#murphy around children

[just-some-random-blogger]

Sweets & Sweeties

You opened a bakeshop called Sweets & Sweeties which was just beside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and one day you accidentally lock yourself outside.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, Murphy's law, fred lives stfu, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: i have this fic called tormented spirit and its fucked me up cos of how sad it is HAHAHAH i need a break and thats coming from someone who LOVES angst. ALSO i was never super into Harry Potter so idk lore™ but I've been watching the phelps twins and their baking show related content and i'm just so endeared by them AHHHHHHHHH. please leave comments/reblogs because this feels a bit mid cos i havent written fluff in 100 years T_T cross posted on ao3 | continuation fic

@pendragora if i have to suffer, you have to suffer

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was always busy. Everyday, there were children and children-at-heart going up and down the block, eager to buy themselves trinket or treat to promptly cause mischief.

Because of the shop's success, your own shop also benefitted from it. Sweets & Sweeties was your dream come true. As a child, you loved sweet treats, and you would grow to learn you loved making them just as much.

You hadn't expected to sell out as often as you did, and you knew it was all thanks to the fact the establishment next door brought as many customers as they did, who then became your customers.

You were extremely grateful, and tried time and time again to show it through a simple gesture of a gift. It was rather hard to find the time to do so however, as the neighbor establishment was constantly packed. The first time you saw the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had introduced himself as: "George Weasley," he says, dusting off his hands before reaching one out for you.

You merely stare at him, your smile flattening slightly, only to grow wider as you chuckle. Both of your hands held a tray of cake, and it was quite a weighty cake at that, "I-"

"Right," he brushes his hands on his trousers, "right. Sorry, let me help you with that."

He takes the cake from you and ushers you deeper into the store. You gasp when a small child runs across him, unfortunately bumping into his side. Thankfully, George manages to lift the cake, evading the collision. The girl who bumped into him looks up, eyes wide, hands clutched, looking rather guilty, "s-sorry, Mr. Weasley."

The tall man's brows furrow as he looks down. He whines, "s'not Mr. Weasley, it's George."

The girl stares at him for a moment.

"Say it with me: George."

She clutches her chest and mutters, "Georgie?"

George purses his lips together in a soft smile and nods, "Georgie it is then."

Your hand comes to your mouth as you chuckle and follow after the red haired man. He leads you into the back office and you gasp yet again, this time, because of the photograph on the wall. It was a family portrait of a myriad of other red heads breaking into a wide grin.

"There's two of you!" you point.

George sets the cake down on his desk and crosses his arms once he's besides you, "nah. There's only one person in the family as good looking as me," he turns to the photograph, "that's my twin brother, Fred."

"Oh," you turn to him, taken off guard by how close he was, "is..." you casually take a step back, "he around?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "probably showing the customers how to use the thingamabobs."

You chuckle and nod, "well," you motion vaguely, "I know you're very busy, so I won't take any more of your time."

The man tilts his head, lips curled into an soft grin as he shrugs, "you don't hear me complaining, love."

You aimlessly look off to steel away the giggle that threatened to leave your lips, "right," you clear your throat, "ehhh, do tell me if the cake is to you—"

Before you can even finish your thought, George is back at his desk. He swipes a dollop of frosting and tastes it.

"—r... liking."

He raises his brows as he nods, "it's to my liking."

The both of you just stand there for a moment, staring at each other. You're now rather painfully aware of your breathing.

You start when the office door bangs open and a near exact replica of George comes walking in, "you would not believe what just—"

George's eyes are on you as you turn to his twin. You raise your hand, "hi... I'm-" you point to nowhere, "-the baker next door."

He turns to George, then back to you, reaching out his left hand, "Fred Weasley."

You smile and shake his hand, speaking your name in return.

"Hey!" George walks over, reaching out a hand, "I didn't get a handshake!"

You turn to George and his outstretched left hand, about to shake it, but Fred does not release you, and only turns to his twin.

"Fred-"

"I'm not done."

George watches Fred shake your hand, "well that's more than enough."

"Not really," Fred shrugs.

You chuckle softly, making them turn to you. You then offer your other hand to George, crossing your arm over the other, "here."

George looks at it and takes it with his right one. The three of your shake each other's hands for a questionably long time.

When you're finally released, you hold back a laugh and rub your palms on the side of your hips, "right... it was a pleasure to meet you both."

They nod in sync, "the pleasure is ours."

You giggle and raise a hand in regard, "come by my shop sometimes."

They wave back at you as you head for the door.

"I'll make you both a cuppa."

They smile as you exit their office. Once you were gone, the brothers instantly turn to each other.

Fred says, "she's cute."

"Yeah, I saw her first," George counters.

"Pfft, so what?"

"So, everything."

Meeting them was so... notable, that you thought about it the entire day. You found yourself giggling about the handshake for the nth time as you closed up, and right after you heard the door click, you whip your head back in realization that you'd left your bag in the counter, along with your keys.

You shake the doorknob, trying to will the door open, though you knew it was pointless, "no, no, no, NO!"

You step back and stare at the windows of your shop. You ruffle your hair and huff as you debate how bad the idea of breaking the glass with the rock would be.

You stare that your sign that read Sweets & Sweeties, feeling taunted by it so suddenly, and then you remember you forgot another thing. The window on the rooftop was surely open from when you opened it to let out some steam. What's more, it looked like it was about to rain!

"Oh," you groan and wrap your arms around yourself, "thank goodness I left my brolly too."

You crouch in front of your unlit shop, feeling rather helpless.

You hear a bell ring and turn to the shop next door. Out comes George and Fred, much wiser than you, with their brollies and suitcases in hand. They call your name in unison and you sigh as you come to stand.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" one of them says.

You freeze at the pet name, and he seems to catch on. He points upward, "sweetie."

You turn to your sign and feel bashful. You awkwardly chuckle, "right, I-"

"You alright?" another asks.

You look between them, "yeah," and shake your head, "no, ehhh, sorry... I... which is," you point in confusion, "which?"

"George," the one to your right raises a hand.

"Fred," the one to your left raises a hand.

"Right," you lower your head as you shake it, "sorry, I don't-"

"You'll get used to it," they say in unison.

You huff as you look back at them, both of their lips are pursed, "right..." you turn to your shop and point, "I, eh... locked myself out."

They turn to where you did.

"And I left my bag..."

They turn back to you.

"And my keys."

They make a face.

"And my brolly," you turn to you feet for a moment, "and the window in my roof open."

"Oooh," they say at once. George bares his teeth, "bad luck."

"And," Fred adds, looking up, "it looks like it's about to rain."

"I know!" you gasp, placing your hands on both sides of your head.

For a moment, the three of you stand there, soaking in your misfortune. A moment later, George turns to his brother and says, "hang on."

Fred turns to him.

"Don't we have a window in the roof, Fred?"

Fred turns to you, "that we do, George."

George turns to you too, "how are you with heights?"

"Ehhh..." your lips part, "....fine?"

With that, the twins head to the entrance of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, beckoning you over. They reopen the lights, leave their things by the door, and lead you upstairs.

