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After Hours

Part 9

Previous part here

……………………………………………………………………………

How long was he there?

How much did he see?

Has he been there before?

Did he know it was me onstage?

What is he thinking?

The questions that she had no answers to were swirling around in her head nonstop, and as Y/N kept reliving the moment she and Robert’s eyes had met outside the club, she felt like she was going to die both from embarrassment and from the nervous anticipation of when they’d see each other tomorrow.

Of course, she was completely unable to sleep, instead worrying about how Robert was going to react, what she was going to say to him, and how this would affect them.

It couldn’t be that big of a deal, right? It’s not like she’d done anything wrong. And while it’d only been earlier that same day, she had told him she had another job.

As she remembered that, Y/N groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. She was positive that this was not the kind of job Robert would have imagined her having when she’d told him that.

But what was he doing there? In all the time she’d worked at Plume, she’d never seen him there before. Had he been there but she’d just never noticed? Had he seen her other times, but never said anything?

As she got ready for work the next morning, Y/N’s heart was pounding the whole time. Of course, the easy thing to do would just be to call in sick, but Robert would know she was just avoiding him if she did that. And despite how awkward it would be, she decided it’d be better to just face him and address it than dodge the situation. She couldn’t avoid it forever, and she prayed that it wouldn’t be anything that would throw things off between them too much.

She could only hope that it would end up being something they would laugh about.

•.•.•.•.•

“So, with the selection of our school for the grant, the Dean would like to recognize Fischer Morrow at the upcoming alumni dinner.”

Sitting at the large table in the boardroom, Y/N was only half listening as the meeting with the board and the representative from the School of Arts continued. The meeting began first thing in the morning, and Y/N and Robert had yet to connect.

Sitting across from each other at the table, their eyes had met several times, but Y/N couldn’t read the look on Robert’s face, and she’d quickly looked away each time for fear that he’d see her blush. She could sense a vibe from him though, and she was nervous, as he seemed to be…she didn’t know what, exactly, but it wasn’t what she usually felt from him.

He was very much his business self today, all authority, serious, a firm tone, and brief answers. She couldn’t help but think it had everything to do with the fact that he’d seen her last night, and she now worried that his opinion of her had changed.

It shouldn’t have. He knew her well enough to know that her working at Plume didn’t mean she was suddenly a different person, or so she thought. She just had to find a moment to explain things to him.

When the meeting finally came to an end after what felt like an eternity, Y/N’s heart began to race again. Everyone rose from their chairs to leave, and she knew she had to try and speak to Robert now, because she just couldn’t wait until later.

Fortunately, someone had stopped him to talk on the way out of the meeting, and so he and Robert were still standing near their chairs at the table as everyone else filed out of the room. Y/N discreetly made her way nearer to them, lingering close enough to tell when their conversation would be over, but not hovering. Her heart began to race again as the two men started to wrap up their conversation. Once they’d shaken hands and began to move towards the door, Y/N stepped forward, a little surprised that Robert clearly didn’t plan on staying behind to talk to her — she knew that he knew she was still there.

“Robert?” she spoke up before he’d made it to the door. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Why was she so nervous? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Turning his head over his shoulder, Robert finally acknowledged her.

“Sure, but you’ll have to make it quick,” he said very matter-of-factly. “I have another meeting in fifteen minutes.”

Finally, he fully turned to face her, and Y/N took the remaining steps to close the distance between them, stopping in front of him. He looked at her not with the warmth he usually did, but with the chillier business persona he used when things were serious.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N spoke.

“Are you upset with me?” she asked him quietly.

“No,” he replied, but his attitude didn’t have her convinced. “Should I be?”

“Listen, I know it was probably a surprise for you to see me there last night,” she began, both of them knowing exactly what she was talking about, not needing to elaborate.

“A bit,” he agreed simply.

“Had you, I mean, were you…have you been there before?”

“No,” Robert lied, shaking his head. “But a friend of mine has been, and he’s considering investing to open another location. He asked me to check it out and see if I’d be interested in going in on it with him.”

Y/N nodded slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I’d heard about that possibly happening a while back,” she said.

Robert shifted and put his hands in his pockets as he stood up straighter.

“So, when you didn’t want to make plans last night, I went there instead and finally checked it out,” he said.

Y/N shook her head and frowned.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to make plans with you,” she said adamantly. “But I had to be there last night. They were expecting me.”

“I’m sure they were,” Robert said coldly, his expression condescending.

Y/N frowned again. Her heart pounding once more, she could tell she was losing him, but she wasn’t even sure exactly why. Why was he so angry?

“Robert,” she began again, shaking her head, “I’m…I mean, I realize you must be wondering a million things, but I—”

“Can I just ask one question?” Robert suddenly said, cutting her off.

“Umm,” Y/N’s heart was racing and she felt like she was being interrogated for a crime she didn’t commit. “Sure.”

“Do you choose the songs you perform there?” he asked, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, unsure where he was going with this.

“Well, yes,” she said slowly. “Why?”

Robert shook his head and made a face of dismissive judgment.

“Just wondering,” he said. “Obviously, you must have chosen them because you can relate to the songs based on…personal experience, right?”

For a moment, it was completely silent in the room. But as Y/N processed what Robert said and his implication, he saw her expression slowly change from nervous and confused, to pained and shocked. And then the silence was suddenly broken when the loud smack of her hand slapping across his cheek echoed through the room.

Robert barely had time to register the change in Y/N’s expression before he felt the sharp sting of her palm across his face. When her hand had lowered and he looked at her again, she gave him no chance to say anything before she looked down and pulled her planner out of the stack of work documents in her arm. Shifting, she then dropped everything but her planner onto the table, the sound of which echoed in the room almost as loud as the slap she’d given him had.

Looking up again, Y/N met Robert’s eyes a final time.

“I quit,” she said to him.

Then she turned and grabbed the door handle, opening the door and walking out without another word.

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @febris-amatoria @an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction

@vervainandspritz @cardan-official @teawonderfultea-blog1 @vastcapacity @meister95

@betty21rose @4ria790 @shopgirl6us @forgottenpeakywriter @wonderlanddreamer

@the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @mspookington-blog @helftmich @cillmurphyslover @lara2719

@peskybinders @ll4n4 @tommyshelby87 @murphymania1976 @fmo166

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

TASTE OF SHAME

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Part four

Warnings: Dark!Thomas Shelby, manipulation, abuse, non-con/dub-con, gaslighting, violence

A/N: The calm before the storm, I'd say. Next chapter will get intense.

Another couple days Y/N spent mostly around her horse. Well, maybe not her horse anymore, but deep down she felt the same. Their bond irreplaceable and no amount of money would change that, she thought, staring into the deep eyes of a particularly tall stallion. His character was different than most horses she got to be around even back then, living on a farm. His dark eyes seemed to be eternally deep as he listened to each word spilling from her mouth. Leaning down to be on the same level as she held his chin gently.

