#Cillian Series

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Sleepless Nights

Thomas Shelby x Pregnant Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas cares for his wife.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings:

soft Thomas!, kissing, soft talk, lovely husband things.

Thomas prowls the grand corridors of Arrow House with a mixture of determination and unease. The mansion is a labyrinth of opulence, each corner dripping with the wealth he’s fought tooth and nail to secure. Yet, tonight, none of that matters. His mind is solely focused on one thing—finding his pregnant wife.

The house, with its vast rooms and endless hallways, feels both protective and suffocating. The heavy silence is broken only by the distant ticking of an antique clock, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Thomas’s polished shoes echo on the marble floors as he moves through the dimly lit spaces, his keen eyes scanning every shadow and crevice. The opulent decor, a testament to his success, now seems to mock him with its cold grandeur. He enters the library, where shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books line the walls, their spines gleaming in the faint light. The room smells of old paper and cigarette a sanctuary for his restless mind on many nights. But tonight, it offers no solace. He moves on, his pace quickening, his heartbeat mirroring his urgency.

As he strides through the dining hall, the long table stands like an island in the middle of the room, set for a feast that never seems to be eaten. The chandelier above it sparkles, casting prismatic reflections around the room, but Thomas’s eyes are unseeing. He is a man on a mission, driven by an anxiety he rarely allows himself to feel.

Finally, he reaches the living room, a vast space dominated by an enormous fireplace. The flames within flicker and dance, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. And there she is. His wife, his beacon in the storm of his life, sitting on the couch in an awkward yet somehow comfortable position. The sight of her instantly softens his stern expression, though worry still shadows his features. She’s nestled into the corner of the couch, her swollen belly making her position look ungainly to anyone else, but Thomas knows better. He sees the way her hand rests protectively over her stomach, the way her eyes are half-closed in a state of meditative calm. She’s wearing a loose, flowing nightgown that accentuates her maternal glow, the fabric cascading around her like a gentle waterfall.

“Love,” Thomas says softly, his voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the silence. “Y’alright there?” His thick Birmingham accent adds a rough edge to the tender words, a contrast that defines him so well.

She looks up, her eyes meeting his with a tired but loving gaze. “Tommy,” she replies, a small smile curving her lips. “Just needed a moment. The baby’s been restless tonight.”

Thomas nods, understanding immediately. He crosses the room in a few strides, his presence a mix of power and protectiveness. He sits beside her, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. Gently, he places a hand over hers, feeling the life within her. It’s a moment of connection, grounding him in a way few things can.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. “Worried me, y’know.”

She chuckles softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I’m fine, Tommy. Just... needed to be alone for a bit.”

Thomas’s eyes soften further, the hard lines of his face easing as he takes in her serene expression. “Y’should rest more, love. Don’t want you overexertin’ y’self.” His voice is firm yet gentle, the protective husband surfacing through the tough gangster exterior.

She nods, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “I know. It’s just... there’s so much to do. So much to prepare for.”

Thomas sighs, his hand moving to gently caress her cheek. “Leave it to me. I’ll handle everythin’. You just focus on our little one, yeah?”

He could see the strain in her eyes, the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. His heart ached for her, wishing he could take away her discomfort. "I wish I could do more," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She smiled again, squeezing his hand. "You're here, Tommy. That's enough."

But it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do more, to alleviate her pain in any way he could. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that might help. Then she spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Tommy, Ada said if it gets too heavy, you can lift my belly a bit with your hands. It might help.”

Tommy's brow furrowed as he processed her words. It was a simple gesture, yet one that could provide her with some relief. He looked into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and he knew he had to try. "Alright, love," he said, his voice firm with determination. "Let's give it a go."

He moved closer, positioning himself in front of her. His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, gently interlaced under her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Slowly, he lifted, supporting the weight of their child. She let out a sigh of relief, her body relaxing into his touch.

"Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, her eyes closing once more. "So much better. Thank you, Tommy."

He held her there, his strong arms supporting her, providing the comfort she so desperately needed. In that moment, all the worries and burdens of their world faded away, leaving only the two of them. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply be present, to cherish the moment.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Strongest woman I know."

She smiled, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. "I have to be, married to you."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Yeah, I suppose you do." His gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "But I wouldn't change a thing. Not a bloody thing."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and reassuring. Tommy's thoughts drifted to their future, to the life they were building together. It was a life filled with uncertainty and danger, but it was theirs. And as long as they had each other, he knew they could face anything. Eventually, he shifted, carefully lowering his hands and easing her back into a more comfortable position. He smiles, before cupping her face; his hands calloused from years of work, are surprisingly gentle as they cup her cheeks. He brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear with a care that belies his hardened exterior. The feel of her skin under his fingertips is a reminder of all that he has fought for, and all that he stands to lose.

“Love,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, thick with his Birmingham accent. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The words are simple, but they carry a weight of sincerity that is unmistakable.

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and fatigue. Pregnancy has been both a blessing and a challenge, but in this moment, with Thomas so close, she feels a sense of peace. He leans in, closing the small distance between them, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is intense, filled with a passion that speaks volumes of his devotion. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise, a silent vow that he will always be there for her.

His hands move from her face to her shoulders, sliding down her arms and resting on her swollen belly. He can feel the life growing inside her, their child, the future of the Shelby legacy. The thought fills him with a fierce protectiveness, a determination to shield them both from the dangers of his world. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’ve got to know,” he whispers, his voice husky with emotion, “I’d do anything for you. Anythin’ to keep you safe.” His words are punctuated by the gentle movement of his hands, caressing her belly as if to reassure both her and their child of his unwavering commitment.

Thomas stirred from sleep, his body instantly alert despite the lingering remnants of exhaustion. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes, casting faint, golden lines across the bed where he lay. His hand reached instinctively to the other side, expecting to feel the familiar form of his wife beside him. The cool, empty sheets met his touch instead, sending a wave of unease through him. He sat up abruptly, the fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead catching the light. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face as his sharp blue eyes scanned the room.

The clock on the mantel ticked softly, marking the time as just past nine in the morning. Thomas swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor against his bare feet grounding him. He rose to his full height, stretching out the tension in his muscles. He was dressed only in his boxers, the morning air cool against his skin. The bedroom was silent, save for the sounds that nature produced in the waking hours of the morning.

His mind raced through possibilities as he left the bedroom, each step measured and deliberate. The house was vast, and his wife could be anywhere, but his instinct told him to check the usual places first. The corridor outside their bedroom was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the morning light. Thomas moved with purpose, his eyes darting to each doorway as he passed. He checked the nursery, but it was empty save for the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. The sitting room was similarly deserted, the furniture untouched and the air still.

Thomas’s worry deepened with each empty room. He descended the grand staircase, his hand trailing along the polished banister. The ground floor was no different – the study, the drawing room, all empty. He paused at the doorway to the dining room, listening intently. The faintest clink of cutlery reached his ears, a sound so subtle it could easily have been missed. Relief washed over him, but he kept his composure as he moved toward the kitchen, the source of the noise.

The kitchen was a contrast to the rest of the house – warm, filled with the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and other culinary delights. The sight that greeted Thomas made him pause in the doorway. His wife was at the counter, her back to him, completely absorbed in her task. She was preparing her favorite pregnancy craving, a look of contentment on her face as she worked. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she had her loose, flowing nightgown, made of soft, breathable fabric, was adorned with delicate lace and ribbon trims. He had it made especially for her.

A soft chuckle escaped Thomas’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Hungry, eh? For whatever you're eatin' at what... nine in the mornin'..." His voice was low, the thick Birmingham accent adding a familiar roughness to his words.

She turns to him, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes are bright, despite the early hour, and there's a certain glow about her that he finds both endearing and reassuring. "Well... I originally woke up because I had to throw up... but then it wore off and I just sat there for a bit before I actually did throw up..." she explains, her voice trailing off as she takes another bite.

He crosses the room to her, his worry giving way to a tender affection. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and careful. "You alright now?" he asks, his voice softening. "You and the little one?"

She nods, placing the bowl on the counter. "Yes, we're fine. Just one of those mornings."

Thomas wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He can feel the slight swell of her belly against his skin, a constant reminder of the new life growing inside her. "You should've woken me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She laughs softly, resting her head against his chest. "You need your rest too, Tommy. Besides, it’s nothing I can’t handle."

He holds her for a moment longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The kitchen, with its warm morning light and the comforting presence of his wife, feels like a sanctuary. A stark contrast to the chaos and violence that often defines his life outside these walls. He pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a mixture of love and concern. "If you need anythin', you come get me. Don’t try to be too strong on your own."

She nods, understanding the depth of his worry. "I will, I promise."

They both stood there looking at each other.

"Any plans for today?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She looks up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I was thinking of organizing the nursery a bit more. And maybe take a walk in the garden if the weather holds."

He nods, appreciating her simple plans. "Sounds good. I’ve got a meeting later, but I’ll be back by lunch. We can go for that walk together."

She smiles, the idea pleasing her. "I’d like that."

Author’s Notes:

Credit for the smol sparkle divider: CafeKitsune

[darkacademiablues]

Cillian Murphy in the see through shirt for Oppenheimer.

People died.

I’m people.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...

Robert Fischer x Cobbs Daughter!reader

*COMPLETED*

*This will follow the plot of the 2010 film 'Inception'*

description - Y/n, the daughter of the thief Dominic Cobb and the late Mal Cobb, joined her father on the run. Knowing her fathers innocence, she couldn't bear to be without him, so she gave up on her architecture degree and followed him into the world of dreams. They do jobs together and, even though Cobb worries about the amount of danger he's putting her in, he'd rather her be with him in the dreams rather than on the outside carrying his name like a brand. In the latest job they are given, Cobb searches to find peace and Y/n is confronted with a man who tugs on her heart and infiltrates her dreams.

*reader is 20*

a/n - welcome to my first multi-chapter fic and it is with a character from the talented Cillian Murphy! I watched Oppenheimer the other day, so I've been rewatching his filmography and I obviously came back to Inception. Inception is hands down my favourite film and I think it was this performance that put Cillian on the map as an actor of tremendous talent!

a/n 2 - each chapter will have it's own warnings but the general ones are SPOILERS! (also should there be a taglist for this?)

Series Word Count - 37k

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger darling."

A Leap of Faith

To Build Cathedrals

Meeting Your Mark

Painted Windmill

A Lesson in Planning

Conscience Makes Cowards of Us All

Damsel in Distress

A Son's First Hero; A Daughter's First Love

Mr Charles and Miss Nobody

You Knew?

Go To Sleep, Miss Y/n

Couldn't Someone Have Dreamed of a Goddamn Beach?

Lies Are Weak Foundations

The Kick

Come Back To Reality

I Dreamed We’d Grow Old Together

[shelbystales]

Story Time - One Shot

Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Word count: 1672

Summary: After a few days being absent in his familly, Tommy arrives late, once again. But to his surprise you and his son are still awake.

Warning: fluff, fluff and more fluff?

A/N: I could EASILY have turned this into a long SMUT, but hey... all my one shots are smut 😂. But if you guys want i can write a part 2.

Oh and please dont forget to comment and interact, tell me what you think! it means a looot to me.

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Thomas Shelby trudged wearily through the dimly lit streets of Birmingham, his mind still reeling from the day's events. It had been a long and exhausting day, negotiating business deals, and handling the never-ending challenges that came with running the Peaky Blinders. 

The Peaky Blinders' operations had been especially intense lately, and the weight of responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders. All he wanted now was a moment of peace and a good glass of whisky.

As he finally reached his home, a beautiful Victorian house tucked away in a quiet corner of Small Heath, bought especially for you, he let out a sigh of relief.

The familiar sight of his residence offered a small respite from the chaos of the outside world. He pushed open the creaky front door, the familiar scent of his home enveloping him as he stepped inside.

The living room was dimly lit, the fire crackling in the hearth casting a warm glow over the room. Thomas made his way to the worn-out leather couch and sank into it with a grateful sigh. 

With a heavy sigh, he poured himself a glass of his favorite drink and took a sip, relishing the familiar burn that washed over him. The warmth of the alcohol began to soothe his frayed nerves, and he allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation.

