I Will Remove Anyone From My Life To Protect The Peace That I've Worked So Hard For. Nobody Took Me Out

You Broke Me First

part 31

Zoe opened the front door and let Scout trot in first, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool air from the house hit her hot sweaty skin.

She thought it was a good idea to take scout on a run. she didn’t check the weather prior; it was NOT a good idea.

it was 2pm and she hadn’t heard from Cillian all day, besides the text she woke up to from him saying he was awake and on his way go set. She also checked her email religiously, hoping to see the schedule from Hannah, but nothing yet.

She hopped in the shower and changed into leggings and a t-shirt she stole from Cillian's drawer. She had big plans of sitting in the kitchen and finishing up some articles, as well as attempting to eat something. She was nauseous again the better half of the morning, plus her eating schedule had been all off due to living between two different places and scheduling furniture deliveries. Plus, stress at her job and deadlines looming and not being anywhere close to where she needed to be with her assignments and articles wasn't helping. However, the furniture has all been delivered and placed, 99% of the boxes have been unpacked, internet has been hooked up and the house was now feeling like a home.

She sat at the kitchen counter with her laptop in front of her. She grabbed an apple and a jar of peanut butter and a knife and placed it beside her. She fired up her laptop and checked her emails, perking up when she saw one from Hannah.

Hey Zoey, see attached schedule for this week. TY - Hannah Woods VP, PR Strategist / Executive Assistant to Cillian Murphy Elite Talent & Public Relations cell: (213) 555-0808 HWoods@elite.com

Okay, cool. I'm going to ignore how she spelled my name, it's a common typo, Zoe thought.

But... did she really have to add "Assistant to Cillian Murphy" to her email signature? Is this permanent? What's a VP doing as a personal-excuse me, executive assistant? She wondered.

She opened the attachment and it was... not what she was expecting. it was a simple word doc, with days bolded and shooting times next to it. For some reason, Zoe thought there would be something more... professional?

Is this how Tarantino does his shooting schedules? Zoe thought.

She looked at the assigned day and saw that he was shooting from 7am - 8pm.

Zoe did the math in her head and concluded it was 10pm where he was. Was it too late for a call?

Weird, why wouldn't he text or call me when he was done? She thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Scout barking, wanting to go out in the yard. Zoe stood up, stretched her legs and opened the sliding glass door outside to the backyard. She followed Scout onto the deck where the plopped down on a deck chair and reclined back, letting the sun hit her face, thinking about if she should call him or not. She sighed and pushed the paranoid thoughts to the back of her mind and opened her phone.

~

"Let's wrap it up here, guys" Cillian heard once they finished a scene. Cillian relaxed his shoulders and unclenched his jaw. relaxing as much as he could back into himself.

The first couple days back were always the toughest, he spent so long as himself it took him a couple days to snap back into Tommy. Tommy and Cillian were two completely different people, with Tommy being an extremely violent person, the complete opposite of Cillian. It was hard sometimes, but in a way, so rewarding. He truly loved his job.

Cillian made his way back to his trailer, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked up the steps, pushing open the door.

"Hello!" Hannah said, standing up from the kitchen booth. Cillian jumped, not expecting to see her there.

"Oh, hey Hannah," Cillian said, smiling. All he wanted to do was get a shower, call Zoe and sleep.

"I have some stuff to go over with you once you're done in the shower," Hannah said, looking down at her notepad. "But, you have a cast dinner scheduled this evening. In an hour, actually. So..."Hannah said, motioning to the bathroom door, insinuating to get to it.

"Is the dinner necessary? I'm beat," Cillian said.

"Yes, Stephen requested it. He wants them more often actually, to strengthen the bond of the cast."

"Strengthen the bond...? We're in season six, i think we're all bonded," Cillian mumbled. He sighed and stretched his back, hearing a few pops and wincing at the sound. He was truly beat. "Alright. I'll shower, but do me a favor will ya?" He said, walking towards the bathroom. "you still have my phone, yea? Text Zoe for me and tell her i'll text her later when I'm home."

Hannah smiled. "Of course Cillian."

