#Cillian Murphy x Black Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

janicekao · 23 days ago

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Hate To Love You

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Black oc (dark smut) Summary: Forty-eight year old actor Cillian Murphy has a heated argument with his young new wife. Story inspired by this photo alone

(2025 Daddy Cillian is gray-haired and buff for his comeback role as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders) Warnings: age gap, dark romance, violence, toxic marriage, hate s3x, r0ugh s3x, cr3am p1e, dubc0n, brat tam1ng, degredat1on k1nk,f0rced br33ding, etc.

3335 words

Wattpad link:

Enjoy my babies <3 -------------------------------

A dinner table is beautifully prepared with candles, wine, and flowers as Cillian Murphy waits for his young wife's return.

He's spent hours preparing it and he knows that if he had married someone his age, a forty-eight year old wife would be thankful for his hard work and they'd enjoy it together before warming their middle-aged bones by the fire. But instead, his twenty-six year old wife Stella rather enjoy an active extroverted lifestyle from the break of dawn to the very end of the day...

"She sounds like an ungrateful brat. I don't get why you stay." Cillian chugs back his fourth glass of red wine as he gossips complaints about his wife to his favorite cousin Charles back in Ireland.

This glass goes straight to his head. He's clearly had enough, but actually he is just getting started. "The hatred is mutual, but God, she makes me feel things I've never felt before." His skin reddens into a drunken blush, lightly slurring his words although simultaneously keeping his composure somehow. "I've been fucking since I was fourteen years old, Charles. I'm—I'm talking hundreds of different women from all over the world, but no one pleases me like her."

His cousin chuckles, familiar with how loaded his cousin Cillian is, being that they used to spend many tipsy nights at the local pub together in their early twenties. "That magical pussy, aye?"

"You have no idea." Cillian can't wait to blurt it out. He too is confused by the god-sent magical pussy between Stella's thighs. "I've been acting in films before she was even born... The only reason I splurge my hard-earned money on giving her the life that she wants is because the woman drives me goddamn ballistic! I never even thought about marriage until I met her and realized that no one else could have her, I couldn't allow it. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

Stella's brand new Mercedes pulls into the driveway of their Pasadena mansion, blinding his already stressed-tipsy eyes with her headlights. "She's home, I gotta run."

"Gone all day and just getting home? What are you going to do about this?" Charles recognizes the severity of a disobedient wife. The way they were raised by the eldest generation, Charles reminds his cousin that he must put his foot down.

Cillian finishes the bottle of red. He can be heard over the phone spitting out the cork of a second bottle before responding. "Charles, if the blogs read about an ambulance pulling into our Pasadena residence, it will be about me having my foot stuck up my wife's ass."

"You two." Charles laughs. "The craziest fucking couple I've ever seen."

"I wouldn't put it past her, it can always get crazier." Cillian's fifth glass is without a glass at all... this time a swallow— an entire gulp, half of this second bottle.

Ending his phone call, Cillian tosses his cell to the back of the counter. His wife enters their home texting and giggling with probably whomever she just spent the day with. He rolls his eyes, taking his empty dinner plate from the table as he points with his eyes at hers. "Your dinner is cold."

"Oh?" She finally finds time to greet her husband as she sets down her phone and purse, however per usual, her response is full of spite. "No one asked you to cook."

Her tone infuriates him. Cillian throws his plate into the sudsy sink as he tries to wash it and it shatters from the force, cutting a deep gash into his palm.

He hisses, although too tipsy, he can't exactly tell if he's seeing red from anger or the red of actual blood. "Ungrateful bitch."

Stella notices the dish water turning a shade of pink from the injury. "Nice Cillian, do you need the first-aid kit?"

He sighs. "Nope, I'm good."

Her jaw drops as his bloody hand swipes across the front of her white silk designer dress, using it as a napkin for his injury. "You idiot, now look what you've done!"

"And so what? I fucking bought it." Shrugging as if he couldn't care and playing crazy, Cillian hasn't met crazy yet.

A giggle erupting from Stella's throat has Cillian's eyes grow in size. Knowing that her laugh is the calm before the storm, Cillian practically watches his wife's Haitian blood boil over. "M'kay, so we're making messes now?" Stella's hand connects to the fine-china placed on the dinner table.

"You're a mess enough for the both of us." Another sarcastic remark from Cillian's lips before quickly ducking from a glass salad bowl being thrown at his head.

"I'll show you a mess!" Stella picks up anything weighty and glass on their dining room table. Her words are spat in between every throw. "Fuck you. *throws wine glass*Fuck you. *throws plates*FUCK YOU! *throws water pitcher*"

"The fuck are you doing?!" He manages to dodge and protect himself for the most part, however he can still feel the sting of tiny glass fragments that now cover their kitchen floor. "Hey! Hey I said stop that! Crazy bitch!"

"Your mother!" Stella grasps hold of a dinner knife.

"DON'T." Fright fills his heart seeing his wife on the verge of throwing a knife at him. Stella huffs, luckily calming herself as she slams it back down.

Both out of breath, they pant tiredly as the sound of the boiling spaghetti pot on the stove is the only thing to be heard. But he just can't give it up, beginning to mumble more argument underneath his breath. "Dumb fucking slut, get out of my face!" His tone raises again. "Can't stand— can't stand to even look at you."

"So don't!" Stella grabs hold of her belongings again, aiming to head back out of the door. "I know somebody who will."

...

This comment alone enrages him.

Cillian's shoes crunch through the thrown broken glass on the floor, he reaches her in two large steps and places his wide callused hand around her petite bicep.

Stella watches her husband's thick fingers tightly wrapped around her upper-arm and attempts to yank from it. She feels the pain of it tightening as Cillian draws her closer to him. With their bodies pressed together, a very silent Cillian lowers his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling Stella's scent... daring to smell any drop of another man on her and he will gladly kill the bitch right now.

