#tommy shelby x fem oc

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 4

Summary: Charlotte realises that she doesn't know her employer as well as she thought she did. Clouded by indecisions, she takes a path that may have unexpected consequences when things take a turn for the worst

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Mentions of PTSD. Tommy gets violent. No beta reading we die like John

Author’s note: I have NO excuse. Not even I know why I dropped the ball on this, but I will just say that 2024 has been sucker punching me in the face since January 1st and has not given me respite. I am hoping that this time I will be able to post more consistently, but again, who knows with me?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY GRAMMAR ERRORS

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark  @zablife

《Prev part -

Bright sunlight peeked into the bedroom through the gaps in the curtains, bathing everything in golden warmth. Blackbirds and nightingales chirped in their branches, their cheerful songs mingling with the sounds of the daily bustling of the state; horses neighing in their paddocks, hounds barking at the sight of wild rabbits; the old truck coming up the road bringing fresh meat and groceries for the week. It all sounded so typical, so average, not a toe out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Except Charlotte.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed under her aching body was not hers. Albeit top quality, the mattress she slept in had obviously been used before; softer around the middle and with a characteristic indent in the exact position where she sat every morning to slip on her stockings and shoes. But the one under her was much firmer and sturdy, and her back had definitely noticed it. The pillows also felt different, as did the sheets. The sun shone on the wrong side, not landing on the bed like she preferred. But it was all forgotten when she noticed a hand clinging to hers, fingers intertwined with her own on a gentle grip.

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up so quickly bright lights danced in her vision. She was used to being awoken in a startle; injured and dying soldiers didn’t wait for her to wash her face and tighten her corset before coming in. But waking up in Tommy’s bed, dressed in only her nightgown and robe and with his hand laced with hers surpassed any startle. 

The memories from the last 24 hours flooded her mind like a horror movie. Doctor Keller’s visit, the uncertainty of the wait, the abrupt waking up with Thomas moaning in pain in the dead of the night, and the horrifying discovery of the punctures on his back, crimson blood soaking through gauzes and clothes onto the bed sheets. 

The man next to her slept so peacefully, face buried in the pillows and soft snores escaping his lips, one could hardly believe the suffering he had been subjected to just hours prior. The laudanum dosage Charlotte administered should keep him out of it until midday at least, but that didn’t worry her; he definitely looked like he needed that rest.

Carefully, with the same gentleness one would handle a newborn with, Lottie turned him on his side, propping his body with pillows to properly assess the damage. At least he hadn’t bled through his clothes again, but that small relief did little to placate the cold feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach after she cut off the bandages. 

The wounds on his back had already begun to scab, surrounded by near black bruises of various sizes, from his mid back all the way down to the top of his tailbone. The punctures were evenly spaced both sideways and lengthwise, and Charlotte soon realised they were meant to follow the length of his spine. She could not even fathom the pain those must have caused, nerve damage or not.

Charlotte didn’t know how to proceed from there. Every fibre of her being urged her to run to Mrs. Gray, expose Doctor Keller for a charlatan, and let the Peaky Blinders dispose of him as they saw fit. But on the other hand, acting behind his back would surely shatter the feeble bond of trust Lottie and Tommy had developed. It didn’t matter that she only did it with his best interests in mind; he would perceive it as betrayal on her part, and would set back the small but significant progress she had made with him. She had a duty with her patient, but that duty had divided in two widely different roads, both pulling at her with equal strength.

A firm knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. In a panic, she realised it was a quarter past 10 in the morning, much later than the hour in which she usually fetched Tommy’s breakfast tray from the kitchens, a little after 9. A second, much larger panic overcame her as she took note of her state of dress, or rather, undress. She had no proper excuse to be in her nightgown only, and even if she explained that she had spent the night watching over Thomas, it still did not give her reason to look like she had just risen from bed, his bed. 

She paced back and forth, debating whether to answer the door or just feign deafness and pretend she wasn’t there. She could not hide there forever, but she much preferred to step out with no witnesses present. And God forbid it was Mrs. Gray on the other side; she held the woman in high esteem, and being found by her in such a compromising situation was mortifying, even if nothing less than honourable had happened. 

A third knock urged her to make a decision, and a small, female voice coming from the other side

“Nurse Tindall, are you in there? I’ve brought up the breakfast tray for Mr. Shelby, may I come in?”

Lottie breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised the voice of Ella, a new maid who was as sweet as she was witless. It would not be hard to distract her, as she did anything she was asked to, no matter how stupid the request sounded. Charlotte cleared her throat and walked closer to the door, making deliberate sounds around to appear busy.

“Mr. Shelby is getting dressed, come back later please” She did her best to sound firm in a kind way, not wanting to trigger another of the girl’s crying episodes over feeling herself scolded. But much to her unluckiness, Ella seemed committed to delivering the food, surely not wanting to unleash the cook’s wrath upon her. Peeling a cartful of potatoes surely drivers the lesson home to not let the eggs go cold.

“But I’ve already brought the tray over, and Mrs. Bird will be upset if I go back down with it. May I come in? I promise I won’t look!” Lottie could hear the distress in the girl’s voice; she knew that Ella would not survive long in the house’s service like that.

“I said no, Ella. Mr. Shelby needs his privacy” Her words came a little harsher than she had originally intended, and she could practically see Ella flinching and the wobble of her lower lip. Not wanting to send the maid back down defeated and in tears, she spoke again, a little softer this time “Leave the tray on the side table and I’ll bring it in once we’re finished here”

Lottie waited with bated breath, ears perked up as she heard Ella push aside some ornaments to place the silver tray down, catching even the soft tinkling of saucers and teacups. Her relief lasted only until she heard footsteps going down the stairs, for soon a deeper, slurred voice came from behind her.

“With that level of quick minded resourcefulness, you could work for my company”

Tommy was awake, no doubt aroused from his slumber by her banter with the maid. Charlotte had been certain that the sleeping tinctures would keep him under until at least after lunch, but again, what could half a cup of laudanum do against a man who had been using morphine and opium freely for the best part of the last five years?

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she immediately rushed to his side, taking a motherly stance as she gently brushed hair away from his forehead, discreetly checking for any rise in his temperature; although he felt sweaty, he didn’t seem to be running a fever. Her fingers circled his wrist, counting the steady beats of his heart, and her ears perked up, ready to detect any change in the pattern of his breathing.

“I am not dying, not yet at least” Thomas huffed, in what turned out to be a poor attempt at lightening the severity of the situation. But even then he couldn’t deny he had been left extremely weakened; even opening his eyes appeared to be a struggle, and the dark circles under them cut sharply against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

Charlotte felt grief tugging at her heartstrings at his sight, alongside an overcoming sense of guilt for not having stopped Doctor Keller; she should have trusted her gut and dragged them all out by the ankles the second they kept her from accompanying Thomas through the treatment. Nothing good ever came from things happening behind closed doors. And certainly nothing good could ever come from a treatment that required him to be gagged and held down.

She reached over to the basin to retrieve a damp cloth, gently dabbing away the sweat from Tommy’s temples and brow. His eyes closed again, tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. Lottie wanted to ask, she needed a what, a how and a why, but she didn’t want to push him when he looked like that, so miserable and battered. The sight of his back pierced and stabbed, his limp body lying on blood soaked sheets, and the helplessness and vulnerability in his eyes, had been forever engraved in her memory. To see a man like him brought down to that, it made her heart ache.

“Are you hungry?” She asked quietly, swallowing down her other questions and worries to focus first and foremost on his comfort. “I could ask the cook to make you something light if your stomach is upset. Maybe some soup and toast?”

He shook his head, opening one eye just enough to gauge Charlotte’s expression. Just like his aunt’s, there was something unsettling about Thomas’s gaze. While Mrs. Gray looked like she could know all your secrets with just one look, Thomas had a certain determination in his eyes, a glint of mischief added with something that Lottie couldn’t quite pinpoint; but she knew for certain that Mr. Shelby could convince anyone to do his bidding only by staring them down. But she also noticed he possessed the same perennial shadow that all war veterans did; a mark that they all shared and would never fade.

“I suppose asking you for a glass of whiskey and to pass me cigarettes won’t work even now, eh?”

Charlotte had always had more than a few opinions about Thomas’ average diet of eating nothing, but the fact that he felt well enough to joke about it did manage to lighten her spirits. She noticed he kept trying to dampen his lips and his tongue appeared quite parched; with a teaspoon she managed to give him some sips of water, since she didn’t feel confident enough to sit him up just yet.

A pregnant silence hovered in the air, with Charlotte knowing both had things they wanted to say. Her thoughts continued to swirl around aimlessly, torn between rushing straight to Mrs. Gray to tell her everything she knew so far, or to wait to hear the complete story from Tommy’s lips. But would he be willing to tell? Did he remember even, or had the memories been wiped away by the trauma and the pain medicines?

Even if she wished to avoid it forever, she couldn’t. She needed to redo the dressings on his back, and she had learned through experience the way some veterans reacted when their wounds were touched, as if the contact triggered the memories they so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down. And so, she figured she might try while the laudanum still lingered, hoping that the remaining opioids in his system would keep him tame should he lash out.

“Tommy, there’s some wounds left on your back from your…treatment” Calling that medicine left a bitter taste on Charlotte’s mouth, but she couldn’t go and call it torture to his face “I need to bandage them again but I promise to be careful. You need to let me know if anything is bothering you, is that okay?” A part of herself felt she was talking him down like a child, but that had worked before with other veterans in similar situations, and at worse, Thomas would get mad at her, which would be no different than usual.

But much to her surprise, Tommy appeared awfully calm with the information she had just given her, as if the notion of having been poked full of holes didn’t faze him at all. A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine as she began to consider the option that Tommy knew what had been done to him, or worse, that he had willingly submitted to it.

While she gathered her supplies, she noticed some dried blood lingered under her nails from the previous night’s ordeal. The sight of all that blood, gauzes dripping with it, the liquid pooling since the sheets could not soak up any more…She had seen ten times worse over the years in the front, and had faced it all with a sternness that unnerved even her colleagues. Why could she not detach herself this time? Was it because she could not stand the desperate being taken advantage of? Or had she grown attached at last to her insufferable patient?

Suddenly her common sense decided to abandon her. She dropped what she had on her hands and rounded the bed to face Thomas, leaning down until she was eye to eye with him. She had to gauge the truth from him, she needed the story straight so she could put a stop to this.

“Thomas…Thomas do you know what that doctor did to you?” She breathed through her nose once, to keep her voice from faltering “Did he tell you what he did exactly?” She reached to take one of his hands. The previous night the contact had been an act of desperation, and now it bore similar purpose “I don’t know if you remember but last night you woke up and..and you were-”

“Bloodied and in pain? Yes, I remember” The way he said it, with such carelessness as if he were simply saying he woke up thirsty, didn’t sit quite right with Charlotte. Far too calm, even for a man like him. “Doctor Keller warned me that the first couple of nights would be difficult to get by. He told me to rely on the laudanum, but I thought I could toughen it out. I should have listened…the doctor always knows best.” 

His dovish words confirmed her worst fears, and Lottie felt her stomach drop to her knees. He knew. He knew everything that had been done to him. How could he not? Thomas Shelby wouldn’t let a doctor put a single finger on him without knowing first what would be done to him. 

Her grip on his fingers tightened, and she leaned closer, far closer than their faces had even been before “Tommy, what he’s done to you is inhuman. It’s barbaric. I’m sure men who have been tortured have endured less than what you did yesterday. You cannot let him get away with it, or he will do it again to others. I will tell Mrs. Gray to deal with him, we won’t let him get close to you again”

“No” That time, his hand gripped hers, with such strength that made her fingers ache. “You will not do such a thing. You will leave that man alone, and let him do what he must. Understood?” There, in that moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what Tommy used to be like, when he was the man that terrorised Small Heath and had half of Birmingham bending the knee like he were some sort of king. A man who had built an empire from scratch and, rumour had it, ruled it like a tyrant. 

“Thomas, look at yourself!” She protested, not allowing herself to be intimidated “Look at what he’s done to you. What treatment can be worth being punctured by needles the length of your hand all down your back? Do you even know what’s been injected?”

“I don’t need to know. All I need it’s for it to work” He had to have lost his mind, That was the only answer as to how Thomas could so blindly trust Keller. That quacksalver had sweet spoken his way into Tommy’s mind, and had used his fear and hopelessness as grounds to plant the seed of hope. He saw Tommy as a drowning man, and appeared before him offering him a raft, which turned out to be only a rotten piece of wood.

“No” Determination laced Lottie’s words “I will not allow this to continue. You have been taken for a fool, Thomas, and it is my duty as your nurse to make you see reason when you can’t for yourself. I know a trickster when I see one, and God knows I’ve seen plenty” She felt anger loaded in her words; but not directed at her patient. Rather directed at Keller, and the dozens of men like him who saw chance for profit in the suffering of the war veterans who had lost everything fighting for their lives “I will not allow that man to set foot here again. I’ll barricade the door myself if I must, and I know Mrs. Gray will agree with me” Charlotte knew that Mrs Gray tried to antagonise her nephew as little as possible, only in extreme circumstances; well, this was definitely one of those.

What happened next took Lottie completely aback. Thomas let go of her hand, but instead gripped her chin, his fingers holding her with such strength that she felt the pain radiate up her jaw. His eyes were pure ice, cold and unforgiving, and he pulled her face down, forcing her to meet his gaze

“You won’t do shit. You will do what you do, what you are paid to do, and nothing more. For everything else, you keep your head down. I believe Polly told you that you would be expected to turn a blind eye for some things; well, this is one of those things. You are not family, you are just a worker, and you do what you are told, eh?”

“But-”

“But nothing” His grip tightened even more, if possible, forcing a whine out of Charlotte’s lips. She had never seen him like this before, not even during her first days in the manor when he did everything in his power to be a nuisance to her and scare her away. He had screamed, he had slammed tables, he had thrown to the wall cups and glasses and trays, but not even once had he laid a hand on her “You do what I say, and nothing more. If you tell Polly, I will fire you on the spot. If you try to interfere with Doctor Keller, things can get very ugly very quickly. Am I clear?”

Charlotte felt fear. For the first time since her arrival to Arrow House, she felt fear. Her heart hammered her ribs and her knees felt weak. This man before her was not the Tommy who had shown weakness just the night before, asking her to keep him company for the night and holding her hand; not even the man who had flipped over a table because she begged him to eat. Lottie recognised in him the first tendrils of the madness proper of someone with nothing left to lose. Tommy saw Keller as his last chance, and he would not let anything or anyone take that chance away. He had become obsessed, and obsession was just a step away from madness.

