#haze anonymous agony | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cillianmurphysdimples · 24 days ago

Text

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Thirty One)

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

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

We Got Issues

Party Thirty One: Cillian is finally on his way home, having wrapped filming for Peaky. But Y/N finds a missed message from him, containing a link, that makes her feel like all of her autonomy and anonymity is stripped. She recalls the day she met Cillian a second time, trying to remind herself what matters, but anxiety looms heavy. [Angst/Anxiety]

@strangeions @watermeezer @borntodiemp3 @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme

Very quickly proof read so sorry for typos.

---------

The agony of a week home without him, despite knowing Cillian would be returning, was slowly making way to the pure excitement and ever present want to jump his bones, knowing that his flight had been due to land a little while ago and he would be here, at home, with you soon. You had finished work less than half an hour ago, and in the time between then and now you had been so giddy, you could hardly sit still. He was coming home, for the long run, and that felt monumental - despite you having done this whole routine many times before. You try to occupy yourself with your week of laundry in the small back room, off the kitchen, but when the five minute job is completed, you once again find yourself like a child waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. Pulling the laundry room door shut behind you, you wonder if making coffee would settle you down any. You check the water level in the kettle before flicking the switch, and grab your preferred mug from the cupboard. You picked your phone from the pocket of your hoodie and unlocked it before you dragged down the notification bar. Nothing from Cillian about being on the way home yet, but there was a text from Cillian from earlier in the day that you'd somehow missed. Frowning at the oddity, you click open the message.

We are going to have to talk to the boys and Yvonne. [link]

You stare at the message then click the link. Your screen opens up to a page in The Sun and, as you scan the article, you grow more and more nervous.

Peaky Blinders star Cillian Murphy was spotted on sets in the recent weeks, all across locations in the UK, alongside familiar faces such as Sophie Rundle, Packy Lee and Ned Dennehy. Most recently, the Cork native was seen with his long-term girlfriend, Y/N, who was visiting their set. Murphy and Y/N began a relationship after the breakdown of his marriage to ex-wife Yvonne McGuinness. McGuinness and Murphy share two children. On set, Y/N was photographed alongside film director Tom Harper and writer Steven Knight. She was seen laughing with Johnny Dogs actor Packy Lee before she was later seen cuddling up to Murphy. But it seems disaster struck when Y/N was photographed vomiting on the set, comforted by the Tommy Shelby actor dutifully. I don't know if we're all wondering what you're all wondering, but is this a sign of the pitter-patter of tiny feet to come? Famously guarded about his private life, we suspect any announcements to be made would not likely come from Cillian himself. Fans are said to be looking forward to the release of the Peaky Blinders film in the coming twelve months.

Your hand shakes as you scan the photographs, shaking your head. Your stomach flips nervously. Shit! Part of you is thankful that it is this being shared, and not that anyone had shared the row on the set beforehand. But fuck! You set your phone down onto the island and cross your arms under your bust. Cillian's going to be in a mood, and you're going to have to do one thing you were staunchly against, and that's sharing the news before you're comfortable with it. Part of you wonders if perhaps his sons and Yvonne wouldn't have seen it - they're used to nonsense reports with no real information in them, so maybe they'd just pass it over if it was seen? But your anxiety is focused so hard on the possibility that speaking now will jinx your pregnancy, it's hard to keep your mind on anything more tangible - other than the fact that you know Cillian is going to be in bad humour! You do rationalise the fact that it doesn't actually give any definite information at all, but you also worry that if this was seen, then perhaps your conversation was heard or, worse yet, was shared.

You lean your back against the island counter and try to find something better in your mind. Cillian still hasn't materialised and all you want is him here, to plan what's next if he really thinks that there's a danger of his sons being hurt in this. You close your eyes as you breathe steadily, trying hard to keep calm, and you're thankful when your mind brings forward the day you met Cillian for the second time, completely coincidentally. You focused on the day, the details, and allowed the whole thing to play out in your mind.

“That's twelve euro,” the young girl behind the counter says with a smile. She has a green streak in the front of her black hair, and her bottom lip is pierced on both sides. She has a beautiful smile, though, and her eyes sparkle lightly.