With his nose pressed against the soft skin of her neck, Stella becomes frightened. "You're... You're hurting me." More mentally than physically, being that she just wants him out of her space.

Smelling only the leave in conditioner from her moisturized shoulder length coils and the bar soap that she bathes with daily, Cillian reads right through her bluff. She hasn't been disloyal, she's a stupid cunt but not that stupid.

His wide bright blue eyes, graying with his age startles her. "I see right fucking through you."

His tone is bitter and to belittle her. Stella- a gentle soul with an easily broken shell bites her cheek to keep from crying as she watches up at the man that she married and tied herself to.

She tightens her jaw, refusing to let the welling tears in her eyes fall from his insults. "You are nothing."

"I'm nothing? I'm your meal ticket baby. Your mind is blank and your soul is decrepit, you are the one that is nothing." Blow for blow and an inch apart, their tension is dangerous. Cillian makes his wife out to be nothing but a warm cunt, and Stella makes her husband out to be an old pushover.

She shoves him backwards, freeing her arm. "Get off me you fucking creep, I won't take any of your bullshit today, Cillian. What is it? The dinner? Fuck your shitty fucking cooking!"

"Fuck the dinner, where have you been?" He throws his large frame in the way of her exit, Stella can't get by due to his hard body from working out daily for an upcoming movie role. "OUT!" She argues instead.

Stella reaches for the keys in her purse and Cillian nearly crushes her hand to grab them first. As he yanks them out of her grip, they're instantly tossed into the heaping pot of boiling spaghetti sauce.

Rage devours her after she gasps. She can't believe it! Her keys to her brand new fucking car! Stella slaps her husband across the face and Cillian's head whips in the direction of the force. His short hair of salt-and-pepper colored waves luckily cover the anger that erupts in his gaze while pausing to wipe the blood from the now cut in his lip.

He raises his hand to do the same, yet his sweet baby flinches preparing to be backhanded... Deserving it or not, he could never lay a hand like that on the woman he worships.

With a strong hand still raised, he swings his slap anyways... but not onto her face. He begins to welt her thighs and hips as if he were spanking a disobedient child.

"Ow! Stop that! Stop you fucking freak!" Stella begins to twist and turn to avoid being hit in the same spot twice. Now turned around, the welting swats begin to land on her ass. The recoiling of her curves drives Cillian mad with lust. The slaps that usually are pulled back for more, one after the other, becomes slaps that end in gripping handfuls of her ass. Painful grasps as he jiggles a handful of her soft flesh each time he swats down.

As his loins fire, Cillian knocks the table clean and bends his wife over the table. Hearing her grumbling and putting up a fight adds to his adrenaline. He crosses her arms behind her back, holding them still at her wrists as he uses a freehand to pull her dress up over her ass. Stella's plumped backside continues to recoil as she attempts to getaway, however, she won't be going anywhere anytime soon under his strength.

Taking notice to the welting slaps on her tawny skin, he decides to add more, this time palm to skin as he stains her flesh with red blood from his gash and speckled splatters around them. He lowers Stella's panties as his injured free hand begins to sting from the countless blows. He realizes how heavy the tiny black thong has become in the middle... absolutely drenched. Clearly Stella is enjoying this just as much and Cillian needs a better look. He kicks her stilettos further apart, widening her stance as he peels her thighs apart to see them web away from each other, thick and covered in arousal.

"Look at you, can't even discipline my wife without her being a goddamned slut." Tone harsh and teeth baring from his lips, he grits out cruel words as his Irish accent deepens.

"Let me up." Stella struggles more, soon realizing that she should stop being that her wriggling is right against his clothed cock... A dagger continuing to stiffen from a kink of clear brat-taming.

"I won't." He thrusts forward. The delicious friction overwhelms Cillian and he frees his aching erection from the confinements of his slacks, causing the large thick cock to spring out against her.

Her breath hitches in her throat from the agonizing tease of cockhead slipping through her folds. Stella tries to close her thighs, squeezing them together will help with the coming climax that has started to painfully strip her stomach. Cillian widens her stance further apart, reading into exactly what she's doing. "Now why would I let you cum? As if you deserve something as sweet as that."

"It—It hurts. I just need to.. ah." Her need worsens, voice muffled against the wooden table. "Ughh, I hate you!"

"Not as much as I hate you." They both shout heated words that they don't mean in the slightest bit.

Cillian leans his weight onto her fragile back. "Arch it before I fucking break it."

With tears in her eyes, she refuses to detest. Stella lowers her back, pushing her butt higher into an arch and feeling her cunt and asscrack spread apart. The sight alone causes Cillian's eyes to roll back in anticipated satisfaction, eye to eye with her star shaped asshole and overwhelmed with excitement to slip right beneath it into her cunt.

He abuses her with a rammed cock.

Stella winces. The stretch snatches her breath and has her pussy feeling inflamed. "Couldn't even...ah god—warm me up first!? Selfish prick."

He watches the glisten around his cock, covered in her essence his member pulses with lengthy veins on each side of his shaft, longing towards his peach cockhead that continues to redden a shade from the rush of blood. "You're tightest when you're being a fucking snake." He's totally bluffing, her pussy chokes him to Nirvana even on the worst of days, never has he had a better lover.

She releases an arrogant sarcastic chuckle that catches into a delicious gasp, caught off guard again by the impaling of her husband's hard cock... this time slow and nearing her belly button as the heavy rutting begins.

"Oh?" He taunts. "Actually something that shuts you up? Who would have known."

"Never." Embarrassment clouds her mind. She's in disbelief of her own behavior, feeling her very own nectar drip down to her knees. No matter how humiliated she feels, she wouldn't dare ask him to slow... not with her orgasm only moments away. "Oh fuck! Stay right there!"

"Do you really think this is for you?" Snatched by her throat, Stella's neck is now painted red with his blood. Cillian forces her stance against his chest as he continues to fuck upward into her tight cavity. "As much shit you give me when I try to be a good husband, this is the least you could offer. This isn't for you, this is selfishly mine... And so are you."

