#cillian murphy oc

[bleakmidwinter00]

Merry Christmas Everyone!

[feninina]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

if you want to be added let me know, it’ll be my pleasure🫶🏻

[boiohboii]

A mini heart attack: sponsored by YN and Cillian

(Cillian murphy x driver! Fem reader)

masterlist // part 1

Faceclaim: Angelina Jolie

Liked by lance_stroll, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 1,718,042 others

mickschumacher: I do sometimes calk them mom and dad

username: IT'S YOU!!!

username: you had every single yn and cillian fan lose their mind FOR A FUCKING WEEK!!!

username: it's me, hiii, I'm the problem it's me

username: he was watching twitter burning down with a smile

username: noooo!!! I just got emotionally ready to see yn and cillian's children, you can't do that to me!!

landonorris: can I call yn mum too?

lance_stroll: no

oscarpiastri: sure, if you want a repeat of what happened last time

landonorris: I hate you guys, I still get nightmares

lance_stroll: it was actually mick's idea

landonorris: @.mickschumacher you evil human being, how do you even come up with something that traumatising!

mickschumacher: if you want a doll talking to you at 3 am keep going

[randomcreator-09]

Small Heath's Songbird (Thomas Shelby x OCY/N!Reader)

(Gif not mine > @bonniebird)

I WANNA BE KISSED LIKE THIS TOO T^T

Part One - Part Two

✨Pure fluff, No Grace, no smut... for now 😏✨

🐧Aha~ hello people of this world... took me long to finish writing this aha busy playing adult, phew. Ok context, don't get me wrong, I love the original Grace but in this fic, she's nonexistent. OCY/N is an asian heh hope that ayt with yall. ALSO this will focus on season 3, where Tommy has his arrow house already. Although his single asf and relies on whores... Until hehehe yeah boi~ XD Also this is just a character intro sorta... but there would be some important factors here that you need to know to be able to fully understand part two, so READ IT >:D muhahahahaha🐧

Own character description but it's Y/N POV

3.4k words

REBLOG TO SPREAD ADDICTION and kudos are appreciated too thank you ^^

Enjoy reading ^^

Part One - Part Two

-----

Birmingham was unkind to those who were different from them. Although England wasn't perfect themselves they still held grudges to those they deemed 'peculiar'.

You were spot on in that criteria. Small in height, jet black wavy hair, slightly slanted almond eyes, and full lips. However your skin tone was the same as theirs, coming from your European side of the family, that didn't save you from the racial slurs you'd get when you moved to Birmingham. A lot of people weren't as happy as you were when you arrived, a few looks here and there, but your used to it even in your home country. You see, you had bright blue eyes (with a little tint of green). Very unique if you'd say, but people disagree on that, especially your people. They think your the devils daughter and for it they kicked you out too.

It's been a few months since you settled in Small Heath. A kind woman accepted you with open arms and let you stay for a while in her humble home till you found yourself a job. She was a whore yes, but that didn't bother you since you've seen a lot worse than being a whore. You respected her even, for it was hard to live by selling your body to people you don't love. She offered you a job once (to be a whore) but you quickly declined saying 'as much as I respect your field of work Missus, I'd like to keep my innocence to a man I love'.

Not that you were virgin, oh no, you've definitely had made love with a few men through your travels, but none of them really stuck with you or vice versa. They just didn't feel right.

Days went by and the landlady ran to you with the daily newspaper in hand. "Look!" she said pointing at an advertisement, "Personal assistant maid needed," as you took the newpaper from her hands and smiled with delight, 'this is it' you thought. The landlady stubbed her cigar dead on the newspaper "Fuck, it's the arrow house." she said as she took the newspaper from you shaking her head. "Wha- Missus but the pay is good?!" you retorted to which she glared at you at for, "The Arrow House is owned by a notorious gangster who'd either kill you or fuck your life up with his fukin fingers!" she explained crossing her arms facing you "you can't even become a prostitute here why bother going to a devils house and be his whore?" she continued.

Your brows furrowed in question. You didn't mind being with a devil sure but to be his whore... Now that may cross a line. "Personal Assistant maid, it doesn't say anythin about being a prostitute," you tried explaining, even though you knew what she meant by that. Most men thought any woman with no man in public is a whore. However the pay was good, it included your own room, free food, and a lot of free time too! With that thought in mind you could still go for that bar singer position every Saturday in the Garrison (to which you heard from the ladies who lived upstairs who tried the position and failed miserably).

The landlady shook her head and sighed, she can't stop you now for she knew, you have decided and when that happens nothing can ever change your mind. "Suit yourself," as she walked away.

-----

The day came and you got a call back from Frances (the head maid), looks like faith was on your side on this one. Hopefully, not as his whore...

You paused to admire the beautiful house as you walked down the gravel road (unsuccessful with pulling a cab because they'd just pass by you). Red bricks stacked upon each other and gorgeous grey pillars and intricate designs adorned it. Still can't believe he lives alone in this big mansion. You huffed air in your lungs as you stride to the main door, lifting your arms to knock.

Knock knock knock

As you puffed the door creaks open to a woman in black, "Ah, you must be Y/N, come in." as she gestured you in. You stared at awe at how spacious the place was. The stairs up was beautiful with portraits of horses and perhaps you thought the Shelby brothers. "We won't be doing much today. Mr. Shelby is out of town and so tomorrow is when you'll officially start. For now get comfortable and I'll roam you around," she spoke clear and concise as you answered by nodding and 'yes Miss Florence' following her to your room.

Your room was spacious as well. A queen size bed on the middle of the room with a window on the left side and a makeup desk on the right. The room was well lit with electric lamps on each side of the bed side and the ceiling was well sculptured with wooden structures, floor was wooden as well. Although the wall were concrete white walls. The room was on the second floor beside Miss Florence's room, away from Mr. Shelby's room, which was a relief on your side.

Miss Florence gave you an hour to get yourself acquainted with your room and said that you had to be out in the entrance where she would be waiting to tour you around. You nodded and she left.

-----

As you have arranged your things in your new room and got ready for the tour Miss Florence had in store for you, you looked at your reflection in the mirror to make sure you look alright for the day. With a nod and a smile you went out and to the entrance where Miss Florence would be.

Miss Florence, a composed and efficient figure, waited for you near the grand entrance of Arrow House, her expression warm yet formal. She nodded approvingly as you approached, and after a quick greeting, she began the tour.

“Arrow House has its own unique history,” Miss Florence explained as she led you through the main hall, with its high ceilings, elaborate chandeliers, and walls adorned with artwork of the family’s ancestors. “Mr. Shelby brought new life to it when he acquired it, though he values his privacy.”

She walked you through the elegant sitting rooms first, which, despite the muted tones and dark wood, held a sense of opulence. “These rooms are for Mr. Shelby’s meetings and guests. They don’t see much daily use,” she added, pausing by one of the grand fireplaces. The flickering light from the embers cast a warm glow, highlighting the fine detail in the antique furniture.

Next, she led you to the kitchen, which, unlike the other rooms, bustled with activity. The staff members here worked with impressive coordination, preparing meals and ensuring everything was ready at a moment’s notice. “The kitchen is where you’ll be helping from time to time,” Miss Florence informed you. “Mr. Shelby’s tastes are simple, but he expects high standards.”

She guided you through the dining hall, where a large mahogany table stood at the center, framed by polished silverware and neatly folded napkins. “It may look grand, but meals are usually straightforward affairs unless there are visitors,” she commented, giving a rare, light chuckle.

You followed her up the grand staircase, its carpeted steps soft beneath your feet. Miss Florence pointed out the various guest rooms, each one elegantly prepared, with tasteful decor, though they rarely saw visitors. “The family only uses these rooms on occasion,” she remarked, indicating the polished brass fixtures and thick curtains. “Mr. Shelby has specific guests, and they sometimes stay overnight. Best to keep everything ready.”

Finally, she took you down a corridor that led to Mr. Shelby’s private quarters. She paused outside the door of his room. “This is Mr. Shelby’s room. You’re not to enter unless asked.” She looked at you with a hint of seriousness before adding, “Privacy is highly regarded here.”

Finally, after guiding you through the upper floors, Miss Florence led you back downstairs. She stopped near a richly decorated doorway just off the main hall.

“And this,” she said, “is Mr. Shelby’s office. You’ll find him here often.” She looked at you pointedly, adding, “Best to knock and wait for a response before entering.”

Through the doorway, you could see the polished desk, papers stacked with military precision, and the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. This room, located on the ground floor, clearly held an air of authority and was situated close to the entry—perfect for swift meetings or private business.

With the tour complete, Miss Florence gave a small nod. “Take a moment to familiarize yourself with the house,” she said, before leaving you alone in the dimly lit hallway, surrounded by Arrow House’s quiet opulence.

The sun was still out so you planned to walk around outside. The house had a small garden at the side and a horse stables on the back which was clearly Mr. Shelby's.

The house also had a porch, with a posh white table and two chairs seeing the lush green forest from afar. You sighed as you felt the breeze on your neck to your half-tied hair and crossed your arms around you feeling the cold wind trickling your skin through your clothes. The clothes you wore were expensive to say the least, your former landlady was so sad you were moving out that she gifted you a luxurious royal blue dress to wear going to the mansion.

Suddenly a warm feeling enveloped you as you flinched looking at your shoulders. A dark coat was over your body and a quick smoke flickered your eyes to see a man with a defined jaw and cheekbones. "You must be Y/N," he said as he kept his eyes on the greenery. "Shelby, but you can call me Thomas" as he offered his hands towards you.

As you raised your hands slowly to shake his you hesitated and dropped your hands back to your sides. You removed his dark coat around you and offered it back, "Thank you for the kind gesture Mr. Shelby, but I am your personal made not a visitor. I am here to work for you" you said as you continued to look down at his shoes, unable to look up his face.

"Hmm," a low grumble from the throat made you lift your head up, and there you saw his head tilted closer to yours with his piercing blue eyes straight to yours. "Well, you have beautiful eyes that I can assure ye'" as he puffed out the smoke in his lungs, standing up and taking the coat on your hands and swiftly placing them again on top of your shoulders.

You could smell the strong cologne he had on. Mixed with the scent of the cigar he was taking and blood? It was dangerously addicting.

"You'll start tomorrow anyways," as he started to walk away slowly. "Let me at least treat you as a visitor before you get all busy." as he started to walk towards the stables. You suddenly feel blood rushing to your cheeks reminiscing about his scent and how his face was close to yours.