Hannah waited until Cillian got into the shower to look at his phone. As she expected, there was a text from Zoe.

Zoe: Hey babe - how was today? We miss you.

Hannah rolled her eyes. Gross. She thought for a couple minutes then responded:

Cillian: Hey. working late - i'll talk to u when i can.

Hannah hit send then deleted the entire message thread. As soon as she swiped out of the messages, She heard the shower turn off.

Cillian emerged shortly after, in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Wardrobe sent over some jeans and a white button down shirt for the dinner," Hannah said, pointing to the clothes laid out for him.

"Thanks," he replied, "did you get a chance to text Zoe for me?"

"Sure did!" Hannah said, smiling. "She said she'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Cillian said, furrowing his eyebrows. "We wrapped at 5 today. I'll get to her when I get out of the dinner I guess, Thanks H," He said, walking over to the clothes on the counter.

"No problem," Hannah said, standing up. "Oh and Cill?" She said, turning to facing him. "It's not my place, but you should really consider deleting all your texts in your phone. It's not just a privacy issue, obviously if you lose your phone and someone breaks in they can read all your messages, but it's also taking up a lot of memory.... it makes your phone run slow," She said, struggling to end that sentence. She wasn't sure if it made the phone run slow or not, but she just needed an excuse to keep deleting messages.

"Really? I figured phones nowadays have no memory limit... but what do I know, I'm horrible with technology," Cillian replied.

"Yea!!" Hannah said, almost laughing. She couldn't believer how dumb men are.

"Yea I'm horrible with technology?? you're fired," Cillian joked.

"No no! I'm agreeing with you that phones nowadays.. should be limitless when it comes to memory," Hannah scrounged up. "Unfortunately we're not there yet.... it's all in the little booklet that comes with the phone."

"Cillian raised an eyebrow, pulling the shirt over his head. "People read those?"

Hannah blinked. "I read those... But you know me. I love a contract!"

"Oh" Cillian said somberly. "Well, you're in charge. Delete it then. And just hold onto my phone for me until the dinner will ya? I'm still so off from the flight and I'm still jet lagged and it's a miracle i can remember my lines. I'll come grab it after dinner."

"Sure thing, Cill! Francisco is waiting for you in hair, I gave him a heads up about you going to the dinner and asked if he could do your hair, so he's ready when you are," Hannah smiled sweetly.

"Thanks, I don't know what the hell to do with this," Cillian sighed, running his fingers through the haircut he hated so badly. He grabbed his boots and made his way out the door.

Hannah waited until Cillian was out of sight before pulling up her laptop. She spent all afternoon drafting up a fake schedule to send to Zoe in Microsoft Word. She wanted to get a jump start on the one for next week.

Shooting tomorrow didn't start until 10am tomorrow, which would be 2am Zoe's time. Shooting was supposed to end at 8pm tomorrow, but Zoe doesn't have to know that...

And now that she has control of Cillian's phone and can delete messages, this will be easier than she thought it would be.

First things first, she pulled out her cell and dialed her contact at DailyMail.

"Hey Tara, it's Hannah over at Elite... I have a tip for you. Tonight the Peaky Blinders cast is going out for dinner and drinks to celebrate the start of shooting the new season..." She said, smiling to herself.

"Heard it's gonna get a little wild. Cillian Murphy has to let off some steam and he plans on going full Tommy tonight. Think it can make tomorrow's press?"

tags:

@lau219 @cillianinlove @vervainandspritz @supershadowymiraclestudent @borntodiemp3 @cillianmurphyvevo @shopgirl6us

lay down my body | raymond leon x reader

summary | after a disastrous event, you find your favorite timekeeper at your door. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | explicit smut, light degradation, sort of toxic dynamic, power imbalance, dirty talk, oral (female receiving). word count | 2k+ a/n | not beta'd because i just wanted to write something because i haven't in a hot minute.

Raymond brackets your face between his hands, his eyes glacial, his lips pressed into an unimpressed line of dissatisfaction as he examines you. An ugly surge of desire forms in your lower belly as his calloused fingers brush against the bruised skin around your eye.