She nodded at his words, if anything to get Tommy to let go of her face. After a few more seconds of staredown, in which she felt diminished to the size of a mouse, Tommy let her go and laid back down

“Good. Now fuck off. Doctor Keller said that the wounds need to be aired to heal faster, and I want to sleep”

Somehow, Charlotte found enough control of her legs to stand and walk away, tripping on the carpet and crashing against an armchair on her way out. Her heart beat rampantly, the thumping booming on her ears and temples. She held herself until she had closed the double doors behind her, and only then collapsed against the panelled wall, burying her face in her hands. She had been threatened before, plenty of times, by men far too deep in their cups, or their drugs, or in the demons inside their heads. 

But never before by a true threat.

She knew as well as any what the Peaky Blinders did, and she knew they had no qualms on the choosing of their victims. And something in the way Tommy said those words, the intensity of his gaze, the strength of his grip, told Charlotte that he wouldn’t doubt acting upon his words should she cross him. 

She immediately thought of telling Mrs Gray everything. Every last detail, her position in the house be damned; Thomas could fire her but he could not rid himself of his aunt. With that steely determination Charlotte walked down the stairs, her steps resonating in the emptiness of the house. But that lasted only until she reached the landing. Would Mrs Gray side with her? Or would she let her nephew entertain his false hopes, if only to give him a false sense of happiness? Would she find in the older woman an ally, or would she just waste her time and her job entertaining her sense of justice? After all, just like Thomas said, she was just a worker, not family, and she should not speak above her station.

And yet.

Clinging onto her morals as only support, Charlotte set out to find Mrs Gray and tell her exactly what had happened; it might cause her to lose the best job she had held since the war ended, but at least she would leave that house at peace with her morals. But her mission finished as quickly as it began. She asked Frances the whereabouts of Mrs Gray, and a bucket of ice water was dropped upon her head when she was informed that Mrs. Gray had left to tend business in London and would not return for at least a week. Speaking face to face with her, locked in the privacy of the older woman’s office was one thing. But telephone her all the way to London, and possibly interrupt her affairs to basically snitch on her nephew…

A week. She would have to wait a week. And Charlotte hoped her resolve would last that long.

~

She felt out of place, wearing her blouses and skirts after spending the best part of half a year in only her nurse uniforms. Lottie sat on the terrace of a fancy French cafe, enjoying an espresso and a small assortment of pastries. She had a few magazines before her, and pen and paper to finally write down those letters she had due for weeks, but she simply could not concentrate, not on a day like that. The bells of a nearby church rang five times; in the blink of an eye two hours of her life had escaped her, for it was a few minutes past three when she sat on that chair, feeling her knees weak and her hands clammy.

After Tommy’s threat, things had gone down as well as one could expect. Charlotte spent the following week walking on eggshells around him, scared to even look him in the eye. Tommy had been a particularly obedient patient, dutifully drinking all his medicines and eating all his meals like he had never done before, but he had once more condemned Lottie to the silent treatment, not giving her more word than the occasional command to bring him something or, more specifically, to leave him alone. She had anxiously awaited the return of Mrs. Gray, hoping his aunt would help him see reason where she had failed so spectacularly. 

The showdown between them had surely been heard all through the county, the tone of their argument escalating steadily to the point Charlotte could clearly listen to every word they said, even sitting at the foot of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees and her thumbs pressing on her brow in hopes of alleviating what had become a chronic headache. Perhaps she had committed a calamitous mistake telling everything to Mrs. Gray. Or perhaps her first big mistake had been taking that job.

When Mrs. Gray finally came down to meet her, she looked absolutely defeated; and Lottie knew right away that she had risked it all for nothing.

Thomas had absolutely refused to back down on his treatment, quoting over and over that Keller said it had to get worse before it got better. He had said horrible things about his aunt and Charlotte, about how they wished him ill and had no desire to see him recover his life because it suited them better to keep him chairbound. Mrs. Gray had let the hurtful words sweep past her like breeze, but Charlotte felt them more like stones thrown to her face, even if they were just lies. 

In the end, Lottie had not been fired, her job position saved by Mrs Gray’s resilience to not let go of the first caretaker who had made it past the three month mark. She did however insist that Lottie cash in all the days off she was owed, plus an extra paid day on the house. That gave her exactly a week of holiday, and therefore, would keep her away the day Doctor Keller was scheduled to come for his next appointment. 

When she boarded the car that would take her to the station that Sunday morning, wearing her navy blue coat and her prettiest hat, a part of her wondered if she should leave for good; mail in her resignation and have someone else pick up the rest of her belongings. She could not envision what future she could have there now, as her relationship with Tommy had surely been permanently and irreparably damaged by their rift. He would never trust her completely again, and she couldn’t stand by idly and watch him pay himself into an early, horrific death.

Not wishing to spend her week in good old Birmingham, Lottie decided her salary allowed her to take her time off in London. She found lodging on a small bed and breakfast near Camden, and put her time to good use, hoping to keep herself distracted. She got new books to read, dined in a different place each night, and finally gave her wardrobe a much overdue refresh. But she could never shake off the knowledge that, each day that passed, was a day closer to Doctor Keller returning to Tommy’s side. It remained a perpetual nagging feeling on the back of her mind. She could not go a single day without something reminding her of it.

Charlotte felt her blood boil whenever she thought about how many men had been tricked before Thomas. Perhaps if she found one or two who had undergone the same treatment, with obviously less than satisfactory results, they could help her convince Tommy to abandon before it was too late. Hoping against hope, she set aside money to post a few small, as inconspicuous as possible advertisements, avoiding directly mentioning the doctor by name. At worst, it would all end in a few wasted coins and nothing else. 

Saturday she spent in a continuous fright, obsessively checking the hour everywhere she could. By 3 pm, she knew that awful man and his equally awful aids would be crossing the threshold. By 6, she figured they would be done cleaning up whatever gruesome mess they had left behind, with Tommy tucked in bed, absolutely knocked out by double and triple doses of opioids. 

She couldn’t find sleep that night, tossing and turning until the blankets were tangled in her legs. Even through emotional exhaustion her mind refused to quiet down. Was Tommy sleeping well? Was he comfortable? Would he wake again in the dead of the night in agony and alone, with no one to wipe his brow or change the sheets? Charlotte tried and failed again and again to force the thoughts out of her mind, but they refused to budge; even if she chastised herself for caring so deeply, she couldn’t help herself.

Sunday she spent no better, and after a short walk she decided to return to her room and give herself a lazy day, rearranging her suitcase and indulging in one of her new books alongside some cookies she bought nearby. She wasn’t expected back on the manor until Tuesday morning, yet she kept all her belongings packed and ready to go fleeing out the door.

After a humble dinner in a nearby pub, Lottie returned to her lodgings, deciding to indulge herself with a long bath, taking advantage of having a private bathroom. But just as she had crossed the entrance, a bellboy came to meet her, telling her there was a call for her on the front desk. 

Puzzled, Lottie followed the boy, wondering who could be calling her at that hour, since no one knew her whereabouts. Trepidation creeping up her spine, she picked the apparatus, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in her gut

“Hello?”

“Charlotte” Mrs Gray's voice resounded from the other side. Despite the familiarity, the knowledge that it was her calling didn’t reassure her one bit. A woman like her didn’t call at that hour to talk about the weather

“Mrs Gray, is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother to ask why or how she had Charlotte’s current address. They knew everything about everyone; they probably knew more about Charlotte than she herself did.

“No, things are not okay. Doctor Keller came yesterday; only God knows what he did, but Tommy didn’t wake up until today after midday, and he didn’t let me or any of the maids touch him or feed him”

Charlotte sighed, sensing immediately where the conversation was heading “Mrs. Gray, if you think that I can get past his thick head-”

“No” The older woman cut short “I don’t think you can, and that’s not why I called. Around dinner I went to check on him, try to get him to eat. Force feed him if I must. And I found him” Charlotte could hear her sigh slowly “I found him unconscious. So pale he was grey, laying in a pool of sweat. He had vomited too, I think. Couldn’t even wake him with a slap to the back”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her heart raced at the information she received, immediately noticing how bad the situation had turned “Mrs Gray, that is very serious. He needs to be seen by a doctor! Did you-”

“I called the ambulance. They’ve taken him right away. It’s the hospital I’m calling from. The doctor says he has an infection and that it’s reaching his blood”

Charlotte swallowed. Infections of the blood never had a good prognosis in the field, not even in the hospitals. Yet she clung to false hope when she asked her next question

“Did he…did he say it was bad?”

The pause that followed seemed to stretch for days, but that wasn’t half as bad as hearing Mrs. Gray voice crack for the first time

“They say he’s likely to die”

[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🫶🏻

[evita-shelby]

Happy wife, Happy life

Or Tommy gets drunk and assumes his wife is someone else so he sleeps on the floor instead

For @runnning-outof-time with the prompt 34) “I didn’t get your name.”

Gif by @cillianparadise

The sight of Tommy, this new Tommy who is always in control at all times, drunk as hell and stumbling into the bedroom, is a sight for sore eyes.

It is the old him, the one who laughed and loved horses and had ambition but not the sort to get you murdered by the Crown's most evil men.

“Did you have fun tonight, love?” You ask as your husband of four years stripped down to join you in bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I am sure you’re a catch, but I got a wife.” He answers, perfectly serious too and lies down on the floor after taking his pillow with him.

You can’t help but laugh and tease him. Not like he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Oh, so you’d rather sleep on the floor instead of your bed, Mr. Shelby?” you ask letting you arm hang over the edge of the bed and just low enough to bop his nose.

He hates it, and rolls his eyes at your immaturity.

“Yeah, happy wife happy life.” Tommy responds as if it made all the sense in the world.

Good boy, you say and he thanks you for the praise and rejects your advances while he’s at it.

“What if I told you your wife was in bed and can’t sleep without you with her?” you ask while you lightly pester him in ways only you did.

“Mhm, she’d shoot me if she caught me in bed with another woman, especially you.” He turned on his side and you paused as you raked your fingers through his mop of dark hair.

You.

Was there another tramp trying to woo him away from you?

You knew from the beginning that every woman here would sign off on their firstborn to be in his bed, and sell their soul to the devil to be in your shoes.

You were jealous, so much so that when he left for France you told him he could fuck a whore so long as you got to fuck a fella in return.

Your threat saved him from a bout of gonorrhea which Barney got from a whore who gave it to every man in the battalion save for Tommy.

“She doesn’t have to know,” you say keeping up the act so you know which woman you have to scare away from your fucking husband.

Couldn’t these ladies see the wedding band in his finger?

“She will, you aren’t exactly doing yourself any favors working in the pub, Miss. Miss?” Tommy faltered forgetting the name of the mousy barmaid. Looked like Jane Seymour , with that holier-than-thou face that got Anne Boleyn short of a head. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Grace. Grace Burgess.” You filled in the blanks and knew you’d make the blonde bitch leave Birmingham and scurry the fuck back to Belfast or your name isn’t Y/N Shelby.

Part 2

[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

[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.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Take It on the Run Pt. 2 | Thomas Shelby x Fem!OC

summary: Tommy keeps coming back to the cabaret but you never know why. Sometimes he stays but usually he doesn't, leaving his cigarette still smoking on the table. His flighty behavior and emotional unavailability starts to rub you the wrong way, but you can't bring yourself to hate him... but maybe you should.

warnings: outdated language concerning sex-workers; smut

word count: 4142k

Do I Move You?- Nina Simone 🎵

Daylight- David Kushner 🎶

Tommy Shelby told you that the cabaret “wasn’t his… thing” just a week ago and yet, when you begin your solo routine in a cream and sheer bodysuit, guess who’s sitting at that familiar table? You’re singing your song when you notice him, leaning back in his chair and holding a lit cigarette between his knuckles. His cheekbones are cast in an aggressive shadow but you can still make out his icy blue eyes looking back at you. 

You meet his gaze and match his neutral expression. You hadn’t expected to see him again after that night, maybe once or twice in passing but not here. You curse silently in your head and continue singing, feeling more self-conscious than usual beneath the hot stage lights. You can see his eyes pass over you though he makes no show of his thoughts when he takes another drag of his cigarette. 

Your song finally comes to an end and the crowd cheers with wolf whistles. Tommy doesn’t even clap, he stares at you for another moment and then stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. He downs the rest of his whiskey and stands, and leaves. You watch his back as he walks through the doors of the cabaret and doesn’t look back. Suddenly, you feel like a little girl, standing alone on the stage in a room full of strangers. 

…

After the cabaret closes, you go back onstage to grab your jar of tips. The house lights are dimmed, practically off. The rudimentary electricity flickers every few seconds, stimulating a migraine the longer you look. Your bare feet make no noise as you walk across the sticky stage. The sound of a lighter flicking open sounds from somewhere in the audience, revealing a cut-angular face and a peaky cap. The lighter snaps shut and a cigarette ends burns red in the dark. 

“Sorry I didn’t stay- had important business to attend to,” Tommy stands from his seat and drops his lighter into his breast pocket. He looks you up and down, smirking slightly at what you look like after the show. 

“Were you waiting for me?” You ask, not sure whether to be flattered or afraid. 

“I thought I’d congratulate you on a good performance,” Tommy shrugs and weaves between the tables with the chairs upturned on their tops. 

“You didn’t look like you enjoyed it,” you banter back and move closer to the lip of the stage. Tommy waves his hand in a dismissive fashion, scoffing. 

“I told you, cabaret’s not really my thing.” 

“Right,” you nod and come to the edge of the stage. Tommy stands just below you, his face coming up to your hips from his position on the floor. He looks up at you, tilting his head to the side as he looks you over. Your bodysuit is revealing, barely covering your tits and cunt. He twists his mouth slightly in an expression that almost looks like anger- jealousy. 

“Nice costume,” Tommy mutters and takes a long drag from his cigarette. You don’t respond so you both fall into a tense silence until he speaks again. “So you said you live here. Is that right?” 

You nod and point backstage. “Back there. Just me and the other girls. We all have rooms back there.” 

“Is that where you take all the men?” Tommy asks, gesturing with his cigarette. 

“Jealous are we?” You tease. Tommy looks away and shakes his head once. 

“Don’t.” His voice is stern and sharp. You know you’ve touched a nerve and you smile softly, biting your lip and looking down at your feet. 

“It’s affordable and safe here with the other girls… that’s why I live here.” You answer finally and Tommy looks back at your face, studying you. 

“Safe?” He asks softly, his judgmental brow raised. 

“It’s safer than walking home alone every night after the cabaret closes.” You elaborate, gesturing loosely to the streets of Birmingham right outside the cabaret walls. “Anyway, I’ve been here for five years now- I started sometime after the war. You get used to it pretty quickly.” 

