Could You Do A Smut Where It Takes Place After Season 4, Episode One When Tommy Murders That Butcher,

You and Arthur and a couple of the Lee boys, you'll be in charge of getting Barney into position. He'll be up in the lighting gantry. We'll need chains and a twitch, Tom. No. I will medicate him. Peaky Blinders | 5x06 Mr. Jones

A lot will go wrong before everything goes right.

Keep moving forward.

-@lipikkawrites

Replying to an the anon in my askbox, I'd love to get a single screenshot where I acted the way you're picturing it. Because it's mad bullshit and I was friendly with mostly everyone, besides grace fans. I'm not gonna be explaining my name, because well... It's a fucking name. Lol. My private life was, is and will be real no matter how you feel about it, dear anon. If as boldly as you jump in the askbox via anon you were able to talk through the DMs, the whole mess wouldn't be a thing.

But none of you is bold enough to actually talk. It only counts when it's ganging up on one person and accusing of shit with no proof.

Thought so. Lol

Peaky Blinders Season 4 | Episode 6

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Buddy taken on a Galaxy S3 with a fisheye jelly lens attachment

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

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

warnings: outdated language concerning sex-workers; smut

word count: 4142k

Do I Move You?- Nina Simone 🎵

Daylight- David Kushner 🎶

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So does yours.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very observant,” Tommy says coldly. 

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

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

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

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

“Why are you holding my hand like that?” 

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

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

“Why are you so mean?” 

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes, Mr. Shelby. Anything else?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And before you can think it through, you respond. 

“Make me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy-” 

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

“Say my name again,” he orders softly. 

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

“Tommy…”

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

“I want you, Diana.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

“Not yet,” you whisper. 

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

“Why not?” 

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

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

“You have to be good to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what is it?” 

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

“Marry me.”

Since the bunch of y'all are voting, I better see yo asses reading the stories later!

Part one of the Tommy one posted.

I'm gonna sit my ass and write at least two stories today so...

After Hours

Part 13

Previous part here

…………………………………………………………………………….

Mortified. Absolutely mortified.

There was no other way to describe it.

She was absolutely mortified.

Y/N initially had no intention of doing what she’d done that night, but upon seeing Robert, thinking of everything she felt for him but also how much he’d hurt her, she’d been unable to stop herself.

The literal lap dance she’d given him had come from somewhere between desirous arousal and offended anger, battling between still loving and wanting him, and feeling like she could nearly slap him again. And when it was over and she came to her senses once more, she knew that her only option was to bolt out of there as fast as possible and do everything she could to never see him again. That was the last time she’d let him hurt her.

•.•.•.•.•

The looks she’d given him — the obvious hurt in her eyes, but then also something else. The arousing feel of her body on his, the touches she she’d given him. The way his hands had felt on her. The instinctive need to hold her closer. The insane desire he had to just erase the mistake he’d made, take away the hurt he’d caused, and have her back with him and to tell her that he loved her.

These were all the thoughts running through Robert’s mind the next day, and as he sat at his desk and was unable to do anything productive, he kept trying to think of anything he could do now to possibly fix this. But it was hopeless. He’d screwed up royally, and he had no options left.

“Mr. Fischer, there’s someone here to see you. He’s not on your schedule, but he’s insisting you two know each other. He says it’s urgent and he needs to speak with you right away.”

Frowning at the words his receptionist, Mary, was saying to him through the phone intercom, Robert stood from his chair.

“What’s his name?” Robert asked then.

“Jason Dryers.”

Robert frowned again.

“I don’t know a Jason Dryers.”

There was a brief muffling as his receptionist spoke to whoever this visitor was, and then she spoke to Robert again.

“He’s insisting that he knows you, and that he needs to speak with you about Miss Y/L/N.”

At the mention of Y/N’s name, Robert’s eyebrows shot up, and then furrowed as he tried to figure out who this person could be.

“I’ll be right there,” he said into the phone, and then he moved from behind his desk and crossed his office.

As he opened the door and stepped out into the reception area, he saw a man who appeared to be about his age standing at Mary’s desk. The man turned around upon hearing Robert open the door, and as Robert looked at him, he immediately recognized him as the man who Y/N had been especially friendly with at the club that one night.

“You may not know me, but I know you,” Jason said upon making eye contact with Robert. “And I need to talk to you about Y/N.”

The mention of Y/N had Robert deciding that he needed to hear whatever this guy had to say. He’d been unable to stop her before she’d left the club last night after the ensemble performance, and all Robert had been able to think about all morning was how much of a mess all this had become and how insanely regretful he was for allowing himself to ruin everything.

Giving a slight nod to Mary over Jason’s shoulder to assure her that it was ok, Robert then silently stepped aside, making room in his doorway and gesturing for Jason to come into his office. After Jason had entered, Robert closed the door behind them, and then looked at Jason expectantly.

