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justrainandcoffee · 21 days ago

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“Good Morning” (Tom Hardy x fem!oc)

Part 1 of the series: “Only for tonight”

Summary: It's 2012 when Hannah received a call from an important executive to work with them. She's a great musician only until that moment she didn't have the chance to really show her natural talent. The BBC offered her the opportunity to finally do it and at the same time the opportunity to meet him. || Three years later, everything is very different. Two different realities linked by the same phrase: “good morning.”

Warnings: None. Although there's some angst towards the end. || This is pure fiction. All names are made up except his. Even in future chapters all filmography named here was invented. || The story is divided in past (2012) and present (2015)

Words: 2.7 k. || Remember that English isn't my first language. Please, consider leave a comment or reblog considering this is the first time i post this and still don't know what I'm doing 👉👈🥺.

Three years ago.

Hannah Murphy was born in London a morning in middle of May. His father was architect, her mother owner of a several beauty centres and her eldest brother was a neurosurgeon now working in Boston, United States.

Big things were expected from Hannah. Maybe being a doctor like Eric, her brother, or having a PhD in Economics like one if her cousins because first and foremost, the Murphys were successful people. Her grandfather, Mr. Andrew Murphy, was the one who designed the building for one of the most important corporations that existed nowadays in England. So, considering that everyone had their eyes on her, even as kid. But Hannah W. Murphy wasn't born with numbers and theories in her veins, she was born with music.

"You're wasting your life," her mother said when she was 10 and her father accepted to take her to a conservatory of music to learn to play piano. "Look at Eric, he's reading books that are for advanced students! And you're nothing compared to him, Hannah. Music! What kind of shit is that?"

But Hannah knew, even when she was 10, that music it was going to be her life. And she was right.

"Your daughter has a gift," one of her teachers said not longer after she started to study there.

But Greta Murphy, her mother, insisted on study something that could give her a name in the future and her brother thought the same as her. The only one who supported her was her father, Andrew Murphy jr, who was also the only one who went to her first solo in a theatre when she was 15.

Hannah was 16 when one of her plays, composed by herself, was part of a local play. Small, but it gave her some money and the hopes that her dreams could be possible.

Yet, when she finishes school, to stop hearing her mother for once, she decided to study engineering. During those years, she didn't stop writing music but she just kept it to herself.

At the age of 23, she finished her career and threw the diploma in front of her Great. Hannah never worked as engineer.

Teaching kids and offering her music to different people who was interested in her talent, she was able to earn enough money to rent her own apartment and lm have her the freedom she was craving for.

Seven years later Hannah Murphy, 30 years old, was about to face the biggest change of her whole life.

She was walking Solomon, her black staffy and the most brainless dog in the whole world, when her phone on her pocket started to vibrate. It was an unknown number but she answered anyway.

"Hannah speaking."

"Ms. Murphy?" A female voice on the other side of the line made her stop walking.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, Miss Murphy I'm calling you in name of Mr. Henry Atwood, he wants to have an appointment with you, miss Murphy."

The first Henry Atwood that crossed her mind was the director and executive producer the BBC had and the brain of one of her favourite tv shows the last years. But the idea of someone calling her and saying that that Henry Atwood wanted to see her was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Who's Henry Atwood? and how did you get my number?"

"Mr. Atwood, the tv producer," by her voice tone, Hannah believed that the girl considered her stupid. "I'm his secretary and I got your number because he asked for it to one of the directors you worked with."

"Scott?"

"Mr. Scott, yes"

If it wasn't because she was in middle of a park, Hannah could've screamed.

Travis Scott was a director working on a play and he asked her to help his team with the music. Finally after several failed meetings she ended up working alone and the final result in Travis's words was "the best fucking thing he ever heard."

That was four months ago but she didn't know that he knew Atwood and even less than he was going to receive a call from him. Or his secretary to be more specific.

"Ms. Murphy?"

"I'm sorry I'm trying to understand what's happening… I- the answer is yes! If he wants, yes of course I can. I just need to know when."

"Great. I'll make an appointment, then."

Two days later a very nervous Hannah was waiting for Atwood in the waiting room. It was perfectly tidy, with magazines on the glass table, some flyers prompting the movies and TV shows to come and some from previous months. The tiles shone reflecting the lamps on the ceiling.

Hannah felt stupidly nervous. Most people there arranged things thanks to secretaries or managers but she didn't have any of those. She had a dog without brain cells and she was sure Solomon didn't know how to talk. Although she did know that the staffy was the best to calm her and right now she needed his comfort.