“Stupid girl,” he admonishes. The warm timbre of his voice draws a lick of want through your aching body, mean as it is. You grab onto his wrists, pushing them away from your face.

“I told you not to come tonight,” you say.

“I come when I please,” he says, indignant.

Tuesday night found you desperate, fighting as you never had before while the minutes on your arm dwindled down to seconds. An angry part of you wants to punish Raymond, to look at him with your bruised flesh and say, “What was I supposed to do, wait for you?” but you’re half afraid he’ll say something infinitely more unkind. He does that sometimes: punishes your cruelty with a form of violence you hadn’t known existed until you started to care for him. He has spent too long not looking after anyone but himself, so it is a self-preserving form of affection he administers.

This man doesn’t seem to know the totality of borrowed time—not with the way he turns your head in his hands again, looking over bits of you he’s already seen. You try not to tell him he’s wasting time, but it’s hard—you feel the full measure of a minute every time it goes by, and hate to spend it like this.

“I worked harder last week so I could have this night off,” you grumble, despite yourself. You push his hands away from you again, this time more firmly.

His jaw tenses. The irritation has begun to set in the crevices of his wearied soul.

“You don’t want me to go and I suggest you stop pretending you do. I might just do it, and then you’ll have a lot more than some common thug on the street to worry about.”

He nudges your arm pathetically, the green clock slowly ticking away on it. You despise the way he holds his favors over you. No matter how snug he’s got you under his thumb, he won’t ever receive your blind submission. In a flare of anger, you knock past him and head to the none too lavish bed. Bending over it, you look back to him expectantly.

“What are you doing?” he says.

You raise an eyebrow - a daring challenge. “Thought I better give you what you want before—“

Raymond rushes across the room like he’s forgotten the luxury of his long, sure minutes. Taking your arm in his hand, he tugs you upward with the sheer force of his anger. His fingers grip onto your chin; you watch as a dangerous fire alights within him. “Better not do that, kitten,” he huffs, voice steady even despite the evident anger etched in his features. He presses your body into his own, the grip on your arm beginning to ache.

“You’re hurting me,” you tell him softly.

He loosens his hold on you, but not his vitriol. “If you want to be fucked like a common whore, just ask for it. No need to suggest that I’m some kind of…creep when you know I’m angry because I—“

His words trail off, all that meaning floating in the air between you. Because I care. To him, that’s more dangerous than stolen time.

You soften, putting your hand on top of his. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“Who says I do? You’re nothing to me. Not really,” he responds coolly.

You run your tongue over your teeth, observing him, watching the carefully designed face of neutrality staring back at you. His indifference is a cruelty.

“We’re running out of time,” you remind.

He looks down at your arm. Two minutes. With lips pursued, he looks back at your eyes. You see the wheels turning in his head, all that careful calculating. Of all the things he is, and he is many, clever was not what you expected. But he is clever. You wish he would use it for better.

“You think I make you earn your life,” he enunciates, a tinny quality infecting his voice, “so earn it.”

There’s a sick pleasure that you derive from the lack of emotion in his eyes. You want him so badly it confuses you. There’s an ugly thing that exists inside of you and it wants, wants, wants him. He feeds it. It’s the same thing that makes you bend back over the bed, fingers gripping the comforter, your ass high. Beneath your dress, you wear a flimsy excuse for underwear.

You feel the bulk of him behind you. He smells of leather and sandalwood. If you close your eyes, you can remember what desire looks like on him. There’s heat in your belly that doesn’t simmer as you listen to him take a step closer.

He leans over and knocks your hands from beneath you, forcing you to lie on the bed. The cool of his leather ensemble against the warmth of your skin is an enthralling contrast. “Keep your wrist down,” he demands, voice low and sultry. “We’re gonna play a game, whore.”

Whore. The word causes a confusing pool of desire to gather between your legs. You want to punch him in the mouth. He’s never called you that before. But you like how the grit of the word sounded in his throat. You like how he takes charge. You always have. Every desperate person wants a God, and there’s something comforting about the way he tells you to kneel at his altar.