"Now," George (you think) says, "I'd like to think our roof's pretty sturdy, but," he pulls out wand from his coat jacket, "I can always do a good ol' Levioso if anything goes awry."

You are comforted by the thought and nod as you make your way up. When you get to the top, you see a singular tiny window by the side of the roof and you momentarily wonder if this was a good idea.

"D'ya know what," George (you think) says, turning to his brother, "you should go down and watch her as she crosses, so in case anything happens," he points, "you can make sure she doesn't fall."

Fred (you think) shakes his head, "why me?"

"Because it was my idea to cast Levioso, Fred," George (you were right) retorts.

"Then you go down!" Fred whines.

"I'm not going down," he crosses his arms, "I just got here."

"Yeah, so did I—"

"SCISSORS, PAPER, ROCK!"

You watch to the instant match the twins have, finding one rock and scissors at hand. George grins, raising his winning fist. Fred rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns to you before going down.

George smiles and motions with his head, "come on then, I'll help you up."

He drags a box towards the window and reaches a hand out to you. You take his hand and step up, then reach for the sides of the window, pulling yourself up to get on the roof. You are glad their window was right in front of yours and that it wasn't a far walk at all.

Fred, who just got outside, catches his breath before cupping the sides of his mouth, "careful!"

You turn to him from below and call back, "trying!"

George watches you closely as you cross to the other side. He probably shouldn't think the wobble of your limbs endearing, but he does. The moment reach your window, he claps, "aye!"

You are quick to jump down, grunting as you do so. You turn around and smile at George who was already smiling back at you. He raises his hands, "you did it, sweetie!"

"I did, wheezing wizard!"

"Well," he tilts his head, "it's Wizard Wheezes but..." he shrugs, "you can just call me Georgie."

You raise your brows.

"I- I mean George."

You chuckle and purse your lips as you shake your head, "too late, Georgie."

"Now, hold on-"

"See you downstairs, Georgie!" you give a toothy grin as you close your window. You bite your lip and giggle to yourself for a moment, "cutie."

Georgie clenches his jaw as he stares the window. He sighs and kicks the box away before closing it, "damn."

[shewrites444]

arranged [thomas shelby x reader smut]

[ i’ve never written about one of cillian murphy’s characters but oppenheimer has me feeling a bit inspired lately. i haven’t watched peaky blinders in ages, so apologizes if it’s not completely accurate to the storyline. ]

[update: arranged part 2 ]

word count - 2.1k

[ summary - the reader and tommy agree to an arranged marriage that suits both of their needs. despite their disliking of each other, the two seem quite fond of each other in the bedroom, especially on their wedding night. ]

[ warnings - enemies to lovers trope that includes unprotected sex, oral, roughness, etc ]

-

thomas shelby was the last man i ever imagined myself being wedded to, but when my father unexpectedly passed and i no longer had the protection of his people, i had to find another way to make sure i wouldn’t be a victim to any gangs of birmingham - including the peaky blinders.

of course, tommy would never have married me if there wasn’t something i could offer him in return - that happened to be a ton of inherited money from my father, and several breweries i now technically owned, and numerous meeting spots that only i knew about, that the coppers would never find him or his family at, during anytime of the day.

despite the convenience of our arrangement, there was nothing favorable for either of us past the business side of things. our families had been at each other’s throats for years and now that my father was gone, a lot of that tension was, but nevertheless, you can’t expect a peaky blinder to not hold a grudge, even on their wedding night.

“see, that wasn’t so bad.” i mutter to my newly wed husband, walking into the dimly lit bedroom as i took off my white heels, setting them aside the now shut door. i watch as tommy began to unbutton his white dress shirt, and i sigh to myself, but loud enough to quirk his brow.

i tuck my hair behind my ears, walking to the bed and pulling the sheets down to prepare for what would hopefully be a fairly long sleep, given that i’d prefer not think much about who i was now standing across from.

“you don’t have to stay in here tonight if you don’t want to or even at all, tommy. you already have children and i’m aware you don’t want more, and frankly, i don’t want any, so just lie and tell polly the marriage was consummated tomorrow morning. go on.” i gesture my hand up and towards the door, watching his blank expression as i spoke in a more demanding, harsh manner.

he walked towards the bed, untucking his side, his shirt now unbuttoned and his toned, pale body at my exposure, which only made my cheeks redden as the muscles flexed with his movements. i may have despised the man for his profession, but it’s not like he wasn’t physically attractive.

“i may not be so found of you, mrs. shelby, but i do keep my marriage duties, at least to sleep beside you.” he says plainly, sitting down on the white sheets before looking up to me with a teasing expression. it almost felt wrong to see him show any emotion besides, well, none. “now, do i have to make you turn around while i fuck you, or can you bare the sight of me while doing so?”

i roll my eyes with a smirk, laying down and hovering my face above his before biting my bottom lip, glancing at his own with a bit of temptation, but nothing i couldn’t ignore for the sake of my ego. “i’m shocked you even asked to touch me, mr. shelby. peaky blinders have always seemed so forward with what they want.”

he tilted his head, his well-groomed hair bouncing lightly at the movement, now reaching over to hold the back of my neck, running his fingertips through the ends of my hair. “would you prefer i not ask? you didn’t strike me as the type of woman who’d prefer to be fucked like an animal.”

“you didn’t strike me as the type of man to wait until we were wed to even discuss sex, so we’re both a bit surprised. have you been distracted with other women through our engagement, dear husband?”

he scoffed at my comment, sitting up and leaning himself down to peck at my neck lightly, his heated breath against my tingling skin, a pit forming in my stomach at the touch he never dared grant me until now.

“you never gave me any suggestion to fuck before tonight, [y/n]. i assumed you wouldn’t allow me to lay a finger on you. this all seemed like a business opportunity, a plan for protection and financies, nothing more.” he muttered through his kisses, trailing his lips down to my covered chest before looking up to me again. “so, how about i ask you like a gentlemen, mrs. shelby. is this for business, or not?”

i shrug softly, glancing down to meet his seductive, icy blue eyes. “i think i’ll be able to tell if it is or not when you fuck me, mr. shelby."

he reached over to pull me on top of him, grabbing the white gown that dressed me and helping me to slip it off my core and past my arms, tossing it to the floor, which exposed me in nothing but my underwear, my breasts falling out of the fabric and resting before him. he took one hand to hold my back, the other cupping one breast and his thumb flicking at the hardening nipple. i feel him push me down, his lips attaching to the bud as i let out a soft moan, shocked by how sensual thomas shelby could be if directed to do so.

i could feel the bulge in his pants growing, beginning to grind myself against the black pants while he fondled my breasts with his mouth and free hand, the other that was once on my back now guiding itself down to my ass. he pulled himself away from my breast, panting softly to himself as the tension began to increase between our moving bodies.

“take off your panties and lay down on your back, won't you.” he said to me in a more demanding tone. i stood up and did so, spreading my legs before him as he undressed himself at the side of the bed, soon leaning down in front of me.

i chew my bottom lip at the sight of the man before me, but gasp as his tongue links to my clit, swirling and flicking around the sensitive bud of skin, while i only grow wetter through his touch and the saliva that collected against my entrance. i reach down to hold his head of black hair, my other hand resting against my chest while he continued to give me nothing but pleasure.

