, mouth still hung open, unable to even speak a word as tommy pulled my body closer, his fingers digging into my clit and forcing me to arch my back down, my ass pressing against him and causing even harsher friction between our bodies while he quickened his pace at the touch, the sound of our skin slapping together overpowering the bedroom.

i suddenly feel his arm wrap around my waist, and then the other, holding me so close and his body leaned so far down my back was touching his core. he thrusted deeper, further than what i even thought was possible for him to go, and so much so to the point i was in immense pain, but god, it felt so fucking good. his cock overpowered my entire body, and i felt my orgasm rushing to the surface, fluids leaking out from inside of me past himself and dripping between my legs, his own orgasm filling my insides within a matter of seconds after.

i feel him slide out of me, catching his own breath and helping turn me around to face him. he takes my hand and places the other on my back, guiding me to the bed once more and laying me down, pulling the sheet on top of me to cover my stomach down, my breasts exposed to the cold air. i feel his lips against my chest, lightly kissing from my nipples, to my shoulders, to my neck, and to my lips, once more. he smiles softly, and genuinely, to me, before snapping out of his sappy mood to grab a cigarette from the nightstand, lighting it.

"do you think we'll be doing this again?" he asks quietly, handing me the cigarette. "doesn't seem like it would be a negative thing to add to our arrangement, eh?"

i smirk, blowing the smoke out from my lips and towards the ceiling. "i wouldn't be opposed, but if you fuck me that hard every time, i'm not sure i would be able to get out of bed the next morning."

he chuckled to himself, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed, sliding himself into the sheets and putting out the cigar. he took me into his arms, lighting running his hand across my hair. "we can see about that. goodnight, mrs. shelby."

i rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and smiling to myself, partially hoping tommy wouldn't see my vunerability.

"goodnight, mr. shelby."

#smut writing #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #x reader #thomas shelby peaky blinders #x yn #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #fic writing #thomas shelby x reader smut #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut

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ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 8 months ago

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TOMMY HAS YOU TIED TO THE BED

Pairing - Tommy Shelby - fem!reader

Warnings - Bondage, p in v, rough, dub con.

Word count - 500+

Notes - Yayyyyy Tommy. Little drabble because he is a such a complex character to me.

As the door creaked open, Tommy couldn’t help but to smirk to himself. Right where he left you. Wrists bound to the bed frame as your head sloped over during your uneasy slumber, the bed sheets hardly covered your exposed, marked body. His heavy footsteps woke you as he headed to his mini bar whilst shredding off his jacket.

“Enjoy your night?” You sneered, your throbbing head undulated as your body felt weak.

“It was decent” Tommy replied coolly, his back to you as he poured himself a double shot of whiskey and walked over to you. “But I longed to return home to you” he admitted as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you.

“Lucky me” you grinned sarcastically, your eyes lingered on the tumbler, it triggered your dry throat to pulsate.

“Thirsty?” He inquired, an innocent smile on his lips.

You nodded gently and leaned yourself towards the glass. But he swapped it to his opposing hand and held it away from the bed. As you pouted to him, Tommy laughed in a dark tone as he placed it on the bedside table. Gradually, Tommy climbed on top of you and leant his head close to yours, your noses brushed against each other.

“Then be a good girl for me tonight, eh?” He whispered, the scent of alcohol suffocated your smell.

Tommy pulled the sheets off of your bare skin and admired the markings that he had given you within the past day. It gave him a sense of complete ownership, your body was for his taking. He tugged his shirt over his head and threw it aside.

“You can’t keep me here forever” you grumbled.

The fresh scratches on his chest were still yet to heal, it was his own fault, he miscalculated your strength. Tommy leant down and kissed you deeply, you compelled, not wanting another bruised mark on your skin, your hands naturally tugged at the rough rope, as they urged to wrap themselves around his upper body.

Tommy freed his throbbing length with one hand and caressed your torso with the other. His fingers ran over your swollen entrance and you gulped, unsure if your body had recovered from earlier today.

“By the time I untie you, you won’t want to leave” he smiled as he pressed the sides of your faces together. Steadily, he lined up his tip to your entrance.

“Cocky gypsy bastard” you moaned as you felt his length slowly push inside your wet canal.

There was a quick moment of silence as Tommy focused on pushing himself completely inside of you first. Slowly, he slipped in inch by inch to tease you. Done so to purely enjoy your soft, sweet moans.

“And your father is a cocky Irish scum. Which led you here, right beneath me” Tommy countered eventually. There was no counter argument from you, to hell with both of them. “Might as well get used to me, he won’t want you anymore when he finds out what you’ve been up to. He might shoot you for treason” Tommy chuckled cruelly, his hands pulling up your hips from the mattress as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck you Tommy” you hissed, as you tugged on the restraints and turned your face away from his in anger.

“You’re doing that right now sweetheart” Tommy snickered as he nibbled on your earlobe, picking up his pace without care.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #smut #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby drabble #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby

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wutheringcaterpillar · 8 months ago

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An Act of Violation

Summary: Cillian takes advantage of you during a sex scene on set.

Warnings: Noncon, age gap (reader is 18), sense of grooming, p in v, oral (f receiving), Dark!Cillian, virgin!reader, creampie, trauma inflicted, fingering

This is purely fiction, not in relation to Cillian Murphy or his real life.

After landing your first big role at the ripe age of eighteen, your co star Cillian took you under his wing. Giving you acting lessons, taking an interest in your hobbies, sharing friendly banter. He had learned very quickly that you didn’t come from money, merely gliding by with rent and food, living from pay check to pay check. He took you on several lunches, dinner, acting as if he cared. He was calculated in his plans, earning your trust and friendship, knowing all your secrets. After your mother’s passing, you had no one, completely and utterly alone in this big, scary world.

Thanking the barista, you made your way to the set, nervous about filming your most intimate scene, although you were quite uncomfortable with having your body on display for everyone to see, you knew sex sells and you could trust Cillian to make you comfortable and guide you. After all Peaky Blinders was on the rise to popularity and emotional attachments with their viewers. The pressure to be perfect on camera waited down on you like an anchor, without this role you’d have nothing, you had to be amazing.

Cillian met you at your trailer with the script, going back and forth rehearsing your lines, suggesting motions, and sounds to make a great sex scene. You didn’t really bat an eye at it, thinking he was just being helpful, trying to ensure your comfortability but when you were on set shedding your clothes preparing, your world turned upside down.

“Action!” Going into character, acting as if you were aroused, Cillian’s hand slid seductively over your bare thighs while your breasts hung visibly present.

His thumb trailed down your bottom lip slowly, lips agape and drawn into your features.

The camera focused in on a side view, filming the intensity and chemistry from the lustful gaze, magnifying the power balance Tommy held over your character Addison.

Running your hands down his chest, there was little conversation, just pure desire. This scene was intended to be hot, electric, rough as your characters didn’t get along, it was simply Tommy being his usual self, enforcing a manipulation tactic to Addison into bed with him. She was the enemy’s daughter, and turning to Tommy when he convinced her that her family betrayed her, wanting to sell her off to the highest bidder. As much as she held a profound hatred for Tommy, her need for revenge was stronger.

He angled his head burrowing his temple to the side of your face when in that moment you felt a movement from under the sheet just barely covering your most vulnerale area. This wasn’t scripted, his arms were supposed to stay on either side of your head to show the muscular tone of his shoulders and back.

None of production batted an eye, simply trusting that Cillian was trying to make the scene more intimate, as if he might be warming your character up by fingering her when that wasn’t the case at all.

You were beginning to panic when the protective garment over your vagina was suddenly swiped down onto the mattress.

A wave of panic and fear weighed down on your chest, but what were you to do? This was your first big role, and you needed the money, Cillian knew that.

In a low, hushed tone, you leaned in toward his ear, voicing the concern.

“What are you doing?” Your question was answered when the head of his hardened cock pressed against the entrance of your dry, unwanting hole. When you tried to wiggle your hips up away from him, he simply pressed down with his strong hand, holding you in place.

“Just lay still and act your part. This is important to you isn’t it?” Sliding down beneath the sheet, you were left having to improvise and act as if this was planned. Within seconds Cillian tongue was on your heat, lapping at your folds and inserting a finger in your tight walls. Your hips bucked up from the unexpected violation, but you had to stay in character when you were internally screaming.

Curling your fists in the sheets, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to pretend this wasn’t really happening, reminding yourself you had to keep yourself composed in Addison.

His plump, plush lips sucked at your labia as he entered another finger, drilling into your virgin aching hole relentlessly. From the camera’s perspective all they could see was the bump of his head under the sheets, more focused in on your facial expressions.

The director made a call from behind Cillian, motioning for a closer connection. Wanting Cillian to run his hand lovingly down your cheek, whispering his lines in a lustful, charismatic voice. Your eyes stayed transfixed in his corrupted gaze, hiding the impending fear portruding every part of you.

“After this moment, you’ll be my property. Only belonging to me.” Though the lines were fake, his words struck a nerve. Panic ensued, when one of his hands gripped viciously at your breast, noting the hardened state of your nipples.

“Alright now let the sheet fall down your back and look into her eyes, showing a raw passionate connection before ravishing her lips, not being able to resist her any longer.” Cillian did as he was instructed with his own take, hiding the smirk and building tension.

His cock was throbbing at the sight of your unwanting body beneath him, fully on display for his own personal view.

Clashing his lips against yours, he thrusted forward, penetrating your body with his long, girthy member.

What was meant to come out as a cry for help, came out sounding like a muffled moan from your quivering lips being captivated by him.

You needed this role, you couldn’t do anything to jeopardize this job.

You were stranded, breathing in his mint scent, and his cruel blue eyes embedded in your mind, along with the feeling of your most private area being ripped a part from how dry you were.

Your skin formed goosebumps when his hans grasped at your sides, squeezing them as he pounded you down relentlessly.

“Now Y/N, we need you to be completely enveloped. This scene needs the hatred, the aggression, but also the burning desire and attraction.”

Cillian shoved his tongue down your throat, grinning from ear to ear from the warmth of your walls deciding to take control of the scenario playing out.

He had been resisting you for awhile now, but seeing your nude body beneath him, the delicate untouched features of your skin made him think with his cock, wanting to be selfish for once in his life.

He could feel your insides starting to moisten involuntarily, turning into a rather hot, slippery slope warming his penis with each forceable movement.

You felt humiliated, used, like some inanimate object. Feeling suffocated between the weight of him on top of you, and the mattress folding beneath your battered body. Was this all he wanted?

Put yourself in Addison’s shoes you’d repeat to yourself over and over, as if that somehow justified the situation.

The burning in your downstairs intensified when with one strong thrust, he quietly literally took the air from your lungs, but you were able to form it into a glorious moan that was believable.

“Fuck, Tommy keep- oh keep going.” Sliding your hand up the nape of his warm neck, you held him down closer, trying to deepen the kiss, Addison aching for every piece of him, while you were screaming internally for this to be over.

Rhythmically, along with Cillian, feeling his whole length protrude your once virgin walls painfully, balls deep inside of your sore pussy, it had felt like a shot in the arm, only it wasn’t.

Sitting up, and fixing the sheet, he had you on his lap, wanting to see your enticing, inexperienced body ride him while adjusting the sheets so production couldn’t tell.

The pain slowly turned into pleasure when the head of his cock hit your cervix, grinding, and claiming you as he’d wanted to for so long. Taking your innocence and fragility for his own.

He could feel your heart beat rapidly against his chest, but was pleased to notice that your body was enjoying this, you were feeling pleasure and riding him all on your own.

You hid your face in his neck, biting down aggressively on his shoulder, though the pain you were causing him was nothing toward the humiliation on you felt. As your hips swayed, and the tip of his cock brushed against the sweet spot you didn’t know you had.

An unexplainable, pleasurable feeling washed over your core, toes curling, and back arching from the approaching orgasm.

“Tommy- Tommy I’m going to-“ You felt disgusted, violated, unsafe, how was no one noticing what was happening with all the changes in the script or did they just trust Cillian to that extent.

An unexpected, loud, lustful moan escaped from between your lips as your eyes fluttered shut.

Cumming onto Cillian’s shaft, you crumbled in his arms, falling week as your body convulsed. Wishing you could shield yourself from embarrassment, and shamefulness, not wanting to give the predator the satisfaction of knowing he pleased you.

Why wasn’t he pulling out? In a swift motion while you were still desperately riding out the phenomenal sensation. He layed you back down once more, his balls slapped against your bare ass as he pulsated inside of your deflowered rose, painting your insides white with his seed.

“Cut!” As the crew dispensed in search of a robe for you both, Cillian glanced down at the mess, smirking, knowing he had pushed you over the edge enough that you came for him.

Still avoiding eye contact, your co worker tossed you the robe. You flustered to put the fabric over as a shield, pulling your panties from the nightstand drawer, forcing them up to act as a shield, heading back to your trailer.

Cillian covered the stain sheets with the comforter, knowing production usually didn’t clear a set for hours and were always in too much of a hurry to notice a small little stain.

Rushing into your trailer, you slammed the door shut before falling onto the sofa, wrapping your arms around your legs, curling into a fetal position as you wept. Disgust washing over you as his seed continued to seep out from the notorious sexual assault.

What was supposed to be one of the most memorable acts of your life, something you were to decide when you were ready was taken away from you, yet you still had to act through the pain and abuse. Your skin was crawling, as the walls caved in, thought running wild on if this was really worth it if you were going to be subjected to an object.

Not being able to bare the stench of him any longer, in a fitful rush you shed yourself of your clothes, throwing the soiled panties into your bag to throw out the evidence one you were home.

Before changing, you went into the bathroom to start a shower as if you could cleanse away the damage he’s done, cleanse away the memory of his touch and intrusion, but it didn’t work.

Sitting on the toilet, you awaited for more to come out, the tears rolling more abundantly down your cheeks as you saw his semen sitting blatantly in the water.

At that moment there was a knock on the door and Cillian walked in without waiting for you to answer.

Shuffling and scrambling to put your clothes on, he peared the door open, finding you in a state of panic as you pulled a new pair of panties over your coveted area, trying to hide what he’s already seen.

“I don’t think there’s a need to be all embarrassed Y/N. You did great today, felt great might I add.” Uunable of looking him in the eyes, you turned to face away from him, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, not wanting to seem weak.

He closed in the distance, his chest pressing against your back, as his hand slid inside of the wasteband of your pants agonizingly slowly.