With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your cheap makeup rubbing off on the shoddy comforter, you await his next move like a prisoner awaits death. Anticipation courses through you as you listen to the sound of his voice, the rustle of his movements, feeling the ghost of him against you as he plots your demise.

“I’ll give you your beloved time, baby,” he coos, his fingers resting on your hips. They squeeze at your flesh there greedily, a warning for what is to come. His nose brushes against your neck, his breath hot against you as he says, “But you’re going to have to cum first. Not a second before. I think you can do that, can’t you? Because despite your pissy attitude, I know just how wet you get for me. And there’s the matter of life and death too. Everyone’s a whore when it comes down to seconds.”

He presses his lips to the back of your neck, moving down your body gradually. Eventually, you feel the ghost of his breath on your nearly exposed ass. Raymond wastes no time drawing up your dress.

“Spread your legs further,” he instructs. You do, eyebrows drawing together as his fingers grope at the flesh of your ass. There are angry imprints no doubt forming as he hums in delight.

“You’re just as wet as I thought you’d be.” His finger ghost downwards, rubbing over your clothed cunt. You can feel the desire that coats your underwear as he presses down. If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be humiliated by the way your body wants him.

Pulling aside the fabric of your flimsy underwear, he presses open mouthed kisses on your ass cheeks. His teeth glide dangerously across the skin too, until he reaches your cunt; when he reaches there, he dives in, his tongue plunging in the warmth of you while two of his fingers rub against your clit.

This is new, and would hardly be a punishment at all if not for the fact that your clock is running out and you can’t see it. Raymond eats at you like a man starved, the slick of his salvia lubricating you better than your own want. He moves his fingers furiously, grunting into you when you dare to push back into him for more.

“Stay still,” he demands gruffly, taking his mouth off of you. You comply, hard as it is to do when he’s touching you like this. “I know you’re close, baby. You’re gonna come on my tongue, aren’t you? Like the good little whore you are for me?”

His tongue swipes through your folds again, lapping up your combined fluids as his fingers press down with more intent on your clit. You fight with everything in you not to move. Your grip on the bedspread tightens and you huff quietly into the mattress, the tension boiling up inside of you. He could split you open right now and you’d thank him for it.

“Ray—” you moan. His nose edges against your cunt as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking obscenely. You can’t stop the way the orgasm takes you, nor do you want to; it’s overwhelming, a thing that happens all through you. Every sense is heightened. When he moans against your cunt, you nearly shatter against him.

He yanks you down quickly, pulling your limp body back on top of him. Before you’ve got time to figure out what he’s doing, he’s flipping over your arm. The green fluorescent numbers tick away. 55 seconds. 54 seconds. He sheds his leather jacket, exposing his forearm. You close your eyes when he holds it over yours. He cradles your jaw with his other hand, an oddly intimate act.

When he moves his arm off of you, you open your eyes. You don’t look at how much time he’s gifted you, but at him. His face of neutrality is all broken up before you, lips smooth with your slick, cheeks red from his own want. Even his eyes betray him as they glance down at you.

You’ve frightened each other. It's intoxicating. You feel the thrum of your heart beating against your chest. He struggles to catch his breath.

Raymond presses his lips to yours in a furious kiss. His hand tilts your head for easier access, and you push up, moving yourself further up his body.

“Not so tough now,” he growls. His fingers pinch at your chin.

You lick your lips, which now taste of you, rolling your eyes up at him. “Doesn’t seem like you are either.”

He grunts in displeasure, running his calloused thumb lightly against your wet lip. “You just want to be fucked dumb, don’t you?”

You turn your wrist. 2 days he’s given you, which is about 24 hours more than usual. The hunger for him makes you ravenous as you consider what he’s just said to you. You ignore it in favor of something more substantial: asking why.

“You don’t usually carry that much time with you.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “One of my little birdies told me about what happened to you.”

“So, what—you gave me some more time to be robbed of as a solution?”

He shakes his head, slightly annoyed. “No. I gave you more time so I could keep you here and show you how and where you should be spending it.” His fingers dip below the collar of your dress. “Stop being a fucking brat.”