As he closed his eyes, the sounds of his home enveloped him—the crackling of the fireplace, the ticking of the clock, and the distant creaking of the floorboards. But amidst the background noise, he heard something that brought a small smile to his face, a soft chuckle, unmistakably belonging to his son, Charles.

It was such a joyful and carefree sound that he hadn't heard in a while. He furrowed his brows, wondering why Charlie would be awake at this hour. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Thomas set down his glass and followed the sound. He made his way through the hallway and stopped outside his son's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and the flickering light from the hallway revealed a heartwarming scene.

There, on the bed tucked under the covers, was his son Charlie, just three years old, and you, his mother, playing with him. Charlie was giggling uncontrollably as you tickled him, a smile on your face that lit up the room. 

Thomas felt a softness in his heart, a tenderness he rarely allowed himself to feel amidst the harsh realities of his world.

"Well, look who it is," you said with a playful grin, noticing Thomas at the door. "Come join the fun, Tommy."

Thomas hesitated for a moment, his mind still clouded with the weight of his responsibilities. 

But something about the sight of you and his son together drew him in. He stepped into the room, his eyes locked on the scene before him.

He approached you with his usual confidence, but as he got closer, he found himself momentarily at a loss for words. 

You looked up, your eyes meeting his in a moment of unspoken understanding. It was as if you could see the pain and darkness that lay hidden behind his steely exterior.

"Seems like I've walked into a tickle battle. Why are you still awake little one?" he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Aye, you have" you replied, giving him a knowing smile. "Charlie was missing his dad, weren't ya, love?"

The little boy nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining with adoration as he looked up at his father.

Thomas moved to sit on the edge of the bed, the weariness in his bones momentarily forgotten. He reached out to ruffle Charlie's hair, earning another delighted giggle from the boy.

"I'm sorry, I've been busy all these days" Thomas said, his voice softened by genuine regret. "No need to apologize, Tommy," you said, laying a hand on his. "We know how much you have on your plate."

He sighed, his eyes never leaving the two of you. "It's not an excuse, though. Family should always come first."

"You're right," you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "And you're here now. You can help me put this one to sleep"

“I don’t want to sleep. I want to play with da!” Charlie cried, the crying giving away the little one's tiredness

“How about we play tomorrow, hm?” Tommy asked

“You won’t be here tomorrow,” Charlie spoke in a weeping voice.

You just sat there, with Charlie in your arms. Just watching.

Charlie just missed his dad, but Tommy was needed out there. You could see the pain in Tommy’s eyes, to be an absent parent was not in his plans. 

“How about I tell you a story?” Tommy asked “and tomorrow I can take you and your mom out, maybe we can go to that park you like, ey?” 

Charlie got agitated in your arms, happy with his dad's promise. But you feared he wouldn’t keep it, again. Making you go silent. 

Charlie got out from under the covers and crawled into his father's arms, who received him with a strong hug.

Thomas found himself immersed in the simple joy of being you both, a rare respite from the constant struggles of his life.

“Okay, now lie down" Tommy ordered, pulling the blanket back for Charlie to get inside.

"Lie down here too daddy" charlie called him

Impossible to resist his son’s request, Tommy kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers, Charlie between the two of you.

"What book are you going to read?" charlie asked

"No books. the story is here" Tommy pointed to his head making Charlie smile “Once upon a time, in the green hills of Birmingham, there lived a magnificent horse named Midnight."

"Like cocoa?" Charlie asked, refering to the brown horse Tommy had bought. Cocoa wasn't his race name, but the one Charlie chose for him.

"No, this was no ordinary horse, my boy. Midnight had a coat as black as the night sky, if you looked close by, you could even se the stars. He was magical and he could run faster than the wind…” Tommy went on telling the story. 

As Thomas spun his tale, the room seemed to come alive with his words. He painted vivid pictures of the horse's daring escapades and heroic deeds, capturing his son's imagination with each passing moment.

You watched the scene unfold, your heart swelling with love for the two most important people in your life.

You marveled at how effortlessly Thomas could transport your son to another world with his storytelling, and you couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of admiration for her husband.

As the story reached its end Charlies's eyelids began to droop, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. 

Thomas leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his son's forehead and you gently tucked the covers snugly around him.

Once Charlie was fast asleep, you and Thomas went back to the living room. The fire had died down, so you gave it life again, with a few woods and a single match. 

Thomas poured another glass of whisky, and you sat beside him on the couch, streching your legs across his lap.

"I never thought I could have this," Thomas admitted quietly, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "A family, a home... it was never part of the plan."

"But here we are," you said, taking his hand in yours. "Life has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?"

"Aye, it does," he murmured, his fingers entwining with yours. "And I wouldn't trade this for anything." he pulled your face gently for a kiss

"Where this is coming from? all this declaration of love for us?" you chuckled lightly "had a hard day?" you asked and he nodded

“Yes" He sighed "you were silent back there” tommy pointed out

“Well, good you noticed. I don't want you promising Charles things you can’t do,” you admitted. “We both know how it’s with you. You can’t stay away from work”

“I have a lot of work to get done, y/n” he said almost in a whisper

“I know. Just, please don’t lie to him. You’re his hero” you asked

“I never plan to” he sighed

“So you're taking him to the park tomorrow?” you asked and he nodded “good. you better, I can’t stand to look at the disappointment at his face again”

“What do you mean again?” he asked frowning

“Oh, come on Tommy. ‘i’ll be home dinner’, ‘i’ll pick you up at school’, ‘i”ll do this or i’ll do that’. you may not remember tiny promises, but he does. Everynight he asks if you are coming home before he sleeps” 

“every night?” he asked, sounding defeated

“Yeah, and even though i know the truth i say ‘i don’t know, maybe’” 

he went silent

You could see the guilt wash over Tommy's face, and you knew he was grappling with his own emotions. You didn't want to add to his burden, but you also couldn't bear to see Charles disappointed again.

"Tommy, I understand that you have a lot on your plate, i promise i do," you said gently, "but you need to make time for Charles. He's growing up so fast, and he needs his father in his life."

"I know, I know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I can't promise to be there all the time. It's not easy, y/n. You know what I do, what I'm involved in."

"I do know, Tommy," you replied softly. "And I know that your work is important, but so is your family. Charles needs you, and so do I. I also miss you. You come home after i am already sleeping and you leave before the sun comes out. I am getting abit tired of this loneliness"

Thomas took a deep breath, his gaze locked with yours. He could see the concern and love in your eyes, and it weighed heavily on his heart. He reached out to cup your cheek tenderly, his thumb caressing your skin.

"I'm sorry, love," he said sincerely "I can't promise you miracles, but i'll try to be home earlier".

You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand on your cheek.

He gently kissed you. His lips slowly savoring yours. Tongue gently invading your mouth and sliding on your lips. 

“I love you y/n” He said resting his forehead on yours

“I love you too tommy” you smiled 

“Let me take care of you now, eh?” he smirked pushing you down to lay on the couch. 

“Yes please!” you said smiling in anticipation, making him chuckle as he lifted your nighgown.

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[rooftopbeliver]

‘dangerously yours’ .ೃ࿐ ❝prologue❞

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　° cillian murphy x f! reader

. . .

Y/N HAS A ONE DREAM since her childhood. she wanted to do something for her great-grandmother, even if she is no longer in this world. she wanted to thank her for her motivation and inspiration to be an actress. her great-grandmother was a fantastic woman who didn’t care about opinions; she was doing everything she wanted to. inga — because that was her name — wanted to be an actress, but nobody wanted her, but she didn't lose hope. gladly, one day she was asked by vicks matinee theatre to be the main ‘actress’ in every sunday’s afternoon broadcast streaming on radio called ‘dangerously yours’. of course, she said yes to this.

inga’s voice was in every episode, but she never played the same character. that was also why she loved that show so much. the stories were always so romantic but also dramatic and adventurous. it was harder than just acting in movies because you needed to express all of your emotions just with your voice because listeners didn’t see your face. but she loved doing it; it was her comfort show. they recorded sixteen episodes, but today people can find only thirteen of them.

y/n loved to listen to this show as a kid because it was the only memory she had of her great-grandmother. she was in love with inga’s voice and her expression skills. when y/n turned twelve and was more aware of what she wanted to do in the future, she started to write a script inspired by ‘dangerously yours’. of course, it wasn’t the best because she was just a child, but she was proud of the idea, and she dreamed of a movie based on this broadcast. she wanted to produce it. and this dream has been with her to date.

. . .

when y/n turned sixteen, she started to take her ‘job’ more seriously; she even had a list of actors she wanted to see in her show. she has an actor for every role, but she still doesn’t have a main male character. she has known so many great actors, but nobody has really matched her ideal. then she started to watch with her mother a new series ‘peaky blinders’ and she saw him. cillian murphy he was her ideal for this role (maybe not just for a role). eight years have passed since then, and she still wants cillian in her production. she was watching every movie he appeared in; she knew that only he would play this character like she wanted to.

when she finished high school, she went to acting school. she felt alive when she was acting; she loved it, and she had stronger motivation to make her dreams come true. she knew that she could make it happen. her teachers said that she is a great actress, and she just thanked her great-grandmother for that because she was an inspiration when she was performing. after finishing her acting studies, she started to learn how to write a script more professionally because she wanted everything to be perfect. it needs to be perfect.

. . .

now we are in 2021, and her dream has started to come true. with her mother's help, she found the director who wanted to make this show, and she started working with professional people who knew how to do a good movie and how to have all the actors from her list here, and everything seems to be working. almost every actor loved the idea for the plot and agreed to play in this show; the only actor that didn’t answer was cillian murphy. the man she needed the most in this production was him; without him, she didn’t want this series because nobody else would play the main character as he did. but she didn’t lose hope; she just patiently waited for him to answer the proposal.

the music for the movie she had since 2016, and she couldn’t be happier when lana del rey accepted the offer to do a few songs for this show. y/n thinks that she was perfect for this, and she couldn’t imagine any other person doing half of the soundtrack but lana. y/n cannot believe that her dream was just coming true, that all the plans she made as a kid worked, and that she is about to do a series with real and popular actors; it was just too perfect.

she was happy, of course, but still, she didn’t have cillian as a main character, and just at the moment when she was about to search for another man to play this character, her casting producer walked into her room with a big smile.

“cillian agreed to play this role”

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ thank you for attention!! ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

note: i hope that you will love this series. im so excited for this and i hope you are too!

[firemenenthusiast]

who is chris nolans sexiest character and why is it all cillian murphys characters

[willsdreamgirl]

off to the races — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy x fem!reader

tommy and you are in rival gangs, and the peaky blinders interfere in your business. will you be able to let it rest? or will you give tommy the opportunity to realise his feelings for you through your conflicts with each other?

cw: mentions of guns, knives, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut if you squint, arthur is an ass

a/n: you guys loved the first tommy fic i wrote, so here’s another one!! couldn’t do too much hardcore enemies to lovers bc i’m a big ol softie. anywho, don’t be a ghost reader and enjoy!! 💌

word count: 3.2k

“fuckin’ peaky scum.” “what’s up, johnny?” you asked quizzically. “what’s up? what’s fucking UP? look at this shit.” you leaned over his shoulder to find your crates of whiskey disguised as hardware empty. you sighed knowingly. “can’t even enter bloody small heath without having our shit raided.” “tell me about it.” johnny laughed humourlessly.

you sat in your office, making sure the books were in order. you listened to the silent ticking of the clock. but your peace didn’t last long. “they did it again, eh?!” an angry max entered your office. you took your glasses off and put down your pen. “maximillian, if you must enter my office, do not enter it screaming maybe?” your words fell on deaf ears, max already seemed blinded by rage. “honest to god, i’ll cut every single one of those bastards!” he yelled yet again. you stood up from your chair, clearing your throat. “no need for that, max boy.” “what? what the fuck do you mea-” “i’ve arranged a meeting with the big man.” “who? tommy fuckin’ shelby?” you threw on your coat and made your way to the exit. “yes max, tommy fuckin’ shelby.”