You tap your card against the machine and push it back into your purse, then smile as she hands you your book and receipt. “Thanks,” you nod as you walk away, tucking the receipt into your pocket. You keep hold of the book as you step out of Eason's and back out onto O'Connell Street. You step away from the doorway and examine your book, vaguely aware you're still blocking a busy street, and begin to walk back towards the bridge. You glance up occasionally, making sure you're not walking into a pole, and as you look up again you jump and gasp, narrowly avoiding colliding with the denim jacketed back of a man before you. “Shit! Sorry!” You quickly apologise as you somehow managed to fling your book into their back as you startled. You crouch to the floor, picking up your book, and as you rise back up you come face to face with someone familiar. “Hey…” you say, frowning a little. “Cillian, right?” It's the pale blue eyes and flicking hair that gives it away, you're sure, and then he smiles as you say his name and you're absolutely certain.

“Y/N?” He says, pointing at you with a questioning expression.

You nod your head, “Yep.” You smile nervously. “I'm sorry - I threw my book at you.” You turn down the corners of your mouth. “I wasn't looking. I am sorry, really.” You insist.

“Ah, you're grand.” He shakes his head.

“Well, it's good to see you. And sorry again,” you say, gesturing past him and the person he's with. “Bye.”

“Yeah, see ya,” he says, stepping aside. “Ah, here,” he calls as you get about five steps away. You turn back, eyebrows raised. “I take it you didn't curse me?”

“Curse you?” You frown, shaking your head, and slowly step back towards him and his friend.

“Plastic Ono Band album…” he says, vaguely.

You grin brightly, “No - no actually, you have my adulation for that. It is a…remarkable album.” You say as you stuff your book awkwardly into your bag. “And it led me onto some Beatles tracks I wasn't so familiar with, too. So you, I dunno, broadened my horizons.” You chuckle.

Cillian laughs, “Then you're welcome.” He turns to the man beside him, “I met Y/N a few weeks ago, we were stranded at Busáras together.” He explains, then turns back to you. “This is a friend and colleague of mine, Steven.” He introduces you.

“Hi, Steven.” You nod politely. Steven shares a greeting just as politely, and his accent is fiercely English.

“We're just splitting up actually,” he says to you. “We were just saying our goodbyes there when you assaulted me.” He teases.

“Yes, sorry again,” you smile, but you're not entirely sure if he's being funny or not.

“Yeah, I'll say goodbye.” Steven says, and he gives Cillian a gentle hug before nodding at you again politely.

“Good luck,” Cillian calls out, and he turns as Steven walks away, watching him go. Turning back to you, he smiles brightly. “What are the odds of meeting a complete stranger more than once?” He laughs a little.

“Serendipitous, clearly.” You smile. “It was nice to see you again, and thank you again for the music, and for not wanting to have me questioned by the Guards for assaulting you.” You say, hoping you've caught onto a satirically delivered joke he was making.

He laughs, his tongue peeking over his teeth, and you remember how much you'd like it that day in the station. “Ah, no bother.” He says as he pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. “What was the book?” He asks, and you feel like he's keeping you around, looking for reasons to keep this up. Not that you mind - you're not rushing anywhere on a work-free Saturday.

“Oh, an old one. I had it on order at Eason's.” You say. “Only got it for a trip next week.” you dip your hand into your bag and pull the book back out, handing it over to him. “Read it?” You ask, “My friend at work suggested it, says it's an Irish writer and kinda beloved here by the right minds.” You laugh. He's smiling and you can't work it out, and he hands the book back with a chuckle. “What?” You ask, nervously, and look at the book again. “Is it really bad?”

“No,” he smirks, “No it's very good.” You pushes his hands into his pockets again, still smiling.

You look at him, then then book. “Odd name though, isn't it? Gives nothing away. Breakfast on Pluto…” you shake your head and push the book back into your bag.

“Are you free?” He asks bluntly.

“Free?” You raise your eyebrows, glancing around you quickly.

