#cillian x reader

[victorian-writez]

Drunk??? Me???

Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader [Peaky Blinders M.S]

The Shelby house was quiet.

Too quiet, considering you were supposed to be home two hours ago from your girls' night out.

Tommy sat in his leather chair, whiskey untouched in his glass, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He wasn’t worried—not really. You weren’t reckless, and the bar you went to was owned by Arthur. Still, the unease in his gut didn’t ease until the front door clicked open.

“Darling, I’m home!”

Your voice rang through the hall, far louder than necessary. Tommy stood, his jaw ticking as he moved toward you.

You were leaning against the wall, trying to toe off one heel, the other already abandoned halfway across the floor. Mascara slightly smudged, lipstick kissed off, hair a little mussed. And grinning like a fool.

“There she is,” Tommy murmured, catching you just as you wobbled forward. “The ghost of gin and bad decisions.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck with more force than finesse. “Tommy, love of my life, you’ve got two heads. When’d that happen?”

“You’re fuckin' pissed.”

“Who, me?” You hiccuped. “Absolutely. Gloriously. Marvellously.”

Tommy sighed, sliding his hands to your waist to steady you. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Wait!” You slapped your palm to his chest dramatically. “Did you miss me?”

He raised a brow. “You were gone for four hours.”

“That’s practically forever in marriage time, Mr. Shelby.”

“You reek of whiskey and trouble.”

“And you,” you whispered, poking his nose, “reek of brooding and disappointment.”

That earned a low chuckle. “Come on.”

He scooped you up—heels, purse, and all—despite your surprised squeal.

“Tommy! I’m a grown woman!”

“A grown woman who can’t walk straight,” he replied, carrying you up the stairs like it was nothing.

You nestled your head into the crook of his neck. “You’re strong. Like, stupidly strong. It’s hot.”

Tommy let out a small huff, trying not to smile. You always got talkative when drunk—sweet, unfiltered, messy. He both loved and hated it. Loved it because he got to see the softest corners of you. Hated it because something in him always felt like he didn’t deserve it.

Once in your shared bedroom, he sat you gently on the bed and knelt to unbuckle your shoes.

You swayed forward, fingers burying in his hair. “Tommy?”

“Hm?”

“You know I love you, right? Like… stupid, stupidly in love with you. I’d punch anyone in the throat who looked at you funny.”

“I know.” He looked up, eyes softer now. “You tell me every time you drink.”

“Well, then you should really believe it,” you said seriously.

He tugged your dress off gently, replacing it with one of his shirts, letting it fall to your thighs. You flopped onto the pillows with a sigh of contentment.

Tommy turned off the lights, slid in beside you, and pulled you to his chest.

“Thanks for not being mad,” you mumbled into him.

“I’m not mad,” he whispered into your hair. “Just glad you’re home.”

A pause.

“I brought you a sausage roll,” you murmured. “It’s in my purse. It’s probably squished.”

He laughed—actually laughed—and kissed your forehead.

“My girl,” he said quietly. “Drunk, messy, but always thinking of me.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your lips, his arms around you, and the softest man in Birmingham tucking the blankets around your body like you were made of glass.

[dmqvser]

[darlingofsins]

Synopsis: To the world, Grace Burgess is the first and only love of the Peaky Blinders’ leader. But before her, there was someone else: Eleanor Montague. The only woman who could break that man and, more importantly, the only one who chose to walk away.  Six years later, Thomas Shelby’s past is alive; it wears her face and is not willing to be buried again. It has returned, and it’s here to claim the price of everything we didn’t choose.

Thomas Shelby x OC! Eleanor Montague

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word count: 4.5k

a/n: oi oi!!! this is my first time posting something I wrote. I really hope you guys enjoy it. English is not my native language, so if there are any mistakes please tell me (in a kind way, i'm sensitive lol), don't let me be a dumb bitch in this site

I -  The beginning of It all

Before

​It was one of those rare days in Birmingham when one could feel the sunlight enveloping them and warming their skin. The city’s mood shifted. The streets grew lively, neighbors exchanged greetings, and the cool breeze brought the scent of flowers and fruit. It was as if, for a moment, everything in the world had aligned and God was smiling upon Birmingham. Eleanor’s mother used to say that those days were omens of good things and extraordinary circumstances.. 

Eleanor was still seated on the floor, facing the great mirror, pulling the pins from her hair and undoing the perfect bun. Her brown locks cascaded to hug her shoulders, veiling the small ears adorned with gold and zirconia earrings.

​— Goodbye! We’ll see each other at the next rehearsal, — her two studio mates called out before opening the door and vanishing into the crowd.

​She waved her left hand at the reflection in the glass. Standing, she slipped the yellow dress over her pastel pink leotard. She shed her pointe shoes and stepped into a pair of white ones, gathering her things into her bag before taking her leave.

​Her schedule for the day was simple and brief: ballet first, and then to a shop to look at a dress. Her father had an important dinner, and the presence of both her and her brother was non-negotiable.

​It was not a long walk, and as if in a secret pact with the sun, the dense, yellowish-dark fog had granted a truce, easing the heavy scent of burning coal. For a moment, it was as though Birmingham were a scenic getaway rather than a hub of industrial pollution.

​Elizabeth’s shop was a favorite among the local women. Her exclusive designs seemed tailormade, flattering anyone who wore them. From the outside, it resembled any ordinary building, but inside, the maximalist decor offered an entirely different atmosphere.

​Elizabeth was reclining on the divan when the girl walked in, as if she had been waiting just for her.

​— My dear, — she said, quickly rising to wrap her in a warm embrace. — How wonderful to see you! Janice, bring us a drink.

​— Oh, no, — Eleanor shook her head. — There is no need. I must stay in shape for the performance.

​— Don’t be silly, a single glass won’t do any harm!

​— I am serious, Elizabeth. I cannot, — she insisted firmly, handing her bag to Janice, the shop assistant, who had just appeared with a bottle of champagne in hand. — After the performance, I shall drink so many glasses that you won’t want to see me here anytime soon.

​Elizabeth laughed.

​— So, what are you looking for today? — the woman asked, guiding her toward the clothing racks.

​— Something that won’t vex my father, — Eleanor replied, rolling her eyes. — He is hosting a dinner and, as he so elegantly put it, my presence and Elliot's are mandatory.

​Elizabeth studied her for a few seconds, then arched her brows, as though struck by a brilliant idea:

​— Forget these racks, — she said, pulling her toward the back. — Janice, bring that blue one I finished earlier.

​The dress looked as though it had been made for Eleanor. It complemented her skin and heightened her beauty. It was made of silk, and the sensation was that of having one's body caressed.

​— You are looking more like your mother every day, — the words came laden with nostalgia and melancholy. The two had been close friends, and the shop owner had followed all of Eleanor’s mother’s struggle against rheumatic heart disease when she was still just a child

​Elizabeth touched the girl’s face, her eyes shining like a religious devotee touching the image of a saint.

​She pressed her lips together, forming a shy smile.

​— Thank you for the compliment.

— She would be very proud of you. You know that.

— I know.

The atmosphere grew awkward for a few moments. Speaking about her was still painful. Not for Eleanor, but for Elizabeth, who had shared half her life with her.

​Eleanor offered a mental thanks when another customer entered the shop, drawing Elizabeth’s attention to her. The good mood of that day had been saved. At least, that was what she thought.

The girl standing at the door wore a beige dress and a lilac cardigan. She was pale, with straight brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, falling just below her ears. There was a simplicity to her appearance, and her face betrayed a slight shyness. She observed the backdrop of silks, lace, and mannequins with the curiosity and fascination of a child.

​Elizabeth, however, seemed to see something entirely different from Eleanor. Her elegant, welcoming posture gave way to a hardened expression, as though something had just ruined her day. She let the pins drop to the floor, without a single trace of the gentleness with which she had held them only seconds before.

​— It must be because I left the house without praying today, — she muttered. — The less I pray, the more ghosts come to haunt me.

​Eleanor stared at her, bewildered. The girl remained standing near the door, watching as Janice approached the two of them with uncertainty in her eyes, as if it were her very first day on the job.

— Ma'am, will you assist her?

— I am busy. Assist her yourself, Janice. But make sure she doesn't take anything.

​Elizabeth’s voice was laced with a venom she made no effort to conceal. The wanton cruelty shocked the girl who had known her since she was a baby. It was the first time she had ever seen Elizabeth speak that way instead of welcoming a customer.

​As Janice approached the newcomer, Elizabeth spoke softly, ensuring only Eleanor could hear:

— They think they can walk among us as if they were people.

— What? — she asked, confused by the sudden change in behavior.

​Elizabeth glanced with disdain at the girl and turned her attention back to Eleanor, continuing in a whisper as if mentioning a contagious disease.

— The Peaky Blinders... — the girl’s expression shifted to a mixture of surprise and curiosity, staring at the other customer over Elizabeth’s shoulders. — Filthy gypsies who believe the world owes them something just because they learned to wield blades. That family is a stain on this neighborhood.

​Eleanor had already heard stories about the Peaky Blinders. It was impossible to live in Birmingham and not have heard them. But until then, she had never crossed paths with one. And the girl before her defied all the violent mythology one imagined when thinking of them. She was, quite simply, normal. As ordinary as any other girl from the ballet studio or etiquette classes.

​Her smile appeared when Janice greeted her. The shop was not that small, but since there were only the four of them, it was possible to hear what she said:

​— I would like something pretty for a date.

Janice cast a cautious glance toward Elizabeth, wetting her lips in a nervous gesture before continuing:

— We have some good options on this rack.

​She guided the girl closer to where Eleanor stood. The treatment was cold, distant. There was no effort to please her—service entirely unlike what the other was receiving. The girl caught a glimpse of Eleanor, and their eyes met. She gave a faint, guarded smile, and as if through some telepathy, the other could sense her discomfort. Slender hands brushed over the hangers with hesitation, scanning the options, until she pulled a light green dress from among the other clothes and looked at Janice, waiting for an opinion that never came.

— It is very beautiful, — Eleanor said, not because she wished to help the shop, but because Janice’s silence was growing far too cruel.

​The girl smiled. Even though she already knew the answer, the other inquired:

— Is it for a party?

— A date, — she held the hanger with care, observing her. Her eyes drifted down Eleanor’s neckline, taking in every detail of the navy blue dress she wore. As the girl's gaze sparked with genuine admiration, Eleanor looked down at the garment she was wearing. It truly was beautiful, and she had thought so too.

​— You know what? You should try this one on, — she said on an impulse, her hands moving to her neck to unbutton the clasp at the nape.

— What? — Elizabeth questioned, looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

— Just a moment.

​Eleanor stepped down from the dais, ignoring Elizabeth’s rigid posture, and went behind the silk screen. She changed with the agility expected of a ballerina and, upon returning to the showroom, handed the garment to the girl.

​When the girl emerged, already wearing the blue dress, Eleanor could not disguise her awestruck expression. If before she thought the piece had been made for her, she had now changed her mind.

— It looks perfect! — she said with a smile, approaching slowly, almost as if asking for permission. Elizabeth and Janice exchanged glances. — Excuse me, — she reached toward the nape of the girl's neck, carefully fastening the buttons. — You are going to take it, aren't you?

​— How much is it? — she asked, barely in a whisper.

​— Three hundred pounds, — Elizabeth replied dryly. The girl’s bright, happy face withered instantly.

​— I don’t have that much, — she said, her voice a mere thread. — I will just take the green one instead.

​Eleanor swallowed hard, feeling a pang of pity for the girl. Janice glanced at Elizabeth, who, with a cold wave of her hand, authorized the sale of the green dress. It was better for her to pay and leave quickly than to take the blue one for nothing, as she had heard the Peaky Blinders were prone to do.

​Janice escorted the girl to the door just as Elizabeth handed the bag with the blue dress to Eleanor. She gave her a quick hug, visibly unsettled by her friend's daughter's attitude, and returned to the divan before the girl’s silhouette could even fade from the display windows.

​Still digesting what had just transpired and the side of Elizabeth she had never known, Eleanor saw her again. She was a few meters away, standing before a shoe display with the very same fascination she had shown upon entering the dress shop.

​— They are beautiful, — she said, approaching carefully so as not to startle her.