Hannah would remember that day for the rest of her life. It was 20th of June, 11:30 am and it was a guy talking about the European football league on the radio sounding in the background when he saw him for the first time. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans. He'd have been any other man but he wasn't.

"Good morning," Tom said to her who was sitting in the chair next to the office's door, so still that she wasn't sure that was even blinking.

"Good morning," she managed to say.

Don't be awkward.

Tom smiled before walking towards the elevator "call me, okay?" he said to the other man.

"I will."

Both him and Hannah look at Tom go. "Quite a character," he said. "You are Hannah, right? I'm Henry Atwood."

Hannah was still seeing the corridor where he disappeared from their sight and Atwood couldn't help but chuckle.

"Tom Hardy," she said "It was him?"

"Yeah, it was him. We hired him for future our project. And I have an offer for you, too, But please first, come in."

Hannah called Betty, her best friend, as soon as she left the building like if everything was a dream. All was so surreal that she needed something to drink and to eat to process what just happened. Both women went to a pub, ordered beer and fish and chips.

"The main theme?" Betty asked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh, my god! Your mother is going to freak out and probably pass out. Imagine her telling her friends about this."

"She's going to say that the BBC isn't Hollywood and no one outside England is going to see it. And probably she's going to say that the music is horrible."

"She doesn't know a shit about music."

"But she does know how to destroy people. Believe me, I know."

"Then fuck her. Don't tell her a word, better that way."

"I won't."

"But you already signed the papers?"

"No. I mean I said yes, but I need to make it official. I'm going to read it tonight and then sign them. Fuck me, I can't believe it."

Betty smiled at her Hannah couldn't help but imitate her. That was a good day.

Good morning.

Hannah was very tempted to say to her about her seeing Tom inside the building, but suddenly she felt really silly. What she was going to say? Do you know I saw Tom Hardy today and he said good morning to me? Besides, it was something so random and something that Hannah believed that wasn't going to happen again that she felt unnecessary to say it.

Next week, Hannah returned to the BBC building with the papers signed and her hopes higher than ever before. Hannah was happy and it was good. Not long ago she ended a relationship that left her with debts, without her motorbike but with Solomon. The only good thing the bastard did was abandoning the dog in her house. Solomon was just an eight-month puppy, playful and sweet, but according to his ex, he was just a waste of money. As if he himself wasn't a waste of money and oxygen.

So these unexpected good news was exactly what she needed. And her first salary was more than welcome.

"There's a meeting this Friday. The whole team," Henry Atwood said. "Including you."

"Including me? But I have nothing to do with the cast."

"That's the point. It's not just the cast. There are always new ideas to add or to erase from the plot, suggestions, new plans. Etc… maybe you can create something even more great if you know what it's this about. Can you come?"

"Yes, I'm free, so… yes!"

"Good then!" Henry offered her a big smile and his hand to shake it "Welcome aboard, Hannah."

Hannah preferred to be one of the firsts to arrive there instead of being there late. It was her first meeting and officially it was also her first day at work. It'd be considered rude to be there late. Not to mention that the idea of people looking at her was something she wasn't used to. Not without her piano as shell, at least.

The meeting office was big and chairs and tables were in a circle so everyone could look at the rest.

Hannah couldn't help but felt nervous. The idea of working for them suddenly hit her in her face with fury. On her first day at work, she had to leave the office and find an empty place to calm herself. She felt sick and she was hyperventilating. Her mother's voice in her head didn't help at all "You're going to fail, because you're a failure."

"Look at your brother, head of the surgeon committee of Boston."

"Your music is quite mediocre."

"Shut up! Shut up!" she said to herself resting her forehead on the cold window that was in that corridor. The last thing she needed that special day was her mother and her awful vibes with her. "Please, go away."

Hannah closed her eyes and tried to think about good things. Her dog, her best friend, her piano… she imagined herself sitting in front of it and tried to breathe normally again.

"Are you okay?" A male voice brought her again to reality.

Hannah gasped and back off surprised by the unexpected company.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry," he said.

It took Hannah few seconds to recognise that Tom was in front of her, but when she did it, she rushed to reply. "Yes, yes. I- uhm, I was nervous and I felt anxious. I needed to clean my mind. It happens, from time to time."

"Are you sure?"

Hannah nodded as Tom walked to the water dispenser and offered seconds later a glass of water.

"Thanks," she said smiling briefly.

People tend to see celebrities as deities, not humans. Because of course they're people but also, they're beyond of what could be considered approachable. Not everyone could be near one. And suddenly Hannah was few inches away from a famous actor that seemed to be concerned about her. Like, indeed, any good person in the world could be worried about another. Famous or not.

