#Micheal Gray Fanfiction

[tjwritesfanfics]

Every Universe Masterlist 🌌

A collection of burbs where you fall in love with MGG in every universe.

This is just a way for me to appreciate MGG while I am watching every movie in his filmography.

Main Masterlist

Universe One *Criminal Minds*

You and Spencer are on your way home from a case dealing with multiple universes and you have a very important question to ask him.

"Do you think we are together in every universe?"

Universe Two *68 Kill*

Chip Taylor is done with women... Yeah right.

Universe Three *Zoe*

Micheal thought it was just the Benysol that made him love her, scared it would be more.

Universe Four *500 Days of Summer*

Paul has always loved you ever since day one (basically the reader is Robin in this universe.)

Universe Five *RV*

Joe Joe seems smitten with the girl in the RV next to his family’s, but really bad at talking to her.

Universe Six *Beginner's Luck*

You didn't think he noticed you, but turns out he did.

Universe Seven *Band of Robbers*

If Tom Sawyer's schemes don't kill Joe Harper, you just might.

Universe Eight *Life After Beth*

You really hated Kyle Orfman, but turns out he may not be so horrible.

Universe Nine *Suburban Gothic*

You are getting tired of your no rent paying roommate, Harold the ghost, so you seek the help of the supernatural investigator in town. You just didn't know it was your childhood crush.

Universe Ten *How to be a serial killer*

Bart is happy to find out the cute girl, who always rents 13 going on 30 every Friday, is into the same things he is.

Universe Eleven *Newness*

Being new parents isn’t easy, but there is no one else Paul would rather be doing it with.

Universe Twelve *King Knight*

Thorn’s upbringing was horrible, it felt like betrayal at first, but you weren’t going to let your leader face his demons alone. Your loyalty has him questioning everything around him.

Universe Thirteen *Hot Air*

Lesley is heartbroken. After watching Summer marry Bradley, he didn’t think he could love again. You proved him wrong.

Universe Fourteen *Rumple Buttercup*

You were so excited for the annual Pajama-jam Cotton Candy Pancake parade and more importantly, to work up the courage to talk to the creature with green skin, five crooked teeth, and the banana peel on his head.

This is a purely a friendship blurb only!

Universe Fifteen *Actors*

On an interview with Matthew, he reveals some important information about your relationship and characters.

(Banners by cafekitsune)

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Oooh! Absolutely love the older!reader story! It got me thinking, what about sugarmommy!reader?

On My Dime

(28) Cillian Murphy x (47) SugarMommy! Reader

Summary: Just a cute little fic!

Wordcount: 5.6k

Warnings: You’re 6’1 btw

tall! reader!, sugar mommy! reader, dom! reader?!, lovey dovey things from Cillian, passenger princess! Cillian, kissing, teasing, spoiling.

Cillian leaned back in the plush leather chair of the study, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the armrest. The walls, lined with an extensive collection of books, seemed to close in slightly, their spines whispering stories of past intellects. 

The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the room, creating an almost ethereal ambiance. His piercing blue eyes, framed by a hint of crow's feet, flicked towards the door every few seconds, listening for any sound that might indicate the end of her phone call. He could hear her laughter echoing through the grand hallway, her voice a melodic contrast to the serious tone he was trying to maintain for the interview. He shifted in his seat, the crisp fabric of his tailored dress shirt; that she had gotten made for him, began rustling softly. His mind, though focused on the questions posed by the interviewer on the computer but he couldn't help but wander back to her. She was an enigma to him – a powerful woman who exuded confidence and grace, her success evident in every facet of her life. The way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she handled her phone calls with a mix of charm and assertiveness, it all fascinated him.

"Cillian, can you tell us more about the women your dating?" the interviewer’s voice brought him back to the present.

Cillian cleared his throat, his Irish accent thickening as he began to speak. "Ah, well; she's very reserved and I rather not talk about her and I's relationship."

He glanced towards the door again, imagining her standing there, listening in, a playful smile on her lips. He could picture her perfectly – tall, statuesque, with a commanding presence that made even the grandest of rooms seem small. Her dark hair, always impeccably styled, and those striking eyes that held a wealth of secrets. He loved watching her work, the way she twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she spoke, a gesture that was both casual and intimate. Outside, she paced the length of the living room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The vast space of her home, with its modern decor and expansive views, served as the perfect backdrop for her high-powered conversations. She held her phone close to her ear, her tone a mix of frustration and amusement.

"And he can't be mad at me – I told him to pull his money out of the market and he didn't, so it's not my fault. But he's saying it is because I didn't personally do it myself," she said, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation.

Her friend on the other end of the line must have said something funny because she let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Don't make me laugh, Cillian's in an interview in the study," she added, her tone affectionate when she mentioned him. Back in the study, Cillian's lips curved into a small smile. He loved hearing her laugh, a sound that always managed to brighten his day. The interviewer, oblivious to the source of his distraction, continued with another question, but Cillian's mind was still half-focused on her. This one, though, was particularly grating. The interviewer, a persistent man with a grating voice, had a penchant for prying into his personal life. Cillian’s patience was wearing thin, the desire to end the conversation gnawing at him.

"But the people want to know about her, come on just-"

Cillian's sigh was heavy, laden with irritation. "I've said no," he interrupted, his tone firm and unyielding. "She doesn't like being in the public eye. Let her be." His voice carried a subtle threat, a warning that this line of questioning was unwelcome and would not be entertained further. The interviewer, sensing the unspoken menace in Cillian's voice, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Any other questions about my projects? About me, anything at all?" Cillian's gaze was intense, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the interviewer's through the computer screen, as if daring him to cross the line again.

The interviewer, cowed by the actor's palpable displeasure, quickly wrapped up the session. "No, that will be all. I appreciate you talking with me today." The screen went dark, and Cillian let out a long, relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair. The silence of the room was a welcome reprieve from the barrage of intrusive questions. He glanced toward the living room, where she was pacing in her heels, the sound of her steps a rhythmic click against the marble floor. She was on the phone, her voice carrying a note of exasperation as she spoke to a friend. "He's just a large cunt, a large one..." She felt Cillian staring at her, her body whipped around and her eyes met Cillian's, and she raised her hand in a questioning gesture, her eyebrows arched in curiosity.

Cillian waved her over, signaling that he was finally free from the interview's clutches. She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. "Well, I've got to let you go. Cillian needs to talk with me... Call you back--okay--bye bye." She ended the call, her voice trailing off as she made her way to the study. The sound of her heels against the marble floor was almost hypnotic, each step deliberate and measured, the click-clack echoing through the quiet house. Her presence was magnetic, drawing his eyes to her every movement. She stopped in front of him, her smile widening as she took in the sight of him slouched in the chair, the tension of the interview still lingering in his posture. She was a striking figure, her tall frame accentuated by the fitted black suit she wore, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was perfectly styled, cascading down her shoulders in soft waves, and her makeup was impeccable, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and full lips. There was an air of confidence about her, a commanding presence that filled the room.

As she stood before him, her hand extended, and he took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth and strength in her grip. As she pulled him to his feet and into her embrace, he sank into her, letting the comfort of her body envelop him. She was a full head taller than him, her frame imposing yet gentle as she held him close. Her hand moved to his face, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, her touch light and affectionate. She smiled down at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that spoke of genuine care.

"Mind fried?" she asked, her voice soft but knowing. He merely nodded, the weariness of the day weighing heavily on him. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her chest. The scent of her – a mix of expensive perfume and something uniquely her own – was intoxicating, a balm to his frayed nerves.

"Yeah..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her. He could feel her fingers threading through his hair, the gentle motion soothing. She rested her chin on the top of his head, her humming creating a vibration that resonated through his body. It was a simple gesture, but it made the silence between them comfortable, even comforting.

After a few moments, she lifted her chin and gently took his face in her hands, tilting it up so their eyes met. Her gaze was steady and warm, filled with an understanding that required no words. Her thumb brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes briefly, savoring the tenderness of the moment.

"I've got to pick a couple of things up from the store. Do you want to stay or come with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, the touch brief but sweet. He opened his eyes, meeting hers with a small, grateful smile. "I'll come with you," he said, his voice low and earnest. There was something about her presence that made even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure, a respite from the chaos of his own thoughts.

Cillian watched her move through the space with an air of effortless grace and confidence, each step she took purposeful and deliberate. The way she gathered her essentials – wallet, sunshades, and the keys to her Aston Martin DB11 – spoke volumes about her meticulous nature. His eyes followed her every motion, appreciating the poise she exuded in even the simplest of tasks. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it, and Cillian found that incredibly attractive. As she moved towards the door, he hurried over, ready to open it for her. The gesture was small, but it was a testament to the respect and admiration he held for her. He stood at the door that led to the garage, waiting as she turned off the lights in the house. The silence of the moment was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding between them. When she approached, he opened the door, allowing her to step through first.

"Thank you, Cill," she said, her voice a soft, appreciative murmur. She pressed the button for the garage door opener, and as it slowly rose, Cillian stepped inside with her.

"Anything for you," he replied, his voice carrying the familiar lilt of his Irish accent, a warm smile playing on his lips. The afternoon sun began to filter into the garage, casting a golden glow over the array of cars parked within.

She unlocked the Aston Martin and started the engine, the soft purr of the machine a soothing sound. Cillian moved quickly to her side, getting ahead to open the door for her, a gentlemanly act that made her chuckle softly. As he shut the door behind her, he couldn't suppress a small sigh, the sound of leather against leather as he slid into the passenger seat, buckling up. She caught his eye, her hands already gripping the steering wheel with a practiced ease that made his mind wander briefly to less innocent thoughts. He quickly pushed those aside, focusing instead on the moment at hand.

"Hopefully your crazy fans aren't looking for you today," she remarked with a playful grin, as she carefully navigated the car out of the garage. The way she maneuvered the vehicle, creeping slowly to avoid any potential damage to her other prized possessions, was a testament to her attention to detail.