“this… this doesn’t seem… like b-business to me…” i stutter my words, my back arching at every sensitive touch he brought to my body. my words made him pull away, a smirk on his wet lips as he stuck one finger inside of me, pumping and curling it slowly enough to draw a loud moan from my lips before pulling it out right after.

he leaned down and gestured for me to open my mouth, sticking his finger inside for me to taste my own juices before pulling it out and licking it himself.

“neither does this, how wet you are for me. are you sure you want to take back the consummation of our arrangement, hm? it seems you like my tongue, mrs. shelby. do you think i’ll like yours?” he grinned, standing up and pointing his full erection towards me, holding it in one hand as i sat up on the bed.

i blush, getting off of the bed and onto my knees before him. i take his length into one hand, pumping it slowly as i look up to him, our eyes locked when i lean forward and take his tip into mouth, a heavy sigh coming from his lips as i begin to suck him off. he was thick and much longer than any man i’d ever been with, and frankly, if we were to sleep together tonight, i was a bit nervous of how my body would take him and the aftermath of it all tomorrow morning.

“fuck, fill your throat with me, [y/n]..” he moaned, both hands holding the back of my head as he thrusted himself towards my face. i took his cock down my throat, my eyes closing almost immediately as a tear runs down my cheek from the unexpected penetration, moving my head back and forth as his balls slap against my wet chin.

he tilted his head, mouth hung open as he watched me take him down my throat. i could hear his breath cutting short each time he thrusted, his cock twitching inside my mouth as he edged himself through each stroke. when he could tell through my reddening expression and glossy eyes that i was a bit overstimulated, he slowly pulled himself out of my mouth, leaning down to help me back on my feet and onto the bed.

he kneeled down before me, grabbing my face with both hands and pressing a passionate kiss against my lips, his tongue pushing itself into my mouth, which distracted me from the way he was moving my body off the bed again. he wraps his arms around me and guides me across the room and to the dresser, where he then breaks the kiss and turns me around, bending my body against the wood to where i made eye contact with the mirror that connected the furniture.

"i think this is worth the watch, don't you?" he teases, a devilish smirk across his face as he takes my neck in one hand, the other trailing before my pussy, his index and middle fingers attaching to my clit as he pushes himself inside of me without warning.

i gasp, watching my mouth open as he begins to fuck me, hard, against the dresser. the stimulation above my insides didn't make this any easier to take, given the fact i could already feeling my climax building in a matter of seconds.

i rest both palms against the wood, watching tommy's lips trail to my shoulder as he kissed against my sweating skin, leaving fresh hickeys from time to time, marking me like i was more than just an arrangement to him. if anything, this showed me that thomas shelby may not favor me, but he sure wanted the world to know i was his wife, and no one else's.

"i could fuck you all day, [y/n]. nothing fucking... compares to... how good you feel, fuck.." he muttered between kisses, looking up to meet my eyes in the mirror, his hand moving from my neck to hold my left breast tightly, halting it from bouncing throughout his thrusts. "do you feel me as much as i feel you?"

i nod, mouth still hung open, unable to even speak a word as tommy pulled my body closer, his fingers digging into my clit and forcing me to arch my back down, my ass pressing against him and causing even harsher friction between our bodies while he quickened his pace at the touch, the sound of our skin slapping together overpowering the bedroom.

i suddenly feel his arm wrap around my waist, and then the other, holding me so close and his body leaned so far down my back was touching his core. he thrusted deeper, further than what i even thought was possible for him to go, and so much so to the point i was in immense pain, but god, it felt so fucking good. his cock overpowered my entire body, and i felt my orgasm rushing to the surface, fluids leaking out from inside of me past himself and dripping between my legs, his own orgasm filling my insides within a matter of seconds after.

i feel him slide out of me, catching his own breath and helping turn me around to face him. he takes my hand and places the other on my back, guiding me to the bed once more and laying me down, pulling the sheet on top of me to cover my stomach down, my breasts exposed to the cold air. i feel his lips against my chest, lightly kissing from my nipples, to my shoulders, to my neck, and to my lips, once more. he smiles softly, and genuinely, to me, before snapping out of his sappy mood to grab a cigarette from the nightstand, lighting it.

"do you think we'll be doing this again?" he asks quietly, handing me the cigarette. "doesn't seem like it would be a negative thing to add to our arrangement, eh?"

i smirk, blowing the smoke out from my lips and towards the ceiling. "i wouldn't be opposed, but if you fuck me that hard every time, i'm not sure i would be able to get out of bed the next morning."

he chuckled to himself, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed, sliding himself into the sheets and putting out the cigar. he took me into his arms, lighting running his hand across my hair. "we can see about that. goodnight, mrs. shelby."

i rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and smiling to myself, partially hoping tommy wouldn't see my vunerability.

"goodnight, mr. shelby."

[queenshelby]

Babysitter

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin Reader

Summary: You are the babysitter. You get a call but no one other but Cillian is home. He makes you an offer you cannot refuse.

Note: This was a request.

"Where is everyone?" you asked, seeing that only Cillian was there when you arrived at the house after school.

The air felt different, heavy and charged, now that it was just you and Cillian in the Murphys' residence. He invited you to have a seat at the kitchen island before offering you a glass of water.

Cillian seemed nervous, fiddling with his glass, ice cubes clinking with every shift. He studied you, eyes trailing the curve of your cheek, tracing your jaw, and lingering over your lips.

The intensity of his gaze was felt like a physical touch, making you swallow hard as your cheeks warmed beneath his attention. Gathering his thoughts, he leaned in towards you, speaking in a deliberate tone.

"I am sorry for inviting you here on false pretenses, but I do have a proposal for you," he said while hesitatingly pulling out an envelope, containing five 100-dollar bills.

"What kind of proposal?" you asked hesitantly, eyeing the envelope in his hands. This was a lot of money and you were unsure what he was after other than babysitting his children. 

The curious look on your face spurred Cillian to continue, albeit with a hint of awkwardness punctuating his words.

"Well,  I'd like to pay you $500 to, umm, help me out with something," Cillian replied, softly sliding the envelope across the table towards your direction.

"What do you mean? Help you out with what?" you inquired, now thoroughly puzzled and increasingly uneasy.

Cillian took another deep breath before laying his proposition out on the table.

"I want to have sex with you, Y/N," he uttered almost inaudibly.

Shock and disbelief washed over you as your gaze flicked from the envelope to Cillian, paralyzing you for a moment.

"That's preposterous!" you stammered, clutching at your glass, the cool liquid inside sloshing about in disarray. He was so much older than you and he was a married man. You were taken aback by his forwardness, but in the quietness of that opulent kitchen, you couldn't hide your confusion.

Understanding your discomfort, Cillian chose his words carefully,

"I know you have a boyfriend and all, but I also know that you need the money for your college funds, and I can help you with that," he said, trying to appeal to your reason and financial needs.

"By having sex with me? You want to buy me?" you exclaimed, the words tasting bitter and harsh leaving your lips.