tommy shelby was, at this point, the most powerful man in all of small heath. every government official was on his payroll and he practically had the coppers eating out of his hand. after the sabini incident, rarely anyone decided to fuck with the peaky blinders. you’d known tommy in school, you were even friends with him, but that was before your parents decided small heath was no place for a growing lady and decided to move far away from small heath, far away from tommy. but they underestimated how much spending time with tommy’s family had affected you. your parents were good people, you knew that. tommy’s family got involved in all sorts of illegal shit but made tenfold the money yours made. eventually, you realized that the shelby way was the only way you could create wealth in dirty, old birmingham. no one takes a 13 year old girl seriously when she says she wants to start a gang. so you had to start taking extreme measures. stealing, lying and gambling, to name a few. but your weakness was also your strength. you were a woman. and men underestimated women. no one ever believed you to be a threat, so they let down their guards around you. (it usually only took a glass or two of whiskey anyway) when they were vulnerable, that’s when you struck. over time, you became feared in your city, the girl who fools the men. and here you were 12 years later, your gang, the bishop ryders, being the peaky blinders’ rival gang. now, you were open to forming an alliance with them, reminiscing your time with the shelby family, but you learnt fairly quickly that the tommy you knew before the war was not the tommy that you came to know after. he was bitter, and vengeful, and after an explosion at one of your warehouses where four of your men had died, the bishop ryders and peaky blinders became sworn enemies.

you entered small heath, coppers surrounding the car. you muttered under your breath, “must’ve recognized the damn license plate.” you stepped out of the car. “mornin’ coppers, what can i do for you today?” you said, a fake smile plastered across your face. one of them stepped close enough to you that you could smell his breath. they were trying to intimidate you, of course. “who the fuck are you here to see, eh? such a pretty lady shouldn’t be in these parts of birmingham.” he spoke, a disgustingly devilish glint in his eyes. you spat on the ground next to him and knee’d him in the crotch and you yelled. “i’m here to see your king, now FUCK OFF.” the coppers seemed to back away, the guy you kicked now crouched down in the middle of the road. you got back in your car and resumed driving.

you saw a building with a big sign on it. ‘shelby company limited’, it read. tommy was becoming a pompous arse, you thought. you walked in and took a moment to look around. they had definitely upgraded since the last time you were here. the woman at the desk spoke to you. “oi, do you have an appointment?” you scoffed, a secretary, how… civilized. “who might you be?” “i’m lizzie, mr. shelby’s secretary.” she spoke, proudly. you gasped in faux amusement. “oh! so can you tell your precious mr. shelby that y/n’s here to see him?” she rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. “can’t let random fucking people in without appointments. besides, he’s not here anyway.”

after a little probing, you found out that tommy was in his new mansion, grieving over the death of his wife. when did he get married? you went over to his house, pushing aside butlers and maids to get to his office. you scoffed, for what seemed like the hundredth time today, he really was the king of small heath, eh? you walked in, the sound of your hand on the wood echoing in the big office. he motioned for you to leave without even looking up. “fuck off.” he muttered in that deep voice of his. you cleared your throat so he’d look up. his hand stopped writing for a moment, but resumed writing when he didn’t get a reply from you. you sighed, realising you’d have to vocalize yourself. you took big, exaggerated steps towards his desk. “tommy bloody shelby, sulking in his big house bought with his huge stack of cash. never thought i’d see the day.” you said mockingly. he sighed when he recognized the voice. he looked up, setting the pen down. he spoke, resting his elbows on his desk. “what the fuck do you want?” you could taste the venom in his voice. you laughed dryly. “i should be the one asking you that.” tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. “what are you fucking talking about?” you took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. the bloody nerve of this man. “don’t fucking play stupid with me, tommy. you don’t think i see how your men are raiding my whiskey crates every fucking day?” he looked ever more confused but spoke slowly, almost cautiously. “what do you mean ‘my men’?” “i mean your bloody men, tommy! fucking peaky blinders!” “my men did no such thing, i assure you. they only do what i order them to. and i have no reason to search or raid your crates.” you scoffed at him and mimicked the way his elbows were on the desk. “now, either you’re not very good at giving orders, or you don’t know what the fuck’s going on within your own organisation. whatever the fuck it is, you better fix it, and you better fix it fast tommy.” he looked at you in disbelief. “tommy shelby doesn’t take orders from anyone, especially not from a rival gang.” “i didn’t think tommy shelby sulked over a girl either, but here we are, eh? now pour me a fucking whiskey.” he got up, and poured you a glass. he looked down into your eyes as your hands brushed when he handed you the glass.

he downed the whiskey in one sip and immediately phoned the small heath shelby co. ltd. office. michael picked up the phone. “hello, tommy?” “tell polly, arthur and john bring their arses here in the next hour. family meeting.” 20 minutes later, the entire shelby family had assembled in tommy’s office. arthur was the first to speak. “what the fuck’s she doing here?” he motioned at you. “i have unnecessary business to deal with because of you fucks.” john stepped closer to you, sizing you up. “you don’t scare me, shelby. fuck off.” he looked at tommy in disbelief. “get off her, john.” tommy replied. “right, so one of you gave our men the order to raid every bishop ryder crate that comes into town. it sure as fuck wasn’t me, so who was it?” everyone looked at each other in confusion, except john and arthur. “you two. you did it, eh?” you looked at them. “we’re not tommy’s fucking guard dogs! we’re equal shareholders of the bloody company and we will do whatever the fuck we see fit!” john yelled. tommy slammed his fist on the table. “god fucking damn it! legitimate business is priority! when i say something there’s a fucking reason! when i tell you to do something, you fucking do it!” even though you’d known tommy for years, this rage was unfamiliar to you. you spoke assertively. “i have no idea how i got roped into this family drama, but it’s affecting my business. i will not have you fucking cunts pull this shit again. you try and i will cut each and every one of you.” you gave tommy a look that told him you meant every word of what you said, and with that, you left.

the next day, you were in your office, going over important paperwork. that’s when you heard commotion outside. you heard fighting, and then you heard a voice. arthur bloody shelby. he stormed in your office, going around your desk. you stood up. “what the fuck do you want, arthur?” he put his hand around your throat and slammed you against the wall. you had a tight grip around his wrist, trying to push him away. you struggled to speak. “insult the peaky blinders one more time and i’ll fucking kill ya.” when you looked in his eyes, you didn’t see arthur. you saw someone completely different. you reached into your coat pocket to pull out a gun, but arthur already had one next to your head. he pulled the trigger, the bullet grazing your ear and embedding itself into the wall. “next time, it’ll be your head, not the wall.” some of your security heard your conflict with arthur and barged into the office and pulled guns on him. arthur, in his rage, shot two of your men on sight. arthur let you go, and stormed out of your office. you’d had enough. enough disrespect. as if it wasn’t hard being a woman and running a gang in birmingham.

you went to speak to tommy. he was in his office this time, and you walked in to find lizzie typing something. “where is he?” you asked frantically. “not you again. like i said, you need to make an appointme-” “where. the FUCK IS TOMMY?” you yelled in her face. she looked at you for a moment, then spoke. “mr. shelby’s in the middle of a meeting.” “fuck his damn meeting.” you barged into his office, to find some copper sitting in front of him. you snapped your fingers to get his attention, even though you already had it. “we. need. to. talk.” is all you said. “get out.” he spoke, and you crossed your arms. the copper sitting in front of him looked at you, waiting for you to leave. “i was talking to you, dimwit. leave.” he said, pointing to the copper this time. he nodded and left quickly. “what brings you here, mis-” “your rabid dog of a brother shot at me yesterday and killed two of my men, in my office, in front of me.” you spoke, oddly calm. “what.” tommy was truly at a loss for words. “yeah. anyway, you’ll be at the epsom derby this year right? i’m gonna kill you tommy. it’ll be fun.” you said, laughing sarcastically. before he had a a chance to respond, you left his office. tommy was infuriated. not only had he lost his wife, he had gained a new enemy who now wanted to kill him, and his brothers couldn’t step up and do tommy’s job for two fucking days.

epsom rolled around, and you gathered all your men, and other men you borrowed from allies. you knew small heath men, so, you knew tommy’s men. you knew their vices: whores, whiskey and cocaine. you brought prostitutes with you, who had several bottles of alcohol and vials of ‘the snow’ on them, and had your men stationed everywhere. the plan was, distract tommy’s men, get him alone with you, and kill him.

as soon as the race started, you saw your plan unfold. all of tommy’s men were either fighting with yours, drunk and high in a corner somewhere or fucking a whore. you scoffed as you remembered aunt pol’s words. men and their cocks never cease to amaze me. truth be told, you missed that family. you missed going with the shelby brothers to steal whiskey from a pub as kids, and you missed aunt pol yelling at the boys, telling you how they were bad influences. and you missed tommy. your tommy. the tommy that would sit with you, talk to you for hours, the one you could laugh with endlessly. and here you were, plotting to kill him. how did it all get so fucked up?

while your men were distracted, you hunted tommy down. he was in the stables, alone, where they kept the racehorses. he turned around as he heard the familiar sound of a cocking gun. he raised his hands. “i’m unarmed.” you walked closer to him, gun still pointing to his forehead. “you and your stupid fucking gang have been doing so much damage to everything i’ve built all along. you got handed this tommy, you don’t know what it’s fucking like to build this from the ground up with your own hands.” you said, your hand on his shoulder. “someone has to pay, eh?” he said, take the hint and getting on his knees. you walked around him so that his back was facing you. you inhaled deeply. “ready?” you said. “give a man one last smoke?” he asked. “fine.” you turned around as he lit a cigarette. “this is the end of the line, eh? i was in this same position a year ago, maybe this is how it’s meant to be. tell arthur and john to stop fucking shit up, tell pol to take care of the boys, tell ada i love her and karl, and y/n? check in on charlie every once in a while? i don’t want him to feel like a lonely orphan, alright?” tommy spoke sombrely. you felt memories rushing back, memories of you and the boys playing with guns, getting drunk. you took a deep breath as you held back tears. tommy smiled when he felt the cold metal hit the back of his head. “don’t go soft on me now, love?” he spoke, you could hear the smile in his voice. your hand trembled as you put your finger on the trigger.

you pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit a hay bale somewhere in the corner. tommy exhaled and opened his eyes slowly. you kicked the back of his shoe, your voice wavering. “get the fuck up.” he stood up, turning around to face you. you hugged him tightly. “can’t bring myself to kill you.” you spoke, your head buried in the crook of his neck. “shh, i know sweetheart. i know.” you two always had an inextricable bond, and without either of you saying anything, both of you understood what the other felt. tommy cupped your cheek with his hand. you felt tears rolling down your cheek, tommy wiping them away. you leaned into his touch. “i fucking hate you, tommy.” he looked at you with adoration. “i love you too, y/n. it’s always been you.”

*a year later*

tommy carried you to your shared bed. you gasped as you felt him leaving kisses down your neck. “tommy-” “welcome to the family, mrs. shelby.” he said, smiling when he heard you giggle. “tonight’s gonna be a long night, eh?” he said, smirking. you smirked back. “oh, i’m counting on it.” you heard abrupt knocking, and then finn’s voice. “uh, tommy? i’m sorry- but um, it’s the russians?” you both looked at each other and instantly got out of bed. he groaned as he put his pants on and wore his gun holster under his blazer. “can’t catch a fucking break. not even on my bloody wedding night.” you rolled your eyes at him, as you wore your own holster, loading your gun and cocking it. “who told you to do business with the fucking russians?” he walked over and kissed you passionately, your tongues fighting for dominance. eventually, you pulled away for air, both panting, his forehead resting against yours. he looked you in the eye. “ready?” “always.”

“welcome to the family, mrs. shelby.”

[zaraquinn]

i wish you love.

chapter ii | fragile.

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summary: You and Robert spend the night out, and internal realizations from the both of you kickstart the start of your own goals towards each other.

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tw: depictions and mentions of domestic abuse, manipulation and a toxic relationship

word count: +2.5k

female!reader x robert fischer (inception)

author’s notes and additional notes: sorry for the late upload, but here’s the next instalment! i’m happy to hear this being well received, so i’m continuing it! so whoever was waiting, wait no longer <3

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series masterpost: coming soon !

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The doors let you go with a ding and they close. Stepping onto the main waiting area, you walked through the floor; through the waiting and meeting rooms and to a hall—the path led by shiny wooden floors. You make your way to the end of the hallway to the door of Robert’s office. His name is in bold, black letters embossed on a golden plaque.

You take a breath and lean closer to the door, the three soft knocks that announce your presence.