​She turned toward the girl and merely nodded, reserved. Her guard was up, as if she expected a word of contempt to be directed at her at any moment.

​Eleanor gripped the handle of the shop bag tightly as a decision took shape in her mind.

​— Here, — she said, extending the bag toward the girl. She stared at it in doubt. — I think you should wear it.

— But you just bought it. It’s yours.

— Yes, but you have a date. It’s just a dress, — she shrugged, taking a step forward to bring her closer to the bag. — I don’t mind. You can wear it and return it to me later.

​The girl stepped back in a mixture of surprise and doubt. She scanned the other’s face, searching for any sign of mockery, but her expression remained unchanged.

​— Are you serious? You don't even know where I live.

​— Then I guess you'll have to find me to give it back, — she replied with a sincere smile, disarming the girl’s guard.

​Her eyes brightened. She took the bag carefully, as if it were made of glass.

— I'm Ada, — she held out her hand for the other to shake, as if sealing a pact between them.

​— Eleanor, — she introduced herself, shaking her hand.

​The two hit it off immediately. Ada possessed a wonderful sense of humor and was a regular at the Blythe Street art fair, which sat just two blocks from the ballet studio—and it was there that the two met for nearly the entire week. Yet, just as the friendship with Ada escalated all too quickly, so did the rumors. And it did not take long for them to reach Eleanor’s father.

​— Have you lost your mind? — he demanded furiously. — Do you wish to ruin your family’s reputation?! Walking about with that Peaky Blinder as if...

​— As if what, Father? — the girl dropped her fork onto the table, lifting her gaze toward him and speaking firmly. — Ada is my friend now. And she is a lovely girl, kinder and more intelligent than even the girls at the Institute...

​— You still call her a friend! — he brought his hands to his head, covering his eyes while shaking his head in disapproval. — You truly have lost your senses, Eleanor! Look at what they say about that family and what they do... Do you not care about the reputation you will gain?

​— Ada is not to blame for being a Shelby. She didn't choose it, just as I didn't choose to be a Montague.

​— Can we not have lunch in peace for once? — Elliot questioned, intending to drop the subject.

— Why don't you complain about Elliot?

— Oh, no. Leave me out of this, Eleanor, — he replied, cutting her off.

— He has friends just as bad as the Peaky Blinders. What’s the difference? — she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for an answer. — Is it that they have money?

​Neither of them answered.

​— Why do I need to worry about my image or the family reputation while he doesn't? Is it because I am a woman?

— Oh, Lord. Here we go again, — Elliot said, taking a sip of his drink and returning his attention to his plate, as if to say that if that was what Eleanor was going to talk about, he would simply ignore it.

​This was a frequent debate. Since she was a child, Eleanor had understood: morality was selective in her house. Elliot held the privilege of chaos; she, the duty of caution. While he lived by his own will, she lived under her father’s vigilance. Any gesture, any word, any action came hand in hand with the feeling that paralyzed her: the fear that that single act could tarnish not only her, but the weight of the surname she carried. This had haunted her for long years, until she decided to take the reins of her own life.

​Both her father and Elliot had no idea what that was like. So, it was clear they did not take her seriously. To be the only woman meant not being heard.

​But women listened to women. Women understood women. So, Eleanor did what any other would do: she sought out a friend.

​When the girl asked Steve, the man who tended to the family’s horses, how to find the Peaky Blinders, he looked at her as if she were speaking another language. Eleanor knew he knew where they stayed, and she would insist until he spoke.

​— You’re going to get me into trouble, Eleanor, — he said seriously, avoiding eye contact. He knew that if he looked at her, he wouldn't be able to say no.

​— I’m not asking for much. I don’t want you to take me there, I just want the address.

​— And you would go there alone? It’s madness, — he stood up from the bench, walking through the stable. Eleanor followed him.

​— And what could happen to me? Would they harm a little girl? — Eleanor said with humor, making him chuckle. — I can look after myself. I want to see the girl, Ada.

​— Eleanor, please, I like working here and I need this job.

​— I won’t tell my father you told me. Come on, Steve! You can trust me.

​He sighed and stared at her with that look that said she had gotten what she wanted.

​Eleanor slipped her hand into her coat pocket, pulling out the scrap of paper Steve had given her. It didn’t say much beyond the street name and “fabric shop” underlined. It made her life a bit difficult because it could be anywhere there. But he had said she would know it when she found it.

​The street reeked of a mixture of urine and cigarettes, and there was garbage strewn almost everywhere. A little further ahead, from where a line of men had formed, she approached apprehensively.

​— Want to buy some fabric too, sweetheart? — one of the guys asked in a mocking tone, laughing afterward.

​And then she understood. She had found it.

​A man stepped out from inside the building and threw the door open. He shouted for the men to come in, and Eleanor swept inside along with the crowd.

​It was a strange, suffocating place, thick with the strong scent of liquor. The men spoke so loudly that the girl wondered if she would even be able to hear her own thoughts. She had never seen anything like it.

​— It’s not every day we welcome a pretty girl, — a man approached her with paper and pen in hand. — Which horse do you want to bet on, sweetheart? — he brought his right hand to his face, covering his mouth so no one else could hear. — Silver Wind will be the winner, but don’t go around saying I told you.

​— I didn’t come to bet, — she replied, scanning the room as her eyes searched for any sign of the girl, before turning her attention back to the man in front of her. — I want to speak with Ada Shelby.

​He looked her up and down, arching a single brow.

​— What do you want with my sister?

​— We are friends, — she answered, and as much as she was telling the truth, her voice came out as though she were merely trying to sound convincing. — I am Eleanor Montague.

​And for the first time, she wished her surname were enough. As it always used to be.

​— John! — he shouted. The blonde man quickly approached the two of you. — Take her to Ada. She’s a Montague, — he concluded, as if delivering a strict instruction.

​The walk to the house was silent. Eleanor and John exchanged sidelong glances, but neither opened their mouth. She wished she knew what was crossing his mind because hers was a whirlwind of thoughts. And she didn’t want to admit it, but she was a little afraid. What had she gotten herself into?

​Before she could ask where they were, John stopped in front of a brick house and opened the door.

​— Ada, you’ve got a friend here! — he shouted from outside. He nodded toward the interior of the property, signaling for Eleanor to enter.

​Ada emerged from within the house, filling the doorway with a calm that contrasted sharply with Montague’s internal turmoil. She smiled upon seeing her friend, a mixture of joy and surprise.

​— Eleanor! — she greeted, pulling her inside. — How did you find me?

​— You have a rather famous surname, it wasn’t very difficult, — she looked outside, her eyes meeting the boy's. — Thank you, John.

​— Bye, John! — Ada smiled at her brother, closing the door behind her.

Eleanor had not been invited there, but that did not seem to bother Ada. Quite the contrary, she appeared genuinely happy with her presence. As she walked down the hallway of the house, the ballerina immersed herself deeper and deeper into the world of the Shelby family.

​It was a simple house with a strong ancestral touch, present mostly in the photographs on the walls that seemed to watch over anyone who entered. Eleanor tried not to stare too much, afraid that Ada might misinterpret it, but a white line traced with precision on the windowsill caught her attention.

​— It’s salt, — Ada said, as if reading her friend’s mind, then shrugging as though it were of no importance—yet her gaze was apprehensive, fearful that she might not understand. — To ward off the evil eye. It’s a gypsy thing.

​Eleanor looked at her with understanding, free of any judgment, and Ada smiled in relief.

​— And does it work for everyone, or just for the Shelbys?

​— It works for everyone, actually. But you also need to filter who comes in. If we relied on salt alone, my family and I would need an entire ocean to keep us safe.

​She let out a short laugh, turning toward the end of the hallway, expecting Eleanor to be following her. In the next instant, the sound of something rigid sliding across the wood shattered the silence. Ada stumbled, letting out an exasperated gasp as she stepped on a toy car left right in the middle of the way.

​— Finn! — she shouted upon regaining her balance. — Heavens, there is no peace in this house. I've barely cleaned everything, and they're already making a mess again.

​— It must be hard being the only girl in the midst of four men, — Eleanor remarked, remembering one of the conversations they’d had where Ada had mentioned their household dynamic.

​— You have no idea! — she rolled her eyes and sat down on the red sofa in the living room. With her left hand, she patted the empty spot beside her, inviting her friend to join her. — They drive me mad.

​— It must be chaos, — she replied, feeling her fingers brush against the upholstery as she sat down. — Living with just my father and brother already tests my patience at times; I can’t even fathom sharing a roof with four men.

​— It’s a daily test of patience, — she shook her head in a slow sigh, then looked toward Eleanor. — By the way, since you’re here, let me go get the dress you lent me. I washed and ironed it; I was planning to bring it to you tomorrow.

​She made a move to stand, but the girl touched her arm, stopping her.

​— No, I didn’t come for the dress. Truth is, I came because I was feeling lonely and wanted to talk. I’m not interrupting you, am I?

​— Of course not, Eleanor. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend over. I’m so glad you came.

​— Tell me more about your date. I hope he showered you with compliments, because you looked stunning in that dress. — Ada turned as red as a beetroot, and Eleanor bit her lip to keep from laughing. — Is he your boyfriend? What is his name?

​— His name is Freddie. I’m not sure if the word "boyfriend" is quite right, but...

​The crimson blush did not linger for long on Ada’s cheeks. A sudden paleness washed over her face, her eyes widening in horror, forcing Eleanor to turn around and see the cause of her frightened expression.

​He stood there, poised on the threshold between the hallway and the living room, filling the entire space without having to utter a single word. His watchful eyes scanned the stranger, as if suggesting that Eleanor had no business being there, before shifting to Ada, as though the girl were of no consequence.

​He was smeared with grease, his suit covered in dust, and he reeked of a mixture of gunpowder and iron. The silence was broken by a steady dripping on the floor. Dark, fresh blood seeped slowly down his fingers, finding its place upon the wooden floorboards.

​— God, Thomas! — Ada nearly shrieked, rising with a start and closing the distance between them. — What happened to you?

​— Ada, pull yourself together. You have company.

​The last word rang ironic. It did not sound like a concern for what Eleanor might think, but rather with her very presence there. Thomas ignored Ada's approach, moving away toward the leather armchair in the far corner of the room. As he sat, he let out an exasperated sigh, as if the weight of the world had settled along with his body.

​Ada let out a worried sound and vanished down the hallway, leaving the two of them alone. Silence once again became the language of the room, interrupted only by the rhythmic sound of blood striking the wood: tick, tick, tick.

​That did not seem to bother Thomas. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, shifting his bleeding arm to the other side, tracing a trail across the floor. With his hand resting on the armchair, the blood now dripped freely down the upholstery and onto the rug.

​It did not bother him, but it bothered the girl sitting across from him. Her gaze remained fixed on the stain that was forming, before shifting back to him.

​— It’s dripping onto the rug, — she said calmly, merely stating the fact.

​He didn’t answer.

​— It will be difficult to clean later, — she continued, hoping he would take the hint.

​Thomas lifted his head and looked at her. He didn't understand why that was her immediate concern, and he was in no mood for small talk.

​— It’s not my problem right now, — he said at last, hoping his firm tone would deter any further attempt at conversation.

​Eleanor paused for a few seconds, digesting the sharp rebuff. But she did not back down, staring at him with a certain perplexity. What an idiot.

​— I understand. But your sister will have to deal with it when she returns. She doesn’t seem to have enough hands to care for both you and the house at the same time.

​Her reply seemed to take him by surprise. He narrowed his eyes, observing her intently for a beat too long, expecting her to grow uncomfortable, but she didn’t.

​— You are very certain of things for someone who has never set foot here before.

​— I have eyes, that is all, — she countered calmly. — Besides, the blood will continue to stain the rug, and someone will have to get down on their knees to clean it—and I doubt it will be you.

​Before he could answer, Ada returned, carrying a basin of water and clean cloths. The two of them stared at her, and she looked from Eleanor to Thomas, absorbing the silent tension in the air.

​— It seems you’ve already introduced yourselves, — she said, trying to break the ice. She placed the basin on the floor near her brother, and before she could wet the cloth, Thomas snatched it from her hand.

​— Go sit down, Ada. Entertain your company, — he commanded, his voice like the crack of a whip. — I know how to clean my own blood.