It became their little routine, as she would come to stables before their training, sitting around and talking to him or simply caring for him in simple acts, feeding, cleaning or braiding his mane. It allowed her to keep remnants of the inner peace she once had, untouched.

He was impressive, incredibly impressive to the eyes of people who didn't know the horse from a foal. Calm demeanour, the awareness of space he was taking and something that Curly liked to call royal elegance.

Everyday they spent training, preparing him for races which were coming with big steps. Every small failure Y/N took personally, at the beginning causing her to doubt whether there was enough time.

Enough time to put in the hours of practice so that he wouldn't lose... Or disappoint Mr. Shelby, for that matter. Deep down Y/N was scared, and so she put all the effort she could possibly fit in the small frames of twenty four hours each day until she could finally breathe freely.

”He's fast.” Thomas Shelby stated from behind the gate, startling Y/N. Turning around, she spotted him by the entrance. The signature cigarette burning between his lips as his gaze assessed Inferno. His eyes were slightly narrowed, face lacking any solid expression as he inhaled the smoke, holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling while he began moving closer. ”...but fierce. A wild look in his eyes.”

Y/N glanced at the horse, hearing a huff coming from him almost as a response to the words aimed at him. She smiled lightly before facing Tommy once again. Her eyes met his, somehow fearlessly.

”He is good. Will win you big money, Mr. Shelby. I give you my word.” She responded, nodding along as he stepped closer. Y/N couldn't help but get a little defensive hearing his words. She knew the horse too well, and if Thomas didn't believe in his abilities, he wouldn't pay for him so much, right?

The corner of his lips twitched, as if he was about to smile. A small smirk appeared on his face, lifting an eyebrow at the tone of her voice. Exhaling smoke for the last time, he tossed the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it with his boot. Reaching for her face, he grasped her chin, tilting her head up so she wouldn't look away.

”Your word, eh?” He asked, almost taunting. Mockery in his eyes was one of the few emotions he let her see, shining through the icy colour of his irises. She was almost used to it by now. ”Am I to trust you now, Dove?” Her resolve crumbled visibly, her own eyes revealing everything going in her head, which pleased him as always. Even in such interactions she was completely defenseless.

Letting out a sharp breath, Y/N nodded along, biting her tongue before she would even think of saying something back. It wasn't a good idea. Holding her chin between his calloused fingers, Tommy felt the movement and subconsciously he knew exactly what she did. Smirking a little wider, he tilted his head to the side. The obedience in her was alluring, impossible to push away.

Leaning in closer, his eyes moved around her face. Slowly, he took his time, just like in anything and everything he ever did around her. Holding all the control he could afford to make her wait. Y/N felt her heartbeat rising, fear bouncing off of her ribcage at the close proximity he always chose over standing at a normal distance.

It must be one of his sick games, she thought, completely oblivious to the fact he just couldn't help it. The way she bent in every way he'd tell her to, the powerless melting into his power and whims made her almost irresistible. Almost.

His hands felt raw on her skin, the small contact of him firmly holding her chin made her breathe heavier. All the small reactions not going unnoticed under his watchful gaze.

The interaction lasted a couple moments, yet it felt like an eternity.

”What you're asking for comes with a risk.” His words were simple, yet they took a bit longer to register in her mind. Distracted by the way he looked at her. ”Risk you can't afford, so don't make me force you to pay for it, eh?”

Shivers ran down her spine as the vial threat hung in the air. Don't break my trust or you will regret it

Parting her lips for a second, she swallowed her dignity before responding.

”Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

The intense gaze broke, as he patted her cheek roughly with his fingers. Little smile stretching on his tense face.

”Good girl”

~~

”For once you could be specific, Tommy. Linda's already holding this against me.” Arthur mumbled, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket as he smoothed out his hair. ”...and we're still bloody waiting”

John was talking to Johnny Dogs as they all waited for a sign to get on the way to London. Unusually many of the Blinders stood by the Arrow House, four cars parked on a gravely yard as Thomas checked his watch.

”The least you could do is stop fucking complaining” He barked back towards his older brother, already fed up with hearing it. Thomas had enough things to worry about that day, Vendetta being one of the main worries. It was the exact reason why all of them were dressed in the exact same way, every single detail fitting. Brothers not to be recognized in the crowd. Another one of his worries was Y/N, whom he had to take with them, as it was one of the points in the contract he made with her father.

There was no way around it.

”Time's up boys, off you go” He said out loud, pulling his cap on as he quickly got up the stairs swinging the door open. ”Y/N!” His voice bounced off the walls.

”I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm here” She ran down, her cheeks flushed red as she finally managed to get fully ready. Usually it didn't take as much time, but she never attended such an event, and Ada told her to present well as to not bring Tommy shame.

...so she did her best. Dressed in one of the new dresses with her hair put up all pretty. Her look held all the intent, gracefully showing the elegant style while keeping most of her body hidden.

When his eyes landed on her, Thomas felt his fingertips buzzing with the need to grab her. It made him uneasy, the urges, coming and going so suddenly and out of control. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. The anger at her for being late suddenly forgotten.

”We don't have time to spare. Get in the car before I make you walk all the way to London.” He said, his voice coming out a bit less menacingly than he'd like.

Y/N nodded quickly, pulling her dark coat onto her body before rushing out the door into his car. Sitting on the passenger seat, she let out a sigh.

The sigh that made his eyes roll, as her scent filled out the car.

Fucking hell, he thought, starting the engine smoothly, not intending on talking to her any longer. They travelled in almost complete silence, occasionally broken with her voice when she'd asked a question.

~~

Getting to London took a bit longer than expected, which allowed the Blinders to gather in all the right places, following Tommy's plan exactly as they were told. Peaky caps sitting lowly on their face, covering most prominent features.

As soon as Tommy pulled up parking the car, Y/N reached to open the door, but before she managed to do so his hand grabbed on her thigh, keeping her firmly in place. Y/N glanced towards him with a question.

”You're going to stick to me the whole time we're there, you hear me? You'll place bets with John and Edward, then return to our seats. No looking around, no asking too many questions.” His hand cradled her skin as he spoke, making her lose her focus for a split second before she responded, holding the eye contact.

”Yes, Mr. Shelby”

A little sceptical for a moment, he stilled, looking for approval in her eyes that in fact she understood before letting out a sigh.

Trust, he thought.

”Good”

...and with that they got out. Speaking even less than usual he grasped her hand, pulling her towards the entrance. Holding her closely they moved up the stairs, passing by other guests before making it to the third level. Four blinders stood by the entrance, chit chatting, and three were by the betting booth. Another small crowd already climbing the stairs before they dispersed to their designated positions.

”Let's put out bets in, shall we?” Tommy said lightheartedly, glancing towards her with a small smirk and teasing look on his face she never saw before. It looked... Strange, but the coldness in his eyes made her realize he was putting on an act.