———

“Come in.” A voice from the other side beckons. You follow the voice and open the door, to see Robert starting to clean up his stuff, getting ready to head out. You meet his small smile as you enter the door, and immediately help him gather some papers. “Sorry Mr. Fischer, I was just checking up on you. Here, let me.” You offer and your hand gently lays on the desk close to his for the papers. Your words temporarily stop him for a moment. You were checking up on him. A small smirk made its way to his face as he slowly took the papers from you. “It’s okay Y/N, you’ve done too much today. I should repay you for your help.” He says, his voice was soft. His soft and gentle tone is rare to hear, as it was not meant for the cutthroat workplace that Fischer-Morrow was. You smiled with a mirrored smirk and a chuckle. “You do repay me Mr. Fischer; with my salary.” Your chuckle at your joke painted a bigger smile at your boss, who looked at you with his beautiful blue eyes.

“Don’t be silly Y/N. I mean it. You helped me more than I can count.” You looked up at your boss and smiled. Oh, what you would do to kiss him right now. Those ocean eyes are starting to make you melt under pressure. I mean, they always have, but this time he looked at you differently; you couldn’t put your finger on it. “Oh, well, of course, Mr. Fischer.” You said with a small smile.

Robert smiled sweetly, clearing his throat and feeling the nerves start to get the best of him. The words seem to be stuck at the base of his throat: his palms are starting to sweat and he can feel his heartbeat increase tenfold. The waiting look you’re giving him is making him melt.

Robert takes a breath and chuckles off the growing nerves. “And to repay you, I’m offering you to join me for dinner tonight—unless you want to of course.” Your heart felt like it was about to burst through your chest. The words that came out of your boss’ mouth were something you thought you never would have wanted. With your relationship already hanging on a single thread, your crush on Robert increased. But you never done anything considering it was unprofessional…wait. Was it unprofessional if he was asking?

You smiled and felt a heated blush touch the surface of your cheeks. “I would love to, Mr. Fischer but; would this be considered inappropriate?” You asked, crossing your arms in thought. Robert smirked shyly. “It’s for business if anyone asks. You have your organizer, correct?” He said as he finished packing his suitcase. You stood there in awe and a dumb smile. “Yeah, I do.” “Then let’s head out.” He smiles and opens the door for you. You turn around and return a short ‘thank you’ as you walk past him; trying so hard to contain the glee that’s about to jump out of your chest. Unbeknownst to you, however, Robert was doing the same thing. The sheer happiness and warmth that you said yes was hard to contain—especially on his facial features.

—

Following him closely behind, Robert swiftly walked outside, being a gentleman throughout. Letting you step first, holding the doors for you, etc. You smiled at the gesture, as you both ended up outside the large Fischer-Morrow building. With his hand on your waist leading you forward, the driver arrived just in time to open the door and collect both your and Robert’s briefcases.

Stepping into the car and settling in your usual spot, Robert did the same and muttered to the driver the restaurant name and soon, the car made it’s way onto the busy city roads.

You felt the air already get awkward and you took a breath, before turning to your boss with a smile. “So, what’s the place you had in mind?” You politely asked, hoping to lighten the air and the car ride. Robert turned his attention to you, a soft smile painting his lips. “A small place. Nothing fancy.” You chuckled, and it took Robert everything to not react the way he wanted. Your laughs and giggles were certainly music to his ears. “You know we have different definitions of fancy, Robert.” He shrugs playfully. “I don’t think so. I think we’re about the same.” You titled your head sideways, looking at him with a playful look. “I think in one of our late night overtimes in your office, fancy is very different in our books.” “I do remember. And I do like your version of fancy. It’s simple.” You too engage in small talk, like you have done thousands of times before.

“So I should expect dazzling chandeliers and high ceilings?” You humoured. He chuckled, glad you were playing along. “It’s a hole in the wall place. I usually don’t go here for meetings. It’s more personal.” He smiles, watching your blushing face under the moving lights from the street. You felt your cheeks heat up and you smiled, hiding your face as you cast your eyes downward.

———

You had arrived at the fancy restaurant with Robert. Of course, he had humorously labelled it as a “small place, nothing fancy”. You begged a differ when your eyes went wide with awe at how beautiful the restaurant was in fact, and how you immediately felt out of place.

Robert immediately took note of your equal awe and embarrassment and guided you closer to him with a hand on the small of your back. The waiter approached the two of you and led you both to your lavish table, overlooking the Sydney city skyline. “Is this okay for you?” Robert asked, taking you out of your trance. “Yes of course! This is more than okay, Mr. Fischer, I assure you.” Professionalism still lacing your voice he chuckled. “You know we’re not at work Y/N, you can call me Robert.” A breathy chuckle escaped your lips as your eyes downcast in another wave of embarrassment. Oh, the effect he’s putting on you. “Um, right, yes. Sorry, Robert.” You let out a heavy sigh and smiled up at him. “It’s just a habit I guess. I don’t necessarily see you outside of Fischer-Morrow so…” Robert smiled; his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity. “Hmm. Well, I’m sure you go out more days than I do; have friends of your own.” “I don’t. You’re probably my only real friend if had in years.” His look softened while his heart skipped a beat inside. “Sorry, that wasn’t supposed to be sad. It’s just a fact. A fact that I am okay with.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I think we are the same in that sense. You know how the company has become my life—it’s hard to form real connections nowadays. Especially with my father—” Your hands immediately go to Robert’s in comfort, noting the slight crack and tone change in his voice when mentioning his father. “—it’s okay Robert. You don’t have to talk about work and your father here. It's a safe space!” You quipped at that last part, hoping the comfort was what he needed. He gave a shy smile and a nod, agreeing with your words. “You’re right. Thank you.” And with that, the waiter had come by with already Robert’s preferred wine and water for you. He asked the two what you would order and you looked at the menu, unsure of the dishes. Barely any photos provided visuals are the countless dishes and you hid yourself in your menu, lowering your head in embarrassment. The waiter spoke to Robert, and before moving to you, he quickly leaned in closer to Robert only to leave once again.

“I don’t know what to order. All of these look…great!” That last word you said playfully, hoping that the tone would fool Robert, but it didn’t as she shared another chuckle and tapped the top of your menu to get your attention. You lifted your head to showcase your eyes and to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. Robert gave a small, but genuine laugh at your demeanour, one that he frankly didn’t have much of. “It’s okay, I gave us a few more minutes.”

The huff of relief that gave away in your expression put a permanent smile on Robert’s cheeks, and he watched you put down the menu almost immediately. He had never seen you so animated. If this is what you acted beyond work, then my god was he falling for you hard. Due to your younger age, you were somewhat more casual and cheerful at work—it was refreshing really. Especially in a cutthroat work environment like Fischer-Morrow was, everyone took themselves too seriously. Of course, that was the face of the company; but it was a marvel that you could easily be just as animated and pure yet so professional. Robert saw it as a blessing and was glad that you were able to move in under his wing. It gave some light into work, especially now since it's been nothing but getting ready for the dark inevitable.

“Thank you, Robert.” You simply replied as he helped you decide what to order. It was a lot of playful exchange, with Robert describing some of the dishes and your face squinting in confusion. Simply put, you asked what was something classically delicious that you could pronounce, and with a small chuckle, Robert helped navigate which one you would like. The waiter soon came back, took the orders and headed to the kitchen. Silence befell the two of you once again until Robert coughed to clear the air.

“So what about you, Y/N? Anything going on at home?” He started with a small smile; His eyes focusing on your delicate hands that lay on the table. You chuckled at the thought and shook your head. “No. My life outside work is not interesting.” Robert’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Not from what you tell me. And that’s coming from me, where work is nothing but my life. C’mon, what about that trip you were going to take?” You chuckled nervously. You remembered that you hinted at a “trip” away from the city, which just meant away from your abusive boyfriend and out of that horrid house. “It’s still on the table, but, I guess on hold for you and the company. We both know that you’ll need it most now that—” You stop at your words and give another breathy chuckle; catching yourself talking about work. “I’m sorry, I’m breaking my own rule.” “It’s okay, we can change the subject.” You nod along and look at Robert, only now, his expression changed from calm to worried.

He reaches for your hands and grips them ever so gently. “Y/N, are you really okay at home?” You try to retreat your hands to hide the small bruises on your knuckles but Robert immediately calms you down. “It’s okay, Y/N. You can tell me. Remember? It’s a safe space.”

Your head tilts at his words and you can feel your heart flutter. Your heartbeat also increases tenfold and your hands start to generate sweat. “It’s nothing. I…” Robert gives a worried, almost pleading look, wanting to know the truth. “I can handle myself.” And that’s all that he needed to hear as he let go of a breath. “I can make it go away Y/N.” You nod your head. It’s sweet enough but with dealing with his father already you felt guilty that you had to add to his list. “Robert, you’re really sweet but it’s okay really. You have your father and the company to worry about—“ “Y/N, you are part of the company, an important part in that too. Please.”

With your hands in his, he rubs soothing and gentle circles with his thumb on your hands. The look he gave you would surely make you melt, and that’s when you realized that you could not deny it anymore. You’re in love with Robert. And you knew what you had to do. You nod ever so slightly at his words and his eyes finally soften.

Robert felt his heart drop with the thought of someone hurting you. You could never forgive himself as she felt like he should’ve addressed it sooner, but now was the time he could do something. It was going to be hard of course, with his father and the company, but he was going to keep his word. You were the only thing in his life that made sense to him—brought him friendship, loyalty and comfort at the worst times, and if he could return and do the same for you, he would do it in a heartbeat. He realize that he does love you.

———

The dinner had painted a smile on your face the entire night, and it felt great. But after Robert and his driver dropped you off back at home, you noticed the hesitation before he let you go inside. The hold on your hand lingered more than it should’ve but you didn’t care—you’d savour every moment with him if you could.

The late-night masked you in the dark home. Closing the door quietly, you made your way upstairs to the bedroom and suddenly, the lights turned on as you had quietly started to change into your pyjamas.

Your boyfriend stood in the dark. His figure sitting up on the bed looking at you with an unreadable expression. “Y/N, where were you?” You looked away, shaking your head in annoyance, switching your attention to removing your socks. Your heartbeat increased, however. “Overtime at work, I don’t need to explain again.” Suddenly, he gets up from the bed and rushes toward you, shoving you into the dresser. He traps you between him and the large dresser and his large frame. The dresser knobs dig into your back as the shock from the sudden rush startled you. “Don’t you talk back at me.” He says in a low, almost dangerous tone. Your breathing grows heavy and you immediately duck and get out between the dresser and his frame, shoving your boyfriend with all your might, he stumbles back.

He reacts with anger, throwing the nearest object at you, which is one of your favourite perfumes. The glass bottle shatters behind you and the liquid spills on the wall, staining the dark paint. You ducked just in time and moved when he threw it, missing you completely but you felt the shattered glass pieces making their way to bounce off of your back. “Stop it! I’m sorry okay?” You yelled at him. You ran to the bed, the farthest away you could get to your boyfriend when he tried to chase you. He jumps onto the bed and you try to get away, but he traps you within the bed, getting on top of you and using his weight against you.

“You really mean it?” He says, the tone of his voice different than it was before. You huffed as you were out of breath and couldn’t meet your boyfriend’s eyes. “Yes.” You say breathlessly, your tone shaky. “You know I just want to spend time with you. You’re never home and it’s driving me crazy.” He says, his voice different than his actions. “I love you. I just wanna be with you.” You nodded silently, as he started to bring kisses to your neck. You closed your eyes, exhausted with the same treatment you get every night. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, his hand making its way underneath your shirt.

——

Your boyfriend lays asleep beside you in your shared bed, completely drunk and dozed off. You get out of bed and walk over to grab your discarded shirt on the floor and wrap it around you. Making your way under the covers you scoot away from your boyfriend as far as you possibly can on your bed, and you face away from him, towards your bedside table.

You see the phone on the bedside table, thinking about Robert’s words from dinner. Your hand reaches towards it, but you hesitate and stop. Looking back at your boyfriend, you get up again from the bed and go into your shared home office, turning on the laptop. The bright screen illuminates you from the darkness and your fingers quietly type away. The screen shows you the nearest hotels and their price listings, and you open another tab for any houses and spots to rent nearby work.