​— Come, Eleanor, — Ada called her, trying to prevent the atmosphere from growing even stranger. — Let’s go upstairs.

​The girl rose calmly from the sofa and walked toward Ada, but before disappearing down the hallway, she looked at Thomas one last time:

​— It’s still dripping.

​He remained motionless, in silence, looking first at the space she had left empty on the sofa and then at the trail he himself had left to the armchair.

​The blood continued to fall, drop by drop, marking the rug. And for the first time in a very long time, that was not something he could simply command to stop.

[drcranessweetestdoe]

heyyyyy

could you do a Tommy shelby fic?

in which he fucks Ada's bestfriend when she is 18!

hii, love this idea xx I have been writing this all day, time to celebrate with a jam sandwich:) xx

Finally mine

warning: agegap!, Thomas lusts after her while she is underage, grooming, virginity loss, virginity kink, innocence kink, unprotected sex, Tommy being a softie, possessiveness

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Innocent!Reader

summary: ever since he came back from the war, Tommy found himself wanting his sister’s lovely and sweet best friend, too bad he has to wait until she is 18

(Y/N) was the sweetest girl in the whole of Birmingham, always polite and kind. Thomas was smitten with her from day one. She and Ada met in school, she felt sorry that Ada was always alone, because everyone told their kids to stay away from the filthy Shelby’s. So, one day she gathered the courage and sat beside the sad girl, who was very excited to finally have a friend.

It was the age of war, so everyone was always on the edge of a meltdown. And money wasn’t exactly falling from the sky. While (Y/N)’s family weren’t considered aristocrats by any chance, she never had to worry about not getting fed, or not having a warm bed to sleep in. That was something that the Shelby’s couldn’t exactly relate to, there was little money and quite a few mouths to feed. Aunt Polly tried her best to feed the hungry children at the table, but she was failing more and succeeding less. Her sister-in-law’s three big boys were away at war, but they were always talked about.

One day, the thirteen year old (Y/N) plopped down beside her best friend Ada with a full lunch box in hand. She always had lunch packed with her, but Ada never did. For a long time, she just assumed that the malnourished girl was not hungry in school. While she was munching on her apple, she heard the growl of a hungry belly and Ada turned her head down in shame. While a girl is naive at 13, (Y/N) immediately knew that her friend was hungry, and that she probably didn’t get as much food at home as she did. When Ada looked back at her, she reacted with a wide smile to the outstretched hand towards her, holding a big red apple.

For the rest of the break, they just sat under their tree, silently chewing on their apples, with a smile on both faces.

That is how Ada knew that (Y/N) was going to be her lifelong best friend. She opened up to her when they were sharing a cigarette on the edge of the forest.

“We had more money before the war, if Tommy was here he would make sure that we have food.” Ada explained.

(Y/N) just blinked at her friend. “Who’s Tommy?”

———-

Three years later, the girls were now sixteen and the war was finally over. Because (Y/N) herself didn’t have any brothers, or sisters, she didn’t know how many families waited for this day to come.

It was a pretty summer day, and she made her way to the Shelby household, where she was always welcomed by Aunt Polly. Except, when she walked into the house, there was only one man sitting at the table. Her breath got stuck in her throat and she blushed heavily, he was very handsome. For a moment she believed that she walked into the wrong house, but the photographs on the walls proved otherwise. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall blankly, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear her come in.

Thomas just wanted a moment to himself in his childhood house before going back to the Garrison, he was not the same man anymore. Suddenly, he saw a figure in the corner of his eye. A second later, the two pairs of eyes met. His previously sad eyes lit up at the sight of her, but he tried to conceal it. She was so beautiful… Slender and weakish frame, something that made him eager to protect her. Her long and soft looking hair. And that face, oh god, that pretty face.

“H-Hi… I’m (Y/N).” She walked closer to him and stuck her hand out for him, she recognized him from the pictures, he was one of Ada’s brothers.

He heard about her, Aunt Pol always told him what was happening on Watery Lane in the letters she sent to Tommy. She had mentioned Ada’s lovely friend, multiple times. She told him that the girl was pretty, very kind, and that she went with her to church on Sundays when no one else wanted to, just so Polly didn’t have to go alone.

Tommy smiled at her, and she felt herself get lost in those bright blue gems of eyes. Instead of shaking her hand, he brought it to his lips and planted a little kiss on it. Her hand was soft and warm, it was a while since he felt the touch of a gentle female. He smiled when she blushed more at his kiss. “Thomas Shelby.”

—----

From that day on, Miss (Y/L/N) was under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. Thomas always had one of his men following her and Ada to school, and then back home. It killed him knowing that he couldn’t touch her, make her his, not yet anyway. That would have been immoral and awful, and he knew that aunt Pol would have broken his hand in two and cut off his cock. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent too many night fucking his fist to the thought of her. Everyone in the Shelby clan could see how soft he was towards her, always making sure that she stays out of the bad things, and whenever she came over and he was working, his eyes basically formed into hearts and followed her everywhere. The family loved her, she enjoyed baking and she always made sure that at least once a week she turned up to the office with home-baked treats. Those kinds of sweet treats calmed everyone down, business was blooming after all.

Ever since Tommy came back from the war, he only let himself be pleasured by whores, the one girl he wanted was the one he had to wait for. He always hired prostitutes that resembled her even the slightest bit. He imagined that he was burying himself inside her wet and warm walls, he overheard her and Ada and he was very well aware that she was untouched, a sweet little virgin. In Small Heath, the girls started sleeping around in their teens, but she, at 17, didn’t care about the boys her age. She wanted a certain gangster, who was nearing his thirties.

He didn’t even claim her yet, but wherever she walked, everyone knew she was Tommy Shelby’s girl. He sent her gifts, and always a handwritten note. Her heart never failed to warm up when she saw the little T.S on the bottom of the cards. Flowers, chocolates, exotic spices that she could put in her sweet treats, jewellery, dresses, everything a 17 year old girl loves. She was spoiled by him. When she wore one of the dresses that he got for her, she always sent him a shy smile and a little nod.

—-----

Tomorrow was going to be the day when she would finally become 18 years old, a young lady. She felt so antsy getting to bed, knowing that she would wake up as an adult. She also deeply hoped that Tommy would do something, after 2 years of gifts, protection and lustful gazes from distance. It was safe to say that her standards were very much heightened.

When she woke up, she noticed a big box on the chair of her vanity, tied up in one of those big ribbons. Her mother must have brought it up for her, as she always did when her daughter’s name was on the box, written by the familiar handwriting.

She was smiling widely when she opened the box up, it had a beautiful silky dress and a gold locket necklace. She marvelled at the divine fabric, but quickly blushed when she looked into the box again. There was a set of white lingerie and a note.

Tonight, I’ll send a car to pick you up at 7pm, be ready.

~T.S

She melted at that, and she felt her lower tummy warm up. This evening, she will finally be claimed.

——-

By the time 7pm rolled around, she did everything she could to make herself look pretty for him. She took a long hot bath, made sure she smelled good everywhere. She washed her hair and tied up half of it with a bow. She put lotion all over herself, sprayed herself with perfume and put the lovely dress on. Sitting in her vanity, she put on some makeup. She felt beautiful.

She got her light coat on, along with kitten heels and she was waiting for his car to come. When it did, she sat in the backseat and greeted the driver.

She got driven to Arrow house, which she only heard about before. It was so huge, and overwhelming, but very nice.

A maid took her coat and escorted her to the dining roomom. Just like the rest of the house, it was quite big, both the room itself and the table. It was decorated elegantly, the candlelight flooded the room. Just as she stepped in, Thomas walked in the room on the other door. He looked so handsome as always, with his muscular frame and his tailored suit.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, she looked like an angel, and she was standing in his house, wearing his gift. The maid left, now there were only two of them in the room, he walked up to her. With a gentle hand on her waist, he pulled her closer so he could plant a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He got even closer, her head was spinning with him so close, his masculine scent sent her hormones into overdrive. “I hope the dress isn’t the only gift of mine on you.”

He felt his dick twitch when she looked up at him like that, a gentle glint in her eyes. She shaked her head, too lost in his eyes to answer with words. To shake her out of her trance, he guided her to her seat, with his hand still on her slender waist.

He sat next to her, the maids kept on serving the finest of foods. Thomas also brought out a bottle of red wine. Both of them were surprised how easy it was for them to talk. They talked and ate, and Tommy even found himself laughing. He also found out how innocent she was, she wasn’t stupid, just inexperienced, and he was more than happy to give her experience. She also had a big heart, and a gentle soul, she was everything he needed.

While everyone in Small Heath tried to warn her about Thomas Shelby, she never understood why. He was just trying to protect his family and give them a chance at a better life, he was also an absolute softie for her. She could see that he had a lot of love to give, he enjoyed being the leader and defeating other gang leaders, but he must have been craving someone who could take care of him for once, she knew that she wanted to be that person.

When they finished dessert, he pulled her chair closer to his and cradled one of her blushing cheek into his palm.

“Are you aware of my intentions towards you?” He asked in a serious tone, she knew that he wasn’t fooling around. Now or never. She nodded as much as she could with the gentle hold on her face, but he wasn’t having it. “Answer me with words, I want to see if you really want this.” She felt dizzy by hearing his dominating tone.

“Yes, I know your intentions with me.” She replied shyly.

“What are they?” His fingers started to move her hair out of her face, caressing her in the process.

“Y-You want to make me yours.” She spoke lowly, it was hard to speak when he was looking at her as if he was seconds away from ravaging her.

“Yes, and do you want that, (Y/N)? Do you want me to make you mine?” He was even closer now, he whispered seductively in her ear, his full lips were nearly touching the shell of her ear. “Just say the word, sweetheart, and I will give you everything you crave. Please, let me give you the world.” Thomas Shelby barely used the word ‘please’, but he was nearly begging for her. She almost giggled, as if she really needed much convincing.

“I want it, I want it so bad, Tommy…” She was getting impatient, and he saw it on her.

“Shh, sweetheart… Don’t let your pretty head worry, I’m going to take care of you so nicely.” He stood up and stuck his hand out for her to take. “Come.”

He walked with her to his bedroom, she was walking behind him so she couldn’t see the wicked grin on his lips. When they stepped in the door, he just kept on walking, which caused her to walk backwards, until her knees hit the bed and she had fallen down on it.

He didn’t waste a second and crawled on top of her, his lips slowly finding hers. Their kiss started out slow, he guided her lips with his own. After a few minutes, noticing that she was starting to become more and more confident, he slipped his tongue into her open mouth. His hand wandered to her back, where the zipper was, his head pulled away so he could ask for silent permission. Once he got it, he helped her sit up and he removed the dress. Sitting back on his heels, he admired the sight in front of him, her young body was just begging to be ruined. She was wearing the lace, she looked exactly like an angel. His lips glued themselves to her neck and they sucked and bit, her noises were proof that she was enjoying his touch. He made sure to really mark her up, she wasn’t going to leave his mansion for a while, he needed his time with his new prize. She bit down on her lips to hide her moans, something he growled at.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear you, don’t hold back, sweetheart.”

He went down to her breasts, he also reached under her arched back and unclasped her bra. She tried to cover herself, but he was having none of it. He slowly unpeeled her arms from her chest and kissed all around her breasts. “How beautiful! Such a nice pair of tits you have, the best I’ve seen.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth and she mewled loudly, she didn’t expect to feel so aroused while getting her nipples sucked at. He made sure that he gave both of her tits the same treatment before going lower.

Before he could do more, he stood up to remove his shirt and pants, her presence was making him hotter by the minute. He hooked his fingers into her panties and his cock nearly tore his underwear when he saw how the crotch was stuck to her entrance. She was already so ready for him. He yanked harder and they finally parted, he brought her panties up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Mhm, so sweet… But, I think I need to feel this from the source.” Tommy dropped to his knees in front of her spread legs, her mind was making her doubt herself. What if she looked ugly down there? What if it smelled or tasted b—

“OH— Tommy!” She moaned loudly when his tongue licked a long stripe up her slit. He just chuckled into her pussy darkly, then he moved on to her pleasure. His mouth was sucking her throbbing clit, his fingers slowly circled her entrance, teasing her.