"You following or not?" a shout from afar caught your attention and removed you from your thoughts. "Yes Mr. Shelby, following!" you shouted back as you ran towards him.

-----(Tommy's POV)

The ride back to Arrow House was a haze of smoke, blood, and lingering fury. Changretta’s betrayal was handled, his lifeless eyes now a grim reminder of the consequences of crossing Thomas Shelby. Yet as the gravel crunched beneath his vehicle and the grand silhouette of Arrow House emerged, a part of him yearned for something—anything—other than the chaos he’d left behind.

As he placed his feet unto the gravel road, the cool evening breeze carried hints of earth and lavender, a stark contrast to the suffocating smoke-filled rooms of Birmingham. He loosened his tie as he rounded the corner of the porch, lighting himself a cigar, his gaze falling on a figure in a striking royal blue dress.

She stood there, arms crossed against the chill, her posture straight but her gaze distant as if lost in thought. Her hair was tied back neatly, a few tendrils escaping to frame a delicate face. He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching for a moment. She turned slightly, and the setting sun caught her profile—soft, porcelain skin glowing against the backdrop of the lush green garden.

For a brief moment, Thomas thought she was a guest, someone important perhaps, yet there was no carriage, no announcement of arrival. It wasn’t until he noticed the plain black shoes and the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress that he realized—this was the new maid.

"Interesting."

He removed his dark coat and approached her, draping it over her shoulders in a practiced motion. She flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, keeping his tone low as he puffed his cigarette. He glanced past her at the garden, keeping his expression unreadable.

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edges of the coat as if debating whether to keep it. “Shelby,” he introduced, his voice firm yet laced with intrigue, “but you can call me Thomas.” He extended a hand.

Her reaction amused him. She raised her hand but let it fall back to her side, averting her gaze. Then, she carefully removed the coat and held it out to him. “Thank you for the kind gesture, Mr. Shelby, but I am your personal maid, not a visitor. I am here to work for you.”

Thomas’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. Her voice was polite yet firm, and her shyness intrigued him. “Hmm.” The soft growl from his throat made her finally look up.

Her eyes caught him off guard. Blue, with a hint of green—bright and unique, a startling contrast against her dark lashes and raven hair. He tilted his head slightly, letting the silence linger as he leaned closer, holding her gaze.

“Well,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, “you have beautiful eyes, that I can assure ye’.” He took the coat from her hands and deliberately placed it back over her shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress. “You’ll start tomorrow anyways. Let me at least treat you as a visitor before you get all busy.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and started walking toward the stables, the weight of her presence lingering in his mind.

“You following or not?” he called out without looking back.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby! Following!” Her voice was a touch breathless, and it brought an unexpected smile to his lips.

-----Your POV

As the gravel crunched beneath your feet, you quickened your pace to catch up with Mr. Shelby, who was already nearing the stables. The breeze carried the faint scent of hay and leather, mingling with the earthy aroma of the horses. You hesitated briefly before stepping into the barn, the dim light casting soft shadows across the wooden beams.

Thomas Shelby stood near one of the horses, his fingers brushing through its mane with an ease that spoke of familiarity. The soft nickering of the animal filled the air as he looked over his shoulder to see you standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“You don’t have to just stand there,” he remarked, his tone light but firm. “They don’t bite… much.”

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you stepped closer, the warmth of the stable wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The horse he was grooming turned its head slightly, as if inspecting you. Its dark eyes held a quiet curiosity, much like its owner’s piercing gaze.

“Do you know much about horses?” he asked, handing you a brush without waiting for an answer.

You shook your head, gently taking the brush from his outstretched hand. “Not really, Mr. Shelby. I’ve always admired them, though.”

“Thomas,” he corrected, his voice steady. “If you’re working here, we may as well skip the formalities.”

You nodded, feeling a small wave of relief at his approachable tone. Moving to stand beside him, you watched as he demonstrated the technique, his hands methodical as he ran the brush down the horse’s side. You followed his lead, your movements careful and deliberate.

“This one’s name is Arrow,” he said, his voice softer now. “She’s got a temper, but if you’re patient, she’ll warm up to you.”

You couldn’t help but smile as Arrow leaned slightly into your touch, her warm breath puffing against your arm. “She’s beautiful,” you murmured, glancing at Thomas out of the corner of your eye.

“She knows it,” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, filled only by the rustling of hay and the rhythmic strokes of the brushes. You felt a strange sense of ease around him, despite the intimidating aura he carried.

“Why Birmingham?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but curious.

The question caught you off guard, and you paused mid-stroke. “It wasn’t really a choice,” you admitted. “I needed somewhere to start over, and Birmingham… well, it’s not as unkind as some places.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, thoughtful. “People here can be… particular,” he said. “But they’ll get used to you.”

You didn’t miss the unspoken meaning behind his words—he understood what it was like to be judged, to carry something on your shoulders that others didn’t bother to understand.

“And you?” you asked tentatively, surprising yourself with the question. “Do you get used to people?”

Thomas paused, his hands stilling on the brush. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before he turned back to Arrow. “Only the ones worth knowing.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken depth that made your heart flutter. Before you could respond, he straightened, dusting off his hands. “Come on,” he said, motioning toward the barn door. “It’s getting dark.”

-----

The kitchen was warm and inviting, far cozier than the grandeur of the dining hall you’d seen earlier. Thomas moved with an ease that surprised you, setting out simple plates and pouring glasses of water. The smell of fresh bread and stew filled the air, and you found yourself relaxing as you took a seat at the modest wooden table.

“Not what you were expecting, was it?” he asked, setting a bowl of stew in front of you.

You shook your head, smiling. “Not at all. It’s… nice. Feels more real.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile as he took a seat across from you. “Real’s not a word people usually associate with me.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Maybe they’re not looking close enough.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and you felt the intensity of his gaze settle over you like a weight. The air between you shifted, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

As the meal went on, the conversation flowed easily, each shared story peeling back another layer of the man who, only hours ago, had been a mysterious and intimidating figure. By the time the plates were empty and the kitchen quieted, the darkness outside had deepened, wrapping the house in a blanket of stillness.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you. “You’ll do fine here,” he said softly accentuating the end remark, almost to himself.

You felt a warmth rise in your chest at his words, but before you could thank him, he stood and walked as he leaned to your side. The sudden closeness made your breath catch, and when he reached down to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingered for just a moment too long.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without thinking, your hand brushed against his. He stopped, his eyes searching yours, and slowly in that moment, the space between you disappeared. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and unyielding, a moment that felt suspended in time.

When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “See you tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before he turned and left the kitchen.

You sat there, your heart racing, trying to piece together what had just happened. One thing was certain—life at Arrow House was going to be anything but ordinary.

----- End of part one (Part Two on December 24th [to be updated here])

Part One - Part Two

-----

🐧See what I did with the GIF and the ending huhhhhhhh ^w^ anyways hope ya'll can wait till 24th ehe🐧

Like this post to be tagged in Part Two ^^ (and to be added to my Taglist)

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Like this post to be tagged in Part Two ^^

[queenshelby]

Auctioned (P. 1)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

The rain fell relentlessly, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Y/N's heart as she walked down the dimly lit streets of Small Heath.

It was a neighbourhood perpetually caught in the grip of shadows, where whispers of danger cascaded through the air like an ominous secret.

Clutching her coat tighter around her trembling form, Y/N navigated the labyrinthine alleyways towards her destination. The wind howled, carrying with it a sense of desperation that seemed to echo her own.

After mere minutes of walking down the street, the brothel she had worked at as a waitress for the past two years stood ominously before her, its ornate facade a stark contrast to the gritty reality of its surroundings.

It was a daunting place she had visited many times before. Both of her sisters worked there, and it was Y/N's eldest sister who had orchestrated tonight’s ordeal.

When Y/N was only sixteen years old, her eldest sister told her not to give away her innocence lightly as, according to her, a woman’s virginity was a commodity these days. Men were willing to pay much money for it, and six months after Y/N turned eighteen, she decided to partake in one of the brothel’s first-ever auctions.

“There are many men here tonight and you are the only virgin” Y/N's sister told her, causing Y/N to cringe but remain silent. “In three months’ time Em, we will be debt-free” her sister then reassured her as rumors of illicit dealings and forbidden desires swirled around the brothel’s walls, warning Y/N and the two other girls partaking in tonight’s events to tread with caution.

Y/N's determination propelled her forward though nonetheless, into the grand hall of the establishment and, albeit with trepidation lingering in every step, she pushed through her anxiety. The weight of her decision bore down on her shoulders now, the knowledge that she had offered her innocence for sale causing a knot of guilt to form in the pit of her stomach.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, the creaking sound reverberated through the room, capturing the attention of its mysterious clientele, including men that were twice and three times Y/N's age.

Seeing them, gave Y/N second thoughts. She disappeared again into the back of the room, telling her sister that she was unsure as to whether she could go through with this and, once again, her sister reminded her of what was to come if she did not.

“Trust me Em, it is better to fuck one guy for a few months than a ton of them for years. You will have money once your time is up. It will be worth it” her sister told Y/N, who reluctantly nodded.

The deal was to give up her virginity and three months of her life to the highest bidder and in the brothel’s owner’s opinion, such offering was going to attract a bid of at least one-thousand pounds.

One thousand pounds was more than Y/N could make in five years, thus she agreed, setting herself up for a good life of her own.

***

Glancing through one of the open doors again, Y/N saw that the auction room was illuminated by dim candlelight, casting elongated shadows across the velvety red curtains that framed the stage.

Many men were still arriving, taking their seats and talking with each other. Y/N could count at least fifteen thus far and were astonished by the fact that all these wealthy men were prepared to pay for her inexperience.

Then, a hushed silence fell over the crowd as another man walked in and it was your sister who peaked through the crack in the door with you now, trying to ascertain what was happened.

“Oh shit” she said as she looked at the man who just walked in. His sharp features were framed by a weave of dark hair, blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room with a predatory intensity. This was Thomas Shelby - a figure whispered about in hushed tones, notorious for his criminal empire, and feared even by those who claimed to know him.

“Who is he?” Y/N asked nonetheless, curious about this handsome but intimidating-looking stranger.

“His name is Thomas Shelby. You would have heard of him?” Y/N's sister said, causing Y/N's chin to drop as, just like everyone else, she had indeed heard of him. He was often referred to as the king of Birmingham, a man whose name had become entwined with notions of danger and darkness. He had blood on his hands and was a career

Criminal who was so powerful that even the police did not stand in his way.