————

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[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby- Chapter Three- Thomas

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Even after four years of being a part-time family teacher, I was still Shelby's only habit of reading newspapers. Four years ago, I started using newspapers to teach the children to read, just like my father once did.

But unfortunately, not to boast, these children don't have the political talent I had back then.

'Harry, don't grab your sister's hair,' the child named Harry, who was called out, reluctantly put down his restless hands and took the knife and fork I handed him.

At the breakfast table, the children were eating quietly, and I continued to browse the newspaper. Every day, I paid attention to the constantly updated list of casualties in the newspaper. 'Shelby' had never appeared in that section. But I also knew that on the battlefield, there would be many nameless bodies.

To the common people, this war was nothing more than a brief outing, an exciting adventure. Those young people were afraid of missing the opportunity for a splendid death in their lifetime, so they eagerly rushed to enlist, cheering and singing on the train. They were all hot-headed, forgetting the mundane world.

My brother, on the other hand, was quite clear-headed. This was something he said, rare for his alcohol-soaked brain, and he said it when my father wanted to send him to the army for training before he passed away.

Good people don't live long, and harm lasts for thousands of years. This saying is truly not wrong.

Maria is Martha's eldest daughter, and she resembles her mother, a gentle and obedient girl. If she were born into a wealthy family in London, she would definitely be the most sought-after presence in the marriage market.

'I miss Dad so much, Aunt Demi,' I looked at the girl next to me who was helping me wash the dishes. She was so young and beautiful, and she looked so fragile. She had already endured enough hardship, and you couldn't bear to tell her the painful reality. After all, at this age, I still believed in Santa Claus.

'They will come back, dear. Just like an adventure that has ended, Dad and uncles will come back with medals to embrace our little Maria.'

Martha's health had deteriorated after giving birth to her fourth child in 1915, becoming thin, weak, and sickly, as if a gust of wind could blow her away. During the war, resources were scarce, and medicines were even more precious. Her illness could only be postponed. Polly needed to support the family, and Finn always played with his nephews and nieces, while Ada personally managed them. The responsibility of taking care of the children fell on me and little Maria. In her, I saw a shadow of my past, a girl accustomed to taking care of others, so among Martha's four children, I cherished her the most and always liked to keep her by my side. If circumstances allowed, I really wanted to teach her to dance, ride horses, hunt, play the piano, and teach her everything I knew.

The days that followed were as gray and dull as the Birmingham sky, with one ordinary day after another. But the soldiers gradually returned to their hometown, and this deserted city was slowly recovering. The quiet streets were filled with pedestrians, and the bars gradually became lively.

Many people would wait at the train station for their loved ones. They hugged each other on the platform, tears of joy in their eyes. Those who didn't meet their loved ones would look at the reunited people with envy, exchange a few words of good luck, and then eagerly wait for the next train to arrive. If they didn't get the news today, they would continue waiting tomorrow. For now, no news was the best news.

I often finished my work:

Platform waiting for her father and uncles. There was an old white-haired woman who started waiting before the sun even rose, and she waited until sunset. She just stood on the platform waiting, like an unyielding rock.

'I see Dad!' Maria jumped for joy and pulled me towards her long-lost loved ones.

John Shelby was a man with blue eyes, fairer skin than his brothers, and he looked like a bright and lively man. When he saw Maria, he put down his luggage and embraced his daughter.

Arthur was the eldest, easy to recognize with a thick beard that made him look like a teddy bear. I nodded to him cautiously, as a form of greeting.

But when I looked at the man in the middle of them, I couldn't take my eyes off him.

He had a pair of gem-like clear blue eyes, strong cheekbones, a straight and high nose, and lips that weren't the typical thin British type, adding a touch of sensuality. He looked like a melancholic young prince full of starlight.

I knew he was Thomas Shelby, the Shelby who had terrified Small Heath. But he didn't quite match the rumors...

11:42

The men of the Shelby family had finally returned safely.

We had prepared a sumptuous meal and were busy in the kitchen.

'Demi, go call the children back. I'll keep an eye on things in the kitchen.' Seeing his nephews return safely, Polly, who had been tense all this time, finally showed a long-lost smile. 'The kids, and those big kids.'

I replied and hummed a tune as I walked out of the house.

It's good, things are moving in the right direction. Although we can't predict the future, coming back safely from the battlefield is always a good sign.

"Harry!"

I called out to the children, waving my hand. "Come inside, boys, it's time for dinner!"

John and Arthur brought the children into the house. I stood in the yard, watching the smiles on their faces, genuinely happy for them.

Once they were all inside, I realized that one person was missing. Where was Thomas?

11:42

"John, where's Thomas?" I stopped John, who was walking at the back, and he looked friendlier than his brother.

"Tommy?" John turned around almost subconsciously, as if his brother was right behind him. "He's probably in the shower."

In fact, I ran into Thomas on my way to the store to buy chocolate.

I saw the light in my office, but I distinctly remembered locking the door, and the ledgers on the table were not something to be made public.

I cautiously opened the door and saw Thomas standing at my desk, not sure what he was doing.

Afraid of startling him, I knocked on the door.

He just raised his eyes to look at me.

"Tonight, Polly prepared a big meal with meat and wine, but there's only chocolate here, which the girls like." I leaned against the door, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere with a joke. "Are you looking for someone to fulfill your needs, sir? What?"

11:42

I thought I had misheard. For years, no one had looked at me like that. Besides, could there really be such a beautiful prostitute in Birmingham? Or why would a beautiful prostitute with a Chelsea accent come to Birmingham?

"Are you a prostitute?" He actually repeated, thinking I hadn't heard him the first time.

"Of course

not. If you're looking for someone to satisfy your needs, I'd suggest you find a professional." My face must have looked awful, "If you're just here to amuse yourself with me, then please forgive me for not indulging you."

"I'm sorry." I heard him apologize softly as I turned away. Hearing his deep, hoarse voice, I felt a little soft-hearted and turned back.

"Going back? I need a knight to escort me back to my castle."

He smiled, like a rare clear sky in London in the spring, soft and beautiful. Although this man was a bit strange, he was undeniably good-looking. I thought to myself.

"My pleasure, Your Highness." The dinner ended smoothly. Our stomachs were filled with soft white bread, roasted potatoes, roast beef, and rum. The adults lay on the couch, continuing to drink whiskey and chat. I glanced at the clock; it was almost eleven. I yawned and hurried the children upstairs to bed.

Even though I hadn't been drinking, this group of children was as excited as if they had been given a shot of adrenaline, causing a commotion in the bedroom. They wanted me to tell them stories, one after another, and as soon as there was a slight pause, they would start misbehaving. Even though I was exhausted and my head was spinning, I kept telling stories until dawn, finally coaxing those little devils to sleep. I was so tired from telling stories that my throat was dry and my tongue was parched, so I went downstairs to get a glass of water. There was no one in the living room anymore; it seemed that everyone had gone to sleep.

I passed by Thomas's room and saw that his door wasn't closed like the others, and the light was still on. Maybe he was just too tired

I yawned and, with tired steps, headed towards his room to turn off the light and close the door.

I was so tired, and from now on, whoever had children would take care of them. It was as if a group of little demons!

Thomas was lying on his narrow bed, his eyes tightly closed, his brows furrowed, and sweat on his face, looking very distressed. I gently nudged him, "Thomas? Tommy?"

11:43

He suddenly opened his eyes, and the fierceness in his eyes frightened me. He quickly pulled out a pistol from under his pillow and pointed it at me.

I fell back to the floor in fear. The coldness of the floor, the pain in my butt, and the fear and helplessness of being pointed at by a gun all overwhelmed my brain.

What kind of person is this? First, he mistook me for a prostitute, and now he's pointing a gun at me. I haven't even slept yet, and he's pointing a gun at me...

I felt extremely wronged, and tears fell to the ground with a plop.

He put down the gun and picked me up from the floor, hugging me and patting my back gently as if comforting a child.

I deliberately wiped my nose and tears on his pajamas.

"What are you still doing up?" I tried to speak with irritation and amusement as I attempted to pull my hand away.

"Have you had nightmares?" I heard him speak as I was dozing off.

"I always hear the sound of digging in the walls." "What shovel?"

"We were sent on a mission, underground, and the German soldiers were digging tunnels. I prayed, prayed that they would dig slowly, even slower, or that the day would come faster..."

To be honest, I was shocked listening to him.

Nobles don't become soldiers, and soldiers are all commoners, but my father had great respect for those soldiers who died in battle. But no one ever told me these things, told me that those soldiers were also human, capable of fear. Lying in a foreign land, either in eternal sleep or living with nightmares.

I gently patted his shoulder. "Wait for me to come back." Then I quietly slipped downstairs to make a cup of hot milk and brought it back upstairs.

I handed the milk to him.

Thomas looked at me somewhat surprisingly. "What's wrong? I've just put your nieces and nephews to sleep, sir." I replied, half annoyed. "If you need someone to sing you to sleep or tell you stories, do you want that too? And I'm not a nanny."

But he still didn't let go of my hand. "I want to hear your story."

My story? It's long and grim, it will break your heart." I continued trying to pull my hand away.

"It's already broken."

Looking into his sincere blue eyes, I sighed in resignation. Those eyes seemed to have some kind of magic, making me lose the ability to refuse, so I recalled the first 15 years of my life that I had buried deep in my heart.

"Can you help me?"

In my drowsiness, I heard him speak.

"Familiar with what?" I tried to open my eyelids to look at him.

All these messed-up things, messed-up life, business... I found you, and you found me... We help each other." He held me a bit tighter, but I was too tired, and his warmth made me even more sleepy.

Oh, what's the matter, we can talk about it tomorrow... Tomorrow is a new day...

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Forever a Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas and you get married.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings:

protective! Thomas, cocky! Thomas if you squint, kissing, lap sitting,

Thomas Shelby stood at the altar, the weight of his suit jacket pressing down on his broad shoulders. The church was grand, decorated with white lilies and gold ribbons, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Birmingham that he knew so well.

Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floor. The pews were filled with both Shelbys and Changrettas, two families whose histories were steeped in blood and rivalry. Today, however, was meant to be a day of unity, a truce symbolized by the marriage of Thomas Shelby and the daughter of his fiercest enemy, Luca Changretta. Arthur stood beside him, a rare softness in his eyes as he glanced back at the congregation. He reached out, patting Thomas on the shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Nervous, Tommy?"

Thomas turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost be considered a smile. "No, Arthur," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Nervous ain't in my nature." His accent, thick and rich, rolled off his tongue, a constant reminder of his roots.

Polly Gray sat in the front row, her dark eyes fixed on her nephew. There was a mixture of pride and apprehension in her gaze, a silent prayer for the future. Beside her, Michael leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the gathering. Arthur's wife, Linda, looked on with a serene expression, her hand resting in her lap. John sat a few rows behind, bouncing his baby on his knee, his wife Esme smiling warmly at the scene. Ada, dressed in a striking blue dress, chatted animatedly with Finn, while Johnny Dogs and Isaiah exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes darting around the room. The tension in the air was palpable, a heady mix of anticipation and unease. Thomas felt it in his bones, the weight of expectations and the ghosts of the past pressing down on him. Marrying into the Changretta family was a strategic move, but it wasn’t a strategic move on his part, it was love. Yes, Thomas Shelby had fallen in love with a Changretta but the same could be said for her.

“Now, hush Arthur. She’ll be walking down that aisle any minute now,” Thomas murmured, his voice a low growl that carried an edge of authority. He straightened his posture, his gaze fixed on the ornate doors at the end of the aisle

Arthur looked at him again; “You sure you’re not nervous?” Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, waiting for his reaction. He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s for a moment before he replied.

“I said I’m not fucking nervous, Arthur,” he said, his voice low and steady, laced with a thick Birmingham accent that carried an edge of impatience. To emphasize his point, he kicked Arthur in the back of his left knee, causing his brother to stumble briefly. Thomas chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that broke the tension momentarily. He could always count on Arthur to lighten the mood, even if unintentionally.

The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse; who was he kidding? It was for better! As the doors opened fully, revealing her figure, Thomas felt a rush of emotions. She stood there, framed by the golden light that spilled in from the hallway, her silhouette ethereal and almost otherworldly. Her dress, a delicate creation of black lace and satin, hugged her form gracefully, the long train trailing behind her like a whisper. A veil covered her face, but even through the sheer fabric, Thomas could see the outline of her features, delicate and serene.

