#even if it doesn't really look like Cillian

[mydear-corinthian]

Dirty Diana || Thomas Shelby x reader

Synopsis: After the war, you and Tommy were separated leaving you in London alone with no money at all. Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader , Tommy Shelby x reader Warnings: SMUT +18, mentions of prostitution & misogynist, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk Notes: I saw this Dirty Diana edit of Tommy Shelby & Diana Mitford so why not do a fic about MJ's song?? I'm so happy that Dirty Diana is getting popular and getting the hype that it deserves !! This fic is terribly written and rushed :c Click here to see the MAIN MASTERLIST Click here to see the PEAKY BLINDERS MASTERLIST Click here to see the CILLIAN MURPHY MASTERLIST

Tommy and you were together before the war. His family happily accepted you and eventually treat you as one.

Unfortunately, you two parted ways following the battle. While you were stuck in London trying to become a banker, he was back in his hometown.

As a woman, landing a career like that hasn't been normalized yet. Often, men claim that it was a "man's job" exclusively. You met all the standards perfectly, but in the end, you were not hired. You were left with nothing as a result. No family, no home, and no money.

That's when you started working as a prostitute, something you never thought you would do. It was your last option since you could no longer survive without money. Given that you were making far more money at the job, you cannot complain about it. Constantly receiving enormous sums of shillings in a single night.

You decided to change your name, Diana.

Every night you wait on the busy streets of London for customers. Bending over their vehicle, seducing them.

It wasn't easy and it will never be easy to be working in this line of work. You've been sleeping with young, old, single, married, or even widowed men for money.

It was the usual night. Waiting for new customers as you stood on the busy streets outside of a hotel. Your black dress perfectly traced your curves, a white shoulder fur covered your elbows.

You finally saw a car stopping in front of you. A man wearing a neat navy suit, a newsboy hat decorated his hair, a cigarette burning between his lips.

Due to his hat, you cannot fully see who he was, only his mouth. You walked seductively towards the man's car, bending over the window. "Sir, I have to go home 'cause I'm so tired you see..?" you ask, pretending to be exhausted. "I hate sleeping alone, why don't you take me?" He took a bill out of his pockets and showed it to you. "My place. The hotel." he plainly said.

Seeing the large amount of bill made your eyes widened. Never in your job had you encountered a man giving you this big amount of money for one night.

"Well, I'll see what I can do with that, sir," he exited the vehicle, walking towards the hotel as you followed him. The anonymous man was walking in front of you so you cannot see his face.

You couldn't shake the thought of Tommy, no matter how many men you slept with. You still have feelings for him. You was hoping he could find you and look for you. Your first love was and is him. He was everything to you. It's not that you two split up; rather, it was more that you stopped seeing one another, no goodbye's or hello's after the war. You believed that his 'breakup' was final. that he had already had enough of your relationship. While a part of you believes he is better off without you, the other half of you longs to visit him in Birmingham. That he's already forgotten you.

The both of you were already inside his luxurious hotel room. It wasn't really that tidy but it was manageable.

The anonymous man finally removed his hat, showing his full face at you. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened and your heart sank.

"Tommy?" you shockingly asked.

"(Y/n)." he greeted plainly.

"How did you- How did you found me?"

He actually haven't moved on from you too. Tommy tried to marry someone for you to leave his mind but that didn't worked for him as well. He just doesn't feel the same feeling that he was with his current wife than you. He wants to relive that feeling and he is hoping that he will be with you again.

"I searched for you. I searched every spot in Birmingham and you weren't there. And so I found you here. In London," he said. "And I know about your job, Diana."

His deep and sultry voice always gets you. Having the sudden desire to take him, make you his, and just be with him.

"How about you stay with me, tonight?" he asked. 

"Oh Tommy, I'm all yours," you answered. Your lips meeting his, passionately tasting him. Tommy's hands roamed all around your small back, allowing the kiss to get deeper and deeper.

He suddenly stopped, pulling his face away. "My wife is at home tonight, she's probably worried tonight. I haven't told her I'm alright." he sighed, walking up to the telephone on the desk just beside the door. He rolled the numbers before speaking. 

Before he said something again, you heard a woman's voice on the telephone, screaming at him. Tommy's wife was mad.

Suddenly, you grabbed the telephone, hearing the voice of his wife. The speaker was on your ear, "He's not coming back, he's sleeping with me,"

You dropped the telephone harshly, smiling at him. "Are you not worried she'll leave you?" you asked, your fingers tapping his chest seductively. Tommy's lips found yours again. The kiss is turning harshly and messier. "It's alright, she was using me for money anyways," he said in between kisses. "And Polly didn't approved my relationship with her but we got married anyway,"

"God, I've been waiting for you," your hands found its way to his hair, crumpling it as you felt his tongue explore your mouth. You moaned in between kisses, eager for more. 

You pushed him into the king-sized bed's soft mattress. You unbutton your wrinkled shirt while leaving your bra on as you crawl from his legs to his hips. He showed how hard he was by the way his pants were rising. Tommy's breath hitched, his skin heats up.

"Where have you been, my darling?" he breathly asked, cupping your cheeks once again to examine your face, processing what is happening right now. You're back. You're here. 

Slowly, your hips rocked on his boner, the friction making your eyes roll. Tommy swallowed hard, feeling the sensation that's happening. "I've missed you, Tom," 

You continued to stroke the hard swell beneath his pants with a look of enticing eagerness, every stroke a whispered promise of something more. You carefully and slowly removed his belt buckle, the metal clasp giving way to your touch with a gentle click. With careful care, your fingertips traced the fabric of his pants, revealing the shapes of his buried need as you undid each button. Gentle yet focused.

A rush of electricity shot through Tommy as her hands discovered his shaft, igniting every nerve ending with a burning passion. You moved his cock up and down with such delicate strokes; it was a rhythmic dance that left him panting, his chest rising and falling in time with your motions.

"Oh god, you're so good at this," he praised. 

Your touch was like a kiss from heaven; it sent electric sparks of need shooting through him, burning an inferno of desire. His breath caught in his throat with every stroke, the melody of pleasure surrounding him so intensely that he was unable to resist, his moans echoing at the limits of his arousal.

He finally came, his white seed spurted all over the mattress and your hands, staining them You chuckled. 

Suddenly, Tommy switched positions, he's now on top of you. "You think we're done?" he asked, his fingers touched your clit, sending shivers all around your body due to the sudden touch. 

"Oh god!" you moaned. 

His fingertips tracing passionate patterns over the fabric that covered your aching core, your back arched in ecstasy as he increased his speed driven by an early desire. Your body trembled with anticipation with every round move, a burning desire that cried out to be let out. Time appeared to stop still as his touch danced over you in the heat of passion, each movement an ode to the unbearable depths of his desire.

You moaned out loud, feeling your orgasm coming. "Tom - I'm gonna .. oh god!"

His movements stopped unexpectedly, leaving you on the verge of euphoria and desperate for release. A line appeared on your forehead as a wave of opposing emotions passed over you, your need pounding against the limits his seductive pause forced.

"Ah, not yet," his husky voiced rang to your ears.

Tommy removed your underwear, showing how wet you were from him fingering you. He aligned his shaft in front of your cunt before you fully took him, making you moan. 

You felt full just from his cock. His warm cock filled you, making him push in even further. Your eyes closed, your head rolling back. 

"So fucking tight," he exhaled deeply. His rough hands gripped your hips making him pound in to you harshly, hitting your sensitive spots all over and over. 

"No one ever pleasured you this good huh?" 

Sweat was streaming down his strained brow, reflecting the fever that was pumping through his body. The air in his hotel room pumped with the sound of your lewd moans and his sultry groans, echoes swirling passionately together and filling the room with a euphoric atmosphere.

His trusts became faster and harsher. His and your skin slapped together, earning a loud sound. 

You felt your orgasm coming up again making you moan louder, seeing nothing but starts and feel like you've been drugged by the most pleasurable medicine there is out there. You clenched on his cock, indicating that you were close. 

"Tommy, I'm gonna cum," 

"Yeah? Cum then, love," he demanded.

You both reached the your high of ecstasy with a few last, powerful thrusts, your bodies combining in a melody of pleasure. During that moment of explosive release, when your senses were overwhelmed by a rush of sensations, you felt him spill out his essence into you, filling you to the overflowing limit with his ecstatic warmth. Every muscle clenched with fine pleasure as your climax came over you in waves of joy, your combined passion setting off an inferno of desire that swallowed you both completely.

Tommy pulled out before dropping his body beside you, panting hard. 

"Come back to me," he whispered. 

"Oh Tommy. I never left you."

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part One)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Smut, Age-Gap, Daddy Issues

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

It was a Friday evening when you came home after a long day at school. At 19 years of age, you were in your final year with only six weeks to go until graduation and whilst you were one of the oldest students in your class after having spent a year in America with your father, you sure were not confident.

You struggled to settle in, especially after your mother Sarah remarried rather quickly, and whilst you liked your stepfather Frank a lot, you felt somewhat out of place at his house.

Frank had a big family, including three brothers and one sister. His oldest brother happened to be no other than Cillian Murphy, an actor you had admired since you turned sixteen. 

Your mother told you about him before he showed up for dinner one night, cautioning you to be friendly, and ever since that evening, getting Cillian out of your head was impossible. 

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him walk through the door. He looked even more attractive than he did onscreen. His slightly grey hair, piercing blue eyes, and strong jawline sent shivers down your spine. 

Cillian was in his forties, just like your stepfather Frank, but this did not really bother you, and as the evening wore on, you could not help but feel increasingly drawn to him. Thus, when you heard that he would come over again tonight, you were ecstatic. 

As soon as he walked through the door, your heart raced faster than usual, making it hard to catch your breath. 

"Hi," you managed to say, forcing yourself to stay calm despite how much you wanted to reach out and touch him. 

"Hi Y/N, how have you been?" he replied, taking off his jacket and hanging it up and following you into the living room after your mother yelled out from the kitchen, telling him to take a seat as Frank would be home soon.

"I've been well. And you?" you asked, and he confirmed that he too kept well following which there was an awkward silence between you two for a few moments, both of you clearly feeling the magnetic pull toward each other. The chemistry was undeniable, making it difficult to focus on anything else but your growing desire for one another. 

Finally, breaking the silence, Cillian spoke softly, saying, "So, what do you usually do on Fridays?" 

You hesitated for a moment, trying to think of something interesting to tell him.

"Fridays, I am at school," you chuckled, and Cillian felt silly for asking.

"Right, of course. Frank told me you spent a year in America hence, you have not finished year twelve yet. How was that like?" Cillian asked as he moved closer, his gaze burning into yours.

"It was good. I learned a lot about different cultures," you told Cillian, feeling your heart racing. 

"That must have been quite an experience! So, what made you come back? Your dad lives over there, doesn't he?" Cillian asked, leaning back against the couch with a hint of flirtatiousness in his voice.

"Yes, he does. I missed Ireland, though, and I needed to finish school to start university," you explained. "My friends here in Dublin are great, though; they made the transition easier," you then informed Cillian, who nodded in understanding, continuing to study your face with those captivating eyes before, finally, his brother Frank arrived home.

Your heart sank, feeling the sudden interruption, although you could sense the anticipation and excitement between Cillian and you. However, you both knew that now was not the right time because Frank was present.

Frank and Cillian engaged in some small talk while you sat in and listened, which is when Cillian brought up his recent fight with Danielle.

Danielle was Cillian's wife, a beautiful actress, but you did not care for her. It seemed she always got under your skin. Even Frank admitted that Danielle could be somewhat high maintenance and, clearly, Cillian was over her constant antics.

It seemed to you like they fought a lot , and even though it wasn't your business, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, Danielle might be part of the reason why Cillian felt so drawn to you. There was a certain magnetism between you two, even if you had not explicitly acknowledged it yet. Cillian's wife had always irritated you somehow, and the thought of him potentially wanting to escape from her was tempting.

"Do you mind if I crash here tonight? I am not keen to go home," Cillian eventually asked his brother Frank as it was getting late, and, of course, he did not mind.

"Sure, you can have the guestroom upstairs, man," Frank suggested, knowing full well that his wife would not appreciate him sleeping elsewhere on such short notice. But he was his brother, after all, and thus, he did not care about the consequences. 

With that, your mother handed Cillian a pillow and blanket, and your father poured him another glass of wine before they continued their conversations.

Just as they talked, you could not leave your eyes off him, imagining what it would be like to kiss him and what it would feel like to hold him close. You blushed just thinking about it and tried concentrating on the adult talk around you.

This continued for quite a while, but since both your parents had to work the following day, at around ten o'clock that night, they decided to retire to bed, leaving you and Cillian alone on the couch.  

As they left, Frank gave Cillian a pat on the shoulder, wishing him a good night and then, after a little small talk between you and him, Cillian too made his way upstairs, leaving you all alone on the couch. 

Your eyes locked onto Cillian as he walked away, and you could not help but stare at his rear end as he ascended the stairs. Your heart started racing again, your body craving to get closer to him. 

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back down and caught you looking at him.

As his eyes met yours, a shared understanding was passing between you. It was a silent agreement that neither of you could ignore. The electricity between you was palpable, and it was clear that something had to give.

Your eyes alone motivated Cillian to come back down, and as he slowly descended the stairs, he never once broke eye contact with you.

Silently, he then approached you on the couch, sitting beside you and placing his hand gently on your thigh. 

"This has been a good evening," he whispered, causing your heart to race wildly.

"What do you mean?" you asked, feigning ignorance, but both of you knew exactly what was meant. 

"Oh, nothing specific," he responded, his eyes searching yours, the desire between you two evident.

You could not control the heat radiating from your cheeks nor the swelling in your chest.

With his hand still on your thigh, you nervously cleared your throat.

"Why don't we watch a movie? You do not seem tired yet," you nervously suggested, desperately trying to change the mood.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, seemingly intrigued by your suggestion.

"Are you sure that watching a movie is what you want to do?" he asked, his voice deep and husky.

His fingers moved gently along your thigh, drawing circles, and sending shivers down your spine.

"No..., or maybe yes. I do not know," you stammered in response before inhaling sharply.

"Fuck, I am sorry, Cillian, I just find myself struggling to keep my eyes off you," you then blurted out, your heart pounding loudly in your ears, feeling like a fool.

He chuckled lightly, his warm breath caressing your cheek. "I have noticed, and, to tell you the truth, I can’t keep my eyes off you either," Cillian told you before he paused for a moment, his fingertips grazing the sensitive area behind your knee.

"So, instead of watching a movie, do you want to show me where you sleep?" Cillian asked teasingly and with quite some confidence, causing you to gasp.

A mix of excitement and fear coursed through your veins as you struggled to breathe properly. "You want me to take you to my room?" you murmured, allowing his hand to move higher up your thigh.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust.

“But, you are married,” you ought to point out, causing Cillian to chuckle again.

“Yes, I am, but I am sure you can keep a secret,” he told you, and you nodded shyly, cheeks blushing.

"You know, I haven't had sex in weeks," he confessed, his voice more profound than ever, causing you to swallow harshly. He certainly knew what he wanted, and he was rather direct and forward about it.

"Is that true?" you asked, your heart racing.

"Yes," he replied, running his finger along your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. "But I won't pressure you into anything," he reassured you.

You were taken aback by his candour but also found it oddly arousing. "I... I have not either, I mean never...I never had sex before," you admitted, biting your lip nervously.

Cillian smiled, reaching over to place his hand gently on your cheek. "Don't worry. If you're ready, I'll take it slow and ensure you feel comfortable." His tone was reassuring, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

Feeling emboldened, you stood up from the couch, brushing off any lingering embarrassment. "Alright," you whispered, moving closer to him, and as you reached out to touch his face, he took your hand, leading you towards your room.

The room was quiet, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. As you led Cillian to your bed, a sense of anticipation filled the air.

The silence between you was suddenly deafening, heightening the tension. Each step seemed to echo in your ears as if amplifying the magnitude of the moment. As you reached your bed, you turned to face him, your hearts pounding together.

His eyes bore into yours, conveying a mix of desire and tenderness. He slowly reached for your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"It will feel good Y/N, I promise," Cillian told you in a low, reassuring voice.

Your heart raced, and you felt a flush of nerves sweep through your body.

"Okay," you whispered, your lips trembling slightly, and as you let go of each other's hands, you couldn't help but glance down at his crotch, wondering what lay beneath those dark jeans.

You could see the longing in his eyes, mirroring your feelings. Without further ado, he took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique.

"May I kiss you?" Cillian then asked, seeing that you had not crossed this line just yet.

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. As you inched closer to him, you could feel your heart racing in your chest. The room was now bathed in moonlight, casting an ethereal glow upon the scene. You gazed into his eyes, lost in the depths of their intensity before, finally, his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss.

Cillian's hands roamed your clothed body as your tongue danced around his. His touch was tender as if he were taking great care not to scare you off. Slowly, he removed your shirt, exposing your delicate skin to the cool night air.

Your breasts quivered in the moonlight. Cillian's eyes widened, clearly appreciative of your natural beauty. He gently cupped one breast, causing you to shiver slightly.

"No bra, huh?" he teased, his voice rough with emotion. You blushed, feeling exposed but also exhilarated by his words.

"Uh-uh, I don’t like wearing a bra," you simply stammered in response as, quickly, he unbuttoned your jeans as well, and you nervously wiggled out of them.

"You are beautiful," Cillian told you, gazing over your naked figure, and you blushed in response.

"I-I didn't think you would find me attractive," you stammered, your voice cracking slightly.

Cillian smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't underestimate yourself, Y/N. Now, lie down and let me show you how good I can make you feel," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative.

Obediently, you lowered yourself onto the bed, your heart racing in anticipation.

Cillian soon he followed suit, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gently exploring your curves.

He trailed his fingers down your stomach, tickling your soft skin and making you giggle. His fingers traced the outline of your breasts, eliciting a shiver from you. Finally, his hand reached your hip, encouraging you to open your legs wider.

Slowly, he slid his fingers down the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of your clothed crotch. He gazed at you with hooded eyes, his expression intense. You found yourself holding your breath, anticipating his next move.

Cillian, sensing your growing impatience, decided to remove his pants, revealing his thick, hard cock straining against his briefs. Your eyes widened, unable to look away from the powerful erection before you.

As he leaned forward, he whispered in your ear, "Do you trust me, Y/N?" His voice was low and husky, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You nodded without hesitation, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes, I trust you," you answered, your voice wavering slightly.

"Good, then take off your panties for me," Cillian said, his voice low and seductive.

Your eyes widened, and you hesitated briefly before nodding. With trembling hands, you removed your last piece of clothing, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed.

Cillian leaned forward, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, sending a surge of excitement through your body. His hands travelled down your smooth back, stopping just above your ass, before slowly sliding back up, teasingly tracing the curve of your lower back.

"Open your legs for me. Let me touch you," Cillian commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. You hesitantly complied, moving your legs apart so he could touch you.

"You look so fucking sexy like this," Cillian then whispered before proceeding to gently slide his index finger across your entrance, circling it teasingly.

Moaning involuntarily, you arched your back, seeking more contact. Cillian obliged and tentatively slid his finger into you, causing you to gasp. His eyes were locked onto yours, watching your reaction closely.

"So tight," he whispered, gently kissing your neck, and you took a deep breath, trying to relax and calm your nerves. It was strange being in this new territory, experiencing something so intimate with someone you barely knew.

"Have you ever touched a man before?" Cillian then asked before wiggling, with his free hand, pulling down his briefs.

"No," you stammered as you looked at him. He was even bigger than you thought and more imposing than you imagined.

"Give me your hand, Y/N," Cillian said gently before reaching for it and guiding it towards his cock.

"Touch me," he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. Nervously, you obeyed, feeling the heat radiating from his body as you tentatively wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft. Your heart raced, and you could feel the warmth of his flesh against your palm. Cillian closed his eyes, savouring the sensation as you began to stroke him gently.

At the same time, he circled his fingers over your clit, applying light pressure as he experimented with different rhythms. You groaned, feeling your body start to heat up.

As you continued to play with his shaft, Cillian increased the intensity of his movements, causing you to whimper in delight. The combination of your touches and his expertise sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

Cillian pulled you close, kissing you deeply, his hand now circling your clit firmly, drawing moans from your throat.

His mouth left yours to trail kisses down your jawline to your neck, causing your body to shudder with desire. His fingers moved faster, pressing harder, as your body quaked, losing control of the waves of pleasure washing over you.

"Oh god!" you cried out, gripping his shoulders tightly, your fingers digging into his skin as you drowned in the sensations cascading through your body. Your mind went blank; the only thing you were aware of was the overwhelming sensuality filling your world.

"Sssh, your parents are right next door," Cillian warned you. "You need to be quiet," he told you, but it was not just fear of discovery that made you quiet; it was the intensity of the moment.

Every muscle in your body tensed, waiting for the next wave of pleasure to crash over you. Cillian, with his experienced touch, knew precisely what you needed. Gently, he shifted your body, guiding you into a new position.

As he settled on top of you, right between your spread-out legs, you felt his hardness against your softness, the contrast making you feel even more desirable.

"Do you want me to wear a condom?" Cillian asked, hoping that the answer would be no.

"I am on the pill. What would you prefer?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Cillian smiled devilishly, knowing you were curious about what was to come.

"I would rather fuck you bare and cum inside you," Cillian said confidently, his tone filled with raw masculinity. His confidence seemed to be having a powerful effect on you, making you wetter than you realized.

"But I'll use a condom if you insist," he added, his voice softening.

"No, I trust you," you replied, finally embracing the adventurous side you had been hiding from everyone else.

Without further ado, Cillian kissed you deeply while supporting your weight with his strong arms. He teased your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, causing a pleasant tingle to shoot through your body. The sensation was both foreign and familiar, amplifying the connection between you two.

As his hands roamed your body, his fingers explored your secret places, triggering even more feelings you had never experienced before. Your arousal grew rapidly, and you found yourself yearning for more of his touch.

Cillian, sensing your growing eagerness, shifted your position again, spreading your legs wider apart and then positioning himself against your entrance again.

His length was already leaking precum into your slid and the feeling of it mixed with your own arousal created a sensation unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

"Is it going to hurt?" you asked nervously, breaking the intense connection you shared. Cillian smiled reassuringly, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you softly.

"Only at first," he assured you, his eyes brimming with tenderness. "I'll go slow, alright?" Cillian asked, his voice deep and commanding, causing you to nod.

“Okay,” you whispered as he began to press his tip against your entrance, slowly, gauging your readiness. Your body tensed and quivered in anticipation, each movement from Cillian causing you to writhe in excitement.

The head of his cock finally entered you, causing a sharp exhale from you as your body accommodated his size. Despite the painful sensation, there was also an indescribable pleasure in taking him deeper. Your breath caught in your throat, tears welling up in your eyes.

This was it, this was your first time, and you could not help but feel overwhelmed. You grasped Cillian's shoulders tightly, finding solace in his strength and experience.