Flinching away from his touch, he simple backed you up against the wall leaving you stuck between the hard surface and his touch.

Your stomach churned, forming knots as tears prickled at your eyes once more when his digits combed over your clit, caressing the deflowered skin, and moaning slightly against your ear, causing you to wince away from his unwanted touch.

“Please stop…” You managed to croak out behind the pain.

But your pleads went unnoticed, moreso ignored as he began to rub circles into your overstimulated, throbbing pussy that was still burning from just moments ago.

“Why are you doing this? You- you didn’t ask or care to know if-“ He silenced your words by shoving his fingers right back up into you, allowing the warm liquid from you both to drown his fingers.

The smell of your sex making him hard once more.

“You know all I’d have to do is speak to production. They trust my judgement in character. If I happen to slip up and say I don’t think your right for the part, they’d have to replace you.” He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent while his fingers teased at your hole that belonged to him now.

“Is that what you want?”

“No! Please-please I’ll do whatever you want. I need this job desperately.” Ah there it was, he hadn’t expected you to submit so quickly. He chuckled behind your ear, placing a kiss of satisfaction beneath the lobe of your ear, before patting your dripping cunt and removing his hand.

“Atta girl. Knew you were wise. See you tomorrow then, maybe rehearse early on before everyone else arrives. Oh, don’t forget we have one more scene to film, your outfit is on the table., be ready in an hour.” He left biting his lip, turning around and winking at you with a sadistic, egotistical look on his face. You had nowhere to go, no one to turn, most of all no one to believe you.

Collapsing to the floor, you cried relentlessly onto the cold, hard tile, falling to pieces as flashbacks entered your mind of the way he touched you. The way his eyes gleamed with a sick amusement. How could you have been so stupid to believe Cillian was your friend and not noticed all the signs? He ruined your experience of possibly being famous, unable to watch your work on Peaky Blinders ever again without the constant reminder and scene of you losing your virginity.

Pulling yourself up from the floor trying to catch a breath, you did your best to shake off the feeling, clothing yourself for the final scene of the episode that was supposed to be a cliff hanger for the plot of Addison.

The makeup artist noticed your distress, asking if everything was alright to which you just shrugged it off by saying you were reading a script for a future episode and you had become emotional. When she pulled your hair back to remove it out of the way of your face, you unexpectedly flinched from her touch, unprepared for the sudden motion. Questioning you once more, you claimed she had startled you and everything was alright.

When you walked outside to join the crew, the scene before made you nauseated. Seeing Cillian laughing, and chatting with the other actors as if nothing had happened. They were all so oblivious to his charm, and having the advantage of knowing him for so long, they never blinked an eye.

Walking toward the crowd, Cillian glanced your way still laughing and smiling, watching as you stood a good lengths away from him but of course that would draw attention, wouldn’t it? Everyone believed to know how close of “friends” you were, so you made your way closer to his side, ready to act once more, pretending as if everything was okay. He massaged your shoulders, asking if you were okay as if he cared. He just wanted everyone to believe he was a good, caring, hard working man that was willing to help anyone. Taking your position in the alley in the pissing rain, Cillian stood watching your every move from the other end as he waited for his cue to come in. The constant stare was troubling, but once again, no one seemed to notice or think anything of it. Cillian was and always will be more important and a step ahead of you, he would always be the star.

#Cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #ranaewrites

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katyawriteswhump · 13 days ago

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Steddie Wiggly Wednesday🪱🐛🪱🐛

Thanks for the tag @wheneverfeasible and @medusapelagia and possibly some other lovely moots. Sorry, I move in ice ages!

CW for original character death. Don't worry, Steddie and all canon characters are safe.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Steve has an older brother, Cal, less than two years older than him. He loves his brother and hates his guts because Cal is stupidly perfect.

Not just grade A student perfect and state championship tennis finals perfect. Cal is so ridiculously, effortlessly nice. He floats above the High School popularity monster on some cotton-candy cloud of perfection—so high above all the shit that he can play Dungeons and Dragons with Eddie ‘freakshow’ Munson every week and walk away untarnished.

Steve’s pretty popular too, but he’s laboring for it the hard way— hanging with the ‘right’ crowd, dating the ‘mean’ girls. He’s sweating it out on the basketball court, barely scraping through the classes that Cal aced. Of course, his parents are pissed, and he knows he’ll never emerge from Cal’s perfect shadow. Cal secretly gave Steve all his old class notes to copy and offered to coach him, but Jesus, who’s gotten time for that shit?

So yeah, Steve hates Cal, and he loves him too. When Steve figures he might be bi, he’s in need of his brother like never before, though can’t find the right words. He’s got a dumb crush on Tommy H and… Ugh, it’s not like he can tell Tommy, and even when Steve gets over his crush, nobody in Hawkins is gonna accept that kind of shit.

Naturally, his perfect brother sees when Steve stops hanging with Tommy and the others. Sees when Steve stops dating. On that spring night, when it’s only the two of them and a sixpack at home by the pool, Cal knows. Even before Steve starts to inarticulately explain how confused and screwed up he is. Even before Steve tells Cal he’s over Tommy, but he’s definitely queer, and faking being the Steve Harrington the world wants to see is killing him. He’s failing his classes, and Hargrove is humiliating him on the basketball court. Steve’s got a totally messed up crush on Billy too, even though the guy treats him like dirt. Steve is scared Billy knows, and… Crap, why is his life such a mess?

He cries. He hates himself for it, but he cries, and it’s okay, because he’s got his brother, and he hates how perfect Cal is. But Cal is always gonna be there, and he’ll always have his back.

Cal is off to MIT in the fall. So yeah, that’s gonna suck, until… Cal doesn’t go. Instead, he gets sick.

Really sick. Steve’s worried, but this is Cal, he’s perfect. Everyone says that Cal is gonna ‘beat it.’ As if, because he’s a good person, he’s going to somehow exert his magic over whatever fucked-up biology is destroying his body.

Cal has three months to live.

Eddie is devastated. It was supposed to be Cal’s final campaign before he ascended to the higher plane of an Ivy League school. Now it’s simply final.

Suddenly, Eddie is moving Hellfire Club to Hawkins General Hospital, and then hosting it at the fucking Harrington’s. Nobody is shrieking or dousing him in Holy Water, and it would be hilarious, if it wasn’t so horrible. Obviously, Eddie is determined to make it the greatest, most metal campaign he’s ever conducted. He’s crumbling inside. They all are. These are the last days he gets to share with the guy from the ‘right’ side of the rails who looked at Eddie and saw Eddie, rather than the con-supremo-spawn of Al Munson.

Cal’s a-hole kid brother, Steve, starts hovering around when they’re playing. For obvious reasons. He needs to cling to every last moment with Cal, too. Lurking in dark corners, Steve starts staring at Eddie so hard it gets creepy. Eddie knows he’s pretty magnetic when he’s in full-on DM mode, but this is weird. Obviously, Steve must want ‘in,’ so Eddie reluctantly offers to help him draw up a character card, and… shock horror.

Steve Harrington isn’t that much of an a-hole. Now, it’s just the two of them, laughing and sketching and conjuring with D and D ideas, and Steve’s oddly jumpy. He doesn’t seem to be able to look Eddie in the eye, keeps staring at Eddie’s mouth, then touching his own, licking his lips. Eddie is… confused. Steve Harrington is cute. He is also supposed to be a repellent jock—not this guy who swerves maniacally between hilariously bitchy sniping and self-effacing over-apologies.

Once Eddie gets Steve going in Hellfire, Steve is stupidly over-confident, almost back to dumbass-Steve-the-jock. Eddie has a billion chances to slaughter him, and he refrains. For Cal.

Oh, and because, Eddie’s got a stupid crush on his friend’s kid brother. He figures out there is barely a year age gap between him and Steve, though. Cal was old in his year group, and Eddie one of the younger ones.

Still irrelevant. Steve is straight. Eddie’s 100% sure. Well, he would be, if Steve would stop blushing and glancing away whenever Eddie seeks eye contact.

Then Cal calls Eddie one night, asks him to come over. Cal’s getting sicker, so he detonates the bombshell.

You’d be perfect for my brother, man.

What the fuck?

Okay, so he doesn’t press Cal for details. It’s implied that Steve is into guys, but… Woah! Too much! His sick friend wants him to date his younger brother? Like, a dying wish? Yeah, Eddie likes Steve, and now he’s starting to read Steve’s feelings into the way Steve acts around him. But no way are they perfect for each other.

He gives it a shot.

On their first date, Eddie takes Steve to a dive bar Cal used to love more that it deserved, and where Eddie sometimes performs with Corroded Coffin. They make out around the back, against some dingy brick wall. They’re slightly drunk, and the kiss is wet and messy, and they’re stupid happy and then both so stupid sad that they stop trying not to be. They can’t kiss away the pain, but they can kiss. They cry so hard.

Eddie has found another Harrington brother who actually sees him. It occurs to him, more gradually, that he’s the only person in the world, other than Cal, who actually sees Steve.

What the fuck AGAIN?

And then he’s the only person left in the world who sees Steve, and besides Wayne, Steve is the only person left who really sees Eddie.

Steve loves Cal so much, and he hates him. He was so fucking perfect that he couldn’t possibly ditch his little brother without setting him up with a soulmate.

🪱🐛🪱🐛

My ST fic on AO3

no pressure tags: @mugloversonly @tea42 @fuctacles @queenie-ofthe-void

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve and eddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #wriggly wednesday #wiggle wednesday #steddie au

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look-at-the-soul · 6 months ago

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Every little thing you do- Part 8

Tommy Shelby x reader

Master list

A/N: another part, another thank you for reading and following this series! I had the initial idea for this chapter for Tommy and Y/N to witness something that brings them closer, then I realized it got longer than I expected 🫢 so I’ll have to hold the introduction of another character for the upcoming part 🤭 bare with me in this ride! And enjoy the slow burn 🥰

Word count: 3,595

Gypsy poem mentioned

“Mr. Benston, what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Tommy held the receiver against his ear.

“Mr. Shelby I hope you’re doing well.”

Tommy rolled his eyes at the fake sentiment, he wanted to end the call as soon as possible.

“There’s really no other way to tell you this, but here it goes…” Tommy heard him sigh at the other end. “Rumors are spread easily and unfortunately, people believe it wherever it’s true or not.”

“I’m not following you.” Tommy stated, getting annoyed by the minute, he wanted everything done right and fast. “Where do you want to go with this Mr. Benston?”

“Mrs. Benston overheard our maids talking about the woman in charge of the charity, I know she’s close to your family and I’m not judging you, to be honest. But if I’m donating money I don’t want it to be involved in gossip and rumors.”

Leaning on his desk, Tommy looked at the ceiling and felt his jaw clenching. “What rumors are you talking about?”

“The maid assured my wife, this woman in charge…”

“YL/N. It’s Miss YL/N.” Tommy corrected him.

“Miss YL/N doesn’t know who the father of her child is. At some point she even mentioned the child is yours therefore why you put her in charge of the charity.”

The last thing Tommy wanted for Y/N was this exactly, having her rolling from mouth to mouth, people taking about her, walking over her reputation. The realization hit him hard and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a attempt to remain under control.

“There are morals and values we still swear by Mr. Shelby… and you can have as many children outside marriage as you please, but the charity needs a woman who’s at certain level, a match for our society.”

“Mr. Benston so your main concern is Y/N’s reputation because she’s not married.” He swore under his breath. “Or because you’re unsure if I’m that baby’s father.”

“That’s correct.”

“With all due respect, it’s a personal matter so that’s none of your business in the first place.” Tommy took a deep breath. “Secondly, how would it make you look in front of your beloved society if people knew about the affair you had with your maid, which led her to get pregnant with your child and since your wife wasn’t able to carry one, you stole that baby from the mother and locked her in a mental hospital?”

A heavy silence set between them.

Tommy knew a lot of dirty secrets and a bunch of respectable people who were everything but respectable.

“Hmm?” He added more pressure to the wound. “Mrs. Benston has been doing a wonderful joy raising a boy that isn’t hers by blood, a Benston heir right?”

Again, silence at the other side.

“Maids are a wonderful thing huh? They know a lot of dirty little secrets…”

Y/N strolled through the Shelby Company Ltd. under the curious eyes and glances of the secretaries, she definitely noticed the way they stared at her from head to toe, stopping an uncomfortable amount of time in her belly.

What were they looking at?

Why would they turn around and start mouthing to the closest secretary something she couldn’t understand?

Fixing her eyes on the floor, she decided to keep walking, this would happen sooner or later, she just needed to create an armor around her, a strong shell to protect her and her baby from judging glances and people with bad blood.

Knocking softly on Tommy’s door, she opened it and poking her head she found him inviting her in, but she got the hint to remain quiet while he was on the phone, so she took seat in one of the couches, her legs were on fire, she wanted to take a long bath.

“So I think from now on, you’ll double your generous donation Mr. Benston correct? Did I hear you right?”

Throwing a quick glance in Y/N’s direction, he winked at her. The phone call turned around quickly and ended with Mr. Benston being backfired,

“Yes, the Shelby Institute feels so thankful for your selflessness. Bye.” Hanging up, Tommy turned around to place the phone in its place.

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “What was that?”

Tommy cleared his throat and went on to pour himself a glass of whiskey. “Just a really wealthy man willing to donate the institution a generous amount each month.” He explained with a wicked smile.

Tommy felt bad for lying to her, but he couldn’t bare to hurt her. He just hoped the word wouldn’t spread like gunpowder around.

“Oh… well I just came to show you the numbers Michael did, considering what we already raised,” she sighed loudly.

“What is it?” Tommy eyed her from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t know what’s going on outside but all your secretaries were giving me strange glances, as if they’ve never seen a pregnant woman before.” She chuckled.

Tommy’s head snapped in Y/N’s direction, her words caught his attention, he was always a step ahead of everyone and everything, how could he didn’t see this coming?

Something made click in his mind instantly. Someone must’ve spread the word around, therefore the sudden call he got and what Y/N just mentioned. Feeling a sudden urge to protect Y/N, Tommy decided to do something to distract her, he didn’t want her to suffer and pay for something that wasn’t her fault.

“Come with me.”

And Y/N did, she followed him because she knew there was no way to say no to him. She waved at Esme goodbye on their way out, a few days ago she announced her pregnancy with barely a bump, and now Esme was showing almost as her.