Her father, Luka Changretta, stood beside her, his expression a mask of pride and caution. The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent reminder of the bloody history that lay between their families. Thomas’s eyes never left her as she began her slow walk down the aisle. Each step she took seemed to echo in his mind, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. He could see the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clutched her bouquet of white roses a little too tightly. Despite the nerves, she moved with a grace and determination that he found both admirable and endearing.

Arthur leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper in Thomas’s ear. “She looks beautiful, Tommy.”

Thomas nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Aye, she does,” he replied, his voice softer now, filled with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. In that moment, he felt a connection to her that went beyond their shared history, beyond the political and familial implications of their marriage. It was something deeper, a bond that he hoped would grow stronger with time. The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse. But it was never worse, it saw always for better. As she reached the front of the aisle, Luka placed her hand in Thomas’s, a gesture heavy with significance. Their eyes met, while under the veil; a silent understanding passing between them, He lifted the delicate veil that covered her face, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding. This was not just a marriage of convenience or strategy; it was a commitment to each other, to the future they would build together.

Jeremiah stood before them, the priest's presence both comforting and solemn. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chapel, echoing off the ancient walls. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony Thomas Michael Shelby and _______ LaPaglia Changretta." His words carried the weight of history and expectation, binding not just two people, but two families with a fraught past.

Thomas's eyes flickered to the woman beside him. _______ LaPaglia Changretta. She was beautiful, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, her eyes a deep, enigmatic brown. Her dress was elegant, simple yet stunning, the black fabric contrasting sharply with her olive skin. She stood with a quiet grace, her expression serene, yet there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and determination.

Jeremiah's voice cut through the silence. "Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take _______ LaPaglia Changretta to be your lawful wedded wife?" Thomas felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Every decision, every move he made was calculated, and this was no different. "I do," he said, his voice steady, firm. It was a commitment not just to her, but to the path he had chosen, the alliances he was forging.

He turned to her. "Do you, _______ LaPaglia Changretta, solemnly swear to love, honor, and obey till death do you part?" Her response was immediate, her voice clear and unwavering. "I do." There was a finality in those words, a binding promise that echoed through the chapel, sealing their fates together.

Jeremiah's proclamation was met with a collective breath, as if the entire room had been holding it in anticipation. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The words hung in the air, a declaration that felt both momentous and surreal. Thomas turned to his new wife, his expression unreadable. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that sealed their union. It was a kiss that spoke of duty and obligation, but beneath it all, there was a spark, a glimmer of something more. As they turned to face their families, the applause was polite, restrained. This was no ordinary wedding, and the people gathered here understood the gravity of the situation. Arthur left the alter and walk to the pew to join his family. Their expression a mix of approval and caution. Polly Gray, ever the matriarch, watched with a keen eye, her sharp mind assessing every nuance, every subtle shift in the room.

The Changrettas were less expressive, their faces a mask of formality. Luca Changretta's presence was a dark cloud, a reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to achieve. His eyes bore into Thomas, a silent challenge that promised future confrontation. Thomas took her hand as they walked down the aisle, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. Every step was a reminder of the path he had chosen, he wouldn’t ever regret it; the future he was forging. The guests rose as they passed, their eyes following the couple, whispers of speculation and curiosity filling the air. This was a union that would be talked about for years to come, a merging of two powerful families with a history of bloodshed and betrayal.

Outside the chapel, the sun shone brightly, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere within. The reception awaited, a lavish affair that promised to be both a celebration and a test of the new alliance. As they stepped into the sunlight, Thomas felt the warmth on his face, a brief respite from the shadows that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He glanced at her, her smile a beacon of hope in the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"Welcome to the family," Thomas said, his voice low, the Birmingham accent thick and unmistakable.

The kitchen was a stark contrast to the rest of Arrow House, filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and the earthy scent of the wood burning in the hearth. Thomas stood at the head of the room, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, ensuring he had the attention of every man present. The weight of the day was palpable; this was his wedding day, a day that marked a significant turning point in his life and the Shelby family. His dark suit was meticulously tailored, each stitch a testament to his attention to detail, and his peaked cap sat jauntily on his head, casting a shadow over his face that made his intense expression even more formidable.

"Right, boys, you're all here," he began, his voice carrying the authoritative edge that had come to define him. The men around the kitchen, his brothers Arthur, John, and Finn, along with Michael and a few trusted others, like Charlie and Johnny Dogs turned their attention to him. Each face was a study in respect and a touch of fear, for they knew Thomas was not a man to be crossed, especially not today.

"Today, this is my fucking wedding day," Thomas continued, his tone brooking no argument. His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken understanding that this day was sacred, not just for him, but for the entire Shelby clan. It was a rare occasion of vulnerability, where the hard-edged leader allowed a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.

John, ever the irreverent one, couldn't help but interject. "Yeah, and you said there'd be no bloody uniforms," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and humor. The tension in the room crackled for a moment, a testament to the volatile nature of their relationships. Thomas fixed John with a steely gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nevertheless... Nevertheless, John..." he began, his voice a low growl that seemed to reverberate off the walls. He took a step closer, his presence dominating the room. "Despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." His words were a command, not a request, and the message was clear: today was about unity, not division.

His gaze swept around the circle, making eye contact with each man, ensuring they understood the gravity of his words. "Now for my wife's sake, nothing will go wrong," he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. His love for his bride was a rare softness in his otherwise hardened demeanor, and he was determined to protect her from the chaos that often surrounded the Shelbys. Thomas pointed outside the kitchen, towards the bustling preparations for the wedding. "Those bastards out there are her family," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. He had little patience for those who might threaten the harmony of his wedding day, and he would go to great lengths to ensure everything went smoothly.

His hand traveled around the circle, pointing at each man in turn as he spoke. "And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything..." His voice trailed off as he fixed his gaze on Arthur, the eldest and most unpredictable of the brothers. There was a pause, a moment where the weight of his words seemed to settle over the room like a heavy fog.

Isaiah, leaning casually against the counter, broke the uneasy silence. "Tom..?" Thomas's gaze snapped to Isaiah, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. "To... WHAT!?" he barked, his voice low but commanding.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What about snow," he ventured, his tone cautious. John eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Yeah, their women are sports, I’ll say that.."

"No. No. No." Thomas cut him off sharply, striding towards Isaiah with purpose. He stopped inches from his face, his breath hot and laced with the smell of tobacco. "No cocaine," he said, jabbing a finger towards Isaiah's face for emphasis. "No cocaine."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as Thomas turned his attention to John, who stood to Isaiah's right. "No sport," Thomas said, waving his hand dismissively. "No telling fortunes."

He began to pace, the soles of his polished shoes tapping rhythmically against the tiled floor. Each step seemed to echo with unspoken threats, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. He approached Arthur, his oldest and most volatile brother, stopping just short of him. "No racing," Thomas ordered, his voice a low growl. Arthur met his gaze with a slight nod, the fire in his eyes dimmed by his brother's authority. Breaking from the circle, Thomas crossed to Finn, the youngest of the Shelby brothers. Grabbing Finn's face with his left hand, he forced him to look into his eyes. "No fucking sucking petrol," he snarled, his grip tightening. He delivered a light slap to Finn's cheek, a reminder of the discipline he expected. "Out of their fucking cars."

Satisfied, Thomas released Finn and turned to Charlie, who had been lingering on the edge of the group. "And, you, Charlie," he said, his voice softer but no less intense. "Stop spinning yards about me, eh?" Charlie, taken aback, spoke up as Thomas turned his back. "I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," he defended.

Thomas took a deep drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a rare sign of the stress he carried. Returning to the center of the circle, he spun slowly, addressing them all. "But the main thing is, you bunch of fuckers," he began, his voice rising with intensity. "Despite the provocation from her family, no fighting."

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Isaiah. The room seemed to hold its breath as Thomas slowly made his way toward him, the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor punctuating the silence. As he reached Isaiah, Thomas lifted his chin with a firm but controlled hand, forcing Isaiah to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, yet there was a flicker of something deeper—an unspoken understanding, perhaps. “Oi,” Thomas began, his voice a low growl that resonated with authority. He pointed a finger at Isaiah, his expression unwavering. “No fighting.”

With a swift, deliberate movement, Thomas shifted to his right, positioning himself in front of John. He didn’t waste a moment, his finger darting out to point at John with the same intensity. “No fucking fighting,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. John's smirk faltered under Thomas's glare, replaced by a nod of compliance.

Thomas moved again, this time to Arthur. Their eyes met, and an unspoken tension filled the air. Arthur, ever the wild card, was the one Thomas needed to keep in check the most. Pointing at his older brother, Thomas's voice was a commandment. “No fighting.” Arthur, his usual bravado momentarily subdued, nodded with a grunt, understanding the gravity of the order. Next, Thomas’s eyes fell on Michael, who was leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air. Without a word, Thomas pointed at him. Michael straightened up, his casual demeanor replaced by a look of acknowledgement. The silent exchange spoke volumes—Michael knew exactly what was expected of him.

Finally, Thomas turned towards Finn’s direction, his youngest brother, “No,” he said, his voice slicing through the tension. He then swung his gaze back to Arthur’s direction. “Fucking.” And finally, his eyes landed on Charlie's direction. “Fighting.”

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Thomas’s words hanging heavily in the air. Each man understood the simplicity of the command. In this room, defying Thomas Shelby was not an option. Thomas took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light, and exhaled a plume of smoke. He walked towards his coat, which was draped over a chair between Michael and Arthur. “Good,” he muttered, his satisfaction evident in the single word. With his back turned slightly, Thomas didn’t see the butler approaching. The man, new to the household and unfamiliar with the Shelby way, hesitated for a moment too long. The collision was inevitable. The impact was sudden, and Thomas spun around, his face a mask of fury. “Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, shoving the butler to the ground. The bottle of wine the butler had been holding shattered on the floor, red liquid spreading like blood across the wood.

Arthur, ever the enforcer, hurled his glass at the butler, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. The butler scrambled to his feet, fear written all over his face as he hurried out of the kitchen, leaving behind a mess of broken glass and spilled wine. Thomas exhaled one last plume of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He adjusted his coat, smoothing out the fabric as he straightened up. “Right,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Let’s get this done.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, his family and comrades falling into step behind him. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway as they made their way towards the main event. Thomas’s mind was already racing ahead, planning, strategizing, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. But the words he had spoken in the kitchen lingered in the air, a solemn vow that no matter what happened, there would be no fighting. Not today.

As Thomas Shelby sat at the head of the table during his wedding dinner, the room was alive with the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. He raised the crystal glass to his lips, savoring the last drops of whiskey that burned pleasantly down his throat. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes swept across the room, taking in the faces of his family and the guests. His gaze lingered for a moment on his wife her beauty striking even in the dim candlelight. She was radiant, her smile lighting up the room. But as his eyes drifted to her father, he noticed the man's steely gaze fixed upon him. Thomas arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You look absolutely stunning today, luv," Thomas remarked, his voice low and tinged with admiration. "Hard to keep me eyes off of you." He reached out to gently squeeze her hand, a small, affectionate gesture amidst the formality of the occasion.

"I can say the same for you, Mr. Shelby," she replied, her smile radiant as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Thomas smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened his features. His attention then shifted to her father, a man of stature and presence, seated a bit farther down to her. "Well, you're not the only one whose eyes are on me, eh?" he quipped, a hint of playful charm in his voice.

"Luv," he murmured, leaning towards his wife, "would you mind telling your father to stop staring me down, eh?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of challenge in his eyes.

His bride glanced nervously at her father, then back at Thomas. "Tommy, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension, "but that's just how he is."

Thomas nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I see," he replied, his voice low and measured. He leaned back in his chair, his mind working quickly. He was used to dealing with difficult situations, but this was his wedding day, a day that should have been free of such tensions.

There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt in Thomas's eyes as he considered the weight of his actions. But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he knew that this was where he belonged. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent declaration of his love and commitment. The room erupted into applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the walls as Thomas and Luka's families celebrated their union.

