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queenshelby · 9 months

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Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 14: A CALL FROM NINA

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Fluff

Note: This is just a cute little fluffy telephone call transcript between Cillian and his daughter Nina in this fic...

Cillian: "Hi Sweetheart, how are you?"

Nina: "Pretty good. I am actually just calling to let you know that Max and I will see you on Sunday evening for Grandma's birthday. Mum said we can come but you need to pick us up. We can stay with you until Tuesday mum said"

Cillian: "Really? That's awesome. I can't wait to see you"

Nina: "Me too. You know, we have this new dance teacher. Her name is Y/N. I am not sure if mum has told you or not"

Cillian: "No she hasn't, but do you like her?"

Nina: "Yes, she is super cool. She is really funny and she’s such a good dancer. She even has a couple of tattoos. I just don't think mum likes her"

Cillian: “Really? Why didn’t she like her?”

Nina: “I don’t know. Mum said that she is too young and doesn’t know what she is doing”

Cillian [chuckles]: “Right! You had fun though?”

Nina: "Yes, so much fun [pauses]...Did I tell you about her tattoos?”

Cillian: “You did”

Nina: “Can I get one?”

Cillian: “A tattoo?”

Nina: “Yes”

Cillian [sternly]: “No”

Nina [begging]: “How about a piercing?”

Cillian [sternly]: “No! I already got in trouble with your mother when I let you have your ears pierced”

Nina [firmly]: “I am almost 13 dad!”

Cillian [chuckles]: "I know but I won't let you have any tattoos or piercings until you are 18 and I am sure neither will your mother”

Nina: “You are so uncool”

Cillian [laughs]: "I know. Your brother reminds me of that all the time"

Nina: "I have to go now. Dinner is ready. Love you"

Cillian: "I love you too sweetheart"

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tag List

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n

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neoncrowpen · 2 years

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hi! idk if u accept requests and if u do, pls i'd love thomas shelby with a deaf! reader. i'm deaf and would love to see more imagines with characters with disabilities (not only with deafness)!

if it helps, i have profound loss on one side and moderate to severe on the other side. i can even hear """"well"""" but it depends a lot. i can't hear loud sounds at close range like gun shots (this is "common" here and i've never heard it) and idk sign language. i'm talking about my deafness bc each person has different experiences.

i hope u can do this! if u want, u can even ask me! for that or bc of curiosity <3 that would be really cool!

Title: Deadpool

Relationship: Thomas Shelby x Deaf!Reader

Word Count: 3k~ words

Summary: Not many enjoy being a snitch, but you make it look easy. After the Eden Club is raided, you’re tapped to find out everything you can about the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Until you discover they know about you. And they’re watching you.

Author's Notes: This isn't my first time writing a deaf character, but it is my first time writing one at this length without a hearing aid. If this piece offends members of the deaf community, I am more than happy to retract this piece, learn from my mistakes, and rewrite it again.

I want to thank @smellyzcat again for answering my questions and giving me this opportunity. (and also believing in me to write this)

You watched the man fall to the ground. His knees shook the impact to his shoulders, like a giant crashing to the ground from the sky. You were glad to not clearly see the last expression on his face. You read somewhere that seeing the last face before someone dies was an omen. Then again, what good were omens to a woman who was already haunted?

You rushed off, getting yourself as far away from the alley as you could. You got everything you needed. Fortunately for you, this time, they killed someone in your neck of the woods which meant your grandmother now had the upper hand. No one really ever chose the circumstances of their birth. You, for instance, wouldn’t ever choose to be as deaf as you came, but it was in the cards you were dealt. It had its advantages.

You never heard your uncle’s sexist rant about how you needed to marry and have children. When he saw you come into the family’s illegal playing card lounge, he stood in front of you, blocking your way to your grandmother upstairs. He threw his arms up in the air, pointing at the obvious hole in your stockings. Your ears caught handfuls of words, but your eyes caught everything else.

“Again? How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot be out there alone! It’s nearly midnight. What in God’s name are you thinking? Do you have a death wish? You are every bit just like your brother. And where is he now?”

You rolled your eyes in the back of your head. “Jail.” You responded back. Your uncle always spoke about your stupid, little brother as if he was dead. He was sitting in jail, probably scheming to escape somehow. Your uncle continued, but you pushed past him to get to where you were wanted.