“Coffee?” he suggests.

You smile and nod your head, “Yeah, sure. Coffee.”

You startle as your phone buzzes across the island counter, and bring yourself back to the present with a sigh. You pick up your phone, relieved to see ‘Cill’ in the notification bar. You slide it down and open his message.

“In a taxi, be home soon. Get the kettle on. See you soon mo ghrá.”

You click your phone off and hold it tightly in your hand, sighing again. It is a relief to know he is coming home now, and it is a relief to know you'll be able to curl up beside him whenever you want for the foreseeable, but you are frightened about what he would choose to do now regarding that article. You know you can argue the point that it doesn't say anything truly, but you're fairly sure he's made up his mind and will want the boys and Yvonne to know sooner than later. You don't want words uttered before you're comfortable with it, you do appreciate why he might. But anxiety won't allow you to feel easy about it at all - it'd jinx everything to talk about the baby before the scan, and then you'd have to go around telling anyone that had been told, that something had gone wrong.

You set your phone down and grip both hands against the counter, feeling your sickly, low-burning nausea ramping up. You swallow hard and blow soothing breaths out in the hopes it'll ease the queasiness, but you suspect you're fighting a losing battle. You walk towards the sink and lift the washing up bowl out of it, and hover above expectantly, but hopeful that the impending gag doesn't rise. But you do gag, twice, and you brace your hands on the sink as the stomach lurches. Fuck! You can't get used to this. By some miracle you don't actually vomit, but the gags are painful nonetheless. When you feel like it's safe, you straighten up and replace the bowl into the sink. You rest your back against the sink and rest your head into your hands, sighing heavily, and feeling a sudden overwhelming urge to cry.

You don't want to share your news before you're ready. You don't want to see your life plastered across sites and pages. And you realise this is exactly what Cillian was scared of happening. You feel foolish, stupid, and pathetic. This is supposed to be happy, and it sucks so much. For the first time since the press associated with his divorce, you find yourself absolutely hating what Cillian does and the fame associated with it.

#cillian murphy #my fic #cillian murphy fanfiction #my fic: we got issues #we got issues #reader fic #female reader #female y/n #y/n fic #female reader x Cillian Murphy #female y/n x Cillian Murphy #y/n x Cillian Murphy #reader x Cillian Murphy #reader x celebrity

43 notes · View notes

alexanderlightweight · 2 years ago

Note

hi! I love your writing <3 your dark malec is my favorite and i like how much detailed they are (i'm obsessed with notes to this eldritch delight)

thank you for your works!

prompt for writing wensday: what happens if alec got into alternative universe were he isn't exist yet, so magnus not know him. but magnus know that alec his when sees him and didn't want to give him back to his magnus.

(I sorry for if there is mistake, english not my first language)

you're great anon! and it was a delight to write this and i can't wait to share the notes that i'm going to have when i post to ao3 cause it brought up a lot of notes on how different the two worlds are because they are very different ones. your prompt is absolutely fine! i hope you enjoy

Anonymous:

hi! I love your writing <3 your dark malec is my favorite and i like how much detailed they are (i'm obsessed with notes to this eldritch delight)

thank you for your works!

prompt for writing wensday: what happens if alec got into alternative universe where he isn't exist yet, so magnus not know him. but magnus know that alec his when sees him and didn't want to give him back to his magnus.

(I sorry for if there is mistake, english not my first language)

—

“Magnus!”

His name breaks through the pain, the haze, the horror that is engulfing him.

Magnus wonders who it is that has found him, has managed to come to his aid and he hisses, flinching away when he cracks open his eyes and sees a broad figure covered with runes.

Nephilim.

Magnus is about to use the last of his strength to attack but it’s too late and then warm, calloused hands are cupping his face and the icy rain stops hitting him.

Magnus thinks he’s dying.

That the nephilim has already stabbed their blade through his chest. For what else could explain the gorgeous eyes brimming with concern and fear for him, rather than of him. Magnus knows his glamor is down but there is nothing like disgust in the shadowhunters eyes and then a flash of lightning and Magnus realizes that what he thought were a part of the sky are actually dark, spread-out wings.