“It is time, come on” the owner of the establishment then said and, with trembling legs, Y/N walked into the room, accompanied by her sister.

All heads turned as Y/N's presence filled the room, but she did not take notice of anyone but him, secretly hoping for this stranger to make a bid.

Y/N's breath hitched as, within seconds, her eyes locked with those of this dangerous man, his icy blue orbs penetrating through her like a shard of glass. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see every secret she held close to her chest, every fear she carried.

Thomas smirked at her, his lips curling with a dangerous mixture of arrogance and charm. He adjusted his tailored suit with the precision of a man who commanded respect, his piercing gaze locked upon the platform where the auctioneer eventually prepared to begin, with you by his side,

The auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, shattering the silence like a crack of thunder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we present to you a rare opportunity. Up for sale to the highest bidder is this young woman's innocence and her services for three months, at a location of your choosing” the man announced and, immediately, whispers raced through the air, mingling with the pounding of hearts.

Eyes flickered from Y/N to Thomas and back again, playing a silent game of anticipation and curiosity. Y/N's cheeks burned with a mix of nervousness and defiance. This was her choice, her chance to take control of her own destiny and yet she hoped that, at least, someone she could be attracted to would become her bidder.

As such, Thomas Shelby was clearly the most attractive and intriguing man in the room and, whilst Y/N had heard tales of Thomas Shelby, the man who straddled the line between the law and the underworld, she was not afraid.

Thomas Shelby’s notoriety preceded him like a shadowy myth and, again, his lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk, his features a carefully crafted mask of unreadable intent. The flicker of amusement in his eyes danced with a darkness that weakened Y/N's knees.

Was here to bid, she wondered? Or was he for the show and the sheer absurdity of it all?

"Let us not waste any time," the auctioneer then continued, his voice dripping with a blend of excitement and intrigue.

"Bidding for Miss Y/N begins at five hundred pounds" the actioneer then announced and the crowd stirred, pockets of murmurs rising like a symphony of anticipation. The forbidden allure of Y/N's offer had captivated them all, and now they were hungry for the chase.

Thomas Shelby remained a silent observer, however. His eyes locked onto Y/N's form with an intensity that made her feel exposed. A shiver of uncertainty crawled up her spine, but she refused to falter. She had made her decision, and she would see it through to the end.

Then, the first bid pierced the air, followed swiftly by another and another. The numbers climbed higher, the desperation of the bidders mirrored in their furious gestures and sharp intakes of breath. From her vantage point on the stage, Y/N watched the faces blur together, a sea of greedy desire stretching out before her like a treacherous ocean.

Among the throng of potential purchasers, only one stood out to her still and this was Thomas Shelby. His eyes were unwavering and fixed upon her. Bids soared into the thousands, the clambering voices echoing through the rafters. In this room of twisted desires and hidden intentions, Y/N's worth was being calculated, her innocence commodified.

A sense of nausea swirled within Y/N's gut, the weight of what she was about to lose hitting her like a sucker punch. She knew the money would bring temporary relief, but the cost of her first time being handed over so coldly – it was a sacrifice she could never fully comprehend.

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N steadied herself, her gaze finding solace in the not-so-innocent eyes of Thomas Shelby across the room. She had set this chain of events in motion, and she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. At last, the bidding war reached its peak, the crowd growing restless, each participant desperate to claim the illustrious prize. The air crackled with anticipation, a storm waiting to unleash its fury.

The auctioneer, sensing the crescendo, roared, "Going once, going twice..." The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, every person holding their breath, their gaze transfixed on the stage. And then, in an instant, Thomas Shelby's voice, low and commanding, cut through the silence like a knife.

"Ten thousand pounds" he said and the room gasped, a collective intake of breath that snaked its way through the assembled throng.

Thomas's bid was a declaration, a statement that he alone was the one who would possess her at a price that was much higher than any other bid before.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse reverberating in her temples. She locked eyes with Thomas, her voice trembling as she promised herself that she would not crumble beneath his intimidating presence even though he wanted her to, by simply looking at her.

"Sold to Thomas Shelby for ten thousand pounds!" the auctioneer's proclamation hung in the air, sealing Y/N's fate like a binding contract.

A mixture of relief and trepidation surged through her veins, her steps faltering as she descended from the stage, her composure teetering on the edge. Thomas approached her with a measured stride, his every move calculated and deliberate. He extended a gloved hand towards her, a pale contrast against the darkness that seemed to radiate from him.

"Y/N, is it?" he asked, his voice a low timbre that held a hidden power, causing in Y/N to nod silently.

"It appears you now belong to me" he then asserted and Y/N paused for a moment, feeling herself teetering on the precipice between freedom and captivity.

“It seems so” Y/N responded as she chose to swallow her fear and accepted his hand, their fingers intertwining in a pact that neither of them fully comprehended.

“Very well then” Thomas responded before he pulled her closer and Y/N felt the weight of his reputation settle upon her shoulders. The echoes of his criminal empire whispered around her, the unknown dangers lurking beneath the surface of this enigmatic man.

With every guiding step, Thomas led her out of the brothel and into the night, the rain washing away the remnants of her former life. The world around her seemed to fade into insignificance, her focus solely on the ruthless man who had claimed her as his own.

***

Eventually, they emerged onto the dark streets of Small Heath, the rain obscuring their silhouettes as they walked side by side. Y/N's nerves danced with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, her mind frantically searching for answers to the questions that suddenly enveloped her.

"You've heard of me, eh. So you know what I do?" Thomas stated, his voice cutting through the raindrops like a razor and Y/N hesitated to answer for a moment, her words momentarily catching in her throat.

"Yes. I have heard that you are dangerous," she finally admitted, the honesty laced with a touch of fear. A hint of a smile danced across Thomas's lips, his eyes narrowing with a blend of amusement and something darker.

"Dangerous, eh?” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is not entirely wrong. Although, one might argue that danger can be seductive” Thomas then asserted and Y/N absorbed his words, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards this enigmatic criminal, as if some inexplicable force drew them together despite the odds stacked against them.

"Why me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breathy plea. The question hung in the air, mingling with the quiet patter of raindrops on the pavement. Thomas stopped abruptly, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. His gaze bore into her, stripping away any pretence that either of them wore.

"Because I saw something in you that intrigued me. Despite, what kind of criminal would not want someone as innocent as you to corrupt, eh?" Thomas joked as the rain continued its relentless assault, washing away the remnants of Y/N's innocence and revealing a strength that had long lain dormant within her.

This journey was not just about the loss of her virginity – it was an awakening, a test of her own resilience. The intoxicating mix of danger, attraction, and the unknown propelled Y/N forward, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild creature. She had embarked on a journey into darkness, and she was determined to emerge on the other side, transformed.

[colsons-baker]

The Gift

Series1 Tommy Shelby x Reader

Across the road and two doors down, that’s as far as Tommy had to go. But he had taken a detour to The Garrison, needing a bit of Dutch courage before he knocked on her door in Watery Lane. In his hands he held a box, wrapped in colourful paper and topped with a bow, a present for the day that was in it. He breathed in just as Y/N opened the door, giving her a quick smile. “Pol told me the party would be over by now. Thought it best I waited till after.” He explained. “Come in.” Y/N smiled, stepping back to give him room. “She’ll be happy to see ye.”

Tommy took the cap from his head as he stepped inside. “I got her sometin.” He said, turning back and holding the box out to her as she followed him to the living room. “Ye can give it to her yerself.” She said, nodding at the doorway. Tommy nodded and walked into the softly lit room, the smell of a freshly baked cake wafting in from the connected kitchen. On the floor sat a little girl, playing with some dolls - a present from her aunty Polly.

“Ada.” Tommy sighed, nodding at his sister. He should have known she would still be here, she couldn’t stay away from his daughter.

“Don’t worry, I’m goin.” Ada stood up. “Bye bye darlin.” She waved to the child who waved back, and Tommy couldn’t help but feel his heart skip at the image as his sister passed him.

He stood there watching her as Y/N saw Ada out, unsure of what to do or say. He had been trying his hardest lately, but she always cried when he was around. She couldn’t blame him, what sort of father was he? He had missed everything in her life so far because of the war, and he couldn’t be present much now because of it too.

It hadn’t been a mistake, he would never say that. But he never meant to get Y/N pregnant. He had been on leave and she had been working late in the bookies. Y/N had been one of the women that kept the whole Shelby enterprise running. He had opened a bottle of whiskey and he needed company, and then they went to bed.

Nine months later, he was in the tunnels as his daughter was born. He missed her first breath, her first cry…her first everything. And when he got back he couldn’t be much more useful. The things he was going through inside his head, well he couldn’t burden his beautiful little girl with that.

As for Y/N, she was everything he wanted and all that he couldn’t have, the war made sure of that. He could never be much of a husband, not with the nightmares and everything else that rattled around in him. But oh how he wished he could have done the right thing and marry her, rather than have her be stained because of him.

“She doesn’t bite ye know?” Y/N’s voice pierced his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “Give her the present.” She encouraged.

Tommy nodded and cleared his throat before he stepped closer, stopping the child mid-play as she turned her attention towards him.

“I heard it was someone’s birthday today.” Tommy said with a little smile. “And what’s a birthday without a present, eh?”

As he crouched down, he placed the box down in front of his daughter. The little girl’s eyes sparkled as she saw the brightly coloured box with the ribbon, knowing exactly what it meant. She crawled closer to the box, and to the man who sometimes came to visit her. Smiling up at him, she pushed it closer to him to open.

Tommy’s smile fell, was she pushing the present away? He went to stand up, but felt a hand on his shoulder. “She want’s ye to open it for her. She’s only two.” Y/N chuckled.

Tommy looked up at Y/N and nodded before turning his attention back to their daughter. “Shall we open it then, eh?” He asked, beginning to untie the bow. “See what’s inside.”

The little girl leaned forward to help rip the paper off, laughing at the fun of it all and making Tommy laugh too.

“Look at this, eh?” He said, as he pulled a teddy bear from the newly opened box. “A new friend to join yer dolls!” He motioned towards the other presents as the child clapped and then reached out for the teddy bear, which Tommy handed over. She hugged the bear close as she kept her eyes on Tommy. After a moment, she held out an arm for him.

“Hug her.” Y/N told him.

“What?” He looked over at the woman who was sat on the couch watching.

“Oh for gods sake Tommy, she wants ye to hug her!” Y/N laughed. “She wants to say thank you.”

