fkmarrycill

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Happy holidays, y'all! I'm going off the grid until the new year. ❤️

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🤓☝️ actchually

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@m-faithfull he's a gin man... 👀 And also as nerdy and feisty as I've dreamed. 😌

Right, now I demand someone sends a "very.... I'd had a few G&Ts" Cillian in my direction immediately.

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cillian? 😭

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Ooh, will listen!

Ballyturk’s original soundtrack by Teho Teardo can be streamed on spotify now, and it has bits of dialogue from the play like this excerpt — Cillian’s opening monologue. Haunting. Incredible.

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Cillian Murphy working up a sweat in Ballyturk! (X)

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i don’t want to curse this in anyway but the fact that cillian murphy’s one scandal is pissing in public while drunk … that’s my man

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Good news.

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Part 5: Nollaig Shona Duit

Fandom: Cillian Murphy (RPF)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: Cillian comes back from shooting In Time and him and Jiyan spend the first Christmas together.

Word Count: 6688

Notes: This story is set in 2010.

🔞 Marks stories with explicit smut.

Masterlist | Serie

Part 1: Home In A Boxcar [coming soon] Part 2: Don’t Make Me Wait 🔞 [coming soon] Part 3: (You Want to) Make a Memory [coming soon]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy and encourages me to continue writing. Comments make me happy :)

Masterlist | Serie

[fkmarrycill]

One Shot: At Ease

(Not my GIF)

Tommy Shelby x OC

1190 words, 🔞 for implied shagging and naked canoodling 😉

I've finally gotten my act together and finished something! ☺️🙌🏽 It's a one shot, which is the kind of story I write the most. In it, a single version of slightly older Tommy meets with a lover from his past at the local hotel–their regular rendezvous spot. It's tender and a little angsty.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

The phone rang while Ada was talking, and the scowl on Tommy's face softened. There were only a few people who had access to Tommy's direct line, and only one who wasn't family. He assumed it was her, since they hadn't talked in a while.

“Apologies, sister… An urgent call awaits my attention.”

“It's her, isn't it?” Ada smiled the canary-eating grin she always smiled when Tommy was thrust into a situation that tugged at his heartstrings. She welcomed any crack in the stoic demeanor he'd brought back from France after the war.

Tommy sighed, removed his glasses, folded them closed, and placed them on his desk. “I don't know who you think it is, but–”

“–It’s alright, brother,” Ada interrupted with a smirk. “I'll leave you to your secrets and consider myself in charge for the next few days.” She rose to leave the room and smiled a knowing smile, pausing long enough at the heavy wooden door to hear Tommy's quiet but terse “thank you” before closing it behind her as she exited.

He picked up the phone. The conversation was brief. They'd meet at the hotel in an hour. He poured himself a whiskey and lit a cigarette, a short break to shift his mindset before heading out.

***

Tommy lay on his back, on top of the fine white cotton sheets of the king-sized bed, his naked body flush from his emotions as much as from their hungry lovemaking. “Bloody hell, Veronique…” She still made him feel as woozy as opium when they got together.

“It's good to see you again, too.” She winked and kissed him tenderly before hopping out of bed. Rather than the kimono he found her in when he arrived, Veronique donned Tommy's white button-down shirt and sauntered over to the desk. He admired how his shirt accentuated the sun-kissed light brown of her skin. She rifled through her satchel, found a folder, and gave it to him.

He sat up. “And this time, you were in…? Ah, New York,” he said, after seeing the first document, a photograph of the Statue of Liberty. He put on his glasses to examine the scene that was captured in black and white. “Is that Yankee bird as green as they say she is?”

“She's French, like me, but yes. And much, much taller than you,” Veronique teased as she always did, being slightly taller than Tommy.

“But height had fuck-all importance when I was on top of you a few minutes ago, eh? Take my shirt off,” Tommy commanded when Veronique rejoined him in bed.

She complied.

“Mmm… Mine…” He groaned softly and rewarded her with a wet kiss to her neck and his fingers lightly tracing the nipples of her large breasts. Then his hands migrated to her full hips and held her gaze, not with the glare he fixed on most people he encountered, but one of unshakable fondness for his old lover. He brushed her shoulder-length hair aside, cradled her face, and drew a light mewl from her with a kiss much less urgent than the one he delivered when she opened the door.

Veronique was his favorite prostitute in France, one he visited as much as he could on leave and fantasized about when the tunneling and trench life got too bleak. They bonded over being different–Tommy being Romani, and Veronique being biracial–and often scorned by others. Since war time, she'd parlayed her connections into a photography career. It was an unusual choice for a woman, but photography was a cherished hobby she'd picked up from her older brother. Besides, she was used to being unconventional and loved the need for constant travel that came with the job.

She visited Birmingham whenever she could and always brought Tommy photos from her travels. Tommy, for his part, paid for the well-appointed room monthly, giving them an easy way to meet whenever she was in town, plus a second bedroom with heavy curtains and red lighting that served as Veronique's dark room, always stocked with her supplies. She knew he used the main bedroom with other women while she was away, but that was the last of her worries. She'd retired from her old profession, but she still attracted men with ease and chose the best the world had to offer to share her bed, wherever she made it. They cherished the strong connection they'd developed over times of war and peace but could never confine it to conventional rules after everything they’d experienced.

Tommy continued to shuffle through the rest of the photos, settling on one at a nightclub. The patrons were integrated, and the band was Black. He lingered on the photo.

“That one's in Harlem. I had a fantastic time there, always do. I'd love to show you around there one day...”

“Hmm…” was all Tommy uttered as he continued to study the picture.

She massaged his bare shoulders, finding an array of knots to tackle. “You don't get out as much as you used to, do you? The war, your family business, and now the MP role? It has all changed you so much.”

Tommy returned the photos to the folder and placed it and his glasses on the nightstand. He leaned back into Veronique’s capable hands. “You're not wrong… it changed all of us. You, so much for the better. Me, I question it every fucking day...” He closed his eyes and let her hands smooth his pain away.

“You made this possible for me,” she declared, softly kissing his neck as she continued to massage him. “And you damn near single-handedly created a much better life for you and your family. You've gotten everything you wanted, no? Why are you still fighting?”

Tommy had wisely suggested to his superiors that Veronique be recruited as a spy. She was multilingual, and it gave her wealth, power, and favor with her government, having the ability to collect valuable bits of information from the high-ranking German officers who opted for the “French experience" rather than frequent the tents behind their front that were filled with imported German women.

“Let me take care of you, Thomas,” she continued. Her hands migrated from his strong shoulders to his head for a gentle massage.

Tommy’s eyes were still closed, but his mouth hung slightly open, allowing his contented sighs and murmurs to escape and quietly fill the air between them. The feel of her fingers waltzing through his hair and across his scalp was mildly electric and soothing. “I've not been to New York yet, but it does seem like my sort of town.”

“I know you'll love it. And I will get you there one day.”

“One day… Yes...” Tommy shifted to lay on his back, and she snuggled close to him, resting her head on his chest. As she usually did during their trysts, she lazily traced his tattoos with her fingers and told him story after story of her adventures in the city. He asked her questions and listened intently until his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off. During their stolen moments was the best he slept these days.

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Cillian Murphy is Jackson Rippner in Red Eye (2005)

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I think this is one of funniest Cillian headlines that I've seen. 😆

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A post shared by Ivana (@magnusrex91)

Been waiting to see this!

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Cillian Murphy as Lenny Miller in Anna (2019) dir. Luc Besson