“I never liked being told what to do,” you murmur as his thumb skirts over your nipple. He watches your eyes grow heavy as he swirls his finger over it.

“And yet,” he smirks, nodding down to your body.

You mirror his smirk, knowing he’s right. Even if you’ve got something of a paltry life, things like this can still happen, and that’s something, isn’t it? Knowing that things - people - like him, even in all the cruelty, can still rescue you.

Your fingers reach up and run over the pout of his lips. As your eyes search each other’s, you come to a silent agreement: a pledge to care. It’s a stupid, foolish flash of sentimentality you see before it’s masked again by your own respective desires and lust.

It’s almost as good as the time he’s given you—almost as good as all the time he could ever give you.

Are you gay for Murphy?

no not really

Guys send me requests for Cillian Murphy before my creativity stops flowing LOL

Smut, angst, fluff, and special requests for kinks are acceptable as well

Please it's Christmas give us one update atleast 😭🎄🎁

I posted it

Coming soon...

Where's the thin line between a breathtaking desire and love? Don't keep me in the dark, show me the rules so I don't get lost...

His cold blue eyes glare at her face. She's covered in tears, unable to hold the burning pain in her heart anymore. It shot out like rushing water through an old dam. Y/N's words made his head buzz with pain. He felt paralyzed. The room felt smaller than ever before, almost like it started closing up on them both. The expectant gaze she was shooting him was... Too much. Gaping sadness with a tiny flame of undying hope. His blood ran cold.

"You can find it here" Robert started in a low, shaky voice, pointing at the bed in the middle of his room, breaking her heart with each word. "Or there" He pointed towards the bathroom, where they were intimate just minutes ago. His jaw clenched as her eyes begged him to not say it. Taking a deep breath, he let it go. "But you won't find it here." His shaky hand pointed towards his heart. "You're wasting your time, Y/N."

...and it felt like the sky started falling

Office romance is never a good idea

Massive thank you to @lau219 for being very supportive and making these wonderful moodboards for me!

...Is anyone interested in reading such a thing? 😉

I am become boop, the destroyer of worlds.

THE EDGE OF DARKNESS

Thomas Shelby x Stepdaughter!Reader

Warnings: taboo, DARK!, smut

A/N: The song mentioned in the fic is "Till Death Do Us Part" By Peter Gundry. This fic is for Halloween, and there will be a few more dark ones. Enjoy.

Inspired by @majortom1947 request

His focus drifted away once again, almost driving him mad. Tommy slowly let go of the pen he held in his tense hand, dropping it on the stack of documents that sat firmly on the dark desk. The room was filled with nothing but quiet sounds of glass meeting wood every few minutes, as the stocky bottle of whiskey emptied in an impressive time. His usually calm and steady breath hitched in his throat followed by an exhale, making him sound almost like a martyr.

Wide, intimidating silhouette of a strong man behind the desk wouldn't give it away, but his head felt heavy, yet was spinning with the troubles burdened upon his shoulders. His wife's harsh words rang loudly in his ears causing nothing but annoyance and burning frustration under his skin. As the time passed between his fingers, loose as sand, the reason for their marriage faded so successively, he could barely remember it. She couldn't be further away from his idea for a perfect or even remotely good wife, but he did what he had to. Like always. Her Romani upbringing and a tight bond with the Gold family left him with little to no choice after Arthur refused to take this responsibility upon himself.

When it came to heavy weights, it was always left for Tommy to handle. Fucking always.

Letting out a deep breath, Thomas leaned back in his comfortable seat, popping a few buttons of his shirt open, as he carelessly tossed his red tie aside. In the comfort of his office, Tommy let his mind wander towards the thoughts so unwanted and forbidden, they rarely were present outside of his space. Knowing his own weakness, Thomas ground his teeth for a short moment at the realisation of how his control started slipping away. The farther down the rabbit hole his brain went, the stronger the burning bothered him.

After years of letting his manly urges slowly starve to death, dealing with the humiliation and frustration that came with being married to a woman so insufferable, she managed to kill his sex drive, THE thought didn't come unnoticed.