”Lead the way, Sir.” She responded, mirroring his tone with a shy smile. Despite not understanding what was exactly happening, she was happy to be included and to... Be on the receiving end of his pleasantries, even if they weren't real.

She decided to enjoy every moment of this event, as another won't be around again anytime soon. Not in her calendar, she thought, feeling strange with the strength he was holding her hand with, almost crushing her fingers.

Trying to get her mind off of that, she looked out onto the racetrack after placing the bets and getting to their seats. From that point everything was going smoothly, and Y/N give up on trying to understand the situation, Thomas' behaviour weird in ways other than usual, but she didn't pay attention anymore.

As the races began, Tommy whispered into her ear to not move from the seats at all, just wait for him to be back before he disappeared into the building behind them. Y/N nodded obediently, watching as Inferno shot out onto the rack with all the other horses. The distance was fairly long and the track slightly curving towards the left, making it difficult to see every detail from where she was seated.

Completely unaware of her doings, she rose from her seat, moving closer to the track. Her hands grasping the edge of the seat in front of her. With her eyes wide open she watched with anticipation as her black horse passed by a smaller one, making it to the second position.

Meter after meter they cut through the distance, making seconds feel like hours before finally, his head peaked to the front.

With a loud gasp she realized Inferno won, throwing her hands in the air with pure happiness. Her pink lips stretched into a wide smile as she turned around, realising Tommy didn't come back yet.

To her right she heard a loud chuckle before a tall figure came up closer, from the seats nearby. Man much taller than she was, moved slightly closer, leaning on the short wall separating two sections.

”Am I to understand that the bet was lucky?” He spoke up, his accent foreign to the ones she knew and heard before. His hair was dark and smile bright. He was a good looking man.

”For once” She responded, nodding lightly, and gesturing towards the piece of paper she held. ”Yours not so much?” Y/N asked, unsure of why he approached her, but she didn't want to appear rude.

Taking another step he was right next to her, showing his own paper to the young woman.

Maximus, was written, which turned out to be the horse who made it second to the finish line.

”Ah, I see.” Y/N said with a smile at the dramatic sigh he let out. He was maybe a little older than her, but not by much. A few years top. It was refreshing to talk to someone around her age. ”Well, maybe next time then?” She offered.

”Hopefully. Why Inferno? It's a debutant. Maximus won three times in a row.” The tone of his voice was lighthearted, carrying a hint of curiosity within.

Shrugging, Y/N quickly assessed whether she should, or shouldn't tell the truth. Eventually settling on.. a half true.

”His legs are longer than most horses on the rack. This breed is majestic, and the look in his eyes is trustworthy.” Her response was a bit held back, which hopefully he wouldn't notice.

Cocking an eyebrow, his lips stretched into a mocking smile. His demeanour visibly changing.

”And you noticed it from up here, is that right? Brilliant answer, Y/N.”

Y/N's lips parted as she took a step back once she heard him say her name. Her heart picked up on pace, thumping loudly in her chest as she realized something was wrong.

Suddenly a loud bang came from one of the chambers, chaos quickly taking over the audience as people heard another gunshot coming from inside of the building. The stranger moved quickly, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her towards him, but before Y/N managed to react she was pushed aside, in a different direction again. Stumbling back she looked up, her eyes widening and her face going pale as she realized it was Mr. Shelby who saved her from the strange man.

As he cut between the two of them, Thomas' fist immediately made contact with the stranger's face. He was shorter, but visibly more built, his strength overpowering the other man.

”Shelby” He straightened his back quickly with a grin, his teeth covered in blood as he reached into his holster but not quick enough. In a split second Tommy groaned after hearing it, ripped the cap off his head, using the sewed in blade as he cut across his face.

Y/N took another step back, scared to death as she looked around trying to find someone familiar. The scene in front of her just... Kept going, nobody stopped the Blinder from turning him into a mess, features not recognizable anymore, looking barely human.

As a sob ripped from her throat, Y/N couldn't look away anymore and only when someone else grabbed her arm, she realized it was Arthur.

”C'mere, it's time to go” He said impatiently, pushing her towards the entrance but she looked back at Tommy.

”What about him?” Her voice came out higher than usual, tears still streaming down her face.

Y/N didn't even know when and why she cried. The whole situation was so obscene, the confusion racing through her veins was incredibly overwhelming.

”He'll be fine, we need to leave. Quickly!” He commanded, and she didn't dare to argue. Rushing to the exit, she noticed John was waiting right there for them. Nodding to Arthur they shut the door behind them, running down the stairs.

Everything was happening so quickly, a few Blinders were injured, their suits marked with blood one way or another.

Her lungs were burning from the run, tears slowly drying off on her face. Looking at her hands, Y/N realized that some of the blood got on her skin, and she was marked just as much as other men around her. The wind picked up, blowing hard and cold as she turned around and noticed everyone getting in the car. Before she could ask them what she was supposed to do, a strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, turning her back and a strong body pressed her against the Bentley.

Thomas' face was covered in blood, he was breathing heavily. Unsure whether it was from the fight or maybe running, but he was visibly furious. Almost crushing her between him and the hard exterior of a vehicle, she mewled in pain before his hand wrapped around her throat.

His eyes were completely dark, face strained in fury like she never saw before. Immediately cutting her airflow off, he slammed her against the car a bit harder.

”I told you to not fucking move!” He growled loudly, still wet blood from his hand coating her skin. Pulling her by the throat, he got to her eye level. ”Are simple words too much for your bloody brain, eh?!” She was completely pale, crying again as she tried to shake her head but his hand was too strong. She couldn't move. Paralyzed from fear, it was completely visible in her eyes.

Groaning Thomas pulled her against him, his lips crashing into hers forcefully. Parting her lips and shoving his tongue inside, dominating her in the clear display of power. He tasted like.. blood, the taste alone was making her nauseous, but there was nothing she could do. Biting her lip harshly, he made her cry out before pulling away.

Quickly taking a step back, he opened the door, shoving her onto the passenger seat.

”You asked for my trust, and now you will pay the price.” She heard before he shut the door so hard, she let out a choked sob.

Getting in the car, he started the engine right away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

Cry. There's nothing else you can do now

Plié, Jeté, Relevé (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)

A/N: Here you go my lovelies! I have literally never done ballet in my entire life, so any knowledge of this has come from watching tiktoks of ballerinas, movies with ballerinas in them, or my best guesses… anywaysssss, I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, would highly recommend watching the performance of Still Life at the Penguin Cafe on youtube, the music and the dancing is *chefs kiss* 

Summary: You were ready to admit that you hadn’t been at your best the past week or so, but surely you hadn’t been so bad as to deserve this much wrath from Mister Murphy… 

Word count:  3,750 

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mean!Cillian, SMUT, dub-con bc of the power imbalance (?), fingering (technically?), humiliation (not as a kink tho), only reader orgasms, depiction of toxic teaching environment, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

If anyone out there believed in the stereotype that all Irish people were happy and jovial then they clearly hadn’t met your ballet master. The man may speak with a lilting musical accent but there was not a thing jovial or happy about him. The master was harsh, verging on cruel. If anyone was caught slacking even the littlest bit, something that would go unnoticed by the rest of the troupe, his voice would crack like a whip through the studio. 