“Fuck… Your cunt tastes divine, and it’s only for my mouth to taste.” It wasn’t even a question. She was unable to form a coherent sentence, she could only moan and thrash on his tongue. He took one finger and he slowly eased it into her, she was so wet that it slipped right into her, he didn’t hesitate to add another one. “You’re going so good, I cannot wait to feel this tight virgin pussy on my cock.” He curled his fingers and rubbed them right into her spongy spot, her fingers grabbed his hair and tried to push his face more into her heat. He felt her clenching more and more, so he sped up his movements and grinned proudly when she came undone with a whiny moan and a desperate call of his name.

He kissed his way back up to her heaving chest and looked up at her flushed face. He talked her through it, until her breathing evened out again. He slowly slipped his underwear off, his back straightened out for her to see his big cock. It was veiny and thick and it made her nervous. He kept her legs spread, while he kneeled between them, one of his hand smoothing her face and the other one gripped himself at his base. “Want to give a little touch? Don’t be scared, I’m going to make this very pleasurable for you, my sweet girl.” He hissed when her fingertips made contact with his dripping tip, he was so pent up and her soft touch nearly made him blow his load all over her juicy tits, but he had to stay patient. “Are you ready? Ready to become mine?”

“Yes, Tommy, please, I want to feel you. I-I waited for you.” This caused him to grin and give her a deep kiss.

“I know you did, little one.” He positioned himself at her entrance and he slowly began pushing in, he felt a bit of resistance, but with a sharp thrust, he managed to break through it. He wrapped her up in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear soothingly. “I know, I know. It will feel better in a minute, your pussy just has to adjust to my cock. Relax.” It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, but it still did, the girls in her class made it sound worse, or maybe their boyfriends didn’t take the time to prep them properly. That made her so proud, her Tommy made sure she was ready. She tried her best to relax her muscles and she felt the pain lessen. She planted a shy kiss on Tommy’s neck at which he chuckled at. “Good girl. You’re mine now, only mine.” He slowly began moving in and out of her.

Her walls gripped on him like a vice, he didn’t need any whores anymore, he had her now. His hands lifted her hips up a bit, so his cock was hitting her spot at every thrust. He went more and more faster, his fingers also began rubbing on her swollen clitoris.

“AH— Tommy, I’m going to—do that thing again.” His innocent little girl, so good for him.

“Good… I can feel you squeeze me, come on, sweet girl, come for me. Come on my cock. Let me fill you up. Let me make you mine.” With a shout of his name and a cry, she came around him. When he felt her walls pulsing around him, he let go too. His warm cum painted her walls, and it was such a delicious sensation. He stayed inside her for a few minutes, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

When he pulled out, he sat back so he could watch his cum leak out of her spent hole. He looked down proudly at his softening cock, which had some of her blood on it. Shit, he really filled her up with his load, there was so much of it. And the whiteness of him and the dark crimson of her virginity made such a lovely contrast together.

He took a rag from his bedside table and cleaned her up, making sure that he was gentle with her, the girl just got fucked and she was sensitive both physically and mentally, he had to be gentle.

After he made sure they were both clean, he once again brought her into his embrace. He smiled at her lovingly, which caused her to do the same. Her hair was all puffy from his touch, but he loved it.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He cradled her cheek, and caressed her under eye area with his fingertip.

“I’m good, I feel a bit sore, but it’s okay.” She nuzzled into his neck and left little kisses. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

He smiled in a way he didn’t for a long time, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. He wanted to give the world to the girl in his arms, and he felt the primal urge to protect her and keep her away from all the bad. “Me too. I’m happy to know that you’re finally mine.”

taglist: @your-nanas-house

[maliciousessencefortress]

hi omg i saw your bridgerton x peakyblinders fic and i was wondering if you could do another one but with the reader as one of the bridgerton siblings please! obviously you do not have to i completely understand💞. but if so, maybe reader is about one of the middle daughters and she’s quite independent and is a bit like eloise with her shared views about marriage and society and they both js fall inlove but her older brothers are proper protective bc obv tommy is a powerful man with a strong reputation

i hope you get the drift! thankyouu

Hi I hope you don’t mind but I decided to make this two parts. I hope you like it!

zionist,maga and terfs will be blocked

Requests are open check my pinned post to see what fandoms I write for.

Fundraiser: https://www.tumblr.com/ahmedingazza

Comments are deeply appreciated

You adored your family more than anything, but you were fairly certain that you were going to murder someone if you had to be around them for a second longer. The Bridgerton family had always been tight nit, and that only increased as many of the other titled families fell into disarray. Your father had always prided himself on keeping the family finances in order, making sure no son of his would have to marry an american dollar princess just to help the family survive. Because of his, and more recently your brother Anthony’s diligent work, the Bridgerton Family was just as strong in the 1920s as it was in the 1820s.

However this had the unfortunate side affect of the family believing that tradition was best and order was key. No one was aloud to step out of line, especially not the ladies. This wasn’t to say your family was cruel, far from it. To this day you still joke around with Benedict and Eloise like you’re still little kids. It just meant that almost everyone in the family, especially your mother believed in tradition. Afterall, hadn’t following tradition to the tee stoped the Bridgeton family from ever having to need a dollar princess to marry? You didn’t agree with this logic in the slightest.

Recently you had been getting into reading political materials. Eloise, your almost twin ( she was born right after you had been adopted into the family) was all to happy to share the ones she already had. The world was changing, there was revolution in Russia, women could vote now. You wanted to be part of that change and make the world a better place. That’s why late at night, you snuck out of the house to go meet up with your fellow activists. You were happy about the work that you were doing, and you loved to see the impact you made on the world. However your absolute favorite part of sneaking out was getting to see your boyfriend, Tommy Shelby.

You had first met Tommy when you attended a protest in Birmingham. He had actually come to shut your protest down. Everyone was nervous when they saw him coming, but you just stood your ground. You knew that being a Bridgerton gave you privilege even if no one else in your group knew that you were one. You could handle whatever Tommy Shelby was going to throw at you and you weren’t about to let anyone else unnecessarily put themselves at risk. For his part Tommy was shocked at your bravery, so much so that he ended up taking you aside to speak with you. You delighted him with your wit and charm, and he enamored you with his intelligence and charisma.

By the end of the conversation Tommy had not only agreed to leave your group alone, he had also asked you on a date, a request of his you happily aquesed to. You had now been dating the man for months. After few dates in you revealed that were an adopted member of the Bridgerton family. Tommy took the news surprisingly well saying to you “ Well that explains why the perfume you where smells so expensive . I was worried you were seeing another man, eh”. He accepted you for who you were both as a Bridgerton and as an activist.

He eventually took you to meet his family. Polly was wary of you, both because of your activism and because she could sense you were hiding something about yourself. However after you made a few quick remarks about how Polly must have been the real power behind the throne given how competent she was, she was quickly won over. Ada was in love with you the minute she met you, ecstatic to have another leftist in the family ( and also because if Tommy was dating a radical he would be much more lenient when he found out about who she was dating.) All of Tommy’s brother loved you, although you couldn’t tell since they all seemed scared to even say anything to you. ( Tommy had threatened them to be on there best behaviors in front of you.)

You couldn’t help but smile as you thought of your first meeting with the Shelby’s as you ran towards your usual meet up with Tommy. You had a system where you would meet up with Tommy for a bit, then go join your group of activists for the night before meeting up with the man for a few more hours before going home. As you walked into the hideout Tommy had set up for you, you saw that your paramour was already there, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers and something else you couldn’t quite make out. He quickly handed you the flowers before leaning in for a kiss and saying:

“ Hello love. It’s good to see you, I missed you, it’s been so long I didn’t know how I was going to survive without you.”

“Tommy, it’s been three days.” “ It has to have been longer than that.”

You just rolled your eyes at the man. Despite how much power he welt and how much fear he inflicted he really was besotted with you.

“ Well however long it was, it got me thinking. I know we both live active lives and that there would be difficulties with your family but I want to be with you forever , and for people to know that we’re together. Would you give me the greatest honor of my life and agree to marry me?”

Thomas had got down on one knee and opened up the box he had been carrying. Before you could respond someone rushed through the door and dashed in. Tommy quickly put down the box and grabbed his gun. Your mouth opened in shock when you saw who the man was - your brother Anthony Bridgerton.

“ An-Anthony what are you doing here?” You asked in shock.

To be continued …

Sequal here: https://www.tumblr.com/maliciousessencefortress/813084409165135872/tommy-shelby-x-bridgerton-sibling-reader

[divaofmads]

ME and the DEVIL

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Female Reader x Dr. Crane

Chapter III: How Dare You Love Him

🔞 Warnings: +18, MDNI, Slow-burning Love, Angst, Dark Romance, Dark Psychology, Manipulation & Control, Obsessive Behavior, Age Gap, Taboo Love (step-dad Bruce), Mind Control Dynamics, Obsessive Love, Non-consensual Elements, Sub/dom Dynamics, Hypnosis, Complex Relationship Dynamics, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional.

Word Count: +5k Banner by Me and Divider by @strangergraphics-archive l @cafekitsune — GIF BY @ladyalatariel

Summary: In the shadows of Arkham Asylum, Y/N seeks freedom from her nightmares through Dr. Jonathan Crane's twisted methods. But the line between salvation and obsession blurs as his control over her deepens. Will she surrender to him, or will she break free before it's too late?

The heavy iron door of the abandoned Wayne Industries building creaked with a muffled groan as Bruce pushed it open with his strong hands. As the sun slowly set, pale beams of light filtered through the broken windows, illuminating the greasy rust stains on the floor and the cracked concrete surfaces. The air inside was stale, but not suffocating; there was a familiar, industrial scent of aged steel, burnt rubber, and motor oil.

As you stepped inside, the massive ceiling cranes immediately caught your eye, now nothing more than rusted, lifeless skeletons.

You scanned the surroundings, not with unease, but curiosity. This place was… wilder than Bruce's quiet, orderly training area in the unused library. It had a primal, dangerous edge to it.

“I didn’t expect this,” you said softly, but your voice echoed. “After the silent, Victorian-style hall in the manor, this… it feels like a fight club.” There was a slight smile in your voice, but your eyes remained serious. “Interesting choice. Isn’t it a bit too dark to continue the training here?”

Without answering, Bruce set down his bag. He unzipped the thick straps of the black sports bag and opened it. Inside, neatly arranged were bandages, black training gloves, and elbow pads. Every movement was sharp, precise, and habitual... it was a ritual. Before laying out the gear, he checked the floor, pressing his foot down to ensure he was on solid ground. Then, he grabbed the wraps and handed them to you.

“This place is unsafe,” he said with a quick glance. “That’s exactly why it’s right. It teaches you balance, threats, awareness of space. If everything goes wrong one day—and it will—no matter where you are, you’ll need to stand your ground.”

You reached out and took the wraps. The white bandages had turned grey over time but were still sturdy. As you began to measure where to wrap, Bruce looked at you from the corner of his eye. Your movements were slow, still trying to figure things out.

“Okay,” you said with a faint smile. “I’m really going to ask. Why are you so insistent?” You wrapped your thumb, then moved to your wrist. “After all, I’m going to be a psychiatrist. Not someone who runs around at night wearing a mask and cape.” You raised your eyebrows slightly and looked at Bruce, your eyes sparking. “Well, if it involves kissing Batman in the end… then maybe the pain is worth it.”

Bruce didn’t furrow his brows, but his usual impassive expression settled on his face. He gave no smile, no reaction. But he studied you for a long time... without judgment, but as though weighing something. He set the gloves aside and knelt down, rummaging through his bag again.

“Arnold Wesker’s puppet nearly drove you to the edge, Y/N,” he said slowly. “Pushing your body… quiets your mind. Forcing your body to its limits… silences the noise in your soul.” He looked up, his eyes glinting in the dark. “And right now, there’s too much noise in your head, Y/N. Someone needs to shut up.”

You tightened the last end of the bandage. Your fingers were no longer trembling, but your hands were still cold.

“Then I guess I’ll have to bring up the idea of a fight training program for the Arkham inmates to Dr. Crane,” you said lightly. This time, Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly. He tilted his head just a fraction that was his version of “I accept it.”