At first, it came and went. The next time it happened, Thomas’ eyes wandered to HER pale legs for a little too long before blinking the infatuation away. After that point… he lost count. He was only a man, after all.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Tommy breathed in deeply, silently cursing out the headaches he's been dealing with lately. Tommy imagined the smoke from his cigarette filling his body with hope of cleansing him from all thoughts of Y/N.

The hope died pretty quickly, as it tended to happen for people like him: people stained with burdening responsibilities and the weight of the world on their back.

As her image simmered behind his closed eyelids, his brows furrowed in worry.

What a beautiful distraction she was. A forbidden fruit, an evil snake from the depths of Eden, poking on his self-control and morals, whispering unacceptable yet impossibly beautiful ideas straight into his ear, driving the poor man mad. Leaving him burning hot and yearning for her touch. She tempted him with her beauty everyday for the last year. Her beautiful, innocent eyes, which looked nothing like her mother's. Her eyes weren’t tainted by greed and the dark shadow of death, which surely came from years of living in Birmingham. Lurking for people at every turn.

Y/N was different. She was raised away from dingy cities, in fields and forests, travelling from town to town with her father and rest of the family. Y/N lived far away from her sad excuse of a mother, yet still ended up having to suffer her presence once Patrick Y/L/N lost his battle to cancer. Not even the strongest of Romani spells could stand a chance against a body leaning so hard towards the path of self-destruction.

That's how she ended up here, at Arrow House with a disgraceful mother and stepfather who was barely present and silently pining after her.

The sweet girl grew to trust him, after several months of avoiding him.

Thomas didn't mind it at the beginning. He had no interest in fathering an adult whom he was closer with in age than with his own wife.

Y/N soon learned after moving to Arrow House that her mother had little to no interest in getting to know her, at any level that matters. The important thing was to present herself well in front of people, the audience, as she liked to call them. The audience watched every move of the Shelby family quite carefully. If Marilyn Shelby was anything more than shallow, it was definitely demanding. For peace, Thomas had no issues in letting her spend his money left and right, as long as it kept her mouth shut. With practically nobody left to trust, Y/N started appreciating Tommy's presence, even if it was entirely silent.

That's how the first two months passed. They lived their lives around each other without more than a few words when necessary, yet his presence became associated with peace and safety in her inexperienced mind. His stillness and calm, husky voice was a source of much needed comfort.

With each passing day, her trust grew as she let the guard down, Y/N’s body language clearly changed, not going unnoticed to Tommy’s bright knowing eyes

Suddenly, a loud knock on the door echoed throughout the spacious room, violently ripping Thomas’ hazy mind out of the infatuating thoughts.

“Tommy?” He heard from the door, and his head turned to face her. There she stood, barefoot, wrapped in a robe at least two sizes too big for her thin frame. Her long hair flowed down her back. Y/N’s intense gaze left him burning again, as Thomas cleared his throat.

“Come in, angel” He let out, his eyes grazing over her skin. He was braver than usual, the alcohol in his bloodstream made it more difficult to keep his painful desire hidden.

Without a thought, Y/N closed the door behind her back, making her way through the office, slumping on the chair in front of his desk. Her eyes were absent, not meeting his gaze even once as she silently looked around his desk. “What's burdening your mind?” His voice cut the air like a knife, making her finally look at him.

Y/N’s big eyes seemed teary, making his heart stop for a second as he sat up straighter in the armchair. When his brows furrowed impatiently, the dam broke and quiet sobs pushed past her lips.

Watching her slowly break apart, Thomas ran a hand through his hair before getting up and rounding the desk, eventually taking his place on the edge of it. Leaning down, his rough hand came to rest on her shoulder. He wanted nothing but to feel her close and now was a perfect occasion.

Upon feeling his touch, Y/N suddenly rose from her seat, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around his core, seeking comfort. This Tommy did not expect.

His breath hitched and his brain was barely able to process the heat of her body pressed to his own. He trembled slightly and hoped she wouldn’t notice. A couple moments later he embraced her carefully, like she was made of porcelain, able to be shattered into a million pieces if held too tightly.