"You're doing great," Cillian reassured you, his voice soft and tender. "Take deep breaths and the pain will fade," Cillian encouraged you as he pushed into you further.

"You are taking my cock so well. Such a good girl," he whispered, his voice laced with desire as you nodded, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

Cillian gently started moving his hips, slowly pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, giving you a chance to adjust to his size. You winced in pain but also felt a strange sense of empowerment that this man's presence was enough to make you feel desirable despite the pain. Each thrust brought a mix of pleasure and discomfort, but as you got used to his size, you learned to focus on the sensations and not the initial pain.

The feeling of him filling you, his cock gliding effortlessly in and out, was beyond words. The erotic friction between your bodies heightened your arousal exponentially. You became addicted to the rhythm of his hips, the sound of his grunts, and the way his sweaty skin slapped against yours.

Cillian, reading your body language perfectly, sped up his pace, picking up the tempo and pushing deeper inside you. The pleasure became more intense, overpowering, and overwhelming.

The rhythm between you both picked up, a perfect symphony of moans and grunts echoing throughout the room. Your body bucked beneath him, craving the fullness of his cock, the sheer force of his passionate embrace, and the unyielding intensity of their connection. With each thrust, the walls seemed to disappear, leaving you suspended in a sensory-rich universe where nothing existed except for the primal, primordial need to mate.

You moaned louder, and Cillian placed a hand on your mouth.

"Shh, remember to be quiet," Cillian told you with urgency, and you nodded again, understanding the gravity of the situation and how it would affect your relationship with your family if discovered.

This newfound sexual awakening had brought forth a wildfire that burned brightly yet dangerously close to the flammable tinder that was your family's innocence.

His hands were rough from years of playing his craft, yet gentle when they caressed your body. Every touch left a burning trail across your skin, igniting passion within you.

You grabbed onto Cillian's shoulders with all your might, his muscles rippling under your palms. Your cries mingled with his growls, creating a symphony of animalistic fervour. Your entire being seemed to be alive with electricity as you moved together in perfect harmony.

Cillian's hand found its way to your breast, squeezing and pinching the sensitive nipple. You let out a soft moan, arching your back to push your chest closer to his hand.

Cillian responded by placing a warm, rough kiss on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart raced, fuelled by the intensity of the moment. His fingers trailed down to your lower stomach, brushing against your clit, making you squirm with desire. His touches were both rough and tender, combining elements of dominance and affection that sent your body spiralling into ecstasy.

His tongue danced along your earlobe, making you pant with anticipation.

"Let's change positions. I am not ready for you to cum just yet," he eventually told you as he could tell that you were close to orgasming again, following which you would probably be too sore to continue.

"I want to enjoy this for a little longer," Cillian teased, and your lips parted slightly, surprise written all over your face. It seemed impossible to deny yourself such a release after coming so far. But something about Cillian's words, his voice full of control and authority, made you trust him completely.

You reluctantly agreed, though deep down, you ached for the satisfaction of reaching climax. Instead, you focused on the sensations coursing through your body, each stroke of his hand drawing you closer to the edge without allowing you to fall over.

"How do you want me?" you asked, feeling daring in the darkness of the room. Cillian's eyes gleamed with desire as he contemplated your question.

"Turn around and present your ass to me," he ordered, his voice deep and authoritative. Your heart quickened with excitement at his dominance, obeying him instinctively. You turned around, presenting your bottom to him, feeling vulnerable yet excited by the thought of being taken from behind.

Cillian grabbed your hips firmly, pressing his hard cock against your wet entrance, eliciting a soft moan from you.

As he prepared to enter you from behind, he whispered in your ear, "Remember, it might hurt a bit more in this position, but I promise it won't last long."

You nodded, trying to brace yourself for the unexpected sensation. Feeling a surge of power and control, Cillian positioned himself firmly behind you, holding you tightly. As he took hold of your hips, you felt a sudden burst of pain, but your determination to please him kept you steadfast.

"Breathe, darling," Cillian whispered in your ear, his deep voice echoing through your body, bringing both comfort and arousal. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations as Cillian pushed forward, gradually filling you up. The stretching sensation combined with the lingering pain caused you to whimper softly, but Cillian continued to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, promising relief soon.

With every thrust, you grew accustomed to the pain as he hit your cervix, focusing instead on the pleasurable pressure building up inside you.

Cillian began to speak dirty, his words fuelling your arousal even more.

"That's it. Good girl. Take it all, feel how good it is," he commanded, guiding your body to accept his larger size. His tone, a mix of dominance and love, left you yearning for more.

The rhythm of your bodies became a symphony of groans and gasps, the energy between you two undeniably potent. Your moans echoed through the dark bedroom, a testament to the raw desire you both harboured.

Cillian gazed to where you were connected, and the evidence of your innocent lost spurred him on even more. There was a smudge of fresh blood on his cock, a mark of his conquest over your virginity. It filled him with pride, and he wanted to claim you entirely. He increased the pace of his thrusts, pounding into you with a savage intensity. He pulled your hair back, exposing your neck, then kissed it softly, his lips trailing down to your collarbone.

Your moans turned into a low wail, halfway between pain and pleasure. Cillian's touch became rougher, his movements more urgent, mirroring your own growing hunger as he covered your mouth with one of his hands.

"Don't scream, okay? We don't want anyone hearing us," he whispered; his breath hot against your ear. His other hand gripped your hip, steadying you as he thrust into you harder, faster. You cried out, the pain shooting through your body like an electrical current. Despite the pain, your body responded instinctively, meeting his thrusts with a rhythm of its own.

Cillian's lips moved closer to your ear, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur.

"I can feel you wanting to cum, aren't you, sweetheart?" He knew exactly what buttons to press to get you going. The simple mention of your desire was enough to make your knees go weak, and you could no longer bear the exquisite torture of his cock lodged deeply inside you.

Feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the sensations coursing through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets, seeking purchase amidst the swirling chaos of desire and confusion.

"Good girl. Keep taking me a little longer,” Cillian whispered in your ear, his deep voice causing your body to tremble. Your mind was reeling with the sensations coursing through your body, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. The only thing you could focus on was Cillian's cock, driving into you harder and faster. Each thrust elicited a sharp cry from you, but the pain only served to heighten your arousal.

He gripped your hair, pulling you backwards slightly and angling your head towards his shoulder.

"Keep breathing, baby," he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. Your heart raced with anticipation, your whole body pulsing with desire.

Despite the pain and the discomfort, you craved more. You knew there was something special about this man, something irresistible that drew you in. Your body ached for him, and your soul yearned for the connection he provided.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed into your ear, his rough voice making your stomach flutter.

"Almost there. Good girl. I am going to fill you with my cum soon," Cillian promised, his voice heavy with lust. Your breath caught in your throat at the mere idea of his cum filling you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his cock, begging for it to penetrate deeper.

With each thrust, Cillian's voice dropped lower, becoming rougher with desire.

"That's it, baby. Let go and take me all the way," Cillian urged, his voice hoarse with desire. Your muscles contracted rhythmically around his cock, milking him until he couldn't hold back any longer and you climaxed together, his hand covering your mouth as you did.

His voice rose with excitement, "Fuck, baby!" he growled into your ear, the sound resonating deep within you. With a final powerful thrust, Cillian erupted inside you, his entire body shaking violently. His arms held you tightly, burying his face in your neck as he came. Your body shook beneath him, wracked with aftershocks of pleasure, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat.

"Hmm," Cillian groaned, still inside of you, releasing the last of his cum.

His chest heaved heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Your body was limp and heavy beneath him, spent from the intense sexual encounter until, eventually, he pulled out of you.

Cillian looked down at where you were joined, his eyes fierce with passion.

"Don't move," he said, keeping you on all fours as his hand reached underneath you, finding the wetness between your legs as you leaked his cum from your gaping hole, tinged with a tinge of blood.

Cillian's thumb rubbed the outside of your hole tenderly, spreading your combined juices over the entrance before slipping a finger into you slowly. You gasped, your body reacting to his touch despite your exhaustion.

"So full with my cum," he marvelled, admiring your resilience as his fingers circled and probed inside you.

"Is that blood?" you asked, looking back over your shoulder.

"Don't worry. That's normal," Cillian assured you gently, his thumb continuing to rub the entrance of your body, coaxing it to accept his finger again.

"This was our first time together, and it may take some getting used to," Cillian pointed out as if he wanted to do this again sometime.

"You will probably be sore for a few days," Cillian warned, pulling his finger out of you, and as he did, you felt the residual warmth of Cillian's seed inside you.

"Please...please let me clean myself." You whimpered, ashamed of the mess you had become.

"Not yet. Not until I take a picture of your pussy, leaking my cum," Cillian said before he reached for his phone, switching it on.

"Let me take a photo of you right now". With his index finger, he spread open your labia, showing off your hole, filled with his cum and blood. "There. This proves you are mine", he added, his voice low and dangerous.

You blushed, feeling embarrassed and exposed. "Can we please just clean up now?" you implored, wishing you could somehow disappear from the situation, which was both, arousing and embarrassing.

But Cillian was relentless, snapping photos of you and your exposed body. The sight of your defiled body filled him with a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness.

As he took photos, Cillian's dominant side intensified, his eyes darkening with lust. He spoke to you in a tone that brooked no argument, telling you to remain silent and still. The combination of his authoritative manner and your fear of his reaction, if you refused, made it impossible for you to object.

After taking multiple pictures, Cillian finally decided that you were sufficiently documented.

With a sense of triumph, he switched off his phone and returned it to his pocket.

He stood up, allowing you to pull yourself into a sitting position. You felt incredibly vulnerable, with your legs spread wide apart, leaving you exposed. You were completely at his mercy, and you knew it.

Cillian approached you, his steps deliberate and confident. As he knelt beside you, he ran his fingers gently along your inner thigh, leaving a trail of electricity in their wake.

Your skin prickled with awareness at his touch, and your breath caught in your throat. He traced circles around your entrance, teasing it with his touch. Your body responded involuntarily, pushing forward into his caresses.

"We should get a hotel room next time," Cillian suggested, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance, knowing fully how much he had affected you.

You nodded, trying to regain control of your racing thoughts. "Yes, that would probably be better," you agreed, not daring to look directly at him as, finally, he reached for the tissues on your bedside table.

Gently, he began to clean you up, carefully removing his seed from your body. You could not bring yourself to watch, instead looking away and focusing on his movements, which were slow and gentle, never rushing. When he finished, he offered you the tissues to clean yourself further. Grateful, you accepted them and proceeded to do so, feeling a mix of shame and relief wash over you.

"I should probably leave you now," Cillian said, standing up and putting on his clothes.

"No, wait." You insisted, suddenly needing to express your gratitude. "This was fun. Thank you," you said, and Cillian smirked.

"I will show you more fun after school next Tuesday if you are game," Cillian said, giving you a suggestive grin.

"Tuesday sounds good," you replied, trying to match his boldness, even though you were unsure if you were ready for more.

Cillian leaned in, placing a light kiss on your forehead. "Be good," he commanded, flashing you a devilish smile. Then, he left your room, leaving you alone to process everything that had just happened.

Your body trembled, still humming with the aftermath of their intimate encounter.

You couldn't believe what had just transpired between you two, but at the same time, you found yourself wanting more.

Your cheeks flushed as you recalled Cillian's commanding presence and the raw intensity of their connection.

[your-nanas-house]

Because you were a good step-daddy

◇ Pairing: Stepdad!Cillian Murphy X stepdaughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, blowjob (face-fucking), handjob, choking, gagging, stepdad x stepdaughter dynamic, fluff, maybe slightly dub-con? Not really, daddy kink (?), age gap (but everyone is off age)

◇ Summary: Cillian had been such a good addiction to the family that Y/n couldn't help but reward him.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

"I heard what you said to your friend and I know mom doesn't threat you like you deserve.. that's why I wanna do it" Y/n informed Cillian, her soft eyes staring at his face as he sat on the armchair of their living room, her cheek pressed against his thigh.

"Darling... Your love is already the most precious gift I can ask for. There really is no need—" the older man started, speaking with a soft tone at his step daughter while swallowing a lump in his throat, his gaze focused on hers.

Since the first time he met Y/n, after dating her mom for months and finally move in together, he knew how big her heart was and how caring and open to their relationship she would have been. But her good heart was about to cross a boundary... that he deep down wanted to cross.

"I know! But you deserve it, you've been so nice and kind, Cillian" she murmured with a little pout, she really was feeling a bit upset because she truly believed that the Irishman in front of her deserves the world, even if he didn't think the same.

Her eyes softened, trying to make her expression look like if she was pleading him, in an attempt to melt his heart and doubts "Pretty please, you really deserve it... you've been so good" she added the praise while stroking slowly his thigh to reach the laces of his pants.

The young woman could tell that there were still battles in the pretty head of his but she knee that with a gentle push they would have went all away. Just a little tiny push... or stroke, she thought.

And after a deep inhale her face was snuggling against his crotch, catching him off guard

"Fuck! Honey—... t-there really is no need, I-I... Oh god" Cillian's low voice said, his big hand moving automatically on her head to allow his thick fingers to intertwine in her locks. His body unconsciously reacting at the situation, making his hips move forward so that his already half-hard boner could hump her face.

Just a little push, Y/n repeated to herself with a tiny amused smile... her step-dad was still just a man after all.

"Such a good step-daddy, being so nice to everyone, buy things.. doing grocery and being the man of the house" her sweet voice hummed as she lowered his sweatpants and starts to suckle on his clothed lenght

"While also working... cooking, and taking care of us" Y/n kept adding, trailing wet kisses along the form of his boner till arriving to the wet spot his pre-cum left on his boxers "Yes... such a reward worthy daddy" she purred out before sucking on the fabric to taste him, gifting some friction to the probably already angry red tip of his.

His grip on her hair was getting tighter and rougher, his breath was heavy and his self-control was slowly running out... she could tell, mostly by his movements of his hips which made his crotch press against her face even more and his aggressive grip on the armrest... tight enough to make his knuckles become white.

No words where exchanged as soon as her warm lips met the soft skin of his V-line, tracing a trail of wet kisses down to the soft skin of his cock. Her smaller hands wrapped themselves around it to move his foreskin and expose his leaking tip at the fresh air so that her wet tongue could taste him.

The young woman placed some kiss after suckling on his tip, lowering herself down till her mouth met his balls, and her lips could wrap around one to suck while her hand worked on his length. She did the same for his other ball as well before a low whine coming from Cillian interrupted his sweet melody filled with moans, groans, and heavy breathing.

"Stop teasing, love" he ordered breathless, pulling her head away from his cock for a split second so that he could compose himself and not cum so quickly.

It has been a while since someone took care of his needs. He sure was in a relationship with Y/n's mom, but she didn't have any interest in being intimate with him since he moved into their house.

His thick fingers caressed his step-daughter's cheek softly, his thumb slowly smearing her spit on her bottom lip, letting her kitty lick his fingertip before sucking on it.

"Such a good thing, you are" his Irish accent made her smaller body shiver, her right hand started to stroke his cock again, teasing the tip a couple of times to lubrificate her actions before finally getting to the main "gift".

Her lips wrapped around his tip again, her tongue flat against it as she prepared herself... moving down with a sudden motion that allowed her to deep-throat him fully. Her gagging noises nearly swallowed by his low groans.

The older man let her throat adjust at the intrusion, stroking lovingly her soft hair while cooing praises between heavy breaths

"Just like that, that's a good girl... relax your cute throat for me, love"

As soon as she was able to, tears threatening to wet her cheeks, his fingers curled again in her hair in a dominant grip. Tight enough to be able to guide her like he wanted but not as to hurting her.

"Fuck, love!" Cillian cursed, his movements at the beginning slow before carefully increasing them. Now fully fucking her face.

Her gagging noise becoming bit louder as his cock kept thrusting in her mouth, his balls slapping her chin at each eager move. His grunts weren't that low as well, due to the pleasure he was creating by using her face like he wanted.

His grip got tighter, a couple of thrusts after she gagged again around his cock and his whole body tensed as hot ropes of cum were shoot down her throat. Slowly and carefully he let go of Y/n, lowering his hips to free her and allow her to breath properly while she decided what to do with his seed.

Her puffy eyes were red because of the tears and her jaw hurted but she couldn't help but smile as he saw her step-dad slowly relax with a happy grin on his handsome face

"Thank you, darling... I was really craving a good blowjob".

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Sixty Seven)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warning for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Sixty Seven: Y/N visits Clíodhna alone, and receives a positive pep-talk from their familiar, dedicated Nurse. Cillian arrives in the afternoon, but Y/N finds him purposefully antagonistic. She matches his behaviour, and knows she's pushed it too far. When Cillian's lack of communication leaves her feeling concerned, Y/N tries another means and is presented with her fears feeling like real life. But a realisation sinks in painfully, and she knows she has to make some changes. [Angst]

@watermeezer @cherrycilly @whatcjdidnext @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01 @meadowshelby

Thank you to @pucktato for sharing views/ideas. Some of the shared ideas were so in my head they were nearly identical, and others have inspired changes that have been implemented. So credit for your very much appreciated input!

The relief you feel as you step inside the NICU is inexplicable. Just knowing you're in close proximity to Clíodhna makes some of your anxiety dissipate immediately. You're relieved to see Chloe, and another nurse you're familiar with, as you rub the provided alcohol gel around your hands and approach Clíodhna's incubator. 

“Morning, you,” Chloe greets you. “I knew you wouldn't have a lie on!” She raises her eyebrows softly. “How was your night, did you sleep?” 

You nod your head, “I did, yeah. Woke early, but I slept okay.* You smile softly. “How is she?” 

“Oh, the best,” Chloe smiles, “Not a single dip, scores are fine, in fact there's been a little bit of resistance from her against the oxygen which is a wonderful sign.” 

You frown, “Resistance?” 

“A bit of fighting, to breathe herself. It's a good sign!” Chloe reassures you quickly. “Irs a sign of strength, that she's working hard for herself. At the moment, it's not consistent, but it's a really good sign.” She touches her left hand against your arm. “So, where's himself? I suppose he's got commitments for work?” You eye her for a moment, and before you know it your eyes flood with tears. You chin quivers, and you shake your head. “Hey, hey,” Chloe frowns sadly. “Oh, Y/N. C’mere.” She instantly puts her arm around your back and rubs her hand gently up and down your shoulder as she pulls you against her side. “What is it?” 

You shake your head and try to quickly push away the upset. “I’m okay. It’s just… it's nothing.” You insist, swallowing awkwardly. “It's nothing. Just…silly. Hormones.” You try a smile but it doesn't work. 

“Can I help at all?” Chloe asks gently. 

“I doubt that.” You scoff sarcastically, “Can you fix Irishmen who don't talk, or who when they do talk only do it when you're mid-argument?” You say, drying your cheeks with both hands. When you look at Chloe again, she seems to get it but does look a little concerned. 

“It's a difficult time, Y/N. And sure, by their very nature, men often cope by switching off. Be patient with him, and be patient and gracious with yourself. Okay?” Chloe says gently. “C’mon, take a moment while I get your wee one sorted and you can have a cuddle. Baby cuddles are the best medicine.” She smiles. “Give yourselves some grace, Y/N, okay?” She says as she turns to walk away, “We understand what women go through at times like this, and you have our full support and even our preemption of what you'll experience. But the male of the species are not our speciality, and when they're not forthcoming with what they go through themselves at this point, it's all guess work. But I do know he feels the same fears and worries that you do, but they'll not present the way yours do.” She smiles softly again. “I know the world doesn't know about Clíodhna being here yet, but they will soon, and that'll add extra strain for yourself and Cillian. He's a good lad, and the people who know of who he is often put him on a pedestal out of amazement for the person that the media shows him as. But I doubt that's who, or all of who, he is, and that only you know who he really is. If you're finding it difficult to manage his emotions as well as yours, then you two need to make sure you find moments, away from this little girl of yours, to talk about those tricky feelings. You've been through a lot, and you may well still have hurdles to face, and definitely have a lot of emotions to confront. Forgive one another when you get snappy, and make space for talking about how you're feeling. Maybe if you lead that charge, he'll respond with how he feels.” 

There's wisdom in her words, but they're also delivered so lovingly, with no condescension or presumption. Once again, she surprises you with understanding in your altered reality with Cillian, too. Nodding your head, you smile. “Thank you, Chloe.” 

She nudges her arm against you gently and winks her left eye. “C’mon, get yourself sat down and I'll get this little one. Oh, actually…” she smiles. 

“What?” You raise your brows. 

“Do you want to do her nappy?” Chloe laughs lightly. 

You smile brightly, “Yes!” 

“Ah, it's yourself.” You look up as Chloe's voice suddenly rises from the usual quiet tone everyone seems to use in the small room. You feel your stomach tighten, and at the same time feel a sense of loving relief, when you see it's Cillian she's talking to. It's a little after two pm, and you're truly glad he's here when it dawns on you that Clíodhna's feed will be run soon. “I'm sure Mammy will hand her over for a cuddle. Let me know if you need a hand.” 

You push a small smile to your lips as Cillian walks slowly towards you. He has his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he looks trussed up beneath a heavy jumper. He raises his eyebrows as he stops a foot from the empty chair pulled up next to yours. “Y'alright?” He asks, as he draws his hands out and then lowers into the chair beside you. 

“Are you?” You ask, without answering his question. 

He leans over the arm of the chair and touches the fingers of his right hand against Clíodhna's cheek. You feel her legs shift a little, and it warms your heart. You know she knows her Daddy. He ignores your counter question, though, and instead he talks to the baby. “How are you, leanbh? You look peaceful.” He raises his head and meets your eye. “So do you.” 

You smile softly at the warmth in his eyes. “Did you get some sleep?” You ask and adjust your hand around Clíodhna's back a little. 

He shakes his head, “No. Sure I just filled up on coffee.” He says, dropping his eyes back to Clíodhna. “I did - I'd enough caffeine to fuel a rocket. Yeah, I did. And I went to see your brothers.” He looks back up at you again, but keeps the back of his right index finger rubbing soft lines up and down Clíodhna's cheek. “I showed them a picture, sent it across to them both too. They want to come and see her, if they're allowed. I said I didn't know if it was only supposed to be the two of us here, but I'd ask.”

You frown for a moment, then fix your expression. “You went around to them?” You notice he bristles immediately. 

“I did, yeah.” He says. He draws his hand away from Clíodhna's face and sits back in the chair. “I sat with my sons, told them about their sister, and had a fucking coffee.” You can tell he's waiting for you to ask, but you also notice he doesn't volunteer any information, regarding Yvonne. He raises his eyebrows again, and there's temper behind the expression. 

“Fix your face.” You say in a low tone. “When have I ever had a problem with you seeing the boys? And I told you to show them photos. What's the attitude for?” 

“Ask." His brows rise and his tone is vile. "Ask, go on.” he goads. “You want to ask, so ask.” 