Recently, that whip had been directed at you. You knew you weren’t doing your best. You had hit a rough patch in your entire life. You had been late more times than ever before, more times than you ever would usually be, more times than you would like. And your dancing had been affected as well. Your posture wasn’t straight enough, your pliés weren’t deep enough, your toes not pointed enough. Everything was going wrong, and while you had hoped it wasn’t noticeable, Mr Murphy never failed to find every SINGLE one of your mistakes. 

Today differed in no way. You had dilly-dallied a little too long while getting ready in the morning, only to end up running late for rehearsal. It was no more than five minutes, but from the start of training it was the rule that all ballerinas must be lined up by the barre at exactly ten o’clock every day. For every minute you were late, the worse your punishment got. Usually if someone hit the five minute mark, they went home and sprained their ankle on purpose for an excuse. 

At four minutes, you had run into the hallway outside the studio and thrown your bag onto the ground, disregarding the sound of your water bottle rolling away and one of your keychains cracking under the weight of your things. At five, you were throwing the door open and running inside, slipping into the back of the line and getting into first position. 

Mr Murphy paused in his speech to gaze at you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at him. Slowly, his eyebrow rose, scrutinising you with a frown that made shame curl in your stomach and tears make themselves known behind your eyes. He slowly brought his hands together, rubbing them as he sighed and began shaking his head. 

“Kind of you to join us,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way closer to you, stepping leisurely, dragging out the fear that made your throat hurt. He stood a few feet away, staring at you in that impenetrable way of his, ice eyes sharp and painful wherever they gazed. He clapped his hands once. “Girls, turn and look at Ms. Y/L/N.” He waited until each of them had turned in their spots, some craning their heads to the side to make sure they were looking at you lest they somehow disobey him. You could see the pity, the sympathy, the smug triumph in each of the girls’ eyes, the frowns and subtle smirks, and you could do nothing other than keep staring ahead of you as your hands and knees suddenly began to tremble. “What is wrong with her?” 

He didn’t ask it in a rude or incredulous way, but as if you were a diagram in a textbook, and this was simply an exercise the students were completing. You were sure your shame was visible on your face, the embarrassment turning your spine to liquid. One of the girls put her hand up, near the front of the room, and you only recognised her for the little kiss-ass she was once she spoke. She had always been that way, desperate for Mr Murphy. Always at the front of the line, always gleeful at the downfall of others, always ready to point out any mistakes. And you were always happy to watch her desperation help her in no way whatsoever. A lot could be said about Mr Murphy, but favouritism was not something he had ever displayed. Whichever ballerina was doing well, recognisably well, was given her dues, and it was left at that. 

“She’s not wearing her tights and leotard, or at least, she’s wearing sweatpants over them. Her pointe shoes are dirty, and her hair isn’t in a bun.” You could almost imagine her satisfied little smirk when she finished speaking, that evil little smile that you had always wanted to punch off her face. One swing, you thought, just one swing… 

“Correct,” he simply responded, threading his fingers through each other and raising his eyebrow at you again, as if confused and annoyed at you for not doing something. “Leave, get your shit together, and then come back inside. If you have not returned within ten minutes, don’t bother returning to rehearsal ever again.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the door and you nodded obediently, eyes downcast as you stood up straight and slowly walked back out. 

When the door was closed behind you once more, you stood silently for a minute, eyes clenched shut and hands curled into fists at your sides. You pressed out a scream behind your pursed lips, teeth clenched so hard your jaw began to hurt. You slammed the heel of your hand against the side of your head again and again and again until your shoulder hurt a little from the motion and your brain felt sufficiently jumbled. Your chest was heaving and you were overwhelmed with rage. You wanted to kick something, to throw something, to go back in there and rip that bitch’s hair out of her bun. You resolved to pulling your pointe shoes off and lobbing them across the hallway as hard as you could, letting out another clenched scream before walking all the way down to pick them up and bring them back. 

You stood in front of your bag and took three deep breaths. You picked up your water bottle from where it had rolled between another two of the ballerinas’ bags, and took huge gulps of water until you felt a little less sweaty with anger. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you hadn’t wasted your ten minutes, then set about carefully pulling off your joggers, folding them up, and placing them inside your duffel. You pulled out a new pair of pointe shoes, cursing yourself for not having prepared them in time and preemptively wincing at the blisters you knew you were going to get by the end of rehearsal. You walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall in the pointe shoes, hoping to at least break them in a little bit with the short time you had, and used the mirror to quickly pull your hair into a bun, securing it with pins in a practised dance you had learned from years of repetition. You checked yourself once more in the mirror and then looked down at your phone before sprinting full on back to the room and sliding through the doors. You made it just in time. 

Mr Murphy glanced at you as you slipped into position at the back of the line, following the exercises he had been calling out to the ballerinas while you had been out. He methodically looked at every inch of your body, from your pointe shoes to your pink tights and black leotard, from the careful set of your bun to the determined set of your brow and sheen of sweat on your temples. He didn’t say anything directly to you, and you took it as a win. 

At the halfway point, you were all allowed a little break to drink water and have a rest before you switched from exercises to rehearsals for your next performance. You were all practising for your various roles in a performance of ‘Still Life at the Penguin Cafe’, and though you would have to wear a huge mask of a ram on your head, you were ecstatic for the performance. While it wasn’t technically a solo, you were the centre of the piece, being the only one not dressed as a penguin. Now, everything felt so precarious. You couldn’t quite be sure Mr Murphy wouldn’t take the role from you after the past two weeks spent in a slump, and the worry was becoming your ever-present companion. 

Just as the girls were all leaving the room to get water and lounge around on the floor of the hallway, Mr Murphy cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at you. 

“Ms. Y/L/N,” and he pointed at the spot right in front of him. It took everything within you not to sprint to the spot. You took careful, measured, steps and stopped a few feet in front of him, spine straight and head held high. You weren’t sure where to look. You could never meet his eyes, something in your soul was opposed to it, so you chose a spot on the wall just next to his head. 

“You will stay for another hour at the end of the session to make up for your failures this morning, understood?” He raised both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. You closed your eyes, trying not to burst into tears like a child throwing a tantrum on the spot. You nodded, whispered a ‘yes, sir’ in a clogged voice, and waited until he dismissed you to walk out of the room. 

You sat down by your bag with a sigh, arms slung over your knees as you cradled the water bottle close and pressed your face to it. You closed your eyes and allowed your head to dip down as some of your friends came to sit around you, offering pats of sympathy and words of comfort. You tried to smile, nodded in thanks, but you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up. 