Your family’s lounge came paired with a few, special adjustments. The smoking lounge was where your family did their legitimate business, but if a gentleman carried the month’s password he could access the back where the illegal card lounge was. Sabini mainly helped in operations, but it was your family that took home most of the profit. Your grandmother lived in the lavish apartment upstairs, guarded by four men. Two of Sabini’s and two of yours.

Her apartment was filled with memories and items of her long years of being a vicious woman. Pictures of your family decorated her walls. Weapons hid in the safes behind them. Cash stuffed her mattress. Diaries of secrets and codes hidden well in her bookshelves. She sat quietly, listening to the radio. The dial was not switched to the news, but to the racecourses.

Results of the race would affect her mood for the rest of the day. You decided telling her the good news now would be helpful. Your hand knocked three times on the bible she kept at a side table. The signal she taught you whenever you came to do your job.

Her hand gestured for you to come sit down in front of her. You read her facial expression. Judging from her hefty sigh and tilted head, today had not been a good day at the races.

“Dead,” you said. Even in your muddled voice, your grandmother’s eyes lit up at your word. Her back straightened. You read her lips.

“Who?”

“Harris.” You told her. You tapped your pointer finger and thumb together as if you tipped a cap.

“The damned Peaky Blinders again.” She laughed. “Alright. I suppose someone’s ordered a hit. I bet it’s their leader, Arthur. Find out for me. Get everything you can on the new talent.” Your mouth curled into a smirk. You loved your job.

Most women married and depended on their husbands to support them. Some of your friends were women of the night. They insisted you should the same considering you were a fantastic flirt. However, your uncles and your grandmother shuddered at the idea. Being a barmaid wasn’t fulfilling enough. You hated the smell of cigar smoke on your clothes. It lingered, making your nose wrinkle.

And then your grandmother opened up the most controversial betting pool in England. It was invitation-only. Less than fifteen people knew of it, including you. They met once a month in London near the Eden Club which was more than fitting because of what they betted on.

The world was a filthy place, so your grandmother took advantage and had her own fun in opening England’s first deadpool. Every month, selected gang leaders, wealthy men, kings and lords of the underworld of England came together at your grandmother’s request to bet who would kill who, when it would happen, and sometimes how it would happen. It was around the fifth month when she suspected someone was cheating.

That’s where you came in.

It was rare to witness the murders when they occurred. Mostly, you tailed whoever your grandmother told you to. You intercepted notes, codes, and a few times, tampered with police evidence. You wouldn’t call yourself a ‘tattletale’, mainly because you also helped your grandmother cheat the deadpool, too, but you did prefer Darby Sabini’s nickname for you.

“Scarlet Witch,” Sabini greeted you. You stood patiently in front of him with folded arms. The Eden Club was empty of any customers this early in the morning. He sipped casually on a cup of coffee. His eyes did not return to you when he spoke again. Rude. You caught what you could from him. “You’re looking…Arthur Shelby. He runs…Garrison.”

Of fucking course, he runs the Garrison pub. One of the loudest, rowdiest, and drunkest places in Birmingham. You wanted to throw a fit. Birmingham was not London. If the dead came back for one last cigarette and then piss in the street, that’s what Birmingham would smell like. Sabini tipped up his head to you, snapping his fingers in your line of vision. You glared at him. Your nostrils flared. How fucking dare he do that to you?

“Can I have a card? Before you go?” He gave you a toothy smile. You reached in your satchel, feeling your tarot deck. You pulled a random card to show him. The Tower. You smiled, knowing exactly what that meant for him. He, however, misinterpreted it like he always did. “Ah! Another building to add to my empire. Success is coming. Good witch.” He gave you a wink.

You hated that he always thought you were some secret, promiscuous tool in his pocket, but his gang operated the playing card lounge. You always had to make the decision to tolerate him.

When you woke the next morning, it appeared your random card pull came true for Sabini. Last night, the Peaky Blinders, including Arthur, raided the Eden Club. They trashed it to pieces, beating the shit out of Sabini’s top boys. Arthur, your target, even did the pleasure of informing everyone that the Eden Club was under new management. Your grandmother did you the favor of rehashing the entire tale for you over a cup of tea.

“By order of the Peaky Blinders,” your grandmother told you. She shook her head, still chuckling. “Sabini’s reeling. We can’t have the deadpool near there. Not until we invite them in.” She handed you the red envelope, adorned with wax and velvet. “You know what to do.”