The nephilim is covering Magnus, shielding them both from the storm and Magnus marvels at such a defense behind shared with him, even if it is in death.

“Magnus no, Magnus you can’t do this too me.” And those strong hands are pulling him up and chapped, lips are pressing urgently to his own. Magnus doesn’t mind, he’ll take the end with a kiss, he’s greedy enough for it but then he taste hoarfrost and a sliver of chill and he finds himself kissing back greedily, strength ftastesg to him with every touch of lips and tongue.

His arms come up, intending to chase and demand more but the nephilim is pliant and unresisting and folds to Magnus’ touch.

Magnus curls his fingers in feathers he’s only ever touched on a corpse, his skin sparking with magic the longer they kiss, and he wonders what kind of a dream this is.

“Magnus what happened?” He’s being asked when he finally lets the nephilim pull away, Magnus’ head is tucked to a neck that he knows is lined with a rune and then protective — softer than Magnus could have imagined — wings are wrapped around him. “One minute you were almost done sealing the rift and then something exploded. I thought maybe the leylines ruptured again but this isn’t where we were. I don’t recognize anything.” There’s a moment and then a grumble of, “I can’t believe you changed your outfit before you tried to heal yourself. We’re having a talk about priorities again, okay? Because you can’t say you have better survival skills than I do and then care more about your outfit than your health.” And then there is a little sniffle and Magnus realizes the little drops on his head aren’t rain slipping through, they’re tears.

Tears being shared out of worry, out of agony and out of love for him and Magnus marvels.

“I think it was an accident.” Magnus says slowly, trying to work out how to keep the man in his arms pliable until he figures out this mess — until he figures out how to keep him, where he’s from — because Magnus has never felt trust and adoration directed to him like he did when he was drinking pure energy from the nephilim holding him. “I don’t really remember what happened, darling.”

The pet name is a risk but Magnus doesn’t know his name and he wants a claim and from the way he’s held tighter and there is a little hitch of breathe, it’s not a misstep.

“You’ll need to portal us out of here.” He’s told and Magnus wants even more because he’d placed Charles Branwell under a geas that would never let the shadowhunter admit Magnus had worked with him. Then Magnus had admitted a shameful defeat and failure, sent Branwell off and completed the portal with the nephilim and the rest of the downworld none the wiser. Only Magnus’ closest companions, the Council of Elders and a few trusted warlocks were allowed to even know if it.

“I don’t have the energy.” Magnus admits and it’s a bitter admittance.

“I know, babe.” He’s soothed and a kiss is brushed against his forehead, “I’m just waiting to catch my breath. I know you hate doing it, but you’ll need to take more.”

Magnus is shocked and he can’t help saying “if I take anymore, you’ll faint.”

“I know.” He’s assured, like that helps make sense instead of making even less sense. “I know you hate making me that vulnerable but it’s fine. I know you’ll have me, kay? And you know I can’t get us both somewhere safe in this kind of weather. Especially when I don’t know where we are.”

“No, you’re right.” Magnus says because he is, but Magnus marvels at such a display of unhesitant faith and affection. “And I will, have you.”

He’s smiled out, Magnus can’t see it but he can feel it against his hair and then there is a soft content, sigh, “you always do.”

Magnus finds his nephilim leaving and then he’s being kissed again but this time it’s with passion, with the surrendering of a storm bowing to a crumbling mountain rather than tearing it apart. His — because how could Magnus give him up after tasting his love — nephilim gives himself to Magnus, the very soul of him offering itself up to be devoured.

Magnus takes more than he needs but his nephilim trusts him, his mouth getting softer as Magnus presses closer and then he’s slumping onto Magnus, unconscious and vulnerable and his.

Magnus opens a portal to the strongest and most protected of all his lairs, picking his nephilim up and marveling at how the wings have disappeared, as if to make it easier for him.

Magnus steps through and vows that he’ll find a way to keep this, to keep him.

#writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #lumine writes #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #shadowhunters au #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

70 notes · View notes