The next few hours were spent going through each section of the dance. You felt lucky that you didn’t get to the Ram piece, you were sure you couldn’t hold it together long enough for that, only to be doused with cold water at the thought that you needed to stay longer afterward. 

When rehearsal was over, Mr Murphy dismissed everyone right on the dot. He didn’t acknowledge you as the girls started leaving, the chatter slowly beginning to rise as they reached the door. For a moment you wondered if you could get away with leaving with everyone else, but just as you reached the door he called out “ten minutes at most, Ms Y/L/N, then I want you back in here.” Your bones seemed to disappear and you thought you would collapse to the floor in a heap of mushy flesh. Instead you nodded and wobbled your way outside to chug what was left of your water bottle, refill it, then chug the contents again as tears of exhaustion slipped from the corners of your eyes and mingled with the sweat dampening the hair by your temples and ears. 

The ten minutes were up far too quickly and you stood with a groan, heading to the door once more. You gazed at the room from the door, the light hardwood floors, the wall of mirrors and the bar spanning the length of the room, the huge windows letting in swaths of natural light. You often forgot how beautiful the space was. 

You walked slowly to where Mr Murphy stood, typing something on his phone and moving the speaker to face the room again. You stood before him, hands clasped and eyes downcast, waiting for instructions. For a while, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer on his phone, his hands hanging by his sides, and he stared at you. Every few seconds you glanced, trying to glimpse what was going to happen, but he just continued watching you, stoic as ever. 

You could never tell what he was thinking. Never once had you been able to guess at his thought process, to figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe that was one of the reasons he intimidated you so much. 

He walked closer, so close the toes of his shoes almost touched the toes of yours and you gulped, staring at the contrast, the black and the pink, the background of wood. His hand came up and he tapped up under your chin with the side of his index finger, waiting for you to lift your head. When you did, your entire face felt hot under the skin. He was so close, you could see the freckles splashed on his skin, the careful set of his cheekbones and jaw. You gulped. His eyes were so much more terrifying up close. 

“You’ve been given a gift,” he began, slow and firm, “your ability, your natural rhythm, that is a gift. Unless you put in effort to finetune this gift, it goes to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You nodded but he shook his head once. “Speak.” 

“Yes sir,” you breathed out quickly, gulping when your mouth was closed again. 

“I’m not sure you do, though,” and it felt like the hammer falling. His eyes seemed to harden a little, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “The past two weeks all I have seen is a sloppy, unprincipled, uncommitted dancer who deems merely showing up a success.” Each word was a stab to some part of you, and it took everything not to wilt completely to the floor. “You have been given one of the more difficult roles in the performance, and I once believed you deserved it. For the life of me, I cannot remember why.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you closed your eyes, throat bobbing as the despair that felt inevitable finally began to land. 

He went silent, and that felt worse somehow. The backs of your eyelids began to burn and you clenched your hands tighter around each other, hoping the little pain it brought would distract from the tears. You berated yourself in your head. You yelled in your mind that this was a pathetic display, that it would be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done if you began to cry in front of him. He would think less of you, it would only confirm what he believed; you were weak. When you opened your eyes again, one traitorous tear slipped out and down your cheek. You could feel the hot, ticklish track it made down the skin. If you didn’t know better, you thought you saw Mr Murphy’s eyes soften. 

He breathed out, long and tired, and reached up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. Your breath caught in your throat. His hand was warm. Your chest felt tight. His skin was soft. You stared into his eyes. He left the side of his hand against your face, as if allowing himself to feel the skin. Something in your stomach writhed impatiently. Everything seemed to have changed within a second. Some deep seated urge whispered in your ear to open your mouth and lick his thumb. You shivered. 

“Turn around,” his voice was low, rough, and you almost moaned at the sound. You gulped again, but obeyed almost instantly. You heard some shuffling, and then the music started, the slow long notes interspersed with the quick little strums, a beautiful, almost joyful piece of music. Then Mr Murphy was pressed right against your back, and suddenly the music was secondary. His chest, firm, solid, was moulded to your back. You could feel the soft fabric of his black shirt, the puffs of his breaths against the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered. He was warm, like a heater on a middle setting, and if you weren’t so tense, you would melt against him. You could feel his nose against your head as he bent slightly. You could feel his lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered “relax.” You tried, forcing your muscles to loosen like you would before a performance. 

His hands trailed down your arms, his fingertips running down your biceps, then your forearms until you shivered against him again. When he reached your wrists, he hooked his own hands under them and began raising them in time with the music. You turned your head to the right, watched his hand raise your own, your lips parted and breaths heavy. You couldn’t move past the feeling of him pressed to your back. 

You almost missed the cue to move, almost, and pulled away from him slowly, carefully, using the measured steps required by the music. You left your right hand in his, just the barest touch of your fingertips against his, the illusion of contact as you moved to the left, feet lifting high. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and suddenly you enjoyed the feeling in a sick, scary way. You walked forward until you were in line with Mr Murphy, still an arm’s length away before he stepped forward and your arms moved to a waltz position. He settled into the space, gripping your hands firmly in his. He was pressed as close as he could be, closer than your actual partner would be for the dance, and you set your eyes on his face. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, you were in your element. 

You went through all the steps of the dance like you had been born knowing it. Your bodies were like water as they moved, smooth, graceful. You hadn’t felt this intune to the music in a long time, hadn’t felt this much like a dancer in a long time. You could almost see the crowd in front of you, the blinding lights, the smooth fabric of the dress. 

At the final step, Mr Murphy gripped your hand and spun you into him, changing the ending of the dance. You gasped as you leaned back into his chest. His head was bent down, pressing his face into your hair. You were panting, torso moving up and down quickly but trapped in the confines of his arms crossed over you. You leaned your head back a little, pressing the curve of your skull into the curve of his neck as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The music was fading out, and the only sounds in the room were your mingling breaths, heaving into the air of the room. 

His left palm pressed against your stomach, firm and insistent, but you couldn’t be bothered to look down. It seared into your already boiling skin and you closed your eyes. You tuned into the sensation of his hand slowly sliding down, bit by bit, inching down over your stomach then pressing against your pelvis. You gasped as you felt his fingertips brush over the leotard just at the top of your pussy. Your hand moved behind you, gripping his sides, clenching into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against the side of your head, and you didn’t stop him. His hand moved farther down, pressing against the softness atop your core. Gently, his index finger moved to the centre line and began pressing in. You lifted up on your toes a little when you felt the pressure through the fabric, the indent of his finger pressing against your clit. You were hot and wet, he could feel the heat emanating from your core against his hand.

He kept his finger pressed there until you became restless, impatient, pressing your hands a little harder against his ribs. Slowly, keeping the pressure, he moved his finger down until he was pressing against your hole. The warm tendrils of pleasure slowly undulated up your insides. He repeated the motion, up then down and pressing a little harder against your hole. 