Tommy looked back at the little girl, his eyebrows raised slightly at the idea. “A hug, eh?” He nodded. “I can do hugs.”

He held his arms out and his daughter moved into them. His daughter, who he held tightly as he stood, her arms wrapping around his neck and her cheek placed against his.

Tommy closed his eyes and breathed in. Maybe he could do this.

[indeediagree]

[bleakmidwinter00]

One Night Only

Cillian Murphy stood just inside the doorway of the club, the flashing lights and thumping bass pressing against him like a physical weight. It had been years since he’d done anything like this, and it felt foreign, like slipping into a suit that no longer fit. His nights had become quiet, his routines predictable. After the recent breakup, his friend had insisted he needed this. He wasn’t so sure. Tom clapped him on the shoulder, grinning wide, clearly in his element.

“Relax, mate,” Tom said, raising his voice to compete with the music. “No one’s going to bother you. Just enjoy it for once.”

Cillian offered a tight smile and followed his friend toward the bar, weaving through the throng of people swaying and shouting over each other. It was crowded, the energy electric, but he remained on edge, the sharp awareness of his surroundings refusing to ease.

As they reached the bar, his attention was drawn by the woman who appeared a few feet away. Late 20s, maybe early 30s. She was stunning, with long brunette hair styled in soft waves that framed her striking features. Her white mini dress shimmered faintly in the neon lights, hugging her figure in all the right places, her heels giving her a commanding presence despite her small stature.

“Scott, can I get a wine?” she called out over the crowd, her voice carrying a sharp, familiar confidence.

Behind the bar, a young man paused mid-motion, glancing at her with a grin. “Liv, can you come round and get it yourself? And while you’re at it, help Emily with a couple of drinks? I’ve got to change this barrel.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “You know I don’t work here anymore.”

“Come on, just a quick favour. Emily’s struggling.”

Cillian watched as she huffed in mock annoyance, then slipped around the bar with practiced ease. She poured herself a glass of wine in one fluid motion, then stepped in to help the overwhelmed barmaid, Emily. The confidence with which she moved caught Cillian’s attention immediately—fluid, assured, almost magnetic.

He found himself unable to look away as she expertly poured drinks for a waiting customer, handing them over with a charming smile. Emily approached him next, her nerves obvious.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“A Guinness,” Cillian replied.

Liv’s head turned slightly at the sound of the order, her hand mid-motion as she poured a pint of lager for someone else. She glanced at Emily, who was already struggling with the Guinness tap, the liquid pouring too quickly, creating a frothy mess.

“Hang on,” Liv said, stepping in. “Let me help.”

Her voice was low, commanding yet kind. She moved beside Emily and took the glass, demonstrating the precise way to let the stout settle before finishing it off. Satisfied with her work, she slid the pint across the bar to Cillian with a small smile.

“On the house,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by the music.

Before he could respond, Scott reappeared, thanking her as she kissed his cheek, grabbed her wine, and disappeared back into the crowd with her friend.

Cillian stood for a moment, staring after her, the faint smell of her perfume lingering in the air—something warm and spicy, utterly captivating.

Tom nudged him, a knowing look on his face. “She was something, huh?”

Cillian didn’t answer, following his friend as he moved toward one of the seating areas scattered around the club. They found an empty table within a booth overlooking the dance floor and settled in with their drinks.

The music pounded louder here, the fluorescent lights dancing across the sea of bodies below. Cillian’s eyes drifted over the crowd until he found her again. Liv.

She was unmistakable under the lights, her white dress glowing, her hair bouncing lightly as she moved. She danced effortlessly, her body in perfect sync with the beat, her arms raised above her head. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile on her lips, completely lost in the music.

Tom leaned closer, smirking. “You’re staring again.”

Cillian blinked, tearing his gaze away. “Am I?”

“Blatantly,” Tom said, chuckling.

Before he could respond, a voice broke through the din. “Have you seen Liv?”

The group of women sitting beside them turned, one of them looking around. “She was here a minute ago,” her friend said, scanning the dance floor. “Oh, there she is. Down there.”

Cillian followed their gaze, watching as Liv’s eyes opened. She glanced up, spotting her friends, and waved before making her way through the crowd.

When she reached the table, she was all energy, her laughter and smile lighting up the group. She perched on a stool, her back to Cillian, just inches away. The faint trace of her perfume hit him again, even stronger now, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her hair swayed as she moved, or the way her voice carried over the others.

Tom, clearly picking up on Cillian’s tension, leaned toward one of Liv’s friends, starting a casual conversation. He steered the topic toward Liv, drawing her attention.

She turned, her eyes meeting Tom’s as he introduced himself. “Liv,” she said, shaking his hand with a polite smile.

“This is my mate, Cillian,” Tom added, nodding toward him.

Her gaze shifted, falling on him. Recognition flickered in her eyes, but she said nothing, her expression unreadable.

The tension hung in the air for a moment before the music shifted, a new, faster song booming through the speakers. Liv’s lips curled into a small smile, her eyes lighting up.

“Do you dance?” she asked, turning her attention fully to Cillian.

For a moment, he hesitated, caught off guard. But then he nodded, surprising even himself.

Liv stood, extending a hand toward him, her smile widening. “Come on, then.”

Cillian took her hand, her touch warm and grounding as she led him down to the dance floor. The music consumed them, and for the first time in a long while, Cillian let himself get lost in the moment.

The music thumped, vibrating through the air, a steady rhythm that matched the racing beat of Cillian’s heart. Liv’s hand in his was warm, her grip firm yet teasing as she led him through the crowd. She moved with purpose, weaving past clusters of dancers, her long hair brushing against him as she glanced back, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

They reached a gap in the crowd where the flashing lights seemed brighter, casting soft halos over her white dress. Liv stopped and turned to face him, still holding his hand.

“Not well, huh?” she teased, her voice raised just enough to be heard over the music.

Cillian smirked, leaning closer. “I’m better at watching.”

“Not tonight,” she said, releasing his hand and stepping back slightly, swaying to the beat. Her movements were effortless, fluid, her body in perfect rhythm with the music. She was magnetic, and Cillian found himself unable to look anywhere else.

Her hips moved in time with the beat, drawing closer to him, her confidence palpable. His hands hovered near her waist, hesitant, until she closed the gap, her body brushing against his.

“Relax,” she said, her tone playful, her lips close enough to send a shiver through him.

Cillian exhaled a quiet laugh, letting his hands settle gently on her waist. Her skin was warm beneath the thin fabric of her dress, and for a moment, the crowd and the music faded, leaving only the two of them in that small, electrified space.

She turned, her movements seamless, her back pressing lightly against his chest. One arm slipped up, her fingers brushing over his shoulder before curling around the back of his neck. Her hair smelled faintly of something floral and sweet, and he felt the tension drain from his body as he let himself lean into her.

Liv glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his with a spark of mischief. “See? Not bad.”

Cillian chuckled, his voice low. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

The song shifted, its tempo growing faster, and Liv pulled away slightly, spinning to face him again. Her movements remained smooth, her confidence unwavering. She raised her arms, her fingers beckoning him to join her fully, to lose himself in the moment.

“You’ve got to loosen up,” she teased, her voice warm and inviting.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer, her body aligning with his. Her hands slid down his arms until they reached his wrists, pulling his hands back to her waist. “Follow me.”

He let her guide him, his movements stiff at first, but her laughter—light and unrestrained—eased him. It wasn’t long before he found himself matching her rhythm, his hands holding her firmly but gently as they moved together.

Liv tilted her head back, her eyes catching the swirling lights above before returning to him. There was something playful, almost daring, in her gaze, and Cillian felt himself falling into her orbit.

“You’re a quick learner,” she said, leaning in slightly, her voice just above a whisper.

“Good teacher,” he replied, his hands flexing slightly on her waist.

The song transitioned again, a slower, sultrier beat filling the space. Liv didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved closer, her body aligning with his in a way that felt both intimate and effortless.

Cillian’s heart raced as her arm looped around his neck again, drawing him down so her lips were near his ear. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He smiled, his voice steady despite the tension thrumming through him. “Maybe.”

For a moment, they stood like that, the music a distant hum compared to the closeness between them. Liv’s hand slid down his chest before resting lightly against his shoulder.

“What brings you out tonight?” she asked, her tone casual yet pointed.

“Friends,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering.

She studied him for a moment, recognition flickering once again across her face. She didn’t say anything, but the faint curl of her lips told him she’d put the pieces together.

“Friends are good,” she said finally, her hand trailing back to his neck as the music began to build again. “But sometimes you need more than that.”

Cillian tilted his head slightly, his voice soft but firm. “What about you? What brings you out?”

Her smile widened, her eyes sparkling. “The music. The freedom. And maybe a little bit of luck.”

He couldn’t help but smile, the weight of the past few months feeling a little lighter in her presence. “Sounds about right.”

The energy on the dance floor was electric, the beat of the music vibrating through every part of Cillian as Liv moved against him. His hands gripped her waist instinctively, holding her steady as she pressed closer, her body aligning with his in a way that sent a wave of heat rushing through him.

Liv’s movements were hypnotic, her hips rolling to the rhythm, her confidence radiating like a magnet that pulled him deeper into the moment. She turned slightly, her back arching as she ground into him, her long hair cascading down her back and brushing against his chest. Cillian's breath hitched as her hand reached back, her fingers sliding into his hair, her touch firm yet tantalizingly light.

Her head tilted to the side, exposing the graceful curve of her neck as she leaned closer. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating—floral with a hint of spice—and Cillian couldn’t resist the urge to lower his head, his lips brushing just near her ear.

“You’ve done this before,” he murmured, his voice rough from the tension pooling in his chest.

Liv turned her head slightly, catching his eye with a smirk that sent a jolt straight through him. “Maybe,” she teased, her tone low and smooth.

Her fingers tightened slightly in his hair, pulling him closer as she swayed her body, her movements matching the slow, sultry rhythm of the song. Every turn, every grind, every press of her against him seemed to strip away any hesitation he might have felt earlier.

The crowd around them faded into the background, the lights flashing like a kaleidoscope of colours as they moved together. Liv’s hand trailed down from his hair to his jaw, her fingers brushing his skin as her eyes met his again.

“You’re not bad at this,” she said, her smirk widening.

“I’ll take it,” he replied, his hands tightening on her waist, pulling her even closer.

She let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating between them as she turned fully to face him again, her body still pressed against his. Her arms looped around his neck, her fingers playing lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

For a moment, the music slowed, the beat steady and intimate, and Liv leaned in, her voice a soft murmur just above the noise. “You don’t seem like the clubbing type.”