"I know it's not the most common request, and I understand how shocking it may sound to you, but yes, I want to pay you for letting me have sex with you. $500 for the first time and $100 for every other time thereafter. I promise you that this will be just between us, and no one will ever know about this arrangement."

He articulated the words with a calculated ease, his eyes unblinking. 

Now, time morphed, seconds stretched into minutes, as you both locked stares, occupied in your own thoughts, the tension between you palpable.

Finally, your lips parted, your voice tremorous as you relinquished your words to the air.

"Will you be gentle and wear a condom?" you asked, struggling with a trembling voice.

This question lingered between you, a necessary request during a moment that wavered between madness and desire.

"I will be gentle but I would prefer to do it bare," he replied, his voice deep and almost soothing.

"Bare?" you echoed, debating Cillian's words for a moment.

"Yes," he murmured, leaning towards you. "I want to cum inside you and feel you wrapped around me, skin-to-skin," he insisted, articulating every word with an unsettling clarity.

You nodded nervously, consenting to this unspeakable pact, even though the implications gnawed at your conscience.

"Okay. I mean, I am on the pill, so I suppose that will be fine," you whispered, averting your gaze.

The envelope beckoned you, almost as if enticing its contents into your possession. You extracted the crisp bills from within, sliding them into the side pocket of your backpack.

Cillian sensed your anxiety and unease, which he met with a gentle grip of your hand.

"Everything will be just fine, Y/N," he assured you with an attempt to allay your fears. "Now should we go upstairs?" Cillian asked, breaking the silence that hung in the air.

It was as if a switch had been flipped - the room suddenly felt too small, as if the walls were closing in around you.

You nodded, your decision now made, the remaining apprehension dissipated into thin air.

"Okay," you repeated softly, before standing up, unsteady on your feet, and following Cillian upstairs towards the master bedroom.

"Just please, never tell my boyfriend about this," you requested, a sense of shame and embarrassment gnawing at the edges of your voice.

Cillian glanced back at you, his face betraying a glimmer of understanding,

"Of course not," Cillian said before pushing the master bedroom door open. "Now, why don't you undress and lie down for me," Cillian requested, his tone deliberate.

Tentatively, you began to undress, ridding yourself of the layers of fabric that suddenly felt like a barrier between your past and unfortunate future. The eyes of a taken woman were staring back at you from the dresser mirror, and with every piece of fabric shed, you receded further - sliding deeper into the shadows of the room.

The breeze sighed its way through the half-opened window, gently grazing your bare skin, a whisper of cold against the fiery sensation that filled the room.

"So beautiful," Cillian murmured, his gaze caressing your figure as you finally, timidly, lay back on the lavish king-size bed.

There was a warped sense of liberation knowing that today marked the end of your inexperience, a welcoming into the territory of adulthood and womanhood.

Cillian then too undressed, removing his t-shirt and jeans, forming a trail of clothing between you both as he approached the bed.

Discomfort and curiosity mingled together, battling for dominance in your mind as Cillian lay down beside you, cupping your cheek with the same gentleness of a lover.

He moved in to kiss you tentatively, parted lips seeking connection.

The sensation was novel, yet laced with a trace of guilt as your lips met in a timid exchange. His breath was warm and familiar, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was the taste of morality slipping away between your intertwined bodies.

"Look how hard you make me," he murmured in approval, gently guiding your hand to feel his growing arousal, his erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.

Anxiously, you gasped as he guided your hand under the waistband, your palm meeting the length of his shaft. The head of his cock was already slick with pre-cum, leaving a telltale mark on your skin.

"Take it in your hand and stroke me," Cillian commanded, his voice rendered a deep tone by the growing desire as, finally, he slid down his briefs and let your hand start wandering freely at the touch of his steely desire.

Slowly, you began exploring his cock in its entirety, uncertain but curious about the feeling of his shaft in your hand, its firmness, strength. Your fingers played with its full length, gently, not knowing how much pressure was enough or too much. It was so diverse from the fair amount of information you had gathered so far in your young life on the subject of a man's most intimate member.

"Good girl," Cillian murmured, stifling a soft groan as your innocent fumbling spurred sensations that ran down the length of his erection.

The flesh pulsed within your hands - alive, heat emanating from the veins tracing their way along the rigid, lustful organ. With every gentle stroke, you felt the delicate balance of power shifting, the weight shifting in favor of strength and surrender.

A sudden churning filled your stomach, an odd sense of revelation that stoked heat in your dampening loins locked within the paradox of curiosity and guilt.

With a shudder, you released your death-grip on the still-erect cock and allowed the slick, wet residue to smear between your palm and his shaft.

Cillian swallowed hard. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" he asked, gazing into your eyes, searching for any indication of uncertainty.

You candidly shook my head. "No, I don't," you admitted and, much to your surprise, this seemed to be an even bigger turn on for him.

"That's good," Cillian murmured, his thumb grazing your cheek. "That's very good."

He kissed you again, more deeply this time, his tongue seeking entrance and demanding your response.

The kiss tasted of a mixture of power and desire, but there was also an undercurrent of fear that accompanied it, fear of what you would become, offering yourself to a man for money. 

As his hand disappeared under the blanket, you could feel yourself tensing up, anticipating his actions.

He gently nudged your legs apart and began to trace his fingers along the thin cloth of your underwear. Every part of you wanted to resist his lecherous gestures, but there was this weird hunger of novelty creeping inside your core, provoking indescensible sensations coursing through your innocent veins.

Cillian then kicked the blanket aside. "I want to see you, Y/N."

His hands expertly slid your underwear down your hips, and there's a detachment you felt in this act, a shedding of layers that felt oddly freeing and frightening.

The brush of his fingers on your bare skin was foreign and bizarre and what he wanted to do next suprised you.

"Beautiful," he said, tracing the length of your slit to feel the wetness clinging to your pussy.

"Do you mind if I taste you?" Cillian asked, a hint of desire daring to taint his tone.

It took you a fleet moment to truly understand his proposition, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for dispute. The reality of his imminent act set in, making you tremble beneath his touch.

"I-if that's what you want," you barely managed to murmur, your breath hitching as he spread your wetness with his fingers.

"I do," Cillian replied hungrily, carefully lowering his head between your legs.

He teased your lips apart with his fingers before his warm, wet tongue gently traced the outline of your core. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming, making you sigh and close your eyes.

"God, you taste good," he groaned as he was savoring your taste, sending shivers coursing up your spine. His movements were calculated, his familiarity with this act unquestionably clear as you surrendered yourself to him.

Your breath began to come in ragged pants, each deliberate flick of his tongue making you whimper involuntarily. The sensations seemed so wrong, so illicit, yet the pleasure outweighed the sting of shame.

Cillian's fingers slipped inside you then. It barely fit; the feeling was so tight and foreign that you couldn't help but gasp at the unexpected intrusion. You could feel your body desperately trying to adjust to the new presence, but it was a struggle you'd never before experienced.

"You're so tight," he whispered soothingly, his voice full of hungry desire as his tongue darted into your opening. It was frustrating to realize that he was enjoying this while your mind was fighting a relentless battle against betrayal and shame.