“May I ask how is the business doing?” Y/N asked in a low tone, wondering if she was interrupting his thoughts. Shuddering in the process, that business was almost a secret, the Shelby brothers were communicating through glances when anyone else was around.

“No.” Tommy answered in a serious tone but then wrinkles appeared around the corner of his eyes when he smiled. “Don’t be noisy.”

“I’m not noisy.” Y/N pouted.

“Yeah sure.” He was back into his usual self teasing and joking with her. “Do you know Russian?” Y/N shook her head. “Then you can’t help.”

“Ah come on, you don’t speak Russian either.”

Squinting his eyes, Tommy started speaking.

“save ami se

hi slobuzenja

ami jaul

o lungo drom”

It took Y/N several seconds to catch his words, but her mind suddenly remembered.

“You’re a bad liar.” She immediately went back in time, an ancient Romani poem he showed her years ago, but he was making a Russian accent. “in the forests

we respect

animals flowers trees

when we build our fire

we always clean up after us.” She continued the translated version.

Tommy gave her then a surprised look. “You still remember it?”

“Proud gypsy.” Y/N nodded.

How could she ever forget? How couldn’t she go back in time to that day when she went to play outside and meet a boy that was pretending to ride a caravan -a made shift with a sheet and pulled by a horse. He was shy and reserved at first, but she was fascinated by the endless stories he told her about his gypsy roots and tales on the road.

She spent hours listening to him speaking roca -with the proper translation of course-, and eventually he found the poem in his mother’s notebook.

“Even then, you were always worried about everyone.” She noted.

He had always been protective over those who he loved.

“Bad habits die hard.” Tommy chuckled, his childhood wasn’t always easy, but she definitely made it better.

Y/N wondered how different he would be if things happened differently, if his mother was still alive, if they didn’t have to go to the war… if she didn’t thought Scott was a good distraction. But she was forced to put her thoughts aside, as she felt urgency to pee. “Can you stop the car?”

“Why? What happened?”

“Just stop it… I need to take a wee.” She explained embarrassed.

Tommy looked around, they were in the middle of nowhere. “Let me get closer to those trees.”

She bit her lower lip, pray he’d hurry up. “Are you sure an animal won’t bite me here?”

“If something bites you it doesn’t matter, just spit in the wound.”

“That’s gross!” She defended.

Tommy gave her an amused look. “You don’t know right? Pregnant women salive is full of properties that cuts off the venom of snakes.”

The surprised look Y/N gave him assured Tommy that she didn’t know.

“How do you know that?”

“A snake bit me back in the day, my Mum was pregnant with Ada she used her spit and covered the wound with a clean cloth and here I am, strong as a horse.”

“Do you always have to refer to an animal? What’s wrong with you?”

His chuckle resonated into the deepest parts of her soul as she climbed out of the car to find a safe place to take a wee -as safest as the trees could be of course-.

Tommy took a cigarette, he was aching for a smoke. The road was practically deserted, but still he was always looking around, keeping an eye just in case. Anything could happen in a blink and he needed to be alert.

“Are you done?!” He shouted over his shoulder, just to piss her off.

“Would ya give me a fucking minute?!” Y/N shouted back mortified.

This wasn’t practical at all, she felt like an animal in the wild, but this was all she got for now and she needed to stick to it. Besides it wasn’t like she could hold it for so long.

Cleaning herself she tried to rush back to the car, huffing from the effort. “Sorry about that, can’t control it.” She apologized getting in the car again.

Tommy held the passenger door open for her while blowing the smoke in the opposite direction.

“It’s alright, needed to stretch a bit anyways.” He grinned. Who would’ve told him he’d stoping his car in the middle of nowhere for a pregnant woman to pee. “So… did Polly tell you already?” Tommy asked giving her a side glance.

Y/N couldn’t help to smile big. “I asked her to not tell me. Did she tell you?”

Tommy started rubbing his chin, a soft smile decorating his lips as he kept his eyes on the road again.

“Don’t tell me, I just want this baby to be healthy.”

“I really don’t understand how she knows, but she got Ada’s right and I remember she did the same with my Mother when she was pregnant with Finn.”

“She could use her talent and charge for it.” Y/N joked about Polly’s gift to predict the baby’s sex.

“See, that’s a brilliant mind, always sell your abilities.” Tommy encouraged. “Alright, this is it.”

Y/N noticed Tommy took a right and entered a different road. The property was as big as his own house. She could only think how tired she’d be to have to go from one room to another, poor maids who had to clean everything.

The gardener tipped his head towards Tommy knowledging him, while he moved as if he owned the place. Y/N following his steps, feeling like she really didn’t belong there.

“Need to have some rest? It’s a long way.” Tommy looked over his shoulder to make sure she was doing okay.

“No, I’m fine.” Her eyes stopped at the pond, it had fishes.

“Gold fish keeps the worms away from the horses.” Tommy explained, reading her mind.

Y/N gave him a doubtful look. “Are you messing with me?”

But Tommy shook his head. “Never, I swear it’s true. It helps to keep the water clean.” He crouched down, inviting her to do the same. “Go on, you can touch them.”

To show her it was alright, Tommy tipped his hand inside, making a circle with his finger.

When she was about to dip her finger too, Tommy spoke again.

“Careful, they can bite your hand off.”

Y/N gasped in shock at first, then when she realized he was only joking, she laughed. It was a strange sensation, the skin felt flaky against her touch made her giggle.

“I hope the horses won’t eat the fishies.” She added and then saw Tommy rolling his eyes. “Oh what? You’re the only one allowed to make jokes?”

Y/N shook her hand towards him, making a few drops land on his suit and vest.

Tommy clicked his tongue and pretended as if he would throw water at her. Y/N squealed giving her back at him, feeling like they were teenagers again playing by the river.

“Follow me, I want you to meet Apollo.”

“Your horse has a name?” Y/N asked perplexed.

“Of course, they all do.” He pointed at the floor for her to be careful with the hay. “This good boy is going to win the next Derby.”

Y/N saw Tommy stood in front of the box and gently caressed the animal, taking his time to ask how he was doing, check behind his ears and take a look at the mare’s body. He had always been a horse’s man, the amount of time he spent brushing that white horse his mother gave him, no one knew where it came from, but Tommy assured her it was a fine horse, he had magic in his eyes and now she was witnessing the way the horse followed Tommy’s steps like he was kind of under a spell.

Y/N noticed the way Tommy’s energy changed, it was indescribable but he turned into someone completely different. They were in a bubble, in their own little world, like they were one soul divided in two bodies.

And it almost made Y/N feel jealous of the closeness and complicity between Tommy and his horse, she could hear him whispering sweet little nothings and the way the horse made little sounds in response.

Then the horse stared at her and started moving slowly, tipping his head down. At first Y/N was shocked to feel the moose against her stomach, but Tommy told her it was alright, his horse wouldn’t hurt her.

“It’s like he knows I’m pregnant?”

“Oh he does,” Tommy nodded, “I just told him.”

“Is this another of your jokes?” She laughed nervously as the horse breathed against her baby bump.

“I never joke about horses, Y/N. He knows there’s a life growing inside you, they understand more than we do.”

There was something in his blue eyes that she couldn’t name, something that was making her hold his gaze. Something so profound she never experienced before. It was both terrifying and calming at the same time.

And then, as if the moment wasn’t intense enough, she felt her baby wriggling inside her for the first time.

“What is it?” Tommy asked with concern in his voice.

“The baby… is moving.” She explained.

Grabbing his hand in a blunt movement, she placed it on top of her blouse, giving him a few seconds to feel the movement against her side.

“Oh wow.” Tommy finally managed to feel a small but determined movement against his palm.

“Over here.” She changed his hand in another direction. Her hand covering his, she could feel Tommy holding his breath as his eyes shot up to find hers, surprise written all over them, this was something he had never felt before.

“Is this something good?” He asked in a whisper.

“I think the baby started moving when the horse was close, like the baby feels the horse around.”

Was this what a new life felt like? The miracle of a tiny human growing inside her?

Tommy could feel his heart about to explode, to be able to experiment something so personal, so profound, something that wasn’t meant to be his.

He, the ruthless leader of a gang, the heartless Small Heath Devil, there he was with tears blurring his vision and emotions making him feel things he had never felt before.

This baby wasn’t born yet and it was already his weakness.

The only time she had seen Tommy cry was when his mother passed away. He rarely allowed his emotions to the surface and Y/N knew too well this meant to him so much more than he could than he could actually put into words. Her unborn child somehow managed to get under his skin, past the high wall Thomas Shelby had built around him.

And now she was emotional too.

Tommy had been nothing but a gentleman to her, looking after her every need and wish during the hardest time of her life. And instead of pointing a finger and judging her actions, he welcomed her under his wing to protect her from the cruel world outside.

Without a doubt, Tommy was the best man she knew.

“It feels like a huge butterfly’s wings fluttering.” She explained.

Tommy felt lost for words, there was nothing he could say that could match what he felt.

A part of him felt guilty for stealing the baby’s father place and get the chance to experience all of this, but the other part told him he wasn’t doing anything wrong, because the baby’s father actually chose not to be involved. And in that moment, he made a silent promise to look after that child as his own.

Someone clearing his throat interrupted them. “I’m going to clean the barn, and the smell can be a bit strong for the lady.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tommy muttered, still altered by his feelings, so he turned around and walked his horse into the box, then he guided Y/N outside.

And then he did the only thing he knew when he wasn’t sure how to deal with his feelings. “I think it was the way your baby is telling you about his or hers future horse.”

Y/N gave him a shocked glance. “No, no way. Tommy you can’t buy my child a horse!”

“Who’s gonna stop me? You?” He scoffed. “Besides, I‘m that baby’s godfather remember?” Tommy announced proudly.

She groaned. “Don’t make me regret it.” As they started walking towards his vehicle, Curiosity won her over. “Who lives here?”

“My horses’ trainer.”

“No way, really?”

“Her husband passed away so she took over his business and with her family’s wealthy, well she became filthy wealthy.”

“So the horse training is just a hobby?”

Tommy shuddered not wanting to get too deep into that conversation. “Probably, once you have money you always want more and more.”

Y/N took his hand when he approached the other side of the vehicle.

The weight of his words sinking in her mind.

“That’s how it works? That’s what you want? More money?”

Tommy swallowed hard, Y/N always knew what to say to get his attention, the truth -he sometimes didn’t want to hear-, always hanging from her lips.

“That’s just how the world works, Y/N.” He replied instead. “Money can buy anything.”

He was right, he was just proving that by recently buying a mansion, he already had three cars parked in his garage, eight horses plus the ones under training, he paid for a staff at his house, paid the cops, he was also paying the remodeling of the building they’d use for the Shelby Institute and everything that was needed. And last but not least, he was paying her salary and a monthly amount of money for her baby already, the sapphire he recently gifted her and endless other things.

The echo of his words silenced her own.

Y/N decided then to turn her head away from him to look outside on the road they were leaving behind.

But you can’t buy love. Can’t buy happiness either. So… is it really worth it? She wanted to say, but instead the words kept playing in the back of her mind.

“Before I forget…a man came looking for you at the Institution.” Y/N explained shaking her head a bit, her mind felt funny at times and she forgot things.

“Who? When?”

She saw the frown in Tommy’s face. “A few days ago, he seemed strange if you ask me, wearing clothes as a priest, said he’d supervise th-”

“Fucking Hughes, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He demanded frustrated.

“Calm down, I-I forgot.”

“This is important and delicate, Y/N you can’t simply forget those things.” Tommy snapped not aware he was hurting her feelings.

Until a little sob escaped her lips and Tommy felt like a piece of shit.

“No, Y/N I’m sorry shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” He didn’t want to upset her. “Sorry I’m just trying to keep you safe, away from this…”

“I should‘ve told you sooner.” Y/N took a deep breath. She didn’t know what’s gotten into her, that reaction wasn’t like her. “I didn’t like him, but I thought he was related to the operation.”

“If you see him again, don’t tell him anything.” Tommy held the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I’m going to place some blinders guarding the Institute.”

Y/N turned to look at Tommy and by the tone in his voice, she felt worried.

Next part

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney

@gretelshelby @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan

@stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts

@moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @thenattitude @winchestergirl22

@zablife @elk96 @blondie-22 @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144

@peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @lau219

@adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @lauren-raines-x

@everythingelseisextra @kmc1989 @red-riding-wood @lovemissyhoneybee @theendlessvoidofdarkest

@wannabeperfectionists-blog (can’t tag) @yeppaweshallsee (can’t tag) @skydisneylover (can’t tag) @holacia3 @galactict3a @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @ietss @abaker74

@natalie--rushman @elliaze @justrainandcoffee @teawonderfultea-blog1

#that’s what Cill said #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x imagine #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic

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fiona-fififi · 14 days ago

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Anti under the cut. Look away.

But it actually makes me genuinely sad how hard people are willing to ride for Tommy.

Because yeah, queer characters deserve development, and yeah, I think for Buck's sake this relationship deserved more development because his arc was sidelined in questionable ways.

But also, as a queer person, I am actually kind of tired of seeing queer characters on network tv paired up permanently with the only other queer character in their general vicinity. And I certainly do not enjoy watching this happen with random characters I have no investment in who are newly introduced several seasons in. And I don't actually really want to watch a show develop a boring side character I don't have any reason to care about (especially when I have several reasons to dislike them, actually) who was introduced very clearly as a plot device just because they're queer. I don't think it's bad representation, actually, especially in a show like 911 with so much queer rep, to just let a queer character be a plot device.

And more importantly, it makes me genuinely sad that so many people now want Buck's "great love" to be with some random dude he barely knows instead of with the man he has actively and intentionally devoted himself to for seven years and who has given back that devotion in kind.

Yes, I want Buck to be happy. But there is no one in the world who would make him happier than Eddie. Nothing about this new relationship came close to challenging that. I don't want to see him settle just because this was his first queer romance, and it makes me genuinely sad that so many people seem to want that for him.