“I’m not,” Cillian admitted, his lips curving into a small smile. “But maybe tonight’s an exception.”

Her eyes searched his for a beat longer, her expression softening slightly before the smirk returned. “I like exceptions.”

The space between them was practically non-existent now, the world around them spinning as they moved together. Liv’s thumb brushed his jawline, her gaze lingering on him in a way that made his pulse quicken.

The rhythm of the music slowed, the lights flashing in soft pulses as she leaned in, her eyes flicking to his lips for the briefest second before meeting his again. She could feel his breath against her skin, warm and unsteady, and her heart pounded in time with the music as she closed the gap between them.

Her lips grazed his, light as a whisper, just enough to send a spark shooting through both of them. It wasn’t a kiss—not yet—but it was deliberate, a tease, a question that hung in the air between them.

Cillian’s grip on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into the curve of her hip as his head tilted, his lips hovering over hers. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had stopped, the noise and chaos of the club fading into a dull hum.

Liv’s heart raced, her mind caught in the whirlwind of the moment. She knew the risks of stepping into this space with him, of crossing that invisible line—but something about the way he looked at her, the way he held her, made her forget everything else.

Cillian’s voice was low, rough, when he finally spoke. “Are you always this bold?”

Her smile widened, her lips still brushing his. “Only when it’s worth it.”

His lips quirked into a small, almost disbelieving smile, his blue eyes studying her like he was trying to figure her out. “And am I?”

Liv didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let her fingers trail back up to his neck, her thumb brushing lightly against his jawline. Then she leaned in, her lips a breath away from his ear.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” she murmured.

Liv’s movements slowed, her body still pressed against his as the song shifted to something faster, lighter. She tilted her head back slightly, her cheek brushing against his as she turned just enough to glance up at him. Her lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Come on,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “Let’s get a drink.”

Cillian blinked, as though snapping out of a trance, but his hands lingered on her waist for a moment longer before he let her go. She turned fully to face him, her fingers trailing lightly down his arm before slipping away entirely.

She started moving through the crowd with the same confident ease as before, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following. He didn’t hesitate, weaving through the throng of bodies after her, the residual heat of their dance still coursing through him.

As they wove through the sea of people, he noticed how easily she navigated the chaos, flashing small smiles and nods at familiar faces. It was clear she belonged here, in this vibrant, buzzing atmosphere, her energy drawing people in like moths to a flame.

They reached the elevated seating area where Tom was still sitting, his drink nearly empty as he nodded at Sarah, one of Liv’s friends, who was animatedly recounting a story. His arm had slipped around the back of her chair, his body leaning towards her. Sensing their approach, Tom glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly in a knowing way.

“There you are,” Tom said, leaning back in his chair. His smirk was impossible to miss as his gaze flicked between Cillian and Liv. “Thought you’d gotten lost.”

“Not quite,” Liv replied smoothly, her tone light as she released Cillian’s hand and slid onto one of the empty stools beside Sarah.

As the conversation around the table continued, Tom leaned over to Cillian, his tone dropping low enough to keep it between them. His smirk was as sharp as ever, but there was genuine curiosity behind his words.

“Well,” Tom said, swirling the remnants of his drink in his glass. “That’s not something I’ve seen in a while.”

Cillian raised a brow, feigning ignorance. “What are you on about?”

Tom scoffed, leaning back in his seat as he glanced toward Liv, who was engaged in animated conversation with Sarah and another friend. “Don’t play dumb, mate. You’ve been staring at her all night like she’s the only person in this place.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, you were,” Tom replied, his grin widening. “And you’re still doing it. Not that I blame you. She’s... well, you’ve got eyes.”

Cillian took a sip of his Guinness, trying to downplay the flush creeping up his neck. “She’s just... intriguing.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Tom said, his voice laced with amusement. He leaned in closer, his tone softening slightly. “Look, I know you’ve had a rough time lately, and you weren’t exactly keen on coming out tonight. But it’s good to see you like this—actually engaging with someone, not just brooding in a corner.”

“I don’t brood,” Cillian said dryly.

“You do, and you know it.” Tom’s smirk softened into something more sincere. “Look, all I’m saying is... maybe this is what you needed. A bit of fun. A distraction.”

Cillian glanced toward Liv again, watching the way her eyes lit up as she spoke, her laughter warm and unguarded. She caught his gaze for a brief moment, her lips curving into that familiar playful smile, and he felt something stir in his chest—a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice quiet.

Tom clapped him on the shoulder, his grin returning. “Well, don’t overthink it for once. Just see where it goes. Who knows? She might surprise you.”

Cillian chuckled softly, his fingers tightening slightly around his glass. “She already has.”

Tom nodded knowingly, leaning back in his chair as he watched the interaction from the corner of his eye. “Good. About time something did.”

Cillian let the words sink in, the noise of the club fading slightly as his thoughts turned inward. Tom was right—he had spent far too long stuck in his own head, too guarded to let anyone in. But as he looked at Liv, her energy filling the space between them, he realized he wasn’t quite ready for the night to end either.

Liv barely had a chance to catch her breath when Sarah tugged her arm, her voice cutting through the noise of the club.

“Come on,” Sarah said with a sly grin, pulling Liv off her stool. “Let’s grab another drink. We’ll be right back.”

Liv let herself be led toward the bar, casting a quick glance back at the table. Cillian was leaning into a quiet conversation with Tom, his expression calm but unreadable. She felt a flicker of something as his gaze briefly followed her, but she pushed it aside.

At the bar, Sarah flagged down the bartender, ordering two drinks with a practiced ease. When she turned back to Liv, her eyes were sparkling with mischief.

“Okay,” Sarah began, leaning in close. “Are you seriously not freaking out right now?”

Liv blinked at her. “What are you on about?”

Sarah laughed, swatting her arm. “Don’t play coy with me. That’s Cillian Murphy. You’ve been dancing with Cillian bloody Murphy.”

Liv shrugged, though the corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Yeah, so? He’s just a guy.”

“Just a guy?” Sarah repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Liv, he’s not just a guy. He’s—”

“A guy,” Liv interrupted, raising a brow. “Look, I know who he is.”

“And?” Sarah prompted, clearly waiting for some dramatic confession.

“And...” Liv paused, considering her words. “I’m not looking for anything serious. It’s fun, that’s all. If something happens, fine. If not, fine.” She took a sip of the drink Sarah handed her, the cold liquid a welcome distraction. “I’m not getting carried away over it.”

Sarah’s grin widened as she took her own sip. “You’re so full of it.”

Liv laughed, shaking her head. “What? You think I’m going to fall head over heels because I danced with a famous actor?”

“Well, when you say it like that...” Sarah teased, her voice lilting.

Liv rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Look, he’s interesting. And yeah, he’s attractive. But I’m not looking for a relationship or anything complicated.” She leaned against the bar, her voice softening slightly. “If anything happens, it’ll be one night. That’s it.”

Sarah studied her for a moment, her buzzed excitement giving way to something more thoughtful. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” Liv said, her tone firm.

Sarah smirked. “Well, you better figure it out soon, because Tom’s totally into me, and I’m not spending the rest of the night babysitting your existential crisis.”

Liv laughed again, shaking her head as she grabbed her drink. “No crisis here. Just enjoying myself.”

With a final teasing grin, Sarah looped her arm through Liv’s and led her back toward the table. Liv felt the familiar tug of anticipation as they approached, her eyes flicking to Cillian without meaning to.

He looked up as they neared, his gaze steady and curious, and Liv felt her heartbeat quicken. Maybe Sarah was right—this was a little surreal. But she wasn’t about to let that show.

Liv moved to one of the tall tables in the corner of their booth, leaning casually against it as she took a slow sip from her glass. From here, she could still see everyone, but the distance gave her a little breathing room—something she needed to reset her thoughts after Sarah’s buzzed giddiness about who she’d been dancing with.

Her eyes wandered across the room, not looking for anything in particular, but she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking a glance back toward Cillian. He was leaning back in his seat, one arm resting on the edge of the booth, his posture relaxed but his focus unmistakable.

He was watching her.

Liv held his gaze for a beat longer than she meant to, her lips curling into a faint smile before she turned her attention back to her drink.

Moments later, she heard footsteps beside her, slow and deliberate. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“You needed some space?” Cillian’s voice was low, carrying easily over the muffled thrum of the music.

Liv smirked, setting her drink on the table and turning slightly to face him. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted a better view.”

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Of what?”

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Everything. The room. The night.” Her eyes flicked to his, gleaming with quiet amusement. “Maybe you.”

Cillian quirked a brow, his lips curving into a small smile as he leaned lightly against the edge of the table. “I’m flattered.”

Liv laughed softly, the sound light and easy. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He watched her for a moment, his gaze steady, like he was trying to figure her out. “You don’t seem like the type to be fazed by much.”

“I’m not,” she said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t notice things.”

“Like what?”

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass as she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “Like how you’re trying really hard to play it cool, but you’ve been watching me all night.”

Cillian’s smile deepened, a quiet laugh escaping him as he leaned closer, their faces only inches apart now. “You’re observant.”

“I have my moments,” she replied, her tone teasing but her gaze steady.

The space between them felt charged, the rest of the room fading into the background as they stood there, the air between them buzzing with unspoken possibilities. Liv’s lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something else, but she stopped herself, letting the silence linger.

Cillian broke it first, his voice soft but deliberate. “So, what now?”

Liv tilted her head, her smile turning playful. “That depends.”

“On what?”

She reached for her drink, taking a slow sip before setting it down again, her eyes locking on his. “On whether you’re ready to stop playing it cool.”

Cillian’s gaze flicked to her lips for the briefest moment before meeting her eyes again, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. “Maybe I am.”

Liv raised a brow, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly, as if challenging him to follow through. “Well then,” she said, her voice light but laced with intrigue. “I guess we’ll see.”

Cillian leaned toward Liv, his movements deliberate, his hand grazing her arm as he closed the distance. Her breath caught, her lips parting slightly as his mouth hovered over hers, the tension between them palpable. His hand slid up, gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. Then, his fingers tangled in her hair, his touch firm but careful as he tilted her head back.

His body pressed her gently against the wall, the cool surface grounding her as his lips finally claimed hers. The kiss started slow, exploratory, but quickly deepened into something hotter, more urgent. Liv’s fingers slipped down his chest, curling into his shirt before sliding underneath, her fingertips tracing the hard planes of his stomach.