Getting to Birmingham wasn’t an issue. You were the only girl among the grandchildren. You were also the only one guaranteed to not share anything you learned in your tenure as a snitch. Not because you were deaf, but because your brother and your cousins could never keep their mouths shut. Running their mouths was purely a male family trait. You watched your uncle and your cousin go at it in the car.

“You were supposed to get this fixed!”

“Yeah? You were supposed to get me the money!”

“You have a job!”

“It’s not my car!”

One thing you loved about your family was that not many people dared to get into an argument with any of you. If they did, it was free entertainment for anyone within ten feet. Your cousin shouted back at your uncle once more before he drove away with the family car. His voice sharpened in your ear. You flinched as he landed a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry, Y/N.” He said, keeping eye contact with you. “Didn’t mean to. I swear. Dad just got under my skin.” His shoulders rolled back. “Fucking car.” You looped your arm with your cousin.

You lowered your speaking voice, so only he could hear. “I need Arthur Shelby.” You gave him a peek at the red envelope.

“What does Nana want with him?” He asked, escorting you inside the pub. Rich, brown colors and bronzed gold accents delighted your eyes. The wall behind the bar had different bottles of whiskey, scotch, and vodka on display. The bar and tables looked cleaned than you expected. Unlike the Eden Club, most of the women here had their legs closed and more alert eyes.

“Betting pool,” you said to him. When he didn’t respond to you, you followed his line of sight. He gazed at a woman who made eyes at him across the way. She tucked her hair behind her ear, biting her lip down in the way someone would when they enjoyed the view. Your hand smacked against the back of his head.

“That hurt!” He said. “What did you say?” You groaned loud enough for God and the Devil to hear you. Damn the men in your family. You wished you had a sister.

“Nana wants him for the betting pool,” you said. Your cousin nodded as if he just came back to reality. As much as you missed your brother, your cousin was the better mouthpiece for you. Your eyes scanned the pub for anything of note while he interacted with the world. You spied a Shelby brother. His smile was as wide as his arms. He openly embraced another man, patting his back like an old friend.

That couldn’t be Arthur. For one, you heard nothing but nasty, violent acts coming from him. Someone who hugs was not the same person as someone who rams a glass bottle into a man’s face multiple times. Secondly, this Shelby looked younger than Arthur. His face smooth of any hair. You were told Arthur had a distinct moustache.

You spotted another Shelby. This one met your gaze directly. His eyes were colder than water, and they held yours so intensely for a moment you thought you were drowning. You ripped yourself away from him, clutching your bag. Rolling your shoulders back, you settled. Men weren’t at all scary. Not when you were much worse. You looked to him again. A cigarette entered his mouth. If you didn’t see the smoke leaving his mouth, you wouldn’t have been certain if he breathed or not. His gaze still set into you.

For a moment, he glanced away and nodded his head to you. A pair of men with caps made a beeline for you and your cousin.

Your hand pulled at your cousin’s arm, dragging him away from the conversation he was having. His glass pint shattered on the ground. Another Blinder intercepted you. He grabbed your arm, swinging you around to grab the other. The other two Blinders smashed your cousin into the wall. Shouting muddled in your ears. Your heart thundered in your chest. No matter where your eyes focused, there was nothing you could understand.

Then, you saw him. Arthur Shelby. He joined in on the revel. Spit left his mouth as he closed in on your cousin. The other Shelby opened a door in the back. When he disappeared through, Arthur took your cousin by the scruff of his neck and dragged him through the bar. Two Blinders escorted you by your arms in a more gentle way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your feet skidded and dragged slightly across the hardwood floor. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. They closed the door behind both of you. Arthur pushed your cousin into a chair, binding him there with rope. Arthur smacked him across the face with his fist. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Blood spilled from his nose like an open faucet. Arthur turned to you with an awful smile. His knuckles wet with blood, hungry for more. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. The other Shelby sat across from you. Arthur placed his hands on your shoulders, freezing you to the chair.

FUCK.

When the other Shelby began speaking, you didn’t notice. His fist collided with the table, grabbing your attention immediately. Your cousin kicked the table as a reaction. Arthur loosened his grip on you. You looked to your cousin again. This time, you read his lips, catching the words.

“She’s deaf. She can’t hear anything you’re saying.” He said. Arthur stood behind the other Shelby. His face fell. You read his lips loud and clear.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He said. You frowned. How many times have you heard that before?