The remote in her hand closed the garage door behind them, and they started their journey out of the fenced perimeter of her massive manor. The slow drive through her property was another ritual, a careful inspection to ensure everything was in place, nothing amiss. She took her time, ensuring no stone was unturned. Reaching the gate house, she rolled down the window and punched in the gate code, the mechanism whirring as the gates parted to allow them passage. She always waited, watching the gates close behind them before moving on. It was a small but significant habit, one that spoke of her need for control and security. Turning to him with a smile, she noticed he was lost in thought, his gaze fixed out the window. She reached out, tapping his thigh gently before gripping it slightly. The touch brought him back to the present, and he sighed softly, placing his hand over hers, relishing the simple contact. As they drove through the streets and the bustling city, Cillian allowed himself to relax, enjoying the role of passenger princess. The city life buzzed around them, a stark contrast to the quiet opulence of her manor. Her hand remained on his thigh, a grounding presence as they navigated through the urban landscape.

The drive was filled with an easy silence, punctuated by the occasional comment or shared glance. Cillian found himself stealing glances at her, admiring the way she handled the car with confidence. The city seemed to bend to her will, just like everything else in her life. He appreciated these moments of simplicity, where it was just the two of them against the backdrop of a bustling world. Her wealth and status were impressive, but it was her grounded nature and genuine affection that truly captivated him. As they merged onto the highway, the Aston Martin's engine roared to life, its deep, throaty growl reverberating through the luxurious cabin. It was a reminder of the power she wielded, not just in the car but in life. She handled the car with the ease of someone used to commanding attention and respect. The sleek, leather interior cocooned them, a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside. Cillian sat in the passenger seat, his lean frame relaxed but alert, his sharp blue eyes glancing at her with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

He glanced over as she signaled and merged left; smoothly overtaking slower vehicles, her movements precise and confident. Cillian watched as she turned her head; Cillian turned his head and his and her gaze narrowed at the drivers they were passing. "How the fuck can you be on your phone and on the highway?!" she exclaimed, her tone a blend of exasperation and disbelief. Cillian smirked, shaking his head slightly. "People are mad," he muttered, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. He felt the rush of acceleration then he sighed, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes for a moment as she accelerated, the speedometer creeping past ninety. The world outside became a blur of colors and shapes, the cars they overtook transforming into indistinct streaks.

She expertly maneuvered through traffic, the Aston Martin responding to her every command with an agility that matched her own. He trusted her implicitly, her skill behind the wheel a testament to her competence in all areas of her life. Eventually, the high-speed pursuit eased as they approached their destination: Erewhon. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where they could indulge in the finer things without the constant harassment of paparazzi or fans; it was a fancy ass supermarket. He recalled when he heard about a particularly chaotic incident with another celebrity that had cemented Erewhon's reputation as a safe haven for the famous. Cillian recalled past incidents during their outings to Erewhon had saved them from being disrupted by unwanted attention, he was grateful for a place to uphold such a high set of rules.

She navigated the parking lot, opting for a secluded spot far from the other vehicles. "No one can fucking drive where we live," she muttered, her tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. Cillian smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in silent agreement. "There's a pair of sunglasses in the glovebox if you want them," she remarked, her fingers deftly unbuckling her seatbelt and beginning the meticulous process of shutting down the car. Cillian reached into the glovebox, retrieving the sunglasses and slipping them on. The world darkened through the tinted lenses, but it provided a shield against prying eyes. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he stepped out of the car with a fluid motion, the door closing behind him with a satisfying click. He rounded the front of the Aston Martin, each step purposeful yet unhurried. Reaching her side, he opened the door with a gallant gesture, extending a hand to assist her out of the low-slung vehicle. She accepted, her smile warm and appreciative, a silent exchange of gratitude in the brief wink she sent his way.

He closed the door behind her, the action as natural as breathing, and they stood momentarily in the parking lot, a picture of poised elegance. She locked the car, the soft beep of the alarm engaging as they made their way towards the entrance of Erewhon. Cillian's hand found its place at the small of her back, a subtle yet protective gesture as they navigated the sparse crowd. Inside, the atmosphere was a blend of exclusivity and tranquility, the kind of place where wealth and discretion mingled seamlessly. Cillian walked beside her, his presence understated yet unmistakable. He observed the surroundings with a practiced eye, noting the occasional glance of recognition from fellow patrons, yet they were largely left undisturbed.

Their shopping was a well-orchestrated routine, each selection a testament to her refined taste and his willingness to indulge her preferences. He offered quiet commentary on various items, his voice a low murmur tinged with his Irish accent, a comforting sound in the hushed environment of the upscale market. As they moved through the aisles, their dynamic was evident in the small, unspoken gestures: the way he reached for an item just as she looked at it, the subtle nod of approval she gave when he made a particularly insightful observation. They operated in a rhythm that spoke of deep understanding and mutual respect, a partnership that extended beyond the superficial.

She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to commanding attention, her height and poise setting her apart. Cillian followed closely, his presence quietly supportive, his eyes attentively tracking her movements. "Honestly, prices have gone up a lot," she remarked, her voice tinged with mild frustration as she gazed at a display of fine wines in the next aisle over. Cillian watched her, noting the furrow in her brow and the way her eyes flickered with a mixture of exasperation and contemplation. She sighed softly, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand responsibilities, before her gaze returned to him. A sudden realization sparked in her eyes, and she turned on her heel, striding purposefully towards him. Her presence was magnetic, drawing him in as she closed the distance. When she cupped his face, her touch was both commanding and tender, a juxtaposition that sent a thrill through him. She gently pushed him against the shelf, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left him breathless.

"Cill- I've got to pick up some files at my office..." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it resonated with authority. He nodded slightly, his mind already racing with the implications of her words. She moved closer, her breath warm against his skin, and the world around them seemed to blur into insignificance. "Do you want me to drop you off at home or do you want to come with me?" she asked, her gaze unwavering, searching his eyes for his answer. In that moment, the choice was simple. He could never resist the allure of being by her side, no matter the destination. "I'll go with you," he replied, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to the words. The decision was not just about accompanying her; it was about sharing every aspect of their lives, standing beside her through mundane tasks and extraordinary moments alike.

"......Good boy......," Her smile was a radiant confirmation of his choice, and she leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring with a possessiveness that made his heart race. He responded in kind, their tongues dancing together in a rhythm that was both familiar and electrifying. Her body pressed more firmly against his, pinning him against the shelf with a dominance that left no room for ambiguity.

When she finally pulled away, a long, thick line of saliva connected their lips, a tangible testament to their passion. She wiped it away with her thumb, her eyes never leaving his. He blushed deeply, the warmth spreading across his cheeks as he tried to steady his breathing. Her hand remained cupping his face, a lingering touch that grounded him even as his mind spun with desire. As she stepped back, her attention shifted back to their shopping cart, the moment of intensity giving way to the practicalities of their outing. Cillian took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. The taste of her still lingered on his lips, a reminder of the connection that burned brightly between them. He moved to stand beside her, his hand lightly brushing against hers as they resumed their shopping. The mundane act of selecting groceries felt charged with the undercurrent of their earlier exchange. Each item placed in the cart was a silent testament to their shared life, a series of choices that bound them together in a dance of mutual understanding.

Cillian's mind wandered as they continued through the aisles, reflecting on the complexity of their relationship. She was a force of nature, a woman of immense wealth and influence, yet with him, she revealed a vulnerability that few ever saw. He cherished those glimpses, the moments when she let her guard down and allowed him to see the softer side beneath her commanding exterior. Their bond was a delicate balance of power and intimacy, a dance they navigated with care and respect. Cillian admired her for her strength and intelligence, qualities that had propelled her to the pinnacle of her career. At the same time, he valued the quiet moments they shared, the simple joys of being together without the trappings of their public lives.

As they approached the checkout, Cillian could feel the weight of the day easing. The prospect of accompanying her to her office added a layer of excitement to their routine. It was another facet of her world he was eager to explore, another opportunity to stand beside her and witness the brilliance that defined her professional life. He packed their purchases with a meticulous attention to detail, each item placed with care. She watched him, her eyes reflecting a blend of amusement and affection. There was an unspoken language between them, a series of gestures and glances that conveyed more than words ever could. When they finally left the store, the sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the parking lot. Cillian opened the car door for her, a small act of chivalry that felt natural and right. She settled into the driver's seat with a satisfied sigh, the engine purring to life as she prepared to drive them to her office.

When they arrived at her office, the building loomed tall and imposing, a symbol of her success and determination. Cillian followed her inside, his eyes taking in the sleek, modern design that spoke of efficiency and power. She led him to her office, a space that was both elegant and functional, a reflection of her personality. As she gathered the files she needed, Cillian wandered around, admiring the artwork on the walls and the carefully curated decor. Everything in this space was a testament to her meticulous nature, her drive for perfection. He felt a surge of pride, knowing that he was part of her world, a trusted confidant and partner. When she was ready, they left the office together, the files securely in her bag. The drive home was quiet, a comfortable silence that spoke of their deep understanding. 

As they pulled into the driveway, the Aston Martin DB11's engine purred to a halt. She deftly shifted the car into park, pressing the button to open the trunk with an elegance that spoke to her familiarity with such a high-end machine. Cillian unbuckled his seatbelt, the click of the mechanism punctuating the tranquil silence that had settled over them. He stepped out, the sun casting long shadows across the pristine pavement, and moved to her side, opening the door with a smooth, practiced motion. She emerged from the car, her movements fluid and confident. "Thank you," she murmured, her smile warm and appreciative. Cillian returned the gesture with a nod, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, a subtle acknowledgment of their unspoken routine. She gathered her keys, wallet, sunglasses, and a stack of legal files, her arms laden with the tools of her trade.

He watched as she made her way inside, setting everything down with a purposeful efficiency before returning to assist with the groceries. They moved in tandem, a well-rehearsed dance of domesticity, each trip to and from the car marked by a silent rhythm. Cillian carried the bags with ease, his lean frame belying a quiet strength, while she matched his pace, her height and grace lending an air of effortless command. Inside the kitchen, they began unloading the bags, the clink of glass jars and rustle of paper bags filling the space. Cillian meticulously arranged the items, his movements deliberate and precise, reflecting his penchant for order. He glanced at her occasionally, appreciating the focused determination etched on her face as she worked.

"Feels like we’ve bought half the store," he remarked with a faint smile, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. She laughed softly, a sound that resonated warmly in the sunlit kitchen. "Well, we do like our luxuries," she replied, her tone light yet tinged with genuine contentment.