“She… She said it's over. That I've lived here long enough to figure out my life without depending on her—your money.” Her voice was quiet, fragile even. The genuine fear and urgency she held him with, made Tommy's heart beat faster. His other hand came to rest on the back of her head, petting it slowly as she continued at her own pace. “I’m… I'm not ready but—but I know she's right, I shouldn't… be here that long.” Y/N kept mumbling as her forehead pressed into his shirt covered collarbone. His hands’ movement came to a stop at her words. Tommy slowly peeled her away as his fingers grasped her chin. His gaze fell to her soft pink lips and he immediately regretted it as his mouth went dry for a second. Regaining his composure, he spoke.

“Angel, your home is here. You're not going anywhere anytime soon, and your mother is… not in charge. Not under my roof, eh?” His voice was deep, a little too deep for his liking even, as Tommy tried to light up the mood slightly. Not wanting her to see the way his pupils dilated seeing her so close. The way his breathing got deeper, chest raising and falling visibly. Her lips just a small reach away, tempting him like never before. The stirring in his lower stomach made it difficult to think, but Tommy knew one thing for sure, and it was that he wouldn't let her leave. Not his Angel.

~~

The next couple days Thomas tried to spend more time at home than in his office, knowing how Y/N needed him to be around. The more time they spent around each other, the less guilt he felt.

He liked it. He liked looking with desire, and not feeling burdened with guilt. Looking in her eyes during the late nights spent in his office, slumped in the chair which she called hers already.

And he? He didn't mind, not one bit. Deep down, he thought about it more than he should have. Even if she felt like calling HIM her own, Tommy wouldn't mind.

Driving back home, the gravelly road scritched under the heavy weight of his car, small turbulence in the cabin making no difference, as he barely paid attention to the road.

Only when the high, black fence started showing from around the corner, he forced himself to focus. Taking the right turn, smoothly getting on his property. The shaking of the car fading into oblivion as the gravel road turned into expensive tiles by the mansion.

He thought he had more time to solve the issue, Thomas thought, as a suitcase fell out of the window, missing his Bentley by less than ten inches.

Eyeing the mess, he mentally prepared himself for what to expect after crossing the entrance. Grabbing his suitcase, he swiftly got out of the car, quickly making his way to the door before getting inside. The screaming and Marilyn's high pitched, dramatic voice could be heard even before he opened the door.

Without a second thought, he climbed the stairs as the two women came into the view. Marilyn held tightly onto her daughter's hair, pulling down clearly, judging from Y/N’s pained expression as she sobbed.

“Enough!” Thomas boomed, quickly grabbing onto his wife's wrist, his rough, calloused hand squeezing so tightly it surely would leave bruises. The older woman gasped, pulling her hand back as she took a step back. Her eyes narrowed as soon as her eyes fell on his face, gazing with contempt and anger.

“This little whore stole my pearls! I found them in her room!” She growled, clutching the jewellery close to her chest as she tried to lunge forward again, stopped by Tommy's broad chest. “If I see her in this house by tomorrow, I'm going to put her down like a bloody dog, Thomas! Tomorrow!” She kept yelling, but he could still hear the quiet sobbing from the woman behind him. Y/n cried, holding onto her scalp that burned hellishly. Bruises on her face already getting darker while heavy tears decorated her beautiful face one after the other with no end.

Tommy's blood boiled, veins on his neck protruding from the heated anger he felt deep inside. His self-control ran thin as his hands shook with the urge.

“Y/N, go to your room.” He instructed, in a demanding voice. One of his hands sneaked back to give her small fingers a knowing squeeze. Feeling it, she nodded, wiping her tears away as she slowly let go of the material from the back of his coat.

Marilyn's cold, green eyes followed after her daughter, contempt and hatred visible. She hated how much attention she stole from Tommy ever since appearing in Arrow house. She hated how much money he kept spending on her.

Marilyn felt robbed, like it all belonged to her.

Jealousy rushed through her veins, even though her heart was stone cold. No feelings for Thomas Shelby were held, but she claimed rights to him nevertheless. After all, It was impossible to love people like him anyway, right? Marilyn thought.