Tommy clenches his jaw, silently counting the number of male clients you might have entertained in your time here. He takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tightly. 

“Sounds like a lonely life,” he says at last and you shrug. 

“So does yours.” 

Tommy looks back up at you with cold, annoyed eyes. He sets his cap back on his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah? And what do you know about my life?” 

“Nothing, I can just tell.” You tilt your head to the side, looking at him intently. Tommy falters beneath your direct eye contact and bristles. 

“Really?” He asks, his tone hard, “how?” 

You crouch down on the lip of the stage so that you’re face to face with Tommy. You take his left hand and hold it with his palm facing you. 

“No wedding ring, so you’re not married. You’re a criminal, so you struggle to trust others which is why you usually work alone. And… you came here. What were you looking for if not for a distraction?” Your eyes look between his. He scowls, pissed that you can see through him- or at least that you’re saying it aloud. 

“Very observant,” Tommy says coldly. 

“It’s part of the job, you have to know what the men need from you…” 

Tommy keeps his face neutral but his eyes leave your face, flicking to the side before going back to your face. His jaw is tight.

“And what is it that I need?” He asks slowly, dangerously. You look at him for a little while longer and then shake your head. 

“I don’t know…” you admit. You look down at his hand and turn it around in your hands. Tommy looks down at you, his brow furrows and he scoffs sarcastically. 

“Why are you holding my hand like that?” 

You look up at him and roll your eyes. “You’re mean, you know that?” 

“I’m aware,” he scoffs again and pulls his hand away. He clenches his fist and relaxes it. You laugh softly at his attitude and lean closer. 

“Why are you so mean?” 

Tommy looks you up and down, his eyes stopping briefly on your chest. Slowly, he raises his hand to your cheek and slides his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“Why do you try to get so close?” Tommy asks, his lip curled. 

“Does it scare you?” You ask softly against his thumb. 

“No, it doesn’t scare me.” His words brush against your lips like a slap. He smells richly like tobacco, and it almost makes your knees weak. You sigh and stand, stepping away from the lip of the stage. Tommy’s hand falls to his side again and he watches after you with a tilt to his head.

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby.” You whisper and grab your jar of tips. You can’t help but almost storm off the stage. Whenever you try to get closer to him, he has a way of ridiculing your feelings and affections. You don’t look back as you leave him standing in the dark cabaret. 

…

Then a few nights later, you see him again. And then again a few nights later. Those two nights he didn’t stay after or try in any way to speak to you. He’d started to just become another patron, another man that liked to watch you- fuck you, but nothing more. You couldn’t tell what he wanted or what he was thinking anymore and it started to really bother you. It’s not like you really had feelings for Thomas Shelby but you couldn’t deny how beautiful he was. As much as you hated the way he showed up and said nothing, you still loved seeing him in the audience surrounded by smoke like a veil. You knew he was there to watch you so you always tried to put on a good show in the hope that he would wait for you after. But he never did. 

Tommy was trying to avoid the Cabaret. He didn’t even have any feelings for you, not really. He was still grieving his true love and first wife, and didn’t have the ability to feel anything for anyone else. It wasn’t love that he felt for you- it was something else that he couldn’t quite put into words. He felt that you were really similar to him, that you could deeply understand one another and maybe even benefit from helping one another. But at the end of the day, you were just a cabaret dancer and Tommy didn’t need another cabaret dancer. But each time he forced himself to forget about you, he thought about your situation and the way you had spoken to him the first time he’d met you. You’d said that you wanted to be a “normal woman,” and while Tommy certainly wasn’t a normal man- maybe he could provide you with a more “normal” life. He knew he was capable of doing that, of giving you an escape from the cabaret into a life of safety, stability, and normalcy but wasn’t the idea too ridiculous to pursue? He didn’t even know you but he kept going back to the cabaret and seeing you. It made him angry to see you onstage, maybe it was jealousy but it was also knowing how much you hated the work. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but the boy he used to be was. He could do something right, something good but could he bring himself to do it?

So Tommy finds himself at the Cabaret again, sitting at his usual table, a cigarette dangling between his lips. This time when you see him sitting in the dim light of the bar, you stare him down. Tommy swallows tightly and taps his cigarette over his ashtray, watching you still. He knows what you’re trying to do. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from yours, his expression one of subtle challenge. You trail your fingers over your body starting from your pelvis up to your breasts. The whistles of the audience are lost on you, only capturing Tommy’s attention matters at that moment. His eyes follow your hands as they curve over your body and his jaw tightens. When your routine ends, he doesn’t leave, just blows out a cloud of smoke slowly. You bow and disappear backstage, a twitch of annoyance on your lip. 

Tommy flags down a waiter, one of his fists clenched at his side.

“I need you to pass a message to Diana, tell her to meet me backstage after the show tonight. Understand?” He mutters darkly and takes another drag. The young waiter, realizing who the patron is, swallows tightly and stutters. 

“Y-yes, Mr. Shelby. Anything else?” 

“No, that’ll be all.” Tommy exhales and returns his attention back to the stage. More dancers come on stage and perform but you aren’t among them this time. He downs another glass of whisky and checks his watch, the time is nearing midnight and the cabaret will be closing soon. Tommy watches from beneath his cap as patrons start to leave and waiters start busing the filthy tables. As the cabaret closes down around him, Tommy puts his cigarette between his lips and stands, sliding on his jacket. The waiter hurries over and ducks his head. 

“She’s ready for you backstage, Mr. Shelby.” 

“Alright, thank you.” He says around his cigarette and follows the man backstage through a greasy side door. 

“She’s in ‘er dressing room through there.” The waiter points to one of the doors along the thin, dim hallway. Tommy nods once again and waits for the man to leave before opening the door. 

When the door to your dressing room opens, you can’t help but jump a little. You turn around quickly, already ready for a fight. 

 “Tommy-” You start but he waves his hand through the hair, silencing you. 

“Don’t.” He says calmly and slams the door behind him. “Sit.” He points to the chair behind you. You look back at the chair, your brow furrowed. Slowly, you do as you’re told, looking up at Tommy with a hint of resentment in your eyes. 

“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” Tommy steps closer and rubs his hands over his face, stretching the skin. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, ignoring his question. Tommy steps closer, his brow raised. He can’t exactly explain why he’s so pissed off at you and because he can’t, it makes him angrier. 

“You know damn well why I’m here,” his voice is strained and tired.

“You keep showing up, just watch me perform and leave without speaking to me. What am I supposed to think?” You protest, your voice steady in its frustration. 

Tommy smiles and laughs, shaking his head like he’s laughing at his own joke. He sniffs and clears his throat. 

“You’re a smart woman, you can figure it out.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The truth is, you don’t know why he came back this time. You assume it’s for sex and that makes you even angrier. 

“Fuck you,” you snap and Tommy chuckles, his lips curving into a smirk. He closes the distance and leans his hands on the armrests of the chair, boxing you in. His face is just above yours, his eyes more vibrant in their emotion. 

“What that mouth of yours,” he says lowly, evenly. 

“Or what?” You start, “we fucked once and then you practically disappeared. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do.” You growl. 

Tommy’s grip on the armrests tightens as he tries to swallow down the mixture of anger and lust rising in his chest. Exhaling, he grabs your chin and holds it roughly in place. 

“I said watch your mouth. I’m not some random man you can just push around.” His voice is low and dark, like a threat. 

“No,” you mock unapologetically, “your’re Thomas fucking Shelby.” As if his name even means much to you. It certainly carried some weight in and around the cabaret but you’d told him before, you don’t concern yourself with business outside of the cabaret. 

Something snaps in Tommy’s eyes and he grits his teeth. “Listen to me. I won’t tell you again. Watch your fucking mouth,” he nearly spits. 

And before you can think it through, you respond. 

“Make me.” 

With a quick movement, Tommy suddenly pulls you to your feet by your arms and pins you against the wall, your face just beneath his. He doesn’t worry about being gentle with you, in fact he hopes it hurts you a little when he does this. You gasp out a breath of air when he shoves you against the wall and holds you by your shoulders. Your eyes widen and your lips fall open in surprise. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Tommy pants, his hand coming up to hold your throat. He stares directly into your eyes as you take a breath and struggle against him, your palms beating his chest. 

“Let me go, Tommy.” You ignore his question again, pissed. 

He grabs your wrists to keep you from hitting him and pushes his weight against you. He looks down into your eyes, his gaze changing from anger into one of passion. 

“You don’t really want me to do that, do you?”

You stop thrashing and take a breath, your eyes looking between his. As much as you hate him right now, god damn his eyes are beautiful. Remembering your frustration, however, you try to speak. 

“Tommy-” 

Tommy interrupts you, seeing the look of defiance in your eyes. He leans in, his lips close enough to brush against your neck. 

“Say my name again,” he orders softly. 

You take a deep breath, your heart racing. You can feel his breath against your neck and it sends shivers down your body into your cunt. Taking a second deep breath, you exhale. 

“Tommy…”

He smiles against your neck and starts to nip the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Then he moves his lips to rest against your ear. 

“I want you, Diana.” 

You close your eyes, sighing, your body starting to give in. But in the next moment you remember yourself and push him away. You move across the room, your legs weak and shaky. When you turn around, you’re both breathing heavily. Tommy removes his heavy coat and tosses it over a clothing rack. 

“For God’s sake, woman,” he grits out and runs his hand over his mouth. You exhale tightly, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the throbbing in your cunt. Instead of responding, you start to pull off your shoes and accessories, dropping them aggressively on the floor and makeup counter. You can’t even look at him without wanting to go back to him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Tommy scoffs as he watches you discard parts of your costume and ignore him. 

“Are you gonna keep acting like a child?” Tommy grumbles and leans against the wall with his arms across over his chest. You spin around, your arms gesturing wildly and your eyes flaming. 

“Jesus, Tommy! What do you want from me? Why do you keep coming back here just to never speak to me?” You rip off your feathered headband and toss it to the side angrily. Tommy watches you discard parts of your sheer costume. His eyes roam over your body, his lust once again starting to rule over his frustration. He sighs and passes a hand through his dark hair. He takes a breath, looking away from you, then finally turns back, his eyes jumping from your body to your eyes.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” he says softly, as if he’s exhausted. 

You freeze, never expecting him to say something like that. Tommy shakes his head, frustrated at himself now for giving you and your situation so much power over him. Though he won’t say it, he might be obsessed with you. He suddenly feels ashamed and his eyes go cold again. 

“Is that not what you wanted to hear?” He asks, his eyes turning away from you. In the harsh dressing room light, his cheekbones cast dark shadows on his face in profile. You wet your lips and shake your head, not able to believe him. 

“I’m not a whore, Tommy. You can’t just come back whenever you want to fuck me,” you mutter, suddenly exhausted too. Tommy looks back, his brow immediately furrows. He jumps off from the wall and closes the distance once again between you. He places his hands on your shoulders, holding you still. 

“That’s not what this is,” his voice is low but clear- direct. He’s becoming more impatient by the minute. It’s like you’re refusing to see sense, to understand what he’s trying to tell you. He doesn’t understand why you’re the only thing he can think about and why he wants more of you, in all senses, now. His hands travel up your shoulders to the sides of your neck before they come to rest on either side of your face. His pointer fingers rest behind your ears, tucked beneath your flapper’s bob. 

You finally look up into his eyes, your heart falling into your stomach at what you see. You start to believe him, god-damn it. You do. Tommy lets out a gruff sigh and caresses your cheek with his thumb, his eyes traveling over your face as if he has all the time in the world to do so. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want me just as bad,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before. And when he says it, it doesn’t sound like he just means sex anymore. But what more do you want from Tommy Shelby than just sex? 

Your hands move to his lapels, gripping the button holes. You close your eyes for a moment as Tommy’s thumb passes over your bottom lip. He sighs when you close your eyes, his head immediately tilting down to get closer to your lips. 

“You drive me fucking mad, you know?” Tommy mutters so close to your lips that you can feel the sound of his words. His mouth dodges your lips and finds your neck, kissing below your jaw. 

“I hate you sometimes,” you whisper back, your breath jumping when you feel his hand slip down to your waist. He nods against your skin and moves his mouth slowly up to yours. 

“I know.” 

As he says this, you break and pull your chemise over your hips so you can undo your garters. Tommy groans softly against your mouth as he feels your garters snap as they fall away. Tommy runs his hands up your thigh as you unbutton his trousers, both panting softly between kisses. Tommy unbuttons his shirt and lets it hang open as he picks you up and sits back in the chair. He sets you down on his lap where you’re straddling him. His hands roam over your thighs as you take his face in your hands. The straps of your chemise roll off your shoulders but the fabric still covers your chest.  

“I want to see you, Diana.” Tommy slides his hands up your sides. You look down at him, your eyes meeting and holding contact.

“Not yet,” you whisper. 

Tommy’s hands slide back down your sides to rest on your hips. One of his hands starts to rub circles on the small of your back over your chemise. He smirks softly and tilts his head to the side. 

“Why not?” 

You smile back and lean down, brushing your nose against his. “You have to earn it,” you whisper. You kiss Tommy gently and he sighs against your lips, pulling you closer by your hips. 

“Earn it,” he asks, his eyes still closed, “how the hell do I earn it then?” He smiles and looks back up at you. You kiss him briefly, adding to his sexual frustration. 

“You have to be good to me.”

“Good to you?” He repeats, groaning when you start to taunt him with short kisses. 

“Be good to me,” you whisper again and begin to kiss him harder. 

He slips his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. He kisses you passionately and deeply. You moan softly against his lips and Tommy moves one hand to slide up and down your thigh, holding you securely on his lap. 

“Is this good?” Tommy mutters, smiling. You giggle and shake your head, breaking the kiss. 

“You can touch me… but you can’t look- not yet.”

Tommy leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes, trying to contain himself. He sighs tightly and opens his eyes, his head still leaning back. His hands roam up your body to your waist and up to your chest. His hands are open and flat as he passes his palms over your breasts, still veiled in silky fabric. He watches your reaction as you gasp softly, your nipples hardening beneath his light touch. 

Your hands trail down his bare stomach to his unbuttoned trousers. You reach into his pants and pull out his erection. Tommy groans, his eyes not leaving yours as he continues to feel you up over your chemise. You rise up on your knees and align his cock between your thighs. You sit down slowly and sigh tightly as you feel him fill you up. You move slowly, rocking your hips back and forth. Tommy holds onto your hips, guiding you and matching your rhythm. He watches you in admiration as you take the lead, grinding harder and faster as you please. 