“Ask what?!” You shake your head. “Don't do this here, Cillian.” You try desperately to keep your tone and volume even. 

He draws down the corners of his mouth. “Ask me. If she was there, if we tipped up to a bedroom for a fuck, if I've decided the engagement is off and I'm gonna go back and shack up with her again.” his tone is scathing, and as he scoffs you feel a wash of anger and anxiety combine viciously.  

“Chloe?” You call out, beginning to feel your chest heave against anxious breaths. “Can you…will you just…” you fluster over your words. You note the little look on Chloe's face, but she immediately helps. She carefully lifts Clíodhna from your shirt, holding her easily between her two palms, minding each wire. As soon as your daughter is safe in her hands, you get to your feet. “I'm sorry, I just… I'll be…” you point forwards the doors and try your hardest not to run to escape through them. 

You stop as soon as you reach the corridor and you push your back against the wall beside the double doors. You know you upset him this morning, but you don't understand why he's being so cruel, and baiting you to fight with him whilst you're holding your little girl. You dab at your cheeks with the back of your left hand when you feel tears running down, and try to settle the turmoil inside. You've pulled a little against your stitches as you shot up from the chair, and you had a bruise-like ache in your entire abdomen as a result. You rest your head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling above, and breathe out loudly. You whip your head to the left as one of the doors opens, and you know your face must be set in a strange expression as Cillian steps out. 

“Why would you do that?” You say, shaking your head and frowning deeply. “Be mad at me for pissing you off, but why would you do that in there, around her like that?” You gesture at the doors. 

He rolls his eyes, but it isn't sarcastic. “I'm sorry, I know… I did what I told you I didn't want to do. I'm a prick.” 

“Yes! You are.” You snap. “Do what the fuck you want with Yvonne, you behaving like that in there, teasing me over how I feel, just proves you don't care about how I feel. I know it isn't rational, but you behaving like that is just nasty.” You sniff. “You're a vindictive shit.” 

“I wasn't…” he shakes his head. “Y/N, the last thing I want right now is to head off and fuck her. I was being a prick. Just mouthing off. It's immature and it's stupid...” 

“Leave, Cillian.” You say, cutting across his words. You sigh and shake your head. “Just go, now. I don't want you here.” 

“Y/N…” he frowns , and his mouth gapes open. 

“Just go!” You sob. “Just fucking go away.” 

“Stop it,” he reaches out as you go to walk past him, cupping his hand around your arm. “Y/N. I'm sorry. Alright? I was being a fucking arsehole. But don't say things like that, she's my daughter, too.” He says firmly. 

“But you'll come in and set that tone, place that anger in the room where she's being kept alive and-and made safe?” You snap, your voice rising. You work your arm from his grip. “Go away, Cillian. Maybe when you can work out the way you're supposed to behave, supposed to treat the two of us, you can come back.” 

“I'm not leaving.” He shakes his head. “Y/N! You can't ban me from seeing my own daughter because I upset ya!” 

You scoff, and once again one of those fleeting thoughts flies out of your mouth. “My daughter - I'm fairly sure it doesn't say Murphy on that information board.” You surprise yourself as the words rumble from your throat, and the look on Cillian's face immediately makes your heart race. But you don't revoke it, or apologise, or make moves to placate him by reaching out for physical touch. 

Cillian shakes his head and his jaw tightens, drawing firm angles across his face. “You bitch…” he mumbles. You know it has hurt him, but you know he was saying what he was to hurt you, too. You watch his face, wondering what, if anything, he'll throw back to be equally as hurtful. “Fuck you, Y/N.” He shakes his head, and walks away. His trainers scuff the polished floor with each step he takes. 

You want to call him back - you want to take back what you've said, hug him tightly, kiss him deeply, and admit that you're both exhausted and being deliberately hurtful because you're both hurting. You want to, but you don't. You watch him, instead, and the moment has passed when he disappears through a set of double doors towards the end of the corridor that he left bang noisily behind him. You don't know where he'll go, but once again it crosses your mind that, if he seeks anyone out in his temper and his anguish, it'll be Yvonne. 

.

It's almost eight pm when you leave the NICU. With Chloe's support, you had given Clíodhna a top and toe wash with, and changed her nappy. Chloe had provided you with a pump and some discreet support, and had praised your tearful efforts when you presented her with fifty millilitres of breast milk. Knowing your supply was increasing slowly, and that - as Chloe and the others said - every drop was beneficial for Clíodhna, you felt quietly proud and loudly relieved that things seemed so much more positive. Cillian hadn't returned, though, as you had half expected he might. You had assumed he would zoom off in his temper, that you know you deserved aimed at you, and smoke himself hoarse before returning. But he hadn't - and as you leave the NICU and head for the exit to get a taxi to take you home, you keep an eye out in the vague hope he might appear out of nowhere. 

In the taxi home, you send him a text: “Just settled Clíodhna down for the night. I'm heading home. Are you there?” 

You're home before nine pm, and the house is in darkness. Feeling utterly exhausted, and weak with muscular pain in your abdomen, you let yourself into the house and sigh in minor relief. Paracetamol, a cup of tea, and a freshening up we're all you wanted now. You drop your bag to the floor and kick off your shoes, slipping your feet into your slippers instead. You hang your coat over the bannister lazily and lock the front door. You remove the key, in case Cillian appears from whenever he is, so that he's able to actually get in. You set the alarm, though. You shut off the hallway light and instead put on the kitchen light as you head in. With the kettle on, and a mug selected, you swallow down two paracetamol with a small glass of water, and search through the fridge for something small to eat. You don't want a meal, and your appetite is practically non-existent, but if you're going to keep up your milk production then you need something going in to facilitate it. 

With a cup of tea, a flapjack from Cillian's stash, and a banana, you settle onto the sofa. You kick your slippers to the floor and draw your legs up beside you as you snuggle into the corner groove of the couch, balancing your tea carefully. Scrolling through your phone, you check your messages - he hasn't text you back. In fact, he hasn't even read the message. You're not sure if you're angry or worried, but you tap out another message. “Home. Are you okay? I'm sorry, Cill. Can we talk?” You throw your phone down onto the sofa cushion and pick up the TV controls. You search through the TV and find yourself barely even focusing. Your mind is full of Clíodhna, obviously, but it's dominated by the things both you and Cillian have said today. You know that you've been spiteful, and deliberately hurtful, and you know full well that he had intended to be nasty at the hospital, too. But you love him, and you miss him, and you know the only person in the world who shares how you're feeling right now is Cillian. You want to tell him that you managed to pump a whole feed’s worth of milk for your baby girl, you want to tell him your boobs feel misshapen and that it means your milk is slowly increasing, and that you feel like you're doing something right for her. You want to hold him, and run your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, and let him know you understand that he's struggling too. But you can't, because you don't even know where he is - and you hate that the first thing you assume is that he's crying on her shoulder. 

By ten o'clock, you can't stand the radio silence. With your tea half drunk and now stone cold, your banana eaten but the flapjack merely nibbled in one corner, you shove everything aside and reach for your phone again. You unlock it and scroll through, checking in case you'd missed a reply to your message. Of course, there isn't one and yet again the message hasn't even been read. You open your contacts list and push your thumb down on his name. You set it on speakerphone, and hold the phone impatiently, waiting for it to pick up. It rings out and goes to answer phone and you repeat the action, waiting once again for it to be picked up. 

“Hiya,” a voice sings down the phone, and you frown. It definitely isn't Cillian. “Y/N?” 

“Hi…” you say, frowning deeply. Your heart thumps in your chest.

When the voice clarifies who they are, you take a deep breath. “It's Yvonne.” 

“Yeah, um… hi. Is… um…,” you stumble over your words. “Where's Cillian?” 

Yvonne clears her throat, “He's currently fast asleep on the sofa. He turned up here late this afternoon, I think. When I got back from a work meeting, he and the lads were in the front room. Aran said he'd been over during the morning and then he came back.” 

You frown deeply, “I've sent messages, and I called before this one…* 

“I'm sorry, he's been asleep for about a half hour. I don't know, I sort of assumed maybe you knew he was here? Although he has mentioned that it's been a bit of an emotional day.” Yvonne says, and you can hear the awkwardness in her tone. You wonder if Adam is home, and where the boys are now. You wonder what he's told her about the things that have happened today. “I gave him dinner when I cooked, and he just talked about Clíodhna, and that things are tough at the moment. I'm really sorry, Y/N. I can't imagine how tough it is. It seemed like he just needed a bit of…company?” She says. 

He has friends - many. He has a brother and sisters he's close to, colleagues he's become close to, old school friends he has stayed close with. You understand his want to be near his sons - that what must be greater at the moment with the paternal shift he's had with Clíodhna's arrival - but you cannot rationalise in your head at all why he would stay so long, and be so comfortable as to nap on the sofa of his ex-wife. You had told him to, technically, but he wasn't so stupid to assume it wasn't anger pouring from your mouth. He wasn't so stupid to assume you actually wanted him to do something like that. 

“Do you want me to wake him?” She asks. “I grabbed his phone when it rang the second time, I sort of knew it would probably be you. I'm just in the other room, but if you want me to wake him and get him on the phone, I can?” She suggests. 

You surprise yourself with your reply. *It's okay.” You mumble. “He's…” you clear your throat nervously. “He's exhausted, clearly. Just, maybe, if he wakes up - get him to call me?” 

There's a moment of quiet and all you can hear is the rushing of blood in your ears. It's agonising. When she speaks again, her tone has changed. “Are you alright, Y/N?” 

You scoff, “My fiance has been AWOL for hours and I find out he's asleep on your sofa - no, Yvonne, I'm not alright. I've spent the day angry, and sad, and scared, and nursing our baby daughter alone. I'm not alright, Yvonne!” You snap. “If he wakes up, tell him the key isn't in the door so he can get in. Tell him our little girl…is…is trying hard to breathe independently, and the nurses are amazed. And I'm amazed. And that if his head wasn't so far up his arse, then he….* You sniffle and clamp your lips tightly. Your chin quivers and another small sob escapes. If you try to speak now, it'll be unintelligible. You draw in a deep breath through your nose and, as you breathe it out of your pursed lips, it whistles and wavers as your chin continues to quake. 

“Oh, Y/N.” Yvonne placates. “Don't hang up. I'll shout him.” 

“No “ you say quickly. “He's chosen where he wants to be tonight.” You take another deep breath. “Just tell him to ring me, please?” You say, more in control of your voice. “If he wakes up.” 

You don't wait for another word. You cut the call and throw the phone down against the sofa cushion. Your control over your emotions disappears entirely, and you sob loudly into the lonely room. Each sob rips through your body, and hurts your surgery site. But you can't stop them. You sob for every contraction you had, for every blood test and IV placed, for every nurse and midwife, for every doctor and specialist, for every sound of someone else's baby, for every stitch you counted, for every pair of knickers you'd lost to bleeding, for every pain in your stomach, for every moment you'd wanted to kiss your baby but couldn't, for every outfit you wanted to dress your girl in but couldn't. You sob for every hug you've wanted from Cillian that couldn't be granted for whatever reason, for every tear you've seen him shed since the day you went into labour, for every time you've wondered what your baby girl's cry would sound like if she had the ability to make the sound at all. You sob for the want of your family that you know are never going to be what you need. You sob for the want of your man that you know you hold to too high of a standard in situations when you search for so much more than you know is humanly possible to give. And you sob the deepest, most painful of cries, for the realisation that the emptiness and abandonment you feel is so deeply bound into your cellular being, and poked at by the merest self-induced assumption of Cillian rejecting you, that no amount of Cillian will ever be enough and that that is not his fault. 

[i-cant-sing]

I love the crossover between first lady reader and real celebs that you make sometimes!

Can you expand on that a little and give me a crumb mother 🧍‍♀️

What would the reader wear to the oscars and oscars after party (i have no idea if that exists) and what would be the peoples rections and her reaction to other celebs ?

Hmm maybe something like this:

Because I feel like First Lady Y/n would like full sleeves and arm gloves, and the backless part too but that's mostly to piss off Kai. Pair it up with am elegant updo and the most precious jewels (and u must wear Kai's wedding ring. That is non negotiable. Your stylist may have also given you a diamond necklace with a huge sapphire in it- courtesy of AFO ofc)

And for the after party, I feel like the above dress was a safer option for PR reason. But I think reader would still go for a somewhat "safer" option for after party because people are always watching and she has to maintain Kai's reputation.

But I also think that now that reader has been tk so many parties and galas, she really doesn't care anymore if people think she's slutty or something (if anything, the public will probably bash the designers for making something so inappropriate for the first lady. Poor you were just pressured into wearing it), so she might even wear something like this to the after party:

Kai is absolutely foaming at the mouth because on one hand, "YOU LOOK DROP DEAD GORGEOUS OMG HOW DID HE GET SO LUCKY. THIS FAKE MARRIAGE AND BABY TRAPPING U IS SO WORTH IT. HES NEVER LETTING YOU GO NOW!" But on the other hand, everyone is staring at you and he doesn't... like that. You can bet that he has the secret service pushing away celebrities so that they don't hog you, he definitely had Katsuki body slam Ryan Gosling away because Kai knows you're a fan. To everyone's surprise, Cillian Murphy and Christopher Nolan were having a long, interesting conversation with you, I mean- once that picture of all 3 of you was posted on twitter, fans went nuts as they pointed out how the two stoic men had the faintest twinkle in their eyes as they talked to you. Who knows what in the world you were talking about?

[cillianhead]

Hello dear!!! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Could you please write a piece about Cillian falling for a (younger!) poet? He starts frequenting her reading sessions and that's how they meet. The rest is up to you!

Thank you 🩵

Yes!! Love this, thank you <3

Enjoy my sweet nonny!

This is heavily inspired by the song All Too Well (10-minute version) (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift!!

Wind In My Hair, I Was There || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, angst, age gap (reader is in her mid to late twenties, Cillian is in his forties.), swearing, Cillian is sort of an asshole in this in some parts, so that is a warning, infidelity (Cillian is married), general adult content ahead!!

Minors DNI! 18+

I'd also like to clarify this isn't really based on the real Cillian!! I know he's married and very happy, this is just fiction and fantasy!! Not meant to portray Cillian as a bad person!! I'd also like to clarify that the ready doesn't really know who Cillian is... or maybe like Cillian isn't that famous in this fic universe or something because there are a few plot points that may seem questionable... that's all. Anyway... enjoy!!

The autumn you spent with Cillian Murphy would be one you would always remember, not that you really had a choice in whether or not you could forget him.

Your apartment was small and cozy at the time, with a perfect view of the falling leaves outside. It was sitting across from a small park in New York City; the trees were red and orange, and it felt like the fall was putting on a show just for you. You felt fortunate and privileged to live in such a place.

You lived right up the road from a small cafe with a library. Every Thursday, you meet with like-minded writers and read your work aloud. It helped bring you out of your shell; you felt a sense of pride when you read your poetry out loud and had people praise you for being so brave and how well you wrote. Despite the fact you have been attending these little group meetings for almost two years now and you felt pretty comfortable amongst the people who were there, you felt like you could vomit your pounding heart right up every time you stood at that podium in front of the dozen or so people that attended. But even with the lump in your throat, you'd read with a shaky voice and tears ready to spill, you would receive the same round of applause every time and a pat on the back from some of the attendees you were closer with.

It was September 14th when you first saw him, but it wasn't the first time he had seen you, summer still lingering in the air but barely grasping on as Autumn began to take the reigns. You were standing at that cedar-wood podium, reading aloud as nervously as you always did. You had yet to notice him quietly slip in; you were too busy ensuring you were on the right line.

"-And something beautiful sprouted, something that I am not... something that I never will be." You looked up after reading the last line, biting your lip nervously and stepping back from the speaking podium. There he sat, in a sweater and the most hypnotizing eyes you had ever seen. Maybe love at first sight was real, you thought briefly. People clapped, but the room remained silent and still for you as you two made eye contact; he didn't clap; he just stared at you with a look that told you he was just as taken aback by you as you were by him.

He kept attending the sessions, but he never got up and read anything and never really interacted with anyone else; in fact, you'd see him get up and leave once you had finished reading your poetry. You wondered if anyone else noticed him the way you did, or maybe he was a figment of your imagination... a ghost.

It was October 19th when you first spoke with him. You dreamt about him day and night, and you two had never even spoken before every session; you'd wonder if he'd be there, and he always was. Sitting in the same seat, at the very back, going ultimately unnoticed by almost everyone but you.

"Excuse me, sir!" You yelled out, rushing to follow the man in the plaid shirt and beanie. "You dropped this!" It was a pair of keys you had clutched in your hand, the crisp autumn air meeting the apples of your cheeks.

He turned around, only a foot or two away from you, as he looked at you up and down, taking notice of his keys in your hand. "Oh gosh, thank you, love," He took the keys gently out of your hand, his fingers lingering on yours a little too long for a stranger, fingertips brushing together. "I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on." You took notice of his Irish accent. It made you even more curious to know him better. "Erm... thank you so much."

"It's no problem..." You trailed off. You're not sure what to say now. He gave you a stiff nod and started to turn around and keep walking, but you just couldn't let him leave. "Wait!" What do you say now?

"Yeah?" He turned around, tilting his head at you, blue eyes staring at you, waiting.

"I... I'm Y/N... by the way... I always see you here... but I never see you read anything..."

"Cillian," He chuckled. "Not interested in reading anything I've written, only here to listen." Cillian's response was short but straight to the point.

"You don't stick around for very long... you always leave after... I've finished reading my writing..."

"Well... your work is the only one I come to listen to. The rest of the lots' poems just go in one ear and out the other," He said honestly. "You've got a charm about you; I've never heard anything like what you write. It's unique and intelligent, cleverly crafted written pieces... It captures my attention, unlike the rest, which all seem like people trying to mimic someone else... you write from your heart... or your head... I can't decide which, really." He notices your silence, Cillian steps a bit closer to you. "Perhaps I've said too much." He mumbles. The proximity of where he stands is close enough that you can feel his warmth, a stark contrast to how cold it was outside. "You've surely captivated me, Y/N." He said your name like it was a sacred prayer.

You felt like your heart was in your throat, looking at him dumbfounded and unsure what to say. "That's... very flattering, I don't know what to say... thank you, Cillian..." You scratch behind your ear, swaying nervously on your feet. Cars honked, and people passed by as you two stood outside the little cafe, which was now closed since the reading sessions had ended. Cillian looked around awkwardly before sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, his breath visible out in the open air due to how cold it was.

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me?" Cillian looked at you, eyes reflecting the city lights. The moment felt like something from a movie or something you'd write a poem about. It felt like something that wasn't quite possible within these depths of reality. "I understand... if not... you're a young beautiful woman... probably got someone waitin' at home for y-" "N-No, I'd love to!" You interrupted him, with your heart racing. "I'd love to go to dinner with you... I don't have anyone at home... waiting for me..."

"Well, aren't I lucky... when are you free?" He gave you a smile, the first you'd ever seen from him. It made his usually sombre face light up; he grinned, making you feel all giddy.

"I'm free any time on the weekends... and on Tuesdays, I have work off, so... I would love to... see you this weekend, maybe?"

"Wonderful, Saturday evening, you and me?"

You nodded. You exchanged numbers and went on your merry way, walking down the streets of New York City with a smile on your face that was purely gleeful. People would give you looks, but you didn't care. You were excited about something for once. You obsessed over it for the next day and a half.

October 21st marked your very first date with Cillian Murphy. At six, you waited patiently outside your apartment building in the cold air. With a red scarf wrapped around your neck your nose runny from the autumnal weather, you looked around like a lost puppy.

"Y/N," Cillian's warm voice startled you from behind you. You jumped but swiftly turned around to look at him, a bashful smile on both of your faces. "You look lovely." You felt your heart pound at the sight of him.

"Thank you. You also look lovely yourself." You replied. He leaned in and kissed your cheek before taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. The feeling of his hand in yours made the cold weather seem like summer. Your body lit in flames at the idea he wanted you close to him. And the feeling of his lips on your cheek remained there the whole evening, burning its mark into your skin.

The night went on, and you found yourself in a charming Italian restaurant. It was nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic for a first date, definitely nicer than any other places other guys have taken you. It was just the two of you sitting towards the back, in a small booth, eating your plates of pasta. You talked, and you talked, and you talked. He spoke about how he was an actor; you could see his eyes light up at his passion for his work. He told you he was in New York for work and was filming a movie for something he couldn't legally disclose yet. Your chemistry was magnetic, and the conversation would weave in and out of different subjects. You talked about anything and everything, things like masculinity, The Beatles, the incident that happened on your 21st Birthday, batman, and everything else there was to discuss. You felt like you had known him forever. He said the same thing and referred to you two as twin flames. When you were about to leave, his phone began to ring.

"Fuckin' hell, what is it now?" He groaned. "Probably just a wrong number... or somethin'... hold on, love." He stepped outside, and you watched him on the phone. Cillian looked angry and frustrated, like he was arguing over the phone with someone. Your heart, which once rode the waves of love and joy, now sank beneath them into the deep dark depths of navy blue and dismay, watching him grow angrier and angrier and yell over the phone. He was seeing red.

When he waved for you to come out, you approached him cautiously. He huffed, puffed, and fidgeted his hands in his pockets, clearly restless. "Who was that? Are you okay?" "It was no one," He replied shortly and coldly. "I'm fine, let's go." You didn't say a word after that. The tension was thicker than the cold. You were afraid of saying anything to further upset him. So silence was the answer as he walked you home. You felt disappointed that this was how the night was ending. You wondered who it was and what they had said that had upset him so badly. The familiar apartment building you called home came closer and closer within sight, the disappointment weighing you down like water in your shoes. The disappointment tracing every inch of your freezing skin.

You stood in your elevator with him. He promised to walk you back to your unit at least, and he kept that promise. "Would you like to come in... Cillian?" You asked. You pulled out your house key and unlocked the door, looking at him hopefully.

"No, I'd better not." He remained cold and rigid with you. He couldn't even bring himself to give you a smile. You felt you'd never see him again; maybe he didn't like you the way you thought he did. Maybe he found you obnoxious and dumb. Perhaps the phone call was from another woman he realized was better than you. Maybe you simply needed to be better for him. "Goodnight, Y/N." He turned and walked away; you couldn't speak as tears welled in your eyes. Sorrow built up within you like some sort of horrible game of Jenga; one wrong move and you'd come crashing down and falling apart all over the place.

"Goodnight..." You whispered, but by then, he'd already stepped into the elevator, and the doors shut, taking him away from you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, both out of self-pity and disappointment.

When you awoke, it was to the sounds of soft raps on your front door. It was eight in the morning. Padding gently down the hallway, floorboards creaking, sleep still in your eyes, and your face puffy from the tears that leaked from your tear ducts the previous night, you opened the door, expecting it to be a neighbor asking you if they could borrow some sugar or something along those lines.