“What’s going on with Y/N?” he immediately asked, his face etched with concern. “Is she ok?”

Jason tilted his head, giving him a look of disbelief.

“Oh, so you’re suddenly concerned about her? After having called her a gold digging slut, hurting her so badly that she spent an entire week crying on my couch, and then intentionally embarrassing her by arranging that little show behind her back?” Jason scoffed. “You’re a real winner, aren’t you?”

Robert’s brow had furrowed deeper and deeper with each accusation Jason made, and he shook his head and tried to speak as he took in what he was saying.

“What? I didn’t—“

“Look, I don’t give a shit how rich you are or what influences you have. I’m not going to let you keep hurting my best friend. And while she may be too sweet to ever confront you, I’m not nearly as nice as her. So, I’m simply here to tell you to stop playing with her emotions and leave her the hell alone.”

Robert was trying to keep up as Jason made his declaration. But two words he’s said stuck out the most.

“Best friend?” Robert said to him.

Expecting a different response, Jason was poised to continue yelling when he registered Robert’s words.

“Yes, I’m her best friend. And I’m not gonna let you keep hurting her.”

“I thought you were dating her,” Robert said then, his pulse gradually rising as he started realizing he’d been very, very wrong.

“What?” Jason asked, again taken aback by Robert’s response. “No,” he shook his head as he frowned. “We’re best friends.”

“So, you’re not dating her? You two aren’t involved?”

“Considering the fact that I’m not interested in women, the answer to that is a definite no.” Jason crossed his arms then. “Although, if I was interested in women, I’d treat her a hell of a lot better than you have, I’ll tell you that.” He paused again before speaking once more, furrowing his brow in confusion. “What made you think she and I were dating?”

Robert looked at Jason.

“I saw you two at the club that night. You two kissed and hugged, and you seemed very…close.”

Jason looked back at Robert with equal confusion.

"I'd hardly call a quick kiss on the cheek 'close,'" he said.

"I..." Robert shook his head. "I thought maybe..."

"So, you see her give another man an innocent kiss on the cheek or learn she might be casually dating, and you immediately decide that means she's a gold digging bed hopper?" Jason started once more, angry again. He shook his head. "You know, for the longest time, I was rooting for you," he said, looking at Robert. "Every time she talked about you. I didn't even know you, but from everything Y/N would tell me, I was convinced you were a good guy and that you cared about her. But clearly, you don't give a shit about her. And you know what? That's fine, because you don't deserve her. If your opinion of her can be so easily swayed and you could be so cruel as to say what you said and do what you did to her, then you don't deserve to even know her. She's a million times better off having nothing to do with you. You're clearly not who she thought you were, and the little stunt you pulled last night was a low blow."

Shaking his head adamantly, Robert spoke then.

"I didn't arrange any of that last night," he began. "Well, I mean, I sort of did. I mean, I knew Y/N was going to be there, but I had no idea it was going to be that kind of performance. I thought all the women were just going to sing a song or something by themselves up on stage. I had no idea it was going to be what it turned out to be. My colleague arranged all that."

"But you did arrange it initially, though? And you knew she was going to be there," Jason emphasized. "You knew she was going to be there and you didn't tell her. Why? Just so you could humiliate her? Was what you said to her not hurtful enough, already? You had to catch her off guard and make her do it in front of you, just to make her feel worse?"

"What? No!" Robert insisted with another fervent shake of his head. "I arranged it initially, yes, but that was because it was my only option to possibly see her. I was trying to find a way to apologize. She'd refused what I'd sent her, she wouldn't respond to my calls or texts, and when I went to her apartment, she wasn't there and I had no idea when she'd be back. I had to work out some other way to see her so that I could try and talk to her. And if she knew ahead of time that I'd be there, I knew she wouldn't show up. I know it was extreme, but it was my only shot at being able to see her."

As Jason listened to Robert, his anger slowly started to lessen. So he'd done what he had to try and apologize?

"You went to her apartment?" Jason asked then.

"Yes," Robert replied. "After she'd sent everything back to me, I decided to try and speak to her in person. But when I went there, the doorman said she'd been gone for days, and that he didn't know when she'd be back. I waited for almost two hours, but she never came home."

"So you were trying to apologize?"

"Yes," Robert replied, nodding. "I've been trying to apologize since the day it happened, but she wouldn't have it. I didn't know what else to do."

Crossing his arms, Jason felt no sympathy for him.

"Maybe you shouldn't have ever said what you said to her in the first place. That would have been a good start. And the fact that your opinion of her could be so easily swayed tells me that an apology from you likely isn't really that meaningful. And just so you know, you couldn't be more wrong about her."

Robert shook his head yet again.

"What I said was terrible; I know that. And you have no idea how sorry I am. But I swear to you, I don't actually think any of that about her. I know I said it, but I didn't mean it."