You breathed out heavily, shakily, and bent your knees to press a little harder into the feeling. 

Up, down, press. Up, down, press. He circled your clit through the fabric, pressing against the pulsing little bud. Up, down, press, drag up, drag down, press. You were panting into the air, face contorted, mouth up and head tilted up, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes were screwed shut, hips moving to chase the motions. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against your ear, held you tighter against his body. 

You were both standing in the middle of the large studio, bathed in the early evening light. Your hands clenched a little harder against his sides. The warm tendrils were lasting longer, becoming more frenzied, curling up into your stomach and making your hole flutter. His right hand moved up and cupped your breast, gripping firmly and burning the heat of his hand into the flesh. 

You were engulfed by him, wrapped up in both his arms as he pressed his fingers harder and quicker against the seam of your core, moving up and down, pressing and releasing. He ran the edge of his thumbnail against the fabric over your nipple and your pelvis shook. You writhed in his arms at the spark it shot to your core, at the electric pulse it created and ultimately pushed you over the precipice. A moan, a high-pitched whine shot from your mouth, echoing in the room. You pressed yourself so hard against him he almost lost his balance, moving one foot back to keep the two of you upright. Your hands hurt from how stiff they became clenched into the fabric of his shirt. 

Slowly, he released the pressure against your core. He grazed his finger up until he could press his hand to your stomach again. He left it there and the two of you heaved breaths in sync. You began to flutter your eyes open, still lost in the blood rushing through your head. His right hand came up and gripped your chin, pushing it so you faced to the left where his head had dropped down. He leaned back a little, you tilted forward a smidge, your eyes met. Your lips were still parted, his mirrored. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, his nose sliding into the crease between your cheek and nose. He tasted warm and minty. His lips were plush and cushiony soft. He pulled away and you looked into his eyes again. 

Neither of you said a word.

Taglist: @4ria790

I will remove anyone from my life to protect the peace that I've worked so hard for. Nobody took me out of the dark. I did it on my own.

Unknown

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: it's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more

Guys I lied it will have three parts actually

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

Y/N sighed deeply, holding Tommy's hand as he carefully stepped over the threshold to Polly's house.

”He better not find out that we're here,” She warned, glancing around the house to make sure they were alone.

”He won't” The older woman replied, as her eyes remained on the toddlers who reminded her so much of her nephew around that age. Keeping her mouth shut on the matter, Polly opened the curtains in the living room, offering Y/N some tea.

”No, thank you, but do you have maybe some…”

“Juice!” Nick cheered, causing Tommy to immediately do the same, despite not knowing what for. Seeing it, Polly couldn't help but chuckle, scooping up the boy into his arms.

“What juice would you like, little man?” She offered, smiling brightly. Nick mumbled something to himself, looking back at his mum instead.

“I believe Nick would appreciate apple juice” Y/N answered, already knowing what he meant.

“Apple juice it is then” Polly replied, nodding to the maid with a light smile. It took no longer than a couple minutes before she returned, holding the glass. “So…” The older woman started out, her eyes finally meeting Y/N’s “He doesn't know, does he?”

“About what?” Y/N responded, her voice immediately changing into one of defensive undertones subconsciously which didn't go unnoticed by Polly.

“About them”

“Who says they're his?” She asks, keeping her cool, despite heart thumping in her chest faster than usual. Hearing it, Polly just chuckled, rolling her eyes as she turned Nick on her lap, making him face his mum.

“Their faces give it away, darling. I'm not stupid.” Her voice became sharper, as she didn't like being lied to, and Y/N was fully aware of it.

The younger woman sighed deeply, sitting Tommy on the couch as she began pacing back and forth.

“He can't find out” She insisted, clearly stressed out by the circumstances. “I've spent almost three years doing everything so he wouldn't find out, Polly. You can't tell on me.” Her gaze was fierce but clearly scared, which made Polly's heart squeeze in her chest. She wondered how Thomas must have been treating her to cause such a strong reaction.

“He turned all of England upside down looking for you.” She confessed, shaking her head lightly. “It's been a bloody nightmare. As soon as we got him off the opium, everything… changed.”

“I don't care” Y/N hissed back, pointing towards the woman she was once so close with. “These are my kids, and I won't let him get near them. He lost the privilege the moment he chose her over us… over me.” Her hands were shaking and only then did she look to the side, hearing Tommy scooting closer to her on the couch which made her let out a deep breath as she sat back down. Taking him in her lap and rubbing his back. “I just can't.” She added in a calmer tone.

Polly nodded along, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke then slowly letting it out.

“Y/N, all I can promise is that I won't say anything, but… you know how he is. You haven't seen him after the… change. He's stubborn, and even if it takes walking to hell and back, he will eventually find out.” She warned in a gentle tone, wanting to give Y/N some reassurance but also keeping it real.

“Tommy stubborn? Doesn’t sound like much of a change to me” Y/N snorted, helping Tommy take a sip out of the glass. Polly watched closely at how she interacted with her son.

“He's the quieter one, isn't he?” Y/N immediately understood, smiling down at Tommy and nodding.

“He has a more sensitive spirit. He’s never too far from my side” She pointed out.

“A mummy's boy.” The older woman giggled, her eyes shining at the lively memories in her head. “He was exactly the same at that age. Arthur couldn't force him to go play, all he wanted to do was sit in his mum's lap, no matter whether she was cooking or knitting.” Her voice was lighthearted, causing Y/N to subconsciously smile looking at her baby.

“Let’s agree on something” Polly suggested, setting Nick on his feet, and the boy immediately started exploring the house, assisted by one of the maids. “I won't say a word about this to anyone, but you will let me see them once a week, and accept financial help from me. After all, I know how it is to be a single mother. “ She offered, but the tone of her voice showed that… she already decided.

“I can't take money from you” Y/N insisted but Polly stopped her with her hand.

“It's that, or I will have to tell him. You can't survive off on scraps raising little Shelby's.”

…and with that, she shut Y/N’s mouth. Sighing deeply, she agreed. “...and one last thing. Does.. anyone know that they're his?” Her tone turned serious as she looked into Y/N's eyes to make sure she wasn't lying.

“No, nobody knows.” She replied, shaking her head.

Polly exhaled with relief.

“Good”

***

A couple weeks went by and Y/N really felt her living situation improving. She could stay home with the children, getting to stop working every night which made her heart much lighter. Mrs. Wilson kept coming over every now and then after being told she would no longer have to babysit boys at night. The routine quickly set into their life, and the day of seeing Polly became Y/N's favourite.

Back in Birmingham Thomas was sitting in his office, leaning back in the armchair as his brows furrowed in confusion. Recently the figures in the accounting documents and the cheques and cash balance didn't quite match which got him paying attention throughout the weeks. Seeing the pattern and being sure. Going through the company documentation, the first file that fell out of the shelf was surprisingly Polly's.