A single tear ran down your check. His tongue curled inside the folds of your womanhood, lapping at your lust unabashedly, evoking gasps and whimpers from your trembling lips.

"It feels weird," you said in a tearful whisper.

You were utterly unprepared for his ministrations, the invasive way your senses were awakened from deep slumber. You could hardly fathom how the forbidden pleasure could be so exhilarating.

"I know it's new, but just relax and let it happen," Cillian coaxed, his hot breath tickling the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

In an effort to comply, you took deep, steadying breaths, attempting to smooth the rigid line of your brow.

You cast your gaze over Cillian's sumptuous bedroom, trying to distract yourself from the growing sensation of embarrassment as he continued to lick you, but the distractions barely helped.

The strange feeling intensified when his thumb began to gently circle your clitoris while he continued to probe your tight opening.

It was too much, all too overwhelming.

"Oh my god, I can't do this," you cried out, feeling the shame rise within you.

The manipulations he was doing down there, owning and enjoying your body without the slightest hint of guilt on his part, felt like a bitter pill to swallow.

"Ssh, just let go for me," he pleaded, somehow knowing how close you were to spilling over.

"Ah, fuck," the words slipped out before you knew what was happening.

It sounded like a pained cry as Cillian continued to lazily flick at the extra-sensitive nub buried within soft, pink flesh and you thought that you might wet yourself by this point. 

"Oh god, please stop!" you begged, not knowing how to articulate the sensations rioting in your loins.

Despite your desperate pleas, Cillian continued his self-assigned, perfunctory torture with fervor, his tongue now demanding your surrender to this uncharted landscape.

"Fuck," you cried out, your inner thighs slick with perspiration, the back of your head soaked with a mixture of pleasure and angst as you grappled with this twisted game of forbidden desire.

"Oh my fucking god! Oh god!" escaped from you in a ragged gasp as the first wave of release tore through your body, your world exploding into a brilliant display of colors. It was an earth-shattering, mind-altering experience with a man who, by age alone, could be your father.

And yet, as the stars started to fade and you came back to reality, Cillian was still there, tasting you, his tongue brushing against your trembling thighs.

"Oh, you tasted so good," Cillian repeated, a satisfied expression on his face.

He rose, wiping his mouth, and placed a single, tender kiss on your trembling lips.

"But now, I want it all," he said, and the look in his eyes told you that nothing loudly whispered into your ear could change the finality in his voice. 

"Is it going to hurt?" you asked, your body growing rigid as you contemplated what was to come. How could such a moment play out when you were so inexperienced, when everything about this situation was a deviation from the norm?

Yet, doubts continued to assault you like waves on a stormy coast, threatening to break your resolve.

"It will hurt a little, but I promise to be gentle," Cillian reassured you, sensing the apprehension spiraling through your body. He traced the curve of your cheek with the back of his fingers, a futile attempt to soothe your worries.

A million thoughts raced through your mind like a tempest in your consciousness. Cillian, a married man in his forties who paid you for this. 

"Now lie back for me and spread your legs," he instructed you gently.

You hesitated, but your overwhelming need to secure the payment for your college funds left you no choice but to abandon every ounce of dignity you had left.

Slowly, you shifted positions, pulling your knees back towards your chest. Cillian knelt between your open legs, guiding his rigid penis toward your slick entrance.

The tip of his cock dented your soft outer lips as your heartbeat rang through your eardrums, its frantic rhythm leaving you momentarily breathless.

Pre-cum mixed with your wetness, creating a warm film over your entrance, allowing Cillian to smoothly press forward.

Trepidation built within you like a crescendo, even as your body welcomed his gentle probing.

A faint sheen of fearful sweat formed between your breasts, and your fingernails clawed into the plush bedspread beneath you.

"It's going to be alright, Y/N," Cillian whispered into your ear, his voice coated with affection. His reassurance was soothing yet entirely inappropriate considering the circumstances. "It's just going to be a little sting now," Cillian muttered, and gently applied pressure, allowing the head of his arousal to breach your untouched barrier.

Searing pain spread through your lower body, and the knives stabbing at your innocence stole your breath away. A ragged yelp escaped your lips as your nails gouged deeper into the bedspread, desperately seeking something to anchor your grip around reality.

"There you go," Cillian groaned in a low voice, his brow damp with sweat, as the first tears welled up in the corners of your eyes and began to trickle down the sides of your face.

"You feel so fucking good, Y/N," he murmured, his hands stroking your thighs with a tenderness that couldn't have seemed more out of place in that moment of searing pain.

Your hands reached out for him, grasping feeble handfuls of the bedspread in an instinctive attempt to regain control of your whirling thoughts.

Cillian paused, allowing you time to adjust to his presence.

You felt the unexpected fullness that remained when the pain ebbed, leaving only the spreading discomfort.

"You are incredibly tight," Cillian uttered while subtly shifting his hips forward, guided by a hunger desperate to obtain more.

As he cautiously filled you, you struggled to comprehend the surreal scene playing out before you.

"Raise your knees up towards your chest," Cillian instructed softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Initially, you hesitated, unsure of your next move. It felt like an eternity of eternities before you mustered the courage to reveal your vulnerability, following his directions as he eased in deeper, inch by inch.

"You are taking my cock so well, Y/N," Cillian whispered, admiration evident in his voice as, finally, he began moving back and forth at an unhurried pace.

A prickling sensation started to emit from where you were connected, slowly morphing itself into an unexplainable discomfort.

The initial intensity of the pain diluted as he continued to soothe you - both physically and verbally - which somehow felt paradoxically disconcerting.

"That's it, darling everyone finds it daunting at first," he comforted you as a fleeting moment of shame overwhelmed the initial shock. "But you have been such a good girl, letting me do this to you."

Cillian's tone transformed into a gratified whisper to his 18-year-old accomplice.

With time, your body slowly started to comply unwillingly, the tightness loosening to allow his slow rhythm to continue. 

"You are so much tighter than my wife," Cillian groaned, as his head lolled back.

His words stung, but the sweat dripping from his brow and the pleasure that silently escaped him were irrefutable.

"I want you to hold yourself open for me. Let yourself feel as much of me as possible." His voice was almost a whisper, betraying both his indulgence and the increasing hunger that he could no longer contain.

Your body responded involuntarily, shame flooding your veins as you dared to adjust your position to match his request. Your fingers brushed against the spot where his manhood dominated your innocence, causing a shuddering wave of pleasure-pain to ripple through your young frame.

"God that looks good," Cillian grunted, his gaze locked onto the place where he entered you, streaks of blood coating his manhood. 

It felt unreal, convoluted, as a surge of indescribable sensations coursed through your slender form.

The burning, stinging sensations eased, giving way to a rather odd feeling of fullness and a strange pleasure that seemed nearly blasphemous to embrace.

You moaned involuntarily - a helpless, almost guttural sound - as Cillian thrust deeper and deeper, your body becoming more accustomed to his presence as each expert stroke filled you whole.

"Ohhhh, god!" you cried out helplessly.

The pain was still there, but now muted, surrendering to this strange satisfaction that was slowly tightening its grip around your thoughts, and quietly luring you into the storm of forbidden ecstasy.

