Vervainandspritz - KEEP QUIET

TASTE OF SHAME

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Part one Part two

Summary: You can't escape, and the line between his manipulation and your own thoughts begins to disappear.

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

A/N: COMMENT AND REBLOG PLEASE!

After the events of that one particularly dark evening, Y/N shut off. She didn't come out to see Ada when the young woman would visit, not for a while. Spending most days in her room, sometimes even not reacting when one of the maids would come to remind her of Mr. Shelby's wish to see her at five PM.

Sometimes she didn't show up, and he let her.

”She's a teenager, Ada. What am I supposed to tell you, eh?” He spoke one day, finally answering the questions she had for him ever since Y/N's behaviour changed. His eyes remaining at the contract in his hands, agreement from Churchill himself. A small grin danced on his lips, tugging on one of the corners of his mouth. ”Don't you remember how it is as a young girl, eh? Always a bloody handful,” He snorted, lightly, letting go of the piece of paper as his eyes finally met his sister's. Cold and calculating, playing chess with every word, just the way he always did since their lives changed.

Ever since he unapologetically took the whole of Birmingham, and greedily reached out for the rest of Britain.

Unapologetic, that's the word she'd use to describe him.

Letting out a sigh, Ada shook her head lightly, crossing her arms across her chest as she stared through the big window.

”You didn't hurt her, did you?” Her voice came out almost tired, knowing the person Thomas Shelby became, Ada was... Almost expecting it. Dealing with the effects of his violence and decisions day to day.

Thomas' blue eyes slowly raised to her own, but she didn't look at him, still peacefully looking out the window.

With parted lips, he breathed out a quiet snarl.

”Am I a monster, Ada?” The voice so full of mockery, she should have felt disrespected, but worry for the girl was stronger.

”You want to be, Tommy”

~~

Jabbing at dinner with a fork, Y/N wrestled with her thoughts back and forth. She knew she couldn't escape, her absence would bring an inevitable danger onto her family, and despite the hatred she felt towards them ever since... Her father sold her, she couldn't bring herself to not care.

After all, where would she go? Y/N had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

His horrible, mocking chuckle rang in her ears loudly, making her wince as she heard steps behind. His expensive leather shoes clicked against the floor, and Y/N recognized his heavy steps.

The silence in the room was suddenly heavy, suffocating. She didn't dare to move, almost freezing under his gaze.

Her fear was palpable, and Thomas could easily sense it in the air. Her flowery scent came to his nostrils immediately when he stood behind the counter. Making coffee, as a cigarette hung from his lips. His blue eyes glanced towards her frame, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth at her posture. Admittedly, he didn't know why her fear was so... Joyful to him. So attractive and addicting, like a sweet treat. His presence alone was enough to make her shiver, and he'd always take on every occasion to torment her.

Y/N expected it, almost like she got used to it. Holding her breath when he moved, steps growing closer before the cold air hit the skin on her neck. She waited, for something, anything. Pain, shame or whatever he would give her. That's what he always did.

So when he wordlessly passed by, all Y/N felt was a confusion.

The expected relief didn't come, and the cold temperature of the room suddenly seemed to swallow her whole as she let out a breath.

He ignored her, simply, walking through the doorway and disappearing into the corridor.

Leaving her breathing slowly, as a little smile appeared on her lips.

Maybe that was it.

The rest of the day passed calmly, without any events and Y/N spent some time entertaining little Charlie, doodling away in her notebook and drawing all the animals she could think of to make the little boy happy. Only when he fell asleep, drained from being awake that long, she sighed, letting one of the maids take him to bed as she walked back to her own room.

Glancing up, she noticed the beautiful view from her window. Something so obvious, yet not important enough to ever catch her gaze before. Now she felt a little peaceful, while he wasn't home.

Pulling out her drawing supplies, she set her notebook on the windowsill, taking her time to draw the sight, the beautiful trees bending under heavy wind. Rays of the sun penetrate between branches and hitting the window, accompanying the silence in her room well enough that the environment seemed peaceful. Calm. Safe.

Unknowingly, Y/N began softly humming under her breath, feeling a glimmer of hope for a better future still smoldering somewhere between her ribs.

He came back late, later than usual. Tommy's steps echo throughout the almost empty house, getting the attention of staff but nobody else.

”Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” One of the maids said, quietly, getting a quick nod out of him as he climbed the stairs, stopping midway.

”Where is she?” His voice held the usual complete seriousness, not holding the amount of mockery he seemed to have only for her. The middle-aged maid, shifted her weight from one leg to the other before answering.

”Miss Y/L/N informed Frances she'd go visit her horse in the stables.” Her voice was quiet, unsure.

Nodding again, Thomas moved forward before clearing his throat and stopping, just for a second.

”It's my horse. Everything here is mine.” His sharp tone cut through the air while maintaining the huskiness and not disturbing the silence of the house for too long. ”When she comes back, she is going to come to my office.” He liked it. The intimidation in the air, present wherever he goes.

”Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

That day felt more special than most, much longer as if it held more than twenty four hours in it. After leaving the house and making her way to the stables, Y/N stopped checking her watch, letting the activity engulf her completely once she saw the precious creature she missed so dearly. Normally, Y/N would be too scared to come here without asking for permission first, and she didn't seek any reasons to come to Mr. Shelby. Not really.

Walking through the wooden building, she carefully eyed each of the horses there, eyes widening as she saw the biggest one. A massive, black horse with eyes that had the look to them, which made her back off. The madness in this horse's eyes reminded her of the blue ones she feared so badly.

Yet all the worries seemed to disappear as her gaze met the calm, brown eyes of her horse...

Before she knew it, Y/N walked back through the field, rushing towards Arrow house, sun barely up in the sky still. Time passed between her fingers so fast when she was having fun, but it's been so long she almost forgot how it feels. The beautiful black mane on a completely white Stallion took at least an hour to braid, but Y/N loved the process. She was taking care of him ever since he was a foal.

Taking him out on the free field and getting to ride him again, despite having to do it bareback felt wonderful. Felt like the freedom Y/N so desperately yearned for.

As the canter turned into a full on gallop, a bright smile appeared on her face, as her hair blew on the wind. The scent of nature, wilderness and sharp wind which turned her cheeks bright red made the experience almost magical, so she lost track of time. There was no reason to rush home either, since Mr. Shelby was away.

Letting out a tired sigh, Y/N's smile remained plastered onto her face until she noticed the long, black coat on the rack.

Which was a sign that he was home

Swallowing the lump which suddenly appeared in her throat, Y/N calmed herself down mentally before slowly turning towards the stairs and step by step climbing them, extending the whole process just to make as little noise as possible.

Her feet felt a little numb from horse riding, so when she reached the top of the stairs, one wooden plank bent under her weight, creaking slightly.

When no sound followed, Y/N let out a sigh, walking through the corridor and heading to her room when suddenly Frances opened her bedroom door on the other end of the hall.

”Miss Y/L/N” She spoke up, wearing her modest bathrobe and nightgown, ”Mr. Shelby asked me to tell you to come to his office when you get back.” She instructed quietly, as not to disturb the rest of the staff which was probably sleeping. The night came around, and the sky was almost completely pitch black. An old, wooden clock on the wall struck eleven PM.

Y/N's breath hitched, realizing she didn't manage to get out of coming eye to eye with him. Not today. Seeing the questions in her eyes, Frances, let out a quiet breath as well.

”He came back around three hours ago” The older woman added, replying to the silent question which never got asked. Not out loud.

”Thank you, Frances” She smiled lightly, before disappearing behind her bedroom door again, leaving Y/N standing on the corridor completely on her own.

She stood there, frozen for a hot minute. Contemplating what to do, whether she should go and change her dirty clothes first, or maybe go see him as soon as possible. After all Mr. Shelby's anger was the last thing Y/N wanted upon herself, knowing how cruel he could be if he felt like it.

Weighing her options shivers ran down her spine at the risk, and so her shoulders slumped slightly when she made up her mind. Turning around and slowly making her way further through the corridor, the dark, wooden door growing closer with each small step.

Moving closer, Y/N narrowed her eyes noticing a small beam of light on the floor coming from his office. Small enough to not be noticeable if she didn't pay enough attention. Another step, and Y/N's breath hitched in her throat as barely audible sounds came to her ears. High pitched, muffled almost.

Another couple feet, and she stood right there, by the door with her eyes widening at the realisation of what was happening. The door to Mr. Shelby's office was unusually creaked open, through the crack she could see the interior of the room. Dim light making it all more difficult, as she heard feminine moans and whimpers coming from the inside, accompanied by shuffling of the heavy desk.