"I started today," Hannah said "I think my brain felt I couldn't do it."

"It's normal, a new job make everyone feel nervous. You'll be fine. You'll see. What's your name?"

"Hannah Murphy."

"The composer," Tom said. His voice denoted surprised and he smiled at her "Henry talked a lot about you. You're a little celebrity here."

"Oh, please, no! I'm just- I'm not. I Just play the piano."

"It seems to me that more than that. Were you in the meeting?"

"I tried to be there before feeling sick."

"Come on, Hannah. They'll love you, don't worry about it."

Tom smiled at her again and something in his reassuring made her feel better. Together they entered in the meeting room.

___

Now. Three years later.

The apartment was still dark, the windows were closed despite the morning was a reality. She could hear the cars, people… even birds. Everything was the proof that outside those walls nothing changed.

Hannah didn't sleep in the whole night in that bed that now semeed to be awfully big for her. The empty spot.

She didn't want to cry again, but new tears appeared in her eyes.

Where was her morning kiss on her shoulder? The beard tickling her skin? The "let's stay five more minutes"? His morning coffee, too strong for her taste, but whose smell was synonymous with the beginning of a new day?

It's not like Hannah didn't break up with another person before… but never before everything hurt that way.

Tap tap tap.

Solomon was wagging his tail against the wooden floor because he saw her moving in bed. Against all odds, she smiled briefly. She pat the mattress and the dog didn't waste time to jump and snuggle with her in a single motion. His big head was now on her chest and she caressed it with her hand.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

The animal looked at her. He didn't know anything about broken hearts, empty beds and tears. But he could feel her sadness. He'd wait for his breakfast until she felt better. Solomon settled closer to her.

It was 10am when she finally decided to go out of bed. The sun was shining, the city was indeed awake long time ago. Looking through the window she'd say that everything was the same. Only it wasn't.

Her phone was full of messages from her family and friends. Especially Betty. But Hananh didn't have the energy to deal with them, especially not her mother that for sure was ready to say that she was nothing but a disgrace, not even smart enough to keep a relationship with the best man she ever found. And for the first time in her life, Hannah hated the feeling that her mother was right.

She sat on her couch with a cappuccino mug in her hands and some toasts on a plate. On a chair on the opposite side of the living room still was one of his T-shirts, one that she stole from his wardrobe and ended its days as her pyjamas. She didn't use it for a while and she didn't want to touch it now, afraid that it'd smell like him.

The memories of the previous night overwhelmed her. It was her fault, she knew. For being too weak. Her mother was right, she wasn't like the rest of them, never was.

The sound of a new message caught her attention. She didn't need to see who it was. That was his ringtone, she personalized it long time ago.

Hannah took her phone and read the message.

[Can we talk? Ily]

Hannah pictured Tom in his house with his own dog next to him. His phone next to his nose because probably his glasses were somewhere where he couldn't find them.

She ruined it.

She received a new message from him.

[Pooh, let's talk]

Hannah broke into new tears when she read her nickname. No one before him ever called her Pooh. And everything started the moment he knew her second name was Winifred. Winnie. Hannah hated the name and she always used just the W, as reference for it. But with Tom, Hannah learnt to love her second name, even before dating. Or maybe it was because it was him.

Hannah called Tom.

He answered before the second ring, for a moment no one talked until he did "Good morning, Pooh."

#tom hardy #tom hardy rpf #tom hardy x oc #tom hardy x ofc #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfic #real person fiction #tom x hannah

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junikicker · 1 year ago

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idk if u take requests but if you do could i request a fic w lady bellaston (maybe w the same reader character as your previous lady bellaston fics??) where they’re at a party and lady b is knowingly flirting with others to make reader jealous all the while sending looks at reader like ‘what are you going to do about it:);)’ and reader takes her to an empty room and fucks her lol no worries if you don’t take requests tho!!

Masquerade - Lady Bellaston x fem!reader

warnings: smut

note: I've really grown to love the oc I creadted with the whole Under Her Spell story. Love that even though the story is officially over, you requested the character again. Also love that you all love the series so much.

word count: 2.2k

“I understand you will attend the masquerade ball next week?” Your father asked, just as he was about to head out for the day. “Affirmative, father. I’ll have William fetch my clothes from the tailor this afternoon.” You responded, looking at him from your desk as you dropped the quill in your left hand.

“You’re not again writing that foolish poetry, are you? Son, how often must I tell you that you are no Shakespeare? And quit writing with your left hand.” He ordered, a deep frown on his face.