Hours had slipped by like fleeting ghosts since Thomas had exchanged vows, and now, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, he sat with his new wife perched gently on his lap. The flickering light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow, accentuating the soft features of her face and the delicate curves of her figure. He gazed at her, his eyes tracing every line, every contour, as if committing her beauty to memory.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, Mrs. Shelby," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rasp that betrayed a hint of awe. His hands, calloused yet gentle, cradled her waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric of her dress. The weight of her presence on his lap was a comfort, grounding him in the reality of this new chapter of his life.

"I like when you call me Mrs. Shelby," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. Her words were like a balm to his weary soul, a reminder of the new life they were beginning together.

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a moment of peace amidst the chaos that always seemed to follow him.

"I like it too," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "It suits you, Mrs. Shelby."

"You're fuckin' perfect for me... y'know that?" Thomas's voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with sincerity. His hand reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. There was a gentleness in his touch, a rare vulnerability that he showed only to her.

Their lips met in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of their love and commitment to each other. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a shared connection that transcended words. Her hands roamed freely, exploring his body with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights spent together. Thomas pulled her closer, his other hand wrapping around her waist, holding her as if afraid she might slip away. Their kiss deepened, a silent communication of their love and desire for each other. It was a dance they knew well, a rhythm that was uniquely theirs. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss even further. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was now a tousled mess, a testament to the passion between them. She loved the way his hair felt between her fingers, the way it seemed to have a life of its own.

They broke the kiss, but remained intertwined, her head resting against his chest, his chin on her shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day's events slowly settling on their shoulders. The gravity of their new union was not lost on Thomas; he knew the responsibilities that came with it, the need to protect and provide for his new family. His mind drifted to the future, a future now entwined with hers. He thought of the challenges they would face, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world. But he also thought of the moments of joy, the simple pleasures they would share.

Author’s Notes:

Y’all, I fucking love this oneshot..it’s so cute I finally did my own rendition of the wedding scene..ahhhhhhhh I feel like I got it just right y’all..ahh it’s fucking cute!!!

Deadass I should have written smut but nah, I don’t feel like it

[darkacademiablues]

Cillian Murphy & Margot Robbie for Variety’s Actors on Actors.

Blur - Girls & Boys edit. Thoughts?

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(1)

A Leap of Faith

Robert Fischer x Cobbs Daughter!reader

a/n - this is going to be multiple parts as I thought that would be preferable to a 20k fic. So let me know what you think! Also should I make a taglist for this???? (it's my first time doing a multi-chapter so I don't really know :)

description - y/n, the daughter of the thief Dominic Cobb and the late Mal Cobb, joined her father on the run. Knowing her fathers innocence, she couldn't bear to be without him, so she gave up on her architecture degree and followed him into the world of dreams. They do jobs together and, even though Cobb worries about the amount of danger he's putting her in he'd rather her be with him in the dreams rather than on the outside with his name like a brand. In the latest job they are given, Cobb finds peace and Y/n finds her one true love.

*reader is 20*

warnings - angst, dream infiltrating, incepting an idea into someones mind (which comes with it's own ethical qualms), mentions of death, creepy men.

word count - 1.2k

a/n - watched Oppenheimer so yeah...Cillian Murphy.

Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

Some thought I was stupid. Following my father into a life of crime. Every day my life was threatened and every day I felt unsafe in my skin. But I couldn’t let my father go. I knew mom hadn’t been well since they woke from their dream.

Dad had told me they’d been stuck for 50 years and I suddenly realised how muddled my mom had become. So I knew there was no way he’d killed her that night. She’d wanted to wake up and she wanted him to come with her.

So I followed my dad because I’d rather be a criminal than be without him. Some thought my father was stupid for letting me follow. But truth was, he wanted me with him as well. We couldn’t see James and Philippa so we settled for the family we had left. Us two.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The clock’s hands on my watch reached 30. I hurriedly placed the headphones onto Nash’s head and began the music.

Arthur woke up first as the sedative wore off. He told me that Saito had figured it out and we needed to disappear. I helped him with the others. Seconds later Nash and dad woke up in succession.

“How did you mess up the carpet?”

“I didn’t know he was going to rub his face on it.” I rolled my eyes at his incompetency.

“You always have to expect them to do the unexpected!” I voiced my concerns.

“Oh yeah how about you go down there with us instead of judging from up here!”

“I’ve been in dreams longer than you’ve been alive my friend.” I smirked at him but felt him sidle up to my ear and whisper. “I’d have you on the carpet.” He was roughly shoved back by Arthur. In the years of him working with my dad, Arthur had practically become my protector and he looked out for me at every turn.  He glared at Nash in warning and jerked his head towards where my dad was packing up. Arthur could handle him on his own but he relished in the fear that spread across his eyes.

I helped my dad pack up the case and took the hand he offered me as he led me down the bullet train.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I joined dad in his hotel room with Arthur and we prepared to leave. We only stayed in the same room in very dire circumstances as dad believed I was safer far from him. Or because he felt safer alone.

When I entered, I noticed the spinning top.

Mom.

Dad followed my eyes and then looked down ashamed. I knew what he was doing. He was hanging on the balance of dream and reality, convincing himself that mom was wrong.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We three came to the rooftop, ready to fly away from this mess. But the closer we got, we noticed Nash slumped, bloody and bruised. Suddenly Saito appeared from the other side.

“He sold you out, in exchange for my sparing of his life.” Of course, it would be him! I tried to appear angry but I felt nothing. Our lives would be over soon.

Saito offered my father a gun but he declined saying that he doesn’t handle things that way. As Nash was dragged out of the helicopter we were invited to take our seats. I followed nervously.

“What will you do with him?”

“Nothing, but I can’t speak for Cobal engineering.” Ice ran down my spine, understanding the fate we narrowly avoided. Dad grasped my shaking hands.

“What do you want from us?”

“Inception. Is it possible?” Dad tensed and tightened his grip on my hands.

“Of course not!” Arthur answered.

“If you can steal an idea from someone’s mind, why can’t you plant one instead.”

“Okay, here’s me planting an idea in your mind. I say, ‘don’t think about elephants’, what do you think about?”

“Elephants.”

“Right but it wasn’t your idea. Because you know I gave it to you.”

I jumped in to assist. “The subjects mind can always trace the genesis of the idea, true inspiration is impossible to fake.”

My dad softly whispered beside me, and I managed to make out his disagreement with mine and Arthur’s points.

“Can you do it?” Saito smirked.

“Are you offering me a choice? Cause I can find my own way to square things with Cobal.”

“Then you have a choice.”

“Then I choose to leave, sir.”

“You want to take that risk? You want her to take that risk?” His piercing eyes lifted to mine and I felt my dad’s palms sweat at the thought of me in danger. He knew Cobal engineering would not even spare his daughter.

We landed outside of a private jet and I jumped out first ready to leave. I was enchanted by the scale of the jet but my happiness was short lived when I remembered who I was and what was going to happen, once again. Arthur and Dad joined my stride but we were halted by Saito’s voice. A final plea.

“How would you like to go home.” No. How dare he taunt us like that. There was nothing I wanted more than to go home with my dad and he chooses to dangle that freedom in front of us like a donkey with a carrot!

“Can’t fix that! No one can!”

“Just like Inception.” I don’t know if it was the sincerity in his voice but I chose to shuck off Arthur’s hand on my arm and walk back towards the helicopter.

“You’re serious. Aren’t you? Well how complex is the idea.”

"y/n what are you doing?"

“Simple enough.”

I scoffed. “No idea is simple enough if you have to plant it in someone’s mind.”

“My main competitor is an old man in poor health. His son will soon inherit his father’s business. I need him to decide to break up his father’s empire.” A business deal. Did I expect anything less. At least we could remove emotions from it. Simple and transactional.

My father joined the discussion. “If I did this-If I even could do this.” He grabbed my hand. “We’d need a guarantee. How do I know you can deliver?”

“You don’t! But I can. So, do you want to take a leap of faith?”

I shivered hearing my mother’s words pour out of this man’s mouth.

“Or become an old man, filled with regret?”

Dad lowered his head into a gentle nod.

“Assemble your team Mr Cobb, and choose your people more wisely.” The helicopter doors closed and up it went. In a daze I followed them onto the jet and sat down, silent.

“Look, I know how much you two want to go home--”

“No. Arthur, you don’t.” The first words I’d said in over an hour. I punctuated them by standing up and locking myself in the bathroom. Dad’s fingers brushed mine as I left in a brazen attempt to stop me.

As I sat there I thought back on my life, specifically the before. Pictures and films of our happy family danced through my head and I cried. I cried for the first time since we’d left that day. Since I’d hugged my baby siblings goodbye and promised them I’d be back soon. I cried thinking there might be a way. This was our chance.

I splashed water on my face and made my way back out with a fresh smile. I rested my arm on my dad’s shoulder.

“we’re doing this.” I announced. “I know, sweetie.”

I relaxed back into my seat, assured in our choice but nervous of the outcome. “So, where to now.”

“Paris. We need another architect.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage

[shelbystales]

Ceramic Lessons - Part one

Cillian Murphy X Reader - Masterlist

Summary: after much insistence from his sister, Cillian attends a ceramics class with her. To his surprise, he feels a connection to the teacher, you. Will this connection go any further or will it be smashed like a bad ceramic project?

Warning: nothing so far, this is a slow chapter.

A/N: this is my first time writing for Cillian, so a small reminder that this has nothing to do with his real life. I’m not sure where this is goin or if it is going anywhere but here it is. I`ve been going to some ceramic classes myself and let me tell you… it`s sexy as fuuuck.

English is my second language, so I apologize in advance for any grammar mistake

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Cillian never imagined himself stepping into a ceramic studio on a Saturday morning. He was convinced to attend after much insistence from his sister Sile, and it was weariness that eventually persuaded him.

She had been attending the same class for a few months, and according to her, it was the best thing one could ever imagine. The connection with ceramics and the meditative state during the class provided her with some peace that no therapy ever could.

Cillian had gone through a divorce six months ago, leaving him emotionally strained. His siblings, Orla, Sile, and Páide, had been trying to help him cope, as it was a complicated divorce. However, he found solace in focusing on his work and being there for his son, which led him to isolate himself a bit. His siblings have been trying to get him out of that isolation, something that he admired (because it showed they cared) but never asked for.

Almost every Saturday, Cillian and his brother used to play poker, an activity he despised, but was forced to attend by his brother. Spending hours staring at cards and poker-faced men was far from his idea of fun. So, when his sister Sile kept praising the ceramics class, it began to seem not such a bad idea.

The studio was located in a serene corner of the city, surrounded by greenery, and the entrance door was a soft baby pink, contrasting with the white walls. It had no name calling you in, if you passed in front of it, you would never know it was a pottery class studio.

"Ready for the best experience of your life?" Sile asked excitedly as they walked towards the door.

Cillian smiled and replied, "Let's see."

The pink door swung open, revealing a spacious area with a wall adorned with glass doors that led to a small garden filled with large plants and some garden benches and tables. The rectangular space wasn't too wide or too deep, just the perfect size. It felt homy and welcoming.

An incense burned, filling the air with the scent of citronella, a fragrance Cillian wasn't sure he liked yet.

The studio's floor was made of burnished concrete, and the white walls were adorned with numerous shelves overflowing with various ceramic works.

In one corner of the room, Cillian spotted some equipment he recognized as a pottery wheel after watching a video of his sister creating a small vase. In another corner, workbenches were filled with an assortment of tools.

Cillian found himself standing in admiration for a minute, taking in the surroundings. Everything appeared chaotic yet perfectly organized at the same time.

On the veranda, around the tables and chairs, there were women chatting. Other women were scattered throughout the space, and a man was cutting and weighing the clay.

"Come on, let me introduce you," Sile said, pulling her brother's arm, and he went along with it.

The women greeted him and tried to hide their whispers and smiles, but someone who has been in the spotlight for many years could pick up on those nuances. He took a deep breath and decided to ignore the attention while answering a question from one of the women about his latest film.

After, another question followed and then another… Cillian wanted to escape from that place. He looked at his sister, who gave him an apologetic look and tried to change the subject, but it wasn't necessary.

"Alright, shall we?" a sweet and gentle voice interrupted, capturing the women's attention as they began to stand up. Saving Cillian from that interrogation.