Her hand rested on the door knob as she moved closer, covering her mouth with one hand as she noticed the dark haired woman splayed on the mahogany desk, face down. One of Tommy's hands was gripping tightly onto her shoulder, pulling back with each move as the other covered the woman's mouth, keeping her as quiet as possible. Muffled sounds kept coming out of her mouth as he kept thrusting inside her from behind, not caring about whether someone heard. Her breasts were almost spilling from her blouse, and Mr. Shelby didn't even care to get her undressed first, cigarette hanging from his lips as he fucked into her hard and fast, chasing his own high. Y/N's face twisted in disgust as the other woman began moaning crude words, calling out his name like it was the only thing she knew.

Still covering her mouth, Y/N took a step back, letting go of the door knob as she let out a shaky breath.

She shouldn't have come home so late, Y/N thought. Better go before he finds out.

Turning around, she moved swiftly through the corridor, before quietly closing the door behind her back.

She panted like someone was chasing her, and only after several moments she moved away from the entrance, sitting on her bed and taking off the jacket she wore.

Taking deep breaths, Y/N tried to calm herself down.

Half an hour later, Y/N was still laying awake, her lamp turned on as she read a book, not knowing what else to do this late at night. She wouldn't dare go out, and risk stumbling upon him or his mistress.

The last thing she expected was to hear a knock on the door, this late at night. Furrowing her brows, Y/N put the book down on the covers, and before she could answer, the door opened.

Thomas walked into the room, slowly shutting it behind him. An unlit cigarette in his hand, and she took in his appearance. The four undone buttons on his shirt, messy hair and dark, unreadable gaze in his eyes.

Shivers appeared on the back of her neck, and she froze seeing him.

”Not sleeping, eh?” He asked, glancing quickly around her room as he lit his cigarette, before letting his gaze fall back on her. He noticed the way she pulled the covers higher, covering every inch of herself besides her face and shoulders.

”N–Not yet” She stuttered out, feeling even more intimidated after what she saw just an hour earlier.

Thomas nodded his head, looking out the window as he inhaled the smoke, taking his time before letting it out again.

After a minute of silence, Y/N licked her lips nervously as she saw him move forward, lazily stepping closer to the bed before sitting on the edge of it.

”You were out late” He pointed out without looking at her, his posture firm and strong despite his clearly relaxed state. Y/N glanced nervously, looking at his side profile.

”I was in the stables” She explained, hoping that she wouldn't get in trouble for that. Y/N didn't bother explaining on why she went only when he wasn't supposedly around. ”Time passed so quickly I didn't realise–” She continued until he cut her off while blowing out a cloud of smoke, causing her to wrinkle her nose at the intense scent.

”Tomorrow is a special day” He spoke up, raising his eyebrows as he shifted to the side, leaning on his hand by her leg over the covers. His eyes scanned her emotionlessly, taking in the soft lines of her face, her lively blushed cheeks. ”I was wrong at the beginning.” He admitted, tilting his head to the side. ”I thought there would be troubles with you. That you'd try to run away, be a handful, yeah? All that teenage nonsense.” He gestured with the hand in which he held the lit cigarette, drawing a little circle in the air. His voice held a bit of humour, despite his completely numb facial expression.

Y/N looked at him nervously, looking everywhere but in his eyes.

”One of the maids overheard your conversation with Ada.” Her heart sank for a second, which he saw clearly, making him chuckle. ”Told me how much you respect the dear, old Mr. Shelby, yeah?” He chuckled again, reaching out and suddenly grasping her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. The approval in his gaze made her a little more relaxed, just like the warmth of her touch. So much softer than the usual, bruising grip. ”Good girl” Tommy added, the corner of his mouth lightly turning up.

Y/N didn't know what to say, so she just nodded along to make him happy.

He tilted his chin up, eyes narrowing as he watched her expression while his hand moved to the side of her face, slowly pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

”Don't go alone when you're planning to be gone for that long. Next time you're going to tell me, eh?” He offered, almost gently with a hardened expression, earning another nod from her.

Thomas sighed, deeply, letting his hand drop to his side before raising from the bed. He came up, close, too close for comfort as he looked down.