#i don't know y'all #i'm tired and i'm sad #and i think buck deserves to love and be loved by someone who truly knows and understands him #and this relationship was not it and that was made clear every step of the way #anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

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𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑯 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!reader x bodyguard!joel miller

genre: super duper explicit smut, actress & bodyguard au, minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: an afterparty, weed, drinks, a grumpy bodyguard, and an eccentric actor. What can go wrong?

warnings: mlm dynamics, threesome, blossoming feelings, messy two-person blowjob, piv, polyamorous, dieter has a praise kink, hair pulling, bdsm dynamics, high sex, getting high, this is an au where sarah was never conceived sorry, petnames all around (good boy/girl, sweetheart, darlin, honey), guidance kink, handjob, implied age gap reader being the youngest and joel being the oldest

a/n: you voted and here it is! This can be considered as a continuation of the drabble I wrote but you don't need to read that in order to read this. It just takes place in the same universe. enjoy! If you want to see more adventures of bodyguard!joel and actress!reader feel free to send requests xx

Joel is a grump.

He knows this. Everyone does. He’s been called many things before in this industry: unkind, an asshole, a fucker, a bummer, a grumpy old man. But despite all the negative feedback, he’s never been out of a job. When it comes to feeling safe and secure, everyone realizes that pleasantries aren't really a priority. After a while, he learned to let those remarks bounce off of him. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy having fun; it’s the fact that this industry is riddled with slimy, untrustworthy characters. You could be happily sharing a drink one moment, and the next you could find your drunken words being sold off to the highest bidder. He has a lot of stories, some of which he wishes he could forget about.

However, he's not a kid. Far from it, actually. So he also knows that not everyone fits the bill of assholery. He's met some nice people, worked for them, and thanks to those nice people, he met you— one of the biggest rising stars of your generation. You're actually quite kind— albeit a bit of a brat, but he's starting to realize that side of you might be reserved only for him. Most impressively, you've managed to knit yourself a loving, supportive circle. He met your family once and has a sneaking suspicion they had something to do with your good manners.

Family. He misses his. Tommy still lived in Austin, running a not-so-shabby bar.

Joel used to pride himself on not getting involved in his clients' affairs, but with you, that proved difficult.

A sea of people crashes into him, pushing him in the opposite direction of where he's trying to go. These Hollywood parties, they're always the same - loud music, annoying lights, and foaming glitter always coming from somewhere. He catches a whiff of champagne and strawberries. Rolling his eyes, he helps a director he barely knows who stumbles and nearly collapses on the shiny marble floors. With one swift motion, he grips her torso and lifts her back up. She slurs a drunken thank you and moseys off.

He hates it when you drag him to parties, and he hates it even more when you disappear. By some miracle, he spots you sitting down within the awfully lit room. You're wearing a mermaid-style dress (at least, that's what you told him prior to the event), which hugs your curves in all the right places. The fabric is covered in pearls, giving it a shimmering, iridescent quality that catches the light and reflects it into his eyes - thank fucking god, or else he suspects he'd never find you in this crowd.

His relief in finding you is short-lived when he sees who you’re sitting with.

Fucking Dieter Bravo.

You know he doesn’t like the man. Of course, you would sit with him just to spite Joel. That’s what he hopes this is anyway, he’s praying to every god he can think of (which isn’t many) that this isn’t a blooming friendship, or something else. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing that man more than he has to.

Ironically, Joel actually used to work with Dieter. It only lasted for about a week as Dieter was just too unpredictable and chaotic for him. A complete hedonist who was used to getting what he wants. Before Joel could resign, Dieter had fired him. Which was good, because Joel wasn’t sure if he would’ve actually gone and done it.

Joel feels a mixture of excitement and anxiety as your entire face lights up upon seeing him. With an open smile, you wave frantically and point to the couch across from the two of you. It's a tight fit, and his knees brush against both yours and Dieter's as he sits. The actor is holding a joint loosely between his fingers, looking up to Joel and nodding in a way that resembles an informal greeting. Joel notices the vibrant pattern of his button-up, the chain around his neck, and the rings on his fingers. Dieter takes a drag then offers it to you. Your gaze briefly meets Joel's before you take it from him. However, you don't immediately bring it to your lips.

“Where were you?” Joel asks loudly, trying to get his words over the sound of the music. “You can’t bring me to these things and then just disappear on me.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” you answer with an apologetic smile. Joel narrows his eyes and you bring the neatly rolled joint to your glossy lips. You take a deep, long inhale. He watches the way your body seems to melt unconsciously. You close your eyes. “I just saw Dee and you know his habit of disappearing as soon as you blink. Had to pounce him before that happened.”

Joel’s eyes drop to where Dieter slides an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes fixed on Joel. Your eyes flutter open and much to Joel’s surprise, you extend the joint to him.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Dieter says, his lips too close to your cheek. Joel bristles unknowingly. “He has a stick up his ass.”

“Dieter!” you hiss, glaring daggers. “Behave.”

“I don’t smoke on the job.” Joel says, a bit smugly and enjoying the other man’s prominent pout. “Unlike some, I’m a professional.”

Dieter scoffs. The joint still lingers between your fingers, your gaze snapping to Joel. You accusatorily point at him, your brows drawn together. “And you—” you warn. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You’re off the clock remember? I invited you here so you would loosen up a little.”

What?

“What?” he blinks rapidly. “Why on earth would I need loosenin’ up? And why would I want to loosen up with you lot? This ain’t exactly my scene honey.”

“Because we’re friends, smartass.” you chide. The burnt tip of the cigarette is now closer to your fingers. With a sigh, Joel finally takes it, which provokes a burst of laughter from Dieter.

“She has you on a leash!” Dieter points out, fingers digging into your hip and moving over the pearls. “That’s fucking adorable.”

Joel grunts, “Shut up.” he takes the joint clumsily, holding it up to his lips. It’s been a while since he’s done this. When he does he usually prefers the privacy of his own home. Joel ignores the way your eyes are fixed on him, two wide eager eyes eating him up from head to toe.

He takes a deep inhale, his lungs expanding with smoke. Joel can taste the champagne you left behind. Goosebumps rise over his skin, a tingle, and a buzz making him groan. He allows the smoke to linger inside him, then, without parting from the joint much, he exhales. It’s very subtle, but he notices both you and Dieter taking deep breaths, filling yourselves with his breath. He’s amused. His lips twitch as he takes another drag. Then he extends it back to Dieter. The actor doesn’t waste much time and wraps his lips around the butt of the joint deliberately slow. Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. Dieter takes a deep breath, exhaling cannabis in a way that the smoke doesn’t move forward, it pours from between his lips, like a dragon’s mouth.

Joel doesn’t think much of it, now feeling more relaxed than ever, he says, “You look surprisingly cleaned up. They groomed you well.”

“Does it look like I care what you think?” Dieter snaps back, and Joel frowns.

“I think the word you’re looking for is thank you,” you say, words directed at Dieter. Your eyes flit between the two tense men. “Also I'm starting to think you two have some history together.”

“Didn’t your knight in shining armor tell you?” Dieter grins, rather smug. “He used to work for me.”

You turn to Joel, brows pinched together with confusion. “You did?”

Joel rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up under your gaze. “It was a long time ago.”

“I fired him.”

“How come?”

“Too distracting.”

Joel breathes a little too fast, the air catching in his throat. He clears his throat, his veins alive with tension. It almost feels like it’s the only three of them now. The rest of the room fading and turning black. Joel leans forward, the already tight space becoming even tighter.

“Excuse me?” Joel asks, his speech slurred. “What do you mean “too distractin’”?”

Neither of them answers you. Actors, he thinking begrudgingly, a puff of air parting his lips. Dieter brings the joint to your lips and without taking it from him, you look at Joel. He watches as your lips brush against the length of Dieter’s fingers. Annoyance brews in his stomach.

“Is he like this with you too? Oblivious?” Dieter asks you. You grin, teeth shining under the dim lights and you nod. The actor’s tongue pokes out from between his lips and swipes over his bottom lip. “Poor baby.”

“You two are startin’ to get on my nerves,” Joel grumbles, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

You stick your tongue out and Joel has half the urge to grab it between his fingers and teach you a lesson. He hadn’t noticed, but the joint had made its way back to him. Slightly confused and disoriented, he finishes it off. The last bit of it burning his throat and lungs. He’s incredibly flustered, heat crawling up from his chest to his cheeks. He doesn’t miss the way you and Dieter steal glances at each other, smiling giddily.

Finally, you find Joel’s gaze, a Cheshire-cat like grin plastered on your face—he’s slightly creeped out by it actually.

“How about we show you what we mean?”

Joel should’ve said no. This is the last time he’s ever coming to one of these damn parties.

Joel wasn’t thinking much when Dieter led all of you to one of the many bedrooms in the residence. Your hand was clutched tightly around his, and per instinct, he had held on to you just as tight. And as soon as the three of them entered the stupidly large bedroom with an equally stupidly large bed, he found himself sitting on the edge with his pants down. The two actors knelt between his legs, eyes hungry and mouths flooded.

He has to admit, it’s a rather enticing view.

Dieter wraps his fingers around the base while you kiss the inside of Joel’s thigh. Heat settles at the base of his spine, his cock twitching and growing thanks to Dieter’s slow strokes. You drag your lips up, kissing his shaft before swirling your tongue around the head. A strangled moan leaves him. Joel’s gaze drops, only to see Dieter staring back at him. He holds his breath as the other grins from one ear to the other.

“You like that?” he coos, darting his tongue out. He licks a clean stripe up, the curve of his nose brushing against yours. “God, the number of times I came in my pants thinking about this. . .”

Joel’s quick to follow up, “You thought about this?”

Your sudden bubble of laughter makes him frown. His lips become a tight line, his teeth clenched as he grinds the molars together. He watches as you ignore him and pull away. You cradle Dieter’s cheek, and as if he read your mind, the actor leans in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Joel tenses. His skin taut over muscle. His cock stands with attention, beads of precum rolling down his length. The thought of his taste lingering on your tongue, being passed to Dieter—his chest heaves, maybe he is too old for this.

He sees Dieter shoving his tongue between your lips and you moan into his mouth, Dieter swallows the noises you make eagerly. Joel is surprised he’s not feeling any jealousy or protectiveness. Usually, when the actor attempts to make passes at you he puffs up like a rooster. But not his time. Dieter cups your face with two hands, tilting your head so he can kiss you deeper. Only then it dawns on Joel that the reason he was bothered before wasn’t that he hated the actor—though he still found him annoying—but because he wanted to be included. He almost laughs. Loneliness truly is a bitch. His fingers twitch and he makes a move to cup himself, he pouts when his hand is batted away by no one other than you.

“No,” you say wetly with swollen lips. “We’re going to take care of you. Isn’t that right, Dee?” the second half of the sentence is directed at the actor who looks just as debauched. But he manages to nod anyway. Then your gaze moves back up to Joel. “Okay?”

He’s lost for words for a brief moment, mouth opening and closing before he can find his speech again. “Okay.”

It’s messy. Debauched. Downright sinful. And Joel is ninety percent sure this is all a dream and his alarm is about to burst through the speaker of his phone. Dieter purses his lips and spits into his palm, coating Joel’s shaft with a generous amount. You kiss the head and swallow him halfway, your nostrils flaring as you try to take more of him. Joel’s hand lifts to comfort you but Dieter beats him to it. The actor leans into your ear, smiling slyly. He pulls down the straps of your dress and exposes your breasts. Joel’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well,” Dieter purrs, Joel can barely hear him. “Just breathe through your nose, don’t rush it. He’s a big boy, isn’t he? Flatten your tongue and swallow. That’s it. . .” Joel’s arms buckle as you do what you’re told, his eyes rolling back. Dieter kisses your cheek and kneads your breasts, thumbs wiping over the pebbled nipples. “You’re making him so happy right now. Such a talented girl.”

“Oh, fuck,” Joel groans, slightly thrusting into your mouth. Dieter meets his gaze and winks, a wide grin spread across his handsome face.

Handsome. Joel finds Dieter handsome, always has. Though he always assumed he found him handsome in a more general way, the same way he found Oscar Isaac handsome. Some people just are. But he’s starting to think he might like the infuriating actor a bit more than he thought. Or maybe it’s just from the heat of the moment and the weed still buzzing in his veins. Regardless, he’s enjoying the view very much. God, what has he gotten himself into?

You swirl your tongue and hollow your cheeks. More praise drips from Dieter’s lips. Without thinking much of it, Joel reaches out and touches the side of Dieter’s face. The actor stills for a moment, brows furrowing, a delicious shade of red coloring his cheeks. Joel drags the pad of his thumb down Dieter’s cheek and then cups him tenderly.

“Good boy,” Joel says before his filter kicks in. “You’re doin’ so well too.”

Dieter’s face is priceless. He’s stunned into silence, eyes wide and round, lips parted. A low chuckle trembles within Joel’s chest, he continues to trace his thumb up and down the contours of his cheek. Dieter leans into the touch ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering. You must notice the change in the air because you pull away and drag a pointed tongue down Joel’s length. Then you grip Dieter’s chin and guide him down.

“Have a taste, Dee.”

Joel watches with bated breath as you guide Dieter down towards his aching member. The actor's lips part and his breath hitches as he takes in the sight before him. He looks up at Joel, his eyes dark, before finally taking him in his mouth, tongue swirling and lips tight. The actor's eyes never leave Joel's as he bobs his head, taking more and more of him into his mouth. Joel’s legs shake, his lungs expand, it feels too much, everything tumbling onto him like an avalanche.

Joel's head falls back, his eyes closing as he feels the warmth of Dieter's mouth. He can hear the wet sounds of his mouth moving over him, the way his lips slide up and down his length, and he can't help but let out a low moan.

You reach out and grab Joel's hand, entwining your fingers. Your touch electric. Leaning over you capture Joel's lips with your own. He moans into your mouth, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

Dieter pulls back, a thin line of saliva connecting his lips to Joel's length. He looks up at Joel with a wicked grin, before taking him back into his mouth. Parting away from you, Joel groans, hips bucking up involuntarily. But when he sees Dieter grinding into his palm, his cock hard and aching under his pants, Joel tugs on his hair, fucking his mouth with shallow strokes.

Joel’s eyes go wide when the other man chokes, the sound of it equivalent to someone raking their nails over his body. His stomach flips. Something raw and visceral awakening inside him. He thrusts deeper, the head going down the other’s throat. Dieter chokes again and Joel moans, loudly. His heart beating too fast.

With the corner of his eyes, Joel watches your movements with a parted mouth. You dip lower and drag your lips up his shaft, your mouth meeting Dieter’s. You both mouth at him simultaneously, your tongues dancing. Joel fists the sheets. His eyes fixed where his cock disappears and reappears between their lips. The two moan at the same time, the reverberations seeping into the sensitive skin of his cock and making him shudder. His muscles grow taut. Precum heavily coating both of their lips. Dieter dips his tongue into the slit groaning at the taste, and you unbutton the actor’s pants, sliding your hand under his boxer briefs.