He then stood up and stepped into the ring. He paused, marking a scratch on the floor. His long shadow stretched across the dark room. Then, he motioned with his head, calling you to take your place.

You held your breath. Slowly, you stepped into position. With each step, your bones remembered. But your muscles… were hesitant.

You assumed the stance, turning your foot at a 45-degree angle, hands close to your chin but your wrists a little low. Your left knee was a bit too far back. Your shoulders were open in defense.

“We haven’t trained in almost a year, but it feels like ages,” you whispered. “I’ve probably forgotten everything.”

Bruce didn’t move. He only watched. “No,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Your body may try to forget. But your mind always remembers.”

Then he moved, closing the distance between you by half. He raised his hand, not to touch you, but to merely point at the air with his fingers.

“Close your left shoulder. Raise your right hand by an inch. Balance your knees. And most importantly… don’t hold your breath.”

When your gaze met his eyes, you felt a different warmth. These weren’t just the eyes of a trainer. There was suppressed, yet undeniable tension. At that moment, he neither raised his hand to touch you, nor changed his words. But his eyes said it all: He was watching you. Thinking of you. And battling with the chains inside him to say more.

“Now,” he said, his voice bouncing off the ceiling, “don’t think. Feel. Don’t stop when you breathe in, attack when you breathe out. Stop thinking with your body. Use your instincts.”

You nodded slightly, lowering your chin and getting into position. Your whole body was slightly leaning forward... your left foot slightly ahead, your right foot behind. But Bruce noticed.

“Don’t bend your knee too much. That’ll slow you down. Keep your balance centered.”

Then, suddenly, he moved. He closed in from the left, throwing a feint, an evasive punch. You ducked reflexively, but since your defense was open, his left elbow grazed your chest. The blow wasn’t strong, but it was humiliating because of how easily you felt it. And then, in a flash, he kicked out his leg and knocked you off balance, sending you crashing to the ground.

As you hit the floor, a soft “ah” escaped your lips.

Above you, Bruce’s shadow leaned over. He looked at you before offering his hand.

“What did I say?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t think. Feel.”

As you lay on the ground, you tried to steady your breathing. Your chest was rising and falling, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“I can’t do it,” you said, struggling to catch your breath. “I’m not cut out for this. I’m fragile. Weak. This type of fight isn’t for me.”

He stared into your eyes. For a moment, he didn’t speak. The silence was reassuring, but also dangerous.

Then, he reached out and grabbed your hand.

“No,” he said. “You’re not weak, Y/N. You’re just scared. But that fear will sharpen you. It will make you strong. Just… don’t choose to give up.”

He lifted you off the ground with a single move. His palm still held yours, but as his fingers slowly slipped away, each place where his skin touched yours seemed to warm just a little more.

When you regained your stance, there was defiance in your eyes. Your lips were pressed tight, your jaw set. You no longer hesitated.

Bruce moved again... this time faster. He came from the right, but before he tripped you, he tested your defense. He forced your elbow up, challenging your guard. But, instinctively, you deflected with your right elbow. You took a few steps back, then jabbed forward.

Your punch didn’t land, but the air between you shifted.

“Now that’s more like it,” Bruce said. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for, to see you move like this.”

His voice was soft, but there was an underlying note of admiration.

For a moment, you both circled each other, taking measured steps. He would feint a move, and you watched, waiting. Then, with a swift movement, he advanced. This time, it was a serious attack. He raised his knee, centered his body, and attempted a Muay Thai clinch. But you stepped back, pressing your palm against his elbow to push him off.

“Ooh,” he said with a mocking tone. “Someone’s learned some technique.”

You shrugged, your expression confident.

“What did you think? I’m not just a pretty face.”

Bruce didn’t laugh, but his eyes gleamed with amusement.

"If I ever make you fight someone, I'll remember this sentence. And I hope that person doesn't find you too attractive."

“Or will it distract them?” you asked, tilting your head slightly and giving him a challenging look. “Like your tactic, then.”

His smile widened, but only for a moment. Then, he moved again. His attack was more cunning this time. He made a slight turn and suddenly, with a reverse kick aimed at your waist, he tried to throw you off guard. You instinctively blocked it with your arm, but his swift pivot left you vulnerable, and he spun your body around, throwing you back to the ground.

When you met the floor a second time, you turned your head and looked up at him.

“So, is this what happens when you get too confident?”

Bruce bent down beside you. He kneeled, placing a hand on your shoulder to check your position.

“Confidence is good,” he said. “But arrogance blinds you. You don’t see the danger. And your enemies? They love arrogant people.”

“So, the Arkham inmates will love me,” you said with a dry smile. But then your eyes sparkled.

Before Bruce could understand what was happening, you made a move from below, unbalancing him. While he was still on the ground, you wrapped your left leg around his, and with all your strength, you tried to twist him and pull him on top of you.

In an instant, you felt Bruce lose his balance, his body falling on top of you. It was heavy, but controlled, as he gently landed on the ground. His breath hit your chest. And you... weren’t slipping away from under him anymore.

You pressed him down with your hands at shoulder level, climbed up, and sat on his pelvis, your knee pressing against his hip. Bruce's eyes were shining in yours.

“I guess this technically counts as a victory,” you said with a mocking smile.

“Not just technically,” Bruce said, his voice low but warm. “That was very clever. And dangerous.”

But now, there was no longer just sweat in the ring.

When your skin touched his, the boundaries between you, those invisible, sharp walls that had existed for so long, started to slowly melt. As your chest pressed against his, your breaths mixed; his rhythm matched yours, and with every inhale and exhale, your bodies moved together. There was barely a breath's distance between you now; that one breath's gap was a luxury that shouldn’t have existed. When your eyes met, you felt like you were falling into the pupils of Bruce, there was something complex there, a sharp clash between suppressed desire and the stubborn denial that had been maintained.

Your fingers were pressing against his shoulder, but not like a fighter... more like a lover. Your movements had transcended the learned techniques. This was no longer a fight...it was surrender. It was one of those vital, cursed moments where your soul called for him, but your words still stayed silent.

Bruce’s face was so close that you could clearly see the sunset-colored shadows on his chin, the vein pulsing just below his neck, and the drop of sweat on his forehead. The breath between his lips brushed against yours, pulling you into a dark whirlpool. He didn’t lift his hands. He didn’t push you away. But his stillness was a warning heavier than words.

Slowly, as though he had been thinking about it for eternity, he spoke:

“Y/N… This… this isn’t right.”

His voice was almost a whisper, but it carried a trembling reproach... a reproach toward himself, to you, to this city, even to life itself.

“You… I… Some boundaries, once crossed, can never be returned from.” He kept the words at the edge of his lips. “I swore to be your… protector. To keep you away from the dark…”

But his voice cracked, as though that darkness was no longer just outside but growing inside him too.

When you looked at him, there were no more filters in you. The defense mechanisms you knew so well, mockery, denial, attempts to stay distant, had all shattered.

You were tired.

You were tired of suppressing your feelings, of turning away with every glance, of waiting for him to treat you like “his daughter,” of seeing love never given a name, of keeping your heart silent.

“I’m tired now,” you said, your voice soft, but resonating with the weight inside you. “While you’re trying to protect me, you’re ignoring me. I was just a child… but I’m not anymore. I wasn’t the first to feel these emotions, Bruce. But you weren’t the first to deny them either.”

He looked at you. And in that moment, all the armor cracked.

With just a few words, a few touches, you had come to a point where everything could change. And Bruce was closer to making that move than ever before.

He tilted his head for a moment. His eyes dropped to your lips.

His fingers slid to the center of your back, feeling the tremble under the thin layer of your skin.

If his lips had touched yours, if he had waited one more moment... perhaps everything suppressed for years would have shattered.

The years of denial could burn away with one kiss.

And then...

The phone rang.

That high-pitched, metallic sound echoed beneath the ceiling, cutting through the air like a sacred chant being interrupted between you two.

Neither of you moved. But Bruce’s jaw tightened. He averted his gaze from yours.

His hand slowly withdrew from your back.

Only by a breath’s difference... it hadn’t happened. But in that moment -that forbidden, silenced, apocalyptic moment -it had happened once.

A sharp, sneaky, and harsh ringing. Like a knife, it slipped between your skin and Bruce’s.

At first, you didn’t move. But the shadow in Bruce’s eyes… that indecision… pushed you back into the “real world.”

The complex emotions inside you -anger, shame, longing, and defiance- gathered together, and a sharp mask of pride appeared on your face. As though nothing had happened, but everything had. You quickly pushed yourself off Bruce’s chest and stood up. With a cold smile, you reached for the phone that had fallen on the ground. The screen was still flickering.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane is calling.”

A strange shiver ran through you. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment. Your peripheral vision was still on Bruce—he was watching you too. But that dark gaze… it was different from the burning desire earlier. Now, it was pulling back, suppressing something. That irritated you.

As you answered the phone, there was a noticeable sarcasm at the corner of your lips.

“Dr. Crane?”

The voice on the other end, as usual, was slow, shrill, and oozed a venom that seeped under the skin.

“Y/N…” he said.

“Hearing your voice… strange. A bit too strange.”

His tone was measured with politeness, but underneath, there was something else: uncontrolled jealousy.

“After the Arnold Wesker incident, we hadn’t heard from you. We should’ve been keeping you under surveillance, but… you vanished. I was wondering. Are you alright?”

You swallowed.

Your gaze shifted back to Bruce. He was still on the ground but slowly rising. The shadows still hung over his face like a veil.

“I’m fine,” you said, in a short and cold tone.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer.”

The silence from the other end stretched. Crane’s tone changed. It seemed like he had furrowed his brow, his teeth clenched, and a tense energy laced his words.

“May I ask where you are? It’s quite late…”

He paused.

“Are you alone? I’m still concerned you might be going through one of those crises again.” This was a huge lie.

When he asked you that, the temperature in the room seemed to shift. The possessiveness under his voice both disgusted and excited you at the same time.

You smiled. This time, sharper, more theatrical, almost like a knife.

“I’m not alone,” you said, locking eyes with Bruce.

“I’m with Bruce.”

The silence on the phone this time… felt like a hum. And then Crane’s voice… was lower. More guttural.

“Bruce Wayne…” he said slowly.

“The place you thought you should be.” Then, in almost an inaudible whisper, he muttered: “Of course, he thinks you belong to him.”

“What did you say?”

You didn’t try to hide the anger in your voice. But he only smiled, you could feel it.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was just wondering about you.

I hope… you have a peaceful sleep tonight.”

But his last sentence ended like a threat.

“In your dreams, you can’t choose whose shadow will be there.”

Then, before the phone hung up, it cut off. There was a hum left behind. And a chill on your skin, as if a pair of eyes were still watching you from behind.

Bruce had gotten up. Even though you tried to distance yourself with your gaze, your eyes were still locked with his. But Bruce didn’t say anything. Maybe he had heard the change in tone. Maybe he had just sensed it. But in that moment, you both understood something:

Crane not only wanted to possess your mind, but he also wanted to possess you. And Bruce wouldn’t accept that.

Now, there were two things he needed to protect you from: A man’s obsession… and another man’s repressed love.

As the cold, gray light of the morning seeped through the iron-barred windows of Arkham, the dampness clinging to the old stone walls made the place feel like a living grave. This was the other side of Gotham, a building that couldn’t warm even when the sun rose. It was as though the very front yard of hell was here.

As you approached the entrance door with heavy steps, unease gnawed at you. After what happened with Bruce last night, you hadn’t been able to sleep, and your mind wouldn’t quiet down. There was an indefinable weight on your chest, stretching all the way down to the tips of your fingers. Your fingers were cold. The wind, as it passed through your hair, seemed to whisper in your ear: “This place will change you.”

The moment you stepped through the outer gate of Arkham… the sound came. At first, it seemed like an echo, but no, it wasn’t an echo. It was real.

“GOD IS MINE!”

“I AM GOD! I AM THE BURNING LIGHT! AND HUGO STRANGE, HE IS MY PROPHET!”

The shout was so intense that it felt like the walls would crack. Staff members immediately began rushing about. A woman’s shrill voice echoed over the radio:

“All units: Security breach! Immediate redirection to the attic! Unit 3! Code Red!”