After several trips, they finally emptied the trunk, the last of the bags deposited on the kitchen counter. She thanked him again, her eyes meeting his with a sincerity that transcended words. Taking her keys, she headed back out to pull the car into the garage. Cillian watched her go, a sense of admiration settling over him as she maneuvered the sleek vehicle with ease, the garage door closing behind her with a quiet hum. He began unpacking the bags, methodically placing items in their designated spots. She soon joined him, their movements synchronized in a silent symphony of familiarity and mutual respect. Together, they transformed the chaos of groceries into a well-organized array, each item finding its place in the pantry and refrigerator.

The task took time, but they worked efficiently, their partnership evident in the seamless flow of their actions. Cillian enjoyed these moments of mundane intimacy, where the outside world receded, leaving only the comforting presence of each other. He appreciated the simplicity of the task, a stark contrast to the often chaotic nature of his public life. As they finished, Cillian turned to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. "All set," he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. She moved closer, her silhouette framed by the setting sun that filtered through the expansive windows. Her presence was commanding, a reminder of the power she wielded, not just in her career but in every aspect of her life. Her arms encircled his waist, drawing him into a gentle embrace. Cillian's own arms responded instinctively, wrapping around her, pulling her closer. He felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest, a comforting reminder of the life they shared. They lingered in this embrace, the silence between them filled with unspoken words and shared memories. Cillian's mind drifted, reflecting on the unlikely circumstances that had brought them together. He, an actor still finding his footing in the world of cinema, and she, a seasoned lawyer and investor, her name a fixture in the corridors of power and influence. Yet, in moments like these, their worlds melded seamlessly.

She pulled away slightly, her hands coming up to cup his face. Her eyes searched his, filled with a tenderness that made his heart ache. "You're everything I could ask for and more, Cillian, y'know that?" she murmured, her voice a soft caress. He lost himself in her gaze, the depth of her affection evident in every line of her face. Her hands were warm against his skin, grounding him in the reality of their connection. She let go of his face only to lift him effortlessly by the waist, placing him on the cool marble countertop. He watched her, a small smile playing on his lips, his feet dangling as she stood before him, her height accentuated by the difference in their positions. "Pretty boy, you know that?" she teased, her voice light yet laced with sincerity. Cillian chuckled softly, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Aye, I reckon I've heard that a few times," he replied, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. His eyes twinkled with amusement, but beneath it was a deep-seated gratitude for the way she saw him, not just as an actor or a public figure, but as the man he was in these quiet, intimate moments.

As she stepped closer to him, the cool air of the spacious room contrasted with the heat building between them. Her hand cupped his face with a tenderness that belied her powerful exterior, her fingers tracing the contours of his jaw as if memorizing every detail. Cillian's eyes met hers, the intensity of her gaze filled with love and desire. Her proximity was intoxicating, her presence a heady mix of authority and warmth. As their lips met, the world around them seemed to fade away. The kiss was fervent, a collision of passion and longing. His hands found their way to shoulders, fingers pressing into the fabric of her suit, feeling the strength and softness beneath. Their tongues danced, exploring and tasting with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Cillian moved forward, his legs wrapping around her waist, drawing her closer. The movement was instinctual, a physical manifestation of his need to be as close to her as possible. She responded seamlessly, her other arm encircling his waist, lifting him effortlessly off the countertop.

He felt weightless, suspended between the cool marble and the warmth of her body. Her strength was astonishing, a stark reminder of the disparity in their physical power. Yet, it was also comforting, a symbol of the security and stability she provided. As she carried him, their lips remained locked, their kiss deepening with each passing second. The pantry doors provided a new backdrop to their fervent embrace. Cillian felt the wood against his back, a solid counterpoint to the softness of her lips and the firmness of her grip. Her movements were deliberate, each step a testament to her control and determination. She pressed against him, her body a seamless extension of her will, holding him in place as their kiss intensified. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath mingling with hers in the small space between them. "You’ve got a way of makin' me feel like I'm flyin'," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper tinged with his Irish accent, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and affection. "That's because you are," she replied softly, her voice filled with a blend of love and confidence that only made his heart race faster. She leaned in again, capturing his lips with renewed fervor, the heat of their kiss contrasting with the cool air of the kitchen.

Cillian’s hands roamed her back, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric, a tactile reminder of her strength and resilience. He marveled at how effortlessly she held him, her power tempered with a gentleness that made him feel cherished and protected. Her kiss was a blend of passion and possession, a declaration of her feelings that left him breathless and yearning for more. As she pressed him against the pantry doors, the kiss deepened, their tongues exploring with an insatiable hunger. Cillian’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, their bodies moving in a rhythm that spoke of deep-seated desire and mutual understanding. Her hand on his face guided the kiss, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw, grounding him in the intensity of the moment.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps between kisses, the heat of their bodies mingling in the cool air of the kitchen. Every touch, every kiss was a reaffirmation of their connection, a silent promise of the depth of their feelings for each other. Cillian’s world narrowed to the sensation of her lips, her hands, and the solid presence of her body against his. The intensity of their embrace was almost overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the love and desire that bound them together. She held him effortlessly, her strength a constant reminder of the power dynamics that played out between them. Yet, in this moment, it was not about power but about connection, about the raw, unfiltered emotions that flowed between them.

As she finally pulled back, her breathing heavy, Cillian looked into her eyes, seeing the same depth of emotion reflected back at him. "You make me feel invincible," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. Her smile was radiant, her hand still cradling his face. "That’s because you are to me," she replied, her voice soft and sincere. She leaned in for one last kiss, a gentle brush of lips that was both a promise and a reassurance, sealing the bond between them.

In the quiet aftermath, they remained entwined, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling as they shared a moment of profound intimacy. The world outside might demand their attention, but here, in the sanctuary of her kitchen, it was just the two of them, lost in the depths of their love and desire.

Author's Notes:

I meant to post this yesterday but I got sidetracked; and had things come up. So here it is but idk about it. Do I like it? yesn't

Don't know really, lately I've just been burned out; but I feel like I owe everyone something every time I write..also does this count as a size kink? I don't think it does?....

however I've been working on the last ask but I'm just having I hard time with it because I can't see Cillian as a Dom; like he's a bottom in my eyes unless he's being a dick and not asking before doing it; you get what I'm putting down? I have one of those ones on the backlogs ready to go but it's fucking dark and I don't know about it.

[virgoilluminati]

A/N; Hello, so I’m currently very burnt out due to exams and literally can barely write anything. That’s why I have decided to redo this whole tumblr page and start from scratch. But I have seen these social media things all over tumblr and really wanted to give it a go with my faves. This one is obviously about my loverrrr finn cole 💕 but I want to do lots of different ones based on whoever you guys would want to see. I wanna give credit to some of the people that I saw do this before on here (please go check them out because they are all so lovely) and say thank you because you have become my inspiration ❣️there are so many but here are my main inspo a @http-alexademie, @happy4harry @tillthelandslide @pancakes4two. I literally just love this idea and found it so fun to do, so thank youuuu 💕

Context: Y/N played Jules Solomans - Alfie Solomans daughter in the last two seasons of Peaky Blinders. Jules and Micheal are basically a couple (instead of Gina). This is set at the BAFTAs, that happened last night, if hypothetically peaky blinders got nominated for awards and y/n got nominated for supporting actor. (Which IRL Cillian Murphy was ROBBED from). Enjoy xx

______________________________________________________

@ finn_cole

Liked by @ yourinstagram, @ peakyblindersofficial & 890,000 more

@ finn_cole: Bafta ready, with the help of @britishvogue, feeling especially amazing tonight. Best of luck to all nominated ✌🏻

View all 45,000 comments

@finncolefanacc: He’s so pretty 😍 someone please wife him up!

@boceybocey: best of luck mate

@ finn_cole: @boceybocey, not the same without you.

@peakyblinderdaily: damn, it sucks paul can’t be there the one time peaky got nominated :(

@peakyblindersfan1: I can’t believe that peaky blinders finally got the recognition they deserved!! Please give our boys the win! #BAFTA

@ joecole: getting the band back together

@ cillianmurphyofficial : @joecole, can’t wait. Been a while.

@yourinstagram: best of luck Micheal Grey x

@finncoleslay: wait, why is no one talking about @yourinstagram! Her comment I-

@yourinstagramfandaily: @yourinstagram, Gurl - you have some explaining to do-

@Johndeservedtolive: OMG, are theyyy—? No, they can’t be—. I—! Oh my gawddd I am going to faint…

@ yourinstagram

Liked by @ finn_cole, @ peakyblindersofficial and 2,300,000 others.

@ yourinstagram: thank you for all your love and support. I am so greatful to be nominated for supporting actress tonight. Love you all ❣️

View all 75,000 comments

@yourinstagramslayys: Your deserve it babes, literally her acting in peaky blinders, was phenomenal.

@Y/nisbae; slayyying as per usual 🔥

@JulesSolomonsisbae: Y/N for the winnnnnn 🥇

@florencepugh: good luck bestie, although you won’t need it.

@ yourinstagram: @florencepugh drinks on me, regardless.

@finncoleslay: THEY’RE BOTH WEARING BLACK. OML MATCHING OUTFITS ALREADY!!-

@ zendaya: 🔥🔥🔥

@ finncole: @ zendaya agreed.

@peakyblindersdailyyyy: - wait a damn minute…. Now wait a damn minute

@ finn&yn: It’s happening, oh my god it’s happening - everyone calm. Don’t panic I-I

@ yourinstagram

Liked by @ cillianmurphyofficial , @finn_cole and 3,450,000 others

@ yourinstagram: Thank you, that’s all I can say. From the bottom of my heart. This has been a dream come true. I have no words.

View all 130,000 comments

@Peakyblindersofficial: Congratulations, our Jules always and forever.

@ cillianmurphyofficial: Well deserved, absolute pleasure to have worked alongside you for the last three years, what adventures to come! ❣️

@ joecole: Y/N strikes again! Absolutely brilliant.

@ florencepugh: Absolute legend, drinks are on me.

@ yourinstagram: @ florencepugh thats a first. Damn I must’ve done well.

@julessolomansslayys: So proud! So proud!

@ y/nmybae: I AM SO HAPPY AHHHHHH

@ finncole: beautiful award for a beautiful girl.