"Good girl. I want you to cum all over my cock, can you do that for me?" Cillian demanded, his voice low and rough, a clear streak of perspiration glistening across his brow as he plunged himself deeper within the tight sheath of your virginal core.

"Yes, I think so," you hesitated, your breath catching as a thousand fragments of pleasure and pain clashed within the confines of your budding climax.

"Good girl, I will go harder now," Cillian warned, withdrawing himself from the depths of your grasp, only to sink back inside with a force that stole your breath once more.

Ecstasy ignited in the pit of your stomach, spreading like liquid fire fueling your surrender. The room seemed to sway around you, a dizzying pleasure that threatened to pull you under, but you fought for control. Each thrust sent sparks of jolting pleasure cascading through your veins, like the harsh meeting of opposing forces converging in an intoxicating dance for dominance.

"I want you to focus on that tight little pussy of yours," Cillian demanded, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "Keep clenching it around my cock," he demanded and the sound of Cillian's urgent moans mingled with the wet friction of your bodies, a sinful symphony of indulgence and a haunting reminder of the boundaries you crossed today.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting each of his powerful thrusts, as the exquisite pleasure amplified and your impending climax wavered tantalizingly at the edge of your perception - ajar but agonizingly out of reach.

Cillian leaned down, placing greedy kisses along your neck with each feverish plunge deep within. He bit and nipped at the sensitive flesh, a myriad of light pain-pleasure sensations that coaxed and excited you further.

Your hands reached up, tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as the energy built in electric sparks in the pit of your stomach.

"Fuck I am feeling so funny again," you cried, your body a quivering, whimpering mess under the mercy of this intellectual, ruggedly handsome man who had paid to relieve his frustrations with your innocent, young body.

Again, it felt like you were wetting yourself but this time you knew why. It was all so dirty, so wrong, yet the thought made something dark within you blossom, sparking your unwilling curiosity towards this new, twisted sensation.

A twisted smile pulled at the corner of Cillian's lips. He was so lost in the pleasure that he had taken, reveling in the strangeness of a situation where the girl beneath him was conquered with a newfound desire to please him.

He grabbed your hips, slamming them against his body with every few powerful thrusts.

"I am going to fill that young pussy of yours with my seed now," He growled with sheer dominance in his tone, his eyes as dark as an abyss - crazed with lust and an intoxicating hunger.

"Fuck Y/N, you are going to make my cum so hard," Cillian said as a shudder raced down his spine, his body tightening as he prepared to release the pent-up desire that had been plaguing him for weeks now.

His grip grew tighter on your hips, as though he would physically command your compliance. He drew his body back, until just the head of his cock was lodged inside you. Then, with a growl, he rammed back into your tight, aching depths.

You screamed in shock as he filled you so suddenly, until you felt him butt up against your cervix.

He roared loudly as he erupted inside you, the heat of his release spurring a strange sense of fullness that pervaded your very being.

You felt shame as his hot seed poured into you seeing that you had succumbed to a married man's desires, but there was also a peculiar euphoria that mingled with the sting of the loss of your innocence.

Beneath Cillian's weight, your body trembled as your heartbeat echoed in your eardrums, a maelstrom of emotions coursing through you.

"Thank you, Y/N," Cillian said, breathing deeply as he carefully slipped out of you, leaving behind a sticky residue. Your virginity was officially a thing of the past - sold for an ungodly sum of $500 and an uncertain fate. You knew that you would do this again, and not just because you needed the money, but also because the freedom of being wanted, the release of pent-up desire you never knew you had, the transformation into someone you did not recognize was far too exhilarating to ignore.

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

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

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[cillians-sweetheart]

https://www.tumblr.com/cillians-sweetheart/772157725448847360/whos-got-fic-ideas-i-got-writers

Maybe Cills with a younger reader (25-35 ish?) and they actually decided not to have more children but she gets accidentally pregnant? But of angst but ends with fluff? Sorry very basic 😭

Not basic! Love it!! 😋 And I hope you love it too!

A Miracle Arrival - Cillian Murphy

Cillian Murphy(36) x Wife!Reader(25)

Plot: After a date night, Y/N and Cillian put the kids to bed and have some well needed alone time that ends in an unexpected surprise.

Content: kissing, slight sexual content, speak of menstruation, marriage, kids, pregnancy, emotional melt down (f), fluff

During our four years of marriage, people would expect that after a few months, our desires towards each other would just disappear and we wouldn't crave to touch each other day to day. But that wasn’t the case. In a marriage between two heavily passionate lovers meant that our love from our wedding day to today, never changed. Not even fading in the slightest.

Already at age 25, I’ve had 2 beautiful children. The perfect duo of an older daughter (Georgia), and younger son (Christian), ages three and one. Our daughter, now being able to speak full sentences, has begun to develop Cillians accent. But it wasn't surprising as she always took after him, and loved him more than me. And my son is the opposite, a mini me with his looks and attitude.

We decided after having Christian that we were done for children. Having two toddlers was difficult but also I couldn't picture myself going through labour ever again. Two was enough.

On a Friday evening, Cillians mother came by the house to watch the children for a few hours and put them to bed while he and I went out. We learned that monthly dates help keep the spark in our relationship. It wasn’t that we didn’t feel anything towards each other anymore, we just feared that someday that spark would be gone.

“So… I was thinking that after dinner, we would send mom home and just lay low in the bedroom for the night. Yeah?” Cillian offered, holding his glass of wine in his hand. .

“Yes,” I answered, reading through the menu. “I don’t really have the energy for anything fancy. Laying in bed sounds perfect.”

And that’s what we did. At first.

When we got home his mother sat in the living room reading a book, but left shortly after as we were now home. The house was silent and the kids were asleep. We didn’t waste a single moment to finally be lazy after both of our long days.

We changed into comfortable clothes, and cuddled closely beneath the warm duvet. The tv played a show we hadn’t paid attention to and the tension between us grew hotter with each passing moment. And once our single kiss became sloppy and never-ending, the tv came off. As with our clothes.

It all happened so quickly. In just seconds he was above me kissing roughly at my neck, and my legs tightly wrapped around his hips. We didn’t think about anything in the moment, nothing but wanting more from each other's bodies. The pleasure filling both of us made it almost impossible to stay quiet. I had to bite back moans, hiding in his muscular shoulder.

After the hour which felt of 20 minutes, we both fell weak side by side. I didn’t think of anything but just being ready to go to sleep in the arms of the man I loved.

A month went by and life carried on -as usual- I was ‘delightfully’ greeted by an absence of my period. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I’m a week overdue. My heart sank at the possible reason why I was like this. Why I was late, nauseated, and really hungry.

While Cillian was off at work I stopped by the drug store and to the aisle I really didn’t want to be in. With rows and rows of pregnancy tests. I looked over my shoulders and quickly scanned over the several options of tests. I picked the cheapest one to not cause suspicion on Cillian and I’s shared credit card. If it had to come to it, I’d say I bought the kids some candy.

I waited anxiously for the remainder of the day. I was terrified to take that test, but also itching to get an answer. If I were pregnant, I’d need to plan what was going to happen, and if I wasn’t I could’ve been rattled for nothing. So I took the test.