And you... just froze, only meters from the main entrance. Instinctively, you lifted your head, and at the top of the building, someone appeared at the railing. His feet were bare, and his body was covered with something written in blood. The words scratched into his skin didn’t seem to have been done with a pen, but with nails: “Savior,” “God,” “Enlightenment.”

A cross was carved into his face with cuts. His lips were torn. His eyes, those eyes were staring directly into yours. But he wasn’t seeing you. They were somewhere else.

He walked to the edge of the roof. Unsteady. But certain.

All the staff were gathered below now. Even Harleen Quinzel was there, watching in terror from a corner, yet doing nothing.

A nurse whispered as if praying, “Please… don’t jump.”

But the person, as if speaking not to you but to his created follower, shouted:

“DON’T CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

You instinctively took a step back. Your knees were shaking.

“DON’T CLOSE THEM! YOU NEED TO SEE THIS! THERE’S A LIE IN YOUR EYES!”

And in that moment... He jumped.

You couldn’t close your eyes. Because truly… not being able to see was worse than imagining.

The sound of the fall... first cut through the wind. Then came the sound of a body crashing to the ground, with a weight so heavy that the bones couldn’t bear it.

Thud.

Then immediately after, that sharp sound...

Crack.

It was like the sound of a spine not being able to put itself back together.

Then, a higher-pitched, more gut-wrenching sound:

“CRACK.”

You immediately realized that was the sound of the skull hitting the ground. Because even though your mind didn’t want to accept it, your body knew.

A warm, metallic scent of blood filled your nostrils. Your stomach tingled. It felt empty.

The world seemed to fall out from under your legs. And then... you began to tremble.

Your hands shook, but you couldn’t stop it. Your teeth were chattering. This wasn’t from the cold.

It was the first time... you had heard someone die.

Seeing it with your eyes was different. But the sound... that sound shattered not just your eardrums, but your very soul.

There you were, in the stomach of Arkham, unable to do anything but stand still.

Only trembling.

Something was caught in your throat. Your eyes were full, but you couldn’t even cry.

Because crying wasn’t weakness right now.

Crying was proof that you were still human.

A staff member was trying to cover the body on the ground. Hugo Strange silently watched everything unfold, his glasses hiding any trace of emotion. But the man who had screamed his name “prophet” was him.

This opened another crack in your mind. And you... were still standing in the same place.

On your feet, but broken. With a single sentence echoing in your mind: “What if one day, I’m the one on that rooftop?”

And then, in that moment, a sudden touch... a hand. Cold but sharp. It grabbed your arm. And pulled you through the crowd, through a door filled with echoes.

When the door closed, the light didn’t go out, but the world stayed outside.

You were still trembling. Not just with your body... but with your mind.

But when you turned your eyes, you saw that look:

Jonathan Crane.

There was no panic in his eyes. No sorrow either. And for the first time, there was warmth in his coldness. The master of fear, in that moment, was just a man.

Looking at you. Seeing you.

“Y/N...” There was a strange softness in his voice. “The question of whether you’re okay would be silly. But... can you breathe?”

The words caught in your throat. But you nodded slightly. He accepted it as an answer.

He didn’t approach you right away.

He sat on a chair a few steps away. His coat was still on, but his tie was loosened. The bones of his wrist were visible under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt; he noticed that you noticed them.

“What you just witnessed...” he said slowly, his voice blending with the dust particles in the room. “The primal form of trauma. A fragmentation. The moment when reality walks over your mind. And you... you’re familiar with this, aren’t you?”

You shivered. Just from that word: “Familiar.”

It was as if he had stripped you bare. It was as if he knew what was inside you. You swallowed.

“I… I’ve… I’ve been through it before…”

Your voice cracked.

The words didn’t want to leave your breath, like a guilty fugitive. But Jonathan Crane gently tilted his head. Not like a therapist. Like someone who hides a secret. And he whispered: “You don’t have to tell me. But if you give me the pieces... I can put them together.”

He reached out to you. His fingers lightly touched your wrist. Neither too strong nor too weak... A perfect movement of control. Not to touch. But to feel.

“This didn’t shake you for the first time, did it?” he said.

You tilted your head slightly. Your back was against the wall. You couldn’t keep your body upright anymore. And only your lips moved:

“My father…” And then you stopped. But he didn’t interrupt like a therapist. He waited. When your voice trembled, he simply listened. “My father... used to torture me with puppets. Before he took his life. He made them speak as if they were alive. If I didn’t do what they said, they’d hit me. If I didn’t respond... they’d speak. They... they always looked at me. I mean, before he committed suicide. But I'd never seen anyone commit suicide before."

Your voice cracked. Your eyes filled with tears. But this time, the tears didn’t fall. Because crying would require feeling safe.

And strangely... you felt safe while being beside Crane in that moment. Because he was the one who pulled you into his arms when you were triggered by Arnold Wesker's puppet. The one who pulled you away when you saw a man’s suicide.

Finally, when your body gave way and slumped, he didn’t get up and immediately come closer. You had fixed your eyes on a single point.

“Then Bruce took me in. And the puppets stopped speaking.”

And in that moment... there was almost an imperceptible pause in Jonathan Crane's breathing. But you felt it.

He acted as if he hadn’t. But you noticed his jaw tightening as you felt the tension in his shoulder.

You continued to speak, innocently:

“He gave me a real room. He let me choose my own bookshelf. For the first time... I could hear my own voice. Bruce never... yelled at me. Once, when I screamed in fear, he just held me. Without saying anything... he just held me. And in that moment... I realized for the first time, I wasn’t anyone’s puppet.”

Jonathan Crane’s jaw moved just a millimeter. But his expression was still calm. Cold-blooded. Only... his pupils had darkened slightly.

“Bruce Wayne... found you when you were broken, didn’t he? What a great favor. What a noble man. How... compassionate. How... unreachable.”

He smiled at you. But beneath that smile, there was something else. A kind of resentment. "Bruce loves you." Then, he looked directly into your eyes. This time, it was very close. And he asked that question:

“But did Bruce really save you from these nightmares, Y/N? Or do the puppets still watch you at night?”

The slowness in his voice was like hypnosis. He wasn’t selling you anything. He was offering you a truth, or making it seem like he was.

But his voice drew nearer:

“Y/N... your mind is still a battlefield. And the ammunition in that battle is sounds. Smells. Reflections. But that battle... it can end.”

You slowly tilted your head. Your fingers still trembled on your wrist. And then, at that moment, the moment you lost control, you wanted to hug him to take refuge.

For the first time, an embrace felt like it was there to heal you, not break you. When you let yourself fall into his chest, he didn’t immediately hold you. But within a few seconds... his hands met at your back. And there, listening to the beat of his heart, a whisper came to your ear. Almost like a spell:

“Do you want all of this to pass, Y/N? Do you want the puppets you see when you close your eyes at night... to stay silent forever?”

You held your breath. Because that question wasn’t aimed at you, but at the child inside you. But what really scared you... wasn’t the answer being yes.

It was the fact that the answer was yes, and that he already knew it. But then Jonathan tilted his head.

Your cheeks were so close. And almost like giving away a secret, he whispered near your ear:

“Then... I’ll make you an offer. But this... will be a secret just between us. Only between you and me. If you accept... from now on... every night... you’ll see me instead of them.”

Under the dark and grey Gotham sky, Wayne Manor stood tall as always.

When you got out of the taxi, your hands were still trembling. The moment you stepped onto the stone steps, you didn't seek warmth but only the silence of this place.

Without needing to ring the bell, the door opened. And that familiar voice added a touch of warmth to the cold evening air:

“Welcome, Miss Y/N. I was worried you were late.” Alfred. There was a deeper attention in his eyes tonight.

Your face... unusually pale. Your eyes still lingered on the figure on the edge of the roof. The echo of cracking bones was still in your ears, and the scream was stuck in your throat.

You clenched your jaw. And then, without thinking, you stepped forward. You rested your head on Alfred’s chest and hugged him.

"Someone... jumped in front of my eyes today." Your voice was nearly choked. “He really died. The sound of his bones... God, Alfred. I’ve never... seen anything like that.”

Alfred paused for a moment. Then, one hand on your shoulder, the other gently pressing on the back of your hair, he held you.

“I saw bodies in the midst of war in my youth. But you don’t get used to corpses, Miss Y/N. What you get used to... is how to carry the silence after them.”

You closed your eyes. At that moment... you just wanted to stay in the embrace. Pretend nothing had happened. And just then... a voice came from inside.

A woman’s voice. Mixed with the sound of high heels hitting the stone floor. And that voice... was familiar. “Bruce, I think I left that file in the car. If it’s still there, could you get it?”

Charlotte Rivers.

It felt like an needle piercing your chest. Suddenly, your face tensed. Slowly, you pulled away from Alfred’s chest. You lifted your chin slightly. But you weren’t thinking about the man who jumped anymore. “Is she here?” Your voice was cold. “Bruce. Charlotte Rivers. In the same house. In the same... atmosphere. Again?”

Alfred lowered his head. He made way for you to enter. “While waiting for your return, I suppose... he chose to keep himself busy.” Alfred’s voice was controlled, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

You stepped inside. Just behind the stone wall at the corner, a shadow moved. Charlotte’s silhouette briefly appeared. You turned to Alfred. Your inner voice was full of anger, but your lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “You know, Alfred... in such a big house... not needing to strain your ears to hear the ‘other woman’... really messes with your psychology.”

Alfred simply watched you. And then, he quietly closed the door. “If the other woman’s identity is unclear, Miss Wayne... then the problem is not with Master Bruce.”

You paused. You glanced at his face lightly. And then, despite yourself, you smiled. Like a child, you scrunched your face and sighed with fake joy.

“Sure, Alfred. Great advice. I’m definitely not jealous.” Then, you added sarcastically, pursing your lips: “Besides, Bruce is definitely not obsessed with Charlotte’s legs. Hah.”

You turned your head and began walking toward the stairs, your unease creaking like an old door on the left side of your chest.

The sound of silver forks clinking on the plate echoed through the vaulted ceiling of the stone hall. Wayne Manor’s dining room was just as it should be, grand, noble, but cold enough for only strangers to sit in. When you entered... the sound of your heels echoed like a ripple through the room.

All heads turned toward you. But only one pair of eyes... blinked in sync with yours: Bruce Wayne.

In those eyes, there was a fatherly concern, a teacher-like focus, but most of all, there was an uncontainable confession: “You’re here... I can breathe again.”

Under the weight of a father’s pride for his child, and a man’s dangerous desire for a woman, he was suffocating.

As he looked at you, a softening appeared at the corner of his lips. But it wasn’t a smile. It was a resignation, on the edge of the anger he held inside.

“Y/N,” he said, standing up. “You’re late. I was worried.”

In that moment, you stood still.

Bruce’s eyes enveloped you from head to toe. But this wasn’t desire, or at least, he was lying to himself. This was a secret he had nurtured...

You tilted your head slightly.

“A patient declared himself a god. Then... jumped from the roof. When he hit the ground... everything went silent. So did I. I just wanted to walk a bit after work and clear my head.”

Charlotte Rivers gracefully brought her wine glass to her lips. She was smiling. But the curve of her lips was tight, like that of a predator.

“God, you must have had such a terrible day! But look, you’re here. Safe. Now, you should pull yourself together with this lovely meal, right Bruce?”

Charlotte’s voice was too loud, too concerned. Her eyes were fake. As if she truly cared about you. But in her gaze, you saw only one thing: A woman watching you too closely in a world that wasn’t yours. You smiled coldly.

The dishes were unveiled.

Before you, in silver servers, there was lamb shank served on a bed of polenta, with blood-red wine on the side. You sat down at the table.

Bruce’s eyes never left you. For a moment, he thought: If you got up from this table and walked over to him, placed your hand under the table on his knee... he wouldn’t be able to stop you.

“Y/N...” His voice was heavy, calm. “I don’t want to see you like this again. Understand? This city... it eats some souls. You won’t be among them.”

You slightly turned your head. And just then, Charlotte placed her silver knife back on the table. “Bruce, don’t be so emotional. You are her... bodyguard, aren't you already?” The tone of that sentence didn’t only hurt you.

As you reached for your fork, you whispered softly, “I’m not under his protection. I’m here... not because of his decisions, but because of my own choices.”