"So then why did you say it?" Jason asked.

"Because I was jealous," Robert admitted. "Until that first time I went to see her, I had no idea she did this, and honestly, it was a shock. Not only that, but I hated the thought of anyone else seeing her like that. And then when I went and saw her the second time, the songs she'd sang were so different from the previous week. And I know now that they're just performances, they don't mean anything, but at the time, it threw me. And then I saw her with you, and I just..." Robert shook his head. "It was all just so unexpected. After we saw each other that night, and then at work the next day, I was still trying to wrap my head around it, and I know that what I said to her was terrible — horrible — but I swear to you, I didn't mean any of it. I felt jealous and surprised, and I just..."

He trailed off then, and Jason took the opportunity to circle back on something.

"Wait, so you'd seen her performing prior to that night when you two saw each other?" he asked.

Swallowing nervously, Robert realized he'd outed himself, but it was all coming out now, so what else could he do but be honest?

"Yes," he admitted.

"But she's never told you she did this," Jason shook his head. "How did you know?"

Robert released a resigned exhale.

"I overheard her talking about it with her friend one day," he said. "And when I learned about it...I don't know...I just had to go and see her."

"But you didn't tell her about that?" Jason asked.

"No," Robert shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I felt guilty, and I also didn't want to embarass her or make things awkward. How could I admit to going to see her?"

"But you did go."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Robert looked at Jason.

"Because I'm crazy about her; I have been for a long time. And when I learned she did this, I had to see her. What would you do if you had the opportunity to see the person you're crazy about like that?"

Staring back at Robert, Jason was slowly unravelling the mess that this had all become, and after a brief pause, Robert spoke again.

"Look, I know that what I said to her, how I acted towards her, is inexcusable. And for the last two weeks, I've spent every minute wishing I could take it back and trying to figure out some way to fix things. But believe me when I say that I don't actually believe any of what I said — I only said it out of jealousy, and I took it out on her. I just couldn't stand the thought of any other man seeing her like that. I know that's not an excuse, but she means more to me than anything, and I couldn't help how I felt. And now, I have no idea what else I can do, and it's killing me. I hate myself for all this."

Looking at Robert, Jason could see that the regret he felt and the sincerity in what he was saying was clear. And as Robert took a deep breath, he spoke again.

"Listen, I know I haven’t earned any favors here, but will you please just tell her that I'm sorry? I just need her to know that I don't truly think any of those things about her. I need her to know how sorry I am.”

Pausing momentarily, Robert then turned and walked back to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a sealed envelope.

“And maybe you can give her this,” he said.

Walking back over to Jason, he then handed it to him, and as Jason took the envelope, he gave Robert a questioning look.

"It's the letter I tried sending to her each time along with the flowers," Robert explained. "It's an apology, and it tells her how I feel about her. And I understand if she won't give me another chance, but I need her to know how I really feel."

Looking down for a moment at the envelope, Jason then looked up at Robert.

"And how do you really feel?" he asked him.

Looking back at him, Robert's face was completely serious.

"I love her," he replied. "I'm in love with her."

After a moment's pause, Jason switched the envelope into his other hand, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"You know, you could have saved the both of you a whole lot of time and trouble if you'd just been honest with her a long time ago."

Robert shook his head.

"I didn't know if she felt even the slightest bit what I was feeling," he said. "And I couldn't risk telling her and then losing her."

"You wouldn't have lost her," Jason assured him.

"How do you know?" Robert asked.

"Because she's as in love with you as you are with her. She has been for ages.”

Upon hearing that, Robert's heart pounded.

"And that's why what you said hurt her so badly,” Jason finished. “She loves you, and she thought you were someone who would never hurt her."

"I never will again," Robert replied, shaking his head. "Please, just have her read that letter."

Nodding, Jason then partially unfolded the piece of paper he'd pulled from his pocket, and then he looked at Robert again.

"The fact that she’s in love with you aside, you should also know that there was never any need for you to be jealous," he said, the hint of a smile suddenly appearing on his face. "Maybe take a look at this, and you'll understand why."

Jason holding out the paper, Robert reached out and took it, and Jason gave him a nod before heading for the door.

"I'll give her the letter," he confirmed. Then he walked across Robert's office and opened the door, stepping out and closing it behind him.

After Jason had left, Robert looked down to the paper in his hand, and after a moment's pause, he unfolded it. Upon glancing over it, he saw that it was some kind of personal worksheet that the owner of Plume had had her employees fill out. It was covered in Y/N's handwriting, and it asked questions like:

“What makes you feel empowered?"

“What makes you feel confident?"

"What makes you feel sexy?"

"What's your favorite aspect of performing?"

Reading through it, Robert came to the last question on the page.

"Is there someone in particular you think about when you perform? If so, who is it?"

As he read Y/N's response, he then suddenly understood what Jason had told him.

“Robbie”

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