“Oh god,” Joel swallows thickly, his voice hoarse. “I’m gonna come—” he can feel his body tensing, his breaths coming in short gasps as he gets closer and closer.

You pull away and Dieter follows. Instinctively, Joel pulls at Dieter’s hair, willing the other back to his cock. His cock twitches when Dieter’s eyes roll back at the blossoming pain. You climb up the bed, cradling Joel’s face before slipping his tongue into his mouth. It’s a quick one but leaves him breathless nonetheless.

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, lips moving over his beard. “Will you, please?”

Joel helps you up to your feet, his hands still shaking slightly as he pushes down your dress, finishing what Dieter had started. He dips down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His cock drips at the way you moan for him. Dieter stands behind him, his fingers trailing down the center of Joel's back as he helps him out of his shirt.

You reach for Dieter's pants, feeling the heat rising in your chest as you gaze into his eyes. He watches you intently, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You slide the zipper down slowly, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his boxer briefs.

Joel steps back, allowing you to guide Dieter towards the bed. He climbs up first, propping himself up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. You kneel on the bed beside Dieter, your fingers reaching for the waistband of his underwear. You tug them down slowly, revealing his cock, already hard and throbbing.

Joel's breath catches in his throat as he watches you take Dieter's cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft. Then you pull away from him with a pop and lay down next to him, your head resting on his hip. Dieter’s hands smooth down your body, spreading your thighs. He holds Joel’s gaze as the older man’s mouth suddenly feels dry at the sight of you.

Joel moves between your legs, his fingers tracing over your slick folds, making you moan softly. He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours as he slowly pushes inside you. He can feel you getting wetter with every inch. You claw at Dieter’s bicep and he shushes you, one hand moving to the swell of your breasts and holding it gingerly. The small hairs across Joel’s body stand up when you let out a sharp whimper.

“Dieter,” you whine, eyes glossy. “H-He feels so good.”

God, you’re shaking around him, your pretty pussy squeezing him. Joel grunts.

“I bet he does,” Dieter murmurs, eyes looking at where you and Joel connect. He’s only halfway in. “Want me to play with your pretty clit, baby? You’re taking him so well.”

You nod quickly and Dieter doesn’t make you repeat yourself. Joel swallows. Dieter begins to draw quick, tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp, your lips barely touching Dieter’s shaft. Joel feels you clenching around him, walls fluttering thanks to the actor. Dieter makes a point of brushing the tips of his fingers while attending to your need, and every time Joel feels it, his cock throbs. He buries himself deep inside you, forcing the air from your lungs. Your back arches beautifully, your nails leaving crescent moon-shaped marks into Dieter’s skin.

Joel's breathing is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours as he pumps into you harder and harder. Your eyes flutter closed. His fingers dig into your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he pounds into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room.

“Hold me,” you cry out, head turning to Dieter. Joel’s thrusts become harder, faster. “Shit—He’s in so deep.”

Dieter obliges, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame as your body sways back and forth with the strength of Joel’s thrusts.

“You’re taking him so well, sweetheart,” Dieter groans, his own cock heavy and dark between his legs. “You look so beautiful with him buried between his legs.” suddenly his eyes snap to Joel’s, and the older man falters a bit, his pacing becoming uneven. “Doesn’t she?” he asks him.

“She does,” Joel grunts out a response.

You let out a whimper, Joel can feel you convulsing. Your body growing taut and tense, you’re close. Joel’s not that far from it himself, dangling over the edge.

“She’s such a good girl,” Dieter continues, eyes never leaving Joel’s. “Isn’t she?”

“Jesus, she is. So fuckin’ good to me. Always.”

And with that, Joel witnesses your fall from heaven.

He watches with awe as you writhe and convulse around him, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Your body trembles with every pulse of pleasure that courses through you, and your breaths come in short gasps. You arch your back, a low moan escapes your lips, and your body tenses up around Joel's length. Your fingers dig into Dieter’s forearms s as you ride out the waves of ecstasy that ripple through your body. Joel can feel your inner walls squeezing him tightly, and he groans.

Joel can feel your wetness coating his cock, and the slickness only intensifies the pleasure he feels. He continues to thrust into you, his pace quickening as he chases his own release. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear Dieter praising you both, though mostly you, and he shudders.

Your orgasm starting to subside, he feels your body relaxing against him. He slows his pace, savoring the feeling of your hot, slick walls wrapped tightly around him. He wants to make this last as long as possible, to make you feel every inch of him. However, Joel knows nothing lasts forever.

He’s right at the edge when he pulls out, spilling over your stomach. His hot breath slides over your skin, his head buried between your breasts. Unthinking, he presses heavy, wet kisses. The tremors of his orgasm slowly fades and Joel realizes that among the three of them, there’s still one person left unsatisfied.

Joel looks up to Dieter. Despite his cock still being hard, the head an angry shade of red, he looks content with just peppering the top of your head with kisses. But he must’ve sensed the bodyguard staring because Dieter’s eyes meet his.

“You didn’t come,” Joel states.

Dieter rolls his eyes, “No shit,” he follows it up with a shrug. “But it’s okay. Seeing you two going at it was satisfying enough.”

Joel moves his jaw, thinking, contemplating on what to do. Your lids are heavy as your eyes move back and forth. Watching. The older man comes to a decision and peels himself away from you.

“Can I?” he asks, pointing at Dieter’s dick. The actor flushes.

“Can you what?” he answers, voice squeaky.

“Um. . .Jerk you off. It’s only fair.”

Joel reaches out a hand and tentatively wraps it around Dieter's shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. Dieter lets out a small moan. His fingers start moving up and down, slowly at first, getting a feel for Dieter's size and shape. Joel has done this with another once or twice before and he can sense his confidence that was already hanging by a thread slowly dissolving. He looks up at Dieter who is already staring at him with half hooded eyes.

“Is this good?” Joel asks, licking his lips.

“Fuck yes. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

Joel’s eyes widen at the admission. He tightens his grip and strokes him faster. Your hand comes up to Dieter’s chest, caressing flushed skin with a smile. You lean closer and kiss his neck, which Dieter hums gratefully. Joel feels the heat emanating from Dieter's body, and the slight tremble in his legs as Joel picks up the pace.

"Good boy," Joel murmurs, watching as Dieter's eyes close and his mouth falls open. "So well behaved than from what I give him credit for."

Dieter lets out a soft whimper, his hips bucking up into Joel's hand. Joel adjusts his grip, tightening his fingers around Dieter's cock as he works him harder. Dieter drips all over his fingers and he uses it to lubricate his movements.

"You're so hard," Joel whispers, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. His gaze falls on you with slight envy, a tingle spreading throughout his lips. A desire to lay his lips on the other man and feel his frantic pulse for himself is a strong one, but he swallows it down. "You want to come, don't you?"

Dieter nods frantically, his breathing ragged. Joel can feel his own cock twitching.

"That's it, let go," Joel encourages, stroking him faster and swiping his palm over the head. "Come for us."

With a loud groan, Dieter's body tenses, and Joel can feel the hot spurt of cum as it lands on his hand and on Dieter's stomach. Joel keeps jerking him through his orgasm, murmuring words of encouragement as Dieter's body shakes with pleasure.

Finally, as Dieter's breathing evens out, Joel releases him, wiping his hand on the bedsheet. Dieter looks up at him with a dazed expression, a small smile on his lips.

"Thanks," he says, his voice hoarse.

Joel exhales a stuttered breath, not really knowing what else to say. "Anytime."

“Awwww,” you chime in giddily which gets on Joel’s nerves. “Look at my two boys getting along.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #bodyguard!joel miller #actress!reader #joel miller x reader x dieter bravo #the bubble fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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ohnonononononono567 · 9 months ago

Text

Carry me - Simon "Ghost" Riley x m!reader (angst)

Games

Bit by Bit

(This was made after 1am and I projected my OCD onto a fictional character so that's on me guys, my bad. Any bad writing can be blamed on the fact I was watching chernobyl with my cat and eating the saltiest fried chicken sandwich known as i wrote this)

"Simon-"

"Don't." He grunted, leaving his position in your bed. Never his.

The day he admits it's his bed as well, is the day he has the ability to sleep peacefully. And God knows when he'll be granted that right.

He awoke to the sound of screams, his ears ringing. The feeling of water and blood rapidly running under his skin, as if his flesh begged to be free.

You had rolled over to hold his midriff, and Lord help him with how much he's grown attached to you, with how much he wanted to pin you down as if you were nothing more than another enemy in his eyes.

He shot up, just to feel the familiar sting of a hook in his rib as he had sat on the bed.

Stepping out onto the patio with a grunt, a tank top and some joggers on with slippers. The apartment's patio serving as the perfect place to have a smoke, the dog yawning to join. Big fella, she was, nudging snout onto Simons leg.

Sitting down, he grabs a light, lighting the cigarette he had hiding cheekily in his pocket, when he had swore up and down he wasn't smoking anymore less than 8 hours ago.

Burn your wrist.

Shut up Riley, you know better than to act on that.

Do it now.

No.

He leaned back, allowing the nicotine to enter his system, and the tobacco to leave a lasting smell on the rough pads of his fingers. He watched you from the corner of your eye. Silent panic. Wanting to help him. But you can't. All he can do is lie to a therapist and come home to you.

He made this worse. Leave him. You're nothing, but he's worse.

Stop.

He saw you at your worst. Why stay?

Because he saw me at my worst. And he stayed.

He shouldn't have.

Stop.

He knows nothing about you and he goes to sleep saying bull crap about loving you.

"STOP!"

He yells, grabbing his hair in two fists on the side of his head, the cigarette between his fingers, lingering in the night air as the sound of the city stand beneath him.

He looks at you, and you seem to just be staring. Frozen.

It spitballs, as he meets your gaze;

"Stop fucking staring at me like that yeah? You can't fucking help me! You deal with me, or you kick me out. Should've done that by now if you've ever known what's good for you!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air out of exasperation, the dog yelping a bit as she backs away. He heads back inside, putting out the cigarette, and snatching his blanket, heading towards the couch.

You gave him a look as he left. He knew that look. You've set boundaries, he was trying to be healthy for you. Honest. You wouldn't stand for verbal abuse, nor disrespect. But he was weak. Useless in the presence of a man like you.

He knew better than to immediately go to you. He left earlier for the gym that morning, called off work, went to one of those shitty manmade parks with more dog piss than a fire hydrant, and sat himself down. Right in the grass, watching a single dandelion. It was weak. But it still stood in the grass. It moved with the wind, even when it lost it's soft white petals.

And when it was stripped naked, bare, with nothing left to offer, there was another dandelion there. Planted from the wind carrying it. Ready to repeat the cycle.

Why is he doing this? He'll repeat what his father did. He was the end of it. No relatives to fall back on. God knows how much he's begged to bring his brother, Tommy back.

But that's just it. He's the end of the cycle.

Get up. Nobody is coming to save you.

He stands before you now, with nothing to offer, but the willingness to move with you if you'd allow him. If you'd allow a weak man like him to remain with you. He'll continue to lose his petals, but you'll help him plant new flowers. To utter the words,

"I can never truly tell you how sorry I am, love. You are the man I want. You are everything. And it's not enough. But I am trying."

Looking up at you, his bones brittle, his eyes heavy.

He wants to sleep. To feel his flesh settle, his mind quiet.

And as you embrace him, he can feel every molecule in his skin burning.

And if you ever let reality hit that you deserve someone who could think like a bloody normal human for once, would he continue to survive for as long as he could without you to carry him. Until he allowed the world to end what it started.

You are everything.

Laying in bed, your hands hesitantly rubbing his back in soft circular motions as he keeps his head in your tummy, soft breathing as the dog nuzzled into the crook between you two, soft kisses lingering on his tongue, it leaves him before he can chase after it;

"...Would you ever marry me?"

@tabloid-junki3 i dont think i cooked but i did heat it up in the microwave so

218 notes · View notes

dancingtotuyo · 7 months ago

Text

11. up from the dust, inconceivable love

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth, spoilers for TLOU 2 (we’re entering the timeline that starts to burrow things for part 2 of the game)

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 5352

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief.

“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open.

You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders.

“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.”

Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?”

“Willow.”

Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”

“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”

“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”

You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.

“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles.

“Neither is Willow.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement.

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it.

You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace.

“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”

You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”

“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it.

“Sarah.”

His head snaps up.

“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”

You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours.

“What about Willa?”

You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.”

“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.

“Miles is an old man's name!”

“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”

You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it.

Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared.

“We’re getting close… We need a crib.”

“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”

“I can bring it down in the morning.”

“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.”

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.

You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before.

A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops.

Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy.

“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath.

“Ellie is gone.”

You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”

Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests.

“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you.

His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back.

“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“

“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”

“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.”

Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult.

“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.”

Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom.

It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain.

“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”

You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.

“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”

Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”

You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.

“I have to go after her.”

There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”

He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”

You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”

Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”

He rides out thirty minutes later.

You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs.

Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back?

The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.

Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it.

You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality?

You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you.

On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived.

“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes.

“What?”

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.

“He killed them! All of them!”

“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”

“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”

Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind.

“So he lied to you too!”

“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway.

She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders.

“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time.

“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”

“They were going to kill you!”

Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.

“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house.

Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much.

Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”

“You lied to her.”

“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!”

“They were going to kill her!”

“Have you listened to anything she’s said?”

You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living.

“I couldn’t lose her!”

“Except you did!”

Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”

“You’re missing the point!”

“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!”

Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”

He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Joel!”

“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.”

He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.

Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there.

He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going.

There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol.

He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.

His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you.

Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another.

She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth.

I’ll go back, but we’re done.

Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him.

Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him?

Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows.

The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open.

Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out.

It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.”

He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”

You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I think you missed most of it.”

“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”

“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”

“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says.

“She?”

“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.

For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water.

You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs.

“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”

Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin.

After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly.

“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”

“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”

Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”

“Joel…”

Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”

“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“This only works if we’re open with each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”

You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.

“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“And we’re both okay.”

He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred.

You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away.

Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose.

“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”

His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”

“You were going through my things, I see.”

“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.”

Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”

“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers.

Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name.