"Good morning," Cillian stood at your door, this time with a big apologetic smile, a complete change from last night's cold demeanour. He held a pink, yellow, and white bouquet and a small paper bag in his other hand. "I came here to apologize... for how I treated you last night." "Come in." You ushered him in.

He noted your knick-knacks, the photos on your walls, and your old, worn-out furniture. The way you decorated the place stood out to him, but the look on your face stood out to him the most. Sad, tired eyes, puffy and glazed over, you looked at him expectantly. "I'm so sorry." He whispered to you.

"What for?" You asked as you sat in your favorite olive green armchair. It was velvet and soft, and you'd spend most of your time writing, reading, or drinking your morning cup of coffee.

"For treating you like I didn't care," He sighed. He sat on the leather sofa beside you, gently placing the flowers on your glass coffee table and the paper bag smelling of freshly baked goods. "I don't want to discuss exactly who it was or what happened on that phone call... but I... I shouldn't have shut you out just because I was upset... that was... wrong of me, and I'm sorry." Your anger and sadness dissipated the way a fire dissipates when it's being smothered: immediately. His big blue eyes were the blanket that hushed that flame out, striking him as immediately forgiven.

"I understand, Cillian..." You mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Things happen... it's alright... I...." You wanted to confront him and tell him how insignificant and stupid he made you feel, but you swallowed it back and gave him a small smile. You remained the people pleaser you always have been. You spared his feelings over your own. "I understand." You repeated.

"I thought... I would make it up to you," He pushed the small paper bag over to you. "We could spend the day together... if you don't already have plans."

The paper bag contained a chocolate eclair. You had written a poem that mentioned eating a chocolate eclair while in a made-up love affair. The rhyming was cheesy, but it was one of Cillian's favorite poems of yours. It was the first one he had heard from you. Of course, you didn't realize the irony of it at the time. You just grinned and accepted it happily. You didn't know that you were engaging in a relationship with a man who was already married. So you took a bite of the eclair, letting him into your fragile heart, and entered this sad and tragic love affair.

So you spent the whole day together. You walked around New York City, holding hands and laughing your heads off. It felt romantic and intimate, and you got to know each other even deeper than you did before. You kissed under a stop sign and shared sweet nothings. The clouds rolled over, and the sky opened up. The rain watered you down like a pair of leaves in a pot plant, and you both ran through Central Park, trying to find the nearest shelter until you came across a large oak tree. It was something out of a movie, sitting together, soaking wet, staring at each other as lightning strikes in the distance. The wind was in your hair, and his lips were on yours.

You spent pretty much every day together after that. You made love in every room of your apartment, cherishing each other's bodies. Cillian would sit in that cafe, and he would clap after your readings and then reward you with a kiss when you got back down to him. You wrote poetry about him, and he would write some for you. It was a beautiful, quiet, little harmonious relationship you had going on. You found yourself falling in love. You thought he was, too, though you never said it out loud.

He even met your dad. They got along quite well. Your dad didn't seem to mind that Cillian was only a few years younger than him (and much older than you). Your dad just wanted to see you happy and safe. In fact, your dad told you he had never seen you more content. Cillian made your dad laugh, they got along like old friends. Seeing them bonding and getting along made you incredibly happy and excited.

On November 16th, at noon, you got ready to go to where he was staying, wrapping that red scarf around your neck again and stepping out into the living room where Cillian waited for you with eyes full of affection. You had packed a small bag since Cillian told you he was staying at his sister's house in upstate New York. She was away at the moment. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He hummed jollily. You wrapped your arm through his and went down to the lobby.

His car had that new car smell, clearly a rental. "No matter how often I've stayed in America, I never get used to driving on the wrong side of the road." Cillian chuckled, exiting his parking spot and beginning the long drive to his sister's house.

The drive was beautiful. Driving through the city and slowly entering into suburban areas, red and brown trees lining the streets, Halloween decorations on display, and music playing through the radio, you both sang along to the words happily. The drive was surreal and peaceful. You drove down a long country road, and the tall trees created a tunnel above you. Only small slits of the grey sky could be seen through the scarlet leaves.

"We're here, Y/N," Cillian smiled at you, stepping out of the car and walking off without you. You hurriedly got out of the car with your things. "Oh, lock the car for me, the button doesn't work... please, love." He tossed you the car keys, not looking where he was throwing them, and they landed in the dirt before you. You ignored how it made you feel (stupid, insignificant, small), picking up the dirty keys and locking the car manually before rushing over to where he was unlocking the door.

The house was nice and quiet and far from the rest of civilization. It felt like home somehow. It is decorated nicely with photos of his sister and her husband, even some with Cillian when he was younger. It was getting dark by now, and you set your belongings down in the guest bedroom where Cillian was staying. You never asked when he was going back to Ireland. You didn't wanna know. You wanted to appreciate your time together instead of counting down the days.

Cillian cooked you dinner and shared a long, loving kiss to say thanks. You sat cuddled up on the couch together afterwards, your crimson scarf hanging over the stair railing as you rested your head lovingly on his shoulder. An old Western movie played in the background, but you were too busy holding each other and whispering sweet things.

"Cillian..." You whispered, pressing soft kisses along his stubbly jaw. "I'm so happy you brought me here... this feels so special." "I'm so happy to have you here, Y/N." He whispered back. Cillian pulled you into his lap. "This is special, just you and me... here... I'm going to make you my own." You wanted to tell him, 'I'm already yours, Cillian; my heart and soul are yours', but you remained silent, smiling dopily at him.

And with those charming words, you kissed him. Flashes of red played through your mind, fireworks sounding off in your head as your lips danced together. His hands cradled your head as you made out nice and slow. Both in your pyjamas now, warming each other up, hands running up and down his back. Cillian's hands wandered down your back until they rested on the tops of your hips, his thumb fiddling with the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Take them off." You hummed, raising your hips slightly off of his, and he obeyed, sliding your pants off until you were only in your panties. Cillian observed how you sat back down on his lap, the lace scrunched up, showing off the curve of your ass.

"I'm going to ravish you." He growled, eyeing you up and down. The timbre of his voice caused your thighs to tightly squeeze together. He pressed you down onto the couch, slipping his pants down until he was just in his briefs. He slipped your shirt over your tits, breasts bouncing out of their containment and straight into his mouth. He sucked happily on your nipples until you were a panting mess, begging for more. "Let me feel you, sweetheart."

"Please..." You exasperated. "Please... Cillian."

Two nimble fingers slipped under your lace underwear, straight down to where your arousal pooled. "So wet f'me, always so wet, aren't you, baby?" He groaned, fingers teasing your slit before sliding back up to rub circles on your clit.

"You know what you do to me..." You breathed out, biting your cherry red lips and closing your eyes, embracing the pleasure. "Always so wet for you, Cillian..."

The way Cillian cradled you in his strong arms as his fingers caressed you to your peak was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced. His eyes watched your face contort with pleasure, mouth open and spilling sounds of satisfaction as you came on his fingers.

"That's it, baby... doing so good," He whispered, kissing your cheek. "So beautiful."

You lolled your head to the side, panting and looking at him with a dazed grin. "Please fuck me."

Cillian laughed at your words. "Such a dirty mouth!" He teased as he tugged down his pants. "Gonna fuck you nice and slow, gonna show you how much you mean to me, love."

Then, in the dim light of the TV and the moon shining through the window, you made love like it was your last night on Earth. Hands ran up and down each other's bodies, trying to savor every final touch. Lips captured together, your bodies working as one, the love was there, glimmering in the light. No words could explain how you felt then; nothing else existed to you, just him and his hands all over your body. You and him for the rest of eternity, at least; that's how it felt in your heart.

You held each other tight in bed, clinging on for dear life. You listened to his heart slow as he slept and the way he breathed. You wondered if he dreamt about you the way you dreamt of him. Eventually, you fell asleep at midnight after watching his pretty face sleeping.

At three in the morning, you wake to an empty bed. Sitting up with a sweat, where did Cillian go? You slip out from under the covers, wincing at the room's cold air that meets your bare legs. You wore one of Cillian's button-ups, only the middle button holding it together as you slowly creep out of the room, listening to the sound of quiet music from the kitchen.

"Cillian?" You called out, cautious and slightly afraid at how dark the house is. It was a lot quieter than you were used to. You were a city girl, unfamiliar with the countryside silence.

"Y/N?" You heard, which relieved your paranoid mind.

Down the stairs, Cillian stood in the fridge's light, soft music playing through a small radio on the kitchen counter. "What're you doing up, Cillian?" You worriedly walked over to him, arms reached out as he turned to look at you, only in his sleep shorts.

"Just needed a midnight snack. I'm alright, my love," He smiled sleepily, with a sheepish look since he wasn't fully awake yet. "C'mere... dance with me."

"Oh... Cillian..." You giggled, walking over to him, letting him wrap you up in his strong arms and sway you gently. "This is nice."

"Mmmm..." Cillian hummed into the soft skin of your neck.

The refrigerator remained open, the cool-tinted light painting you both as you swayed side to side. You were half asleep, and the rocking motion didn't help your drowsiness. You felt as though this was some strange dream.

"Are you real?" You whispered.

"What do you mean?" Cillian purred back.

"I just feel like I made you up." You muttered, pulling your head back to look up at him with big, sleepy eyes.

Cillian looked back at you with the same look. Your wide-eyed gaze and his sweet blue eyes looked like something out of a romance film or something you'd see in a painting. The love you shared was unanimous... or at least you thought so. A kiss and then another kiss and then another turned into a sleepy yet heated make-out.

"Gonna take you right here," He grumbled into your mouth. "My midnight snack."

You giggled at his words as he pressed you against the kitchen island countertop. Kissing so hard it felt like your lips could bruise. He ripped off your shirt and pulled it off you like it was nothing. Cillian growled at the sight of you, hands groping at your tits and lips trailing down your neck. You whimpered, letting your head hang back as he ground his stiff cock into your clothed cunt.

"Fuck!" You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips even further. You ignored the feeling of the marble countertop digging into your lower back; the feeling of his cock was too delicious, too distracting, to really let it ruin the mood. "Cillian, please, baby, just put it in me... need you so bad."

He gave you a grunt and slipped off his shorts before pulling your panties to the side. Cillian acted like a feral dog as he pushed his cock into you and began fucking you on his sister's countertops at three in the morning. The act was sinful.

"Oh god! Yes!" You wailed. You could be as loud as you wanted to out here. No one else was around to hear, and you knew how Cillian liked to hear you scream for him. His hips pistoned in and out of you, cock fitting perfectly inside you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He had never been so rough with you before, but you were enjoying it.

"Best pussy I've ever had," Cillian groaned, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Fuck... so good... feels so good."

His fingernails dug into your hips, grunting into the dips of your neck and shoulders as he chased his own high. You ran your hands up and down his back, leaving scratch marks across his shoulder blades. The fridge remained open, but right now, you didn't care. All you could think about was how good he was fucking you. Drool spilled down your chin, mind blank, and legs went limp from the euphoria taking over.

"Yeah, is that it?" Cillian muttered, voice gritty and low as his hips sputtered. "You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

"Yes... oh fuck! Yes!" You moaned. "Gonna cum for you, Cillian..."

"Love the way my name sounds comin' from your mouth," He whispered, letting out a mouth-watering whine straight into your ear. Your pussy clenched around him tighter as Cillian, usually a quiet and stoic man, came undone and let out the most delectable pornographic-sounding moans. "Y'make it sound so dirty..."

"Please cum in me..." You whimpered. "Please... need it so bad."

"Really?" Cillian panted and looked at you incredulously. He had never had the pleasure of getting to cum in you yet. "You sure?"

"Yes!" You threw your head back, panting like a dog. "Please, Cillian! Please... give it to me." "Fuck... alright... gonna fill you up, love."

You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, mewling as you came around him and the feeling of his hot cum beginning to spill into you. "I love you." You gasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as you came around him. You meant it; you did love him. You had never loved anyone the way you had loved him. You could see yourself with him for the rest of your life, having his babies, getting married..., and dying together. He just groaned loudly as he came inside you, not saying a word to your confession. Maybe it wasn't the right time, or he would wait until he was done to say something.

"Fuckin' hell..." Cillian whispered as he slipped his softening length out of you and pulled his shorts back up. "Look at that..." He mumbled with amazement, getting down on his knees in front of your quivering and cum-filled pussy.

"Cillian, I-"

"Shhh..." He hushed before pressing a loving nip to your inner thigh, and then he unhinged his jaw and attached his watering mouth to your cunt. You forgot everything you were about to say at the feeling of his tongue licking you up and sucking on your swollen clit. You came again quickly due to how sensitive you were, and Cillian sucked up your gushing juices and his cum that still dripped out of you. Standing up, he grabbed you by the chin and kissed you, spitting the mixture into your mouth, tongues swirling together. You moaned at the salty taste and the dirty act. "Such a good girl..." Cillian hummed. "Swallow it, baby. Show me how good you can be for me."

He watched you gulp it down before leaning in and rewarding you with a wet and messy kiss, teeth grabbing your bottom lip before pulling away. "Cillian..." You whispered, out of breath and incredibly flustered. "That... was so good... I love-" "Let's go to sleep," He interrupted abruptly, crouching and picking up your discarded clothing. "It's real late, sweetheart."

"Oh..." You mumbled, heart breaking a little. "Okay... let's go then." You didn't get a peep of sleep that night. While Cillian snored beside you, one heavy arm draped across you and his hot breath fanning the back of your neck, you stared at the ticking clock with tears slipping down your face. Why didn't he say it back? Why didn't he at least say something? You knew he heard you. The dread built up within you that night, and daylight didn't seem to get any closer.

At 7:47 AM, you were pulled out of a state between consciousness and sleep by Cillian's phone ringing. "Fuck..." Cillian said groggily, reaching over with a heavy hand to pick up his phone. "Who is it?" You moaned out of dissatisfaction from being pulled out of your slumber.

"It's my sister..." He groaned before answering the call. "Hello?.... Yeah, it's alright... no, I don't have anything on today... you're comin' home today?... I thought you'd be home Monday..." You sat up at this, heart racing. Were you going to have to meet his sister today? You were nervous but also excited. Cillian looked over at you with a horrified look in his eye. "Yeah... alright... see you then... bye."

"...Is everything okay?" You asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I guess we're not sleepin' in..." He grunted as he got up and walked towards the en suite. "Gather yer' things, we're going back to the city." "What? Why?"

"I just don't want my sister to know I had a girl over." That was the last thing he said before shutting the bathroom door, clearly in a bad mood. Your heart sank at his words as if it wasn't already hurting. So you got up, fighting back the tears and gathered your things, shoving them back into your bag as you let out a choked sob.

Half an hour passed, Cillian was still in the shower, and you sat at the bottom of the stairs, feeling sorry for yourself. Your bag sat beside you, and the floorboards creaking behind you caught your attention. You turned and looked up at Cillian, dressed in a lovely blue turtle neck, dress pants, and a grim look on his face.

Begrudgingly, you followed him outside and into the car, then began the drive back in silence.

"You wanna grab some lunch wit' me today?" Cillian asked after about twenty minutes of silence.

"No." You said dryly.

"What? You got plans or somethin'?" Cillian asked with a chuckle. The question felt condescending and rude.

"Because what you said to me earlier really fucking hurt me." You hissed, turning to look at Cillian to see him already looking at you.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He barked back, putting his eyes back on the road and giving you that dry, condescending laugh again.

"You said you didn't want your sister to know about me.... that you didn't want your sister to know about you having a girl over."

"Yeah, and?" Cillian quipped, clearly flustered.

"Is that all I am to you?" You whimpered, trying to keep your composure, trying to seem strong. "Just a girl?" "'Course not, Y/N." He said in a hushed tone.

"Then what the fuck are we?" You raised your voice, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Why can't your sister know about me? About us?"

"B-Because..." He faltered before falling completely silent.

"Why, Cillian?" You cried. "You've met my friends... you've even met my father... for fuck's sake... why can't... why can't I meet your sister and her husband?"

He kept his silence. You could see the tears in his eyes that refused to spill. Those tears were just as stubborn as he was.

"Answer me!" You screamed, tears pouring down your exasperated face. "Say something!"

"Because I'm married!" He screeched back.

That shut you up. You leaned back and just stared at your feet. You felt like you had been winded, like all the air in the car had been sucked out, and you were choking on carbon monoxide. He was married. You sobbed as the shock set in, and Cillian pulled the car over to the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt. You fell into a state of despair; your chest felt incredibly heavy, and your brain played a loop of hopeless thoughts.

"Y/N," Cillian said firmly, reaching out and placing a soft hand on your shoulder, which you quickly smacked away. "Y/N... look at me..."

You looked over at him, and you could see him wince at the look on your face. He'd never seen you in so much pain. Never had he seen you look at him so coldly. "What?" You spat. "What is it, Cillian?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," You cried harder, covering your face with your hands and leaning on the dashboard. You cried so hard it felt like you could vomit. You felt like the salty tears were slowly dissolving you away. "Fuck you!" You sobbed.

"Y/N... I am sorry."

"If you were sorry..." You hiccuped, looking back at him with red eyes and tears endlessly slipping down your flustered face. "You never would have... you never would have done this to me... you never would have gotten involved with me!"

Cillian sighed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... I stumbled into that cafe one night, and I saw you and... I heard the way you spoke... and the words you said... and I couldn't believe you were real... and things haven't been amazing in my marriage lately... and I haven't seen my wife in months..." He was rationalizing with you... with the infidelity. "I... I've never met anyone like you."

"You lied to me."

"How was I supposed to tell you I was married, Y/N?" Cillian snapped at you, looking at you with fangs barred. "What was I supposed to say to you?"

"You didn't have to say anything," You sobbed. "You shouldn't have invited me to dinner... you shouldn't have even... you shouldn't have ever shown up to those reading sessions... you just shouldn't have gotten involved with me in the first place!"

"My wife doesn't have to know."

"That... doesn't make it any better," You bawled. "You have a woman... back in Ireland fucking waiting for you, and I'm here... thinking I'm falling in love with you while you fuck me over!"

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, defeated. "I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Do you feel anything for me?" "Of course, I feel something for you, Y/N... you're-"

"Do you love me?" You corrected. "Could you say you truly and honestly love me?" "I..." He looked away at that. You scoffed and shook your head, wiping tears off your face. "I don't... I don't know... I just..." "What the fuck was going to happen between us?" You cried. "How was this going to end? This was always going to end tragically... wasn't it? Wasn't it, Cillian?"

"I didn't... I never thought about how I was going to end things... I go back home in December... filming ends in two weeks... I was going to spend the last few weeks with you..." You scoffed again loudly. "Aww... how sweet! Spend your last few days with your mistress, who's twenty years younger than you... and then fuck off back to Ireland and go be with your loving wife and your... oh god... you have kids, don't you?" "Yes... I..." "Fuck!" You screamed. It wasn't like you to be so angry. You weren't usually this loud. But the pain was just too much, and you needed some way to get the pent-up rage within you out. "So this is it... this is going to be the last time I'll ever see you."

"It doesn't have to be that way, love," Cillian whispered, placing a hand on your arm; this time, you let it stay there. The shame of having him touch you made you sob again. "We could... spend this last month together... we could... cherish what we have while we still have it." "What we have is gone," You replied. "It's gone! It's dead! You killed it! You can't even say you love me."

"What good would that do?" He pushed you further over the edge. "I mean... I could lie and say I love you... I could feed into your fantasies that this... this could last... but it's not..."

Those words 'I could lie and say I love you' echoed over and over again in your head.

"I know that!" You yelped.

There was a pause. The silence hanging heavy in the autumn air and your teardrops falling into your lap where your hands lay curled up. Cillian's thumb rubbed circles into your arm, and you only cried harder.

"Maybe... if we had been closer in age... maybe we would have... maybe we would have been fine." Cillian broke the silence with that banger. The words ringing in your ears, you didn't reply. You didn't utter a word. Those words made you want to die. A minute or two went past. You just ignored him, ignored the way his hand lit your skin on fire, and ignored the way his eyes bore holes into the side of your skull. "Y/N?"

"Take me home." You muttered.

"Y/N..." He whispered.

"Take me the fuck home, Cillian."

And so he did. He pulled out of the parking spot, and you spent the next hour in an agonizing silence. At some point, the tears stopped falling, and the stupidity sunk in. You felt stupid and ashamed. You had told everyone about him, how happy you were, how handsome and funny... and how sweet he was. And now you sat in the car of a man you felt like you didn't know.

"We're here, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Cillian."

"Please don't do this." He begged, you looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes. "Please." You sucked in a breath, his eyes pleaded with you, and you wanted to stay so badly... you wanted to give him one last kiss and say, 'I understand,' but you knew you couldn't. You were too heartbroken. It was going to end one way or another... and it might as well end now.

"Goodbye, Cillian." You said once more before stepping out of the car and walking off into your building. Never looking back to see the broken man in the car, crying just as hard as you did, loving you just as hard as you did him.

Three months went by. There wasn't a day where you didn't think of him. Not a day passed when you yearned for his touch and to feel him hold you again. You thought about dancing with him in the refrigerator light. You thought about his hand on your thigh as you drove upstate. The memories all too real and... all too there.

And tonight, as snow fell outside, you stood at that same podium, reading the poem you wrote for him. You could barely utter the words, your heart catching in your throat as you looked around the room and spoke the words written on the page.

"Just between us, I remember it all too well." You finished, and the room clapped, but the applause didn't matter. Your heart still felt just as broken as it did the day you left him.

And as you descended from the podium, people would pat you on the back and murmur praises for how well-written your poem was and how well-spoken you were. But your eyes were focused on the hazy figure outside the cafe, the silhouette all too familiar.

And it was wearing that same red scarf you had left behind.

And you knew it was him, watching you from afar. Loving you from a distance... remembering it the same way as you did...

All too well.

-

hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this was all over the place a bit but I really wanted to write something angsty... anyway... there are lots of little easter eggs and references to the song, did you pick them all up? Okay byeee!

[deceitfuldevout]

Savior (Part 1)

Dark!Emmett x Reader

Word count: +2,394

Warning(s) in chapter: +18, Non con, Breeding, Forced Breeding, Minor character deaths, Kidnapping, Mentions of past character death, Murder.

Author's Note(s): I'm still riding the Cillian high.

It was summertime in Akron, NY. Life was simple, peaceful, was. You were excited to be starting as an elementary school teacher. Until they arrived, death Angels, they were called. Slaughtering anyone and anything in sight that made sound. There was only one thing you could do, and that was to survive.

It's been 474 days since the apocalypses began. Winter was approaching, so you and your group decided to venture out. You were careful with each step. Who knows when or where a creature would be lurking. They're quick and stealthy. Almost silent. A mistake your teammate makes resulted in your entire team's demise.

A sudden trip on a hidden string causes a wind chime to clatter down, purposely alerting the creatures. Before your team has a chance to escape, they were quickly dragged off by the creatures. One by one their screams were heard. You ran, as fast as you could. Until your legs almost gave out. You couldn't believe it. Everyone, everyone was gone. You were all alone, dealing with the aftermath of yet another loss.