@ yourusername: @ finncole thank you, glad I have such a handsome man by my side

@ finn&y/n: it’s official guys! Oh my god. Oh my god.

@ peakyblindersofficial

Liked by @ finn_cole, @bafta, @ cillianmurphyofficial and 13,980,000 others

@ peakyblindersofficial: Well, we may not have won the best crime drama award, but our congratulations go to our very own, @ yourinstagram, who received her first ever BAFTA award tonight. Absolutely smashed it - always and forever our Jules Gray Solomans

View all 67,000 comments

@ yourinstagram: thank you for giving me the opportunity to play this amazing character. Will live with me forever. ❣️

@ y/nisbae: Yes, the queen deserves everything!!! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

@Jules&Micheal: @ yourinstagram Thank you for being our role model. We are so proud.

@peakyblindersdailyyy: Cillian was ROBBED, but I am so proud of our girl. Couldn’t ask for anymore 💕💕

@ finncole: My Girl. ❣️

@ yourinstagram: @ finncole, I love you

______________

[mythos-writes]

Oh damn, Peaky Blinders had a massive drop. But it still in the top 100 Babe!!

TV Shows

So much sci-fi and fantasy—almost like you’re looking for an escape. Weird!

Stranger Things +51

The Owl House +1

Our Flag Means Death

Arcane

House of the Dragon

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir -1

What We Do In The Shadows +39

Supernatural -7

The Witcher +9

Succession

Moon Knight

The Sandman

Heartstopper

Amphibia +6

Doctor Who +2

Obi-Wan Kenobi

KinnPorsche

9-1-1 +7

Hawkeye +52

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles +58

Good Omens -6

Euphoria +45

The Umbrella Academy +3

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Hannibal -13

Gravity Falls +5

Bridgerton -8

Interview with the Vampire

The Mandalorian -25

Danny Phantom -3

Avatar: The Last Airbender -22

Eurovision Song Contest -16

Loki -31

The Book of Boba Fett

She-Hulk: Attorney at Law

Bad Buddy

Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared

Supergirl -17

The Untamed -25

Killing Eve +48

Star Wars: The Clone Wars -9

Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power

Breaking Bad

Steven Universe -20

Game Of Thrones +23

Merlin -13

South Park +37

Shadow and Bone -40

Baymax!

Better Call Saul

The Legend of Vox Machina

First Kill

The Boys

The Academy Awards

Ninjago

Riverdale -12

Teen Wolf -10

Derry Girls

Young Justice

Ted Lasso -21

Chucky

9-1-1: Lone Star -13

Druck -53

Young Royals -14

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine +9

Squid Game -44

Ms. Marvel

A League of Their Own

Lego Monkie Kid

Andor

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Criminal Minds -38

Gotham

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power -37

The Wheel Of Time

Cobra Kai -19

Black Sails +17

High School Musical: The Musical: The Series +1

Wandavision -73

Star Trek: The Original Series

Adventure Time -52

Extraordinary Attorney Woo

The Emmy Awards

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier -77

Community -13

Invader Zim -35

The Simpsons -14

Lucifer -48

Ghosts -23

Not Me

Love In The Air

Over The Garden Wall

Bee and PuppyCat

Legacies -13

Infinity Train -60

Abbott Elementary

The Flash

Columbo

Animaniacs -88

Peaky Blinders -18

The number in italics indicates how many spots a title moved up or down from the previous year. Bolded titles weren’t on the list last year.

[bearsbadblog]

Writing Table of Contents

Writing Prompt Responses

Ash Gray Blood: A vampire hunter who is also a vampire comes home after a hunt gone wrong.

The Shadow Guardian: Two people with inextricably linked superpowers discover each other.

The Escalator: A shopkeeper has an unconventional mode of travel through monster-infested lands.

Untitled Ghost House: A ghost welcomes a vampire into his home.

Eight Percent: A factory manager is replaced by their superior.

Original Fiction

A Man Walks Into a Gas Station at 2AM: Comical story inspired by my time working at a convenience store.

Fanfiction

FNAF: Siblings in Blood: Vanny follows her Father's instructions for the Pizzaplex.

FNAF: "But Something is Wrong With Me.": Micheal Afton is dead. (prequel to "I Will Put You Back Together")

FNAF: "I Will Put You Back Together": The Puppet follows Micheal Afton home.

Tag Directory

My Original Thoughts: #rambles

Cold Takes: #bear's boomer opinions

Other people's art that I like: #art for eating

General WIPS: #<- WIP tag, #<- OC tag

Specific WIPS: #Ash Gray Blood, #Puppets of Bone, #Glitch in the System

[mxpseudonym]

Indulgent

Pairing: Michael x Fem!Reader

Summary: Michael is your father’s easy to tease business parter and you are one lucky bitch. In which Michael Gray is an ass man and a thigh man who gets lost in the wap.  

Length: 2153 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Spicy, Smut, Oral Sex, Michael is a little punk as usual 

A/N: Michael won the spicy scenario contest! This was v fun to write and honestly, we love a cocky yet generous lover on this blog. Shout out to all my thick thigh thirsty bishes. 

--

"Are those new?" Michael asked, only shifting his eyes from the documents he was signing for a moment. You lifted your leg, showing off your new french stockings to your father's business partner. Bringing Shelby Company Ltd documents to be signed by Michael Gray himself was the only errand of your father's that you volunteered to help with. The ever serious, young businessman was easy on the eyes and easy to rile up- your two favorite things. 

"They are, Mr. Gray. I'm surprised you noticed. I didn't think country boys cared about such things, even when they become handsome company men." 

You couldn't help it. Calling Michael a "country boy" was your favorite jab as it was the one where he gave you an annoyed glare, much like he was now. He ignored you, however, and returned your documents to their folder. 

"Of course, I noticed. And did you buy them yourself?" 

"I did. I buy all of my lingerie." 

You smiled cheekily as you stood. You headed towards the door, documents in hand, when Michael stopped you by gripping your wrist. You turned and felt your back hit the wall next to the door when he took a step closer. 

"Are you wearing it now?" 

Though you'd been hoping for this moment, you still felt the heat warm your cheeks at such a question. Micheal's hand reached up, his knuckles brushing against your stomach and dragging the fabric against your skin. "Is there more under this?" 

"Yes," you finally answered softly. 

"Can I see it? Please?" 

As Michael scrunched up the fabric of your beaded dress, you thought about how devious he sounded whenever he used polite words. You'd be better off if he'd just commanded it. Michael pulled your dress up until it was above you bralette, and you shifted under his gaze. He let out a soft grunt and reached up. 

Your breath hitched in anticipation, ready for his touch. Instead, you heard the click of the lock next to you. It wasn't necessary. You strategically came after hours, and the office was empty. If anything, it was a signal to you for what was about to come. 

"Hold this."

It took a moment before you realized he wanted you to stand here, back pressed against the wall of his office, holding your skirt by the hem, so a man you hadn't even had dinner with had his way with you. Who were you to disobey?

Michael kneeled before you, still eyeing you with a look of satisfaction and renewed hunger. He found your waist, caressing up to your ribs then down to grasp your fleshy backside covered in silky, lacey delicates. 

If his touch hadn't already set your face aflame, the eager moan that left you at the feeling of Michael's unforgiving groping would have done it. 

He swore under his breath before leaning in and pressing his lips against your stomach. His hands slid from your backside down to massage your thighs as he placed open-mouthed kisses against your tummy. Every so often, he'd bite down, quick to cover the teeth marks with a hot, soothing tongue before you could complain. 

You'd slept with a few people before, but this was a different kind of act. Were you always this sensitive? Or perhaps it was the way Michael seemed to be trying to consume. Your new stockings were a bit tight on the lining, and the garters pressed into the meat of your thigh as you were still getting used to adjusting the clasps. The combination made the pudge of your thighs spill over in a way you weren't sure about, but Michael couldn't get enough of. 

His nimble fingers played with the hems of your stockings, dipping under them almost absentmindedly before letting the material snap. His fingers slipped under the straps of your garter as well, teasing you further until he moved from your stomach, now littered in love bites, to lean down and bite at your thighs. You could feel the hot dampness of his tongue through your stockings for only a moment before he moved on. 

"Michael," you gasped loudly when he shamelessly pressed a kiss to your mound through the fabric. He paused. You thought you'd upset him, but after a moment, you felt a soft vibration against your hips. He was... laughing. 

Michael looked up at you through his eyelashes, and you almost gasped at how boyish he looked in that moment, the first time he'd looked straight into your eyes since moving down your body. 

"Y/n, you can take more, can't you? I even haven't done anything yet." 

There's a wicked smugness about his words that left you pouting. "Stop that." He gives the order seriously, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth instead. "Good girl."

Your fingers clenched around the hem that was now anchored at your bust. Everything Michael was saying went straight to your core. Though he was teasing, you hoped Michael was right about you being able to take more. 

His unspoken statement of "are you this wanton already" was apparent. He'd hardly started, and you were already trembling and so close to the edge. It wasn't your fault, you decided. He was the one who was as calculated as ever, even in the way he unclasped your garters to tug your shorts down your legs. 

"Can you multitask?" He asked, arrogant as ever. You nearly slammed your legs closed around his stupid face. However, he reached up and pulled down one of your hands, guiding it to hold up your leg by the back of your knee. Your back pressed harder against the wall as you adjusted to your new balancing act. 

Gingerly, Michael leaned forward and kissed your aching pussy, making your breath hitch. He leaned back and looked up at you, the glint of his lips apparent even before he slowly licked his lips. You said his name weakly, meaning to scold him for being vulgar. He pushed all of your words away, however.

"You're so wet."

He was leaning in again, and you could only tilt your head back in delight but also disbelief that this was even happening as Michael indulged. 

Indulgence was the perfect word for it. Michael wasn't one to rush, but he'd never waste time. His nosed skimmed the soft hair on your mound as he nudged your clit. Michael moaned when his tongue laved over the length of you. He was eating you well. He was eating you for fun. 

You hadn't thought about staying quiet due to your whereabouts, and you were glad for it seeing as you would have failed. Your cries filled the air of the office, making both of you even hotter. Michael dipped between your folds, prodding your entrance with a stiff tongue and making you a bit dizzy as the heat that had rushed to your face ran between your legs.