She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled.

“You can come in.”

The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.

“Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.”

“You want to meet her?” you ask.

Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you.

“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks.

Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”

Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa.

“You can get closer.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never got to hug you earlier.”

She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.

“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”

Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does.

“What’s her name?” Ellie asks.

“Willa,” you reply.

“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly.

And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal.

Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her.

“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.

Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?”

Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice.

“Do you like the butterflies?”

You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still.

“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”

She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer.

“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.

“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent.

“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”

You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile.

He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you.

His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”

“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair.

“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”

“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her.

Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one.

Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.”

“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About?”

You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. “About Sarah sending us to you.”

“I did.” He kisses your forehead.

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@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

#woman (joel miller)#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #ppcu fanfiction #em's fics

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angelbarelywrites · 9 months ago

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♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim..

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2006), Black Christmas, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Billy Lenz

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content

♡ note; i wasn’t sure how to word the title/concept of this one?? but essentially you’re almost a victim, but you’re a little to okay with it/something they do and it throws them off?? idk just read ‘em

also only 3 little meow meows in this one, i wrote most of this on break at work uwu

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> he’s been stalking you for months

> in his mind you’re the perfect victim

> clueless to his presence, adorable and vulnerable

> he’s drawing it out as long as he can

> but he’s practically twitching the night you come out onto your porch in your tight pajama shorts, relaxing with some tea

> he’s got you pinned to the wall before you can even scream

> he wants to savor this, so he keeps his knife tucked away and has a massive hand around your throat

> he doesn’t miss your breath catching

> and he takes a moment to watch your chest heaving, your cheeks all flushed

> but he’s not that easily impressed. could be the lighting. maybe you’re quick to panic.

> “…you’ve been watching me.”

> you knew?

> you knew, and you still played his game

> interesting. very interesting.

Thomas Hewitt

> Tommy boy is already giving you special treatment

> something is different about you

> he’s not sure what, you’re pretty, but he kills plenty of pretty people

> maybe something about the way you look up at him through your lashes?

> and you’re terrified now, but you weren’t scared of the initial sight of him..

> he doesn’t put you on a meat hook, instead rigging you somewhat kindly, your hands chained above your head but your bound feet on the ground

> whatever he decides on, he knows that you’re special. you deserve to be honored.

> he takes extra care in examining you, feeling you shiver as he grazes your exposed stomach - a side affect of your position, but a welcome sight

> he roughly grabs your face and pushes it left and right, pausing to rub your cheek with his thumb

> you would be a pretty face to wear

> he shoves two fingers into your mouth as he’s mentally measuring

> and he practically startles at the noise you make

> he’s never heard a sound like come from a victim- especially not his victims

> when he pushes a bit and you whimper around his fingers it confirms his suspicions. you’d given a choked moan at the initial intrusion

> he stares down at you, breathing heavily through his mask

> oh you were very special

Billy Lenz

> you were renting a spare room in the sorority house

> while you were good friends with the girls, you valued your alone time

> you quickly became Billy’s favorite to watch, mostly because you were always home

> when he calls he always tries to time it so you pick up

> but usually the girls downstairs still answer- you’re never expecting calls so why bother?

> this evening however, he’s lucky- there’s an on campus event and you’re home completely alone

> you answer on the second ring and he’s delighted, immediately babbling profanities and filthy threats

> “gonna fuck that pretty piggy c—“

> to his surprise you giggle at him

> not a nervous sound, but genuine giggling

> before he can snap, or really even process you laughing at him, you stop him

> “yknow if you want phone sex, you can just ask nicely mister”

> he hangs up in a panic

> that was certainly the last thing he expected

> but now he’s beyond fixated on you

> he barely sleeps just to peep through your wall

> and it’s just about time he paid you a real visit

#thomas hewitt #slashers #dead by daylight #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x y/n #slashers x you #slashers headcanons #tcm 2006 #tcm #black christmas #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz #micheal myers x reader #micheal myers #halloween #g/n reader #gender neutral reader #slashers x reader

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slater-baby · 7 months ago

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Azure

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

Tags: teenage love (characters are 18 and 19), suggestive themes, romantic/sexual tension, banter, friends to lovers, flashbacks, fantasizing, smoking, drug use, mentions of child abuse - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ MDNI!

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Summary: Simon Riley fell in love with you when he was eighteen years old. When he's thirty-five, he's hardly better. Here's the story.

Chapter Summary: You're not friends, but you're not more than that either. However, when Simon plans to crash at your place one rainy evening, he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

Chapter 1: Red-handed

Notes: THIS STORY IS COMPRISED OF EXTRA SCENES FROM AN EXISTING STORY!!! It is recommended to read the original before this work. Read it here on AO3!

This story takes place between chapters 12 and 16 of Indigo.

NOVEMBER, 2009

Simon huffs, the autumn air cold over his bare cheeks. He digs his hands deeper into his pockets, scuffing his feet against the loose asphalt. He comes to a stop in front of your house, sparing a cursory look around the dark cul-de-sac, nerves singing underneath his skin.

God, he muses, What was he doing coming out here this late?

Clearly, he hadn’t thought this through well enough. But, well, he’d already spent the past twenty minutes leisurely walking over here, kicking rocks underneath his sneakers. A single glance at his iPod reveals it’s just after midnight—half past twelve, to be exact. Instantly, his fingers freeze around the device, and he shoves it back into his pocket, taking a slow breath. He bites his cheek.

He should go home. Really, he should.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming over tonight. Truly, it hadn’t even crossed his mind until an hour ago, when the creaking of the floorboards outside his door had grated on his mind just a <em>little</em> too much. It was stupid anyway. He didn’t even understand why it irked him so much.

Whatever, he thinks, It’s not like it matters now anyway.

He was here, and it was unforgivingly late. His mind screams at him to go home and pretend like he hadn’t thought of this foolishness, and yet…his feet are staunchly planted on the asphalt, unmoving. He bites his tongue, clenching his hands. It hadn’t been a good night, and if he dwells on it any longer then he might just do something he’d regret.

Tommy had been up past his bedtime. It was a lazy Friday night; Simon guesses he shouldn’t complain. And so he hadn’t said a word when Tommy had spent the entire afternoon watching the television on full volume—a luxury that he could only enjoy when their father was good and gone for days on end. When Simon had raided the cupboard for cup noodles at 7, Tommy had been leaned over the sofa cushions, eagerly watching a rerun of Doctor Who. And by the time Simon snuck outside to roll a joint in the side yard at 10:30, Tommy had hardly strayed. By then, he was watching some old American movie. Which one, Simon hadn’t a clue.

All he knew is that when he was good and high at 11, a commotion downstairs had led him to pull his earbuds out. The closer he’d come down the stairs, the louder the voices got. And when he’d turned the corner in the kitchen, there his father was, drunk and dirty after days off in the crackhouse, pinching Tommy’s earlobe so hard he about pulled the boy up off of his feet. Tommy was on the verge of tears, trying to push their father away. And like always, Simon interposed himself. Brain in a fog and mind still reeling with your shouting voice in his mind, Simon had done nothing more than push the man away.

He’d separated them, and that was all.

He hadn’t fought. Hadn’t brandished his fists. He’d only pushed him away, nothing more.

Your words that day in the storeroom had affected him, to say the least. He was trying. Really, he was. But when his father had straightened up, a mean look in his eye, Simon could barely contain the anger coursing through his veins long enough to usher Tommy to bed. By the time Simon had slammed his own bedroom door behind his back, his father was screaming his name from down the stairs, manically putting about the ground floor. An hour had passed, and no amount of clicking the volume button on his iPod had been able to drown out his father’s incessant knocking and name calling.

God, he’d seethed, watching his bedroom door shake on its hinges, his father’s drunken slurs pelting the door like stones, It’s like he’s bloody asking for a beating.

And after another ten minutes, Simon was just about ready to do it, too. But then your bloody face and teary eyes had flashed over his memory, and suddenly, fear had bleed into his bloodstream with every rap of his father’s knuckles. And before he’d even registered what he was doing, he’d hooked his finger into the sweatshirt lying on the floor, shoving open his window just enough to climb onto the roof of the porch.

Twenty minutes later, and here he was, ready to leave, but hardly willing to go.

He bites his lip.

After that first movie night when he’d accidentally slept over, you hadn’t questioned it when he’d done it a second time. It was innocent, really. Just another night playing old console games that went on a bit too long. By the time the sun was well below the horizon, you still hadn’t wanted to turn off the television. And when one round of Mortal Kombat turned into two…had turned into three...had turned into stolen beers out of your father’s fridge…Well, you didn’t think anything of it when he was too drunk to walk home at the end of the night.

He swallows.

If he did it a third time, would you think he had some ulterior motive or something? He doesn’t. He just…needed to leave.

Yeah, that was it.

That was why he chose to come here.

You were his friend, after all. The only one he had left, in fact. The rest had all left for uni by now, and if he couldn’t crash on their couches, then at least he could put up at yours until things had cooled down at home.

Yeah, he breathes easily, It’s what he’d do with any friend. It’s not that deep.

He steps forward, crouching down in the front yard by the egress window. The lights in your house were off by now, and your father’s truck was nowhere to be found. Inconspicuously, Simon leans over the brick clearing, peering through your window. Your bedroom was mostly empty, save for a string of fairy lights near your desk. Other than that, the flickering blue light of a television just barely reflected off of the grass.

“Okay…” he whispers to himself, tapping his fingers against the glass.

It takes a few tries to bear fruit. But after a few minutes, you appear at the bottom of the stair case, a confused look on your face. When you spy him behind the window, you raise your brows, hurriedly raising the window.

“Simon?” You question, staring up at him with wide eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” he begins with a small laugh, managing a tiny smile, “I just—Well, Tommy got into some trouble. Ran my dad up the wall, been ‘causing a ruckus all night,” he chuckles slightly, “Just…couldn’t sleep.”

You nod your head along, standing on your tip toes to look him in the eye. He bites his lip.

“Um—look, I was wondering if I could maybe crash here tonight?” He shuffles on his knees, looking anywhere but at your face, “It’s kinda loud at home right now. But—if you think your dad might find out, then it’s okay. I’ll just walk back home.”

“No—No, it’s okay,” you say instantaneously, shaking your head, “You can stay. It’s just…wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

Your unsure words transform into a sweet smile, your voice tapering off at the end. You step back from the window, wringing your hands in front of your sweatpants in a silent gesture for him to come inside.

“Yeah,” he replies breathlessly, mirroring your flushed grin. He straightens up, wiping his clammy palms over the front of his pants. He hops down into the clearing, lowering himself through the window. Now that he’s done it three times before, he doesn’t fall on his ass like he did the first time. Though, you always bite your lips when he does it, like you were ready to stifle a laugh if he stumbled.

When his sneakers hit the floor of your bedroom, you grin at him once more, skin filled with heat. Now that he was out of the November cold, the redness spreading over his face feels all the more palpable.

“Hey,” you say with a light giggle.

“Hey yourself, love,” he replies, unzipping his jacket.

And like you’d done it a thousand times—like it was just natural—you reach for the TV remote while he throws his jacket over the chair at your desk. You ramble on about the show you’d been watching ’til now—some American doctor show with more sex scenes than a medical drama should ever require—and Simon kicks off his shoes.

Like that, he litters pieces of himself throughout your bedroom. His old sneakers on your plush, girly carpet. His black jacket on your white chair. His carton of cigarettes on your desk.

And this time, when you crawl onto your mattress, he doesn’t think twice when he takes his place right next to you. And if his bicep just so happens to push into yours as he waits for you to flick to the right channel, then it’s because your mattress is too small to hold the two of you. That’s it.

“What would you do if you had a million dollars?”

He furrows his brow, looking down at where your head was leaned up against his shoulder.

“Well,” he bites his cheek, thoughtfully staring up at your swirling bedroom fan, “I mean, did I earn it? Or, like, is it a lottery or something?”

“Simon, you’re overcomplicating it,” you laugh, turning on your side to rest your chin lazily atop his chest.

“How is that overcomplicating it?” He looks at you incredulously, shaking his head as he returns his vision back to the dark ceiling, “It’s a perfectly valid question. Like, do I have to pay taxes on it or is it just—”

“Simon,” you scoff, “You’ve got a million dollars and you’re worried about taxes?”

“What?” He defends himself, “An income tax on a million dollars is probably a big fuckin’ tax, love.”

“So someone gives you a million dollars and the first thing you’d say to them is—”

“Wait, wait, hold on—so someone gave it to me?” He looks down at you, shutting you up with a single word, “So it’s a loan?”

“No,” you giggle, weakly slapping him on the shoulder, “It’s just, like...like a—”

“Like I’m gonna be a million dollars in debt is what it sounds like,” he shakes his head, readjusting himself against the mattress. Your laughter is muffled agains this shirt, “I can’t pay that back. Screw that.”

“No, but if someone gave it to you for free. No taxes, no debt. Like a present,” you supply, smiling so hard your skin is imprinted with lines. He rolls his eyes, but he settles back against the pillows pensively, idly tugging on a loose string that hangs off the cuff of your shirt.

“I guess…” he drawls, scouring his mind for an answer, “I’d buy box tickets to see Man United…like, champagne, VIP passes, all that.”

You roll onto your stomach, not even minding your woefully frizzy hair as you stare down at him with a smile, “Really?”

He cocks his brow, studying the face you wear with much amusement. He rests his arm behind his head lazily.

“Yeah, really,” he replies.

However, when you roll your eyes, he can’t help but chuckle, “What, love?” He reaches out, hazily brushing a hair out of your eye, “What would you buy then? Let’s hear it.”

At the gesture, you pause for a second or two. The smile on your face remains, but…you sit in the moment for just a split second too long. For just a millisecond, his fingers rest back shakily against his stomach and he watches you go through the motions, as if the flush creeping up over your neck had always been there in the first place.

And in that moment, if he weren’t so faded off of weed and cigarettes, perhaps he would have had more tact than to stare at you so aimlessly like he was right then, like he hadn’t a better thing to do than sit there and study your face. From your eyelashes down to your exposed collarbones, he’s just…stuck on them. Like he couldn’t move on. Like you were a magnet in and of yourself. Like he wanted to say something—like some particular word was right on the tip of his tongue—but he hadn’t a clue what.

God, he blinks listlessly, clearing his throat inconspicuously, Should watch the dosage next time.