I hid myself in Cillian and I’s bathroom while he made supper for the kids. The test shook from my shaky hands as my eyes squeezed shut waiting for it to be done. And after two minutes, I flipped the little plastic stick towards me. two bright red lines.

My mind went blank. I was in shock, and felt nothing. Until a minute after the fear kicked in and I cried and puked the way I did when pregnant with Christian. All those memories of my fat, stretched skin, and agonzing contractions, came back to me like a bullet to the skull. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t afford another child, nor could my body. How would I ever tell Cillian…

It wasn’t until 5 minutes later I was able to clear my tears. Quickly, I coated my face in concealer to hide the redness to not cause worry to Cillian or our children. I put on an awkward grin and entered the kitchen to where Cillian had been spoon feeding our youngest, and Georgia putting her food everywheres it wasn't supposed to.

“Hey,” He turned his head towards me, standing straight from kneeling on the floor. “You alright?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“Yeah I just needed to use the bathroom.” I walked past him with a napkin and wiped our daughter's messy face.

Cillian didn’t take any suspicion, and continued to feed Christian and clean the kitchen. He was always so good with them. Like he could hundreds and do perfectly fine. But there was no way I was having a third child. Because it was me that would actually birth them, not him.

After supper with the kids tucked into bed, Cillian and I sat closely on the couch in the living room watching the Tv. My legs laid over his lap and my head rested against his shoulder. His gentle hand lightly stroked my thigh. I began to remember all those feelings from earlier. The fear, the angst, the pain. Tightness grew in my chest and my face turned cold. I was frozen in my spot. Tears welding in my eyes.

My breath being held and my slight shaking caught Cillian’s attention from the Tv. Taking the remote in his hand, he turned the Tv off and turned his face down to mine.”Y/N? Baby.” He took my cheek in his hand and turned me to look at him. “What’s going on?” His voice held concern but tenderness. His thumb lightly rubbing my cheek.

“I um…” I froze up, looking down with a single tear falling from my right eye. I debated in my head with other answers besides the truth to tell him. I dreaded telling him such a thing.

“What love?” His face leaned down closer to mine with sympathy in his eyes.

“I- I’m pregnant.” My eyes fell down to my lap with shame. It became silent for a moment. An unbreakable tension grew heavy between us.

“Are you- Really?” I nodded with another tear rolling down my cheek. “Oh sweetheart.” Cillian pulled me into his chest, holding me while I broke down into the same emotional state I was when pregnant with Georgia and Christian.

Cillian lightly rubbed my belly while his other hand stroked my back.

“I don't know what to do.” I sniffled and choked on my tears. “I can’t do this… I’m already a crap mom, I- I can't have another one!” I said with irritation mostly towards myself.

“No you’re not love.” Cillian cooed, kissing the top of my head.

“But,” I mumbled. “You do so much for them… while I hide in the bathroom.”

He took my face in my hands looking seriously into my eyes. “A real mother is one who is not afraid to have her own space.”

I looked back at Cillian with adoration and nodded at his words. “I just… my body can’t go through this again.”

“Is it your body, or your mind?”

“I don’t even know anymore…”

“Well, I want you to do whatever it is that feels right. Okay?”

“Mhm,” I nodded. “But if I did somehow want to have another… would you mind?” My watery eyes glared up to his.

“Not at all love, I love our children and would love just as many more.” He grinned the same grin that made me fall in love with him for the first time. I felt the warmth and tenderness in his voice. “Do you want another?”

“Well I don’t want to get rid of this one…” I lightly rubbed my lower belly. Cillian’s hand held over top of mine.

“We don’t have to then. I’d be more than happy for another baby.” He kissed my forehead. “If there was anyway they’d turn out like our already beautiful children, then how could I say no.”

I looked up with a warm smile at him. “Oh I love you…” I said lovingly touching his cheek with my hand.

“I love you too my love.”

And nine months later with Cillian at my side, I was handed the most precious baby girl who held my every feature. My twin. She cooed lightly and her eyes twinkled open for the first time in the light. And when those little eyes fully opened, they melted with love seeing my face.

She was so perfect, an angel little girl. And everyday since the day she was born, I thanked Cillian for being the loving husband he is and teaching me to listen to my heart. Because if I hadn’t that day I wouldn’t have had this sweet girl who I later named Mila. My miracle sent from heaven.

[little-diable]

DIABLE. I feel your lack of inspiration deep within my soul as I, too, have been struggling.

That being said, I'm back on my Cillian Murphy bullshit and would love to see some domestic Tommy, maybe after a really long day of blood and gore he comes home to a plush world of softness and love and consideration and he can turn it all off.

My darling, thank you for sending this in, it definitely inspired me! I hope you enjoy this little drabble. <3

Summary: Tommy will always do what his wife asks of him, especially when he needs a few calm moments himself.

Warnings: nothing, just nudity, full on fluff and fun

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (about 800 words)

Somewhat of a follow up Drabble

It was a mild August evening, a day that had been too hot for (y/n)’s liking which had passed all too slowly. Perhaps it had been the fault of all the running around she had done – whatever it was, the second the kids had been put to sleep, she had told their staff to leave for the night, desperate for a few hours of silence.

The second she had been left alone, (y/n) had hurried outside, shoes long forgotten as she dragged the old, ceramic tub through the garden. Sweat had pooled on her forehead, forming pearly drops that dripped down to the ground, but she had been determined, set on cooling off while watching the sunset.

She had run back and forth to fill the tub, arms and legs begging her to slow down and rest for a minute or two. But (y/n) hadn’t stopped moving until the tub had been filled to her liking. And with a satisfied grin glued to her lips, she had shuffled out of her dress, underwear following moments later.

Her squeals had echoed through the evening as she had sunken into the cold water, unable to stop her laughter from clawing through her. She had been grateful that nobody else was around, they surely would have called her a hysteric madwoman, calling the doctors on her for the childish glee the cold water had shot through her veins.

(Y/n) was too focused on the sunset to hear the call of her name, she was also too distracted to pick up on the confused expression tugging on Tommy’s features as he spotted her through the windows. With a cigarette between his lips, he slowly stepped outside, undoing the buttons of his jacket as he moved closer.

“What a nice view to come home to, eh?” She jerked in surprise as Tommy spoke up, forcing her wide eyes towards her grinning husband. Tommy’s gaze wandered down her throat, watching the water drops stick to her soft skin. The water was clear enough to expose every inch of her body, leaving Tommy groaning as he dipped his head down to kiss her. “Tell me, how did that tub end up right here?”

“Well, what do you think? I doubt the faeries miraculously carried it over here.” A deep rumble of laughter vibrated through Tommy, momentarily reminded of the stories he had read to their children the night prior, feeding their obsession with faeries and mystical creatures. “Will you just stand there or join me like a good husband would?”

Tommy watched her for another moment before he threw his cigarette to the ground and began to shrug out of his clothes, exposing his body inch by inch. (Y/n) pulled her knees to her chest to make room behind herself, grinning in excitement as he began to step into the tub.