”Tomorrow at eight in the morning Ada and Polly will take you shopping. You'll get new clothes and horse riding gear.” Tommy informed, finishing his cigarette before putting it out it is in a glass of water which stood on her nightstand. Y/N's expression turned into disgust as she saw that, and Thomas made her look at him again. ”Understood?”

”Yes, Mr. Shelby” She said, blinking quickly as she held his heavy gaze. His blue eyes remained motionlessly locked into her own before she corrected herself. ”Thank you, Mr. Shelby”

...and only then, he smiled lightly, nodding in approval before taking a step back.

”You're welcome”

He said, before turning around and heading to the door. When his hand made contact with the doorknob and the door opened slightly, he stopped, glancing down on his hands with a grin she couldn't possibly see.

”And next time, close the door once you're done watching me.”

Hearing his words, Y/N's mouth opened as she realized what he implied, eyes widening at the sense of seemingly innocent sentence. Her cheeks turned crimson red, as she blushed fiercely. Tommy stood in the doorway for a moment longer, knowing the upper hand he had on her. Knowing that the younger girl was too naïve and shy to speak up against him, to dare to correct him on a topic so sensitive. When he was sure she wouldn't respond, Thomas walked out of her room, closing the door behind him.

Once again, he won, and in that moment, Y/N realized he purposely asked the maid to get her, and left the door open. He wanted her to see.

~~

@iilovedonnatartt @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @novashelby @wonderlanddreamer @calmingmelody96

Love when the chronically online anons reveal themselves as having no life outside of this site 👎👎

Hope you don't get any more of those messages and that they don't affect you. Thank you for writing and if u wanna update once annually, then i promise there will be a lot of people still happy to see it ⭐️💜 or not at all 😭😭😭 its just fun we have people pn here to talk to , no content creation needed

You're super sweet, thank you a lot. ☺️

WHEN I TOUCH HER

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy sees Y/N some time after breaking it off, she doesn't seem to notice him.. or does she?

A/N: Interact with the stories you read! It's important. Who wants something more tonight?:)

~~

People surely noticed, looking over curiously as several blinders entered the pub. Not making a ruckus of sort, slipping between other people in the fairly big crowd.

Some joined others by the table, greeting with wide grins those they know so well. Others, like John and Arthur came up to the bar, so much bigger than one in the Garrison. Three barmaids worked behind the counter, skillfully pouring all kinds of alcohol for the men in need. Known well among the people of Birmingham, they didn't have to call over to the working women to get what they came for. One of the barmaids handed over a full bottle of the finest Irish whiskey, receiving a good tip as the younger man left it on the counter, pushing it towards her with a wink.

Y/N, one of the barmaids didn't notice any of the Shelby brothers just yet, focused on the orders and techniques she taught herself so well. Tips were pouring like never before that night, as the rich guests consistently ordered more and more. A woman with such abilities was surely never seen before in any local club around here.

Night seemed to be coming to a head as the crowd slightly dispersed, giving her a much more clear view on the whole, rather massive, room. To say she saw him right away would be a lie, but Y/N could feel an intense gaze on her hands and face as she worked, cleaning up the glasses and wiping the counter down before finally looking up.

The man she avoided for over a month, more or less successfully stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets as he watched her from across the room. Despite the fact that this place was bursting at the seams, his gaze didn't falter as he watched her expression change, one much more bitter than the whiskey he held in his right hand.

”Fuck” Y/N sighed under her nose, internally rolling her eyes as she saw in her peripheral vision him slowly approaching.

Not giving him a chance to speak to her, Y/N turned around, wiping all the shelves behind her, keeping herself busy with anything, just so he wouldn't speak up. Involuntarily, the corner of her mouth raised slightly hearing his sigh of annoyance behind her back.

”Y/N” Thomas said, sitting on one of the stools. He wasn't surprised with the way she was acting, not really, knowing the situation he put them in some time ago. ”Y/N” He repeated, a little louder before dropping the glass onto the counter, causing her to huff before finally facing him.

Taking in the sight of him, already sitting by the counter, Y/N realized he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

”What the hell did I do to see you here today, Shelby?” Came out of her mouth as a greeting, her tongue effortlessly sharp as always before she cocked her eyebrow. ”Don't you have whiskey in your own pub?”