Her hand met his cheek with a loud slap, as she took a step forward. Looking him in the eyes she felt the upper hand.

“You think I'm fucking stupid? Don't you think I see the way you look at this little whore?” She hissed with poison, her red smeared lipstick making her look even less approachable than usually. “If I see her here in the morning, all Birmingham will know about your perverted urges.” She finished with a whisper, her shaky hand petting his cheek mockingly, not caring about the way he… watched her. Blue colour long gone, replaced by the deep shade of the night sky.

Only then her heart skipped a beat as she realised she took a step too far. Shallow breath pushing past her lips. Eyes widened with confusion, pierced with fear as blood ran cold.

But it was too late.

“Goodnight, Marilyn”

~~

Y/N lay in her bed, clock ticking in the background, reminding her of how late it was. Darkness swallowing every inch of the room besides a small stream of light coming through the window from the street lamp. Heart thumping in her chest the only sound she could hear… before the music started playing. The melody grew louder, the familiar rhythm echoing upstairs coming from the gramophone standing in the corner of the corridor. A song she knew all too well after spending many quiet nights in Thomas' office. Note by note the tension increased with the tempo of the piano playing, coming to a peak as the door creaked open, barely noticeable in the dark.

Her eyes, used to the darkness already, noticed the flash of blue irises and the silhouette she knew too well. Breath hitched in her throat with each step he took.

Second by second, note by note. When the song abruptly came to a halt, his hands touched her face. His face hovered over her own, lips so close she could see every detail.

“Tommy” She breathed out softly, but before Y/N could continue, the song resounded again, almost like urging him to move faster. The tension broke, tearing a painfully deep sigh from his throat as his chapped lips pressed against her own. Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, taken aback by the boldness of his actions. Her lack of experience creeping up her spine, causing anxiety but Thomas didn't give her enough space to dwell on the details. Crushing all of them with his touch, touching each and every inch of her soft skin with his calloused hands, causing some discomfort which he immediately softened with kisses. Music in the background seemed to set the pace, and as the thempo increased, his touch grew impatient.

“We—We can't” She managed to whisper, even though her throat was dry with a need she didn't understand.

“It's just us, angel. Me and you” He growled, his eyes holding the wilderness he was unable to hold back after all this time. His body tense and firm like a statue, as he kept moulding her flesh to his liking… and she let him, because Y/N didn't know any better. She didn't want to know any better.

Some sudden sounds kept piercing the music, catching Y/N’s attention for a millisecond before he'd make her forget again, touching and pulling needily. Soon enough her body was bare for him to take. Greedy eyes taking in every detail he could see in the dark, swallowing every sound from her mouth, stroking her womanhood skillfully, wanting nothing but to worship every soft, welcoming inch of her perfect heat.

“Just me and you” He echoed, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them softly above her head, taking control of her along with the situation.

Music seemed to be never ending, as he slipped into her body, stretching and pushing his way into the space he claimed for himself only. Her innocence taken away so abruptly and harshly, yet she never felt so loved and wanted before.

“Tommy, I–” She moaned, head lifting off the bed to find his lips, which he immediately understood, giving into every need and every urge.

Spending all the strength he had to give her time, and not let the animalistic urges take over fully, as she needed… guidance.

“I know” he responded, moving slowly, feeling as she successively accepted his cock, relaxing into his arms and whimpering beautifully.

He was patient, slow and understanding… until he couldn't anymore, moving increasingly faster and harder, his hands squeezing her wrists a little too tight but they were both lost. Lost in the forbidden dance led by the embers smouldering in their chests, intensified by the music they both heard. Tangled in the forbidden, breathtakingly beautiful dance.

Y/N let him paw at her skin needily, pushing into her deep and fast, taking everything he needed. Lost in the experience and in the intense being that Thomas Shelby was.

Maybe if she was just a little less gone, a little more meticulous, she'd notice the dark red stains on his shirt.

The raw obsession in his touch ever since he held her for the first time so innocently. The metallic scent of blood on his skin.

Tommy couldn't let anything and anyone separate them, after all.

Devil and his angel.