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to her.” You recited the words written down on the piece of parchment before you, looking your father straight in the eye. The man’s frown seemed to only deepen at your words. He turned around and left without saying another word. You sighed. Nothing you ever did could seem to make him proud.

Later that day, William arrived with your clothes for the ball. Your father had insisted on the family colors, however, you decided to only go for the blue and switch the black for silver elements. He was not attending either way, so you thought you could just as well do a bit of your won thing.

You hadn’t seen Lady Bellaston since the night the two of you spent at Champagne Lane, but you regularly exchanged letters. William was so gracious to act as a courier for the two of you, delivering your letters to her and her letters to you, so your father wouldn’t suspect anything. William truly was a man of honor. He’d been around the manor for as long as you could remember. For a long time he had been your only friend.

The letters mostly consisted of her telling you about how much she longed to be with you again, while your letters always included a new poem of yours that you had written for her and only her.

Since you met her, your creativity had increased. You saw her in all the little things. The flowers, the sky, the clouds, and the moon with the stars at night. Sometimes even a word was enough to make you think of her.

As the masquerade ball was approaching, you felt yourself grow nervous. It was the first time that you would be seeing her after Champagne Lane. What if she suddenly decided she wanted to end it all? What if she had told anyone? What if she had told your father?

“Are you quite alright, Y/n?” William asked you as he fixed the buttons on your shirt. Whenever your father was not around, he called you by your real name. Whenever you heard your own name, a smile appeared on your face. Your father always called you Atticus. Everyone called you Atticus. Everyone but William, Charles, and now, Clarissa.

“Yes, it’s nothing.” You sighed, your hands a bit clammy. “Is it about Lady Bellaston?” He asked and you met his eyes. “I haven’t looked at the letters. But I sense there is a strong connection between the two of you.” He explained as he stepped aside for you to look into the mirror.

“We have been sleeping together, if that is what you are asking.” You told him as you smoothed out your clothing. “I was not implying-” William started but you cut him off, chuckling. “It’s fine, William. Really.” You told him. “I suppose, I am just nervous to see her again. We’ve been talking over letters over the past two weeks, but what if she decided that she wants to end whatever we are having? What if she thinks it was wrong?”

“Everything will be alright, Y/n. I’ve seen how she beamed when I came with your letters every day. How she was eager to get your reply. She won’t change her mind. And if she does: Whatever happens, happens. Everything happens for a reason.” William tried to soothe your nerves. “Thank you, William.” You genuinely told him and he gave you a smile. “Now leave. And enjoy yourself. Your father is in Paris until the day after tomorrow, do not worry about the time of your return.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. And thank you again.” You told him as you got ready to leave. “My pleasure, Y/n.” He spoke and left you alone.

The carriage in front of your home seemed to have arrived just in time for you to leave. You were still nervous but William seemed to have managed to calm your nerves down severely.

There were already loads of people at the masquerade when you had arrived. You got off the carriage and looked at the mask in your hands. With a sigh, you secured the mask over your eyes and tied it at the back of your head.

You looked around, trying to find any sort of familiar figure but decided it was not worth the effort. Everybody looked so different with the mask on. You still tried to find that one particular blonde among the many people.

“You have got to be kitting me! Atticus Huntington?” A voice grabbed your attention and you turned around. You were met with a small man. His hair was neatly pulled back into a slick bun at the back of his head. “Blifil? Is that you?” You asked. You hadn’t seen the man that you knew when he was still a boy in years. “So it is you! I haven’t seen you in a long time. What have you been up to?” The young man asked. “Spent some time in the countryside. Wrote a book. Everything and nothing, really.” You explained. Then Blifil was saying something about how he wanted to go to the countryside too, but it just didn’t seem to be a fitting environment for him and some other things that you didn’t quite catch because you were distracted by something, or rather someone.

About fifteen meters away was a woman in a yellow dress, a mask hid her face, but you would know that hair anywhere. It had a different color than all blonde hair you had ever seen. It had a texture that you’d know everywhere. And she was talking with some man, a tad older than you. A hand on his arm as she laughed at something he said. You had a hard time drawing your eyes away from her but managed to get back to your conversation with Blifil.

“I don’t think you’d be a fit for the countryside either, lad… Look, it was nice catching up with you, but I need to find someone.” You explained and gave his shoulder a pat. “Yes, no worries, I must be off as well.” He said and you parted ways. When you looked back to where you had just seen Clarissa with the mysterious man, there were now two ladies, one dressed in delicate green and the other in a deep purple gown. You looked around. No sign of Lady Bellaston.