“Fuck.” Tommy pulls you down harder on his cock, causing you both to groan and gasp against each other. His hand slides up your back to rest against your spine, supporting you as you lean away from his chest. You’re whimpering as Tommy breathes heavily against your sternum, sweat glistening beneath your collarbones and between your breasts. You’re moving your hips as quickly as you can as Tommy guides you up and down. When you kiss him, he lets you slot your tongue between his lips. He groans when you suck on his wide bottom lip and his hips sputter up into yours. 

“Slow down, girl,” Tommy warns you between kisses, his hands slowing your hips down. “Stop for a second, look at me,” Tommy speaks softly though his words are broken up by heavy breaths. You stop and look down at him, your neck flushed with blood. 

“W-what is it?” 

Tommy looks up at you, his hands rubbing up and down your sides. Why he chooses this moment- he doesn’t know. He wets his lips. 

“Marry me.”

[cheekypeakyblinder]

𝕋𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕪'𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕗𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕

Do you see?

If shits going down.

Arthur is on Tommy's left side and John's on his right side?

Every goddamn time

[vervainandspritz]

Can I get a request for Cillian Murphy? Angst, smut, fluff, I'm open to suggestions!

[look-at-the-soul]

The Photoshoot - Part 50

Cillian Murphy series 2014, 2015

I’m sorry for not posting this sooner! Sometimes time flies and when I realize it’s boom 🤯 a month went by… but my love for these two will always make me enjoy the most for each part. And I can’t believe this story reached part 50!!?!! Like how ?

Ps. Happy birthday Cill 💙✨

Word count: 3,628

Cillian waved at the crew team as they left him in front of his hotel. As it got chiller, he shivered and walked into the small convinience store to get a bottle of water, strolling through the aisles, he found a stuffed duck and immediately thought of Scout, he loved ducks. As he walked past some people, he was aware of the glances and deep down he knew the reason.

The infamous Thomas Shelby haircut.

“Hello you.” He greeted his wife after answering his phone.

“Hey baby, how have you been?” Yael’s voice spread softly to his heart.

“Missing you like crazy.” He admitted realizing he probably sounded corny.

“Well I miss you more.”

Cillian placed the phone between his shoulder and cheek to grab something.

“Give me a sec.” He managed to make it to the register balancing the items in his arms and politely asked the cashier if she could cut the tag from the stuffed animal.

“What was that?” Yael chuckled softly.

“I’m buying some stuff.” He put his wallet in his back pocket and made it out of the store. “How’s it going? How are you ladies doing?”

“I took Mum to a yoga class and then we had breakfast at this cute little café and more ladies stuff.” She explained and he could easily imagine her playing with one of her curls with a beautiful smile on her lips.

“Oh tell me more about that girls stuff.” He stopped at the red light, checking the signal to cross the street.

“We’re getting manis and pedis later.” He loved hearing her laugh. “And oh! Yesterday when we were walking, we found an antiques shop…”

“Oh shit.” He interrupted in a playful tone.”

“Stop it.” She giggled.

“And what gorgeous rare-to-find item did you discover this time?” Cillian asked not being able to stop the smile from growing in his lips. He knew Yael too damn well.

“A painting.” Yael replied shyly. “And I immediately fell in love with it.” She rushed to explain to cover for her excitement.

Cillian laughed, seeing already the scene in his mind. His wife had a weakness for antiques, but he had to admit she had a good taste.

“It’s beautiful and the frame it’s the original, took me a while to properly clean it.” She continued.

“I bet you didn’t stop until getting it hanged.”

“Actually I didn’t, still trying to decide what’s the right place.” He heard Scout barking in the background. “How’s the scouting going?”

“Grand, grand… later we’re going somewhere else, we need some scenes by the river and the caravans look fucking phenomenal.” He explained.

The project was around the corner and he tensed his shoulders involuntarily at the thought of embarking once more into the character’s chaos.

“I can’t wait to see everything up.”

“Alright baby, I’ll let you go to your pedi time, call you later.” Cillian told her that he love her and walked into the store trying to keep a low profile.

He needed to pick up the gift he ordered for Yael.

***

“Mrs. Lieberman, Mrs. Murphy welcome.” The social worker asked them to take their seats. “Let’s see,” she seemed to focus on a sheet before her, the desk had a pile of folders and papers organized with colorful post it. “I understand you traveled for this appointment.”

“Yes, my home is in London.” Isla crossed her leg. “But right now I’m staying with my daughter.”

“I see.”

It was hard to tell anything from Mrs. O’Brien’s expression. Her lips were in a tight line and Yael always felt uneasy, not knowing if she was sharing too much or if she shouldn’t have said that.

“Would you like to tell me about your family and the dynamic you share?”

As Isla went on to talk about her children, talked about how they traveled frequently to be together as much as they could and then she shared a small snippet of a birthday party she held for one of her grandchildren.

“So how would an adoption blend into this? How do you feel about that?”

Although the question was meant to set anyone back and make you question yourself, Isla managed to pull a great comeback.

“Do you mean if I’d love that children less because it’s not biologically my grandchild?” She asked openly and when she saw the social worker nod, she went on. “My husband picked me up from the ground when I was at my lowest point emotionally and economically, for months I saw my daughter struggling with physical therapy to recover from the accident and surgery after surgery and not only that, he took my children as his own and loved us unconditionally, the same goes for our grandchildren. He never made one single comment about not being linked by blood or sharing DNA with any of them, I wouldn’t know how to love Yael and Cillian’s child any other way.”

Yael had to fight back the tears that formed in her eyes. There it was, the woman who always inspired her, opening her heart to say just what she thought.

“To me,” Isla continued. “It’s not about sharing the same genetics… it’s something deeper than that, it’s about choosing to love, care and protect for another human being without waiting anything in return and I know this takes a lot of time and steps but I can assure you my daughter and her husband will be the most loving parents if you give them the chance.”

Quietly, Yael excused herself and walked out of the office, she wasn’t needed there anyways. Emotions were suffocating her and it was impossible to prevent it. Perhaps it was the fact that Cillian was away, or her Mother’s words that touched her heart. But either way, she needed a break, to keep her guard down and trust the process and its own time. But who was she trying to fool? It was damn hard and sometimes it felt like it would never happen.

“This has been extremely hard for my daughter, the process is wearing her out, but I understand this is not like going to the grocery shop and picking a kid. I know it takes time and you’ve to follow protocols and forms, but trust me, she’s the most loving person I know and motherhood has always been her biggest dream.”

“We cannot base the approval on that Mrs. Lieberman, we need to check background, records, psychology tests… we’re talking about a vulnerable child’s life.”

Isla nodded, not wanting to upset the social worker.

“May I ask how long does it takes to finalize?”

The social worker shuddered. “It can be months… even years.”

Isla’s heart shattered by the statement. She wanted to keep a positive spirit, but the time frame wasn’t very helpful.

“That long? And there’s nothing you can do?”

The social worker shook her head. “We’ve to complete each step.”

“But there are so many kids in orphanages.” She had seen it first hand, since the following day she arrived, they went to give away the books Yael bought for the children, spent hours there reading to them. It was bittersweet, but she was grateful for sharing a moment like that with her daughter.

Yael wasn’t doing it just to look good for the adoption process, she was doing it because she learned it filled her heart and soul, because she wanted to make those kids happy.

“I just wish you get everything you need to approve their adoption, they’re eager to welcome their child into their happy little family.”

“We want nothing but the very same.”

Ending the meeting, Isla went to search for her daughter. Her heart beating faster, she just wanted the best for Yael and Cillian.

“There you’re sweetie, shall we go somewhere?”

“Yes, I need some fresh air.” Yael helped her put in her coat and the pair went to the parking lot.

“I probably shouldn’t have stormed off like that.” Yael regretted her reaction.

“Don’t worry about that, the interview was meant to be just for me, and this is draining.”

“But they seem to be monitoring everything, every little thing you do and say.” Yael waited for her green light to take a turn.

“I know you and you’re probably tired of hearing this, but try to take this one step at the time, be patient. I’m sure the reward is around the corner.”

Yael knew her mother’s words were filled with the best intentions, but it was just like telling someone grieving to not feel sad about losing someone they love.

“Let’s focus on something else sweetheart, let’s go to clear our heads for a bit.” Isla proposed, worried about her daughter, she wanted to do something to cheer her up.

“Yeah, we’ve the appointment at the salon already.”

“Yes, that’s a wonderful idea.”

Yael took a deep breath. “I don’t want to tell Cill about this just yet. He needs to focus on his next project and this isn’t exactly a major step or something that tells me we’re getting good news soon.”

Yael took a U turn at the next available exit, following the instructions in the GPS.

As she was driving, her phone started ringing and Cillian’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey handsome, I was thinking of you.”

“I got a notification marked as urgent that you left somewhere, are you alright?”

“Yeah, we just finished the interview with the social worker and I’m taking Mum for a walk. It’s the app I downloaded for you, it keeps you updated of where am I and stuff like that.”

“Oh so I can spy on you?” He joked and made Isla chuckled. “How did it go?”

Yael took a deep breath before answering her husband. “I hope well.”

“I’m sure of it.” He offered through the phone. “Why don’t you go to the movies to shake it off?” Cillian proposed.

Yael gasped at the suggestion. “That’s a great idea!”

“Yeah.” He added thinking how it had been a while since they went out. Lately he had been focusing on the script and nothing else, he felt bad because as he was getting more and more engrossed on the role, he started to grow apart from his wife. And although she never pointed it out, now that her mother was around, he was noticing the difference.

She was so supportive of each of his projects and with the adoption process, he wanted to make sure they were still connected.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking… why don’t start planning a holiday during Christmas? Or by the time I finish filming? Let’s go wherever you want, hmm?”

“Oh that’s really nice!” Isla agreed, noticing the smile on her daughter’s lips.

“I’d love that.” A few days away just the two of them? Yael was already looking forward to it.

“Alright, it’s settled then, I’m heading to the set now, let me know when you get home.”

“Will do.” Telling Cillian, she loved him, Yael hang up.

“He’s amazing.” Isla expressed, getting out of the car, as they arrived at the salon.

“I can’t wait for that holiday already, I feel like he’s been rehearsing since forever.”

She wanted nothing but have a good rest and not worry about anything else.

“Hello, welcome.” A woman greeted them and asked if they had an appointment.

Yael left her purse by a chair and started checking the nail colors options.

“You look so much alike!” The woman pointed at Isla and Yael in shock. “It’s like you did copy-paste.”

Yael blushed, she was so used to get those kind of reactions, specially now that her mother was sporting her natural curls freely.

Another woman at the salon pointed out the same in awe.

“Thanks. We hear that a lot.” Yael chuckled.

“So who’s Isla?” A kind smile appeared on her face just as a woman that was getting a haircut turned from her chair.

“That’d be me.” Yael’s mother replied waving her hand.

“Isla?” The woman turned around to face. “Isla is that you?”

“Barbara?” Her mother asked cautiously.

Yael looked the exchange with confusion.

“Oh my God I can’t believe it’s you!” Isla covered her mouth with her hands.

As the two women moved to closer to hug, Yael stared at the scene trying to understand the story behind their familiarity.

“It’s been what? A lifetime.” Isla continued.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but after all this time, you still look the same.”

Then, Isla looked around, noticing her daughter’s stare. “Goodness! Let me introduce you to my daughter, Yael, she’s my youngest.”

“Nice to meet you.” Yael greeted the woman.

“She’s Barbara, I used to babysit her and her sister. I was in my early 20’s.” Isla explained her daughter. “And one day, I never saw you again.”

“She looks just like you.” Barbara admitted. “You knew they took us to a government facility?”

Isla gasped in shock. “So it was true.”

“After a few months, someone adopted my sister and I never saw her again, she was only five years old back then, I waited but when I turned eighteen they kicked me out.” Barbara explained.

“You never saw her again?” Isla asked, her heart breaking in the process.

“No, I’ve been searching for her for so many years with no luck.”

“Uhm excuse me? We’ve a full agenda, could we continue while you catch up?” The hairstylist pointed at Bárbara’s wet hair.

“Sorry! Yes.” She stretched her arm towards Isla. “Mind if we go somewhere after we’re done here?”

Isla nodded, feeling like a knot installed in her stomach.

***

Cillian stood in the middle of Arley Hall mesmerized. The place was magnetic, beautiful and oozed this old vibe mansion in every corner.

“What do you think?” Steven asked, standing next to him.

“It’s amazing.” He turned around and moved away just as some crew walked past them with some furniture.

“They’re closing it to the public while we’re filming.” Steven stood there watching everything with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face.

“Are we filming everywhere?” Cillian crossed his arms imagining the scenes in this place, it was a luxury property and according to the script this was Tommy’s ultimate dream house, where he officially kick off and gets what he always wanted.

His ambitions finally materializing, his dreams becoming a reality.

Oh, but the price Tommy would have to pay…

Cillian wandered around. He learned it had been once the home of a wealthy family, it was spacious, the view to the garden was fantastic, part of the house included a cellar, and the second floor was as incredible as the first one, but for the upstairs part, they had constructed a replica on one of the sets.

As he kept walking, he arrived at the kitchen area one floor below, he had never seen something like that, it was rustic and had a huge pantry and an area where they kept the meat stored.

It was a dream, he was practically drooling over it. It was so easy to get lost and imagine how everything would look as soon as the crew got it ready for filming. Walking around, he ended in the dining room, a couple of important scenes would be filmed there.

“I think this needs something else, but I don’t know what.” Steven joined him.

It oozed luxury, it was elegant. The chandeliers sparkled, curtains with fabric that looked so expensive. Cillian imagined the kind of life the previous owners carried before it was purchased as wedding venue and a place open to the public to visit.

“A painting.” Cillian suggested casually. “A huge arse portrait.”

Steven turned around to stare at Cillian, eyes wide open as the realization hit him hard and fast.

“Yes, right there in the back of the main seat.”

Cillian nodded, hands hiding inside his pockets. It was involuntary, but it was part of the essence of his character. He couldn’t help it.

“Can your wife be in charge?”

He nodded quietly.

“Give her a call.”

But he didn’t need to do so. Because his phone started ringing in that very moment and it was Yael.

“Hello beautiful, I was just about to call you.”

“You’ve to sit down, you’re not going to believe this.” Yael started off. She sounded like there was something important she wanted to tell him.

“What’s the matter? Is everything fine?” Quietly he decided to take a walk outside, away from someone listening.

”Mum and I were at the salon, right? So when they call her name, this woman immediately recognized Mum and went to greet her, they chat for a bit. Long story short my Mum used to babysit Barbara -the woman-, when they were younger but one day she and her sister were taken away and she never saw them again.”