His body has tensed up, feeling like a rock against her as his bloodied hand snatches Stella's dress down, completely tearing the thin spaghetti-straps off the dress.

A handful of Stella's breasts in his palm has him spent and groaning quietly behind her ear. His fingertips toying across her perky nipples has Stella noticing how very sensitive she is feeling, not just at her pussy but all over.

She argues to keep from moaning about the way Cillian circles her nipples as if he were finger painting on her skin in his blood. "Asshole! I'm covered in your blood!"

"Won't be the only thing you're covered in." Unknowing of his strength, his grip on Stella's hips are bruising. The feeling of her body impaled on his cock has him near mindless and numb, but not thoughtless enough to end his degradation. "And don't you dare grab for a towel. Walk out this house again and I'll be sure you walk out of here drenched in my cum, let the world see you for the whore that you are."

A sudden change in the angle of his deliciously hooked cock twists at her gspot. Electric heat starts at her toes, continuing all the way to her scalp as her climax overcomes her. "Guh—mmmf... GOD!"Cillian feels it too... pussy fluttering around him until he can't take it, biting teeth marks into her shoulder as the lewd and sloppy sounds of wetness bounce off his heavy sack against Stella's swelling clit.

Eyes closed and giggling a stunning smile of perfect pearly whites, Stella reaches her hand around her husband's head and pulls him into a tongue kiss, lolling her tongue onto his and aiming to steal the very moans from the back of his throat. She grasps hold of his black and gray haircut tightly causing Cillian to hiss and mix sensitive pain with his pleasure.

"You love this pussy don't you?" She teases him, listening to his rambling moans. Cillian rolls his eyes, muscles tightening with a slack jaw opened from whimpered complaints. "Ahh... fuck you—Pussy fucking controlling me— how, mmph... How Stella?"

Tightening her core, she clamps down on his cock, aching perfectly from his wicked girth. She takes Cillian's hand to her womb as they feel the tummy-bulge together. "You've got me so full— my favorite feeling."

"Yeah?" He questions her sudden sweetness, nails now digging scratches into her soft skin. "Perfect—fuckin... ah, sss-ah... pussy."

The rutting deepens but slows, Stella feels his twitching begin with ragged breaths against her neck. Clearly, he's soon to unravel. "You're clenching— mm'around me so tightly... Want a baby fucked into you? Just keep squeezing."

Trying his best not to break her in two and fuck her through this table until they are both a babbling mess of drool, her smart tongue making a return makes it impossible for him to refrain. "Old ass, you're probably shooting blanks."

"You'll be the first to find out." Forcing Stella back down into an arch, Cillian lets a harsh brutish plow kiss at her cervix. She doesn't deserve gentle love-making, just to be fucked like a whore. He erupts, hot-cum jetting streams and flooding her womb.

She winces as her knees buckle together, trying to hide the humiliating sound of her juices and his nut mixed into a splashing puddle beneath them. Filthy, sloppy, hate filled.Stella can feel his skin buzzing against her, his happy trail tickling her ass, and every bit of his nine inch cock bottomed out against her... swelling like a knotted wolf until his weighty balls are drained empty.

Blinding pleasure racks through his entire being, making him pussy drunk and sick with lust. Magical pussy, Heaven-sent CUNT.

Cillian pulls out of his wife's battered cunt. Cockhead releasing with a lewd plop as he watches Stella tremble from a sudden second orgasm keeping her bent over the table.

He watches the amount of his load dripping out of her, nodding with hasty joy, known to the fact that soon she'll be plump with his growing seed. "There you are now." Cillian places his cock back into his briefs and pants, rebuckling his belt aggravated at the fact that he refuses to become flaccid. Still turned on by his wife's cock-drunk beauty alone. Half-lidded, out of breath, trembling, and absolutely spent... Made to take cock— made to take his cock. "That should calm you down a bit, raising our little mini, aye? I'll make you a wife somehow, even if I have to make you a mother first."

Stella finds herself, regaining her senses although stuffed with Cillian's seed. They are a mess. Covered in his blood to the point of looking like a scene out of a horror movie and their house does too.

Heels clacking as she takes cum-drunken half steps, Stella grabs the opened bottle of wine, pouring it into the last unbroken wine glass she can find... She notices Cillian redressing, grabbing not only his clothes but his coat and car keys although hers sit in a pot of burning spaghetti sauce on the edge of boiling over and burning their house down. "Where are you off to now?"

Cillian sighs and adjusts his collar, now far too dizzy from drinking, blood loss, and Stella's remarkable sex. "Hospital for stitches, bar for a drink, and a brothel for someone to actually appreciate my sex." He signals at the unhinged erection poking in the lap of his pants.

Stella nods slowly, continuing to drink wine and finally turning off their stove. "Right... and that's when the hooker won't be able to get you to cum, right? At least let her know that you're wasting her time since I've been the only one who can get you there in the last five years... Cillian, you'll spend your dirty two-hundred dollars crying in her arms instead." Stella's laugh is an absolute degrading taunt. "Don't you wish you never met me?"

...

Handsome blue eyes full of nothing but hate, he can't respond... frozen completely still.

He wishes that constantly actually... A life where they never had met. But then, he would never know cunt that could turn his world absolutely upside down.

Cillian hates her because of this, and Stella hates him for only loving her for it... although he believes that she doesn't know or realize her use to him.

"See you when you get back, you always come back."

Before being able to leave, Cillian approaches his wife once more with a violent snatch to her throat. He has thoughts of tightening and choking her until her lips are blue and stained of death... But instead, he releases. "I love you."

She grins. "Don't I know it."

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blackwomanwriter · 2 years ago

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"Mine"

Read: Part I, Part II

It's been a minute, but I finally wrote something. And of course, I had to go back to this series because there is something about Thomas Shelby. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part. Happy Reading!

He entered quietly like he was on a mission. Although this one was unlike the ones he had performed during the war and after. No, this mission was different. Very different. Yet, Tommy performed it with the same intensity.