After grabbing it, Thomas displayed every page on the desk and put on his glasses. Going over dates, another pattern caught his eye. Before, she was working five to six times a week, depending on the amount of work and circumstances but recently her schedule was limited to four days a week, every Thursday off.

His eyes narrowed as the nagging feeling on the back of his head told him something wasn't right. Glancing on the calendar, he decided what to do before getting up, and picking up the phone.

Later that day, Y/N found herself sitting on Polly's couch while boys played on the carpet with their wooden toys as the women spoke about their whereabouts.

In the meantime a black car parked by the building, turning off the engine before it made too much noise or got too much attention. Pulling the cap lower on his forehead, he glanced towards the right window, noticing the smoke coming out of it. Polly was home.

Climbing the stairs, he reached into the pocket, pulling out a spare key to her house. As Tommy was fitting the key in the lock, he heard the sound of a squealing child inside.

Did Ada visit with Karl? Thomas wondered, furrowing his eyebrows in suspicion. Why would Polly hide that from him?

Thomas opened the door and stepped into the entryway. He could hear Polly and the voice of another woman - a familiar voice, but cloudy enough to not be able to recognize. Thomas followed the sounds leading to the sitting room. As soon as he stood in the doorway, his eyes widened in disbelief, fixated on the woman he saw for the first time in three years.

There sitting on the couch facing the doorway was Y/N. She met his eyes and Thomas could see the blood drain from her face, causing her to go completely pale as the words died on her tongue.

Polly must have noticed the shift as she turned to where Y/N was staring and an audible gasp left her lips.

“Thomas” Polly said as she straightened in her seat. “I knew this would happen eventually. I noticed you were double counting. You’ve always been too inquisitive to keep secrets from.”

Tommy stared at Polly, unable to comprehend the situation as his heart pounded in his chest for the first time in years.

Polly stood and slowly approached him, stretching out her hand.

“I think it would be best if you and I had a word first.” She said, looking at him and silently pleading to listen this time. His expression was completely blank, but internally he was going through every possible emotion from happiness through grief all the way to anger.

“Not now.” He responded in a husky voice, and when she tried to interject again, he raised his hand slightly, completely silencing her. “I said not now,”

Hearing it Polly looked back at Y/N, giving her a sign to stay calm, before walking to the bedroom to check on the boys.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as her whole body tensed, raising to her feet.

“Where have you been?” He immediately demanded to know, taking a step forward. As in instinctively, Y/N responded with a step back causing his brows to furrow in confusion, seeing this reaction. “Y/N?” He added, but she cut him off.

“I don't owe you any explanations.” She put all her strength into keeping up the façade of being unfazed by his presence. Her facial expression hardened, and her voice kept completely steady.

“Three years. I spent three fucking years looking for you!” He said, slightly raising his voice as he pointed towards her, yet not daring to close the distance between them.

“What for? Are the maids and prostitutes not doing enough? Why would you need me for?” She hissed with anger, the old pain she used to carry around with her everywhere slowly seeping back.

Right when Thomas was about to open his mouth to respond, they heard small footsteps quickly entering the room. Small arms wrapped around Y/N’s legs, little face snuggling into her thigh, immediately catching Y/N's attention. Once her gaze dropped, Thomas’ followed and his eyes widened, mouth fell slightly open.

“It's okay, baby” She cooed quietly, lightly caressing the boy’s head. Before Thomas could react in any way, another kid ran in, standing mere inches from his lookalike.

“Come on, Tommy!” The little boy whined, causing the other one to shake his head. “We play!” He squealed, shoving the wooden car into his brother's face.

The tension in the room immediately grew, Thomas’ face turning completely white as he connected the dots.

“We need to talk,” He said in a breathless voice.

“It's enough” Polly suddenly interjected, quickly coming up. “Don't you see he's scared?” She scolded the man standing by her side as she picked up the boy. Walking towards the kitchen, she grabbed Nick’s chubby little hand, leaving the adults in the living room.

Thomas couldn't stop himself from looking back, unexpectedly looking into the same eyes he sees every day in the mirror.

Not a minute passed by before the older woman returned.

“It’s time for you to leave. I'll see you in the office in fifteen minutes.” She decided, standing between him and Y/N as she pointed towards the entrance.

Tommy felt his mind going into overdrive with the amount of new, unexpected information that caused his temperature to significantly increase. Feeling the need to get a breath of fresh air, he steals the last glance of Y/N before walking out of the house. The documents he held in his hand, long forgotten, left on the shelf in his aunt's house.

***

“How dare you.” He said calmly at first, slowly raising from his armchair as the door fell shut behind his aunt. The calm tone was a signal of the coming storm. “How fucking dare you hide her from me when you saw what I was going through!” His voice boomed through the office, echoing off the walls.

Polly wasn't easily intimidated, taking a step forward as her jaw tensed.

“After all she's done for you, you discarded her like bloody garbage!” She screamed, pointing at him, as she tossed her purse on the chair. “Every single ounce of pity I held for you left my body the second I saw her empty eyes.” She added, taking another step forward. “I told you that you'd regret it, and that I wouldn't forgive you. I won't be yelled at for the foolish choices you made.”

Standing eye to eye with him, she saw the unwinded storm of emotions he felt. His right eye twitched just like his jaw, before he turned around running a hand through his hair. Huffing with rage he turned to face her again.

“Have you considered what kind of danger you could have put her in?” He hissed with barely contained anger. “or were you too dedicated to go against me to think about the consequences?” He turned around, grabbing the white envelope from his desk and tossing it into her hands.”The Changretta’s just declared vendetta on the Shelby family, and you took her into your bloody house!” He paced back and forth through the office, nervously grasping his jaw as the thought settled. “...and the kids. My bloody kids that you intentionally kept away from me.”

Polly's heart stopped for a second and her eyes widened as the realisation dawned on her.

“We need to protect them” She whispered, looking at him.

Wordlessly Thomas turned around, grabbing a phone and dialling the right number.

***

Over the next couple days, Y/N felt completely scattered. Fear soaked into her body, sticking tight like a second skin and restricting her movement. She felt stuck. How could he possibly find a way to walk back into her life?

Y/N was scared, not just for herself but for the perfect little humans she raised on her own. She kept them away from the violence and destruction that Thomas was the embodiment of.

They were good. They were kind.

Spending time with her babies and taking care of the house, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of… being watched. Once an empty street seemed to never be fully silent, always at least two men standing around. She kept her cool, watching out for signs of being followed and on the third day she noticed a familiar car, one too expensive to be driven by normal people. Y/N knew exactly who those shiny black Bentleys must belong to - the Peaky Blinders. Her blood boiled as she realised her instincts were right - she and her sons were being watched.

How dare he interfere in her affairs after everything she went through because of him. The audacity was so great that only a man with the surname Shelby could be involved. His words swirled around her mind, mixing with the memories she held in her broken heart creating an absolute chaos.