Michael, for a moment, took inventory of the situation without stopping his efforts. Maybe something was off if he had this good of a time, not that that would have hindered him. Your thighs were warm around him, you were positively trembling, and making you cum as a way to shut you up was becoming addictive. He can hardly keep up with your bucking hips as you cum from his tongue, circling your sensitive bud. As you panted, you could feel Michael's breath against your still twitching cunt as he spoke into it, almost to himself. 

"Mm, you taste sweet. Dripping too."

Though this wasn't planned, there was a natural flow to these things. Michael had fully expected to be inside of you by now. But you looked enticing in your lingerie, and your skin was so soft he couldn't help but kiss the inside of your thighs. And you were whining for more? He could feel himself bulging against his pants, and yet he couldn't stop himself from diving back in. He needed more. 

He fired you from the job of holding your leg up and threw it over his shoulder instead. Your hand clenched his hair, earning a deep groan from the man beneath you. Your hips rocked against his mouth, and he quickly matched your rhythm, never letting you escape from the pleasure you instinctively felt was too much. 

"Ah, Micheal, please," you panted. A sudden pinch to your backside made you jump and look down at him with wide eyes. 

"I said hold it," he said, face glossy with you. You realized only then that you'd dropped your dress, and it was disrupting his progress. 

"S-sorry, Mr. Gray" 

"If you can't hold it, bite it for Christ's sake," he said, dismissive as ever. And yet, the was a glint in his eye from you saying his name that way made you realize it was a new command. Michael looked you over, your eyes teary from your dress now stuffed in your mouth like a gag and a muffled whimper coming from you when he hungrily licked his smirking lips.

Seeing you like this was more than he could ask for. Your cries were muffled but no longer held back. He looped an arm under your leg, keeping your hips still with a firm hand. The least he could do was release anything holding him back as well. 

You came again from his mouth alone, and yet you felt a stiff finger slide into you before you were even sure your waves of pleasure had subsided. Michael's tongue flattened against your bud, and your head fell back, eyes clenched shut. Having something to clench around was more than satisfying.

"Can I have you like this all the time, love?" Michael asked, watching your face as he added a second finger with ease. Your whimper at the initial feeling turned into a loud moan when he curled them inside of you. "Maybe not, though. You can barely keep it together. You should see yourself right now, y/n."

"Mm!" Even if you weren't gagged, you still would have had trouble calling his name. Every thought left your head. Only the chase of more releases and the sound of Michael's voice remained. 

"Can't help that you're addicting, y/n. I did want to have you over the couch or something, but that'll have to wait. I want to tire you out just like this. You're a tight little thing too. Squeezing the life out of me, just from a couple of fingers." 

He chuckled, and the familiar embarrassment that also made you more aroused shot through you. He pressed deep into you and massaged your walls, pushing you off the edge once again. He let you pull his hair with both hands, only groaning as his head tilted back from the force. 

Even like this, he didn't stop. Instead, he used the added wetness to add a finger. 

"Sorry, I'm greedy. Can I have one more, y/n? Just one more okay?" He said it so casually you'd think he was saying one more cigarette or one more pint. He pulled the dress from your mouth, revealing the ache in your jaw that you couldn't be bothered with yet. 

"I want to hear you." 

He pressed a hand against your stomach, holding the dress and your hips still as he leaned him and attacked your clit once more. The tightening coil in your lower belly was almost overwhelming now. 

"Oh god, too much, too deep," 

"Hm? You're not making sense, love," Michael said just as he began a steady pace of pressing the sweet spot deep in you. "It's too much?" You only responded with your eyes rolling back as you shivered. "You're this worked up from my fingers. How do you think you'll be when I actually get inside of you?" 

The thought itself made your walls flutter around him. Your body tensed and released as you cried out. Michael continued until you were calmed, merely whimpering. He freed you, and you slowly found yourself panting on your knees. 

Through hooded eyes, you watched Michael lick your cum from his fingers. How did this country boy end up this way? He pulled his handkerchief out and cleaned his hands, then his face. 

"Sorry, you didn't get a taste, love. Here." 

Michael let you slump forward into his arms, wrapping you in his warmth before kissing you. His tongue pressed past your lips before you could even think to stop it. As he intended, you could taste yourself all over him. 

Something stirred in you, but you were too spent at the moment to do much more than getting drunk off of this sinful kiss. Michael kissed you fervently until finally, they came soft and lazy. When he pulled away, he cupped your cheek. 

"That was good," you finally said. You leaned against Michael's chest and closed your eyes, allowing a small smile to grace your lips. "For a country boy." 

[peakyblinders1919]

Hi again, another possible peaky imagine for Michael or Finn x reader where she forgets her glasses at his place or the office after a date with him so the next morn she goes to get them. But the guy isn’t there and like Polly or whoever opens the door thinks she’s a ho he forgot to pay. She quickly gives her money and tells her to “go get”. Now the reader is confused b/c she doesn’t know what they want her to get (she’s a v). So she knocks again, this goes 3 times before boy comes. Then fluff❤

"What the fuck!"

"Shh, shh, keep your voice down."

"Should have told that to your mother before she started screaming to the whole street I'm a whore."

"I was upstairs the whole time, she didn't say that-"

"If you were 'upstairs', you should have come down and saved me sooner. Look, Michael, look what she gave me. Shoved it into my hands, apologized, and shut the door in my face."

It was his turn to be embarrassed, eyes glazing over your scrunched up features, before traveling down to your hands filled with what he could only assume was his mother's money. In frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Tell me,” you bit back, crossing your arms over your chest. You thought about throwing the money back at him- taking it would only confirm what Polly had insinuated- but for now you clutched it tighter. “Is this a normal occurrence?”

“What? No, of course not?”

“How, how, how do I know? She didn’t seem very surprised at the thought of you having a lady caller for the night, forgetting to pay her. But why do I get the sense she’d be surprised to know her son has a been in an exclusive relationship. Because that is what we’ve been in, right?”

“YES!” He spewed, feeling close to combusting at the accusation. “Yes, that’s what we’ve been in. I swear Y/N I swear.” 

Silence lingered. Eyes trying hard to stay on the other, figure out if words were enough. 

“Y/N please.” A gangster begging on the streets was almost enough to make you smile. “You’ve got to believe me.”

“You know, I was just coming back for my glasses, can’t type up the reports without them. I left them on your side dresser last night-“

What you were looking for were right in his hands, trying to lighten the mood with his smile as he handed them over.

“I know. I was going to bring them to you, with that chocolate croissant you like for breakfast. You must be needing a recharge after last night…”

“After this morning.” you sighed and chuckled all the same, though Michael Gray had done it yet again. Knowing exactly what to say to get you to forgive and forget. “You owe me breakfast, lunch, and dinner with your mother so I don’t get mistaken for a whore the next time I’m around.”

He laughed, intertwining his fingers with yours as he started you both off in the direction of the bakery. “You might want to wear something else then.”

“Michael Gray!” You shrieked, hitting him with your purse lightly for insinuating such a thing. You both knew it was a joke the way his all-too-rare laughter hung from his lips and rung through the streets. 

[siriuslyshewrote]

Can’t Stop DNA - 2

The house was silent when you left it the next morning - a rare feat for the Shelby’s. The feeling of disappointment was palpable in the air, as you had nibbled on your toast at the table, your brothers sat around you, not even looking at you. You had thought that telling them would be the hardest part, but no, it was the pure and utter silence. In the end, you had left your food, and walked out without uttering a word. They all knew where you were going anyway.

Isaiah’s home was a fair few minutes walk away, but to you it felt like seconds, as you thought over in your head what exactly you were going to say. You could only be thankful that it was Sunday - and that meant the Jesus household would be empty except Isaiah. It was his only day off, so you were sure he’d be asleep still. It was only half nine in the morning, after all.

You knocked on the door, harder than intended, scraping your knuckles slightly, the bangles on your wrist sliding up and down, clanking together with a noise you couldn’t decide if you hated or loved. Your lip was already half bleeding, but you kept chewing at it, worriedly, as seconds passed. You half hoped he wasn’t home.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. The door swung open, and standing there was the tall figure of the boy you loved, clad in striped pajama’s - the ones matched his little brothers , he had told you once, and at the time you had laughed a little , teasing him.

His first action was to hug you tightly, burying his face in your hair, and you clung onto him just as hard, scared to let go and lose the safety he gave you.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” He murmured, as you leant your head against his warm chest.

“I’m sorry. I know I worried you.”

“What happened? All I knew is that your brothers told me to just go home, that they’d sort it out. I wanted to come. I did. They just said it was a family thing. And... well, I’m not family.

“I just... I needed to clear my head.” You said softly.

“You terrified me.” He spoke, and his voice cracked a little, as he drew away, leading you into the house, shutting the front door. You leant against the door subtly, for a little support. Your lip wobbled a little, though you tried to contain your emotions.

“I know.” You murmured, seeing the suppressed anger in his features. You couldn’t blame him. You’d be angry too. He wouldn’t get angry at you, though. Seeing Isaiah Jesus angry in your presence was such a rare thing that you had forgotten the last time it happened.

The was a small , quiet moment, as he motioned towards the sitting room, and you followed, practically collapsing into the velvet armchair. His brows furrowed at this - you two usually curled up together on the larger couch - but again, he didn’t say anything. He knew you had something to say, you guessed. Is was like that.

“I, um.... I have something to tell you.” You stared down at your hands - your painted nails chipped, and hangnails around them bloody, unusual for you.

“Y/N, what is it?” His voice was a little strained.

“I...” You paused, looking around the room, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this harder than it already was.

“Did you .. did you cheat on me? Is that where you-“

You almost laughed at the absurdity of that. Cheating on Isaiah had never even crossed your mind, and how could anyone blame you? With that dimpled grin that stretched across his cheeks whenever he saw you, the warmth of his hands when the touched yours. The kisses that made you feel as though you were in a romance novel.

“No. No. Of course not.”

You could have sworn he exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m having a baby.” You blurted out , hoping it would make it easier to just say it. Like ripping off a plaster.

That was when you cracked, when the tears started to burn your eyes and fall down your reddening cheeks, when you brought your knees to your face, to cover you from seeing him. From seeing his face turn to dread, to misery, like you were so sure he would. Ordinarily, if you got like this, Is would be by your side, holding you tightly, almost rocking you, until you calmed down. Now, you cried by yourself, as he just sat on the couch.