Eyes narrowed on the quiet interior, clocking each entry point and exit way, like a soldier, he assessed his environment. He hadn’t been in a house this small since his childhood. Even back then, the space had felt cluttered and cramped. Too noisy to think. Too busy to breathe. The stench of his father’s hangover in the air before it disappeared altogether.

He remembered talking Arthur out of trying to find their father. A man unworthy of carrying - no, sharing his surname. Tommy tensed his jaw, moving past the memory. Instead, he raised a brow at how devastatingly clean the entire place felt. Physically tidy, but clean in a way that made the house feel empty. Unlived. Unloved. Cold. The opposite of everything he thought of her. She was warm. Tender. Inviting.

Moving to the narrow staircase, he could hear the water running. The pipes pushing the water through the house. She was here. She was alive. She was avoiding him - again.

He hiked up the stairs, stepping one foot in front of the other. Like a soldier, he kept moving. He carried on with the task before him. His mind focused on the mission.

Opening the door quietly, Tommy leaned on the door frame - taking in the sight before him. Curved hips that were fuller since he had last seen her. A waist that tempted him to wrap his arms around her. It was now that he reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she shrieked. The click of his lighter giving him away.

She rested a hand on her heart, shuddering as she closed her eyes.

Unbothered, he traced the stick along his bottom lip before lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose, as her breath steadied.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he stated. Gaze unchanged. Smoke filling the air.

“I’m in mourning,” she enunciated, grabbing a towel to cover herself. She didn’t bother hiding her frustrations as she shoved past him. She was angry. He liked her angry.

At first, when she didn’t answer his call, he had briefly worried that she was sad. Tearful over the sudden death of her husband, who the police found floating in the river after a night of drinking. His death ruled accidental according to the official report. A drunken man’s blunder. An unsurprising end of life. An expected death for a man who drank as much as her late husband did.

An easy lie to believe, but she knew the truth. The greatest mistake the dead man had made was marrying Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore. It was her mistake more than his. She knew what she was doing when she said yes. The risks she was taking by marrying while Tommy was off in America. Her moment of rebellion had cost a life.

Although, they had gotten past the letter. She hadn’t returned to him. She wanted to keep her promise. To stay married. To honor what was left of her vows. She wouldn’t work for him. She wouldn’t see him. The temptation of losing herself in him made her stay away. She had already ruined the sanctity of her marriage by sleeping with him in his office. She didn’t want to continue making a mockery of the words she vowed before God and man.

She was suddenly religious, which amused Tommy. He thought it was a game, but she clung on to every word spoken by the priest. At the funeral, she remembered his words at the wedding. How he had pressed upon her the importance of repentance. Before Thomas Shelby, she had been a good girl. Never told a lie. Prayed before bed. Devout daughter. Devoted sister. An upstanding and honorable member of her community. He had changed her. Corrupted her. Loved her. Destroyed her.

“It’s been weeks,” Tommy stated coolly.

She ignored him. Her hands focused on the cream she was applying to her skin. Smooth skin. Soft skin. Skin his lips remembered. The taste imprinted on his tongue. Tommy exhaled.

His patience was wearing thin. He loved her. She loved him. He figured out how to help her keep her promise and allow him to keep his. Her husband was dead, and she was free.

“I see you’re eating again,” he quipped, trying to stir a reaction out of her. She didn’t disappoint. He ducked as the bottle of cream nearly struck his head.

“I went from being a whore to being a widow.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a book.” Tommy shrugged then ducked again. This time, she threw a shoe.

“At least I can bargain my way into heaven as a whore,” she resolved, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Is that what your priest tells you?” He brought the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She wondered if he was having her followed again. How else would he know about her visits to the church. Her talks with the priest.

“My greatest sin is you,” she finished her thought.

Her words were meant to be cutting, but Tommy remained unbothered. His eyes stoic, jaw set as if he was watching a horse race. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting it dangle as he neared her.

She stood up, ready to shove past him again, but he grabbed her forearm. Her eyes flared up at him as she tried to loosen his grip, but he remained firm.

“You want to talk about sins, ey?” He whispered against her ear. “You married a man who picked a pint over his life. A man who stowed you away in a house he couldn’t bear to live in himself, while he stayed three doors down with his brother’s wife.”

She frowned, hearing him confirm a suspicion she wouldn’t allow herself to believe. When he stopped coming home, she told herself that he was drunk at a pub or sleeping his hangover off at his mother’s house.

“A man who lost his wages betting on fights.”

So that’s where all their money had gone, she thought. Her face didn’t flinch as Tommy confirmed another truth. Her late husband was just another man who had let her down. All the words she threw at Tommy about him being a good man were lies. He was just better at hiding his wrongs.

Tommy softened his grip on her hand, as he relayed the sin that he couldn’t forgive. The sin that forced him to intervene without thinking of the consequences. “A man who was willing to sell his wife to settle his debts.”

Her eyes widened then glazed over. The shred of innocence he once found in those warm brown irises was quickly disappearing. He cursed at himself for the letter, but it wasn’t just the letter. It was the months he left her wondering if he could ever love again. It was the voice that told him to push her away. She married the man because of him.

Tommy released her hand. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been so honest. Her hardened eyes told him just as much. The look on her face was one he had seen before in the women who dared to love him. When his darkness eventually shadowed their light. When his world swallowed them whole.

She reached for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Taking a long drag, she exhaled. The smoke covering Tommy’s face.

“My sin was marrying the wrong man,” she concluded.

His thumb brushed her skin, remembering when her lips pressed against his in hunger. His lip bleeding as their need took precedence. Her lip bruised from his appetite. Even when he had her, he needed more. Tracing her lip, he gently placed the cigarette between his fingers then lifted it to his mouth. The first puff was for the memory. The second was for his patience.

“No, my god doesn’t care about sins.”

“I didn’t think you believed in,” sighing, she looked up, “anything.”