“I’m not,” the other Shelby said. “You’re the Scarlet Witch. Snitch but with a romantic nickname given to you by your lover.” You reflected the disgust in his face with your own. You? Sabini’s lover? Who is this guy and where does he get his information?

“Scarlet who?” Arthur said.

“She’s a snitch who works for Sabini. She’s hear to spy on us because we’ve taken the Eden Club.” Their eyes switched to your cousin.

“You’re wrong. She has a message for the leader of the Peaky Blinders.” Your cousin nodded to your bag. When you went to grab your bag, you finally noticed how bad you were actually shaking. All this time, you’d been so careful to never get caught. You took a long breath, but the heaviness only grew on your chest. You handed the envelope in Arthur’s direction, but the other Shelby grabbed it first.

Your brow creased. You pulled back on the envelope, but the other Shelby didn’t let go.

“Give it to me,” he said.

“No,” you said. You put little effort into your speaking voice. “It’s for Arthur.” The other Shelby’s face dropped. He knitted his brows together. He glanced towards your cousin and responded to him first.

“I didn’t say you were lying. I just—who is this for?” He said.

“The leader of the Peaky Blinders.” Your cousin’s brow furrowed. “Our grandmother wishes to invite you into her private circle. If you want to make friends, I suggest you act nicer to my cousin. Trust me, she hates Sabini more than I do.” The other Shelby covered your hand holding the envelope with his own. Your shaking slowed to a stop.

“I’m Thomas Shelby,” he introduced himself. “I’m the leader of the Peaky Blinders, not my brother.” You let go of the letter, surrendering it to him. He had the letter completely in his possession for three full moments before his eyes fluttered away from your face. Arthur’s hand waved in your face. When you glared at him, he raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, what’s your name?” He asked. His smile grew hopeful. “I like to know my new friends’ names.”

“It’s Y/N,” your cousin responded. “I’m Robb. And if we’re friends, can you ease up a bit?” When the bindings were gone and the other Blinders returned back to the pub, Thomas’ eyes found yours. You weren’t certain how you felt about his full attention on you, but now that he wasn’t going to kill you, it felt more pleasant to say the least.

“What is this?” he asked. “This isn’t a friendship circle, is it?” You shook your head. “You can talk. I heard you before. Use your words.”

“She doesn’t like her voice.” Robb said. He stood up from his chair, blocking you from Thomas’ view. Your cousin kept on speaking, but you watched Thomas. His eyes narrowed slowly on your cousin. His eyes flickered to you again, darkening slowly. He took his time in the way he made you squirm in your seat. You admitted it to yourself. Thomas Shelby was much better at playing this game than Sabini ever was.

For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to have him watch you undress yourself slowly in front of him.

You took your focus away immediately, releasing the breath you forgot you were holding. Robb tapped you, letting you loop your arm around his. As you were leaving the back room, Thomas’ gaze stayed on you. You had the feeling he wouldn’t forget your face.

A week went by quietly for your family. No word came from the Peaky Blinders or Sabini. The Eden Club suffocated under the new management, but your grandmother still held the deadpool in the adjacent building. The Chadwick Hotel was perfect for hiding all things awful in London. Robb and his brother, Sal, checked in each member.

Thomas Shelby walked into the hotel lobby. Your eyes followed each other’s as he checked himself in. When he walked over to you, he took his time. Your grip on your shawl loosened, exposing one of your shoulders. As your shawl fell, so did one of your dress straps. Before you could fix it, Thomas stood in front of you.

He handed you a small note. “Open it.” He told you. Your eyes fell over his penmanship.

I am not a man who apologizes. However, I realize now that my behavior towards you was something I wasn’t proud of. The things I heard about you did not match with the person I met at all. Just as you were wrong about who led the Blinders. Meeting you has made me realize a couple of things. One, I am certain I am in need of your services. Two, I am in need of your friendship. You are much more influential and powerful than I took you for which could prove to be very useful to me. Moving forward, if we are to be friends, we’ll need to change your nickname.

- Thomas

“Do we have a deal?” Thomas asked. You held your hand out, nodding your head to accept his deal. Thomas’ hand moved past yours and fixed your dress strap back in its place. His fingers brushed by your cheek. He handed you a playing card. “There’s your new name.”

When he walked away from you, you flipped the card.

Queen of Hearts.

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