As you were about to give up on searching, you saw the yellow dress again out of the corner of your eye. There she was, talking to… Tom Jones? What could she possibly want from Tom Jones? Surely she was not going to allow him to wed Sophia. There it was again. That laugh. That laugh that you had come to adore so much. The laugh that you thought was only for you.

As if Clarissa seemed to have felt you watching her, her head turned and she looked at you, giving you a smirk. That was when you knew what she wanted. It was all a game. She wanted to make you jealous and you hated that it was working. Your jaw clenched when you watched her laugh at yet another joke Ton Jones seemed to have made. She looked at you again, quirking an eyebrow at you as if to say ‘what are you going to do about it?’. You took a deep breath before abandoning your drink on the next best table and then made your way over to where Clarissa and Tom Jones were seated.

“If it isn’t Tom Jones. Are you not supposed to be talking to Sophia? My Lady Bellaston.” You acknowledged her presence as you put on a fake smile for Tom Jones. “I was just about to leave.” He gritted out between his teeth before getting up and leaving.

“Follow me.” You said to Clarissa, grabbing her hand, leading her to the next best room inside that you could be alone in.

“What was that about?!” You asked her through gritted teeth. “Why in God’s name were you trying to seduce Tom Jones?! He’s not in love with you!” You were backing her up against the closed door, leaving no place to escape for her. She had a smug smile on her face as her hands reached behind her head to get rid of her mask before she reached around your head to get rid of yours as well.

She caught you off guard with that. It was not what you had been expecting at all. Confused, you looked at her, meeting her emerald green eyes. “Because I want you.” She breathed out. “And this was the fastest way.” She explained, a hand cupping your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“You’re mine.” You breathed once you had comprehended her words. “You belong to me. And if you ever look at him like that again, you are going to be very sorry, Clarissa.” You told her and her pupils dilated at your words. “Understood?” You asked her, looking deep into her eyes. You took the small whimper that fell from her lips as a yes. “Turn around.” You ordered and she immediately obliged.

You practically tore the dress from her body, not caring if it took damage as you removed it from her body. You just needed so much access to do what you had in mind. “Now I’m gonna show you who you belong to.” You growled into her ear. You looked around to find the next best place to take your activities to and saw a desk in the middle of the room. You got a hold of her hips and led her to the wooden piece of furniture.

One swift movement was all it took for you to lift her up to sit on the desk as you stood between her legs and removed her underwear. As you did, you got the perfect look at her breasts, corset so tight they were threatening to spill out of it. And the little heart-shaped mark was present once again.

You dragged your index finger up her slit and a low moan left the woman’s mouth. “Oh, darling. I’ve barely touched you and you are already drenched.” You chuckled at the wetness you found between her legs.

Without a warning, you thrust two fingers into her dripping core, Clarissa’s head falling back at the rough pace you set from the beginning. Your fingers play with her sensitive bundle of nerves, while one of her hands reach for your hair, gently tugging on it, while streams of moans leave her throat. Your lips latch onto her cleavage, leaving mark after mark on her porcelain skin.

Her gasps get higher in pitch and once you feel her flutter around your fingers, you pull away fully, gaining a groan and whimper in response. Just as Clarissa was about to say something about it, you slipped your fingers back inside, thrusting even harder and faster, a moan taking up the space of her words. Her pupils were blown wide, and her chest was flushed and covered in, what you thought was, art.

Your thumb on her clit continues to tease her further, her gasps becoming more frequent and the rhythm more frantic. Just when you curl your fingers into that special spot inside of her, her back arches fully into you, and a loud moan leaves her mouth. When you press your lips to hers in an attempt to silence her loud moans, the kiss is sloppy and messy. A few moments later, curses in what seemed to be French started leaving her mouth. Within the next few moments, you can feel her walls flutter around your fingers and her hands clawing at your back, into the fabric of your suit, while you throw her over the edge. You helped her ride out her high, before pulling away. “Who do you belong to?” You ask her, wanting to know if she remembered anything about your conversation from before. “Yours.” She panted, trying to catch her breath.

Her hair was now messy, the heart-mark washed away by sweat and her lipstick was smudged. You wondered if there was some on your face. The way she smiled at you made your heart ache. “I think I’m in love with you.” You blurted out. Just as you realized what you had said, you put your hands to your mouth. “Sorry- that was...”

“You think or you know?” Clarissa asked, now back to her cocky self. “I know.”

#gxg #wlw #fem!reader #lesbian #rebecca welton #rebecca welton x reader #ted lasso #hannah waddingham #lady bellaston x reader #lady bellaston #tom jones pbs #junikicker

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