Tommy closed his eyes. His patience wearing on him again. “You’re moving out of this house. You’re coming back to work, and you’re going to answer when I call.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” she answered.

His jaw ticked at the use of his surname. The smoke from his cigarette creating a haze over his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Tell me what your god thinks about whores.”

“Everyone’s a whore,” he muttered, as he moved toward the door, already thinking of his next order of business. The kiss would have to wait.

“Is that what your wife thinks?”

Tommy stopped walking. Leaning his hand on the door frame, he closed his eyes. His nose flared. His annoyance growing with her disobedience. He seemed to attract women who were determined to do the opposite of what he asked.

“She confronted me. Told me to stay away,” she admitted, and in that second, he realized why she ignored him. She was no longer his secret. He made his affection too obvious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he firmly stated, leaving no room for further questions. Yet, she continued.

“Does she follow any of the other girls or is it just me?” She asked.

He wasn’t ready to admit that there weren’t any other girls. That there hadn’t been other girls for a while. From the moment he declared his love, Tommy had made himself hers - only hers.

“You love me, but there are others,” she whispered. “I love you, but all I do is think of them. To be with you, I have to worry about them. I have to wait to be yours.”

“Is that what you’re doing then - waiting?” He asked, closing the distance between them.

Her hand dropped to her middle and Tommy’s eyes followed. He stared, then frowned before bringing his gaze back to her. “How far along?”

Her eyes softened. The grief coloring every muscle in her face. Tommy closed his eyes. She was in mourning. He understood her words clearly now. It was moments like this that made him miss Polly. She would have known.

Tommy muttered something in his Romanian tongue as he sat on the bed. He stamped his cigarette out in silent rage. There was never an end. Death seemed to find him at every turn. It hunted him. Craved him.

His hands went to her robe. Slowly, he pulled the fabric, revealing her body. A body that had prepared itself to carry his child. A body that had nourished him back to life. His fingers moved to her belly, tracing the skin there. The soft, smooth skin.

He looked up at her and saw the tears she wouldn’t shed. How long had she held them in, unable to weep. Unable to speak. Unable to fully mourn. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her in and kissed the place his hands had touched. He tried to do what she had done for him; he tried to make it okay for her to feel.

“I’m fine, Tommy. It’s better this way,” she said, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

“When?” He whispered, knowing it was his, and yet wondering how he’d missed so much in so little time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she stiffened. “It’s gone now, and I need to move on.”

She gave him a second to make peace with the reality she had lived with for weeks. Then, she moved from his touch, closing her robe as she distanced herself. Loving him was painful enough without the added grief of their lost child.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

Tommy raised a brow, staring at her before glancing around the room. It was as cold as the rest of the house - bare of any details or remnants of her. Standing up, Tommy found a new mission. He moved past her in search of anything that made the four walls more of a home.

His hands traced the metal bed frame. His fingers trailing the linen and cloth. He opened windows and tapped on wooden walls. He inspected the little furniture in the room, unsatisfied with the results.

“Tommy,” she started to say as he pushed open a wardrobe, finding it empty.

She was leaving. She planned to leave London. She planned to leave him. The thought stung in Tommy’s mind as he opened drawer after empty drawer. His anger taking center stage.

“Tommy,” her voice raised with concern.

He shoved the empty wardrobe back, watching as it crashed against the wall.

“Stop,” she yelled, as he shoved the wardrobe again and again. His grief coloring his anger. His anger coloring his grief. Her heart jumped as the wooden drawers finally cracked under the pressure. The splitting wood overshadowing her screams as the wardrobe completely fell apart.

“Tommy,” she cried, rushing to stop him from breaking the wood further. “Stop.”

“Please,” she whispered. Her plea full of a love she couldn’t deny him.

He exhaled. The sound of his heightened breath taking all the space in the room. His anger taking all the air. Tommy closed his eyes. The familiar whispers creeping in his head, telling him to put out the fire. To walk over to the other side. To let go of this life. To finally rest.

She swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, and yet, she persisted. “My sister found work outside of London. She thought it’d be good for me…”

Tommy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she stopped, lowering her head. There was nothing to say.

He scoffed. “Tell me.”

It felt like deja vu to hear him utter those words to her again. To hear the same command. The same request he’d asked from her when she told him about the wedding. Yet, this time, there was nothing left to say.

She stared at the back of his head. Her fingers yearning to brush his hair or wrap themselves around him. Her lips longing to kiss the nape of his neck.

Closing her eyes, she confessed. “There’s no life for me here.”

“You’re not leaving.” He pushed back, ignoring her words. “You’re mine.”

“When?” She sighed. “When am I yours, Tommy?”

He lifted his head, staring at the wall. His mind moving a mile a minute. She couldn’t leave him. His heart wouldn’t allow it. His body would protest. His hunger was contained to her. His thoughts all went back to her. How many minutes until he can think of her? How many meetings until he can dream of her? He suffered without her to be with her. Every hour he was away was an hour he promised to give to her.

He was a selfish man, who wanted what he wanted. A man who endured wars and monsters disguised as men. A cursed man. A broken man. A suffering man. A man who didn’t deserve her, and yet, he wanted her. He needed her. She was the cigarette on his lips. The pain tablets in his pocket. The shirt on his back. The razor blade on his cap. She couldn’t leave him.

“When your wife is gone? When you’re fucking other women?” Her voice continued in the background, but Tommy was half-listening. “When you’re bored? When the nightmares come? When the work is done? When am I yours?” She asked again, although there was no anger in her question.

“When you married him, you were mine. Every time you put on his fucking ring; you were mine.” His brows furrowed as he reached into his side pocket for a cigarette. “When you moved into this house, you were mine. When you had my fucking child inside of you, you were mine.” Tommy sniffed, turning to face her. “From the moment you entered my office, you belonged to me.”