The adrenaline still pumping though your veins as you took each step. You hadn't even realized the hidden beartrap until it was too late. It takes every ounce of your energy not to scream in pain. You force yourself to swallow it down, muffling a cry. Fat tears role down your cheeks. It takes you a while to compose yourself. After that the realization hits. You were trapped in the middle of nowhere. With only a backpack filled with medical supplies.

This was it, this time, you would surely die. A deep feeling of dread consumes all your senses as you wobble to a sitting position, the pain becoming excruciating. You really did try your best to stay alive. But when your vision begins to blur, you embrace the darkness, letting it consume you.

When you had woken up your body felt heavy. A throbbing pain pulses though your head. It was hard even trying to lift yourself from the bed. Wait, what? You swiftly lift yourself up, looking around to find out just where the hell you were. How the hell did you end up here?!

"You were out for a while," a voice calls. You turn around to find a man seated at a desk, just now finishing up his meal. He's dressed from head to toe. His outgrown beard covers most of his features. A trucker's hat covering the top of his head. It was hard to tell what he looked like in the dark, "Here," he hands you a bowl, it's canned soup. You hesitantly take it from him, "Thank you..." eating it with careful bites.

You notice him still staring but choose to ignore it. He was kind enough to save you back there. Surely he wasn't so bad. Emmett recognizes you the moment he found you lying unconscious at the front of his hideout. For a moment, he thought you were surely gone. Until he hears a faint whine escapes your lips. He doesn't know why he decided to drag you inside. Maybe he just needed a sign.

"Your friends they uh, they didn't make it," feeling sorry for what he'd just said. Your heart broke for them. One small mistake costed them their lives. A part of you carried survivor's guilt with you. Thankfully you weren't alone. He was at the right time and place. When you try kicking your legs out of bed a sharp pain hits one of them. A painful grunt escapes your lips.

You with certain now, your foot was broken, small jagged cuts decorate the heel and ankle. It seems as though he tried to help, "I did my best to stop the bleeding but...'m not a miracle worker," his voice is deep, raspy with age and time. It sounded too familiar. That's when it hits you, "Emmett?" There was no doubt, you were sure it was your old neighbor. Hell, you used to babysit his boys. Your brows furrow, now worried, "What happened to...?"

"Gone, I lost the boys to those things, and Nora, she couldn't take it..." his eyes start to glisten. His once lively spirit now the shell of a man he used to be. He's taken aback when you start to cry, "I'm so sorry Emmett..." you cried, "I loved them so much..." mourning the loss of his family. He knows very well, his boys were fond of you. Even asking if you could be their teacher for the next school year. You even applied to an open position for the upcoming fall. After all this time fate still had a way with bringing people together.

Emmett lets you rest up for a few days while out on a supply run. He even left a few supplies and food by your bedside. You wanted to know where you were, but with your leg being in the condition that it was, it was impossible. For now, it was best to rest while it heals. You didn't want to weigh him down.

In the meantime, you try different ways to stay busy. Each day completing at least two to three tasks around the room. Whether it was stretching, exercising, or attempting to walk again. Soon enough you were able to limp for a certain amount of time. Emmett was sweet enough to get you a crutch.

As time passed, you began to make yourself comfortable. Its been a while since you’ve arrived. To the point where the two of you had a daily routine. Emmett would be out, either hunting or gathering food and supplies. While you stayed to look over the compound. When Emmett would arrive after a long day of work, he'd come home find a homecooked meal waiting. It's been a while since he’s had a proper meal.

Emmett halts at the door, watching as you hum a tune while finishing up dinner. You sat on a wheeled office chair while getting the plates ready. He approaches you from behind, "Here, let me," carrying dinner to the table. The both of you ate in silence. But it wasn't awkward, you both enjoyed each other's company. You're the first one to speak up, "Hey so..." starting the conversation, "As soon as my leg heals, would it be alright if I come help?"

Emmett couldn't hide the look of disapproval on his face. He doesn't think you're ready, or even fit to go out there, "No,"

"No? Why? I can walk now and--" "No, final answer,"

"Are you serious?"

"As serious as I can be,"

"But it was only one time! They didn't get me--"

"It's not just the monsters you should be worried about..." he pauses, "...the people, they're not the same," as if it were coming from experience, "Look at your leg, you think a monster did that?" he scoffs. You were the last thing that reminding him of how kind life was before. He can't risk losing the little beacon of light left. Not again.

Emmett won't admit it, but it was lonely during the past few months. You made it all the more bearable. Something stirred inside of him. Just the thought of a pretty little thing waiting for him at home. He felt guilty. As if he didn't deserve a second chance. So, what does he do when confronted with a problem? He avoids it altogether. Emmett would spend hours going on raids just to avoid being in the house. Being alone with a pretty little thing like you would only lead to trouble.

It's been a while since he'd been with someone. During a supply run he'd found a few magazines to help, but it hadn't done the job. They weren't the same. Not even close. He can't even remember the last time he's emptied himself deep inside a pussy. His breathing becomes shallow from the thought of it.

"Emmett?" you tilt your head. Shit, what did you say? "I asked if you wanted more," scooting the bowl of stew towards him. He's flustered, "Sure thing," when he reaches for it his calloused hand brushes against yours. He's in awe by how soft it is. You were this ethereal being, who just so happened to stumble upon his hideout. He quickly retrieves his hand. Not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But did he really want that?

It was just the two of you all alone down here. He's much stronger than you. If he wanted, he could just take you, right here right now. And there would be no one to stop him. He imagines you on your knees, looking up at him with that innocent look. Shit...he has it, bad.

He can't decide if it was pure desire, or simply part of his nature to breed. You were already a natural playing the role of a homemaker. It's not like there was anything else to worry about. He would take care of you. He'll provide you with anything you need. All you had to do was give him a little something in return. Just once wouldn't hurt. As you ready yourself for bed, you notice Emmett still standing there. You turn towards him, curious of what he was doing. He pulls out a thin metal chain. What was that for?

"Please, don't fight it..." he nears. At that moment your heart sunk. Emmett held the metal in his hands, "You already know I'm stronger, so don't try to stop me," nearing the edge of the bed. You look at him with a look of dread, "Emmett?" eyeing the chain cautiously, "W-what are you doing?"

"Sh... just let it happen..." he nears, "I promise you I'll take good care of you, you'll never want anything else,"

"Emmett? No..." tears began to form. You couldn't run away from him, not with a limp. All you could do was scurry to the corner of the bed. Emmett links the chain to bottom of the metal bedframe. He held your good ankle in hand before linking it to the cuff. You're well aware he's much stronger, he even carried you all the way down here. He straddles your waist, and you scream profanities, lashing out at the man you once called a friend.

Emmett tries pleading with you to hear him out, he tries to muffle your screams with his hand. But instead, you retaliate by biting it. He grunts in pain, now retrieving it. He's not amused at all by your little rebellious stunt. This wasn't you. He doesn't have time for any temper tantrums. He's not angry, only determined, "Fine, have it your way," he's done having to fight for what's rightfully his.

He could've let you die out there, just like your teammates. It was your fault for trespassing, you were the ones who triggered his trap. Instead, he'd given you a new purpose in life. You'll never be exposed to the dangers of the outside world again. He'll make sure of it.

During the past few months, Emmett went absolutely feral. He couldn't keep his hands off you. Just this morning, you'd woken up to him buried deep inside you pussy, grunting like some sort of animal in a rut as he pounded that tight little cunt of yours. Still half asleep, you tried your best to ignore him. But when he raises your leg over his shoulder to deepen the thrusts, you couldn't hold it in. Small grunts escape your lips as you turn your head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

He leans in, "Hey...hey pretty girl, don't hide from me..." a hand cups the side of your cheek, turning you to face him. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his hips still jutting in and out your channel. You were just starting to get used to his pace when suddenly he starts picking up speed. Your hands reach out to halt his movements, but he wrenches them off. Now pinning them to your sides as he chases his climax.

You feel the familiar sensation of his spunk now filling your womb. It's hot and sticky, some of it drips down and staining the sheets, "Fuck..." Emmett knew he should've laid out a towel. By now there was a small puddle of your juices mixed together. He would have to see if there were any blankets during his next run.

"Sh... just go back to sleep," he whispers. He couldn't help himself. He was tired and sore after spending most of the day scavenging for supplies. But as soon as he saw you sleeping soundly, in that sexy slip-on he’d gifted a while back, well, he just couldn't help himself. Is it not in his nature? There was no way you didn't know the power you had on him. He sighs, admiring your bow tuckered form.

It was a smart idea chaining you to the bed post. That reminds him, the purpose of today's trip. Emmett retrieves a salve from his bag. He starts rubbing it into the raw skin of your ankle before covering it with a gauze, "I'm sorry..."

"No, you're not…" you whisper to him. You're right, he's not. He kept both of your hands wrapped up in fabric bindings, so that you wouldn't hurt him or yourself. At first, he didn't mind the scratches, but when you almost claw his eyes out, that's when the idea had struck.

Emmett had warned you that the people weren't the same since then, including himself. He won't admit it, but as soon as he laid eyes on your unconscious form, the only thing he could think of was planting his seed deep inside you. He knew it was a good idea to save you, or was it you who saved him?

[punchitmrsulu]

So, here's all the conjectures on Jim's fate in 28 Years Later.

Many of us are choosing to believe the zombie showed in the trailer, despite looking like Cillian Murphy, is not Jim because they most likely wouldn't reveal something like that in the trailer. And maybe that's exactly what they want, to drive people crazy thinking it's him but in the end it won't be.

Also the set pictures of him that have come out so far suggest he's alive and kicking. Those don't confirm the zombie is not Jim for sure because they could still be of flashbacks showing how Jim became the zombie but there's room for hope.

There's also all the references to a "Jimmy" in the trailer, which could be referring to Jim but we don't know in what capacity.

28 Years Later is going to be one of 3 movies, the second of which was shot at the same time as this one, btw. So, many are theorizing Cillian has a supporting role in this one, and will quite possibly just show up at the very end but will be the main character or one of the main characters in the sequel.

When asked if Cillian would return for 28 Years Later, Tom Rothman (Sony Motion Pictures Group chairman) said, "Yes, but in a surprising way and in a way that grows, let me put it that way," which makes the theory above seem even more plausible.

In addition, my sister suggested that Erin Kellyman's character could very well be Jim and Selena's daughter. Which also doesn't confirm Jim is not dead but, at the very least, it would mean they were able to be together for quite a while before shit hit the fan again.

Which brings me to Selena and Hannah's fate. I'm also very worried about what happened to them and there's been absolutely no word about either character being in these movies. They could just be hiding the reveal, which would make total sense, or one or both of them are dead. I'm really hoping that's not the case because the 3 of them were THE found family and it would be very sad for them to have overcome all they did in the first movie just for it all to have amounted to nothing.

Having said that, if any or all 3 of them are indeed dead in these new movies, I just hope it's handled well. If you're going to kill beloved characters it needs to be done the right way and have the proper weight in the story. I hope it's not meaningless and just for shock value.

I trust Danny Boyle and Alex Garland when it comes to storytelling, and Cilian Murphy is executive producing this thing, so I don't think that'll be the case, I think they all care about this story and these characters, but you never know.

It looks like it's going to be an amazing movie regardless of the OGs' actual fate. It seems like it can stand on its own and I'm ridiculously excited for it, I've lost count of how many times I've watched the trailer. But let's pray our babies are handled with the care and love they deserve.

[pinguwrites]

Drabble: you can see Death's son

pairing | death junior x reader

Warnings: stalking, junior being a little obsessive but he's sweet and innocent, supernatural elements

A/N: Bro I just discovered this short film like yesterday and cranked out this small drabble. It's called At Death's Door (1999), where Cillian Murphy plays as some sort of grim reaper. He doesn't have a name in the film, so I made up Death Junior lol. That's his name now, okay?

No one was supposed to be able to see him. As the son of the Death, he was granted the gift of free passage, to travel between the realms of humans and spirits, unseen, like a gentle breeze in the wind. In the few years he had lived — albeit not many — he had come and gone, guiding souls to the beyond, and passing unnoticed by the living. It wasn’t until one fateful day near the end of Autumn did that change. It was the day you saw him; a girl, a mere mortal, whose eyes had somehow been blessed upon his image.

He stood, mouth slightly agape, pink lips chapped. He turned around, to see if you were looking at something else, but when he saw no one behind him, he knew without a doubt that it was him you were staring at. Beyond sight, he could feel it in his belly, a churning. 

This is not right, he thought. This is not right.

You were at the other end of the trail. It was a park, bare trees stripped of their sunset colors, fallen to the ground all crunched and brown. Green grass spread till it reached the surrounding roads, but there was plenty of space in between, where people were eating at picnic benches or playing with their dogs. You had been going for a run, with sweat beading down your forehead and labored breathing, when you stopped for a break and glanced upon him. 

You had given a quick smile, and the world stopped. Who were you? An angel, perhaps, come to steal him away. Or maybe a devil. He could not tell. 

“Are you alright?”

Gentle sound, beautiful. It broke him out of his thoughts, and back to your eyes. You were now standing just a few feet away from him.

He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted. He was dressed in all black, collared shirt, dress pants, polished shoes, and a scythe — his father’s scythe, though he hoped to make his own one day. He must have stood out like a sore thumb amongst all these bubblegum shirts and ripped blue jeans and fanny packs and whatever these people had in fashion these days. It was always changing.

“I — do you need help? You look a little lost.”

Say something, he thought. He’d been around humans enough to understand how to speak to them, and his own family very much modeled a stereotypical Victorian bunch. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how to, rather that he had a lump in his throat that prevented him from doing so. 

“I’m sorry for bothering you, sir.”

He panicked. “No,” he blurted out, voice soft. He couldn’t let you leave. He just couldn’t. “What’s your name?”

You paused, then told him. In his mind, he repeated the word over and over again, like a religious mantra. He had always found names to be beautiful. They all meant different things and were attuned to culture and heritage. Even though there might be a million people sharing the same one, it was still yours. Like property.

“And you?”

He thought for a moment. He didn’t really have one. As much as he appreciated them, he had never thought of having his own. To him, a name was something he could not claim. Why should he even have one in the first place? He was always referred to as Son, and similarly, he referred to his parents as Mother and Father. That was enough, wasn’t it?

“I don’t . . . I don’t have one,” he said.

“Ah.” You nodded your head. “Shall I call you Reaper? Or Grim? You know, because of your costume? I like it, by the way. Most people have robes or chains, but this is simple, funeral-ish.”

Robes and chains. Oh, he hated the days when he had to wear those. They were so heavy on him, a personal punishment. The burden of the metal was the burden of his purpose, a constant reminder. And the hood, it always shrouded his line of vision. He was glad it wasn’t as popular as it was hundreds of years ago, otherwise he would be forced to wear it now.

“I’m not the Grim Reaper,” he clarified. “I’m his son.”

“I didn’t know he had one. So you’re Death Junior, then? I can call you that if you like it.”

Junior, he thought. June-e-er.

He nodded his head slowly. It wasn’t much of a name, more of a title.

“You live around here?”

He nodded again. It wasn’t the full truth, but if you were going to be here often then so would he.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you again. Have a nice day, Junior.”

You smiled, again, and picked up your pace, heading down the trail. Within a minute you were out of view, and he felt an odd feeling rise in his heart. This was not enough. He needed more. To at least just be in your presence.

He adjusted the grip on his scythe and followed after you. No one gave him so much as a look, which all the more validated his decision like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But even if he was, he still found it okay. It was his curiosity, his innocence, that led him to your small apartment, maybe even a hint of longing, an ache.

For the entire night, he watched as you bathed, dressed, cooked, and finally, went to sleep, with the television on in the background. Apart from observing your essence of being, he wondered what it would be like to be there with you. To help you scrub yourself down with soap, take your clothes down to the laundry room and fold them, help you with dinner, feel your embrace in bed. 

Junior, he thought again. Maybe it was like a name. A name you had given him. Maybe one day this Junior could be just like you. With you, with the girl who could see him.

Taglist: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

[thiswomansmind]

I finally got to watch Small Things Like These. I had read the book in the autumn and absolutely loved it, and couldn't wait to see what Cillian did with Bill Furlong.

What a quietly moving film.

There is no excitement, there is no crescendo, there is no thrill sequence, and yet it is an absolutely gripping interpretation of a piece of Irish history - although based on a fictional book - that has been told in different ways in the past.

Claire Keegan's book doesn't give a lot away about Bill Furlong, and neither does Cillian's performance, but what we are presented with doesn't hold back. Bill's passive and humble manner makes him an immediately likable, "paternal" character; he poses no threat, he's warm, and for some reason there is the sense that you can trust him from the start despite this lack of real revelation or outspokenness. A man so passive you rarely meet, these days.

Bill's sad backstory breeds his feelings surrounding his concern and speculation about what is happening in the Magdalene Laundry, and we get a puzzle-piece history of Bill and how it shaped him. You can see the sense of "there but for the grace of God go I.", given his mother's 'status', when he first stumbled upon Sarah, and then when he changed his and her life on his return.

One scene I was hoping to be included in the film is a wonderfully written piece from the book, where Bill and Ned sit together and Ned sings The Croppy Boy. Sadly, this wasn't featured, but there was the eluding towards Bill's parentage and Cillian played that shock and realisation incredibly well.

I was waiting (im)patiently, also, to see the scene where Bill and Eileen talk about his speculations and worries in the bedroom, wherein Eileen tells him in no uncertain terms to essentially wind his neck in. I was keen for this scene, not only because this was a cementing scene within the book, but also because of the way in which both Cillian and Eileen had talked about the intensity of it in interviews. I'll admit, I was expecting something more severe in its delivery, but it was as wonderfully understated as everything that Bill travels through the entire feature with, so it was fitting if a little underwhelming.

As with many people, I love when a film that is based upon a book stays true to it, and this is definitely the case here. Even down to the fireside scene between the holy Mother and Bill, it was like my visual interpretation whilst reading had been perfectly brought to the screen as I'd imagined it myself. Even down to expressions and inflection, Emily, Cillian and Eileen seemed to really embody the holy Mother, Bill and Eileen as Claire wrote them, and it was extraordinary to watch it.

Don't come to the film (or the book) looking for the thrilling revelations of a dark chapter in Irish History - it wasn't in the book and it isn't in the film. It skates on the outside, as an outsiders view of whatever was happening in the Laundries, and it sparks questions about your own morals and ideas, about your own choices if faced with something similar or as challenging. I would also say that if you go to the film solely as a Cillian Murphy fan from Peaky Blinders, you're going to be disappointed, but if you're a fan of his massive back catalogue of films and his softer performances (perhaps Broken, Peacock, or The Delinquent Season), then I think you'll be able to add this film in as another of your favourites. But whatever you do, don't miss out the book from your reading list.

If you are interested in finding out more about the Laundries from a different view, Eileen Walsh starred in The Magdalene Sisters as a "fallen woman" held in one of them, and you can also find a variation on that film on YouTube called Sinners. Both are from the inside of the Laundries and therefore offer, perhaps, the answers to some of the films posed questions.

As the granddaughter of an unmarried Irish couple who came to England to avoid this situation falling upon her grandmother, I found it a brilliant story. They did return to Ireland, married with two children, and then my own parents came to England in their twenties. But, I've grown up with the 'culture' and pride for Ireland, and often find love and a sense of nostalgia in Irish books and films. It's definitely going to be one I will also purchase on DVD, and I would definitely watch it through again - as with the book, which I have read through a second and third time.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

Part 21

"Alright, just look for someone who's a little bit shorter than me, brown hair, kind of looks like me, and looks like someone who would put gum in my hair before picture day in the 2nd grade and cause my mom to cut my hair into a bowl cut," Zoe said, looking franticly around the airport for her sister.

Zoe and Cillian had just landed; Zoe had been anxious from the second she woke up that morning. Home for her had too many memories that she tried so desperately hard to forget. She wished she could pick out the good parts out and keep those locked away forever. But instead, the bad tainted the good. Doesn't it always?

"Oh, well, that really narrows it down," Cillian mumbled to her, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and looking around the airport.

"I can't believe her, I told her the exact time and flight details so she should be here," Zoe angrily said, reaching into her pocket to pull out her cell phone.

"Uh, Zoe... any chance that's her?" Cillian said, pointing out someone.

"Oh my god" Zoe said.

Zoe raced over and snatched the sign out of Jen's hands. "I've been here for 20 seconds and you're already embarrassing me!"

"20 seconds? That sounds like a record to me!" Jen exclaimed, pulling Zoe into a hug. Zoe hugged her back and squeezed her. They held each other extra long before finally pulling away. Where words failed, hugs like this mattered most to Zoe; and Jen knew it. Jen knew she was nervous and knew the relationship she had with her mom, and she knew this wasn't easy for her.

Jen pulled away and turned to Cillian. "Hi, you must be Cillian. I'm Jen," She said, pulling him into a hug.

"Hey, great to meet you. Thanks so much for picking us up" Cillian replied, adjusting the bag on his shoulder that fell during his hug with Jen.

"Anytime! See Zoe? I meet him for 5 seconds and he's already showing me manners and thanking me for picking you guys up." Jen teased.

"I didn't get the chance to thank you, is the prison sign necessary? there's like a million people here," Zoe said, crumpling the sign up even more.

"Hey!" Jen said loudly. "Cut it out or i'll call your parole officer," She said, winking. "Do you guys just have carryons? no checked bags?" She asked. They both shook their head no. "Great, lets go kids," Jen said, wrapping her arm around Zoe and starting to walk out. Cillian trailed behind them, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed seeing Zoe interact with someone who's family. He couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but he could see Zoe smiling and laughing, and that was enough for him.

They loaded their bags into the trunk, Zoe opened the door to the backseat. "You can sit in the front, There's a car seat back here, i'll squeeze in" She said to Cillian. Before Cillian could object Zoe slid into the backseat and closed the door. Cillian got into the front passenger side, joining Jen in the front of the car.

"Okay, GPS says it'll take a little more than an hour to get to the house. Wanna sing some showtunes?" Jen said.

"Oh my God, Jen will you stop" Zoe complained, sinking down into the seat. Cillian laughed.

"Would you relax? lighten up. Jeez you're gonna be a ray of sunshine this weekend," Jen shot back.

"yea Zo, lighten up or we'll make you sing first" Cillian added.

"OOOOO I like him Zoe!" Jen said, putting the car in park and starting to drive.

About 45 minutes later, Zoe was ready to open the door to the car and spill out onto the highway.

Jen had spent the majority of the drive doing rapid fire questions with Cillian. Cillian handled it very well, she must admit, but it didn't mean she wasn't embarrassed. He was being a good sport but she knew he had to be irritated. Who wouldn't?

"Do you feel as an older sibling you got away with more? I feel like I had all the rules and this one back there got away with murder," Jen said to Cillian.