There was a long, long period of silence, only permeated by the occasional sob by you, until you caught the courage to look up. Isaiah was staring straight ahead, his jaw almost set, not in anger, but to prevent himself from getting upset, you thought.

“Please say something.” You whispered.

“Are you getting rid of it?”

It. Like it wasn’t something you and he created together, that was so precious to you already. Your future baby.

“No.” It came out harsher than you wanted to. “I’m not.”

“Do your brothers know?”

“What does that matter?”

“So I can know if I still have a fucking job.” You almost flinched. He never , ever swore in front of you.

“No.” You lied. You’d meant what you said yesterday - you didn’t want them to influence Isaiah’s decision. Even if , right now, you felt like it wasn’t going to be a good one.

“I didn’t want a kid like this, I wanted us to wait till we were married, till we had a house, till-“

“So did I.”

“So why don’t you get rid of it? Forget about this, wait until we’re older, and we can look after a baby better.”

He turned towards you,first time he had looked at you, since you told him.

You swallowed.

“Don’t try and convince me to get rid of my baby Isaiah. I won’t. I’ll have this kid, with or without you, though clearly, it will be without.”

You stood up shakily, your legs feeling like the strawberry jelly Polly made when you felt ill.

“I just need some space.” He whispered.

“I just need some support.” You replied, tearily, before walking out of the room, and shutting the front door behind you.

You must have looked bonkers to people in the street - still wearing your pajamas under your fur coat, and sobbing your heart out, as you managed to walk home. Your hands found the door handle, and you opened the door, and just like last night, Polly came out, her eyes full of empathy and pain for you. But you couldn’t face her. You just couldn’t.

And so, ignoring all of them, you practically stumbled up the stairs, and shut yourself in your room. To cry about what could have been, and to think of how in hell you were going to do this alone.

Permanent Tag List :

@marvelismylifffe

@makapaka11

[enchantedbliss98]

If Tommy Shelby had twitter

[johnismyreason]

Listen

I’m not a Tommy bitch but man... that scene with Lizzie... I don’t even have words. Full fan fiction content I didn’t even know it was possible to actually put it in the show. 10/10 would definitely be a Tommy Bitch.

[tilltheendofthisfanfiction]

"Let me tell you, boy; Never fuck with me again. The next time it's not gonna be only your bones."

__

A/N: I'm not sorry, you guys. It's just I never liked Micheal and was always fucked up by him when he was on screen. Although I don't hold it against anyone if they like him.

[tjwritesfanfics]

Universe Three *Zoe*

Pairing: Micheal/Reader

Summary: Micheal thought it was just the Benysol that made him love her, scared it would be more.

Rating: Slight Mature. Drug use, insecurity, angst with happy ending

Words: 1034 (This one got away from me)

AN I think it's kind of funny that for the IMDB of this movie, he is listed as "Skinny guy" but if you listen in the movie, he does say his name. It's Micheal.

Every Universe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

With the new drug being distributed on the down low, only the wealthy could really afford it, but somehow you were able to get your hands on some. The first time was life changing. The love, the connection you felt to another person was something you had never experienced before, but heard all about in the books you read.

You knew you couldn’t afford any more pills so even though you wanted to partake and feel it again, you were very selective on who you “crushed” with. That was unless they supplied. You kept yours close.

Until you met Micheal.

You were at the library, curled up in one of the chairs with a romance novel in your hand.

You had no idea who was about to sit next to you.

Skinny and wearing a suit, he really didn’t look like he belonged in here. He was pretty cute though.

“Are you…” The stranger whispered, glancing around before leaning towards you, “Are you crushing?”

And that was it. There was something about taking Benysol with Micheal. Something you didn’t feel with the others. It was like it was stronger with him.

But when you woke up the next morning Micheal was gone. Part of you was upset, you really wanted to do this with him again, hoping to feel something again, but you knew what this was.

Which was why you were surprised that when you went back to the library he was there.

In your spot.

With your book.

“You know,” Micheal’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his long hair falling partially in his face before he pushed it back, “If you wanted to read that book  or the spot, you didn’t have to sleep with me first.”

Micheal’s lips pressed into a firm line, smile lines edging on his face. “I umm, didn’t want that. I wanted to know more about the girl who made last night so amazing.”

You sat in the seat opposite him, in the seat he sat in the other day when he approached you, eyeing him. Why would he want to know? If he did then why didn’t he stay?

But you knew why he didn’t. If you didn’t feel as intensely as you did last night, you would have left too. Though that was just the beginning.

You became almost exclusive with Micheal. Not dating, but always using Benysol together.

You even started using your own stash when he was out of his.

Then you saw him with her. You were supposed to meet Micheal at a bar for a drink, but you were running late. And there she was with him. Some blonde woman, who happened to be very beautiful.

Who was she? What was the feeling in your chest?

And why didn’t you stop them when they left together?

You were probably the only one feeling this way. Micheal obviously didn’t care. Why would he? It was just the Benysol making you both feel like you were in love. That was what it was supposed to do.

That was the reasoning you gave yourself when you slept with the next guy you saw. Then the next. And the next. Losing yourself in the Benysol they gave you.

But it wasn’t the same. The effects were different.

“You know.. If you didn’t want to see me anymore, you could have told me.” You looked from your book. Micheal sat across from you, just like all those months ago. His hair disheveled and eyes looking more sunken than usual. He kind of looked like hell.

You frowned, pulling the book in front of your face. “You first.”

“What do you mean? You’re the one who hasn’t been returning my calls.”

You close your book, probably harsher than you meant to, but it didn’t matter to you at the moment. “You didn’t seem to need my company when you were with that blonde at the bar.” 

“Blonde at the…. Wait, are you talking about the day you ditched me?”

“Ditched you?!” One of the library patrons shushed your loud outburst. You sheepishly ducked your head, silently apologizing before motioning to the rows of books and getting up, Micheal following behind you. Once the two of you were alone and away from others you rounded on him. 

“I did not ditch you!” You hissed. “You were the one that left with her! I was running late and I texted you about it!”

“And then you never showed.”

“Because I saw her and…” You sighed, handing running through your hair. “And she was beautiful.”

“Yeah she was.” You smacked him. “Ow! What? She was, but she was also synthetic so it makes sense.”

“Synthetic? Really? I couldn’t tell at all.”

“I know it was crazy. It was probably why the effects of the Benysol was weaker with her.” Micheal paused, eyebrows pulling together and licking his lips. “But I don’t know why the others were.”

“Others.” You scoffed. You knew there would be others just like you had.

“Yes. There were others because I thought you left me. Didn't answer my calls, remember?”

You two were running around in circles. Neither of you wanting to admit that you missed each other. Missed the touches. The kisses. The time you spent together without the effect of the drug.

Believing that you didn’t need the Benysol anymore when you were together.

“I’m sorry.” Micheal stepped closer to you, bringing his hand up to touch your face. You leaned into his touch. The longing you felt was nothing like with the drug. This felt real. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“I should have stopped you, but I was scared.”

“Of what?”

You looked up at him. “This. Of feeling like this.”

“Feeling real right? I know. I felt the same which was why I left with her and the others. This drug makes you feel like everything is so real that when you realize it’s not, it’s scary.”

You chuckle dryly. Leave it to Micheal to know exactly what you were feeling.

“Damn you, Micheal.” You wrap your arms around him, inhaling his scent for the first time in months. The smell alone calming your nerves instantly. “Damn you.”

(Banners by cafekitsune)

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Lies She Told

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x Cheating Wife! Reader

Summary: Thomas finds out his wife has been unfaithful.

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: Barely Proof-Read

possessive! Thomas, cheating, angst, yelling.

Inspiration: Darlin’ - Chase Matthew

The Arrow House was alive with the hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the subtle, yet unmistakable undertone of power. Thomas Shelby stood in the midst of it all, his sharp blue eyes surveying the room with a practiced indifference.

The event was a display of wealth, a gathering of influential people whose lives intersected with his in the labyrinthine world of business. The house, his fortress, was filled with guests, all eager to curry favor, to be seen, to be acknowledged by the man who held the reins of so many fates. Yet, amidst the sea of faces, his mind was elsewhere. A businessman, flushed with alcohol and self-importance, was rambling on about the portrait that hung on the wall—a painting of Thomas on horseback. The man’s admiration was laced with sycophancy, but Thomas barely registered the words. He offered a perfunctory smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, before dismissing the man with a curt nod. The urge to find his wife was gnawing at him, a strange sense of unease settling in his chest. She was always near him at these events, her presence a constant, a subtle reminder of his power and control. But tonight, she was conspicuously absent.

He had noticed things lately, small things that gnawed at him. The scent of another man’s cologne lingering on his wife’s clothes, the way she seemed distant, her mind always somewhere else. He’d dismissed it at first, chalking it up to the pressures of his business, the strain it placed on their marriage. But the doubts had grown, festering like an untreated wound. 

Thomas’s steps were measured, deliberate, as he moved through the throngs of people. He navigated the crowd with a practiced ease, his mere presence parting the guests like the tide. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, his mind too focused on the task at hand. The more he looked, the more his concern grew. He knew every corner of this house, every nook and cranny, and yet she was nowhere to be found. It was unlike her, and that worried him. The farther he went from the main gathering, the quieter the house became. The laughter and chatter faded into a dull murmur as he moved deeper into the shadows of the grand estate. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, the polished floors reflecting the dim light of the wall sconces. It was in these quiet moments that Thomas felt most at ease, away from the watchful eyes, away from the noise. But tonight, even the silence did little to calm the unease that was building within him.

Then he heard it—soft, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him stop in his tracks. A voice, faint and foreign, carried through the air. “Darlin’... please don’t tempt me...” The accent was Southern, American, and entirely out of place in his home. It was the tone that caught his attention more than the words, the intimate, almost pleading quality that made his blood run cold.

Thomas’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, his eyes narrowing as he honed in on the source. His heart began to pound, a slow, steady rhythm that echoed in his ears as he moved forward, his pace quickening. The voice was a thread, pulling him toward something he wasn’t sure he wanted to see, but something he needed to confirm. His thoughts were a whirlwind of suspicion and disbelief, each step bringing him closer to a truth he feared. His footsteps were almost silent on the floor beneath him as he made his way towards the back of the house. There was something pulling him in that direction, an instinct honed by years of surviving on the streets, by being one step ahead of danger. He reached the corridor that led to the servants' quarters, a place he rarely ventured. But tonight, something drew him there. As he approached, he noticed the door to the maid’s room slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out into the darkened hallway.