She stiffened, as she traced her empty ring finger. His crassness didn’t bother her as much as his refusal to listen. He disregarded her words, only focusing on what he wanted. It was why she didn’t want to tell him about the baby. He would have stuck her in a big house that he would never visit. Given her everything except the thing she wanted, which was him. But now that nightmare wasn’t even a reality because she’d lost their child. She'd lost a piece of him.

“Is that all it takes…” she started to argue, but words were pointless. Their arguments were pointless. They had a love that was cursed from inception.

In this life, he was promised to another. In the next, he would be reunited with another. In life and death, she had no place in Thomas Shelby’s life. Her love for him didn’t save their unborn child. It reminded her that their love had no place to grow. It was wilted, and no amount of money or prayer could save them.

“You’re not leaving,” Tommy declared, cornering her until she had no choice but to look up at him. Her brown eyes sinking into him, full of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You made me a promise,” he whispered. His jaw tensing as he remembered that night in his office when he had made himself hers. When he had promised to live. To stop craving death. The gods had given him a second chance with her.

“Tommy,” she protested, but he continued.

“You gave me your word.” His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered. “You made promises to me. Promises I intend to collect.”

His hand slipped down to her robe, loosening the ties. His fingers marking a trail from her chest to her neck to her lips. “Promises you agreed to keep.”

She folded under his touch. Her head falling on his chest as she exhaled. Quick, short breaths that made Tommy pull her in closer.

“And what of your promises?” She grabbed his fingers before they could slip between her thighs.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, trying not to smirk. “Remind me again.”

Shaking her head, she moved from his hands. Her heart ached, but it would always ache whether she was with him or not. He was not wrong. It belonged to him. From the moment she entered his office, her heart had become his. Knowing he was promised to another, it still beat for him. It yearned for him. It acted without consequence.

Thou shall not commit adultery. A vow she’d broken within a month of knowing Thomas Shelby. But her heart didn’t care. It didn’t care about the commandments she broke. Her sins were plenty but her heart was full. Full of love for a man who couldn’t confess his love until she married another.

Turning away from him, she closed her robe. Her hand wanted to follow the trail he etched on her skin, but she didn’t. She could hear him lighting a cigarette. His eyes on her. His eyes undressing her. His eyes claiming her as his.

She wanted to run, but her heart wouldn’t let her. Instead, she willed herself to face him. Smoke in the air. His scent in every crevice of the cramped room. She inhaled and tried to tell him again. Her thoughts were on her lips, and yet, nothing.

Offering her his cigarette, Tommy stepped towards her. “Leaving London won’t cure you of me.”

She reached for the smoke. Grateful for the distraction. For the heat. For the vapors. For the way her lungs would expand and contract. For the cigarette they shared between them. His lips on her lips. Her lips on his.

“That priest of yours won’t help you either,” he added.

“What is the cure then?”

Tommy leaned into her. His hands on her waist, slowly moving her robe up past her knees then her thighs. “First, you have to stop running.”

“Running?” She asked, confused by his accusation.

“The wedding. The job. This house.” He counted. “And now these plans of leaving London.” His hands pushed the fabric of her robe from her skin, leaving her naked before him. “You mustn’t run.”

“And what if I do?” She questioned, not allowing her nudity to dissuade her.

Tommy brushed her cheek before taking the cigarette from her lips. “I’ll find you. Remind you of where you belong.”

“And where is it that I belong?” She asked. Her eyes gentle and pleading.

He brought her hand to his chest, placing it where his heart lay. “Here. Right here.”

She swallowed her nerves, terrified of letting her heart speak. “Second?” She went back to his list.

“Second.” He took a drag, exhaling the smoke before he continued, “You must know, I get scared,” he admitted, and she finally understood why he’d written her that letter. Thomas Shelby was scared of loving her. The first woman he loved died in his arms because of a bullet meant for him. Love was something to fear, and he was terrified.

“Now, it’s unpleasant and it’s unkind. But when I am…”

“I’ll remind you,” she finished, “of where you belong.”

Tommy cupped her face, placing a kiss on her head. “Good.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart too fragile for Thomas Shelby’s confession. He hadn’t proposed, yet they were already exchanging vows.

“Last.” He leaned his head on hers. “And the most important.”

“Yes,” she breathlessly whispered.

Tommy’s finger traced her bottom lip before he kissed her. His lips hungry to taste her. Selfish in his desire - his consumption of her. He groaned when he felt her kiss him back. Her own need just as desperate as his. She moaned when their lips parted, disappointed by her body’s need for air.

“I promise to have you pregnant by spring.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed for the first time in months. She chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Tommy.”

“A boy,” he declared, wrapping his arms around her middle. “He’ll have your eyes and my charm.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest as he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her smile widening as she gazed at him. She was returning to herself - returning to him. Weeks of grief slowly thawing from her heart.

Tommy stamped out his cigarette before joining her with a kiss. His body on top of hers. His hands on either side of her head. His mind fixated on the softness of her skin.

“I’ll be back at work in the morning,” she whispered in between kisses.

“You won’t be working anymore.”

She pulled away from his kiss, frowning at him. “What are you on about, Tommy?”

He sighed, already knowing he was about to start another fight. “I won’t have you working with a child of mine inside of you.”

“What?”

“You’ll be carrying my son,” Tommy repeated.

Closing her eyes, she realized he was serious. Of course, he was serious. She wondered how long he’d been planning to get her pregnant again.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tommy kissed her lips. “But, I promised to give you a life worthy of everything you are.” He reminded her. “I promised to let you in my head. I promised to do more than just wait to die. I promised to live.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but he remembered. Every word. Every promise. Everything they had discussed in his office.

“I promised to keep you safe.”

“To make us safe,” she corrected.

He kissed her again. “There are no other girls,” Tommy confessed, reminding her of his other promise. Tommy Shelby was hers.

Grabbing his collar, she pulled him into a long kiss. “No more running,” she vowed.

Tommy smiled. “No more.” He pressed his lips on hers before adding, “You’re mine.”