However, before he can even comprehend what the two of you just exchanged (as if it was anything to begin with—and why would he hope that it had been anyway?) , you’re flopping on the bed beside him with a giggle.

“That’s all? Just one ticket to Man United and you’re set?”

“What?” He sends you a blank stare, “I’m a simple man, love. What was I supposed to say? A Lamborghini? An island? Come off it,” he shakes his head with a scoff, “Why would I leave when I already have everything that I want right here?”

“Really?” You look at him nonplussed, “If you were a millionaire, you’d stay in Manchester?”

He furrows his brow, acting as though he wasn’t thinking on it. In the scheme of his life, there wasn’t much that he wanted. Sure, maybe he dreamed of getting a new iPod one of these days, or buying a place of his own. But aside from that, there really wasn’t much in the way of dreams that someone like him could have. After all, what use was a million dollars when you had nothing and no one you wanted to spend it on? Yeah, it somehow sounds more like a burden than anything else.

As for what he would do, staying in Manchester wouldn’t be his priority. In all truth, he didn’t have much attachment to this place other than the fact that he’d grown up here. The rest of the city streets and petty details didn’t concern him, especially after how it had chewed him up and spit him out these past few years. Though, looking at you now…

Looking at how you stare at him, in your raggedy sweatpants and flushed face…

Sitting here amongst your too-soft pillows and your old comforter…

Laying right next to you, his shoulder against your own, while he disrupts your girlish bedroom with his black clothes and cigarette smoke…

Something within that—something within this moment—has him holding his tongue, as if he hadn’t been itching to get out of this hellhole all of nine months ago. And yet…right now, he’s somehow hesitant to say he’d ever felt that way.

Why, he doesn’t know.

“What,” he says instead, managing a hasty chuckle, “Want me to buy some first class ticket to the Bahamas or something?”

“I mean,” you laugh, resting your chin in your hand, “Doesn’t have to be first class, but…you’d really spend the rest of your life here? Wouldn’t you want to get out, see the rest of the world? See what you’re missing out on?”

What you’re missing out on…

Simon hadn’t considered it like that. After all, for now, in this singular instance, he wanted for nothing. Somehow, he’s satisfied merely by what he has, and by god had it never been enough before. Perhaps it was only because you were the first person to ask him a question like that that he actually second guessed himself. Yeah, perhaps that was it.

“Hm, dunno, love,” he hums pensively, “Maybe…I’d go to America. Visit all the places in the movies. Y’know, Yellowstone, Mount Pleasant, the Pacific coast. Maybe go to the city. New York, Las Vegas, just for the hell of it.”

You splutter out a laugh.

He sends you another glare, just barely managing to hold back a sound of his own.

“Love,” he scoffs, “Don’t tell me that’s not good enough for you.”

“You, in Las Vegas,” you poke a finger into his chest, raising en eyebrow, “Now that’d be sight I’d like to see.”

He rolls his eyes, shoving you away.

“Piss off, then,” he grunts, leaning back against the pillows.

“Well, you already smoke more than you should…”

“You’re on about that again?” He muses.

“You’d fit right in there, I suppose.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he huffs, mind now drifting back to the pack of cigs he’d left on your desk, “Like you haven’t smoked before.”

“Hey,” you whine, eyes suddenly wide and defensive, “That—that was only one time. I mean, you offered it. And we weren’t smoking cigarettes either…it’s not like I’ve ever done it without you either…”

“Doesn’t negate the fact that you did it, love,” he gives you a look, “Only makes you sound even more guilty.”

You collapse against the bed with a roll of your eyes, flopping onto your back. You pick a loose thread on your jacket.

“Whatever,” you yawn, pouting, “Just means you’re a bad influence.”

He clicks his tongue, “Can’t be a bad influence if it was a good time,” he reminds you, “Hell, nearly smoked through my entire supply, and now you’re tryna say that you regret it?”

He holds your stare for a good, long moment. He watches a myriad of emotion flick through your eyes, your flush brightening, before your pupils flick away, a pensive look on your mouth.

“No…” you admit softly, refusing to meet his eye.

He chuckles then, nodding, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You huff and lean back into the mattress. Warm and sated, Simon finds his eyes blinking slower and slower as he watches the ceiling fan spin out against the darkness. Like that, the two of you go on, with you picking at your sweatshirt sleeves and him slowly drifting off beside you. The only thing that manages to bring him back from the brink of sleep is the creaking of the bed when you shift. Your forearms brush against his shoulder when you push yourself off of the bed, and reluctantly he opens his eyes.

You walk over to your desk and shuck off your sweatshirt. Valiantly, he tries not to pretend like his eyes don’t widen when you expose your skimpy tank-top. When you turn to face him, fiddling with the necklace around your neck, he’ll be damned if he can pull his eyes away from the smallest peak of frilly lace that pokes out form underneath the low collar.

He swallows stiffly, mouth dry.

“Where you going?” He manages, trying to not stutter, while also trying relentlessly to pull his eyes back onto your face.

“Gotta get ready for bed,” you huff, tossing your necklace onto the desk, “It’s already past two…Besides, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly, watching as you walk over the closet on the other end of the room, “Okay.”

However, when you pull out a towel instead of a set of pajamas, Simon can’t help but bite his cheek. Like you hadn’t a second thought, like it was only natural, you walk to your bathroom and turn on the shower without even sparing him a single look. The door closes soon after you, and yet, Simon’s mind lingers on it much longer than could be reasonably expected.

Well…

He was definitely awake now.

He sighs, swallowing as he takes a furtive glance around your room. Even though he’d been here more than just a few times by now, you’d never just left him alone in here. Well, considering how your father would react if he knew you were sneaking boys into your home in the middle of the night through your bedroom window, he couldn’t exactly go waltzing about the house. The most he’d seen of the other story was the tile of the kitchen floor. The two of you had been hazed from good times and exhaustion, and had lingered just long enough to slip a few beers out of the fridge, muffling laughter while you tried to walk down the basement stairs without making a single creak.

But now…only the distant hum of the shower keeps him company. For a moment, he only sits there, listening as you hum a small tune to yourself. The sound of something hitting the counter—your clothes—imprints on his mind.

He bites his lip.

God, this was so stupid. What was he, sixteen? He was a grown man now, almost nineteen years old and with a full time job. He was past that high school shit, past mulling over the hem of his classmates’ skirts or the way their hands felt when they clapped him on the forearm after a good joke. He’d been around the block enough by now that something as stupid and simple as this should be lulling him to bed, not making him lose sleep.

And yet, when he hears the rings of the curtain scrape against the shower rod, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about it.

You, bare just behind that door, lathering yourself in that sweet smelling body wash he could smell on your clothes. You, with suds in your hair, humming the songs you’d listened to when you shared earbuds with him. You, naked, warm, and soft—a woman in your own right, letting him sit here in your bed, as if you might let him get a glimpse of you in your towel through the gap in the door.

Fuck.

He sits up, looking away from the bathroom door.

This wasn’t right.

He shouldn’t be having feelings like this about you, about a girl who clearly trusted him enough to let him spend the night…and yet, he does.

Undeniably, he does.

And fuck, perhaps he could pass it off as something else. Perhaps he could pass it off as a stupid consequence of his own biology, that his being a man and your being a woman was to blame for how he was still shock still and listless in your bed. Perhaps the way he felt about that cute, lacy thing you wore beneath your tank top came purely from the adrenaline running through his veins, from the blood rushing in his ears. Yes, perhaps it was that.

But when he thinks back on all the women he’d ever had, only one had felt right when they fit inside of his arms. And you, even just innocently sleeping beside him with your arm around his…somehow, you made his mind reel faster than any naked girl he’d ever had underneath him.

No.

Stop.

He grinds his mind to a halt, yanking his eyes away from the door. No, he couldn’t think that about you. God, if anything it was disrespectful that you’d invite him in here only for him to think that about you. He’d better reel himself in if he knew what was good for himself—what was good for you.

He pulls himself out of your bed, staring down at the fluffy sheets like they’d personally offended him…or maybe he’d offended them. After the past few weeks, he was beyond trying to figure out that equation. He turns away, resigning himself to look around your room before you’d inevitably drag him back to bed once more.

Aimlessly, he drags his fingers along the spines of the books on your shelf. He studies the trinkets on your shelves from various vacations and field trips. Polaroids from your high school friends, photos of you in your homecoming dress.

He pointedly does not look at the way the dress hugs your curves. Absolutely not.

Your desk has swathes of post-it notes with random reminders scrawled across it. A worn out calendar waves in the breeze of the fan. His cigarettes sit right next to a stack of books, and he meticulously reads the title of each one.

Until he comes to one that’s devoid of any title at all.

He furrows his brow. He bite his cheek, flipping over the front page. Immediately, he’s overwhelmed by sparkly gel pen and loopy handwriting.

“March 10th, 2009” are the first words on the page.

His eyes go wide.

This wasn’t a book at all. It was your journal.

His breath catches in his throat, and instantly, color climbs into his cheeks. He stares down at the lined paper underneath his fingers, and yet, he doesn’t close it. No, even though he was hardly reading the words on the page, he still couldn’t bring himself to close it. Some sparking, daring feeling blooms in his chest, and anxiously, he looks over his shoulder at the bathroom door.

God, he was such an asshole. The fact that you’d want anything to do with him is beyond him. And yet…when had he ever been good at doing the right thing to begin with?

And just like that first night a few weeks ago, it’s not the reality that keep him awake at night. No, it’s the possibilities that do. The possibility that you thought about him when he was gone. The possibility that you liked him enough to write his name in sparkly gel pen in the margins of your notebook.

He bites his cheek.

He shakes his head.

He won’t let himself into your secrets like this. Not…all the way, at least.

No, he’d only flick to the back, and if he didn’t see his name on the paper, he swears he’d flick the cover closed and put it right back in its proper place. Yeah, just one look. That was all he needed.

He steels himself, hurriedly flipping past the pages. The sound of the water beating on the shower floor seems almost deafening as he finally gets there. Manically, his eyes search the top of the page for a date or title.

November 14th, 2009.

Just last week.

Okay…

He flicks his eyes over the lines as fast as he can. Idly, he thinks that your handwriting is pretty. Much, much prettier than his own. But then again, he’d never been a star student to begin with. Though, by the way you write, he guesses that you were. You wrote the words as if they were a note to a friend, as if someone living and breathing would trace the letters with their finger and smear the ink over their fingertips. And while he’d love nothing more than to hear you wax poetic about whatever your best friend had been doing that week, he needed something more. And quick.

Weekend plans.

Phone calls with friends.

He skips past them, flipping back and forth through the pages like he’d missed something. However, on the third try, he once again comes up empty handed. He stands back bitterly, all but prepared to close your diary. As it turns out, perhaps he hadn’t made it into the story of your life just yet. Somehow, that wounds him. He huffs, reaching for the cover. However, when he tilts the book, the next page flips over, and that’s when he sees it.

A small paragraph, not even half a page. It was in blue ink and it wasn’t dated.

He pauses.

He came over the other night. The first time we tried to organize it, it’d been a disaster. But, after last week, I’m feeling better about it! It was only a stupid misunderstanding, but still…I felt bad that I’d gotten my hopes up for nothing.

Fuck, he bites his lip, Not a strong start.

He continues reading.

But I told him I wanted to watch that movie again, and he hadn’t complained. Maybe I’m just getting my hopes up, but he seemed…happy about it? I don’t know. It’s hard to tell how he feels sometimes. I mean, I spent too long mulling over it anyway. It’s probably ridiculous of me to even be writing it down here. Because, what exactly am I expecting him to do? Just because it took me an hour to decide what clothes to wear doesn’t meant that he knows that…and it definitely doesn’t mean that he feels—

“Simon?”

Your voice startles him so bad he nearly drops the diary on the floor in his haste to close it. Thankfully, your call is muffled from behind the door, and even when he whirls around in a panic, he finds that it’s still closed.

Thank fuck.

“You still awake?”

“Uh—yeah?” He answers, hurriedly shuffling your journal back into the pile of books on your desk. His face is blazing with heat.

“Um, I forgot my pajamas out there…” you begin, sounding just as nervous as he feels inside, “You don’t have to get anything in particular, but can you grab me some clothes…?”

Instantly, his mind blanks.

Clothes.

You’d forgotten your clothes…and you wanted him to pick out new ones.

He bites his cheek.

Well, he seethes in his mind, There goes the promise he’d just made himself.

“Sure,” he answers instead of the myriad of tangled words in his mind. Dumbly, he looks around your room, vision wavering.

“Thanks,” you huff from behind the door, “They’re just in the dresser.”

“Got it,” he replies, making his way over to the thing with a small clearing of his throat. He bites his tongue as he reaches for the handles, pulling out the first drawer.

His hands tighten around the handles.

God, he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. It was already bad enough that he’d come over here tonight, expecting you to let him crash at your place like some freeloader. But then he’d spent the past five minutes, absorbed within his own mind again, flipping through your diary like you’d addressed it directly to him.

And now, this.

This is the final nail in the coffin.

Because your pretty panties and bras are neatly laid out in front of his eyes. Pretty little things, lace trim around the edges, just like the bra he knew you were wearing tonight. They were delicate and soft, just how a graceful woman like you would deserve. And in that moment—against every fiber of his being, against any rational thought he could have had—he can’t help but imagine seeing that lace trim in its entirety, in its proper place against your skin.

Naked and waiting. Only a pair of panties and a scant bra to keep you covered from his eyes. Idly, he ponders on what it means that he feels this way about you, but after the first week, he’d stopped trying to put a name to it.

Because he claimed that you were his friend, but what kind of friend would think about you like this?

What kind of friend would imagine what you looked like when you were alone…when he didn’t come over to spend the night.

What kind of friend would wonder if you slept in your pajamas every night, or if you slept only in a t-shirt, or—even worse—if you ever slept naked?

What kind of friend could he be if he thought about that? If he thought of you cuddled up against your sweet-smelling sheets and old stuffed animals, bare breasts pressed into the mattress just enough to hide your nipples…hair splayed out against the pillows as you lounge, only a tiny pair of panties skewed on your hips. He can practically imagine it, how the fat of your tits would look squished against the surface, plush ass cheeks on display as you read a book or waited for sleep to come…

What kind of friend could he be if he thought about what it might be like to hook his finger underneath the band of those panties and pull them off your legs, tuck them in his back pocket—buy you another pair because he wanted nothing more than to ruin them when he’d taken them off of you?