Thomas stopped, his heart thudding in his chest, the sound loud in his ears. He could hear voices, low and muffled, coming from inside. One voice was his wife’s, unmistakable in its softness, in the way it had once brought him comfort. But now it sent a chill down his spine. The other voice was unfamiliar, a man’s voice, rough with a country accent. “Darlin’... you’re too good for him... too sweet,” the words echoed in his mind, each one a dagger twisting in his gut. Anger surged through him, a hot, violent rage that he hadn’t felt in years. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He felt a red mist descending, clouding his vision, filling his mind with thoughts of violence, of retribution. Without thinking, he reached for the door handle, yanking it back with a force that made the wood groan in protest. The door flew open, slamming against the wall, and the room was suddenly bathed in harsh, overhead light as he flicked the switch.

The scene before him was like something out of a nightmare. His wife, the woman he had trusted above all others, and there she was—his wife, standing far too close to a man Thomas had never seen before. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a rough, rugged look that spoke of a life far removed from the polished circles of Birmingham society. They froze, their eyes locking with his, the shock evident on their faces. His hand rested on the small of her back, his body angled toward hers in a way that made Thomas’s stomach turn; it was too familiar, too intimate. Thomas’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of impending violence. His eyes flicked to his wife, then to the man, and back again. The silence in the room was deafening, the air thick with tension. Thomas took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to rein in the fury that threatened to explode. His hand came up to the bridge of his nose, pinching it slightly as he closed his eyes, a hiss of frustration escaping his lips. He needed to control himself, to think clearly. But the betrayal was like a knife in his back, twisting deeper with every passing second. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. He wanted to hurt them both, to make them pay for what they had done. But more than that, he wanted answers. He needed to understand how this had happened, how he had been blindsided in his own home.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, dripping with barely contained rage. “What the fuck is goin’ on ‘ere?” His words were slow, deliberate, each one a bullet aimed at the two people standing before him. He wanted to see them squirm, to see the fear in their eyes as they realized the gravity of what they had done. His wife flinched at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide with fear and guilt. The man beside her paled, his bravado crumbling in the face of Thomas’s cold fury.

“Tommy, I... I can explain,” his wife stammered, her voice shaking. But Thomas wasn’t interested in her explanations, not yet. He stepped into the room, his presence dominating the space, making it feel smaller, more claustrophobic.

“Don’t.” His voice was low, dangerous, the kind of tone that made even the bravest men think twice. He stepped into the room, his gaze fixed on the man, who was now standing tall, as if trying to assert his dominance. But Thomas Shelby was not a man to be challenged, especially not in his own home.

His eyes bore into the man who still had the audacity to stand so close to his wife. “Who even the fuck are yeh?” Thomas growled, his voice low and deadly, the kind of voice that made men confess their sins.

“You’ve got some nerve, eh?” Thomas’s voice was laced with venom, his accent thickening as his anger grew. He took another step closer, his eyes never leaving the man’s face. “Comin’ into my house, touchin’ my wife... Yeh must be either brave or stupid. Or both.”

His gaze was locked on the man, a pitiful excuse for a human being who now stood trembling before him. The man was trying to speak, but his words were garbled, caught in his throat as if the very act of forming a sentence in Thomas’s presence was too much for him to bear. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands shook at his sides, like a cornered animal ready to bolt at the first sign of mercy—or danger. Thomas’s jaw tightened, the muscle twitching beneath his skin as he held back the surge of violence that clawed at his insides.

The room was painfully silent, save for the man’s ragged breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Thomas’s wife shifted uncomfortably behind him. But even without looking at her, Thomas could feel her presence—could sense the guilt radiating off her in waves, mingling with the stench of fear and betrayal that hung heavy in the air. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath his polished shoes. The man flinched, his eyes wide with terror, darting from Thomas to his wife and back again. Thomas could see the thoughts racing through the man’s mind, the desperate scramble to find a way out, a way to explain himself, to justify the unforgivable. But there was no justification—not for this.

“Answer me,” Thomas growled, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that made men think twice before crossing him. It was a command, not a request, and the man knew it. But still, he hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, words failing him in the face of Thomas’s cold, unyielding stare.

Thomas’s eyes flicked back to his wife, catching the brief, pleading glance she sent the man’s way, a silent cry for help that went unanswered. The sight of it—of her still trying to protect this man, this nobody—made something inside him snap. His anger, already a simmering storm, flared hot and uncontrollable, flooding his veins with a heat that burned away any remnants of restraint. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until the man finally found his voice, though it wavered with fear. “I-I didn’t mean... I never wanted to... I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby... Please, I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what?” Thomas interrupted, his voice a sharp, cutting blade. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them until he was towering over the man, his presence overwhelming. “Didn’t know she was married? Didn’t know who I was?” He sneered, his lip curling with disgust. “Or didn’t care?”

The man’s breath hitched, and he glanced desperately at Thomas’s wife, as if hoping she might intervene, might save him from the wrath that was surely coming. But Thomas wasn’t having it. He reached out, his hand like a vice as he grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him forward until they were nose to nose. The man’s feet barely touched the ground, and his breath came in short, panicked gasps as he struggled in Thomas’s grip.

“Yeh think I don’t know men like yeh?” Thomas hissed, his voice low but filled with venom. “Yeh think I haven’t dealt with worse scum than you in the streets of Birmingham? Yer nothing. Less than nothing. And yeh had the audacity to touch what’s mine?”

He shoved the man back, releasing him with a force that sent him stumbling into the wall behind him. The man crumpled, his legs giving out beneath him as he slid to the floor, his back against the faded wallpaper. Thomas loomed over him, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, the urge to beat the life out of this pitiful creature nearly overpowering. But he held back—barely—his mind still whirring, still calculating. Violence wasn’t the answer—not yet. He needed to know more. Needed to understand the full extent of this betrayal before he could decide how to deal with it. He turned his attention to his wife, who was now openly weeping, her face buried in her hands. The sound of her sobs grated on his nerves, a reminder of the pain she had caused, the trust she had shattered. But there was something else too, something in the way she cried that made him pause. It wasn’t just guilt or fear that drove her tears—there was something deeper, a sadness that he hadn’t expected, hadn’t seen before.

“Tommy, please...” she whispered, her voice muffled by her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to happen... I swear, it was a mistake... I’ve been so lonely...”

At the word lonely, Thomas felt a fresh wave of anger crash over him. He could hardly believe the audacity of it, the sheer gall of her to use such an excuse. Lonely? Lonely? As if that justified anything. As if that gave her the right to betray him, to throw away everything they had built together over the past four years. His teeth ground together, the sound nearly audible in the tense silence of the room.

“Lonely,” he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “Yeh think that’s a fuckin’ excuse? Yeh think that makes it alright?” His words were sharp, each one hitting her like a physical blow, and she flinched as if she had been struck. But he didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. The floodgates had opened, and all the bitterness, the hurt, the betrayal he had been holding back came pouring out, each word laced with venom.

“Yeh think I don’t know what lonely is? Yeh think I don’t feel it too? Every time I’m away, every time I have to leave this house to keep us safe, to keep yeh safe, yeh think I don’t feel it? But I didn’t stray, did I? I didn’t go lookin’ for comfort in someone else’s arms, did I? And yet here yeh are, beggin’ for forgiveness, tryin’ to make me understand.”

His fists were still clenched at his sides, the knuckles white and trembling with the effort it took not to lash out, not to give in to the primal urge to break something—anything. But he couldn’t let that happen. He needed to stay in control, needed to keep his head clear, even as his heart ached and his blood boiled with the realization of what she had done. He turned back to the man, who was still cowering on the floor, eyes wide with terror as he looked up at Thomas, knowing that his fate lay in the hands of the man who stood above him. Thomas took a deep breath, forcing himself to think, to plan, to strategize. This man wasn’t worth his anger, wasn’t worth the blood that would be spilled if he gave in to his rage. But he couldn’t let him off easy—not after this.

“Yeh better run while yeh still can,” Thomas said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “Maybe yeh’ll be far enough away before my men get to yeh. But don’t count on it.”

The man hesitated for only a moment, and then, with a choked sob of relief, he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door. Thomas didn’t move as the man brushed past him, didn’t flinch as the double doors slammed shut behind him, leaving the room in an oppressive, suffocating silence. Finally, when the sound of the man’s footsteps had faded into the distance, Thomas turned back to his wife. She was still crying, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, and for a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—he felt a pang of something like pity. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the cold, hard reality of what she had done.

He took a step closer to her, his shoes thudding softly against the wooden floor. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, before wrapping around her wrists in a firm, possessive grip. There was no anger in the touch, not yet. It was more a need to connect, to hold onto something that felt real in a moment when everything else seemed to be slipping away. His other hand found its way to her waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, pulling her closer. The familiar scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, a scent that once brought him comfort but now only reminded him of what might be lost.

“Why would yeh throw what we have away… why?” His voice was low, gritty, carrying the weight of the unspoken accusations that lingered between them. It wasn’t just a question; it was a plea, a desperate attempt to understand how the woman he loved could betray him. His breath was warm against her ear, and he could feel the slight tremor in her body as he spoke. But whether that tremor was from fear, guilt, or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell.

The silence that followed his question was deafening. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, a dull thud that seemed to echo in the small room. His grip on her wrists tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that he was there, that he wasn’t letting go until he got the answers he needed. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to piece together the puzzle of their relationship. Where had it all gone wrong? Was it something he did? Or was it something she had been planning all along? Thomas was a man who prided himself on control, on being able to manage every aspect of his life with a precision that few could match. But here, now, with his wife in his grasp and the specter of infidelity hanging over them, he felt that control slipping. And it terrified him. He had been faithful to her, had given her everything she could ever want, and yet here they were, standing on the precipice of something that could destroy them both.