"Eh, I feel like I followed the rules and if I broke them, I covered my tracks to make sure I wouldn't get caught. Being caught to me was so embarrassing so i did everything I could to avoid it" Cillian said.

"Zoe got away with murder. I had a strict curfew and I had to sit back and watch Zoe break hers all the time" Jen replied.

"sit back - you and mom ganged up on me all the time. You would literally run to her whenever I was one minute late. You're so annoying," Zoe chimed in.

Jen looked at Cillian, "I don't know how you manage 3 of those, I can't imagine having 3 siblings just like her."

"Eh she's not too bad. I'm sure you broke curfew too, you just didn't have an older sibling that was monitoring the time." Cillian said, elbowing Jen.

"I plead the fifth" Jen replied.

"God, please let a meteor fall out of the sky and hit me in the head," Zoe said to herself in the backseat.

"Please pray for something else, I don't think my car insurance covers meteors" Jen said.

Zoe looked out the window and got tense. They were pulling off of the main road, into the town she grew up. Zoe cracked the window open and inhaled deeply. She could smell the salty ocean air, and a slight fried food smell from the town diner a couple miles away. It was home. Her home. The place she loved and hated at the same time. Memories of her childhood, her family... her dad. She loved it here. She hated it here.

"Welcome to the town that raised us," Jen said to Cillian. "On your right, is the town diner. Haven't changed their frying oil in about 25 years. On your left is a collectibles shop. They never have anything new, but the guy who owns it owns the building and I think just wants to get away from his wife so he keeps it. On that corner up there? That bank? the CEO got arrested last year for money laundering. Doing 12 years in prison. Was the talk of the town for weeks!" Jen said, coming to a stop at a red light.

"I mean, how could it not?" Cillian said, laughing. "But I definitely wanna go to that diner before we leave."

"I mean, it'd be a sin if you didn't! Me and the Bean are tagging along," Jen said. Zoe Looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "The Bean?"

"Sorry, Sophie. Just one of her nicknames we use."

"Everyone in this family got a nickname, ey?" Cillian said, turning around to face Zoe.

"If you ever want fresh homemade ice cream, you're in luck, there's an ice cream shop on every corner here. The price you pay living in a beach town," Jen said, ignoring Cillian.

"Zoe, your sister is a pretty good tour guide. Would you of pointed out all this stuff if it was just me and you driving through?" Cillian asked, turning back around to face the front.

"You want a tour? okay. See that telephone pole? That's where Jen tripped me and I fell into that pole and knocked my front tooth out," Zoe said, pointing.

"it was meant to be funny, i can't help it you're clumsy" Jen added.

"This curb is where I fell off my bike and broke my wrist. I called my mom but she was at a lunch with her friends and couldn't leave. Jen didn't answer her phone so I walked home and left my bike in the street," Zoe continued.

"I was on a date!" Jen exclaimed.

Cillian laughed. "Jesus, I think I like Jen's tour better," he said.

"And here... we... are" Jen said, pulling into the driveway.

"Yup, here we are," Zoe mumbled, taking off her seatbelt.

They all got out of the car and started taking out the bags from the trunk.

"mama?" They heard softly.

Zoe perked up. Before Jen could respond, Zoe whipped around to face the house.

"Sophie!!!" Zoe yelled, kneeling down with her arms wide. The small child on the porch smiled. "Aunt ZoZo!!" She yelled, carefully holding onto the banister and slowly making her way down the stairs. Once her feet hit the bottom, she took off running towards Zoe, crashing into her arms.

"Oh I missed you I missed you I missed you," Zoe said, picking her up and smothering her with kisses.

"Child, where are your shoes, the bottom of your feet are gonna get dirty," Jen mumbled to no one in particular. "That's the bean. my kid. Sophie." She said to Cillian.

"I figured," Cillian said, smiling at Zoe. He loved seeing her like this. Even if it was in small glimpses, it meant everything to him.

Zoe pulled away from Sophie and pointed at Cillian.

"Soph, this is Cillian. can you say hi?" Zoe said.

"Hi Keeyan," She said softly, waving.

Cillian laughed. Close enough. "Hi Sophie. I hear its your birthday this weekend. How old are you gonna be?"

Sophie held up her hands. "I was 2 and now i'm gonna be 3 years old" She said, holding up the incorrect fingers. Zoe corrected her.

"are you, are you, are you coming to my party?" Sophie asked.

"Sure am, I'm excited" Cillian replied.

"Okay," Sophie said, smiling and curling into Zoe's neck, getting shy. Cillian smiled at her. She was cute. She was Jen's kid but she looked exactly like Zoe. Brown hair, and bright green doe eyes. Dimples that appeared when she smiled, and a toothy grin.

"Sophie, where's dad?" Jen asked, closing the trunk.

"backyard," Sophie replied, wiggling out of Zoe's arms to get down and making a beeline to the side of the house to head towards the backyard where her father was.

"Well, mom's not home from the farmer's market yet, but you guys can head up and set your bags down. We'll be in the yard," Jen said, handing Zoe her bag and following Sophie.

"Follow me," Zoe said to Cillian, making her way up the front porch into the house.

Cillian stepped inside and took a look around. The house was spotless; not a thing out of place. Fluffy white couches lined the walls of the living room with a white stone fireplace on the far wall. Tall windows covered by sheer white curtains that blew in the wind. Family pictures lined the wall, Cillian made a mental note to check those out later. A baby grand piano was to the right of him, along with a small bar and a shelf housing more pictures.

They made their way up the stairs and the floorboards creaked under him. This house had so much history; if these walls could talk they would speak of children running down these very stairs Christmas morning to see if Santa came, or snow days where they bundled up inside toasting s'mores around the fire. The house was full of love and Cillian could feel it, yet he couldn't understand why Zoe avoided it so much.

He followed Zoe up the stairs to the far back bedroom. She stepped in and placed her bag on the floor.

"My old bedroom," Zoe said, waving her hand as if she was showing it off. Cillian laughed. The walls were baby pink, and still had some old boy band posters on the wall. It also housed framed diplomas and graduation tassels. A full sized bed with a quilt on top was against the wall, along with and old blanket balled up in the corner by the pillows.

"Old baby blanket? still holding onto it?" Cillian said, nodding his head towards it.

Zoe rolled her eyes. "something like that," She brushed off. "Come here, this is the best part of the whole house" Zoe said, motioning her to join him at the window.

Cillian stood behind her at the window. "Wow," he breathed out.

the window had a view to the outdoor deck which overlooked the ocean. It was Zoe's favorite part of the house.

Cillian wrapped his arms around her front, pulling her back to his chest. He kissed her neck and placed his head on her shoulder.

"It's beautiful. It's going to be a good weekend. Just relax love," He whispered in her ear.

"I'm relaxed, I'm relaxed," She said, turning her head to kiss him back. She relaxed her shoulders and leaned into him. Maybe this weekend wasn't going to be so bad after all.

"Hello?? anyone here??? Or are all my children leaving their poor mother to drag in all the groceries by herself?" They heard someone yell from downstairs.

Zoe pulled away and froze.

"I am no longer relaxed."

tags: @lau219 @shopgirl6us

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 32)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap,

Your kiss, however, was short lived as Mara began to whimper, her cries becoming increasingly strident.

"It seems that our little princess is hungry again," Cillian chuckled softly, his lips curving into a wide grin. "Maybe, while you feed her, I will go downstairs and put Max to bed in the living room, say goodnight to the others and then join you up here," he proposed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face affectionately.

"That sounds good," you sighed dreamily, watching him lean down to plant a lingering kiss on your exposed neckline, sending shivers of delight coursing through your veins, before kissing Mara's forehead. "But don't you think that it would be a little confusing for Max if you were to stay up here with us? Sharing a bed with me and all," you wondered aloud, your fingers absently stroking Mara's soft cheek.

"Max will understand," Cillian reassured you, his gaze flickering across your face. "He actually asked me the other day why I am not dating you now that you had my baby and he even offered to babysit Mara for us when he is older so that I can take you out for dinner sometimes," he chuckled, leaning down to brush a kiss over your lips.

"Oh my god, he is such a good kid," you responded, your heart swelling with pride and affection. "He is so mature for his age," you added, snuggling closer to Cillian.

"Yes, he is," Cillian agreed, his fingers tracing slow circles on your back. "And I think that he really likes you even despite all the horrible things his mother has told him about us and our affair," he added gently before finally giving you some privacy to feed Mara.

He walked out of the bedroom, softly closing the door behind him while you sat down on the armchair in the corner of the room to feed Mara. 

She latched onto your breast greedily, her tiny mouth sucking rhythmically, while you stroked her soft, downy hair gently. You could hear the faint noises downstairs; voices rising and falling in volume, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

A few minutes passed as you nursed Mara, gazing out the window at the darkness outside and, eventually, Cillian returned, tiptoeing silently into the room. He quickly checked on Mara, stroking her head softly before looking up at you, his gaze melting into yours.

"You know, about what I said earlier, I really meant it," he whispered quietly, his voice hushed and filled with emotion. "I do love you, Y/N," he confided, reaching out to trace a path up your arm. "And I think that we should live together instead of separately, for Mara's sake," he continued, his gaze never straying from yours.

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening as you studied his earnest expression. "Cillian, I...," you stammered, searching for the right words. "I will need some time to think about that," you admitted softly, your heart thumping wildly. "I just don't want to rush things because I am worried that you might change your mind," you clarified, watching his gaze flickering across your face. "Despite, I am not the kind of woman your fans would expect you to be with and I know that this will not be ideal for your career. I am sure that there will be backlash and I am not ready for us to face any of this just yet," you admitted apprehensively, swallowing thickly.

"Y/N, it's not like the world doesn't already know about us after what Frank did," Cillian replied calmly, reaching out to trace a path up your arm. "But, if you need time to think about it, I respect that," he assured you, his gaze flicking across your face. "I promise to wait for you to make your decision," he continued, his voice low and soothing.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply before opening them again slowly. "Cillian, I am so scared," you admitted softly, your voice trembling slightly. "What if I commit to this and then, in a year from now, your career breaks down because of me and you decide to leave," you voiced your fears, your grip tightening around the blanket covering your lap.

"Y/N," Cillian replied, his voice firm and confident. "I am telling you now that I will never leave you or Mara. Ever," he asserted, his gaze holding yours steadily. "If that's what you fear, then let me assure you that I am truly committed to both of you," he continued, his words resonating with conviction.

"I already liked you more than I should have when we first started sleeping with each other, although I decided that, at the time, you were way too young for me," he recalled, his gaze flicking across your face. "I kept telling myself that there was no way we could possibly be together. It was wrong and it probably still is," Cillian confessed, his gaze holding yours steadily. "But when I was with Amanda, I also realized that I would much rather be with you. I realized that I was in love with you and now I know that age doesn't matter. I mean look at you. You are perfect as a mother and I also think that you are perfect for me," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "So, trust me when I say that I will not change my mind about this," he promised, his gaze steady and unwavering.

"I believe you," you whispered back just as Mara had fallen asleep during her feeding, her tiny hands resting peacefully by her sides. You stared down at her, marveling at the beauty that lay before you. She was truly perfect and you couldn't believe that she belonged to you. But she also belonged to Cillian, too, and the realization sent a wave of warmth coursing through your veins.

"Good, so please, will you consider moving in with me?" Cillian asked tentatively, his gaze flicking across your face.

"Yes, I will consider it," you responded, your heart overflowing with joy. "But I don't want to rush into it. So please, give me some time to think about it," you added sagaciously, watching his gaze holding yours steadily.

"Sure," Cillian affirmed, his voice low and soothing. "We can take our time to figure things out," he continued, his gaze melting into yours.

"Thank you, Cillian," you responded, your heart overflowing with gratitude. "I appreciate how patient you are with me," you whispered, watching his gaze hold yours steadily.

"And I appreciate how much shit you have let me put you through," Cillian responded, his voice soft and sincere. "I hope I haven't caused you too much pain," he added ruefully, his gaze flickering across your face.

"No, you haven't," you replied, your voice low and soothing. "You've actually made me realize how strong I am, and you gave me the most precious gift in the world," you confessed, reaching out to caress his cheek affectionately before placing Mara into the basinet. 

"Now should we head to bed as well?" you asked Cillian, watching him stretch his arms out wide before nodding affirmatively. "No doubt Mara will wake us up at around 2 o'clock in the morning for another feed," you predicted, chuckling softly as Cillian nodded again, grinning mischievously.

"Well, considering that she woke us up twice last night, I would say that you might be right," Cillian chuckled, his voice hushed and filled with amusement before pulling you in for a gentle kiss. 

"I love you," he then whispered softly once again when your lips parted, his gaze burning with intensity.

"I love you too," you murmured back, your heart pounding wildly in your chest before you indulged in more passionate kisses with Mara sleeping soundly by your side.

"And I missed this," Cillian whispered, running his fingers through your hair affectionately before pressing his lips against your neckline, causing a delicious shiver to run down your spine.

"Me too," you sighed, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. "But it feels so much better now that we are doing this knowing where things might lead," you shared, watching a wide grin spread across Cillian's face, while you slid your hands beneath Cillian's t-shirt. 

The texture of his skin, smooth yet rough, brought you to instant arousal. Your fingertips danced along Cillian's torso, exploring every inch of his physique.

In turn, Cillian kissed your neckline again before unclasping the shoulder strings of your somewhat basic and unappealing breastfeeding singlet. 

The fabric slipped effortlessly downwards, revealing your naked upper body. Cillian inhaled deeply, his gaze burning with desire as he took in the sight of your bare form.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice hushed and full of reverence, causing you to moan.

Your breasts were swollen with milk and your stomach was still rather imperfect after having given birth not so long ago. A scar was covering your abdomen but none of this seemed to bother him. Instead, his eyes were glued to your erect nipples, his tongue darting out to lick his lips hungrily.

"Don't even think about it," you warned playfully, your heart racing at the lusty look in his eyes. "These are Mara's now and they are pretty fucking sore," you chuckled, your fingers tracing a pattern on his chest seductively.

"I am curious though," he winked, biting his lip enticingly, which is when you spotted it, the erection straining against the fabric of his jeans.

The mere sight of it made your inner thighs quiver and your core pulse and, yet, you held firm.

"You can touch them, but your mouth is not going to anywhere near my breasts,"  you repeated, arching an eyebrow as he took off his t-shirt and then crawled onto the bed.

"Come on," Cillian teased, his gaze flickering across your face as you approached the bed. 

"Please," he then begged, and you sighed, reaching down to unbutton his jeans before hooking your fingers into the waistband and tugging them off.

"Fine," you relented, your gaze flickering down to his boxer briefs as your breath caught in your throat. His cock was thick and straining against the fabric, tempting you with its presence.

Slowly, you trailed your fingertips along the outline of his shaft, causing him to moan and shift his hips forward.

Your breath hitched as the fabric of his boxer briefs grew wetter with each passing moment, and so did the desire in your eyes.

"Jesus Christ," Cillian cursed, his eyes squeezing shut as you rubbed circles on the head of his cock, a slight sheen of pre-cum already glistening at the tip.

With a seductive grin, you tugged his boxer briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock and making it bounce eagerly in your direction.

You wrapped your fingers around the base, squeezing firmly as you leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses against the underside.

"I know you must have missed this Cillian," you teased, your breath ghosting against the sensitive flesh while Cillian groaned loudly, thrusting his hips forward in an effort to get closer to your mouth.

"But patience is a virtue and I think I'm going to tease you for a bit before I make you cum inside my mouth," you added, smirking up at him as you flicked your tongue out to taste a droplet of pre-cum.

Cillian's hips jerked in response, causing him to let out a low, guttural moan. "Ahh, fuck, Y/N," he groaned and, immediately, you started gripping the base of his cock tighter as you slowly sucked the head into your mouth, relishing in the taste of him.

"You need to be quiet!" you then said as he was barely able to control himself from groaning as you licked a stripe from the base of his cock to its crown.

But Cillian, lost in the moment, couldn't help but let out another low moan as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and started to bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each motion.

"I am sorry," he hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers threading through your hair as he fought to keep himself from thrusting his hips upwards. "But you just feel so fucking good."

You hummed around his cock in response, causing him to curse under his breath as your tongue swirled around the sensitive underside. 

You took your time, savoring the taste and feel of him in your mouth.

"Please, Y/N," Cillian groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder.

You felt a surge of power at the sound of his groans, knowing that you were the one making him lose control. You gripped the base of his cock tighter, using your hand and mouth in tandem to drive him wild.

"Christ, I'm not going to last much longer," Cillian warned, his hips starting to buck impatiently.

You smirked around his cock, causing him to curse again as you took him deeper into your mouth.

Your fingers toyed with his balls, rolling them gently as you sucked and licked at his shaft.

Cillian's breath hitched, his fingers tightening in your hair as you increased your pace until, finally, he gasped even louder than before. 

His cock began to pulsate inside your mouth, the salty taste of his release filling your senses as you swallowed eagerly, milking every last drop from his shaft.

"Holy fuck, Y/N," he panted as you pulled back, resting your chin on his thigh as you smiled up at him.

"You are so good at that," he grinned, reaching down to gently tug on a stray tendril of your hair.

"You always have been," he added, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver down your spine as you remembered the many times you two had explored each other's bodies, lost in the haze of passion.

"I suppose I had a good teacher," you replied softly, your gaze still fixed on his cock, now spent and slick with your saliva. "But now, I really need some sleep," you winked 

, shrugging off your breastfeeding singlet and comfy pants before slipping into the bed next to him. 

"Sleep?" Cillian mused huskily, his fingers trailing gently down your arm before he placed some kisses on to your neck. "I don't think I can let you go to sleep just yet," he admitted hoarsely, his voice thick with desire as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours, his tongue slipping inside your mouth with ease, swirling against yours.

His hands then roamed your swollen breasts and you moaned softly into his mouth, trembling with need as his fingers teased your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins while even the fact that you were lactating did not bother you anymore as, obviously, it did not bother him either. 

"Cillian, no," you panted, breaking free from his kisses reluctantly. "I really want to, but we can't," you whispered frantically, pushing against his chest softly, even though you wanted nothing more than to immerse yourself in the pleasure he was offering.

"Why?" Cillian murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, causing your pulse to quicken. His hands were still lazily tracing patterns on your breasts, his thumbs occasionally teasing your nipples into hard points, causing some milk to expel. 

"Because I am still bleeding," you whispered urgently, your heart pounding in your chest. "And, during my last post-partum appointment, the doctor said that I will have to wait for at least another three weeks before I can have sex again," 

you confessed, biting your lip nervously as Cillian's hands stilled on your breasts.

"I am sorry," he murmured huskily, looking up at you with apologetic eyes. "I should know these things, I suppose. It's just, I got so caught up in the moment," he added, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his back. 

You smiled faintly at him, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "I know. It's fine," you whispered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "And for what it's worth, I didn't want to stop you either," you added, before sitting up. "But, you know, I can still take care of you while we wait for the doctor's okay," you then reassured him, but Cillian shook his head.

"Absolutely not!" Cillian insisted, before pulling you in for another deep and passionate kiss, a kiss that left you both breathless and lingering. "If you don't get to cum, I don't get to cum. So, I will wait with you out of solidarity and respect," he then joked, making you giggle.

"So, you are not going to ejaculate for three weeks? Seriously?" you asked in disbelief, studying Cillian's face before breaking out in laughter. "That's ridiculous," you commented, shaking your head in mock frustration. "There is no way you can go that long without it," you teased, your eyes sparkling mischievously as Cillian chuckled softly in response.

"I will try," he swore, his fingers lacing with yours. "Although, I do have to admit that it will be difficult to restrain myself when you are lying next to me like this," he added, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

You smiled warmly at him, trailing your fingers gently along the curve of his jaw as you leaned in to brush a gentle kiss against his lips.

"I love you," you whispered softly, meaning every word.

Cillian's eyes softened, his fingers tightening around yours. "I love you too," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

You inhaled deeply, savoring the moment before snuggling up against him in readiness to fall asleep.

The sexual tension between you two had dissipated and, instead, you both succumbed into the comfortable embrace of each other's arms, your legs tangling together beneath the sheets as you drifted off to sleep. 

During the night, you were woken up by Mara once at around 2 o'clock just as you had anticipated and, by around 3 o'clock, you were all back asleep until, suddenly, in the early hours of the morning, you were startled as the door swung open.

"What the fuck, Cillian!" his brother Frank yelled, flicking the lights on with a loud bang that pierced their ears and made Mara cry immediately.

Cillian snapped awake instantly, pulling himself up in the bed, while you curled yourself up in the cover in fear, your wild heartbeat thundering in your ears.

"Jesus Frank!" Cillian shouted back, rubbing his eyes vigorously in an effort to clear his sleep-filled vision before getting up quickly to sooth Mara. "What is your problem? You just woke her up!" he went on to say while you tried to take a deep breath as your heartbeat hammered in your chest.

"What is my problem?" Frank yelled angrily. "You are my fucking problem Cillian!" he went on to say. "You are doing this, at our parents' house. You are sharing a bed with the girl you cheated with on your wife and it's a fucking disgrace," Frank sneered, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Get the out of here, Frank. This is none of your business," Cillian spat back, trying to calm Mara who was still crying.

"None of my business?" Frank roared, taking a step forward. "Are you fucking kidding me, Cillian? This is my business. She's my fucking stepdaughter!"

"The stepdaughter you kicked out of your house and sold out to the press?" Cillian retorted, now rocking Mara back and forth in his arms to soothe her while you covered your bare chest with the blanket.

Frank's eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of the two of you, and you could tell that he was trying to hold back his anger which is when, finally, Cillian's mother came upstairs and broke up the fight.

"That's enough, both of you! Frank, you need to leave, now!" she demanded, her voice stern and commanding.

"Why do you always take his side?" Frank asked like a child, causing his mother to sigh.

"I am not taking sides, Frank but I am not going to stand here and watch you argue with your brother like this," she answered firmly. "Besides, it is my birthday weekend and I want some peace and quiet between you two," she added, her voice soothing as she tried to deescalate the situation.

In response, Cillian nodded reluctantly and Frank grumbled under his breath before shooting one last glare in Cillian's direction and storming out of the room.

Cillian's mother gave you a warm smile before telling you that breakfast would be ready soon and leaving you and Cillian alone once again.

The door had barely closed behind her when Cillian turned to you, his eyes filled with concern.

"I am sorry about that. My brother can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes," Cillian apologized, running a hand through his hair.

You shook your head, your eyes full of tears.

"I shouldn't have come. It causes nothing but problems," you whispered, your voice shaking as you fought back tears.

"No, please don't say that," Cillian urged, reaching out to take your hand in his. "You have every right to be here," he added, his voice soft and sincere before suggesting that you should both get ready for breakfast now.

You nodded, still feeling a bit shaken up by Frank's sudden appearance but you took a deep breath, telling yourself that you could handle this.