Cillian listened carefully, waiting for his wife to tell him the full story.

“Barbara is the Director of the child services office.” She explained him, his heart started beating faster. “She took us to her office, took a look at our records, studies, everything,” Cillian heard her taking a deep breath, “babe, it turns out we were in some kind of blacklist.”

Silence filled the call, Cillian inhaled deeply. “Why?”

“This is horrible but… have you noticed how celebrities go to places like Nigeria or Africa to adopt?”

Cillian kicked a rock he found on his way, processing that piece of information. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know about the adoption process over there, but apparently it’s easier, no questions asked and overnight, they’ve a child, we’ll thanks to that, the kind of surroundings to these celebrities lifestyle they practically catalogued us in that list so we’d never ever get the adoption finalized.” Yael’s words came out rushed.

Cillian felt a vein in his temple pulsing. “Are you telling me because I’m an actor, they practically rejected our application without telling us?”

The realization of his own words made his heart sink to the ground. Not getting the chance to move forward with the adoption process and his wife’s sadness was his fault?

Misery took over him.

“Hold on, I know what you’re thinking.” Yael interrupted his thoughts. “Not everything is as bad as it seems, this woman, Barbara she told us, basically… she’s going to help us! I asked her what do we’ve to do in order to be out of the blacklist and she gave me hope Cill, she explained us a lot of things no one told us about and I understand the reasons why they just can’t give kids to whoever starts a process, but she said literally I know your Mother, and she was always kind to me and my sister, she gave us food when we had nothing, she shared her clothes with us too, I can imagine the kind of daughter she raised.”

Emotion took over her voice, it was impossible not to feel everything right in the surface.

“How are we so sure that they won’t make it harder because of what I do for a living?” He was still processing the impact his career had, never thought it would be a negative reason in the adoption.

“She assured us she’d take our case personally.”

Despite Yael’s words, Cillian still felt doubtful now. Feeling guilty that he was the reason of not being able to adopt a child.

“So what are we supposed to do now? We’ve been begging them for the interviews.”

Yael had been calling almost daily to get the appointments, and now he was able to understand why the process had been so hard, they were trying to push them back.

“Barbara told me she’d give me a call, but I guess we’ve to wait to hear the next steps.”

When her mother told her what the social worked mentioned during her interview, Yael felt deflated. Hearing the process could take years to finalize shattered her heart. But now there was a new chance to move things forward with Barbara behind their case.

Cillian stared into the huge garden, not paying attention to anything in particular.

“Are you still there?” His wife’s voice made him snap back into reality.

“Yeah… just thinking.”

He really wanted to feel her new enthusiasm and positivism, but he also couldn’t help but feel worried, what if they have to face new challenges in the process, all this bureaucracy because of his job? He wasn’t sure to be able to deal with the guilt of knowing that because of him the process could be harder or take longer than usual because he needs to prove that he isn’t like most of Hollywood stars.

This whole thing was a roller coaster, sometimes it was Yael the one feeling down, now it was his turn while she had her hopes up. He hated to admit it but it was draining.

“If you hear anything back, call me yeah? Or text me.” He added after a few seconds, not wanting to drag her down because of his attitude.

“Absolutely.”

“Listen, Steven wants to do some photos, so I think I’m going to change my flight… your Mum is already flying back, why don’t you come with her?”

Yael took her time, to consider her options. “How many days?”

“Just a couple, to get a few photos done.”

“Okay, let me organize my planner and see how can I reorganize the things I’ve scheduled and also I need someone to look after Scout.”

“I’ll call my brother, don’t worry.” He went on walking again, sitting on the edge of the fountain. “I really want to see you.”

She wanted the same, needed to feel him close.

Tag list: @lyarr24 @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan

@winchestergirl22 @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette

@forbidden-forest-witch @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @blondie-22 @thenattitude

@moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @queenshelby @ange-thoughts @shaddixlife

@sloanexx @cilliansangel (cant tag) @rangerelik @already-broken144 @alessioayla

@paprikabadger @dolllol2405 @conversationpits @itsilvermorny @lafell

@imichelle-l-rigby @yrli8 @cutecurly-hair @cillspropertea @hyperfixationsonshuffle

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@lovemissyhoneybee @slimeantha (can’t tag) @kmc1989 @ironpen

[queenshelby]

The Fourth Season (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap (20 Years), Smut, Religious Themes

Words: 5,466

Notes: In this Fic, Cillian is 40 and the Reader is 20. Cillian is divorced and the Reader is single. This is not based on Cillian’s real life.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Day One

You slowly rolled over as the alarm from your phone started to increase in volume and then you groaned as you sat up, your hair especially wild this morning.

You sat there not exactly excited to be up at this hour, but then you knew that today was the day your life would change forever.

Reaching high above yourself, you stretched, feeling the pop and creak of your bones, which was something unusual for you and probably due to the fact that your new living arrangements were somewhat strange for you still. You didn’t sleep well whenever you were placed into unfamiliar surroundings and the last two nights were somewhat uneasy for you.

You were nervous, of course, and, just after you hopped out of bed, you started about your morning routine, bounding across the tiny apartment, putting together a bag that would be needed for the day.

‘Are you ready? And excited?’ your new roommate Natasha asked and, after taking one final step in front of your mirror, you nodded.

‘As ready as I can be’ you said before you took in a deep breath and, together with Natasha, you walked out the front door of your apartment which was conveniently located right next to the studio.

During your walk to the studio, Natasha tried to talk to you, but you were too nervous to respond. You struggled to focus and you could not fight the urge to start humming to yourself as you reflected on things.

***Flashback***

 Several months ago, when you were still in law school, completing your second ever semester, your boyfriend had dumped you for the chance to move to Los Angles. You participated in the same drama school in the evenings, simply for a hobby and, about four years ago, when you were in high school, you met through a locally run drama project.

You shared similar interests and making this move from the UK was going to be his big break, he thought.

 He told you that it was over. He did not want to work on this relationship on a long distance basis and this crushed you. He was your everything, a man who shared your love of all things like acting, theatre and music. But then, he was gone and left you behind all so  suddenly.

 Yet, the fact that he left you the way he did and without an explanation did not really surprise you. After all, you had been together since you were sixteen. You were too young to make decisions and, since you both came from strictly catholic families in Ireland, you were already out of your depth when, after four years of being in a relationship with each other, you still had not been engaged.

 Your parents were strict and so were his. You obeyed and so did he and, perhaps, this was half of the problem? He wanted to leash out and perhaps you needed to do the same?

 Thus, after many weeks of crying and a few more of cursing his name, destiny led you to a rebirth in your attitude. You forgot about him as much as you could and, after liaising with your best friend Emma, you made it your mission to finally achieve your life goal as well.

 If James could do it, so could you. He made it into a Hollywood movie for a total of ten minutes and whilst becoming famous wasn’t on your radar, you really wanted to make it into a play or get a role that was meaningful to you. If he could do it, then so could you and, much to your patents’ dismay, your dream came true about eight weeks ago when you were casted for a role in a major TV show.

 It was then that your hard work after hours had paid off and you accepted a drunken dare from Emma who had found out that the directors of Peaky Blinders were urgently re-casting the role for Jesse Eden after Charlie Murphy pulled out.

 Over three-hundreds auditions were submitted and, if it was not for Emma, you would never have thought about applying for this role. You only had some small-scale theatre experience and were rather young still. You believed that they would never cast you and, yet, you had something that no other applicant had, namely a great understanding of what the role would entail and an enormous amount of passion for the art of action.

 Your mother originated from Birmingham and you had seen the TV show and you most certainly were disciplined enough to learn your lines quickly.

 Thus, feeling confident due to the many tequila sunrises you had when Emma convinced you to audition, you signed up for the auditions in London and, after a gruelling week-long process came to an end, you were chosen for the role.

 The fact that you had landed this role was exciting but it also meant that you had to take a break from studying which was something your parents did not agree to. In the end though, you did not care. You were twenty years old and could make your own decisions now and, with that in mind, you travelled to the northern parts of the UK a few weeks later to commence filming.

 By this time, you had spent all your days learning and practicing your lines. You were sent your scripts and read them every day, over and over again, and soon began to realise that, what was expected of you, was much more than you had anticipated.

 Amongst the dialogue and acting out different kinds of emotions, there were three intimate scenes you had to participate in, in one of which you would be almost completely naked. All of the scenes were with Cillian Murphy who played Thomas Shelby and, unbeknownst to you, when you signed up, you did not realise that Jesse Eden, the famous communist, was also the main character’s love interest in this season.

 Given your lack of sexual experience, this was something which concerned you. Nonetheless, you tried to get into character for the role and considered your own sexuality and femininity some more. You wasted a good four years with James of being boring and unadventurous and, now, this had to change. You at least needed to learn how to flirt and be seductive and, sure enough, your best friend Emma gave you some good pointers.

The role required your to be stunning, to be open, and have the body language of a woman in control, even over someone like Thomas Shelby himself. Jesse Eden was determined and, at least in one of the three scenes, she was meant to take complete control over the Brummie gangster in the bedroom department.

 According to the script, you were the one who needed to lead one of these scenes and this was something you were unsure about. How, on earth, could you do this with someone like Cillian Murphy? By what you have seen, he was an incredibly talented actor. He was much more experienced than you and he was also twenty years older than you and, yet, you had to lead the scene? Seriously?

 ***End of Flashback***

 Making a quick right, you walked into the studio with Natasha. It was her first day on set for this season as well but, unlike you, she worked on the show before and was not completely overwhelmed by all the cameras and strangers.

‘Y/N, Natasha, welcome’ a blonde woman by the name of Lorraine said to you and, just as you reached for her hand in order to shake it, one of the directors came flying by and pulled you aside.

‘You are early. Good’ he said before telling you that Lorraine would be looking after your schedule which, according to him, had just changed due to an equipment break down on set three.

‘Okay, right’ you panicked while Lorraine was flicking through her notes in a haste. Everyone seemed to have been stressed out that day because of the technical issues and Lorraine was no exception.

‘What scene is up first then? you thus enquired carefully after waiting patiently until, suddenly another man appeared and hurried you along.

‘We will start with scene four, then move to scene eleven and then, this afternoon, we will shoot scene 34’ he told you and you were lucky that he handed you a running sheet as, otherwise, you would have gotten rather confused by now.

‘Scene 34? Today?’ you asked with some confusion and, whilst you knew that the scenes for the show were to be filmed out of order, this scene itself made you panic.

‘Yes. At 3 o’clock’ the director then said before taking off again in order to deal with the camera issues on hand.

‘Dear god, they are throwing you right into the deep end, don’t they?’ Natasha observed as she looked at your running sheet and saw that scene 34 was an intimate one with Cillian Murphy.

‘I am not prepared for this’ you pointed out to her anxiously especially since you have not even met your co-star yet but Natasha reassured you that you would be fine.

‘No one ever is but Cillian is easy to work with. You will be fine’ Natasha then reassured you, which is when Lorraine made a somewhat inappropriate joke.

‘I would gladly trade places with you’ she teased before pulling you along and giving you a calm and relaxing stroll through the studio following which you spent some more time rehearsing your lines.

***

Your first scene was with Sophie who played Ada Shelby and this scene itself was easy to film. It took less than three takes and Steven Knight was quick to tell the casting manager that he made the right choice when he chose you from the entirety of three hundred auditions. You worked well with Sophie and took on the directions given to you by the camera man.

The second scene was more dialogue heavy and you were basically there, on your own, raddling down several speeches in front of several stand ins and props and, whilst this scene took more than two hours to film, you did well. You were convincing and passionate and, just as you filmed the end of this particular scene, Natasha watched you quietly and smiled.

She behaved like a big sister, taking you under her wing and her presence clearly calmed you down.  

After about six takes, Steven Knight and the others were happy with your work and praised you again. According to them, six takes for something like this was not a lot and you appreciated their kind words.

After you were done with the scene, you took a break and spent some more time with Natasha, following which you were sent to the dressing rooms.

You had to get changed for your next scene, which was the rather raunchy scene between your character and Thomas Shelby and, whilst there was not much dialogue in this scene, it was the scene that concerned you the most.

You were meant to lead this scene and, by this point, you still had not met your co-star which was something that made you even more nervous now.

***

Luckily for you, you had waxed your legs and every other part of your body just two days ago and yet, when you sat down and a tall woman applied your make up, she still found a hair or two which she plugged away.

Unlike before when you were wearing somewhat ugly brown clothes for your scenes, this time around, you were sitting there in beige underwear while being assessed by the staff and, quickly, a few scares and blemishes were patched up with some foundation.

You were then given dark coloured lingerie which was raunchier than anything else you had ever worn before. It took your breath away and you felt incredible vulnerable when you put it on. On top, you had to wear a satin gown and you also were given some suspenders to put on which you knew your co-star would have to take off slowly.

‘Looks great. We are ready, I think’ the make-up artist eventually said and, out of respect for your fellow co-star, you quickly brushed your teeth before having your lipstick topped up.

Regardless of all of the preparation and your deep breathing techniques however, you were out of your depth with a scene like this and, when you first walked onto the so called ‘closed’ set dressed in nothing more than the satin gown and underwear, you began to fidget a little.

You were the first one there and sat down in the area indicated for you. It was a large bed in the middle of a room which was said to be inside the Midland Hotel. There were no windows, but several drapes which divided this part of the set from the rest of the studio.

Eventually, the director joined you and so did a camera man, followed by your co-star, Cillian Murphy and the studio’s intimacy co-ordinator shortly thereafter.

‘Hey’ Cillian said quietly and you could see that this was as at least a little awkward for him too. ‘I am Cillian’ he then said while shaking your hand and you carefully bit your lip and stammered out your name nervously.

‘I am Y/N’ you said while assessing your partner inadvertently and, just as you both stood there, the director and intimacy co-coordinator came to see you both.

‘Now, this is what I need from you both’ the director began to say before explaining the scene to you and apologising for the fact that such ab intimate scene was being shot on your first day on set.

According to the director, it was you who had to take control while, yet, Cillian was to remove your gown, suspenders and bra. Your nipples were covered up with beige coloured tape and the director explained to Cillian where to place his arm so that your breasts and the tape would not be visible on camera whereas the intimacy co-ordinator addressed your comfortableness level with this kind of scene.

‘We know that Cillian is used to being naked on set but, to you, this is probably something new and my word of advice is to ignore the fact that we are here. You can improvise on the lines and we will shoot the scene in three steps, giving you a break in between’ the director then furthermore explained and, with that, you nervously nodded before Cillian and you both waited for everyone to get into place.