Charlotte took another sip of wine. She furrowed her brows while watching you. And she slightly tilted her head.

“I like your courage. I hope... it doesn’t cost you too much.”

It wasn’t a threat. But a reminder. And you simply smiled. And now, as Charlotte took a sip from her wine, Bruce was only watching you.

“You know, Charlotte,” you said, slowly placing your knife next to the plate, “women like you… while trying to teach others manners, the only thing they actually do is serve their own insecurities on a silver platter.”

The threatening glint in Charlotte’s eyes didn’t fade for a moment, but it definitely became fixed. As she stared into your eyes, the fingers swirling the wine in her glass moved just a little faster.

But you continued. With a calm tone, almost as if you were enjoying it:

“If this... if my courage is going to cost me something, let’s first see who’s footing the bill. Everyone at this table stands to lose a lot. But some of us... never had anything to win.”

Bruce’s eyes were on you. The lines at the corners of his eyes were tense. Was it pride? Desire? Or that familiar, cursed feeling created by never having seen you like this before?

As for Charlotte... she smiled.

But this smile was in a different tone this time.

Cold.

Icy.

Poisonous.

“Were you like this when you were little, Y/N? Were you always so toxic at every dinner table?”

You leaned back in your chair, casually shrugging your shoulder as you turned your gaze toward Bruce.

Your eyes seemed to say, “Did I say something?” But your heart... Your heart was about to burst.

While the food on your plate was still steaming, you folded your cloth napkin and placed it silently at the edge of the table. The sharp squeak of your chair moving back sliced through the air, splitting the atmosphere of the room like a knife. Without saying anything, you stood up. You didn’t look at Charlotte. Not at Bruce either.

You simply walked away. From the dining room, to the dark hallways. From the hallways, to the back room where the cool stone walls echoed. And from there, out through the French double doors, into the drizzling night garden.

The moonlight was like a wound trembling in the sky. And you… were now alone with the most broken part of yourself. But that loneliness didn’t last long.

The sound of footsteps behind you, heavy, steady, rhythmic… was Bruce’s footsteps.

As soon as you heard them, you wrapped your arms around yourself. Not from the cold, but as if protecting yourself from yourself.

“Y/N...” His voice was deep, slow, and cautious. “The way you’re acting… is not appropriate.”

You just tilted your head slightly and said, “After what she said to me, Bruce, this was the only thing I could do.”

At that moment, he grabbed your arm. Slowly but firmly. Like a father… yes, that’s how it looked to outsiders. But when you felt his hands on your wrist, your skin trembled.

Bruce turned you around. And for the first time, the tone in his voice sharpened. “These childish behaviors… don’t suit you. Even if Charlotte tried to provoke you, I know there’s more to you than this. Walking away… isn’t a solution.”

And then, that moment. The moment your knees trembled from the inside. Your eyes slowly turned to Bruce’s eyes. And your lips, for the first time, spoke without holding back.

“What about you? Why are you still sitting at the same table with her, Bruce? When she comes home, I tell myself to prepare before facing her. At night, when I go up to my room, I sing to myself to drown out the sound of her footsteps. Just so I don’t hear it. Just so… I don’t think you still love her.”

Your breath was now uneven. It was like the quiet struggle before a child starts crying. “But it doesn’t work, Bruce. No matter what you do, no matter how much you stay away… I fall more in love with you every day, and it hurts. I beg you, stop living your love for her in front of my eyes.”

“I’ve memorized the sound of this house. The muffled sound of your fingers tapping on the tea cup at night… the morning scent left by the shaving cologne in the bathroom…”

And finally, you took a step. Slowly, but fearlessly. You leaned against his chest. Wrapped your arms around his waist, as if for the first time, like a child embracing.

“This love… is like a curse. But I... I’ve committed the greatest betrayal, Bruce. Because you took me in to protect me, like a child... But while you were trying to heal me, I... desired you. And now... I feel tainted by this love. I feel like I’ve stained you by loving you.”

He simply stayed silent. Bruce Wayne’s iron-willed silence was like a psychiatric wall, suppressing the decaying words inside. But in his mind, the words were screaming.

When he first saw you, he didn’t give you a home… he gave you himself. But back then, he didn’t understand. He only thought he wanted to protect you. He saw the emptiness inside you… and thought he could fill it. But that emptiness slowly took his place. And now… there’s something of yours in his eyes.

A secret. A sin. A longing.

Bruce Wayne’s inner voice: “Saying ‘I love you’ to you… will destroy me. But not saying it… is destroying you. Which sin should I choose, Y/N? Should I steal your youth, or should I steal you from me?”

Bruce didn’t let you go. But he didn’t embrace you either. He just waited. For the entire house... Gotham... the heart of it all... to change with a single sentence. But the storm inside you... still hadn’t calmed down.

Location: Arkham Asylum – Dr. Jonathan Crane’s Private Laboratory

Time: One day after the suicide incident, evening

The laboratory... was more like the temple of a disturbance than a clinic.

Located at the lowest level of Arkham, it could be reached after climbing those rusty spiral stairs that no one wanted to descend. This space, once used as a morgue, had been reborn in Crane's hands. But there was no life here, only the home of Crane's obsessive fixations.

The plaster on the walls had peeled, and the beams were exposed. The lights weren’t sterile fluorescents; they flickered in an ancient yellow. Paintings hung on the walls, but none were pictures; they were nightmare-like notes pinned to white cardboard, images of imagination... And in the center, instead of a bed, there was a metal "rest unit" that resembled an old dental chair. Surrounding it were soundproof speakers, a diffuser system, projectors with three different fields of effect, and subliminal alignment panels... Everything needed to destabilize a mind’s structure.

You, wearing the newly provided sterile white clothes, hesitated as you sat at the edge of this unit. You didn’t look stylish, but you were forcing yourself to come here not as someone undergoing an experiment, but as someone seeking healing. That rooftop incident earlier that morning had shown you the limit you could no longer endure.

The nightmares had shapeshifted. And if Crane’s "method" worked, yes, you wanted this.

Your feet touched the ground, but your head was still in the air. And just then, the door opened.

You recognized the footsteps.

Jonathan Crane.

---

Crane’s Mind (internal monologue):

His voice is still echoing in your mind, isn’t it, Y/N? The scream of that man at the edge of the rooftop. I chose him. To declare his divinity. A drugged, guided, triggered mind. And as you lived this... your body is still trembling.

This is a perfect ground. A void. Now I can replace the voice inside you... with my own. A few trigger words. Some frequencies. Breaking the enemy image. Decaying the hero image. And then... when night comes, I will find you. I will awaken inside you.

---

Crane came to the side of the chair. His tie was a little loose, and the collar of his shirt was folded. It seemed as though he had hurriedly prepared, but this was a calculated mess.

He looked into your eyes. This time, the lenses of his glasses didn’t reflect. There was only the darkness itself.

He smiled with professional warmth. “You look better,” he said. “There’s still fear in your eyes, but... that’s a good thing. It means your mind is still resisting.”

As he approached you, he knelt down and adjusted the metal ankle cuffs. He didn’t touch your skin with his hands, but he was so close that you could feel the heat of his fingers on your skin. And at that moment, his voice whispered in your ear like a shadow:

“I won’t hurt you, Y/N. I promise. I just want to pull you out of here, out of this puppet theater.”

You pulled back slightly. Your body language was showing that you didn’t fully like him.

At that moment... his eyes hardened for a brief second. But immediately, he put on a scientific smile.

“Or is there something else you are afraid of, other than the puppet?"

There was nothing in his voice. But everything was there.

You didn’t answer him. But your body’s tiny reactions were more than enough for him.

With something slyly stirring inside him, he stood up and moved closer.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, like a hypnosis.

And you paused for a moment.

“I have no other option,” you said quietly. “The nightmares... they’re getting worse.”

He nodded. There seemed to be a gleam of victory in his eyes.

“That’s exactly why I can help you, Y/N. But first... you must let your mind talk to me. Not your eyes. Not your hands. The quietest place inside you... must open to me.”

Finally, you laid down. Dr. Crane bound your wrists and ankles with cuffs. Then, he touched the back of your neck. Cold, but careful.

He combed your hair back; the electrode headband was placed on either side of your head.

He purposely touched your neck, your shoulders. But his interest wasn’t just medical; it was possessive, because he was curious about your reactions.

You slightly tilted your head, showing your discomfort. And he noticed. But his smile didn’t waver by a millimeter. He... was expecting this. Because he knew the full interest hadn’t yet begun.

When he put the Diffuser mask on your mouth, a gas started to be released. Your knees were slightly bent, your head falling to the side. Your pale face was on the brink of a nightmare yet to fall.

Your mind may have been awake, but you were already starting to drift from consciousness, the neuro-muscular blocking drug kicking in. At that moment, with your head tilted back, you whispered softly:

“Bruce...”

Very quietly.

This word traveled as a burning jealousy through Crane’s veins. But he didn’t show it. He smiled. Slowly, he moved closer to you. And with his fingertips, he touched your cheek.

“Bruce...” he repeated. His voice was like ice. “When I’m done with you, you’ll never speak that name again, my little anomaly.”

---

He dimmed the room slightly. The diffuser started releasing gas from the mask at a nearly undetectable level. This new formula didn’t induce fear, but instead, it thinned the veil between consciousness and the subconscious. It contained substances that would gently stimulate dopamine receptors: Salsolinol, phenethylamine, and microdoses of hallucinogenic particles.

When he activated the headband, the lights in the lab dimmed to a faint glow. Extra soundproofing was activated.

Slowly, some frequencies were fed into your headphones. The subconscious gate... was opening.

“We’re not at the breaking point anymore,” he murmured to himself. “Now is the reshaping moment.”

Meanwhile, on his monitor, your heart rate, pupil dilation, and micro-muscular group activations were being recorded.

And Dr. Crane... watched you.

He watched the inside of your mind. Then, he whispered the first word.

“Touch.”

The tone of the waves changed.

“Shadow.”

Another vibration came.

“Trust.”

Immediately after.

“Crane.”

All these words were being placed to form connections that you might randomly encounter during the day, but would only associate with Crane.

He added a second serum to your intravenous line, a formula of his own creation. It didn’t have a name, at least not officially.

The drug acted directly on the hippocampus and amygdala areas of your brain. Not thoughts, but shaping emotional memory. Because falling in love with someone isn’t a matter of reason, but emotional imprinting.

Then he left the words behind. At that moment... he leaned in. He held your hair between his fingers and combed it back.

He softly repeated: “You’re not alone. The puppets that once watched you are gone. When you close your eyes, there’s a voice in the dark... And that voice... is Jonathan Crane. The only place you’re safe. Jonathan Crane. The only voice that won’t harm you. Jonathan Crane.”

He noticed your cheeks twitching.

A muscle twitched between your brows. Your lips barely moved. "... I don’t want this." Your reactions were millimetric. But he saw it, he understood you.

He couldn’t have applied the drug improperly. But at that moment, he realized: It wasn’t your body resisting, but your soul.

“You want it... but you’re still resisting. This... is so human,” he said, with a satisfied smile. Like victory. Then, he leaned in. He pressed his nose gently against your forehead. And whispered: “Day by day, you’ll want to embrace me. Because I... am the only one who will stitch the mouths of those puppets shut.”

But at that moment... he had entered your mind for the first time. Because for a moment, you thought that every time you heard his voice, you would feel safer.

---

When your mind first began to seep through the mist, you couldn't quite understand where you were. You realized you were being dragged along the thin line between dream and reality. The world you awoke to was wrapped in a silence that had fallen into darkness — the ceiling light had not been turned on; only the flickering blue glow from the machines in the corner vaguely revealed the room’s contours.

Your eyes were heavy, your head numb. Your mind was still chasing a dream, but your body had already begun to wake.

And then... you felt that hand.

It wasn’t warm. But it wasn’t exactly cold either. Strangely measured, unhesitant, confident. The fingertips moved along the edge of your cheek, just beneath your jaw. The touch was light, yet pressing. As if it wanted to reach not only beneath your skin, but deeper, much deeper.

Before your eyes could fully open, you heard a deep breath drawn very close to your ear.

You weren’t afraid. Not yet.