This time, she didn’t argue, simply letting him kiss her. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Shelby?” He asked, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was a long one. If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Let me know your favorite part.

#blackwomanwriter #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #tommy shelby x black reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #blackreader

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deadgirlsnoring · 2 years ago

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FORGIVE ME | DR. JONATHAN CRANE

Summary; He’s so sorry for what he did, and he’s gonna prove to you just how much he is.

Contents; Face sitting (fem recieving), whiny/bratty Jonathan, degradation, cumming without touch, overstimulation, begging, black fem reader.

Her silky smooth skin rubbed up against his, he couldn't help but whine and try to get out of the restraints restricting him.

"I-I told you... fuck. I told you I'm sorry, how many times do I have to say this!" Jon was getting frustrated, how could Y/n do this to him. It wasn't enough, she wanted him to feel her rage.

Clicking her tongue, she rolled her eyes. "Why would you kiss her then? Bring her up to our hotel room like you guys were gonna get it on." The dr. was tied up to the bed, his hands tightly roped together along with his legs, ankles so tight he knew he'd have bruises the next day.

"Oh, please. I p- promise, okay? Promise It won't happen again, just let me cum." She shook her head slowly, her eyes seeping deep into his soul.

Y/n sat sideways towards Jonathan, her short French white manicure dancing creepily on his thighs, never touching where he truly wanted her to. Always going so close but so far.

"I love you, hm? You know I do momma. Made a mistake is all, I'm good. Aren't I?" She cooed, her warm hands getting tangled in his fluffy hair. He almost thought she was really gonna go easy on him, almost.

Jon gritted his teeth and whined carelessly when she tugged on it harshly, pulling his face as much as she could toward her. "You think I don't see through you?" She mumbled, fake pouting. He could feel and smell her icy breath on his neck.

This was the most Y/n had touched him in hours, he was glad but oh how he wasn't, "You're a pathetic slut, you crave attention so bad that when I don't give it to you, you look for random sluts?"

When she let go harshly he whimpered quietly, missing her harsh but loveable touch.

"You want somebody else to love you? Do you not think I give your ungrateful ass what you want?" A pout fell upon his face, trying to get out of his restraints.

"N- No! I only want you. I'm so sorry, forgive me." Chuckling lowly, she stood up. Her red bottoms clicked on the floor at each and every step she took.

Jonathan was completely undressed, with no type of clothing on his body. On the other hand, Y/n was dressed somewhat head to toe, with a small black mini skirt, black thigh garters, and her signature black lacy bra.

"I can untie you right now Jonny, you wanna go have fun with any slut you see? Ugh you're such a slut, aren't you?” He frantically nodded his head, he just wanted to please her.

"I don't want you to! I'm your slut, I'm yours. Please please please say it." She didn't want to make him happy. Wanted to break him down into a sobbing little mess.

"Now you're gonna tell me what to do? Thought you knew better than that." The man could feel the hot tears brimming, she was always so mean.

A choked moan fell from his lips when Y/n held the base of his needy cock, precum already spilling from his tip. "Why do you have to be so pathetic baby? It's embarrassing, really." He was panting loudly as her hands started an up and down motion, it hurt so good.

"M'thank you, fuck t- thank you." She pouted her lips, he really was so cute sometimes, "Language, now shut the fuck up. Don't wanna hear a peep from you. You can cum when you feel like it, okay Jonny?"

He nodded appreciatingly, she only had the tiniest bit of niceness in her body, and he loved it so much.

A small smile crept onto her face, holding one hand at the base while she moved the other one in a half circle, so fast his vision was blurring.

"S- Slow... Slow? P- Please?" Jonny was breathing so heavily you couldn't even hear anything else. Y/n wasn't smiling, "I tell you to shut up and you don't listen? Why are you such a brat? So fucking annoying."

Wanting to be quiet for her, he tried his best. Only letting out a small whimper when she grazed over his tip.

She said he could cum whenever, so when he felt that pit in his stomach when her mouth attached to his needy head, oh he couldn't help it.

Y/n lightly grazed his dick with her teeth, he only liked it when he was getting punished, to induce the pain. Only doing two strokes of that, the girl sucked on his tip, her tongue swirling around it. That's what made tears fall down his face, when they reached his mouth he just licked them off.

His body tensed up and he choked back a moan, but Y/n didn't care. Humming and continuing her work she smirked when his warm liquid coated the walls of her throat.

It kept going, and she kept sucking. Milking him for all he had. When he finished completely, she slowly moved up off him, waiting for him to come back into reality. While he was doing so she scooched up, placing little tiny kisses along his jaw, circling down to his chest and back up.

"Thank you t- thank you, I'm sorry for what I did." Looking at her smiling softly with a blank stare he should've known at that moment, she wasn't finished.

"You wanna eat miss out? Hm?" Her voice was soft and innocent, yet her words were far from it. Lightly giggling when he nodded his head repeatedly.

She had no panties on under and her man always had a thing for short skirts, so she kept it on.

“Don’t do that, let me help you. Please.” Y/n was teasing him. He couldn’t pull her thighs down when she hovered over his face, licking his lips seeing how her wetness dripped down on her thigh.

“P- Please? I’m sorry, do you want me to beg? I- I can beg miss, if you want.” Y/n held onto his tied up hands while slowly lowering herself down into his mouth.

Letting out a sigh when his mouth came in contact with her heat, “You’re so good baby, fuck. I’m thinking bout forgiving you.”

Moaning into her cunt, he lapped up all of her juices, savouring the taste. She barely let him eat her out, and if this made her forgive him. Jonny would do anything.

The man was great with his mouth, playing with her clit with his tongue. “Mhmm, make me cum Jonny.”

Her hands tangled into his hair, her sharp nails scratching against his scalp making him groan loudly. He was so close, she didn’t even know.

Jonny let Y/n rub herself onto his face, using him for her own pleasure.