Tommy looked at her for a moment, nodding lightly with an amused smile, causing her anger to simmer even harder.

”Came to see what all the noise's about, yeah?” He offered, pushing his empty glass forward, as in a silent order for a fill up. Without missing a beat she turned it upside down, slamming against the wood in front of him.

”Unfortunately we're closing soon. Find your way out, would you?” She said, smiling so nicely in such a fake manner, Tommy internally winced.

Letting out a sigh, he got up from his chair, leaning forward on his arms.

”Don't be like that,” He insisted, looking her in the eyes.

Tommy knew how this... The whole situation looked. Without knowing the details, it was messy and he was an asshole. Like always. When usually it didn't bother him much, Tommy couldn't shake this off. So aware of what was going on in her head about him.

”Like what?” She hissed, unable to hold back the anger she held in her fear for so many days now. ”You made your choice, now don't you dare come around in a state of boredom telling me what to do!” She stated sharply, a little louder than intended which brought the attention of one of her coworkers, Diana.

She came closer, tossing the rag aside as she eyed both Thomas and Y/N, before reaching out to touch her shoulder.

”Everything alright, hun? Is this man bothering you?” She offered, narrowing her eyes without dropping his gaze.

Hearing it, Tommy smirked lightly, highly amused with how... Fitting this environment was to Y/N's combative personality.

Are all of them that feisty?

Y/N sighed, shaking her head as she ran a hand through her hair.

”No, Diana, it's fine he's just... A bloody idiot, he is.” She said, glaring at him before adding. ”But he's no threat. I'm fine. Get behind the bar, would you?”

After hearing an affirmative answer, Y/N grabbed a pack of cigarettes from under the counter, walking around it and heading through the door. Tommy stood there for a moment, with his eyebrows raised in surprise. Only when Diana narrowed his eyes at him, contempt clear as day in her eyes, he rolled his own before following after Y/N.

She didn't go far, as a cloud of smoke awaited him right by the entrance, in the slightly darker side of the building. Moving closer Tommy lit his own cigarette, the air around them much different as the scenery changed. The reality heaving on his heart as he saw her hardened face.

”Y/N just let me say something, aye? If after that you decide you can't be arsed to talk to me, I'll leave.” He offered, the previous confidence and cockiness in his voice now gone. A long silence followed the echo of his low, husky tone while Tommy awaited her answer, standing nearby, yet not close enough.

Her hand was super still, eyes blank as she stared ahead for a moment.

”I simply don't understand why you're bothering me now, Shelby. It's been a couple weeks and you're suddenly back like a bloody boomerang.” Y/N made sure her voice was steady and confident as she spoke, knowing that she would be able to read her eyes, so the poor lighting was an advantage she was happily using.

He walked back and fourth a couple steps, smoking the cigarette before throwing it on the ground, stepping on it with the heel of his black, leather shoe.

”Campbell sent her to the Garrison. She came and sang, lied to us lot sayin' she's from Ireland.” Thomas finally spoke up, taking a step forward and keeping just the minimal, necessary distance he knew she needed. His eyes locked on her as best as he could in the dark, feeling her gaze as she hears his words. ”But Polly knew, saw her by the cut with 'im. Wore a hat, thought it would be enough to fool us.” a dry chuckle left his lips. ”After a couple meetings she started spilling, believed I felt the same. Kept talkin' and I needed to have the full view before the races.” The explanation slowly started.. having sense. But not enough to calm her nerves fully.

”No need to explain it all, no it's in the past.” She said, focusing on the black material of his tie, not looking at his face. ”You've had a long time to tell me, hell, to warm me you'd go 'round with a blonde on your arm, but you didn't. Now it's– not important.” Y/N said, involuntarily stuttering by the end of her sentence.

It was all... Hard. Hard on a different level. Before it all came to a head, it was all uncertain as well. He'd come, take her places or fuck her over the counter. He'd tell her things, but never enough to make it special. Keep his arm around her shoulders in the pub but never call her his. Y/N wasn't sure what was happening between them back then, but she liked it. Felt good around the man with blood on his hands and dimples in his cheeks. The casual flings turning into something she held dear to her heart, without trying to make it hard on him with confessions.

...but then she came around, taking all his attention. Leaving Y/N feeling like nothing important, like an underwhelming fuck he'd want to forget about.