When your eyelids lifted, a blurry silhouette entered your field of vision. A raised collar. A dark-colored lab coat. And then, those familiar eyes. Dr. Jonathan Crane.

He was at your bedside. Very close. He watched you not like a patient, but like a secret. A hypothesis. A dream. A sin.

“You're awake,” he said in a low voice. As if he feared speaking louder would break some kind of spell. “Your pupils are responsive now. Pulse is stable. Breathing is normal.” He was speaking in statistics, but… that finger was still moving along your jaw. He didn’t need any medical instruments, he was measuring you himself.

When your eyes met his, you felt a flicker inside. For a moment… it felt warm. But before you could place what kind of warmth it was, an instinctive shiver ran down your spine. And in that moment, you became aware of the fingers touching your skin.

The hand that had slid down from your jaw was now at your neck. His thumb was making slow, circular motions just above your carotid artery. As if he wasn’t measuring your pulse — but your desire. As if… he wanted to claim you.

“The first session,” he murmured, “went better than I expected, Y/N.” He was like a god admiring you from within the universe of his own mind. You had already fallen into his world.

You turned your head slightly, trying to gather yourself. You averted your gaze. But that hand didn’t let go. It only changed position.

“Y/N…” he said again, slower this time, softer. “Tell me how you felt. Inside… what did you see?”

“I…” you began, your voice still echoing in your throat like a broken record. It hadn’t fully settled yet. “I don’t remember anything.”

You could now feel the places his body touched yours like a map etched into your skin.

You raised your hand and gently moved Crane’s hand away from your neck. Not forcefully, but with clear intent. Then you turned your head to the side, making a move to get up.

“Thank you,” you said, forcing the words from your lips. “For your… help.”

Your tone was controlled. But inside you, screams echoed. You were just beginning to fully return to yourself, but one thing was clear: His interest in you… was not the kind you were used to.

It wasn’t professional.

It wasn’t even human.

When you stood up, your head spun for a moment. But you recovered. You wanted to walk away without even glancing back at the bed.

Crane remained behind, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

The sentence that echoed silently inside him followed you:

“At night, you'll return to me in your dreams. You'll wake up with trembling, sweaty hands. And in the real world, no one will ever know you that well.”

And he was still smiling. But now, only to himself. Because watching you like a possession wasn’t enough anymore. He had started to live inside you.

[dilf-issues]

Vanilla | C.M

Requested by Anon: hey dunno you take requests but since your writing is so hot , I'm willing to ask if you consider writing about roleplaying with Cillian and his wife or gf to break the dull routine they were stuck into , the way he suggested that to her being embarrassed and the sweet moments they ditch the characters in bed. He could bring his characters *cough cough * Tommy shelby. Thank you x

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend, Cillian, finds out you’ve been reading erotic fiction about his character in the Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby. Cillian shows you how much of a great actor he is.

Warnings: Age gap, the reader is in her 20s and Cillian is in his 40s. Roleplaying, extremely rough sex, dumbification, degradation, face slapping, spitting, pussy spanking, oral sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, and a little cnc. THIS IS KIND OF DARK SO BE WARNED. Everything is consented it’s just that... Cillian’s gonna be rough, like ROUGH

.

Cillian had been busy. He had an upcoming new season this year and his schedule was packed. You haven’t spent time with him in quite some time now. He constantly apologized for not giving you enough attention and promised to make it up to you.

He decided to fulfill this promise.

Since he was the main character in his series ‘Peaky Blinders’, he did have massive privilege in the production. He had never done it before since he had been such a dedicated person to work with, however, he felt like he should sacrifice his work just for you. He wanted to spend the time with you, maybe have some dinner together at a nice restaurant. Just the usual things the both of you would do. Every time he had some free time he would do some nice things for you, treat you like a princess.

He came home from work that day, he got permission to take the week off and he even got back early from set. He wanted to surprise you, he had a flower in his hands a box of your favorite soft cookies. It was all so perfect.

When he came home, he saw that the first floor was empty and there were no signs of you anywhere. He went upstairs since he reckoned you were in the bedroom, probably taking a nap or reading a book.

Cillian was so happy. He was a man who barely showed any emotions in public but with you, it was different. He had a wide smile on his face, ready to surprise you but when he opened the door, he didn’t see you on the bed.

Instead, he heard the shower running and so he hummed to himself, setting the gifts down as he sat on the bed to wait for you.

As he patiently waited, he noticed your phone was still on. You were the type of person to let the screen go on forever instead of turning it off every 3 minutes like him. He glanced absentmindedly as he saw you were reading some sort of story on your phone. His actions were harmless, he just wanted to see what you were reading.

His eyes skimmed through the words as his blood runs cold.

‘Tommy had me bent over his desk, ass red and swollen from all the beatings. My pussy was leaking down onto the expensive wood, desperate for his cock to ram inside me.

“Please, Mr. Shelby, I need your cock!” I plead like a good whore as he growled.

“You are nothing but a filthy cocksleeve”

Tommy? Shelby? His Tommy Shelby? The character that he played?

It seemed like all of the blood started circulating to his face as he flushed at the filthy thing he had just read. Y/N? His sweet Y/N was reading something like that?

Cillian couldn’t believe it because someone as young and pure as he would never be this dirty. Because of their age gap, he saw her as someone that he needed to protect, shield from the rest of the goddamned world. His fragile little princess that he wouldn’t dare to inflict even a slight force in fear that she might break and shatter into pieces.

The sound of the shower became silent and it interrupted his thoughts, he quickly placed her phone where it belonged as he stood up and smoothened the spot on the bed where he sat to make it seem like he just came in.

When you had walked out, it took you a moment to notice Cillian standing there with your gifts but when you did, you gave him a small scream as you ran towards him, your figure wearing nothing but a small towel.

“Cillian?! You’re back? You brought me gifts!” You exclaimed as her wet body embraced him in a hug. Cillian was somewhat still blank from what he was reading earlier.

‘If she had liked that kinda stuff so much he could push her on the bed and beat her ass right now’

His eyes widened at his own thoughts as he tried to push them away, “Yes princess, I thought maybe I haven’t been paying attention to you now have I? I’m all yours for the week, baby”

You pouted as you nodded at him, and then he realized how submissive-looking you were. You had always had a demeanor of what he would expect someone much younger than him to have, however, Cillian was starting to look at it in a new light.

It doesn't help the fact that he still has his Thomas Shelby haircut for the filming.

It also doesn’t help she was almost naked in front of him, he hadn’t fucked her in weeks. It’s almost fitting.

Maybe doing something about it wouldn’t hurt now would it?

Oh... But it’s definitely gonna hurt you...

Cillian watched closely as the girl before him admired his gifts for her in awe. His eyes became more and more lusted as he figured out a way to approach you.

“Love, can I ask you a question?”

You hummed at him innocently as she raised her brows at him, “Anything, Cill...”

“What have you been reading on your phone, hmm?” Her eyes widened slightly as her heart started to pound in her chest. Cillian was looking at her so intensely that it was slightly scary. She didn’t know if she should lie, or if she should tell him the truth. However, since he had asked... It was obvious he knew the truth.

“Cillian I can explain” You sputtered, panicking on the inside as Cillian started closing whatever gap that both of you had, he was looking down on you in a way he had never done before. You felt the chill run down your spine as you felt the back of your knees hitting the bed.

“Explain” He commanded.

“It’s just... You know I love you and you know I should be honest to you no matter what. But... I just... We haven’t been together in a long time lately and even when we do... It’s always the same...” You felt guilty saying this to him, it’s not like he was bad at sex. He was great. However, you were getting bored with the same soft and loving sex you two always had. “I just... I hope you can be a little rougher, that’s all. You’ve always been... So soft”

“Soft... Hm?” He tilted his head to the side as he stared at you almost mockingly, “Be careful of what you wish for, love”

You had felt your heart stop when Cillian’s smooth Irish accent suddenly turned into the dark Brummie accent you had always heard about on the TV. The one you had always touched yourself to when he wasn’t around.

Then out of nowhere, Cillian had roughly pushed you on the bed as you fell down and whimpered softly. He pulled off the towel on your body as you were left naked, “C-Cillian!”

“Who the fuck is Cillian, eh? Have you been fucking whoring yourself out to another man?” Cillian cursed at you as he quickly took his clothes off, “You’re my whore. You’re mine to fuck, you got it?”

Then you can physically feel your gears shifting in your brain, “T-Tommy?”

Your body shivered as you felt yourself getting wet, you were all naked and you were ready for him. You felt your legs spread instinctively as you heard him laugh, “You really are such a desperate fucking cunt, eh?”

‘Tommy’ had bent down as he gripped your face by the cheeks and roughly shook your head, “Who do you belong to? Who do you fucking belong to?”

“Y-You Cill-Tommy! I belong to you!” Tommy smirked, as his hands traveled down to your navel, teasing you as he drew figures on the skin, making you whine, “Open your fucking mouth you dirty whore”

You wasted no time opening your mouth for him, wide with your tongue out. Suddenly, he did the unexpected when he spat in your mouth, “Fucking swallow it, princess”

You swallowed his spit like a good girl as you held out your tongue to show to him, suddenly seeking his praise and validation however it never came. Tommy just hummed as he let go of your face harshly, almost slamming your head onto the plush bedding.

Characters aside, Cillian was never like this. Throughout the year of your relationship, he had always been gentle and kind, treating you like a soft feather and taking care of you. Maybe because it was because he was much older he had felt like he needed to treat you gently. You never realized Cillian had this side to him. He had always had this side, you just never awaken it.

“Spread your legs wider” He commanded, his voice dark as his character, you listened to him, eager to show him you were his good girl as he hummed looking down at the glistening flesh in between your legs. You were so wet it had dripped down and leaked onto the bedsheet. Without a warning, Tommy gives a hard slap to your cunt and you screamed out. You thought he was doing it once but it seems like it came over and over again, beating your swollen pussy and clit until it was throbbing and red. You cried out of pleasure and pain, as you begged him. You didn’t know what you were begging for but it was sure not for him to stop.

“You fucking like this don’t you? Fucking hell, look at you. You’re fucking wet, you like getting fucking beaten and bruised huh? What a fucking whore. You are nothing. You are only good for fucking, you are only here to fuck. Remember that, you fucking cunt”

Tears were flowing down and you were desperate you were so desperate for his cock. After each word, Tommy spat on your body, leaving you all wet and filthy combined with your own sweat and arousal.

“P-Please! P-Please, fuck me, Tommy! Please I need your cock. Please I want your cum. I need it inside me!” You pleaded like a whore as he slapped your face. You moaned out as his hand traveled down your neck and choked it just enough to make you feel the air around you restricting. “Tommy, I can’t, I need your cock”

He scoffed, pulling down his pants as whipped out his cock. It was so hard to the point where it became purplish-red, the veins covering the base as the head leaked with pre-cum.

“You want my cock?” He lined up his tip on your vagina, “You fucking get it you cocksleeve”

Without giving you a warning and time to adjust, Tommy slammed his cock inside your cunt and he wasted no time ramming into you roughly. Not like you needed time to adjust since you were sopping wet. All you can do is choke out his name and moans as he grunts with each slam.

His pace was rough and deep and for someone like hin with his age, he had the stamina to go on and on fucking you so rough till you can feel him ramming in your stomach.

No words could even cum out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back as he fucks you braindead.

Spit drooling at the side of your mouth as you babble like a cock hungry whore underneath him.

“I’m gonna fucking cum and you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna fucking carry my babies, and even then it is not gonna stop me from fucking you stupid”

You could feel him twitching as his thrusts were getting sloppier and sloppier, you could also feel your orgasm coiling in your tummy as you cried out once you let it all go, the liquid splashing all over the both of you as you squirt on his dick.

You were heavily overstimulated and you screamed as Tommy fucked the cum out of him.

The warm seed spilled inside your walls as he grunted in pleasure, leaning down as he bit your neck and drew blood to the surface.

Tommy looked at you all fucked out, eyes still rolling at the back of your head as you continue to babble nonsense to nothing.

He breathes heavily as he lays down beside you, carefully moving your body to cuddle up to him.

“Like I said, my love... Be careful of what you wished for”

[ladyalatariel]

CILLIAN MURPHY as Dr. Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow in Batman Begins (2005) | dir. Christopher Nolan