Cillian’s grip on her waist tightened as her touch sent a shiver through him. He leaned into her, his thumb brushing along her jawline as their kiss deepened. She arched slightly into him, her hand grazing the edge of his belt as her nails scraped lightly against his skin, drawing a sharp breath from him.

Across the room, Sarah glanced up from her drink, her eyes landing on the pair against the wall. Her jaw dropped slightly before a grin spread across her face. “Oh my God,” she muttered, elbowing Tom.

Tom looked up from his beer, following her gaze. His lips twitched into a knowing smirk as he saw Cillian and Liv tangled together, oblivious to the world around them. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a low chuckle.

Sarah’s grin widened as she looked at Tom. “Your mate finally letting loose?”

Tom shrugged, the amusement in his eyes clear. “It’s about time. He’s been in his own head for too long.”

Sarah laughed, her drink in hand as she studied them. “I didn’t think Liv would go for it, but… here we are.”

Tom’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful as he glanced back at Sarah. “Your friend seems to know what she wants.”

“She always does,” Sarah said, raising a brow as she turned her attention back to him. “You don’t seem too fazed by it.”

Tom took a slow sip of his beer, his gaze flicking between Sarah and the couple against the wall. “I’m not. Cillian deserves a night like this. And… well, maybe I’m glad he’s not the only one making moves.”

Sarah blinked, taken aback for half a second before a sly smile curved her lips. “Oh, really? And what moves would those be?”

Tom leaned slightly closer, his grin growing. “You tell me.”

Sarah’s laughter was warm, her cheeks flushing faintly as she lifted her glass in a mock toast. “Maybe I will. But you better keep up, old man.”

Tom chuckled, raising his glass in return. “I think I can manage.”

Meanwhile, Liv pulled back slightly from Cillian, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. Her lips were red and slightly swollen, and her eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and something softer.

“I’m not usually this impulsive,” she admitted, her voice low but steady.

Cillian’s lips quirked into a small smile, his hand still in her hair. “Neither am I.”

She tilted her head slightly, her fingers still tracing his skin under his shirt. “So, what’s your excuse?”

He chuckled, his voice warm but tinged with honesty. “Maybe it’s just been too long since something felt this… easy.”

Liv’s smile softened, her hand sliding back to his chest. “Yeah,” she murmured, her eyes locking on his. “I get that.”

For a moment, the world around them faded, the only thing that mattered being the connection sparking between them. Cillian leaned down, pressing another kiss to her lips, softer this time, as if testing the waters of something more.

From across the table, Sarah leaned into Tom, whispering conspiratorially. “I give them ‘til the end of the night before one of them starts overthinking this.”

Tom laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe. But for now, let’s just let them enjoy it.”

Sarah grinned, lifting her drink in agreement. “To that.”

Tom’s glass clinked against hers, and for a brief moment, the night felt like it belonged to all of them, each caught in their own quiet spark of possibility.

Eventually, as the kiss subsided, Liv slipped out from the wall with an easy grace, her hand brushing over Cillian’s chest as she stepped away. Her lips still tingled from the kiss, her heart racing in a way she hadn’t expected, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she reached for her drink from the nearby table, taking a slow sip to compose herself.

Cillian stayed where he was, his eyes fixed on her as she moved. There was something unreadable in his gaze—curiosity, intrigue, maybe even a flicker of hesitation—but he didn’t say a word.

Liv turned back toward the booth, her expression calm but her mind buzzing. She took the few steps back to her friend, Sarah, who immediately raised an eyebrow, her grin practically splitting her face.

“Well, well,” Sarah said, leaning in conspiratorially. “You two looked cozy.”

Liv smirked, lifting her drink in a mock toast. “It’s a club, Sarah. Things happen.”

Sarah laughed, nudging her with her elbow. “Don’t give me that. You’re glowing. And don’t try to tell me it’s just the lighting.”

“It’s nothing,” Liv said, shrugging as she took another sip. “He’s just… interesting.”

“Interesting?” Sarah repeated, her tone teasing. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Liv rolled her eyes, setting her glass down on the table. “Look, I’m not overthinking it, okay? It’s fun. He’s fun. That’s it.”

Sarah gave her a knowing look, her smirk softening into something warmer. “Alright, fine. But for the record, I think he’s into you.”

Liv’s gaze flicked back toward the corner where she’d left Cillian. He was still standing there, his hands in his pockets now, his blue eyes steady as they met hers across the room.

“Maybe,” Liv said quietly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Sarah followed her line of sight, her grin returning full force. “Definitely.”

Tom, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, leaned toward Cillian, his voice low but audible enough to carry over the music. “You alright, mate?”

Cillian glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Tom repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re not done with her yet.”

Cillian chuckled softly, his gaze drifting back to Liv, who was now laughing at something Sarah had said. “You might be right.”

Tom clapped him on the shoulder, his voice light. “Go on, then. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Cillian’s smirk deepened, his mind already made up. “Guess I’ll find out.”

As Liv turned back to her drink, her laughter still bright and unrestrained, she didn’t notice Cillian making his way toward her again—but Sarah did.

“He’s coming back,” Sarah whispered, her tone buzzing with excitement.

Cillian approached the booth, his eyes fixed on Liv, who had resumed her casual lean against the table, her drink dangling lightly between her fingers. He didn’t hesitate as he slid into the empty seat beside her, his presence commanding without being overbearing.

Liv glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips curving into a faint, amused smile. “Back for more?”

Cillian leaned back slightly, his arm draping casually over the back of the booth as he met her gaze. “Thought I’d sit where the conversation’s more... interesting.”

She let out a soft laugh, turning to face him more fully. “Big assumption.”

He raised a brow, his smirk deepening. “Am I wrong?”

Liv tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Not yet.”

Sarah, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help but grin as she nudged Tom. “Looks like your friend’s got game after all.”

Tom chuckled, glancing toward Cillian and Liv before returning his focus to Sarah. “He doesn’t always let loose, but when he does...”

Liv, meanwhile, leaned in slightly toward Cillian, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna dazzle me with more small talk?”

Cillian’s smirk softened, his voice calm but laced with a quiet confidence. “I’m better at actions than words.”

Her brows lifted slightly, her smile turning playful. “Oh? Careful with that line—you might be setting the bar too high.”

“I guess we’ll see,” he replied, holding her gaze steadily.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the noise of the club fading into the background. It wasn’t loud or showy—just a quiet, unspoken connection growing between them.

Liv shifted in her seat, turning her body toward Cillian. His arm rested along the back of the booth, his fingers brushing lightly against her shoulder. She crossed her legs in his direction, her knee grazing his, and his free hand found its way to rest there, his touch firm but not possessive.

Their conversation had been effortless, but now, as her eyes locked on his, the air between them shifted—charged with something unspoken. Liv’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she leaned slightly closer.

“So,” she said, her voice low but clear, “why did you come out tonight? You said this isn't usually your scene. Getting over someone?”

Cillian’s thumb traced a light circle against her knee, his expression calm but thoughtful. “You could say that,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “Friends thought it was time I got out of my own head.”

“And is it working?” she asked, her brows raising slightly.

His lips curved into a faint smile, his gaze never leaving hers. “Maybe.”

Liv laughed softly, leaning in just enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence. “Look, we both know what this is,” she said, her tone turning playful but pointed. “You know, I’d invite you back to mine, but I think Sarah’s already planning on taking your friend there.”

Cillian glanced toward the other end of the booth, where Tom and Sarah were deep in conversation, their heads tilted close together. He smirked slightly, shaking his head as he looked back at Liv.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” he said lightly. Then his tone shifted, his words slower, more deliberate. “But you’re right. We do know what this is.”

Her eyes searched his, and for a moment, he felt the weight of her question lingering in the air between them. Inviting her back to his felt... complicated. He wasn’t the type to take strangers home, especially not to the quiet, private space he kept just outside the city.

But Liv wasn’t just anyone. She was sharp, confident, and disarmingly straightforward. He didn’t feel the usual guarded hesitation with her, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

She smiled, a soft laugh escaping her. “Neither do I.”

The honesty in her tone caught him off guard, and for a moment, he felt the tension ease.

He leaned in slightly, his hand still resting on her knee, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “If I invited you back, would you say yes?”

Liv tilted her head, her smile widening as she leaned in closer. “That depends. Would you regret it in the morning?”

Cillian’s expression softened, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smirk. “I don’t think I would.”

The space between them felt impossibly small now, and Liv’s gaze flicked to his lips before returning to his eyes.

“Well then,” she said softly, her voice dropping into something almost intimate. “Let’s find out.”

Cillian exhaled slowly, the weight of his hesitation finally giving way to the pull of the moment. He stood, offering her his hand, his blue eyes steady on hers.

“Come on,” he said simply.

Liv hesitated for half a second, then slid her hand into his, her smile widening as she let him pull her to her feet, grabbing her bag and jacket as she went. As they stepped away from the booth, she glanced back at Sarah, catching her friend’s sly grin and knowing wink.

Cillian noticed Tom’s brief nod as they passed, his friend’s approval clear but understated.

Outside, the cool night air wrapped around them, and for a moment, Cillian paused, looking down at her. “You sure about this?”

Liv smiled, her hand still in his. “Are you?”

He nodded, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. “Let’s go.”

The taxi pulled up to the curb, and Cillian opened the door for Liv, his hand briefly brushing her back as she slid into the seat. He followed, closing the door behind him as he gave the driver the address of his house just outside the city.

The glow of the streetlights filtered through the windows, illuminating Liv’s profile as she settled into her seat. She crossed her legs toward him, the faint sound of her heels brushing against the floor as she adjusted herself. Cillian’s hand found its way back to her knee, his touch steady, grounding—yet charged with the same energy that had been simmering between them all night.

The hum of the car engine filled the silence as they drove out of the city, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional streetlight casting shadows across the interior. Liv glanced down at his hand, the corners of her mouth curving into a faint, knowing smile.

“Comfortable?” she asked softly, her tone playful, her eyes glinting as she looked at him.

“Not yet,” Cillian replied, his voice low, his thumb brushing small circles against her skin.

Her smile widened, but she didn’t move his hand. Instead, she leaned slightly closer, her hair falling over her shoulder as she tilted her head toward him. “Long drive?”

“Long enough,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to hers.