Then, the director outlined the scene to you once more and, after the director indicated to the team that everyone was ready now, you and Cillian removed his robe which, until that point, he was wearing to cover his semi naked body as well.

The robe was collected quickly by Lorraine before she disappeared again and, just as Cillian’s robe came off, you couldn’t help but stare at his immaculately well-trained and rather pale body.

He had some tattoos which you knew were not real and, much to your surprise, his entire body was covered in freckles. He featured some chest hair as well and his body was perfectly apportioned.

The only piece of clothing covering him now was some white garment, beneath of which he was still wearing his actual underwear. You could see the rim of his briefs poking out the top, just beneath his stomach, reading ���Calvin Klein’ and assumed that the camera man would not capture this.

‘Are you alright?’ Cillian then asked and you immediately snapped out of your thoughts, wondering whether he had noticed you starring at him.

‘Just nervous. Sorry’ you admitted shyly in response and Cillian smiled.

‘Don’t be. Just follow the directions of the crew and you will be fine. I promise’ he then reassured you and you nodded all while some sweat was building up on your forehead.

‘Okay, I will try. I am ready I think’ you then said, causing Cillian to nod and, whilst it was obvious to him that you had not done this kind of work before, he remained calm and patient.

‘Me too’ Cillian then said, shortly after which the director called “action” and you began your dialogue.

Cillian’s presence, however, threw you off guard completely and you needed at least three goes to even get your lines right at the beginning of the scene before you could even move on to the next part, which is where you were wrapping your arms around Cillian’s body.

You did, however, get there in the end and the director called cut. You took a breather and then commenced part two of the scene, which was also the longest and most intense part.

‘If you close down my fucking factory…’ Cillian began to say in a deep Brummy accent as part of the dialogue and you pulled him in tight.

‘Thomas! I am here now, for one reason only’ you said as you felt the bulging muscles of Cillian’s core.

‘And what reason might that be, eh?’ he asked and, just as you took in a deep breath and inhaled the fresh scent that accompanied him, you began to stammer.

‘Cut’ the director called and you quickly apologised.

‘You are nervous’ Cillian acknowledged and you wanted to responded with a snappy ‘duh’. Of course you were nervous. You were there, with a stranger, hugging his naked body.

‘I am, yes’ you told him and, just as the director gave you both another quick break, Cillian had a chat with you about the scene.

‘Take a deep breath and try to think about being somewhere else, with someone else’ Cillian began to say before giving you some pointers on how to feel comfortable, naked, in front of the camera. But what he didn’t know was that the cameras weren’t what threw you off. It was him. You felt some strange kind of attraction towards this man even though you had only just met him and even though he was twenty years older than you. What he also did not know was that he was only the second man who had ever seen you like this and you knew that, within minutes, he would be taking off your robe, unclasping your bra and kiss you. This, too, was new for you and you began to panic.

‘A park? You want me to imagine being naked in a park, kissing a stranger?’ you then eventually asked him and laughed to cover up your nervousness and this, too, made him laugh as well.

‘Okay, maybe a park was a bad example. Maybe your house. Your bedroom. Somewhere else, where you would usually have some privacy’ Cillian chuckled and you momentarily closed your eyes and tried.

‘Okay. Let’s do this’ you then said again and Cillian nodded before taking off his robe again.

‘Okay then’ he confirmed and, after about three goes, you managed to say your lines and found yourself in Cillian’s embrace.

Just as Thomas Shelby would, he tore off your robe and it landed on the floor while you tried to push him on to the bed. He let you, but each time you tried to be dominant, it looked awkward and, eventually, the director called cut again, for the tenth’s time.

‘Okay, this is not going to work. Let’s move on and revisit this part later’ he then said before directing you to both get on to the bed which is where he would pick up on the scene.

You felt a little deflated but, just as you were supposed to do, you climbed on top of Cillian’s half naked body and he sat up and caressed your back.

You tried your best not to make contact with his intimate region as, for the camera, you rocked back and forth, allowing your clothed breasts to move against his body while caressing his face until, finally, he kissed you and you began to crumble again.

The nervousness inside your bones was evident to the director and so was the fact that, in contrary to the script, you did not take the lead. You were unable to and Cillian realised that you were getting rather uncomfortable.

‘I am so sorry’ you said to Cillian who was nothing but professional and polite despite the fact that, no doubt, he didn’t really want to kiss you over and over again. By this point, you were up to take eight. Eight kisses and you simply couldn’t get it right.

You looked shy, afraid and nervous and Cillian was quick to hand you your robe again as the scene was called off once more.

‘Don’t be sorry, alright!’ Cillian said. ‘It is your first day and a scene like this shouldn’t really be filmed on one’s first day on set’ Cillian said before telling you about his embarrassing scene in a movie called 28 Days Later.

‘That is very reassuring, but I feel like a failure right now’ you said and there was something endearing about how he was so polite, yet his voice shook your core.

‘You are not. I have seen your work and I have seen your casting video too. It was great. So don’t stress, eh’ Cillian winked and, after yet another break, the director picked up on the scene again and, this time around, gave you much clearer instructions.

As before, you tried to follow them and, this time around, you finally managed to get some of the scene right, including a close-up kiss with Cillian.

But then, the next part of this scene involved much more and when the director and the camera man gave Cillian instructions again on how to move and how to remove your bra so that your bare breasts were not visible on screen, your nervousness returned.

This stranger was about to take off part of your underwear. Your bare breasts were going to be visible to him and, the worst of it all, was that there was actual skin to skin contact between you. Bare chested and semi-naked, you had to pretend to have sex. You had to moan and pull his hair while he had to pretend to bite your neck. It was a raunchy scene and, after it took you one hour already to get a twenty second kiss and some mild physical interaction right, you didn’t know how long it would take you to get a scene like this wrapped up.

You did one take, then another, then a third and, eventually, during your fourth take your bra finally came off and the embarrassment and shame was written all over your face.

You tried again, and again and again but between that, the moaning and hairpulling, it soon became too much for you and Cillian put a stop to it. The scene was not going to be completed today and you knew that this was your fault.

You felt deflated and thought that, perhaps, you were not meant to be an actress after all. Perhaps they should have casted someone older or someone with more experience.

You did not even know why you reacted like this in the first place. Why was this so god damn hard? Was it because of your lack of experience or was it because you felt somewhat flustered in Cillian’s presence? The fact that you thought that he was incredibly attractive did not help you. It made it so much worse and you felt like a little school girl who was too afraid to steal a candy bar from the school cafeteria for the fear of getting caught by the principal.

Of course, no one should ever do that and you thought that this was the most ridiculous analogy you could ever think of but, in the end, you could not come up with anything else.

When you filmed this scene (or at least tried to film this scene) your body was waking up to the idea of having another man pressed against your body for which you did not have much experience at your age. But Cillian did, and tried to guide you, with his arms pulling you and manoeuvring you like a delicate doll. And yet, his efforts were futile as your actions did not translate to the dominance your character was meant to portray.  

It was a disaster and the director was not exactly impressed by how the filming day ended and neither were you.

***

Later that day, back at the small unit which you shared with Natasha, you sat down and rehearsed your scenes for Day Two. You had two scenes with Cillian and, luckily for you, neither of them were intimate ones. Despite this, you knew that you had to pick up your game but Natasha believed that you were doing much better than you had thought.

‘Listen, your scenes are great. Sex scenes are awkward and after having worked with Cillian in the past I can tell you that he will not be annoyed or frustrated with you. He is one of the executive producers of the show and probably called off the scene to do you a favour. He is a nice and caring guy and is very professional even though, sometimes, he acts like a kid’ Natasha laughed after you told her in great detail about what happened that day and what you thought that Cillian might think about you now, causing you to panic about tomorrow’s schedule scenes with him.

‘He seems nice. But still. I failed. Miserably’ you said but Natasha shook her head and pulled you off your seat.

‘What are you doing?’ you wanted know and all she had told you was that you had to come with her; and so you put on your shoes and followed her through the apartment building until you eventually reached the front of apartment 38, which was located on the top floor.

As you stood there, wondering what was going on, Natasha began to knock on the door and, after about a minute, you were surprised when Cillian opened it, seeing that this was his studio apartment for the duration of the show.

‘Hey’ Cillian said before smiling and cocking an eyebrow all at the same time.

‘Do you want to come in?’ he then asked as Natasha already marched through the door and you were still standing there, frozen to the spot.

‘Uhm, yeah. Sure. Thanks’ you stammered as, in his casual clothes, he was a little less intimidating than being half naked.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Cillian then joked, seeing that, clearly, Natasha was not there, at his apartment, just for fun and, when she asked him for a quick chat about today, you began to get a little nervous again.

‘A chat? Sure’ he said. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’ he then asked with a smile. His demur was generally friendly and down to earth.

‘What do you have?’ Natasha asked cheekily while looking through his fridge.

‘I have beer or tap water’ he laughed, causing Natasha to roll her eyes.

‘Tap water’ she chuckled and Cillian’s look turned to you.

‘I don’t drink alcohol, so tap water please’ you told him and he went to pour you and Natasha a glass of water with some ice.

‘You don’t drink? At all?’ Cillian then asked surprised and you nodded while he handed you the glass.

‘So?’ Cillian then said, waiting for Natasha to fill him in and, when she asked Cillian to tell you the story about their first ever intimate scene together on the Peaky Blinders set, he began to laugh.

‘Fuck, really?’ Cillian chuckled before realising why Natasha wanted him to spill the beans on his little mishap. What happened today was clearly embarrassing for you and Natasha wanted you to realise that it was not as uncommon as you thought.

With that in mind, Cillian did, indeed, tell you what happened and, according to him, filming had to be called off for three days because he inadvertently broke Natasha’s nose in Season Two.

‘How?’ you wanted to know, causing Cillian to shake his head. He could laugh about it now and so could Natasha but, back then, more than three years ago, he was petrified.

‘We filmed that scene, in Tommy’s office, and it took about ten takes. It was not as intense as the scene we filmed today but it was a difficult one for us both. Then, when the director finally called cut, I got up, leaning against one of the props and it slipped.  My forehead went straight down and I hit Natasha’s nose, breaking it’ Cillian explained reluctantly and you gasped.

‘Yeah, I was naked and covered in blood while Cillian almost fainted’ Natasha laughed, causing Cillian to roll his eyes.

‘I did not’ he ought to clarify but Natasha continued to tease him.

‘You so did. You turned pale and got all dizzy’ she said, causing even you to laugh.

‘Right, so today wasn’t so bad after all then?’ you acknowledged and both Natasha and Cillian shook their heads.

‘Honestly? This scene should never have been scheduled for your first day on set and I spoke to Anthony and Steven about it. We will just give it another crack in a few weeks or scrap it’ Cillian said and you appreciated his words.

‘I don’t want to scrap the scene. Clearly, Steven thinks it is important’ you then said but Cillian laughed.

‘It is not important. The studio wants some nudity, that’s all that is’ Cillian acknowledged.

‘Aren’t they getting to see your naked butt in episode two? Isn’t that enough?’ Natasha then teased, causing you both to laugh.

‘Apparently not’ Cillian told her and, just after you had a little laugh yourself, you asked them both how they ever manage to film scenes likes this, namely raunchy intimate scenes.

‘Cillian? You’ve done a few more than me’ Natasha went on to say but Cillian simply laughed again.

‘What works for me will not necessarily work for you. I honestly just try to switch off and focus on my lines and the directions given to me’ he explained while shrugging his shoulders.

‘Great. I did try that and, quite evidently, it did not work’ you told him.

‘It might after we have some more scenes together. Like I said, I think that it was a mistake having a scene like this scheduled for the first day on set even if it was scheduled that way simply due to the mechanical breakdown on set three. You’ll be fine and we can talk through the scene beforehand if you like’ Cillian suggested and you nodded nervously.

‘That’s true. You will get to know each other first before you have to make out again. That always helps’ Natasha chuckled, causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow.

‘Your comment is not very helpful Natasha. Making out? Really? This is art, work, or whatever you want to call it. But it is not making out’ Cillian laughed, trying to cheer you up and you sure had a quick chuckle yourself when he commented on Natasha’s suggestion.

‘Well, I tell you what I do Y/N and no offense to you Cillian, but when I film a scene like this I think about the man in my life and just switch off. So, if you have a boyfriend, think about him. That might help with the comfort level’ Natasha explained causing Cillian’s eyes to widen.

‘I do not. I am single. Happily so’ you said and Cillian couldn’t help but comment again.

‘I am glad’ he said bluntly and now it was your turn to cock an eyebrow at him.

‘You are glad? That I am single?’ you asked surprised but, clearly, this was not what he meant.

‘No. I am glad for the fact that you don’t think about making out with your boyfriend while filming a scene like this with me because that would be fucking awkward for me’ Cillian laughed but Natasha jumped into the argument again.

‘But it helps Cills! Seriously!’ Natasha said but he still shook his head.

‘See, this is why we have different approaches. If any man would think about their girlfriend during a scene like this then a whole other issue arises and I mean literally’ Cillian laughed and so did you all. He sure behaved like a teenager now and this, somehow, made you more comfortable being around him.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[hotdilfs11]

Mafia Boss-Thomas Shelby x Reader pt 1

Rest of the parts

✩summary: The Shelby knew this girl when she was very little. However, when her mother passed away (at 16) everything changed and everyone drifted away from each other. Now after seven years Veronica is a mafia boss in her fathers business. Her father. sent her to Birmingham on business, will this play off well?

✩pairings:girl named Veronica(POC) x Thomas Shelby

✩warnings:mention of death

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I’m a mafia boss, or soon to be. My father is the boss of The Hawthorns Estate, along with my brothers, who are my father's right hand. A little backstory: I grew up in Birmingham with my mother. I was always around the Shelby boys, especially Thomas ever. since I was a little girl. They were all older than me. John was 17, Thomas was 18, and Arthur was 21. Anyway, Tommy and I were so close that anytime I had a complaint about anyone, he'd be the one to back me up and protect me. However, that changed drastically when my mother got ill when I turned fifteen years old. She never got better and died a year later, after my sixteenth birthday. It was devastating to watch my mother die slowly. The Shelbys were there for me when she passed away, and they were also willing to take me in since I didn't know who my father was.

DAY OF FUNERAL IN THE CEMETERY

As the Shelbys and I started walking through the cemetery to put my mother to rest, Four black cars pulled up in a straight line before my mother's funeral. Two Jeeps, one BMW, and one big Land Rover Polly was behind me, reassuring me. She had her right hand on my shoulder and her pocketbook in her free hand. Tommy was beside me on the left, close to me, making sure no one could hurt me, then John and Arthur on the left and right behind me. All four of them were ferociously protecting me.