Y/N didn't know what made her hate him more, the mistreatment in the past or the sudden forceful entering her life with the lively gaze, one that used to make her feel so beautiful many years ago.

Holding tightly onto her boys at night, she allowed herself to sink into the pain just one last time; drowning in the sorrow of being replaced by the man she saw the world in. She lived in the shadow of a ghost, walking through the corridors of a house that once was a sign of their undying love, only to be turned into a graveyard for all her dreams and future that would never come. Day by day she felt as if she was never enough. Her dying soul only recovered after giving birth to two perfect little boys that looked at her with those blue eyes and undying love she so desperately needed.

Opening her eyes, Y/N let the tears flow freely as she delicately caressed her son's cheek. Smiling lightly she noticed how soundly they both slept, and one thought came to her mind.

Since she managed to raise and take care of such wonderful boys, it must have meant that she wasn't worthless, after all.

Neither life or Thomas Shelby managed to break her.

***

The next day, Y/N made sure that Mrs. Wilson would babysit the boys while she went to Birmingham. Allowing herself only one night of weakness, she woke up with newly found fierceness and a will to fight for her peace and children.

As soon as she got out of the train, the familiar smell of smoke and mud came to her nostrils, making her a little dizzy. Huffing she walked through the street, feeling frustration growing as the distance between her and his office decreased.

The last thing Tommy expected to hear at eight in the morning on Monday was screaming coming from outside of his office. Cocking an eyebrow he got up, going to see what was causing the commotion. Standing in the doorway he saw Lizzie explaining to Y/N that she couldn't go into his office to no success, as the fire in Y/N’s eyes told him loud and clear that her patience wore thin. Moving quickly before the situation would escalate, he intervened.

“Enough!” He said, causing both of them to look at him. Glancing at Lizzie, he told her to sit down and take care of the documents while inviting Y/N to his office.

Y/N rolled her eyes, walking past him as adrenaline thumped in her veins.

As soon as Thomas closed the doors of his office, she started her attack.

“Why in God’s name are there men on the street and in your fancy cars following me and my sons around day and night? Why are you spying on me?” she shouted at him, anger growing even further as he calmly walked past her. Without another thought Y/N shoved him to the side. “Don't ignore me, you bastard!”

Only then did he stop and turn around with a sigh.

“Our sons” He corrected her, “I'm just trying to keep you all safe” Tommy added, finally looking at her.

Y/N felt like she was about to explode, but then an idea came to her mind. Her lips stretched into a subtle grin.

“Who said they were yours?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow with a mocking smile. Thomas looked at her for a couple moments with a serious expression before snorting loudly as he took a step forward.

“Do you think I'm a fool, Y/N?” He asked, mirroring her grin. “Everyone who has eyes can clearly fucking tell who the father is.” His voice was confident, not a hint of doubt, taking another step forward. Y/N narrowed her eyes seeing the proximity. “I'm the father.” Thomas couldn't help but add. He didn't want to make her even angrier, but the temptation to be even remotely closer was too strong, and if pissing her off was distracting her enough to allow it, so be it.

“‘Father’ is the last thing you should ever call yourself. You don't deserve to be around them, because they're everything you're not. They're good, kind and… have tender hearts.” She hissed, each word cutting deep into his skin and Y/N clearly saw it, because the pain was reflected in his eyes like in a mirror. Seeing it felt… good. Too good even, like finally gaining back control. Taking a step forward, the distance between them was barely there, as she bravely looked into his eyes. “He's nothing like you, and never will be.” She finished, the lump in her throat suddenly forming as his jaw twitched, any possible response dying on his tongue as she mentioned one of the boys, one with eyes exactly his own.

Tilting her chin up, she let out a shaky breath, turning around to leave when he spoke up in a low, quiet voice.

“If you hated me so much, why did you name him after me?” he asked but in a voice that did not expect an answer. Holding onto the small scrap of hope in his heart.

Without another word, she left the office slamming the door behind her.

***

“Y/N! Thank God you're back!” Mrs Wilson called out in a shaky voice, looking around the corridor to make sure she was alone before shutting the door. “You can't go to your flat! It's not safe, we need to call the police!” She whispered, fear in her voice so prominent she could barely speak.

“What? What happened? Where are the boys?!” She immediately demanded to know, walking into the living room.

“They're–They’re okay, thank God we were here! These men… they barged into your home, destroyed everything! We hid in the closet and now they're sleeping, but… Oh God, I was so scared that you'd come back and they’d done something to you!” She squeezed her hand tightly.

“A–Are they gone?” Y/N whispered glancing towards her apartment but the older woman just shrugged, tugging on her hand.

“Don't go there! We can't be sure!” She pleaded, but Y/N knew she had to look around before anyone else would. At least grab the necessities.

“Please, wait here. I'll be back in a second.” She quietly made her way to her flat, not expecting to see the degree to which her home was destroyed. She quietly made her way to her flat, not expecting to see the degree to which her home was destroyed. Tears appeared in her eyes at the sight of all the demolished furniture she worked so hard to buy, all the items absolutely ruined. But tears spilled on her cheeks only when she found an envelope.

One with her name on it, and as she opened it, her heart stopped for a moment at the sight of the black hand.

“Oh God” she whispered. Loud footsteps echoed behind her, making her freeze in fear before familiar arms wrapped around her arms.

“We were so scared. Where are the boys?” Polly asked in a weak voice, her face covered in tears.

“They're… they're safe. My neighbour took care of them.” She replied, closing her eyes until she felt the familiar heavy scent. Looking behind her she noticed Thomas pacing back and forth, kneeling down as he found a photo in a broken frame, plucking it out as he breathed deeply. A couple moments later he found the black hand, and the frustration on his face was clear as a day.

“Fuck!” He yelled, leaning forward as his legs almost gave out under the weight of issues he was facing now.

Y/N couldn't help but feel relief seeing him, which made her even more angry. She hated every positive emotion that she held towards him.

“It's your fault!” She said, quickly walking up as she punched him in the chest. “Your fucking fault! How dare you walk back into my life and bring danger to my children!” She cried, terrified tears streaming down her face as she tried to unload it on him. “I hate you! You bring nothing but pain and bloody destruction! I wish I never met you!” Thomas closed his eyes, not defending himself even once. She was kicking and screaming like a wounded animal. Only when she felt like her body was giving out, he grabbed her, pulling her closer and making sure she wouldn't fall.

“Let me go!” She yelled in complete frenzy, and the only thing he could think of was pulling her into a hug. One so tight she couldn't get away. “I hate you so much” she eventually mumbled out as the last bits of strength wore out, and she simply fainted in his arms.

Seeing them, Polly just shook her head and wiped her tears away as she looked around the apartment.

“Pack their things. The ones that survived. I'll go get the boys” She commanded one of the Blinders, before speaking up again. “Don't forget the wooden horse.”

~~

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