The tension between them grew thicker, the hum of the car fading into the background as his fingers shifted slightly, sliding just above her knee, his touch slow and deliberate. Liv’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

Her own hand moved, brushing lightly against his thigh, her fingertips tracing the fabric of his jeans as her eyes remained locked on his. “You’re bold,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Cillian’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, his hand slipping a little higher, his touch firm but teasing. “I think you knew that already.”

Liv let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and breathy as her fingers tightened slightly against his leg. “Maybe. But I like surprises.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “Because I’ve got a few more.”

The taxi continued its steady drive, the city lights giving way to quieter streets as they moved farther out. Liv’s pulse quickened as his hand shifted further up her leg, the heat of his touch seeping underneath the thin fabric of her dress.

She shifted slightly, her leg brushing against his, her smile turning into something sharper, more daring. “Careful, Cillian,” she said softly, her voice low but teasing. “We’re not there yet.”

He chuckled quietly, his fingers stilling for a moment before sliding back down to rest on her knee. “Patience,” he murmured, his blue eyes darkening as they met hers.

Liv leaned back slightly, her smile returning as she let her fingers graze against his hand. “I hope you’re as good at waiting as you are at teasing.”

Cillian didn’t reply, but the faint smirk on his lips told her everything she needed to know. As the taxi turned onto a quieter road, his hand stayed on her knee, a steady reminder of the promise hanging in the air between them.

Eventually, they pulled up outside and Cillian guided her toward the front door, opening it up for her. The soft lighting of the townhouse cast warm shadows across the room as Liv stepped inside, her heels clicking lightly against the hardwood floor. She took in her surroundings—the elegant simplicity, the subtle hints of wealth and taste. It was opulent but restrained, perfectly reflective of the man who had brought her here.

She could feel his presence behind her, the energy between them crackling in the quiet of the space. Cillian slipped off his coat and hung it by the door, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her.

“Can I get you a drink?” he offered, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Liv shook her head, removing her jacket and laying it over the couch, a faint smile playing on her lips. “No, thanks.”

The air thickened between them as they stood in the quiet, the noise of the club and the city left far behind. For hours, they’d danced around this moment, mindful of the people around them, of the watchful eyes and the unspoken boundaries. But now, with no one to see, no one to interrupt, the tension that had been simmering all night spilled over.

Cillian closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his hands finding her waist as he pressed her back against the wall. His lips found hers, urgent and demanding, and Liv responded instantly, her hands tangling in his hair as she arched into him.

His hands slid down her thighs, gripping firmly before slipping under the hem of her dress. He pushed the fabric up, exposing her legs as he deepened the kiss. Liv’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one before pushing the fabric off his shoulders. Her hands roamed over the bare skin of his chest, her nails grazing lightly, drawing a low groan from him.

Cillian’s fingers found the zip of her dress, pulling it down with practiced ease. The fabric slid from her shoulders, pooling around her waist and revealing her bare chest before slipping down her hips and hitting the floor. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her sensitive skin, making her gasp into his mouth.

His other hand slipped beneath the lace of her knickers, his fingers finding her slick and ready. Liv gasped at the sensation, her legs instinctively parting to give him more access. His thumb swept across her clit in a way that made her cry out, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. He tweaked her nipple as he pushed two fingers inside of her, her body arching toward him at the sudden intrusion. He curled his fingers against the sweet spot inside, drawing a loud groan from her as he maneuverer within the velvety interior of her body.

Finally withdrawing his fingers, Cillian’s breathing grew heavier as he slipped his hands under the thighs and lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the stairs. His lips never left hers, the intensity between them growing with every step.

When they reached his bedroom, he laid her gently on the bed, his hands roaming her body as his lips followed. Liv pushed herself up from the soft duvet, her hands moving to the waistband of his jeans. She unbuttoned them quickly, her fingers tugging both his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

Her eyes widened slightly as he stood before her, fully exposed, and her hand reached for him instinctively. She stroked him slowly at first, her touch firm and deliberate, before leaning forward and taking him into her mouth.

Cillian’s head fell back, a guttural sound escaping him as her lips and tongue worked him in ways that were almost too much. He buried his hands in her hair, trying to steady himself, but the sensation was overwhelming. The warmth of her tongue, the way she moved with precision and confidence, left him gripping the edge of the bed for balance. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, her touch pushing him to the brink far too quickly.

“Liv,” he murmured, his voice strained. He reached down, gently pulling her to her feet before guiding her back onto the bed. “I won’t last if you keep that up.”

She smirked, looking up at him through her lashes before he pulled her to her feet, pulling her into a deep kiss before deliberately shifting her back onto the bed.

She lay down, shifting up the bed as Cillian crawled onto it after her. His hands found her ankles, sliding them painstakingly up towards her knees, pushing her legs apart. He crawled up to her, finding her lips once more before he began a trail of sweet kisses over her body as he moved lower. He kissed the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple, her stomach, until he finally settled between her legs.

His lips brushing softly against the inside of her thigh, his stubble grazing her skin in a way that sent a shiver up her spine.

His mouth moved closer, his lips pressing gentle, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin until she felt his tongue against her, the first deliberate stroke sending a quiet gasp spilling from her lips. His tongue worked her with maddening precision, his movements deliberate and measured, drawing soft, breathless sounds from her. Liv’s fingers tangled in his hair as he worked her, his movements precise and relentless. Her back arched slightly as he continued, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady. Each slow, purposeful flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, the intensity building in a way that felt deeper, more consuming than before.

“Cillian,” she murmured, her voice trembling, her fingers continuing to thread through his hair. The feel of his soft, dark strands between her fingers grounded her, but the rest of her felt like it was unravelling.

He didn’t respond, didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid down her thighs, his thumbs brushing against her skin as he deepened his attention, his tongue moving with an intensity that made her head fall back against the pillow. The sounds she made only seemed to spur him on, his grip tightening slightly as if he didn’t want to let her go.

Liv’s breathing grew erratic, her chest rising and falling as the sensations overwhelmed her, her mind blank except for him. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his tongue, the way he took his time with her—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Cillian,” she gasped again, her voice breaking as the tension inside her coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t rush. He kept her teetering on the edge, drawing it out until the heat pooling in her core became unbearable, until she finally shattered beneath him, her body trembling as her release surged through her.

Cillian moved up her body, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. As their mouths moved together, he positioned himself between her legs, the head of his length teasing her entrance. Slowly, he pushed into her, the tightness of her body making him pause to steady himself.

“Christ, you're so fucking tight.” he murmured, his voice rough against her ear.

Liv clutched at his back, her nails digging into his skin as he began to move. Their bodies found a rhythm quickly, the tension building with each thrust. The room filled with the sounds of their passion, each moan, gasp, and cry heightening the intensity between them.

Cillian shifted, hooking her legs over his shoulders as he pressed deeper, the angle making Liv cry out louder. Her hands gripped the sheets, her body trembling beneath him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.

He watched her face, the way her lips parted, the way her head tilted back, completely lost in the moment. It was raw, electric, and completely consuming.

As the passion reached its height, their movements became desperate, frantic, both chasing the inevitable release that would leave them undone. When it came, it was explosive, leaving them breathless and clinging to each other as the world slowly came back into focus.

Cillian collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms, their breathing heavy in the quiet room. Neither spoke, the intensity of what had just happened lingering in the air like a charge that had yet to fully dissipate.

***********

The soft glow of morning light crept through the gaps in the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. Liv stirred, blinking slowly as she took in her surroundings. The quiet stillness of the townhouse contrasted sharply with the intensity of the night before.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just past six. Too early to wake him—and besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to face the inevitable awkwardness.

Cillian lay beside her, his face peaceful in sleep, his arm still resting where it had fallen around her during the night. For a moment, she watched him, her mind a swirl of conflicted thoughts. Then, carefully, she began to shift, easing out from under his arm and slipping from the bed without a sound.

Her knickers were on the floor, and she bent to pick them up, pulling them on before padding silently out of the room. Her dress was still downstairs, where they’d left it in the haze of their arrival the night before.

Descending the staircase quietly, she found the dress draped over the back of a chair. She slipped it on quickly, the smooth fabric cool against her skin. Her shoes, bag, and jacket were scattered nearby, and she gathered them up with purpose.

Reaching for her phone, she opened the app to book a taxi. It wouldn’t take long, but she had time.

Liv paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing back up toward the room where Cillian still lay sleeping. Something pulled at her—a soft ache in her chest she hadn’t expected—but she pushed it aside.

She climbed the stairs again, her steps careful, and returned to the bedroom. He was still sound asleep, his breathing slow and steady, the morning light casting a faint glow over his features. Liv leaned down, her hair falling over her shoulder as she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.

On the nightstand, she found a piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling quickly, she left him a note:

Didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for the distraction. Liv x

She paused for a moment, debating whether to leave her number, but ultimately decided against it. This wasn’t meant to be more than a fleeting connection, a moment in time they’d both shared and would leave behind.

Back downstairs, her phone buzzed with the notification that her taxi had arrived. She slipped her shoes on, taking one last look around the quiet space before opening the door.

The cool morning air hit her as she stepped outside, closing the door softly behind her. The street was still quiet, the world just beginning to stir. Liv climbed into the taxi, leaning back against the seat as it pulled away, her thoughts a jumble of satisfaction and uncertainty.

As the townhouse disappeared from view, she told herself it was better this way—no strings, no complications.

One night only.