As you got up from the bed, you noticed Cillian's gaze trailing over your body, lingering on the exposed curves of your breasts before meeting your eyes again.

"I am sorry, I couldn't help myself," he admitted, his voice low and husky while still rocking Mara and, whilst you didn't know how he could possibly be attracted to you wearing post-partum underwear with messy hair, you enjoyed seeing the desire in his eyes.

"I will go and have a shower. I will meet you downstairs, alright?" you

then suggested to Cillian, who nodded before getting Mara and himself dressed for the day.

He then wandered downstairs with your Babygirl to join the others for breakfast while you made your way towards the shower, turning the hot water on full blast.

The water cascaded down your body, washing away any lingering tensions as you closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh, feeling your muscles relax.

You then washed yourself quickly, before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a fluffy towel around your body.

Then, after you got dressed, you too walked downstairs to join the rest of the family for breakfast.

"Coffee?" Cillian's mother asked as you reached the bottom of the stairs, nodding politely before taking a seat at the table.

"Thanks," you murmured, managing a small smile as you took the mug offered to you which is when Cillian did something that surprised you. 

Approaching you from behind with Mara in his arms, he gently touched your shoulder, causing you to turn around and, just as you turned your head, his lips captured yours in a gentle kiss. 

The kiss was quick, almost like a peck, but it was enough for your mother's chin to drop and Frank to spit out his food. 

"I love you," Cillian whispered in your ear but loud enough for the others to hear, causing you to blush slightly as he handed Mara back to you before taking his seat next to you at the table.

You couldn't help but smile as you kissed Mara's head, she was still so small and fragile, and yet, she had already caused so much chaos in your lives. But yet, you wouldn't change it for the world.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

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[tommygrace]

I think the ultimate reason why TxL fans think they are the OG is because they are, at the end of the day, Cillian fans and Cillian has quite a few times implied in interviews that the TxL storyline is very powerful to him and easily his favorite on the show. However, that does not mean that in actual writing and character-wise, Grace isn’t the love of Tommy’s life. Grace has always been and will always be if we stay true to the writing. One thing is what Cillian as a person thinks and another is Tommy and what Tommy feels. I’m afraid that’s why TxL fans think Lizzie is “the one”, because they are simply influenced by Cillian’s preferences and they do not make the distinction. Also because Cillian was sort of pissed off when he knew Annabelle wasn’t really Irish so I think that’s why he might not be entirely fond of TommyxGrace on the show. But, yet again, Cillian isn’t Tommy. For Tommy it always Grace and it will always be her.

to continue with my previous idea about TxL, Lizzie seems to be Cillian’s favorite character and in his own words, loyalty is very important so that’s what Tommy loves about her. Also, Cillian says he would like Tommy to love Lizzie the way he, as Cillian, loves Lizzie. All of those comments are from Cillian’s perspective and own opinions as an individual. It doesn’t mean that Tommy really loves her. It’s actually only Cillian who seems desperate for Tommy to love Lizzie the same way he loved Grace. He also has said if Tommy had some common sense, he would simply stick with her and love her. I’m glad they didn’t follow that route though, even when Cillian became executive producer because it looks like he really wanted Tommy to fall in love with her.

Now, I don’t know why Cillian seems to be so keen on that idea since Tommy sleeps with whores and constantly cheats on her lmao but that’s him. I think that’s why these TxL fans think the same thing. They are simply influenced by Cillian’s own feelings towards the characters, not the characters themselves. These are all Cillian’s thoughts, not what Tommy actually feels!!!!!!!!

Now my answer :

Well I understand what you're saying, but I don't agree. Because I've seen so many interviews with Cillian Murphy, and he never said he was angry because she's not Irish, that's a lie, probably from Lizzie fans. Annabelle Wallis said that Cillian Murphy was nervous because he found out that the actress who is going to play Grace is not Irish, but she said that when they met they got along very well from the beginning and everything was fine. And Cillian Murphy is Irish, and he plays an Englishman, since Tommy was born in England, so it would be stupid for him to be bothered by that, and he doesn't seem like that kind of guy. And although I'm not Irish, I live in Ireland and Annabelle's accent is very accurate.

The other thing is that Cillian never said that he preferred the Tommy and Lizzie story over the one with Grace, or that he had a preference for Lizzie. He said that the story between Lizzie and Tommy and the kids is his favorite in S6, not in the show in general. And in S6, the only story is that, and he also said that the story with the children is powerful, because for Tommy it is always important that the children are well and saves, so he talked more about Ruby's story, but he couldn't say it because it would be spoilers. And he has said that he was heartbroken when he found out that Grace died, that he loves the character of Grace,and "in S1 and S2 she kind altered Tommy and this light side of him that he left behind in the trenches and France was ignited by her" and also that "she and Charlie are the only pure thing that Tommy has". He also said that he loves working with Annabelle Wallis, which is why he was heartbroken when he read the script. And he would have liked it to be Grace who was with Tommy until the end. And in the last S6 interview, where he talks about the story of Lizzie and the children, he also said that Grace's death is the most important thing that happened on the show, and that Tommy will never be able to get over it.

So I don't think Cillian has a preference for Grace or Lizzie, he likes both stories, both characters and he gets along very well with both actresses, he always speak highly of both of them. But something important is that when he talks about Tommy and Grace, he always uses the word love, and that she healed him, and when he talks about Tommy and Lizzie he always uses the word trust and that she was there for him, and that was what they showed us on the show.

But i do agree with you about Lizzie fans thinking that way because of what Cillian said and they prefers don't listen to what he said about Tommy and Grace.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fic. (Part Two)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes, so not really designed for under 18s but not overly graphic.

We Got Issues

Part Two: Y/N's anxiety over Cillian's revelation breeds further fears, reigniting her concerns regarding how they'd got together in the first place. She tells him, and he placates, but is it enough?

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure

Very brief proofreading, apologies for obvious typos.

........

You give up trying to sleep and reach for your phone on the nightstand. It's six thirty and you know Cillian has a call at eight with Steven Knight, regarding the upcoming filming and associated work for the next branch of the Peaky Blinders franchise. You also know he hasn't come up the stairs at all, but then you had warned him off with a sincerely bitter tone. You drag down the notification bar at the top and see Cillian's name - Cill, not Cillian - and the first line of a text message he's sent to you at some point. You don't remember your phone even vibrating to signal it arriving, but when you open it the time stamp says five am. You scan your eyes over the lengthy message and consider ignoring it completely. It's like a novella, and you know it's filled with apologies and justifications, and your heart beats a little quicker for a moment. You breathe deeply inward through your nose and sigh it out slowly as you go back to the beginning of the message. The first words are in Irish, and you smile a little as you bite your bottom lip.

‘Mo ghrá - if I had even thought it would hurt you in any way to have talked to Yvonne in that way, then I wouldn't have done it. You know I don't want to hurt you. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you sooner, it wasn't a conscious thing. And talking to her wasn't a conscious thing either, it just sort of came out as we were talking. She was telling me about how things are with Adam and I suppose it just came out…’

You frown and draw your lips to the side in thought. He rarely mentioned Adam, Yvonne's partner of one year. You don't know what his real feelings are surrounding her moving on in that way, but you know he envies the time Adam spends with the boys. Mostly, thought, you consider that you could entirely see his point. How many times have you been talking with girlfriends and had a moan about an argument you and Cillian had? You feel the heavy pull of guilt turning in your gut as you continue to read his text message.

‘... What I mean is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I waited when I knew I felt differently. I know it's hurt you. I don't want that, I don't want to hurt you. When you wake up, and see this, come downstairs and just talk to me like it's all okay so I know that you know and feel that it IS all okay. I love you, Y/N.’

You place your phone face down against your stomach and stare up at the ceiling. You're allowed to feel hurt and you grant yourself that, but you know overwhelmingly that you don't want him to feel like he has to spend his life apologising to you either. You've made your own mistakes, many of them, and after talking he always forgives you. You know it's your place to drop your anxieties now and allow him the grace he's so often shown you. You sigh, and capture your phone in your hand again as you sit up and throw back the duvet. The place doesn't feel so cold now, and you get out of bed and pull on your favourite comfortable joggers and a t-shirt. You push your phone into your pocket then run your hands through your hair to neaten it slightly. Slipping your feet into the Ugg slippers you habitually leave by the armchair in the corner of the room, you glance at yourself in the mirror beside it. You look tired - your eyes have darkened rings beneath them, mixed with the redness of your waterline from crying off and on, and you're sure you look like you've been smacked about a bit. You feel exhausted, and can think of only two things you want to do now: drink coffee, and hold him.

You move slowly and quietly down the stairs, your hands on the wall for stability as you move, and you step down into the open living space. Looking down at the kitchen, you can see his mug and book are still on the island, and his glasses and earphones are piled on top of the closed book. It takes a second to find him; curled into the corner of the L-shaped sofa, in the far left corner from the stairs. He has the thick navy throw from the back of the couch pulled up over him and his head is resting on one of the many scatter cushions. You smile - he hates those fucking cushions! His phone is on the sofa cushion a little further up from his head and the television is on at a low volume, playing to itself now on Sky News. You decide to swallow your pride immediately, rather than waiting, and you walk towards the sofa slowly. Crouching down onto the balls of your feet, you lean your face in close to his and kiss the wrinkles of his sleepy frown that are settled in the bridge of his nose. Part of him will hate you for this, you know; sleep and Cillian are twins never to be separated! When his brows don't even twitch at your lips, you smirk as you kiss him again, laughing a little as you draw back your face from him, finally having received a response, and watch him as he slowly pulls from his sleep. Cillian's face switches through a throng of emotions before his eyes even open and you laugh to yourself once again, listening as he grumbles in time with stretching his body out and slowly draws his eyelids open.

He hums and grants you a sleepy smile, and with a croaky, sleep-infused voice he says your name before his mouth drags wide with an exhausted yawn. He licks his lips, and fixes his tired eyes on you with more focus than you were expecting, considering you'd rudely interrupted what you knew to be pressure little sleep. “Y’alright?” He asks huskily.

Still crouching before him, your hands resting on the sofa cushion for balance, you nod your head with a soft smile. “Are you?” You ask. You ensure you keep your tone light and loving. You feel how you feel, but you know you can't keep the fight going because of your anxiety constantly reminding you of how your relationship started.

He draws down the corners of his mouth and slowly sits up, his legs swinging down beside where you're perched, and he keeps the throw pulled over his waist. He looks at you with his head tilted slightly, and beneath the exhaustion you can see his sweetness, and the endearing way his tired eyes are still trying to shine. “I am if you are.” He says finally. He sits forward and places his left hand against your face, fingers brushing into your hair and over your ear, and his palm gently cupping your cheek. “We’ll have tea, yeah?” he says, a sudden cheeky smile pushing his cheeks high on their sharp edges, and you find it impossible not to smile back.

“If you're making it,” you tease him, cupping your fingers around his wrist. You turn your head in his light hold and kiss your lips softly against his palm before you slowly begin to stand up straight.

“Fuck off!” He smirks, watching as you get to your feet. “I'm only after waking up.”

You laugh as you turn your back on him, approaching the kitchen with slow steps, “So what? You think I haven't seen you prancing around the kitchen with morning glory before now?” The sound of his light, melodic laugh makes you smile, even more so as he refutes ever being a man who prances, and does go a long way to putting out the fires inside, but it's still there in the back of your mind. You punish yourself for it, rightly or wrongly, but you can't shift it. Why speak to her? Of all people! Not that you disliked her for any particular reason; she'd never been overly nice, but she was courteous enough when the boys were dropped between houses, especially considering how you and Cillian had behaved. But why did he call her? Why not his brother? Why not Eileen, or Tom seeing as they'd remained close from their numerous projects together? Why did it have to be Yvonne?! But the hardest thought to shift was whether or not it had been more than just talking, whether he'd returned to her in other ways. You try your hardest to keep it down, knowing he wants you to forgive him and knowing you probably should, but it's hard and you feel your heart racing and that terrible feeling of impending doom as your anxiety amps up.

You feel his arms wrap around you from behind and, standing at the sink with the kettle, intending to fill it but lost in your head, and you startle at his sudden presence. His arms snake around your waist, holding you tightly, and his rests his chin down on your left shoulder. “How's this for prancing?” He whispers seductively, his voice still husky from sleep but slowly lifting, and he turns his head to press a kiss into the bend of your jaw. His entire body is pushed into your back, and the smell of his skin fills your nose. He smells of comfort, of home, of languid sex, of Friday night Chinese takeaways on the sofa and a bottle of wine that becomes three… You allow him to pull you back against him a little, and you can feel his breaths against your neck. He's comforting, and soft and warm, but your heart still beats wildly and there's a question on your tongue that you're desperate to ask but you know it'll launch a bomb. He has work to do soon, you can't cause problems, but your body aches with fear, and uncertainty, and you feel like crying. “Are we watering the drains, or are you filling that kettle?” He teases, drawing back his head but keeping his arms around your waist. “G’on and sit down,” he says, finally removing his arms, and takes the kettle from you. He jerks his head away towards the living room. “I'll make the tea. You want tea?” He checks, “Or coffee?”

You move from the sink slowly, pushing as convincing a smile to your lips as you can, as he moves closer to the sink himself and finally gets the kettle filled with water. “Um, uh,” you stumble your words, “Coffee.”

He glances over at you as he turns off the tap, “Are y'alright?’ he frowns, concerned.

You push the smile back into your expression once again, forcing it brighter. “Fine.” you say, and it's on the tip of your tongue to ask the question you barely dare considering. “Just tired.” You lie, and climb into one of the stools at the island. You watch him as he places the kettle on the stand to boil, and occupies himself with collecting mugs. “Is, eh, is Steven calling you or do you have to call through to him?” You ask, needing conversation so there are words other than those in your mind.

“Ah, he'll be doing the inviting on Zoom there,” he says with his back to you, then peeks over his shoulder and smiles before turning back to his task. “I'm sure he said he's Sophie and Packy in this one too.”

You smile gently - you'd met Sophie a few times and you'd enjoyed one another's company, and Packy was so easy to get along with, oozing charm. “Packy’s home in Ireland?” You ask. Nodding his head, Cillian inhales as he whispers yes to your question. “And the call is at eight?” You ask, even though you hadn't forgotten at all.

“It is, yeah,” Cillian looks up at you just as the kettle boils and the switch flicks back up noisily. “What sort of coffee?” He asks.

“Whichever you put your hand to first,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders. “Are the boys still having dinner here today?” You ask, realising in your tiredness and emotional unrest that it is still Sunday and, usually, the boys would have dinner with you and their father.

“Aran is, yeah,” Cillian nods as he fills both mugs from the kettle. Setting it back down onto the stand, he looks back at you once again. “Malachy’s away at the girlfriend’s for dinner.” He smiles.

You smile at his amused expression and raise your eyebrows. “Am I picking Aran up from Yvonne's?”

“Ah no, sure I'll go for him after I've finished with Steven.” He says, noisily stirring a teaspoon around in your coffee mug. “Bainne?” He asks and you smile once again, loving when he throws odd Irish words into conversation.

“A drop.” You answer quietly. A moment later he's sitting on the stool beside you, mug of tea before him, and you wrap your hands around the coffee mug he'd placed in front of you. It's quiet, and while it's mostly a comfortable silence that's fallen, your burning question is still begging to be asked. But he has work this morning, and Aran is coming…you're torturing yourself not asking, but you'd ruin the entire day if you utter the words that are frightening you after his earlier revelations.

“Will you tell me what's going round your head?” He says, and you realise you'd drifted into your mind entirely. You blink slowly and fix your eyes on his face. His eyebrows are raised, and his pouty lips are pulled down at the sides in questioning.

You breathe in deeply and shake your head. “I can't.” You say and he frowns at you instantly. “It'll ruin everything.”

“Y/N?” Cillian tilts his head slightly and you feel like crying. “Isn't it me not talking that caused this fucking row?” He points out. “Tell me, for fucks sake.” He tries to sound jovial but you can see the nervousness that causes the bridge of his nose to wrinkle.

“I'm scared,” you admit and he raises his eyebrows just a little.

“About?” He coaxes when you offer nothing more for a moment.

You lick your lips quickly and sigh. “That my fears are reality.”

“What fears?” He asks, and he reaches between you to rest his hand against your arm laid out on the countertop before you.

“That you talking about personal stuff with us, to Yvonne, is more than just talking.” You say, and you tense up as he immediately draws his hand back from your arm. You don't know if it's anger or guilt, but it's something. “That's it…more intimate than that.” You continue, and he gets up from the stool and paces behind it for a few steps. “Cillian?”

“I don't know why you're asking.” He stills and looks at you, “Why'd you even think that? Y/N, this is ridiculous.”

“See,” you say, “I told you it would ruin everything.”

“It hasn't. It won't. But I'm telling you now,” he approaches and cups his hands around your face. “There is nothing for you to worry about. I've told you before now. It's just your anxiety telling you things that aren't true.”

Your eyes are forced to focus on his, and their softness is soothing. “You swear to me, in the time we've been together, you've never been back to her?”

His brow furrows a little, “You have nothing to worry about.” He says with a firm nod to accompany the words. He moves his face closer to yours and presses his lips against yours softly. Holding your face still, he keeps you close. You reach up your hands and curl your fingers around his wrists, sighing gently as he breaks the kiss but rests his forehead to yours. “But we can't keep doing this, going over your same anxiety when it's rooted in nothing.” He lets go of your face and steps back a little.

“I can't help it.” You say, “We snuck around, Cill.”

“Y/N, I hadn't been happy for a while. You came at the right time, that's all.” He smiles and the warmth of his expression relaxes your tense body a little. “Stop waiting for it to go wrong.” He says gently. “It hasn't yet, and I've no intentions of it going wrong as we go forward, either.” He stands looking at you for a minute, just smiling gently, and you eventually find yourself smiling back. The anxiety hasn't gone, that fear over what else might have occurred has not dwindled, but he sounds so loving and sincere that being angry forever isn't possible. “Right,” he claps his hands together then rubs his palms noisily. “I'm away for a shower before this call.” He places both of his hands on your shoulders as he goes to walk past, “Don't be worrying, okay? There's nothing to worry about.”

You sit alone as he disappears up the stairs and wrap your hands around your cooling mug of coffee. But in his absence you feel a resurgence of anxiety. Were you being too picky, or had he avoided actually swearing that he hadn't done anything more? You tell yourself you're being pedantic, that this is ridiculous and he's right - you're just anxious and insecure - but it sits there in the back of your mind and it turns cogs painfully slowly.

[viesanterieures]

Locked In Mind

Robert Fischer (Inception) x female Reader

note: Welcome to my third Cillian Character fanfic, hope you like it :) I love plots like Shutter Island and tried to do something similar here & it‘s also a story about parasocial relationships and unrequited love. I think this is my darkest story and the one that stays with me the most, years after I wrote it...

summary: The reader is hopelessly in love with her boss Robert Fischer, but he doesn't seem to be interested in her. By an unexpected coincidence, they meet in the city and his sudden intense affection for her confuses her. The reader begins to suspect that something is wrong, and when she finally uncovers the truth about her encounters with Fischer the heartbreaking reality is revealed to her.

word count: 5000+

Masterlist

warnings: mental illness, depression

you don‘t have to watch the movie to understand the story.

It was just half past seven when she heard the familiar footsteps in the corridor approaching the office next door. A key was inserted into the lock and a moment later the door opened.

Glancing around to make sure her workspace wasn't too messy, she threw an old paper cup into the bin before her boss poked his head through the door.

"Good morning, Miss YN, so busy already?" he asked with a tired smile. "It doesn't reflect well on me as a boss to have my assistant here before me. I'm sorry, Monday mornings are always a bit stressful for me."

"No problem, Mr Fischer. I've already sorted the mail for you, it's on your desk," she said kindly, watching him as he took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack, a little damp from the rain.

"Thank you, I can count on you."

He was a very elegant, handsome man, about ten years her senior, with dark hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones and an elegant black suit. She must have stared at him a little too long, because he turned to her with a questioning smile.

Immediately her cheeks flushed and she turned back to her computer screen, but by then Mr Fischer had already approached her and placed some documents on her desk. "Please scan them all and email them to Mr Parker, he's been waiting for them for days," he said to her. It would be best if we sat down together later and quickly discuss my tasks for today, there is a lot to do. If I'm not mistaken, I have a client meeting at three today.

"At two, sir," she corrected him, handing him a planner with today's date thickly underlined.

He started to grin. "You see, this is exactly why I have an assistant."

Fischer disappeared into his office.

She sighed slightly and went to work scanning the documents. She had been working for Fischer Morrow, one of the world's largest energy companies, for barely a month. Their headquarters had moved from Sydney to London after the death of their CEO, Maurice Fischer. Her current boss, Robert Fischer, was a direct descendant.

She liked Fischer Jr a lot. He was friendly, supportive and didn't get angry when things didn't go to plan. But in some ways he always seemed so unapproachable. For example, he never talked about his private life and YN had no idea who he was outside of work. Then again, he was her boss and his private life was none of her business. But deep down she admitted that she was very interested in him.

The days flew by and she finally felt as if she had been employed by Fischer Morrow for an eternity. But who Robert Fischer really was remained a mystery.

One evening, as she was about to leave, she quietly opened the door to Fischer's office. He was sitting in front of his computer, his chin resting on his hands. "Have a nice evening, Mr Fischer." He jumped slightly, obviously not having heard her come in, but then he smiled. "Thank you, you too."

YN looked at her watch. "It's almost half past seven, don't you want to finish your work soon? Don't you have a wife waiting for you?"

Mr Fischer shrugged. "I've been divorced for a few years now, and I only see my daughter at weekends. The only thing waiting for me is an empty, dark apartment."

YN held her breath. It was the first time he had told her anything about his private life. But in the same second, he seemed to regret his words.

"No one waits for me either," she said. "Except for my cat."

Fischer raised an eyebrow with a smile. "At least that's something."

Finally she said goodbye and left the office. But all the way home, she kept thinking about her conversation with Fischer.

Was he perhaps as lonely as she was?

Tired, YN lay in bed. She didn't even have the strength to change her clothes and remove her make up. Although she wanted nothing more than to get out of that itchy, uncomfortable dress and tights. A soft meow sounded beside her and she felt something soft brush against her arm. Smiling, she pulled the cat closer and buried her face in its white fur.

Since leaving her small home village for London, she had no one to talk to. Her old friends had all left her and moved on with their own lives. Robert Fischer was the only one she spoke to regularly, though it was far from a friendship. With the cat in her arms, she turned to the other side. But what if she had feelings for him?

Maybe she should tell him. But wasn't that too much? He was still her boss, after all, and there were probably plenty of women who were interested in him.

She quickly pushed the thought aside and closed her eyes.

Robert Fischer turned curiously when he heard the quick clicking of heels in the corridor. Panting, his assistant opened the door and dropped her bag on the desk.

"Miss YN, are you okay?"

Her hair was messy, her coat hung loosely over her shoulders as if she hadn't had time to put it on properly, and her lipstick was a little smudged.