Not calling, not talking, not coming to see her.

So she moved past it, and now he was back, suddenly scooting closer and getting ahold of her hands as she finished her cigarette, ripping her out of the dark thoughts.

”He was watching you. Knew about us, I couldn't risk them taking you to jail. Not after Arthur came back barely walking.” His voice was stern, more desperate now as he saw what seemed to be indifference in her eyes. ”Look at me, Y/N” He asked, quieter, and this worked.

It always did when he talked to her gently, using the soft tone he hasn't used with anyone else. So she looked, seeing the sadness in his eyes.

”I'm looking, Thomas. It's a lot.” She admitted, her teeth nipping on her lower lip nervously.

”I know.” He responded, leaning down for a better look on her eyes. ”Today were the races. I was supposed to take her with me so she'd sing all the missing bits into my ear.” Tommy added, his voice growing husky, breathing more ragged.

”Why the hell would you tell me that now?” She asked, frustrated with his weird tactics, jealousy gnawing on her throat. Thomas smiled lightly, not noticeably seeing it.

”Because I didn't take her. Made sure she's gone for good.” Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her eyes meeting his as she searched for the truth. He was honest. Another step closed the distance between them, his firm chest pressing lightly against her own before he leaned forward, caging her between the wall. Calloused fingers gripped her chin, tilting her head up so she wouldn't look away.

Oh, how he missed the way she looked at him. These deep, expressive eyes he grew to yearn after whenever she wasn't around.

”Because when I touched her...” Tommy whispered, moving even closer. His warm breath touching her lips and chin. ”It felt like I was cheating on you.” His forehead came to rest against hers, feeling how she slightly relaxed against his body. ”I couldn't risk putting you in danger just because I so desperately need you around, Miss Y/L/N. You must forgive an old fool, eh?” His low voice slightly muffled, as his lips moved against hers in the incredibly close proximity they found themselves in.

Y/N chuckled, hearing him. The tears in her eyes remain hidden from his watchful gaze only because of the awful lighting by the pub.

”You're awful, Shelby.” She finally breathed out, leaving a small kiss, almost a peck on his lips before pushing her arms beneath his coat, wrapping them around his torso. ”Hug me, Tommy” Y/N asked quietly, touching the terrain they never explored before. The simple intimacy with no sexual undertones.

Surprisingly, Tommy couldn't imagine a better ending to this encounter as his arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her face into his neck.

Resting his chin on her head, Thomas knew he was the real winner, regardless of the race results.

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

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

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

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

Word count:  3,750 

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

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

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you said a word.

Taglist: @4ria790

I love just another one of your mistakes!! One of the best stories i've read, and it was ended beautifully. I did have a question though, i can't figure out the y/n, grace, tommy timeline. She and tommy knew each other as children...did he cheat on her with grace and then she died? Or him and y/n were never married?

Thank you so much!

Here I come with explanations! They were together for a long time, and when Grace came into the view Tommy got into an emotional affair.. Y/N desperately held onto him, so when Grace died and Thomas started spiralling she desperately wanted to save him, to keep him close but eventually it got too difficult, and well.. Tommy mentally checked out of their relationship, too consumed by grief and blinded by the passing moments with Grace.

Hope it helps! Thank you for reading!

Hi guys!

Since the thing seems to start raising again, I'm opening my anon asks/normal asks/DMs for questions about the predatory thing that happened at the beginning of 2024. This whole thing was not true, and the two people who began this whole thing (Red and @kittenonpluto) are fully aware of it since April. I've proved myself then, and I'll be happy to do so now.

I feel like there are some people among readers who actually have enough of a decency to see the situation from both sides.

Not a predator, never been, and won't be.

K x

i wish you a nice sunday, kind parents, good food, long walks and thoughts free of worries. — franz kafka, 1912

its cruel to tell us you are going to update in 24 hours to get lost for weeks😭 where are u dear? It would have been fine but u made us expect it 😭

I KNOW! I'm the worst for that, and I do sincerely apologize. A lot is happening right now, I've decided to move apartments and have been working on a bigger project in the meantime. Life gets in the way heavily and it's hard to keep the mood whatsoever steady, especially with BPD.

Today one part will drop. I'm staying up late and will be drinking so hopefully another one will follow. Thank you guys for being around and I wish you a happy new years.

All the love🤘