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

[outoftheseine]

- THOMAS SHELBY FIC RECS PART 2 -

alexa, play jealous girl by lana del rey | note: some fics are 18+ so minors DNI. be aware of canon trigger warnings (blood, violence, death, guns, etc)

main masterlist | part one

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the royal wedding of small heath • thomas shelby x fem!reader part 2

↳ by @sneakyblinders (fluff, slightly explicit)

protection • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @writers-hes (angst, death, mentions of abuse)

romantic escape | romantic capture • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @anonymooseforever007 (fluff, slight angst, overprotective!thomas)

immune to his charms • thomas shelby x american!reader

↳ by @readyouforfilth (love their banter so far, can't wait for updates)

happy birthday, my love • dad!thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @teenwolf-theoriginals (so so so fluffy)

safe with me • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kgficz

a man with a reputation • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kadwrites (arranged marriage trope)

your house | our home • thomas shelby x wife!reader

↳ by @vintunnavaa (angst, fluff, mentions of infidelity, looved it)

the cigarette girl • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @huntingingoodwill (very angsty, thomas is mean)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S

i got you • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @madame-wilsonn (panic attacks, hurt/comfort, mentions of a loved one's death, fluff)

gentle love • thomas shelby x wife!reader

by @vintunnavaa (fluff)

what could've been • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @toms-cherry-trees (angst)

love is sweeter than vengeance • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @pherelesytsia (angst, blood, death)

the secret garden • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @celticmelody (very angsty, domestic violence, blood)

the layers of thomas shelby • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @theonewiththefanfics (angst, mild fluff)

november • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @moral-terpitude (fluff, a little angst)

you reap what you sow • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @springsteens (mentions of abortion, angst, fluff)

ain't she sweet • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @look-at-the-soul (angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries)

love will keep you up all night • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @look-at-the-soul (very fluffy)

girl dad • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @runnning-outof-time (fluff, fluff, fluff)

men with blue eyes and dark hair • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @dandelionprints (angst, blood, name calling, fluff)

little you's and i's • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @multific (fluff)

a small mishap • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @gypsy-girl-08 (mention of violence, injuries, fluff)

thomas shelby as a father • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @fanficwrit3r (very fluffy)

wailing teapots • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @oddaodd (angst but happy ending, mentions of abuse)

as if you are still here • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @speckledemerald (so. much. angst)

do you get déjà vu • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @calummss (fluff and humour)

venus rising • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @ay0nha (angst, this one is 🤌)

the sapphire ring • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kitixie (angst, but fluff)

the brother that always wins • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @runnning-outof-time (fluff)

business and dates • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @princessofmarvel (fluff and slight angst)

[boiohboii]

Am I a yn fan or a cillian fan?

(Fem!driver!reader x cillian murphy)

N.B: just a little something for fun cause I'm in love with cillian murphy, hope you like it!! WARNING: not proof read, the word cunt, if I missed anything else please let me know!

Faceclaim: Angelina Jolie

masterlist

Liked mercedesamgf1, danielricciardo, murphy-lnchild and 2,618,910 others

Audifomrula1: congratulations to our Royal couple, our lovely driver yn ln won her first World championship with us this year, making it her fourth while her husband, cillian murphy, had his movie premiere starring in a, yet another, Christopher Nolan film.

username: while her husband 😂😂

username: she's barbie and he's just ken vibes

username: SIR, PUT THAT TONGUE BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM!!

username: the hair, the neckline, the gloves... yn please step on me

username: yn looks like a princess

Susiewolff: congratulations to both of you!

Sebastianvettel: very happy for you both!! You deserve it

username: susie and seb commenting even tho neither of yn nor cillian have instagram is such a wholesome thing

username: this entire friend group gives me life

Susiewolff has added to her story

Caption: back to our vacation house with our favorite people

Tagged: @.sebastianvettel

part 2

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @minaethrym

[aias-fxtns]

Recommended Authors (Part 1)

Show them some love and support💋. Reblog, comment, and heart their posts/stories. (Drop other creators/authors down below so I can read them)

Cillian Murphy/Tommy Shelby or anything Peaky Blinders:

@garrison-girl-08 @brummiereader @ithebookhoarder @strayrockette @calummss @writeroutoftime @sneakyblinders @peakyltd @peakyscillian @zablife @shelbydelrey @blinder-secrets @moral-terpitude @little-diable @peakyswritings @look-at-the-soul @raincoffeeandfandoms @runnning-outof-time @wonderlanddreamer @mayfieldss @theshelbyclan @toms-cherry-trees @pherelesytsia @zodiyack @cillmequick @tommyspeakycap @multifandomwriter56 @disasterofastory

Credits to the creator of the divider: @bernardsbendystraws

[strayrockette]

A Daughter Who Loves

A Daughters Letter

Masterlist

A/N: I can’t believe I’m finally knocking this one out of my drafts! I’m so happy to no longer see it sitting there taunting me to finish it😂 hope you guys enjoy ❤️please comment, like and reblog❤️

Summary: Takes place a couple years after the initial meeting with the unnamed soldier. You’ve found a new life for yourself far away from the unresolved trauma and issues of your past.

Dearest Father,

I used to love you. I still love you. But if news got around that you were dead, it wouldn't hurt as much as losing Mother. The worst part about loving you...is knowing that we'll never be a true family.

Despite it all, I must thank you.

-

The pen stilled in her hand. For the first time in years, her mind had failed to slather seething words upon the awaiting canvas. Y/N’s eyes drifted to the open window of the study.

The study was a room of serene contradiction, a place where history and modernity danced together. Heavy oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that whispered of the past. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center, its surface cluttered with papers, a brass inkstand, and a small, framed photograph of her and Thomas Shelby. The rich, dark wood contrasted sharply with the lighter tones of the pale, floral wallpaper, giving the room an air of understated elegance.

Through the tall, arched windows, the view of Arrow House's sprawling grounds unfolded in tranquil splendor. The vast acre of land stretched out like a lush green carpet, dotted here and there with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers. The manicured lawns seemed to reach out to the horizon, framed by clusters of ancient oak and chestnut trees. A winding gravel path meandered through the grounds, leading to a quaint stone bridge over a gentle brook. The distant hum of life from the village beyond was faint, almost like an afterthought, allowing the peaceful solitude of the estate to take center stage.

The study’s window was open just enough to let in a fresh breeze that rustled the heavy, velvet drapes. The scent of earth and flowers mingled with the cool air, creating a soothing atmosphere. It was in this moment of calm that Y/N found her thoughts drifting back to her father, whose presence was now as distant as the last whisper of the city’s bustling streets.

The room was silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway, marking the passage of time with a gentle, rhythmic insistence. Y/N's gaze lingered on the horizon, her mind grappling with the complexities of her feelings. The serenity of the estate contrasted sharply with the turbulent emotions that swirled within her, a reminder of the painful distance between the past and the present.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her emotions lift slightly with the breeze. For now, the letter remained unfinished, an echo of her unresolved feelings. But in this moment of stillness, she found a semblance of peace in the quiet beauty of the land outside.

Her husband, Thomas Shelby, entered the study with the quiet confidence that was uniquely his. The door swung open just enough to admit his tall frame, and his eyes, sharp and calculating as ever, softened when they fell upon her. He crossed the room with his usual deliberate stride, his polished black shoes making a subtle, almost reverent sound on the wooden floor.

Y/N, lost in the tranquil view from the window, had been sitting in the study for a while. Her thoughts had wandered to a time long past, a time when her life had intersected with the Shelby brothers.

Thomas’s presence was a welcome interruption, though it took her a moment to shift her attention from the peaceful scenery to him. He placed a warm, familiar hand on her shoulder, a touch that carried the weight of his love and the assurance of his support. His voice, though low and steady, held a note of playful affection as he spoke. “Love, are you planning on joining us for dinner with the family tonight?”

His words were like a lifeline to the present, pulling her from the swirl of past grievances and into the here and now. She looked up at him, her lips curving into a faint, mischievous smile.

“Dinner with the Shelby clan?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and amusement. “Is that the same family that turns every meal into a battleground? I’m surprised they’re all in the same room at once. Last I heard, you lot were still debating over who got first dibs on my chocolate chip cookies.”

Thomas chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate with the room’s deep, warm tones. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her ear as he spoke. “It’s not quite a battleground, though it can be lively. But I promise, it’s not all chaos. We have a few moments of civility before it all kicks off.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and unburdened. “Well, in that case, I suppose I can brave the family dinner. Someone has to keep you all in line.”

Thomas’s gaze softened, and he gently squeezed her shoulder before releasing her. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to face them alone.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, feeling a renewed sense of connection to the life she was building with him. The letter and the unresolved emotions of the past seemed to drift away, if only for a moment, replaced by the comforting reality of the present and the anticipation of a shared future.

She returned her gaze to the window, the sprawling grounds of Arrow House now seeming even more serene in the quiet aftermath of their conversation. The promise of a lively family dinner ahead brought a new layer of anticipation to her day, a reminder of the vibrant life she was now a part of.

In her reflective mood, Y/N thought back to her time as a nurse during World War I, when her path had first crossed with the Shelby brothers. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days spent tending to the wounded in a makeshift field hospital. Each brother had come through her care, their lives touched by the trauma of war. Thomas, Arthur, and John—each had been a different story, each had left a mark on her heart.

She remembered the late nights spent in the dimly lit wards, the quiet conversations that had unfolded amidst the beeping of machines and the rustling of sheets. Thomas had been the most reserved, his eyes betraying the weight of his experiences even as he tried to mask it with a veneer of stoic bravery. Arthur had been volatile, his wounds reflecting the turmoil within, while John had been more approachable, his easy smile a rare comfort in those dark times.

Y/N had tended to their injuries with a professionalism that masked her own fears and uncertainties. In the midst of the chaos, she had been a silent witness to their struggles and their unspoken camaraderie. The war had been a crucible that tested their mettle, and she had seen firsthand the bonds that had formed between them, forged in the fires of adversity.

As she sat in the study, the weight of those memories mingled with the serene beauty of the present. The sprawling grounds of Arrow House, with its manicured lawns and distant trees, seemed like a world apart from the grim reality of the wartime hospital. Yet, it was here, in this peaceful setting, that she had found a new chapter in her life.

The juxtaposition of past and present was not lost on her. She had moved from the sterile, oppressive environment of wartime care to the warm, welcoming embrace of her new life with Thomas. The contrast was stark, yet she embraced it with a sense of gratitude and acceptance. The Shelby family, for all their complexity and dysfunction, had become a part of her world, and she had become a part of theirs.

As Y/N glanced once more at the window, the promise of the evening’s dinner seemed to symbolize more than just a family gathering. It was a testament to the journey she had undertaken, a journey that had brought her from the battlefields of war to the hearth of Arrow House. The anticipation of the dinner ahead was a reminder of the new beginnings and the connections she had forged along the way.

Dearest Father,

The man I love has given me much more than I anticipated. I no longer ache at the thought of what could have been for my former family. I no longer wonder and question if I have a place in the world. Because I have found it beside the one man who has yet to let me down.

My heart is filled with love and warmth I have never felt. My days are spent basking in affection and care that you were unable to give. I am…happier than ever.

But I wish you were here, to see the women I have become. To know that, I am loved and cared for.

Sincerely,

A daughter who no longer grieves you.

_

tag list: @mysticalpandora @ultimatreality @lovecleastrange @watercolorskyy @rockerchick05 @lyarr24

[indeediagree]

We love a young cillian murphy (and old)

[bleakmidwinter00]

Masterlist

Cillian Fics

Taking Flight

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

An Unexpected Stop

Part 1, Part 2

Cillian One Shots

One Night Only