"I… overslept," she said, panting. "I'm sorry."

Fischer looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "It's okay. But it shouldn't happen again."

"Of course not, sir," she replied immediately.

He quickly disappeared into his office and returned with a thick stack of papers and a folder.

"Would you be so kind as to sort these documents alphabetically for me? They've been on my desk for days. I know it's not an exciting task."

She nodded and took the heavy pile from his hand. Fischer thanked her and hurried back to his office.

Sighing, she set to work. But with each page, she found her concentration fading and her mind wandering. Her head ached, her eyes burned and she felt incredibly tired. But she tried not to show it, kept working as hard as she could and finally put the sorted file back on Mr Fischer's desk.

Exhausted, she walked back to her office, sat down in her chair and buried her face in her hands. She was shivering and her ears were ringing. Was it because she had forgotten to take her medicine today?

"Miss YN?" she heard her boss' voice.

She turned immediately and forced a smile. "Yes, Mr Fischer?"

"I have an job interview scheduled for ten, would you be so kind as to prepare the conference room for it?"

"Of course, sir."

He stopped halfway and looked at Victoria questioningly. "Are you okay? You look so pale." She nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Everything's fine, Mr Fischer." Fischer looked at her, raised his eyebrows, then handed her the key to the meeting room and disappeared back into his office.

A strange feeling of dizziness spread through her head as she walked down the long corridor leading to the conference rooms.

What was wrong with her today?

When it started to get dark outside, YN finally turned off her computer and grabbed her bag. The strange dizziness had improved during the day, leading her to conclude that she simply needed a break from work. Fortunately, it was Friday. She knocked gently on Fischer's door, as she always did before leaving, to wish him a pleasant evening. He was sitting there as usual, his chin resting on his hand, deep in thought. He glanced up briefly and nodded politely, noticing her in the doorway. He looked stunningly handsome today, even after this long and exhausting day.

"I didn't ask you how the job interviews went this morning," she asked curiously. Fischer shook his head. "Terribly," he said. "None of these people I'd want in my company." His voice was cold and dismissive, and for a moment she thought he was referring to her, even though she knew he meant someone else. She smiled awkwardly and shrugged slightly. "Well, maybe the next one will be better."

Fischer remained silent.

"Have a good weekend, Mr Fischer."

"You too, Miss YN." He gave her a friendly smile.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend? I know a good restaurant, would you like to join me?" The moment she realised what she had just said, she bit her lip, her face turning red. Had she completely lost her mind? She desperately hoped he hadn't heard what she'd asked, but it was too late. She could see Fischer raise his eyebrows in confusion and stare at her.

"No, Miss YN. I'm not interested. I keep my work and personal life strictly separate." She immediately looked down, embarrassed. Thoughts raced through her mind like a rollercoaster and her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. "I'm sorry, Mr Fischer, I shouldn't have asked you that." She finally grabbed her bag and left the office without another word, feeling Fischer's gaze on her back.

It was drizzling lightly as she walked through the busy streets of London. The cold air did her good and she felt her head clear a little.

Why had she done this? It had been clear from the start that a man like him would reject her. But the words had come out of her mouth as if she had completely lost control. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and quickly wiped it away. She didn't want to have a mental breakdown in public, even though it felt like Fischer had torn her heart into a thousand pieces. Suddenly the strange dizziness returned and her vision blurred slightly. The sounds of London became muffled, as if she were incredibly far away.

Miss YN, wait!" she suddenly heard a voice behind her that seemed to be getting closer.

She turned around. The dizziness had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Startled, her eyes widened as she saw the person in front of her - it was Mr Fischer. What was he doing here? Had he followed her? She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a hoarse stutter.

"I wanted to apologize, Miss YN. It wasn't very nice of me to brush you off like that," he said with a gentle laugh. His voice sounded strangely different, softer than usual. Wordless and spellbound, she stared into the pair of light blue eyes before her, apologetic and gentle in their expression. She knew Mr Fischer had blue eyes, but she'd never noticed how incredibly bright they were.

"It's okay, don't worry," she managed to say, her knees shaking with excitement.

"No, no, Miss YN. I'll think about the dinner offer, okay? Just because we work together doesn't mean we can't have dinner together, does it?" Fischer suggested, and she nodded slowly, then smiled.

Why this sudden change of mind?

"Well, see you soon." He waved goodbye and YN, still completely confused, raised her hand in response. But before she could form another thought, he had disappeared into the crowd.

Carefully, YN pressed the shutter on her old camera, focusing the lens on the small lake in front of her. Satisfied, she lowered it. She was confident that this snapshot would turn out well. This park was a place she often visited to clear her head and pursue her passion, photography, as it offered many beautiful subjects. Especially now, in autumn, when the trees were covered with colourful leaves and the silence was slowly descending, with only the occasional pedestrian passing by.

Her dizziness had eased a little, but not completely. Fortunately, it was Saturday and she had the whole day to herself. YN sat down on a bench under a tree that looked to be at least a hundred years old.

She sat there for a while, lost in thought. Eventually she got up and made her way to the West End. The streets of London were noisy and busy as she walked, looking for a warm place in a café and something to eat. Crowds of people rushed past her, music played from somewhere and loud voices filled the air. Exhausted, she rubbed her temples. Maybe she should have stayed home and rested.

Suddenly she held her breath as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Dark hair, high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Fischer. But before she could think, he had already noticed her and started to smile at her.

"Miss YN, how nice to see you! What a coincidence!"

It was the first time she had seen him in his casual clothes rather than one of his business suits. But this was no less elegant and stylish. He was wearing a well-fitting black coat, a grey knitted jumper underneath, black trousers and leather shoes. It was so strange to see him outside his office at Fischer Morrow Company. Suddenly he didn't seem so unapproachable and distant anymore.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously.

He paused for a moment. He seemed to be considering whether or not to tell her.

"I brought my little girl to her friend's house for a sleepover. She's been asking me for weeks because her mum won't let her."

"So you're a cool dad," YN replied.

Fischer rolled his eyes. "I'm the one who lets her get away with everything. We had to turn back twice because she realised she had forgotten her favourite stuffed animal and her toothbrush."

She laughed softly. In a strange way, she enjoyed him talking so openly about his life.

"Oh wow, that looks amazing. It's quite old, isn't it?" Mr Fischer pointed to the camera around her neck. "From the 1960s. But it takes incredibly good pictures for that time," she explained. Fischer seemed genuinely impressed. "Do you have more like it?"

"I have quite a few. From the 50s to the 80s, actually, and of course some modern digital cameras. Photography has been my passion since I was a child," she explained. Fischer looked at her with an interested smile. "So there's actually film in there that needs to be developed?" she nodded in confirmation. "Some photo shops still offer that service, yes."

Mr Fischer seemed genuinely interested in her hobby, asking her questions about it as they walked side by side through the streets of London. She felt incredibly comfortable in his presence and hoped he wouldn't leave so soon. Finally he pointed to the camera again. "Would you take a picture of me, please? I'd like a 60's style photo of myself." YN's heart began to race in her chest. What had he just said?

"Of course, Mr Fischer," she replied nervously. "Robert. My name is Robert," he replied. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, completely surprised. No one at Fischer Morrow Ltd called him by his first name, and outside the company she had only heard his uncle, Peter Browning, call him Robert.

"Let's find a nice spot for the photo," he said, letting his gaze wander until it settled on a beautiful fountain.

Carefully, she picked up the camera, took a few steps back and held it directly in front of Robert's face. "Smile, please," she instructed him, finally pressing the shutter.

A pedestrian who had just passed them looked at YN with a confused expression and shook his head. Frowning, she looked after him before carefully tucking the camera into her handbag.

Are you hungry?" asked Robert. "We could go to a restaurant."

Surprised, she looked at him. "I don't know…" she said hesitantly, chewing her lower lip. In fact, she had never expected to be asked such a question.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows and she could see the disappointment in his eyes. Finally, she worked up the courage to say what was on her mind.

"It's just… To be honest, you told me yesterday that you were someone who kept your work and personal life strictly separate. Maybe it would be better if we did. After all, I'm your employee."

As much as she wanted to spend time with him, she was afraid of developing any more feelings for him. Robert nodded slowly and shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

"I really like you. I just never wanted to show it, that's why I was so reserved with you and told you I wasn't interested in you".

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh as a ton of thoughts went through her head. Robert finally nodded at her with a slightly disappointed look on his face and turned on his heel.

"Wait!" she called after him.

He stopped immediately and looked at her hopefully.

"Let's give it a try, shall we?"

YN… is that a French name?"

Robert's voice sounded slightly tipsy as he grinned curiously at her, twirling his wine glass casually in his hands. The plate in front of him was empty and he had now carefully placed the cutlery on it, waiting for a waitress to take it away.

He had taken her to a rather fancy and expensive place, the walls were dark wood panelling, the chairs were covered in red velvet and soft jazz music was playing on one of the radios. Robert looked hauntingly beautiful that night. His skin seemed incredibly soft and flawless, his jawline even more prominent, and his blue eyes shone almost ghostly in the dim light, almost like he wasn’t real…

She smiled, nodded and took a sip from her glass. "My father is French. I grew up in France but moved to England when I was 15."

He nodded with interest, rubbing his chin with his forefinger.

"And you? I heard you're Australian," she asked curiously.

Robert laughed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Well, my accent makes it obvious."

YN blushed and looked down at her plate. What a stupid question.

But Robert didn't seem to mind too much, because he started talking about his life in Sydney, how he had finally moved to London after his father's death, and she listened with interest.

But suddenly he stopped and looked at her thoughtfully. "But I'm probably just boring you."

YN immediately shook her head. "No, you're not," she told him. "I find it really interesting to find out all this about you."

At that moment a waitress came to their table with a smile and asked YN in a friendly tone if she had enjoyed her meal. But the waitress paid no attention to Robert, YN noticed with surprise. Perhaps she was just being extra polite to the lady.

YN's date pulled out a black leather purse and rummaged through it. Quickly, YN pulled a few notes out of the bag and handed them to the waitress. "Keep the change," she said.

The waitress looked at her with wide eyes, "Thank you, ma'am," she said gratefully, "have a nice evening.

Then she turned and left the table.

"You didn't have to do that," Robert said. "As a gentleman, it's actually my job to pay."

She shook her head in amusement. "I bet that's never happened to you before, has it?"

Robert shook his head and took the last drink from his glass. There was a moment of silence between them.

"All right. So what's the plan for the rest of the evening?"

She looked at him in surprise. As soon as he said the words, she felt a tingle in her stomach.

The church clock struck twelve as she crossed the street hand in hand with Robert. It was freezing, and she had pulled her scarf so far up her face that only her eyes and nose were visible. Her date looked at her with amusement. "Are you going to rob a bank?" he asked, laughing out loud.

"Shh!" she snapped at him, putting her fingers to his lips. "You'll wake up the whole neighbourhood."

Although it was quite dark and she could only make out Robert, she knew that his typical mischievous grin was back on his face. She pulled him firmly behind her until they reached the small white building.

"Is this where you live?" Robert asked.

She put her finger to his lips for a second time until Robert stopped talking and looked silently into her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she finally stood on her toes, put her arms around his neck and placed her lips on his. Robert returned the kiss without hesitation and gently pulled her into his arms. YN could hardly believe what was happening. It was everything she had secretly wanted for months. They remained like this for a moment before she finally let go of him and reached for her key.

She felt for Robert's upper arm and finally pulled him into her apartment, closing the door behind him. She immediately wrapped her arms around him and began to kiss him again. His lips were a little cold and tasted of wine. Together they stumbled backwards into her bedroom, taking off his coat, which she tossed carelessly to the floor.

Robert's fingers stroked carefully along her hip and fumbled a little with her belt while she was busy planting little kisses on his neck. With slightly trembling hands she pulled his jumper over his head and Robert took her hand.

"Are you nervous?" he wanted to know. She remained silent.

"Don't be," he whispered softly into her ear, taking her in his arms again and pulling her onto the bed. Breathing softly, she clung to his chest, leaned back and finally closed her eyes as she felt his warm skin against hers.

The sun shone through the half-open curtains, creating a narrow, bright streak across the floor. Blinking, she opened her eyes and stretched. But immediately a sharp pain shot through her head again and she held her forehead tiredly. Confused, she sat up and tried to remember what had happened yesterday.

But when she heard soft breathing next to her, she turned quickly and all the events of last night came back to her. Smiling, she looked over at Robert, snuggled up next to her in her beige blanket, sleeping peacefully. Tenderly stroking his messy hair, she lay down beside him again and then began to caress his chest. Perhaps what they had done was wrong. After all, they were two people who should never have fallen in love. But it had happened, and it felt so right. They remained in this position for some time, Robert asleep and YN lost in thought.

Her eyes swept through the bedroom until they settled on a small white box on her dresser. Quickly sitting up, she reached for it and put a small pill into her mouth. Eventually, Robert began to move a little beside her, opening his eyes tiredly. Smiling broadly, she gave him a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning," Robert murmured in a raspy morning voice.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes, wonderfully." He yawned loudly and took her into his arms as she laid her head lovingly on his shoulder.

"Wait, what time is it?" he suddenly wanted to know.

"Quarter past ten, why do you ask?" she replied.

"Shit," Robert muttered as he let go of the hug, jumped out of the bed and started to pick up his clothes, which were strewn all over the floor.

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" she asked, looking at him in confusion.

"I should've picked up my daughter by now," he replied, hurrying to get dressed.

Sighing, she pulled the blanket around her a little tighter. "Can't it wait? Can't you stay for breakfast?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm sure she's already waiting for me.“ Robert dodged her questions, grabbing his coat on the floor and sighing when he saw her disappointed look.

He walked slowly towards her, stroking her chin with his finger, and finally whispered: "We can catch up later." Then he put a soft kiss on her lips before turning around and disappearing through the door. She sank back into the pillows and pulled the blanket over her head.

The rest of Sunday flew by. Mostly because her mind was on Robert and she could hardly wait to see him again tomorrow at work. She had probably never looked forward to a Monday in her life as much as she did that day.

The next morning, YN carefully applied her lipstick and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She noticed that the collar of her white blouse was a little crooked and quickly adjusted it. She wanted to look her best for Robert today, so he wouldn't change his mind and lose interest in her.

Humming softly, she put on her black high heels and grabbed her handbag. She quickly put another pill into her mouth and put the box in her bag. Her headache was completely gone and her head finally felt clear and light again. In a good mood, she breathed in the fresh morning air and made her way to work.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked down the familiar corridor of Fischer Morrow. The lights were on in Robert's office. She ran a final hand through her hair, smoothed her blouse and opened the door to her own office.

The air was stuffy and hot. Coughing, she ran to the window and opened it.

"Good morning, Miss YN, I hope you had a nice weekend," a familiar voice sounded from behind her.

Startled, she turned to see Robert's face as he stuck his head through the door, as he always did.

Why didn't he call her by her first name? Confused, she stared at him, trying to form a clear sentence. "But… But… we spent it together…" her voice finally broke. Her head suddenly hurt again.

He seemed so different again. Not the Robert she had spent the weekend with, not the one who had apologised for being too rude to her, not the one who had made her laugh and told her about his life. He seemed more like the one she had worked with for months, the one who never revealed anything about himself.

"Miss YN? I haven't seen you since Friday, when you left my office after… asking me that question."

Her heart almost stopped. Suddenly her knees gave way and she sank to the floor.

"Are you okay? Are you feeling unwell?" Concerned, he bent down to her. "Do you want to go home and rest?"

She nodded slightly and wiped a tear from her eye, which had turned her fingers black from the carefully applied mascara. Then she got up and left the office.

At home, she lay motionless on her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't think straight and her throat felt incredibly dry. The door to her room, which was only ajar, opened gently and something small and white slipped through. Sniffling, she stretched out her arms and lifted her cat onto the bed.

Everything that had happened that weekend had been fake. She had made it all up. And all of this happened because she had forgotten to take the pills she was taking for her hallucinations. Robert hadn't really followed her on Friday evening; it was all a figment of her imagination. While his real self was still sitting in the office, probably not thinking about her at all. Everything suddenly made sense: why Robert looked a bit different, why his voice sounded different, the waitress who ignored him on Saturday because she couldn’t actually see him, the pedestrian who gave her a confused look because she was talking to herself while taking the photo.

The photo.

She immediately got up, put on her shoes and walked to the photo shop where she had left the film to be developed. Her heart raced as the staff handed her the envelope with the photos. Trembling, she finally grabbed the Saturday night photo, without looking at it herself, and held it up to the staff's face. "What do you see?" she asked.

The young man looked at her in confusion, but remained polite. "The fountain at Piccadilly Circus. Great picture, it turned out really nice."

"Anything else?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," he replied, and it felt like a slap in her face. Fischer had never been there with her. Only her lonely and sad mind had led her to believe that he was interested in her and loved her. Tears welled in her eyes and she left the shop without another word. When she got home, she immediately took the white box of pills from her handbag, rushed into the kitchen, opened the box and poured the pills into the bin.

Crying and with burning eyes, she finally lay down on her bed and buried her head in the pillow as her cat purred softly beside her. She must have stayed like that for hours, as the sun began to set again outside her window. When she finally lifted her head and wiped the tears from her face, she saw a dark-haired man sitting beside her bed, looking at her lovingly with his pale blue eyes. A smile suddenly appeared on her face and she began to laugh, pulling the man into a tight embrace.

some explanations because i know that story is kinda mind-fucking:

• Is Robert Fischer all a creation of the readers mind?

- No he actually exists, he’s her boss and she‘s in love with him, so she imagines dating him.

• When is he real, when is he fake?

- The version Robert Fischer in the office is real, he turns her down when she asks him out, leaving YN heartbroken. The moment she leaves the office, she starts to imagine what it would be like if he apologised to her, so the man who follows her is just her imagination. The real Robert Fischer is still in his office at Fischer-Morrow.

When she visits the city on Saturday and meets "Robert" and goes on a date with him, it's also just her imagination. That's why other people react to her with confusion, because she's basically talking to herself all the time. On Sunday morning, when she wakes up next to him, he's still fake. When she takes her pills, he quickly "disappears" (he says he has to pick up his daughter...) because they stop her delusions.

On Monday morning, when she gets back to her office, the real Robert Fischer is there again, who hadn't seen her since he had rejected her on Friday evening.

When she gets home, she throws away her pills and her hallucination starts again. The man who sat next to her on her bed and comforted her is again the imaginary version of Robert.

[dream-this-nightmare-over]

Joe Cole imagine

This one is for @shelundeadxxxx (i see you bestie), and @fckyeahjoecole (wake up bestie wherever you are, its been 5 years since we heard from you yet your posts are curing my new obsession), and @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown cause you are hoe for this man just like me.

You can find more of my imagines in my book Imagines on wattpad.

Hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed getting lost in this daydream and eventually sitting down to write it.

Text came on 21st of July out of nowhere when y/n already thought it will be another cold summer.

'You me 9pm screening'

Joe never forgot his friend and deal they made on one of Ed's dinner parties or was it on some other occasion they gravitated almost always toward each other naturally pulled through people who's attention never brought peace like that of a friend in mischief. They would find each other and leave the crowd or stick to each other making rounds settling in corner with champagne and micro cupcakes making up what they taste like cause trends all seem to be tasteless left to one's interpretation, making fun of pumpered faces who only knew to call them out for being themselves.

They were going to see Oppenheimer together, on opening day. It was pinky promise sealed with smiles that even from shadows put candlelight to shame.

They meet outside, under glow of newly installed Barbenheimer titles at entrance, when heat died down a bit, and dusk rushed to its paintbrushes coloring hastily sky in purples and blues, overneeded relief in scenery. 'Hey you!' Joe excitedly greets coming toward y/n. As she was watching him come closer, mental image appeared and it grew bigger until he was in his full John attire walking John walk spreading his arms sassy and coy, feisty edges softened to gentleness and consideration irl. Perhaps this is why its so easy to fall for actors: they can be anybody they can play into any role we think of in our heads, its easy to imagine them following another script, no one knows who they really are, a mold for imaginative minds, perhaps even they don't recognize the reflection without all the makeup and pretence, it's easier to look at world through anyone's eyes but your own. They share their significant handshake, he doesn't part but pulls her in quick hug and they fall in easy chatter of laughs and jokes. It was hard to believe y/n will see any of the movie cause his eyes held her whole world and attention and thoughts captive. No imagination could compete with real thing. Drown me in you, for i am sinner.

In one incredibly brave moment during movie, Joe looked over at his friend, in darkness he can let go of his shyness social restraints loose it's okay to give air to your feelings and appreciate the moment indulge in secret admiration he will mask with smile when caught; from blue shadows playing on her face thought arose flickered into wonder what would cillian think of them together, if maybe he had it already figured out, he wondered if it's possible to love without flexing about it, if anything can survive without going through ordeal of condemnation, and he was pained to conclude this friendship is too sacred for world to touch it with their critical prejudicial opinions. But then she smiled at him quizzically and he knew he thinks too much. Love finds a way. It curves like river changes environment reshapes the world until it finds its freedom.

Neither wished for night to end. It was too late to chase one masterpiece with another, so they decided to meet tomorrow at same time to see Barbie.

They walked from cinema aimlessly wandering through town, hoping they never run out of pathways that lead to merging point from where no goodbye needs to be said again.

He held her hand never letting go laughing as she laughed at stars, pulled her back and spun her around in the middle of street under street lamp, slow danced night away, until sudden rain sent them running opera reaching its crescendo. They stood under his jacket he kept overhead covered stage them main characters , everything is funny if company is non judgemental, pitter-patter matching musical of hearts clock ticking midnight, y/n was lost in haze from when he put his arm around her in the dark and kept it there through breaks and credits as she showed him reaction memes that were already pouring Internet and they compared their experience with 'same. Omg so true. He killed it. Omg yes that part was something else'

She stayed the night, on his couch. He left the door open so they never feel too far away, he didn't want to keep walls when around her, he was tired of feeling forced separation from what he wants, forced pretence forced silencing of hapiness found.

On brink of slipping away, he realised he didn't kiss her. There will come time for that. Right words aren't born yet. But it's all in the making.

They went to show love for their friend Cillian but it was all masterly planned and excuted excuse to show love for each other.

In the morning, they checked the earliest showtime for barbie and went cause they were too excited to wait and there was no real reason to, since yesterday turned into tomorrow, friends turned to I never want you to go, time was theirs to make or break but they were way ahead of doubt it can't catch them now. Joe only smirked when y/n pulled bright shade of pink lipstick form her bag and offered it to him with innocent mischief written in her eye, he smirked cause her knew he will love her for the rest of the time they have together. He wouldnt check even if he had chance. Destiny can't be manipulated, so what's the point of knowing the outcome, you can't enjoy the ride if you only worry about the the end. End comes whether we try to fight the current or go with the flow. So why not relax and enjoy?

It was y/n's couch from then on.