His eyes searched hers, looking for the truth, for any sign that she might deny the accusations, that she might reassure him, tell him he was wrong. But instead, he saw something else—something that made his stomach churn. Was it guilt? Or was it defiance? He couldn’t tell, and that only made his grip tighten further, his knuckles whitening as he held onto her as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“Eh?” he pressed, his voice a low growl now, the frustration evident in every syllable. 

Thomas's left her waist and darted roughly to her hand that bared her wedding ring he had custom made just for her. He gripped her hand with a force that teetered on the edge of violence, his fingers digging into her soft skin. The silver wedding ring gleamed ominously in the dim light, a symbol of their union now turned into a weapon. He shoved her hand roughly in front of her face, forcing her to confront the reality of what that ring meant. “Yeh see this fuckin’ rock on yer’ finger…” he hissed, his voice low and gravelly, each word laced with venom. “That means yer fuckin’ mine!”

His wife’s eyes, wide with a mix of fear and defiance, flickered between his own and the ring, her lips trembling as she tried to form a response. But before she could even utter a word, Thomas yanked her closer, their faces now inches apart. His breath was hot against her cheek, the scent of whiskey still clinging to him from the earlier hours. His jaw clenched as he spoke again, slower this time, his voice dropping even lower, the words grinding out like stones against each other. “D’ya understand? Mine.” There was no room for doubt in his tone, no space for negotiation. This was not a man who tolerated disobedience or betrayal. This was a man who had built an empire from nothing, a man who had clawed his way out of the mud and blood of Small Heath to stand at the top. And now, the very idea that the woman he had chosen to stand beside him, the woman he had protected and loved in his own cold, twisted way, could be betraying him? It was an affront he could barely comprehend, let alone tolerate.

He cupped her face, his fingers curling against her skin with a force that bordered on roughness, a desperate need to feel her, to remind himself that she was still his, despite the cracks that had formed in the foundation of their marriage. His thumb brushed over her cheek, a gesture that was almost tender if not for the underlying tension that coiled in his muscles, a barely restrained violence that simmered just below the surface. He pulled her towards him, their lips colliding in a kiss that was more a battle than an embrace. It wasn’t the gentle, loving kiss of a husband to his wife; it was a claiming, a demand, a statement of ownership wrapped in the guise of affection. The kiss was harsh, driven by a mix of need and anger, of love and betrayal. His lips pressed against hers with a bruising intensity, as if he could kiss the doubt away, as if he could force her to be faithful through sheer willpower. His other hand tangled in her hair, the softness of the strands a stark contrast to the roughness of his grip. He held her there, anchored in place, as if letting go would mean losing her entirely. He could feel the resistance in her, the hesitation, and it only spurred him on, deepening the kiss, trying to pull something from her, a confession, a reassurance, anything that would give him peace.

Time seemed to stretch, the kiss consuming them both, blocking out the world beyond the four walls of the room. It was just them now, two people locked in a struggle as old as time itself—love and trust, suspicion and betrayal. Thomas knew what he was fighting for, but he wasn’t sure if she did. He wasn’t sure if she felt the same desperation, the same need to make this work, to keep what they had from crumbling into dust. When he finally pulled back, his chest heaving from the intensity of the kiss, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested against hers, his breath hot and heavy against her lips as he searched her eyes for something—anything—that would tell him he wasn’t making a mistake. His eyes bore into hers, seeking the truth, pleading with her to give him some sign that she was still the woman he married, the woman he had been faithful to for four long years. There was a flicker there, a glimmer of something that might have been hope, or perhaps it was just a reflection of his own desperate need to believe. But whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“We made that promise,” he said, his voice a low growl, thick with the accent of Birmingham, every word carrying the weight of their past, their vows, their life together. “Four years, we’ve been through hell and back, and I’ve stood by you every step of the way. But now...” He trailed off, his grip on her face tightening slightly, a flash of anger, of pain, flickering across his features. “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

Author's Notes:

Ahhhhhhh! where have I been? School started for me and I've also been in a writers block lolz. But yeah, hopefully this story doesn't suck.. anyways toodles!!

[theartisticqueen]

Fr tho like half of the men I’m over here drooling over i don’t even know their characters but all that matters is they fine af

Not me reading fanfiction of a show I've never watched

[littlelokison]

Tagged by @prettyprompto

1. Height: 5′2

2. Zodiac: Libra

3. Last movie I saw: Poltergeist

4. Favourite Musician: IDK

5. Favourite Author: J.K. Rowling and Micheal Scott

6. Favourite Fanfiction: N/A

7. Favourite Movie: Lion King

8. Favourite Anime: Sailor Moon

9. Play any instruments?: violin, although not professionally

10. Random fact: I quote all my favorite movies

12. Do you get asks?:  Nope

13. Fandoms: Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy

14. Favourite song: Don’t Think Twice from KH3

15. What are you wearing?: pajamas and a hooded shirt

16. Hair colour: dark brown NOT black!!!!!

17. Eye colour: Blue/Green/Gray …. They change color

18. Favourite food: Pizza

19. Hobbies: Rping, video games, photoshop

20. Favourite weather: Autumn because I love the colors of the leaves changing

21. Favourite superhero: Iron Man

Tagging: anyone who wants to join

[peakyblinders1919]

Recollection

Part 2 to collection

“What’s all this?” Voice monotone, he only asked out of courtesy since he knew the answer.

She came bearing gifts; it was always a good sign when she came bearing gifts. She must have been up a few whole hours before the sun to have accomplished what she did. A breakfast fit for a king, with eggs three different ways, bacon, sausage, porridge and freshly picked fruits from the garden tossed into a salad, freshly squeezed orange juice, plates of toast and jam, and his flowers from the night before in a vase as the centerpiece of the spread, always a nice touch. He took a seat and eyed the food, and her, somewhat hungrily.

“Can’t I just spoil my husband?”

“Well, as of last night I didn’t think I was such a thing to you.”

He watched her closely as she giggled. “Oh please, you know I wasn’t serious.”

He quirked an eyebrow her way as she wiped her hands on her apron, sitting across from him and blowing on the piping hot cup of tea in her hand for herself. “Oh come on, eat up. You’ll need your fuel today.”

An unsettling yet comfortable silence lingered between them as he studied her closely, though there was the faint sound of birds chirping in the trees in the orchard, making the scene a fairytale moment.

It was such a contrast to the night before, he wondered what had come over her. Last night she was a true vision throwing her jewels on the floor, and this morning she was the epitome housewife. She continued watching him, hoping he’d make a plate and truly accept her apology.

He poured himself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette instead.

“That was some stunt you pulled last night,” the words curled off his tongue, out of his rosy pink lips like the addictive smoke from his cigarette. “And I could almost say the same Mr. Shelby…”

The way the words rolled off her tongue, the formal title only used in a pleading manner. Her eyes were begging too, begging him for more. “Here.” A plate was put in front of him filled with his absolute favorites from the table, the gesture her final plea.

“Have you changed your mind since last night?” Eyeing the food, then her.

“What’s on the agenda for today? Will you be working in London or Birmingham?” It was blatantly obvious to him why she changed the question; she didn’t have an answer yet. Tension hung in the air like smoke, an invisible, unsaid pull between them, their words volleying their love, lust, and loathing for each other in perfect syncticy.

“Birmingham. Settling the Garrison tab and the labor strikes at the factories.” He kept his sentence short, why did she care about details finer than that? He held the power with his icy stare, silence continuing to linger, fighting against the incessant noise of time passing. He would sit there and continue waiting, waiting, however long it took to wear her down with those blue eyes of his. He knew what was coming, his mind just starting to wander when the scuffle of their undeniable love filled the hallway. The glue of their family saying good-bye as they’re carted off to school, Tommy normally would follow them out but he knew today was going to be different.

“You know, it’s been awhile since we’ve had the house to ourselves” she began, a tingling sensation sent down her back as she rolled her plump lips in between her teeth.

With a content sigh it was all confirmed, the breakfast and flowers and unanswered question.

“I really better get going-” he teased, getting ready to move towards the door ever so slightly, waiting for her to crack. He could read it on her face, in her body language, desire pouring out of her like red smoke.

“You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that, I said I have places to be”, *it doesn’t look good when someone of my status is late to work* he thought, though the more he thought the more he realized he could give two shits what his employees thought about him. She tried to hide the smile on her face, though it’s undeniable to ignore the feeling rising in her core. She knew what the others would say when she took him back like this, her cheeks flushed red at just the thought of the criticism she’d receive for seducing her cheating husband…

“What’s wrong then?”

“Nothing…” Pride swelled in his chest as victory settled over him. “And what did you have in mind?” He purred. Maybe this was the reason why he sought out others, why he brought her jewelry and flowers and Champagne as a “forgive me” gift, even on those occasions when he didn’t do anything to warrant them. Keeping her in the dark was dangerous for both of them of course, but it was a risk he was willing to take over and over again.

“Come on,” the words accompanied by his sly smile as he went to usher her upstairs, it was obvious who was in charge here. He had no choice but to push her skirt up her waist. Her hands worked quickly at his belt.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Finally apologizing…”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be doing the apologizing.” Now she was angry that he was taking this away from her too, but that didn’t measure up to the list of reasons why he was beyond infatuated with her and her toxic antics.

“It’s both of us who are sorry, hm? Is that right?”

“I’m giving you your heart back. Wrapped in a pretty bow.” Lips curled around her ear, traveling down her neck as he pieced back what he had broken bit by bit, inch by inch as he kissed between her breasts down to the spot above it where her heart lay below, beating unbelievably fast. Neither would admit how much they both needed this. Articles of expensive clothing scattered across the floor. A weight lifted off him to finally have her back in his arms rather than watching her leave. “I love you. I never meant to break your heart that way, you know I would never do that to you. I never stopped loving you, no matter what you believe, and I’m going to proper show you that. This is it. I promise. There’s no one else who does to me what you do. I care about you more than you could ever know.” Her pleasure and acceptance evidence in her moans spurred on by his words and his tongue.

In a tangle of limbs, he was inside her. Intimately, he found a way to her core that made her eyes gleam.

“You mean it? Really?” Her voice was already shallow, swallowed by her lack of air as he thrust into her at a rhythm that could only be described as love-making.

“I do.” His voice steady now, he swallowed a moan while looking her dead in the eye, fully. “I mean every damn word. I’ve got all my love to give to you. I love you. Don’t leave."

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