"Who the fuck is that?" Polly said with a mean British accent. She didn’t want anyone to bother me at all, especially at my mother's funeral. Poll and Thomas looked at each other in concern as the cars started parking one by one in the line at the cemetery. “Tommy, sit here with her”, Poll said as she started walking up to these mysterious black cars. Tommy nodded and stood closer to me. He put one of his rough hands around my waist. I felt the warmth radiating off of his hands as he squeezed my waist letting me sink into him.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Poll screamed at the parked cars. As Poll was walking up to the cars, two men started getting out. Big, bulky, and scary, in black suits with sunglasses. The men began to open the doors of the BMW and the Jeep. Four other men climbed out of the cars with suits on. One had curly hair, was dark-skinned, slightly built, and tall; he kind of looked like me. The other two had olive-colored skin, jet-black hair; they were also tall; however, one was a little bit shorter with a strong build, and the other was tall with a medium build. Then the last guy He was old, maybe fifty years old, pale, big-boned, and also tall; he had to be about “6’7”.

Tommy pulled me a little bit closer to his warm, muscular body; he was practically hovering over me. John and Arthur also inched closer to me, also standing behind Tommy.

"Who the fuck are you?” Poll says she is concerned about realizing how tall all of these men are, but she doesn't let that stop her one bit.

"Who the fuck are you, I may ask?” the older one said in a heavy Italian, New York.

"I asked you first," Polly said, walking up to him.

"That girl over there, I’m her father, and these are her brothers now; what are your relations with my daughter along with those three boys over there?" He says

Poll looked back at us, concerned, and then looked back at the guy she was talking to with a brave look painted on her face. "What’s your name, I might ask?" she says, looking up at the older gentleman.

"My name is Hamilton Hawthorn; these are my sons," he says as he starts pointing at each of them.

"My oldest Ambrose," he said, pointing to the one with the curly hair. "My second oldest Cyrus," he pointed to the tall one with the jet black hair, and finally, my youngest Alexander," he pointed to the shorter one with the slightly bigger build.

"Now my daughter over there is the second oldest out of all of them. I’ve come to get her; she’s coming to New York with me.” Hamilton demands

“Fuck," Polly whispers to herself, looking at her feet.

She turns away from Hamilton to look back at all of us. "Veronica dear, come please!" she yells in a sorrowful voice.

I hesitantly started walking to Polly; however, I got stopped by Tommy. He grabbed my hand, tightening his grip, and gave me an unsure expression along with the other Shelby boys. Polly sees what’s happening and yells, "It’s okay, boys." Tommy slowly lets go of my hand as I start to walk over to the strange man. I was feeling apprehensive as I got closer and closer to Polly, unsure about what was about to happen.

When I got to Polly, she grabbed my shoulder and gave me a weary smile as she said, "This is your father, Hamilton, and these are your brothers. Ambrose, Cyrus, and Alexander"

I frowned at Polly in confusion. "So that means..."

"It means you're not staying in Birmingham, dear. After this, we’ll have to say our goodbyes," she says as tears start to form in her eyes, but she still keeps a brave face.

"But I,I, no Polly,” my voice started to crack, scared for what was going to happen. I look back to see the Shelby boys standing there for one last time, and then I look at Polly with sadness painted on my face. Polly stands in front of me with a fearless look on her face. She grabbed both of my shoulders tight and said, “You are the bravest girl I’ve ever met. Braver than me when I was your age, and braver than those boys up there. I’m so bloody proud of you and what you've become." We both start to tear up, and we gracefully hug each other for a long time, not wanting to let go of each other.

When the funeral ended, I said my heartfelt goodbyes to each of the Shelbys and went off to New York.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don’t Hold My Hand (I’ll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 3

Summary: The day Thomas has been awaiting for is finally here and things don't go as planned. The first crack begins to show

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Tommy suffers a pain episode

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long! These past weeks have been terribly busy and I have been having a major writer crisis. Yet here we are and I hope you enjoy!

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

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Ever since their last encounter, Thomas’ attitude towards her shifted. Charlotte couldn’t say he respected her, for that would take more than a few harsh words and stern looks. But he seemed to have found something in her that piqued his interest. He still refused her help on the daily with the most basic of things, stubborn as a mule, or rather stubborn as a Shelby, but he granted her the ‘honour’ of a few words of conversation every now and then. And Charlotte used every chance she could to try and talk him out of his miracle doctor.

She brought up every argument she could muster, but they were all met with indifferent shrugs of the shoulders, dismissive waves of the hand and, when she pressed too hard, with Thomas turning his back to her and escaping her well intentioned words, seeking refuge in the safety of his veranda. Charlotte remembered time after time when she had to convince soldiers to follow treatment for their own good, to have their medicines and do the exercises and quit the alcohol and the laudanum. She never had to talk a man out of doing something, and definitely never a man like Thomas Shelby.

“Just tell me this, Thomas. Have you ever, at least once, met or even seen any of these veterans this doctor has claimed to cure?”

His silence sufficed as a reply.

The faithful day, Charlotte awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and a heavy feeling in her stomach. A dull headache throbbed in her temples, since sleep had refused to find her, leaving her to toss and turn as the moon slowly gave way to the sun and the birds chirped in their branches. She did her best to carry on with her duties as usual, but every now and then she nervously glanced up towards the clock, waiting for the strike of 3 in the afternoon. The minutes felt too long and the hours too short. If she stared at the clock, the hands refused to move under her watchful gaze. But then she would turn her back for what felt like five minutes, and when she looked again, nearly an hour had transpired.

The doctor had sent beforehand some medicines that Thomas had to drink prior to the appointment. Charlotte had poured some onto a cup and stared at it intently, hoping that if she looked hard enough she could discern what exactly had been mixed into the ambary liquid, since the bottles had neither a chemist’s name nor any label. But other than identifying a hint of a sweet, herbal scent, she got nothing. 

A taxi stopped before the gates just five minutes to three. Mrs. Gray and Charlotte both awaited in the foyer, standing side by side, to welcome the man who promised them the greatest miracle to be ever seen. They heard voices out the door, and Frances opened before he could knock. The second the doctor crossed the threshold, the bad feeling in Charlotte’s gut worsened.

The man before her dressed poorly. And not in the modest but clean way that most working class people did. His brown suit had definitely seen better days, perhaps better years too; frayed at the hems, the seams stretched out and the buttons hanging precariously from thinned out threads. Whoever had sewn in the elbow patches definitely had very little practice in tailoring. The shirt had taken a yellow hue from wear and time, and some bare threads hung from the collar. The shoes desperately needed a visit to the shoemaker, soles detached on the tips, the gap widening with each step.

Two women came with him, one on each side and just a step behind him, both with severe faces and strict postures. They dressed as nurses did, with the light blue dress and the Sister Dora cap upon the hair, but had black rubber aprons tied about the waist instead of the usual soft white linen she herself wore. Their appearance evoked more butchers than healers. Charlotte could certainly picture them wielding cleavers and with red splatters on their faces, not precisely from slicing meat.

Mrs. Gray shared her apprehensions, that much Charlotte could tell by the way the older woman lowered her cigarette slowly, one hand holding onto the ruby pendant hanging from her neck, twirling the gem between her fingers nervously. They both shared a tense and brief side glance, loaded with trepidation,  when the doctor took Mrs Gray's hand and kissed it, his head lowered in a bow. She pulled away from his grasp delicately but firmly, the only betrayal in her collected facade being the slight narrowing of her eyes. He then tried to repeat the impish gesture with Charlotte; but the nurse’ hands remained firm behind her, not giving the audacious man even a speck of chance. 

The doctor straightened, arms behind his back and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. He appeared to not be unfazed by the tepid welcoming, although Charlotte easily noticed his barely concealed disappointment. Perhaps in other houses he had been received with tears and cheers like a hero who would save the day. She wondered if he had been sent off with the same enthusiasm after his magical treatments. 

“Miss and Madame, I am Doctor Elias Keller '' He put a hand to his chest and bowed again, as if he were being presented to Queen Mary and her daughter in Buckingham Palace. “These are my assistants, Bertha and Henrietta” Both women nodded curtly once, still standing just a step behind Doctor Keller, like petty soldiers flanking a high ranking officer, ready to rush to do his bidding.

The man put out his hand again towards Mrs. Gray, mayhaps hoping for a handshake. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead reaching for her cigarette case and lighting a new one. She took her time to take a long, deliberate drag and allowing the smoke to billow from her dark cherry lips before speaking

“I am Mrs. Gray, Mr. Shelby’s aunt. And this is Charlotte, Mr. Shelby’s private nurse” Charlotte had never heard her refer to Thomas as Mr. Shelby, but she understood the motive; she didn’t want to give Dr. Keller any chance of familiarity. As if she wanted, through subtle actions, to remind him of his position before he got too cocksure. In her line of work she had surely met one too many charlatans, Lottie thought, and she too could smell the rottenness in him. 

Doctor Keller smiled, although the gesture looked perfectly practised and not at all sincere. Charlotte did notice that he looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye, and not in a bawdy way; quite the opposite, in fact. He seemed uncomfortable with her presence, a feeling that had appeared upon his face only after Mrs. Gray mentioned her to be a nurse. He fixed his bowtie, giving it a firm tug before addressing her

“A nurse, you say? You certainly don’t look like one, far too young you are. Perhaps a maid turned caretaker?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with condescending amusement. Charlotte clenched her jaw, teeth nearly grinding in annoyance.

“War nurse, in fact. I served in convalescent homes and then field hospitals in France since 1916. I was awarded for distinguished service” She puffed out her chest at the last part. Even if her recognition strips and medal lay forgotten at the bottom of a drawer in her room she had the right to boast about them. She had earned them through hardship and sweat, and she would not let this mountebank look her down. 

Doctor Keller’s lips tightened into a line, but he regained himself with such ease one might even doubt the gesture existed. He straightened up once more, his eyes fixated upon Mrs. Gray, every aspect of his posture and demeanour indicating he wished to keep Charlotte excluded from the conversation

“Well Mrs. Gray, I must not be delayed. Every second that I am not by my patient’s side it is a second lost. I am very devoted to them and wish to give them only the best of everything, including my time” Charlotte had to look aside to disguise a poorly stifled laugh. The man didn’t spare her a glance, but his guarding dogs both looked her down with a mixture of annoyance and indignation. The shorter, much older woman reminded Charlotte of her commanding matron in the ward when she first enlisted; they both bore a particular type of severity in their faces that could put generals to their knees. Charlotte had bowed her head before the matron; out of respect for her status and service, but she would not let herself be intimidated by the walking circus before her.

Mrs. Gray on the other hand, had Doctor Keller’s complete attention on her. The man kept trying to go up the stairs, but she kept trying to delay him just a few more minutes

“You have just arrived, why don’t we have tea in the drawing room? We can sit down and discuss what treatment are you planning to implement on my nephew” Her manicured hand came to rest on the doctor’s bicep, as if attempting to steer him away from the grand staircase. But the man, who mere minutes ago had presented himself as fulsome and flirty towards her, didn’t take her attempts kindly. He stepped away from her touch, straightening out his worn jacket.

“Mrs. Gray, I must go to my patient at once. I am a very busy man and see many soldiers like him a day. My time is of precious value and not to be so easily wasted. If you do not show me to his rooms I will be forced to leave and reconsider his position as my patient” He spoke fast, a shrill tone edging his voice, the perfectly polished facade he had brought with himself showing the first crack. He appeared nervous to not have the family’s support, surely not used to be resisted that way. Charlotte prayed internally that Mrs. Gray would push just a little harder, that she would stand her ground for a bit more, enough to scare this opportunist into running and never looking back. 

But alas, Mrs. Gray relented, perhaps to spare herself of a round with her nephew when he found out she had blocked the way for his miracle doctor, or mayhaps because she too bore a miniscule sliver of hope that whatever they did to Thomas may work. 

She gave Charlotte a look, a brief one, no more than a second, but loaded with many conflicting feelings. Her lips quivered from the effort it took her to not say word, and she had to remind herself mentally of her position within that house; just a worker, placed there to look after the Master of the house, not to give opinions or interfere with his businesses. Feeling her heart tighten, Charlotte led the way towards Thomas’ chambers. When they reached the double doors she pushed them open, allowing them inside before stepping in. But she found her path blocked by the older assistant, who crossed her arm on the threshold to hold her back

“Doctor Keller works alone. If he needs help he will have us. Please wait outside” The harshness of her voice matched perfectly that of her face, her broad frame firmly forcing Charlotte out of the room. Incensed, and perhaps frightened, Charlotte stood her ground, her shoulder pushing against the human wall that was the other woman.

“I work here. I am his caretaker. You will not touch a hair of his head without me there” She spoke perhaps with more passion and strength than her station required, but she felt an overwhelming need to protect Thomas. She could not let, on her best judgement, allow this swindler to beguile Mr. Shelby and endanger his life on false promises.

Just when she readied to perhaps commit acts unbefitting of her against that woman, Mr. Shelby spoke up, his voice calm but firm.

“Charlotte. It’s okay. Just go downstairs”

The assistant stepped aside briefly, allowing Charlotte a peek inside. Thomas sat in his chair near the windows, an unlit cigarette perched between two fingers. Doctor Keller kneeled at his side, holding his free hand in his own in a reassuring grasp. The sunlights poured abundantly through the panes, golden beams framing them. 

“Charlotte. Please” He had never said please to her.

He nodded towards the doctor, and the man stood up, taking control of the wheelchair and leading Thomas away from the windows and from Charlotte’s view.

The last thing she thought she saw was a smile on Mr. Shelby’s face before the assistant slammed the door on her face.

Time moved painstakingly slowly. Hour after hour slipped away, the sun steadily making its way across the skies. Warm orange bathed the rooms towards the back of the house, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to sunset. Charlotte sat in the main room, a luxury she rarely granted herself. Before she laid a teapot of black currant tea which had not been touched, and biscuits she refused to eat. She had chewed her thumb in anxiousness, leaving the imprints of her own teeth on the pads.

At least five times during her wait, Charlotte made her way towards Thomas’ bedroom but stopped halfway through, doubting in her feet before slowly making her way back down. She wanted to go up and see for herself what they were doing; every fibre of her being urged her to. But at the same time she feared what she would see or hear there. 

A half past six, the double doors closed with a dry thud, and heavy footsteps resonated in the stairwell. Charlotte scrambled from her seat, almost slipping on the fancy rug and knocking her hip against a side table as she rushed into the foyer. Somehow Mrs. Gray beat her to it, already standing at the foot of the stairs even though she hadn’t seen her around since the doctor’s arrival.