Looking back, Cillian saw the woman whose voice it was. You, with your hair tied in a completely messy bun, wore loose, worn-out denim overalls with straps, and they were completely stained, which he assumed was clay. Under the overalls, you had a simple black workout top, and you were pulling pottery wheels to form a semicircle in the center of the room.

You seemed like a reflection of the studio—messy yet perfectly presented.

"This is our teacher," Sile whispered. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Cillian tore his eyes away from you and frowned at his sister, questioning her true intentions for bringing him here. It wouldn't be the first time Sile tried to set him up with someone.

"Come, let me introduce you," she said, pulling him by the arm again. This time, Cillian hesitated at first but allowed himself to be led by his sister.

"Y/n, this is my brother, Cillian," Sile introduced as they reached you.

With a gentle smile, you greeted him with a nod. Sile has been telling you for ages that she’s trying to convince Cillian to attend one of your classes. "Hi, Sile talks about you a lot. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Well, welcome to my class."

"The pleasure is mine," he replied, smiling. "Sile says this class is the best thing in her life right now, so I had to come and see for myself."

"Really? That's good to hear, Sile” you said genuinely happy “Oh, I guess we better protect your clothes from stains. Sile, please go to the kiln room and get an apron for your brother so he won't get his clothes dirty," you said, and Sile nodded leaving you both.

Looking around, Cillian noticed all the women putting on aprons and getting ready.

"Have you worked with clay before?" you asked him, and he shook his head.

“No, i haven’t" he answered

“Hm, I hope you enjoy it. Oh, don't get frustrated if you can't make anything you like today," you smiled "It's harder than it looks, but I’ll help you through it" you chuckled and turned your back, walking over to the man who was cutting the clay.

The man's name is Loui and he uses your studio to produce his art. As he is still a small artist, he doesn't have much financial return, so his way to pay you for the space is by helping you during the classes. He’s also quite a good friend and confidant .

As you talked to Lou, Sile returned with a black apron and handed it to Cillian.

"There was a hot pink one inside, almost took it, but felt sorry for you," she laughed.

"Good sign of character," he joked, putting on the apron.

"Come and get your clay," you said, handing a piece of clay to each person. "Today, we'll work with 300 grams. You can make plates, vases, or jars. So big pieces today guys" you explained to everyone

"Can we split and make two things?" one of the women who bombarded Cillian with questions earlier asked.

"No, Helena. We'll work with the whole piece of clay, stepping out of our comfort zone," you replied, and she nodded, a bit frustrated.

After everyone got their clay, they moved to the workbench, now covered with marble slabs, and began kneading the clay as if they were kneading bread dough.

You turned on your sound box and put on some nice lo-fi music before going to Cillian and explaining to him this step.

"This step is the most important," you said, standing next to him, who observed everything a bit lost. "We knead the clay to remove air bubbles and make it smoother. If there are bubbles, the piece might crack during firing. Let me show you how it's done." You took the ball of clay gently from his hand and guided him to the counter. "To avoid back pain, it's good to put your supporting foot forward and use your whole body to move." You began explaining and kneading the clay. "You make the movement with the palm of your hand pushing, and pulling with your fingers. It will form something like a cow's face." You made two holes in the indents of your palm and two on the side that wasn't kneaded. "See?" You asked with a smile, and he nodded, seeing that it indeed resembled a cow's face. "Now, your turn. Do it for about five minutes and you should be good" you left the clay on the table for him and watched him make his first move.

As usual, for someone who had never done it before, Cillian's movements were a bit off.

So, for him to feel the right movement with his wrists, you approached and pressed your hand on top of his.

"Let's go, without fear. You can press the clay harder. Don’t need to be gentle," you instructed.

Cillian was afraid to admit it, the moment your hands touched his, he felt himself blush. The choice of words were also a bit ambiguous, making him blush more.

With some instructions, you corrected him, and by the end of the five minutes, he was doing the movement almost perfectly.

"With practice, you'll get the hang of it," you said with a smile. "But now, it's good. Choose a pottery wheel and have a seat. I’ll be right with you."

Cillian followed your instructions and chose a pottery wheel to start his work.

“Liking so far?” Sile asked, sitting next to him.

“Better than poker” he answered making Sile smile “a little of an arm workout as well” Sile chuckled

“Yeah, where do you thinking I’ve been gaining all these muscles” she flexed her arms, showing off her biceps

“You are adorable,” Cillian said with a smile, not impressed by her biceps.

You finished helping one of the students set their clay on the wheel and went to give Cillian some attention.

You had to admit that having him in your studio was a bit weird. Yes, Sile has been telling you for ages that she would convince him to come, but to actually have him here, it’s weird.

I mean, he is Tommy fucking Shelby and now fucking Oppenheimer. Why the hell is he here in your tiny and messy studio? It was almost as if you felt intimidated by his presence.

Just treat him like any other student, you told yourself as you walked towards him.

As you approached him, he felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. Making his heart beat a little faster, a feeling that he weirdly enjoyed.

"So, what do you intend to make?" you asked, curious, while adjusting the wheel's position in front of him.

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe a vase," he replied, looking at the lump of clay in front of him.

"Going with the classic. Great choice. Alright girls, and Cillian” you chuckled as you were now, talking to everyone “now let's start rolling. Anyone needs anything, I'm here.” You turned to Cillian and sat in front of him on a tiny wooden bench. “You need some more attention. I’ll guide you step by step. Let's begin. First, wet your hands to prevent the clay from sticking," you suggested, showing him how to do it. "Now, place the clay in the center of the wheel and press lightly with your hands to secure it. Press the pedal, you will see it will start spinning. Adjust the speed on your feet as you feel more comfortable with it"

Cillian followed your guidance carefully, feeling the cool texture of the clay between his fingers. Slowly, he started shaping it, giving form to what would be the beginning of a vase.

"That's right, mold it slowly, feel the clay, and let it guide your hands," you encouraged him. “Now here, different from before, you have to be gentle, the clay won’t suport much pressure. Just feel it.” You explained to him.

Cillian followed your instructions, but it was indeed more challenging than he expected. Once he seemed to be doing good, you stepped away from his side, letting him explore the clay on his own.

The clay didn't quite follow Cillian's hand movements, and just when he thought he was getting the hang of it, the clay would break or warp in a way he didn't intend.

"Having a hard time there?" Sile asked, laughing, after Cillian gave a frustrated slap to the clay, trying to reshape it in the pottery wheel.

"I think I wasn't born for this, Sil" Cillian grumbled.

"Patience, bro," Sile said with a smile. "Ask y/n for help. She can assist you."

You were helping another student mold a large bowl, the biggest piece in the room. You applied pressure to the student's hand, which in turn shaped the clay.

The atmosphere in the room shifted between moments of conversation and laughter to moments of absolute silence, where everyone was fully focused on their work. This current moment was one of silence, and you were completely dedicated to assisting the student, appearing almost in tune with her.

Cillian thought about calling you over, but he preferred to keep observing you work.

Your face radiated with a large smile, even though it was now speckled with clay. You looked in your natural habitat, completely confident, happy. You looked like a genuinely happy person to him.

"I'm going to leave you now," you said to the student.

"No, I'm going to ruin everything!" She said, laughing. "Please, help me finish."

"What!? No way. You need to finish it on your own; you can do it," you chuckled.

"What if I mess everything up?" She asked, feeling insecure.

"Then you make another one," you replied. "Remember, with clay, you can always start over," you winked at her and gently removed your hands from the piece in front of you.

Walking around the room, you assisted another student before going over to Cillian, who was struggling to mold a not-so-promising sphere.

"Having difficulties?" You asked, sitting in front of him again.

His extremely blue eyes met yours, and for a second, you felt a flutter in your stomach that took your breath away. Little did you know that he felt the same.

"Yeah, I can't seem to get the clay to obey me," he replied after clearing his throat.

"Okay, do what you were doing. Let me see what we can improve," you said, and he nodded. He began to apply pressure to the clay, shaping it into a vertical cone.

He continued working on it as you observed his moves, analyzing his technique.

“Ok, i know I told you to be gentle, but try applying more pressure to your fingers, you have to maintain a steady motion, your fingers here are weak, they’re not doing much work” you advised, your voice calm and encouraging “here, excuse me. Let me show you” you place your hands over his, providing a subtle help. “Feel the clay respond to your touch, almost as if it’s guiding you, but at the same time you have to guide it, so no weak fingers” you smiled

Cillian couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. There was something about you that just made his blood rush faster through his veins.

It wasn't just the touch itself, but the way you looked at him with those warm and encouraging eyes that sent shivers down his spine.

In that moment, the sensation of your hand on his felt intimate. almost as sexual tension grew between the both of you. He assumed this feeling might have been a projection of his own desires, a reflection of the void left by his recent divorce. But he couldn't deny the way his heart skipped a beat when your hand touched his.

The way his eyes intensely locked onto yours, and the subtle lingering touches exchanged during the process, sent shivers through your body as well.

You tried to focus on the task at hand, helping him shape the clay, but your heart raced with every brush of your fingers against his.

This had never happened before in your classes, and you'd had many male students before.

You tried to push those feelings aside, reminding yourself to be professional, but you found yourself drawn to him in a way that surprised and excited you.

With your guidance the clay finally started to get a nice vase shape and you broke contact with him completely. After breathing deeply you smiled

“I think you’ve got it now” you said and he cleared his throat and nodded

“Yea, thank you” he answered almost in a whisper

You stood and went to the kiln room, to get a glass of water.

You felt like you needed a break after an intense moment like that and wondered if he felt the same, or if it was your simple desire for that hot Hollywood star.

"So, did you like it?" Sile asked her brother after the class ended.

She was placing her vase on the shelf. She had done a much better job than him, her vase was almost perfect. Each student had a designated space on the shelf where their sculptures were left to dry.

"I liked it," he replied, taking off the apron.

"Are you coming back next week?" She asked, with excitement in her eyes, happy at the idea of having her brother with her during the classes.

"I think so," he answered, his gaze fixed on you as you praised one of the students for their work.

Sile did a little dance of joy. "We need to ask y/n to make some space for you on the shelves," she said excitedly and went to talk to you.

After Sile told you that her brother would continue with the classes, you looked at him, smiled and approached.

"I'm glad to know you liked it," you said. "The vase turned out well."

"It was a good challenge... and the vase is mediocre. Leaning to one side and squashed on the other," he laughed.

"It's great for a first project, Cillian," you smiled. "Let me make some space around here," you said, and began to rearrange the shelves.

Upon closer inspection, Cillian noticed that each shelf had a name written on it. Judging by the number of shelves, it seemed like you had many students.

You took the vase from him and showed him where his shelve would be.

“I must say i’m happy to hear we will meet again next week” you told him and he smiled

“So am I” he told you, with his piercing blue eyes locked on yoursl, once again making your body go through weird waves of excitement.

Shit, is that his super power? you asked yourself.

You thanked everyone for their presence and you wished them a happy weekend as you went on helping Loui clean the studio for the next class.

[rooftopbeliver]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ SERIES: ‘dangerously yours’ cillian murphy x f!reader

summary: in which young beginner actress and scriptwriter wants to make a tv show in homage for her great-grandmother on the basis of broadcast from 1944 named ‘dangerously yours’ and she want cillian to play a main character.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ :* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ﾟ

・❥・cillian murphy x f! reader

┊ age gap ; fluff ; cillian is so babygirl here ; there will be quotes from ‘dangerously yours’ (1944) ; i love it

. . .

1. prologue

2. masquerade

. . .

note: so yeah i give you guys a series from me. i’m so excited for this, at first it was imagine but it just too good idea. i love this broadcast and cillian is perfect for this kind of vibe. i hope that you guys will love it too! the first chapter will appear soon.

. . .

[firemenenthusiast]

neil lewis is so cute such little pretty pathetic pinky twirly princess baby girl who looks like he’s on the verge of crying and he actually might anytime at the slightest inconvenience

[willsdreamgirl]

HELLO PEOPLE IN MY PHONE 🎀

if you don’t know, i’m the author who wrote this tommy shelby x nurse!reader fanfic:

since a lot of you liked it, DO WE WANT A PART 2 TO THIS? (like an epilogue??) MAYBE ILL MAKE IT A SERIES???

let me know!! <3333