Her legs trembled and she lost balance, sitting directly onto his face. Jonathan did his best, sucking up every single drop she let go, his whimpers being muffled underneath her.

“Wow little Jonny, y- you’re actually useful for something.” She stood up, and got off the bed, not bothering to look at the man tied up.

When she did though, a laugh erupted from her. She kept going, the sound of her giggling made him feel small; humiliated.

“How embarrassing Jonathan.” He didn’t wanna look her in the face.

“I’m sorry.” The man sounded so embarrassed, oh how she loved that. “You wanna do it again? I think you can baby.”

He shook his head, he hated when she overstimulated him. “No, no. I said I’m sorry, c’mon? It hurts.”

While crawling up onto the bed towards him she smirked, her pearly whites making his heart jump.

“But I like when you hurt. Don’t you wanna make miss happy?” He didn’t wanna nod, and he didn’t wanna shake his head no.

Her nails scratched into his skin, red lines making their mark.

When her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, he couldn’t help but let out a grunt, his eyes rolling back.

“Lets do it again, yeah?”

xoxo, liah

#dom reader #sub character #dom!reader #sub!jonathan crane #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x reader #black fem reader #black!fem!reader

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chososfaveaterrr · 1 month ago

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Guys pleased don't be afraid to request stuff :(, because I've had no ideas what so ever so help me outttt!

okay that's all luv u bye♡<3

#alice in boderland x reader #x black reader #jjk fluff #squidgame x reader #aouad x reader #peter parker x reader #tsitp x reader #superman x reader #marvel x reader #dc x reader #henry cavill x reader #cillian murphy x reader #timothee x reader #bloodhounds x reader #Riverdale x reader #please help #request #please before i die

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i-try-to-write-stuff · 2 years ago

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Hiya mate again, this is the other user the requested for Tony, Stephen and Loki's fics. Well I do have other requests but let me ask this since I know you make Shelby fics you might make this aswell.

1# Dark!Cillian Murphy x Reader

Let me just say how it should start. Let's say that the Reader is an Actress that was casted for Oppenheimer (Or you can choose the movie/film). Cillian showed signs that he hates the reader but secretly loves her and because of the hate signs, the reader thinks he actually hates her and uhh just continues this fake rivarly then one day Cillian just asks the reader to come to the backstage in after hours (after work) and then maybe confront her about how much he loves her and after the reader refuses and declines his offer multiple times he ends up drugging and kidnapping the reader.

Sorry I explained the plot too much.

Thanks mate.

Okay...I may have gotten carried away and wrote a small blurb. Let me know if you guys want to see more of this.

There were no warning signs, nothing that could show your co-star’s obsessive feelings. His aloofness and borderline rudeness should have bothered you, and it did for a while, but you eventually got over it. You were a total boss, keeping your cool and staying polite with your head held high, knowing there wasn't any other way to handle it. We all know that Hollywood unfairly favors men. They can act badly with no repercussions, while women get scrutinized for the tiniest slip-ups. You did not let your negative feelings show and stay friendly with your co-stars and crew, even when they left you out of things. You knew that any drama could mess up your career at the peak of your fame. Luckily, your cast-mates made an effort to include you without upsetting Cillian. You actively avoided Cillian in get-togethers and parties because you didn't want to worsen your strained professional relationship. Since he was the lead actor and Nolan's top pick, and you were playing a supporting role, you could be easily replaced. Even though you didn't care, getting fired from a movie isn't a good look for any actor, let alone you…

Finally, after months of rehearsals, shooting, and re-shooting, the movie was done. The heavy weight on your chest lifted as you realized you were finally going home after what felt like an eternity. Nolan threw a party to thank everyone for their hard work, but let's just say you were eager to leave without being rude.

You were chatting with John David Washington and D’Arcy Carden about future projects.

Any plans now that the movie's wrapped up?”, John asked you as he took a sip of whiskey.

“I get to go home for a bit and then it's press tour time for MI,” you said excitedly.

“Oh God, press tours can be so monotonous, day in and day out, answering the same questions just in different ways.” D’Arcy sympathised.

“What could be so draining D’Arcy?” Nolan asked as he joined you along with a few other of your cast mates, including the one and only diva Cillian. You stiffened but were relieved by the buffer of people around you.

“We were just discussing what’s next for Y/N, she has a press tour coming up in a few weeks,” D’Arcy explained to the newcomers. Nolan chuckled.

“Yeah, press tours can be exhausting, but I'm still excited. I'm pumped to see Tarzan, Noah, and Zendaya! We've been so caught up with our projects that we haven't talked.” You blurt out cheerfully.

When your cast mates saw you all giddy, their smiles widened except for Cillian’s. He tightened his grip around his beer bottle, furious that you were so excited about meeting up with your friends. He wanted to be at the receiving end of that joy, that excitement, that anticipation.

“I expect the same level of excitement for the press tour for our movie.” John laughed.

“Not the same level, John, at least double the amount of excitement.” Nolan teased you.

“Well, we all have to wait and watch,” D’Arcy added.

“I promise to turn my excite-o-meter and charm to the fullest.” You jokingly promised as you side-hugged John, not noticing a set of clear blue eyes filled with rage.

Wheels were turning in Cillian’s brain. He would not let you slip out so easily, not without a fight. You were his, you just know it yet. And he was going to have to make you see that.

#Cillian Murphy x Reader #Cillian Murphy x Black Reader #Cillian Murphy x Desi Reader #Cillian Murphy x POC Reader #Cillian Murphy x Fem Reader #Dark Cillian Murphy x Reader #Dark Cillian Murphy x Black Reader #Dark Cillian Murphy x Desi Reader #Dark Cillian Murphy x POC Reader #Dark Cillian Murphy x Fem Reader #Dark!Cillian Murphy x Black Reader #Dark!Cillian Murphy x Desi Reader #Dark!Cillian Murphy x POC Reader #Dark!Cillian Murphy x Fem Reader #Dark Cillian Murphy #Dark!Cillian Murphy

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