Doctor Keller marched down the stairs ceremoniously, his head held high, as if he had just rediscovered America. He had removed his jacket, and his yellowed shirt clung to his body with sweat. His assistants walked behind him, carrying his cases and a bag Charlotte swore they hadn’t brought with them. Their rubber aprons had been wiped clean, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with Charlotte.

He addressed Mrs. Gray, once more his posture and actions disregarding Charlotte’s presence. The man took Mrs. Gray’s hands, and this time she didn’t push him back. His smile suggested reassurance and triumph.

“The procedure has gone well. Mr. Shelby is now upstairs in his bed, sleeping. He has been left exhausted and I suggest he is not disturbed until morning. I will return in a fortnight to repeat the treatment, and will continue to do so as many times as it is necessary, but I feel confident that progress will be seen before my return” 

Mrs. Gray’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and although she didn’t grant the doctor the reward of a smile, she had lost some of the apprehension she bore in the morning.

“Can you tell me what exactly is it that you have done to him? What sort of treatment is this?”

Doctor Keller chuckled heartily, shaking his head while he patted her hand “Now Mrs. Gray, those are gruesome details that delicacies like yourself should not have to endure” Charlotte buffed at the last part. Mrs. Gray could be described as anything but delicate. And the comment obviously didn’t sit well with the older woman either, for she immediately dropped the doctor’s hands and took a step back.

“Allow me to see you out, Doctor Keller” Even in now obvious annoyance, Mrs. Gray displayed an affability that Charlotte envied; a possession and control of the emotions that very few mastered. The small group headed outside while the valet brought the car around. But Charlotte did not follow, instead sprinting up the stairs towards Thomas’ bedroom.

She peered inside quietly, walking on tiptoes. Every window had been opened, the room smelling of damp soil and autumn leaves, but the earthy scent could not entirely mask the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol. The breeze had scattered papers from the desk all over the floor, and she hurried to pick them up, knowing how much disorganisation ticked Thomas off. As she placed them on the desk, she noticed they had left a kidney dish forgotten, alongside with a syringe filled with a milkish substance. The needle, the length of Charlotte’s hand, was coated in red.

Slowly, fearfully even, she turned towards the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to see, perhaps a gory scene with blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor, or a massacre akin to those seen in the field hospitals in France. Yet she only saw Thomas, laying on his side and submerged in a deep slumber, dressed only in his sleeping shirt and underwear.

She approached him slowly, her keen eye noticing the layer of sweat covering his skin, hair sticking to his temples and beads rolling down the curve of his neck. She dampened a cloth in the basin and wiped his forehead, feeling his skin feverish to the touch. The corners of his mouth had reddened marks, as if they had been rubbed raw against something coarse. Frowning in confusion, Charlotte leaned back, moving to examine the rest of his body. She found nail marks in his palms, in lines of bloodied crescent moon shapes. Just as she moved to grab the first aid kit to clean them, she picked up a small but significant detail.

The sheets had been changed

That morning, the bed had pure white sheets of plain linen without any embellishment, and these had simple blue embroidery on the edges, intertwined with Thomas’ initials as laundry marks. Charlotte could simply not understand why they would change the sheets amidst such secrecy instead of asking her or one of the maids to handle it, and neither could she find said sheets no matter where she looked. Clearly, whatever had been spilled on those linens, the doctor and his devils in tow wanted to be kept secret.

Worry crept up Charlotte’s spine and clawed at her throat. She didn’t want to disturb Thomas’ slumber, not after seeing him sleeping better than he had ever done before. Yet she could not ignore her instincts, not when they screamed at her so loud they drowned every other thought in her mind. 

So she sat by the bed and watched.

Waited and watched, while the sun gave way to the moon. A maid brought her food but she barely ate, feeling as if Thomas would burst into pieces or fade into mist if she took her eyes away from him for one second. Frances came near eleven, urging her to go to bed, but she only asked the older woman to take watch for a moment while she changed into her nightgown and robe. Even during the brief routine of closing the curtains and turning off lights she kept glancing towards him. But despite her best efforts she was only human, and the ever growing tension of the day had worn her out. She huddled in an armchair near the bed, a blanket around her legs and a small pillow supporting her neck. She had a book in her lap, but fatigue clouded her vision and foggied her thoughts. She swore she heard the grandfather clock chime 1 in the morning just before she fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up in a nightmare.

In the space between the land of dreams and the real world, guttural, horrific groans of pain seeped into her mind, making her hair stand on edge. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet chilled. She had to fight the drowsiness and exhaustion off her body and will her eyes to open. The room was illuminated only by moonlight coming from one curtain she had kept drawn back, casting phantasmagoric shadows on the walls. As her vision adjusted to the darkness and her senses sharpened, she sought the source of those sounds. Her first instinct was to go to the window, but she hadn’t moved a step when the grunts of pain returned, coming from very close to her. 

Thomas doubled over himself in the bed, fingers digging on the sheets and his jaw locked tightly around a corner of the pillow, poorly attempting to drown his pained cries. Charlotte rushed to turn on a lamp, and when warm light bathed him, she let out a scream of her own.

Crimson blossomed in the back of his nightshirt, the stains growing like flowers along the length of his spine. When she pushed his shirt up, she saw bandages entirely soaked in blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils. The flesh around them had reddened and swelled. Thomas kept writhing, only worsening things as whatever they had done to his back kept tearing open and bleeding anew. 

His fingers dug into his own hair, pulling at the black strands in desperation as he muffled the screams by biting into his forearm. Somehow that grounded Charlotte, setting her back into the same steeliness that got her through the war. She rushed to the medicine cupboard and pulled out bottles, not even bothering to check the labels, for she knew what she looked for. The laudanum she kept at the very bottom, hidden behind all the taller bottles, had not been opened. She went to pour it in a spoon, but thought it better and instead poured it into a glass, estimating what dosage would put two adult men to sleep. With the amount of whiskey and other things Thomas consumed on the daily, she knew a spoonful would barely give him a tickle.

She climbed in bed next to him, trying to sit him up so he could drink. But Thomas seemed to be paralysed with pain, and even the tiniest of movements reignited the agony. Not a word passed his lips, only exclamations of pains mixed with heavy, slowly drawn gasps of air, for even the simple act of breathing had become a struggle.

“Thomas, Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me” She cooed soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress “I have your medicines. But you need to sit up a bit to drink” Her calm words fell on deaf ears, and she couldn’t blame him for not heeding her command. Charlotte wanted desperately to ease his suffering, but for that she had to move him, which would only worsen his pain. She hated she had to do it, but it was for his own sake.

“I am sorry about this” She murmured as she sat by his side, hooking her arms under his heavy body the best she could to pull him up. The scream he emitted was otherworldly, and she could only silence it by putting her hand in his mouth, letting him bite her flesh like a rabid dog. The pain shot up her arm but she ignored it, not moving until his jaw had unclenched. She had managed to prop him upright against her chest, with her own back resting against the headboard. His head laid limp against her bosom, and the still fresh blood stained her robe. But none of that mattered at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to get him to drink with the spoon but he refused to open his mouth. Sweat now poured profusely down his face and neck, giving his skin an unhealthy glistening. Even in the faint light she could see his complexion had paled, but at least it appeared the bleeding had stopped. Charlotte forced the spoon past his lips, but he only splattered on it, spilling the laudanum everywhere. When she tried again, he shook his head like a child refusing his porridge. She sighed in frustration, and also because his weight against her made it hard to breathe.

“Thomas, please. It will do you good. I promise it. You will feel better”

Again, nothing. Every muscle in his body was painfully tense, and she could see the vein in his forehead popping and the pulse beating strong and quick in the side of his neck. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face, her thumb running up and down the sharp length of his jaw to ease the tension. After a few minutes she noticed a slight improvement and how his lips parted open. Lottie seized that opportunity and brought up the spoon again. And this time, he sipped the medicine.

“That’s it. Take it slowly. This will make you feel better Tommy”

The pet name escaped her without thinking, and honestly, she didn’t give it a second thought. His aunt called him that so often that it had simply slipped into her vocabulary. 

Spoon by spoon, slowly and carefully, Thomas drank the laudanum. The medicine acted quickly, and soon the relaxation became visible in his body. His muscles loosened, his breathing calmed and his pulse returned to normal.

Minutes ticked by in peaceful calmness, a stark contrast to the abrupt awakening she had. A brief glance to the clock showed her a quarter to four. Still a long time to go before sunrise. And a lot to be done. The bed had been left a disaster, as had Thomas himself. She would not bother with the sheets but the bandages and his clothes needed changing. It took her some serious shifting and pulling to get out from under him, but at last Charlotte managed to lay him down, propped comfortably on some pillows. She laid him as comfortable as she could, since she doubted she would be able to move him again. 

The shirt was a goner, so she had no qualms in cutting it to shreds to slip it off his body. The bandages soon followed, alongside the thick folds of gauze which were now blood soaked. The sight underneath stole the breath from her lungs

A series of wounds traced the length of Thomas’ spine, from lower to mid back. Perfectly lined puncture wounds, in pairs, going up at regular intervals. Whatever needle had been used surely resembled more an icepick, for the holes seemed to have been drilled in his flesh. Charlotte could not even fathom what sort of procedure Tommy had been put through, but now her other findings made sense. The nail marks on his own hands from where he has fisted them so tight, and the abrasions on his mouth, surely a leather strip or a simile had been put in his mouth as a gag. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought how he had willingly subjected himself to torture of the worst kind just for a crumb of hope.

She washed him clean as best as she could in that position, rinsing away the blood and sweat. She didn’t have any medicines at hand to apply to the wounds, so she only rebandaged them, making a mental note to ring a real doctor the next day for some real medicines. Since the sheets could not be changed nor could he be dressed again, Charlotte laid some clean towels around him and tucked him tight with the blankets. 

As she moved around him, she paid close attention to his face for the first time. Without that perennial scowl on his face he appeared much younger, even under all that messy hair and unkempt beard. His eyelashes were enviably long, casting shadows upon his high cheekbones even under the weak light of the bedside lamp. His nose had a straight slope, and his jaw a particular sharpness, noticeable despite the beard. He was objectively very handsome, a man girls would surely fawn over. 

Just as she readied to retake her watching post, Charlotte noticed again the nail marks on his palms, now swelling up and the skin purpling. She took his hand on her lap as she cleaned it gently, wrapping a simple bandage around them. Just as she moved to stand, his hand gripped tightly the fabric of her robe, stalling her moves. 

When she turned to face him, she realised Thomas had been awake this whole time. His eyes were open, and the ice had melted from them, giving way to a sharp shade of blue, vibrant even under the obvious exhaustion. His eyes fixed upon her, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment. Charlotte had stared into those eyes many times, and had read many hidden emotions behind the blueness, but that night she saw something new, something she never expected to see in him; vulnerability. Raw, deep, unsuppressed vulnerability. The first glimpse of the man behind the carefully crafted iron mask.

It felt almost wrong to be allowed to see the facade crack, like being made privy to a secret she felt unworthy of. At last, she lowered her eyes first, working on putting aside her medical supplies, just to keep her hands and her concentration busy.

“Sleep, Tommy” The words were hushed, her voice meant to be soothing, although he wouldn’t need much soothing with the dosage of laudanum she gave him “Rest will do you good” 

Charlotte moved to stand, but he moved to grip her wrist instead, his hold firm but not hurtful. She looked up to him again, confusion lacing her features.

“Stay”

The words were spoken through great effort, coming out raspy and strained, but perfectly clear. 

“I will not leave you. I will sit right by your bed” She reassured him, but he didn’t let go. In a sudden movement he pulled on her arm, throwing her off balance and tossing her rather unceremoniously on the bed, so that their bodies laid close together. She felt her heart rise to her throat, eyes wide and breaths quick at the sudden proximity. She wondered if the pain medicines had loosened Thomas’ inhibitions. Or perhaps he was just in desperate need of some of the human contact he often rejected.

For long minutes Tommy just stared at her wordlessly, not offering an explanation as to why he did that, nor letting go of her arm either. Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, yet she could not look away from him either. The silence lingered until she chose to break the spell.

“Tommy?”

His fingers slid down from her wrist, lacing his hand with hers. His next words held a longing and rawness Charlotte didn’t believe possible in him.

“Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight"

[feninina]

𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙧 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

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.

jonathan had a very twisted mind and he knew how to hid it perfectly. he also knew, since the moment your father brought you to him practically begging for his help that he was going to have too much fun with you; shaping you, deconstructing you to craft your mind into something so wrecked, so useless, that your only thought from now on would be him.

you were young, naive, beautiful; all that he could ever want and wish — and there you were, heartbroken and desperate, opening your heart to him maybe hoping he would help you, and, in jonathan’s eyes, that’s what he was going to do, he was going to cure you and make you the perfect trophy wife, to nobody else but him.

you were sick, and he had the perfect antidote for you.

“i know what a girl like you needs”

“you think, doctor? what is it?”

“yeah, to be fucked stupid”

i’m so very anxious and nervous to publish this but i also can’t wait omg 😭 anyways hope you enjoyed that little snippet

[playlistbyjo]

‘slowly falling in love with cillian murphy’ kind of playlist is what i need in my life rn😌🧡✨

[evita-shelby]

Reader insert Masterlist

Part 2

(Masterlist 1)

Ran out of space lol

Tommy Shelby

Only Joys will come (part iii of nights on the January)

Happy wife Happy life (drunk!Tommy x wife)

Promise (tommy x sick!reader)

Chance (tommy x ex!reader)

Ths Red Room (tommy x reader x eva) vampire!au

Torture (tommy x wife!reader)

Fatal Attraction (tommy x assassin!reader)

Cuddling(part 2 for happy wife happy life)

Death shall set you free (tommy x wife!reader)

The Devil of Small Heath (kelpie!Tommy x witch!reader)

A Dull Party (Tommy x Eva/Reader x Tatiana)🔞

Moon (tommy x witch!reader)

Lamb(sequel to moon)

Crawl home to you(tommy x wife!reader)

Dad!Tommy fics

Ghosts of New Year's Past (Tommy & Diane(oc daughter) & Polly’s Ghost)

Promise? (Tommy & adopted!daughter)

Luca Changretta

Persistence (luca x shelby sister)

The fabulous miss shelby (part 3)

Two for One (Luca x reader x Eva)

Jack Nelson

The professor

Hunt(vampire hunter au)

Michael Gray

Finn Shelby

Preacher's Daughter (kid!finn x Jeremiah's duaghter!reader)

Isiah Jesus

[willsdreamgirl]

HELLO PEOPLE IN MY PHONE 🎀

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

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

let me know!! <3333