He knows the answer.

But he doesn’t speak it aloud.

He picks up his hand, pressing his finger over the tiniest little bow that sits front and center on one of the pairs. It was soft. Tempting. Something he shouldn’t be thinking about. And yet, he does nonetheless.

Heart thrumming, he averts his eyes, mind reeling.

When you said “clothes,” he assumes that meant underwear, right? Why wouldn’t it? But if you knew that he went through these, then…God, could he really hand you this with a straight face? Without any pretenses?

But what did it say about him as a person if he didn’t hand you any at all? If he just gave you pants and shirt…especially when he was going to sleep right next to you…

Fuck, he curses silently, blindly swiping, To hell with it.

He nearly slams the drawer shut in his haste to close it, and by the time he gets to your pants and shirt, he doesn’t even look at which ones he chooses before he’s shuffling towards the door. He knocks, a flush creeping up his pale neck. When the door cracks, a waft of steam lifts over his face. And just when the bare plains of your shoulders and the top of your breasts peak through the gap, he averts his gaze, teeth bitten so hard into his cheek he’s nearly bleeding.

“Here,” he supplies, holding them out to you.

You take them with an appreciative little noise, “Thanks.”

And with that, the door closes, as if everything he’d just done had never happened in the first place. Slowly, he breathes a sigh of relief, turning around to look back at your dresser…then over to your desk. He hangs his head.

Fuck, he seethes, walking over to your nightstand to grab his iPod, He’s such a fucking degenerate.

You take another ten minutes or so, and by the time you come back—smelling like lotion and toothpaste—he’s got his head buried in his iPod, scrolling through his music library. Without hesitation, you climb over his legs, your loose sleeping shirt riding up your back when you lay down. You rest your head against the pillows and look up at him for but a few seconds. He looks back.

Demure. Innocent. Sweet.

Red handed. Tempting. Dissembling.

Before you can say a word, he pulls himself out of your bed, walking towards the bathroom to tidy himself up. The high had well worn off by now, and aside from the steady thrumming of his heart, the excitement of the night had all but come to a close. By now, the two of you had a routine. Almost. Dress for bed. Lay separately, as if you wouldn’t end up in each other’s arms by the next morning.

You never talked about it.

And neither did he.

He pushes the door closed behind him, not even thinking to turn the light on. Halfheartedly, he turns on the faucet, watching the water run with rapt attention. Even then, in its cool, bubbling reflection, he finds no peace, finds no answers. He inhales, raising his head to look in the dimly lit mirror. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies your clothes neatly folded atop the counter top. And while he reaches for the mouthwash, he can’t help but pass his eyes over them.

There.

In between your sweatpants and tank top.

Another line of flowery lace.

This time, there is no preamble. No ruddy blush or thrumming heartbeat. No, there is only a quiet, simmering want. One that is tried and tired, sleeping and dormant. Hesitantly—like he couldn’t help himself, like he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to—he moves your shirt out of the way to look down at the bra.

He pinches the lace in between his fingers, feels the strings imprint a matching pattern into his very skin. And with that final touch, he drops his arm.

When he leaves the bathroom, he piles them back up just they way they were before. They looked untouched. As he enters the room, the quiet overwhelms him. It’s all but silent now, not even the hum of your ceiling fan can break it. The lights are off, and in front of him, he can barely make out your form under the blankets. You’re breathing even and deep, asleep already.

He bites his lips through a barely contained smile, leaning quietly against the doorframe to look at you for just a second longer.

Fuck, he can’t help but think, What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Thank you for reading!! AO3 Version will be out soon!!

AO3 Version Here!

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tommygrace · 3 months ago

Text

The people on YouTube are true fans of the show and what they say about the relationship between Tommy and Grace is beautiful. These are some of the comments:

"He didn't have great day, but the seconds he sees her his face lights up. And the way he keeps caressing her face , it melts the heart. He only did this with Grace."

"Grace is so adorable in this scene, she's the only one I'll accept for Tommy."

"Grace face expressipns just show happy she is marrying to tommy. Smiling and chukling more often than before... The actress nailed the grace character so well. You can feel her love for tommy."

"The way he looks at her and this soft aspect of him that we only see when Grace is around ❤️❤️"

"Grace was Tommy’s last light."

"He was never like this with lizzie and all the other girls."

"Tommy never got that happiness again after Grace's death. No woman could make that again not even Lizzie. I'm so sad Grace died so soon. They had barely a few moments of happiness😢"

"I like how she jumps on him at the end. Such natural chemistry between these two actors. Their relationship really felt real."

"Finishing the series and watching it again, its crystal clear Grace was the love of his life. He was just never the same without her 😢 he was so in love with her, both of them."

"The way he look at her.."

"I love the fact that after getting the Sapphire he decided to get a nacklace crafted for 'Grace' and nobody else... She was always on his mind..."

"She’s so happy to see him omg I love them."

"Yes. Everybody's talking about Tommy being in love with her but Grace was so in love with him too. ❤"

"They are perfection. This scene is just absolute cathartic perfection. From the fact she RUNS to greet him to the way that Mary admonishes her like a Mother. Arrow House was so fucking happy once. This was the life they deserved, he arrives home dead on his feet after being held hostage and he doesn't give a fuck because he's home. The way she's so excited for the letter is contagious and he cares, he genuinely CARES. He's not sat there mutely as she talks to him, he doesn't stop her from talking or distract her or come onto her. He sits and listens. He's just infatuated with her the - 'yes I am. I am.' Then the good wife comment and he's just like 'No.' Don't want a good wife, I just want you. It's just such a raw, intimate moment and the thought that this happened every time she came home soothes my little broken heart. How anyone can say she wasn't the love of his life or the best thing that ever happened to him I have no clue. She gave up her entire life for him and they built an empire in those two short years. Killing her off was a travesty and such a waste of both the character and the actress. Tommy was made to be with Grace and when she died, he died with her. He never recovered. Not with Lizzie or with the children, nobody. On a cold, dark lonely night it will be back here that he goes. Not back to his wife."

"The way he looks at her when he comes in 😩🥺🥺 it was a bad day but he knew she was home waiting on him 🥰🥰"

"She brought out the good and saw him as a man despite his power and position. They loved the parts of each other no one else truly did. His face lights up when she’s around no matter what. She was the one for him, nice to see that soft side of him."

"One of my fovourite scenes. They look so happy, paceful, soft...I miss their relationship😍"

"I really want her to come back... their chemistry is no joke... i want them to have their happily ever after."

"If Grace is in his arms then everything is alright for Tommy."

"I believe Grace's name is allegorical, since Tommy was the most happy n closest to peace while she was around him, which was for a very short time. The only 'grace' in his damned life."

"Thanks for uploading this scene. I loved when there were scenes of Grace and Tommy in their bedroom. I luv when Tommy said to Grace " come here" , so powerful, like I am your man and you are my woman. Also notice how that bedroom was set up so warm and romantic . The set crew really took time in creating this loving bedroom."

"She was his everything and his queen! He was at peace with her in his arms."

"So many people hating on Grace, but she was one of the few who called him out on his shit and snapped him out of his funk. She had seen him at his worst, when he was but a shell of a man striving to rise to the top. He was always most vulnerable around her and didn't bother hiding his true self because of this . The other women wouldn't have batted an eye at him, had he not been rich or influential."

"The change in him after 'tomorrow it will be just us'. He gives a little breath before calling her over like, 'just us' I've survived the day, now just the night and then 'just us'. Just us was all he ever wanted."

"This was the only time when he was at peace. With grace. The moment she died he was never the same."

"Man she is all he ever wanted. 🥺"

"When grace died Tommy was never really happy the rest of the show."

"This was the again after her death its clear that he will never love again, he will never be the person he was when he had her😔."

"I love how her name was Grace, since grace is the one thing Tom needed in his life and made him graceful to others- and when Grace was gone, grace was also gone out of his heart."

"Those words, and the context of who is saying them, make this scene a flawless example of what makes a man and a woman, together, creating something that wasn't there before."

"He was so full of happiness and joy 🥹."

"0:53 "Promise me, hm? A wedding vow". It melts my heart when she asks this, being so in love."

"The acting is incredible, especially her being in love with him. It feels so real, and the piano music elevates this; it emphasises their intimacy. Her love is so honest and pure."

"This scene kills me every time. They were just perfection. That smile at 1:40. The negotiated dance. The softness in him 😭 why she had to die I’ll never know. She could have been such an incredible instrument in the show. Amazing actress and character."

"Adore this scene. So beautiful and sweet."

I cried when she died , they were just perfect together. The only time Tommy was happy was with Grace."

"The part that killed me was after Grace was shot and she was dying in Tommy’s arms and they cut to a wide shot and we could see her almost caressing his back, soothing his pain as she died. Maybe it wasn’t intentional but, it was a very powerful touch before they cut away. Such a fantastic show…"

"Grace was his one and only❤…he was never the same without her."

"Their relationship from beginning to end gave me chills. They did so well with these characters and their chemistry and sexual tension."

"tommy explicitly said he doesn't believe in God, and confessing to grace in a church is something i perceived that she is the only one he believes in and will save him from his sins... grace is tommy's religion ❤️‍🔥"

"The chemistry between these two, Cillian Murphy and Annabelle Wallis, is electric. Fantastic actor & actress because I'm shocked they're not married in real life with how great this is. I wish they'd get more couple roles together! Another on-screen couple in recent times I've seen with this electric chemistry is Brandon Sklenar and Julia Schlaepfer in 1923, this stuff is mesmerizing to me."

"S1 is my all time favourite. Tommy and Grace were so special. This conversation was absolutely brilliant, pureness of their emotions (symbolised by the church) amidst the lies and dangers lurking over their heads. Her presence was heavily missed in s6.😢"

"Season 1 and 2 are the highlights of deep storytelling and fantastic writing. After that the story starts to get convoluted and it is the fantastic acting that keeps people hooked."

"A brilliant scene, simple yet melancholic. They spoke so succinctly, to the point that each and every word spoken is like its weight in gold. It's just so mesmerising."

"I think that’s the sweetest on screen kiss I’ve seen yet 🥲."

"I’m still so bitter about her death 😭 I know that Tommy isn’t meant to be happy, but I would’ve loved to see Grace’s character grow alongside Tommy’s. I also think that Grace, Ada, and Polly would’ve created an amazing bond and relationship. And they would’ve been lethal for the Peaky Blinders organization. When Mosley said to Tommy that he wanted to sleep with Lizzie when Tommy invited him over to Lizzie’s bday party ballet celebration, I’ve always wondered what Tommy’s reaction would’ve been if instead of Lizzie, it was Grace who Mosley wanted to sleep with. I’m sure he would’ve lost his marbles right then and there. Grace just brought out a different side of Tommy and I love seeing that contrast in a character (the good, the bad and the ugly ). Can’t wait for the movie, though! It’s going to be EPIC!"

"I want to cry, they were so pure when they allow their feelings to flow 💓😭💕".

"Grace and Tommy...A match made in heaven❤️."

"Tommy's swith was completly off after her death,he was never the same."

"I love so much these two together. ♥"

"I love them and miss them the most a lot."

"I loved every scene Tommy and Grace were with each other. They had great chemistry together. This couple could have had so much potential but instead the writer decided to break Tommy's heart and soul so early and make him live in hell for the rest of his life. 😭So sad."

"Poor Tommy she was perfect for him and her death tore him apart."

"I want to see them together, please give us a proper closure in the movie."

"I think it was wrong to have Lizzie and Tommy together afterwards. Grace was the high standard. No other female character can replicate Tommy and Grace’s chemistry."

"Here it is shown that Grace is always going to be the great love of his life. His mind is so damaged that just imagining Grace's ghost brings him to a state of peace, because she is the only one who can make him feel better."

"When she embraced him I was ready to burst into tears. Just bring her back! 🥺."

"Maybe my heart broke all over again."

"She is the love of Tommy's life and the love for his life too. Tommy was a romantic guy who laughed, but because of the trauma of war he became a gangster to take the pressure and survive. He never loved this life, he lives like this because it is the only way. In addition to making him forget the terror of war, she was the only one to present an alternative (for 2x). He would be happy and could work with horses and cars legally without worry."

"i think this is the best scene in the entire show... I was very moved by it and i rarely get moved by anything...it captured beautifully how alone tom is ... opiates by the fire talking to his wife's ghost..i can't think of anything more lonely."

"0:55 his little smile when she starts to speak. so sad 💔."

"Grace is Tommy’s only love ❤️ I miss Grace so much 🥺🥺."

"True fooking love. No one can come close to Grace periodt. Give her a fooking role already".

"Look how relieved Tommy looked for a sec when he was embracing her 😥."

"I loved the chemistry between Tommy and Grace and I wanted to see more of Tommy and Grace and I was heartbroken when she died cause I wanted her to be with Tommy till the end of the series but sadly she had to die for the sake of storyline but still she’s my fav female character in the whole series. Tbh Annabelle is really so beautiful and gorgeous that she can make anyone fall in love with her".

"Lizzie is no where close to grace..I really wished she got to play a double role..."

"they were made for each other."

"Best scene in the series ever. the most happiest, normal, and peaceful moment Tommy ever had."

"Admit it, we all wanted this wedding to happen as soon as he met grace."

"When the tune kicked in after revealing it was Grace. Amazing."

"4:02 lol tommy wanted to kiss her forever, Grace had to be like "enough" love their love."

"The happiest days of Thomas life!"

*The shelby family is so happy that day."

"Finally!! he really loved her i was afraid they are not gonna get married."

"Tooo much love in this episode ❤"

"Tommy was so lost after poor Grace died."

This has to be one of the happiest moments in Tommy's life."

"Never saw Tommy happier and more complete than at this moment."

"His smile at 0.12 is ❤"

"Cillian Murphy said it best “There’s always a sense of healing when he’s with Grace, but that healing goes away very quickly”"

"I am so glad that someone posted this.. this scene is beautiful. For once Tommy is happy.. like really happy. It's nice that they showed one scene like this in the series. I really wanted to see that since they fell in love."

"Tommy loved his wife and son so much, poor guy lost his true happiness."

Dedicated to every Grace fan. People love them, just like all of us, Team Grace!

#tommy x grace #tommy shelby #grace shelby #grace burgess #cillian murphy #annabelle wallis #thomas shelby #tommy x grace forever #tommy and grace #team grace #peaky blinders

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