“Fucking hell, do you want me to freeze my cock off?” His curses left her giggling, eyes sparkling with mischief. But Tommy kept on moving with curses rolling off his tongue, till he finally got into a seated position. He pulled her against his chest with a hum, pressing a kiss to her cold cheek. 

“How was your day?” (Y/n) murmured her words, eyes closed, head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. He interlaced his fingers with hers, letting his thumb run over the back of her hand with slow movements. 

“Exhausting, sometimes I wonder if I’m still made for this life. I’m getting old, eh?” She froze in his grasp, let her eyes shoot open and slowly turned towards him. Her eyes wandered over Tommy’s exhausted features, instantly able to pick up on the hurt flushing through him, the anger he couldn’t shake, and the greedy desperation he had never been able to feed well enough. 

(Y/n) cupped his cheek, she pressed a kiss to his lips before she began to speak up, “You’re anything but old, dear husband of mine. And trust me, if I’d feel like you’re getting old, I’d instantly sell you to the faeries.” 

Loud laughter rumbled through him, a sound so carefree, (y/n) hadn’t heard it in a long time. And with a widening grin stuck to her lips, (y/n) pressed another kiss to Tommy's lips, knowing that their evening together was just about to get exciting.

[floralcyanide]

𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 - 𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲

cillian murphy x f!eader (nsfw)

In which your breeding kink comes to light and causes a night full of undying pleasure with your boyfriend, Cillian.

warnings: smut, breeding kink, nipple play, kind of mentions the idea of breastfeeding (not by Cillian lol), biting, choking, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), pussy slapping, dirty talk, fingering, tongue-fucking

word count: 2039

author’s note: warning I didn't read this after I wrote it so if it flows weird or has repetition or anything, I'm sorry lol I just needed to post this for ya'll!! please reblog/ like or comment if you enjoyed it, I love feedback < 3

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛ��ʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Your head is in CIllian’s lap, his fingers carding through your hair gently as the two of you watch a movie. The lighting is dim, candles are lit throughout the living room, and an almost empty bottle of wine sits on the coffee table. You’ve got a slight buzz, and Cillian’s massaging of your scalp is making you dizzier. Kids run and play in the movie you’re watching, and suddenly, a thought pops into your head and comes straight out of your mouth.

“I want kids someday.”

You freeze, holding your breath for Cillian’s response.

You feel a hum rumble through your boyfriend as he continues to play in your hair, “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, rolling over on your back so your face was toward the ceiling, “I mean, maybe.”

“It’s life-changing. It can be rough, but it’s a beautiful experience raising children,” Cillian admits, looking down at you.

The thought of mothering Cillian’s children sends chills across your body and warmth in your belly. You know he’s probably content with his two sons and couldn’t possibly want more children, but the mere idea of him cumming in you with a purpose turns you on. You have a breeding kink but have yet to bring it up to Cillian, as it’s a risky type of kink. Even though the two of you are in a committed and established relationship, neither of you has ever brought up the topic of having kids together. And going through with the breeding aspect of the kink entails the possibility of pregnancy. At this point in your partnership, though, you don’t bother using protection anymore as you trust each other wholeheartedly. Birth control is still used, however. You don’t have to have kids, of course, but the carnal need to be filled up by someone you love deeply is thrilling to think about.

“I know you’re well past wanting any more kids,” you say, looking Cillian in his enthralling eyes, “So it’s not something I think about too often.”

“I’m open to the idea, but if this is something you really want, we should definitely discuss it,” Cillian says, tracing his thumb along your jawline.

“It’s more or so the process of having kids that has always intrigued me,” you purse your lips, trying to think of how to get your desires across to him.

“You mean sex?” Cillian chuckles, “This sure is an interesting way of asking.”

You roll your eyes, smacking his stomach lightly, “Yes, but that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

You sit upright, moving over to straddle CIllian’s lap before grabbing his face and kissing him deeply. 

Pulling an inch away from his lips, you press yourself into him, “I want you to fuck a baby into me.”

“But-”

“I want you to breed me like an animal in heat,” you whisper, dragging your thumb across Cillian’s bottom lip, “Fill me up with your cum.”

Cillian clears his throat, “I think I know what you’re hinting at here.”

“And?” you search his eyes for any inkling of distaste.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, my love,” Cillian shakes his head, snaking his arms around your waist as he stands up.

You wrap your arms and legs around him as he kisses you again, teeth clashing against yours. He nearly bumps you into the wall on the way to the bedroom, but you’re too focused on the feeling of Cillian’s mouth and his tongue lapping yours to really care. Finally arriving in the bedroom, Cillian drops you on the bed on your back, dragging you to the edge of the mattress by your ankles. You let out a squeal as he does so, giddiness shrouding you. The bedroom basks in soft light from the nightstand lamp, bringing out Cillian’s taut facial features. He focuses his weight on his hands, which are pressed into the bed at the sides of your head. He hovers over you, his icy blue eyes now darker around his blown pupils.

“A breeding kink, hmm?” Cillian smirks, leaning into your ear, “That’s hot. Good thing I’m into it as well.”

Shivers promptly cover your body in goosebumps as Cillian nips the shell of your left ear, sliding his tongue across your earlobe before taking it into his mouth. He bites it gently before pressing his lips to where your jaw meets your neck, cascading kisses along your skin. Your arms find themselves wrapped around Cillian’s shoulders as he travels to your neck with his searing lips. He then bites and sucks bruises on the column of your throat, marking you as his. Removing your sleep shirt, Cillian finds you have already shed your bra at some point in the evening. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he stares at your breasts, eyes hungry for you. Cillian then puts all his weight onto your abdomen, moving both his hands from around your head to grasp at your chest. He caresses his index fingers over your nipples, exhaling a satisfied laugh when they perk up immediately. Cillian dives his head down, taking your right nipple between his lips and slowly flicking his tongue across the sensitive bud. You groaned, unable to squeeze your legs together for friction as Cillian’s chest was between them. The other nipple is being lightly pinched, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He continues focusing on your breasts, gradually getting rougher and harder with twists and bites.

“Wanna see your beautiful tits swollen with milk,” Cillian mutters, leaving bite marks on the skin around your areola.

His words cause you to become wetter, your hips involuntarily thrusting into Cillian’s, “Fuck, Cill.”

He massages your breasts, squeezing them and pushing them upward as he plays with your nipples. 

“Need you to touch me, please,” you whine, your chest becoming sensitive.

Cillian moves down to your stomach, kissing and swirling his tongue around your belly button, “Gonna make your stomach nice and big with my baby.”

Cillian pulls down your lounge pants, tossing them to the floor. He grabs your hips, his thumbs anchoring you to the mattress as his breath fans across your damp underwear.

“So wet for me already? Ready to take me and let me fill you up?” Cillian nips at the skin of your thighs, his eyes not moving from yours.

“Yes,” you whimper, unable to wiggle your hips from his grip on them, “Need you inside me.”

“Need to prep you first, love,” Cillian kisses the wet spot of your underwear before pulling them off.

His tongue licks a fat stripe from your entrance to your swollen bundle of nerves, his beautiful lips encircling it as he lightly sucks it between his teeth. You can’t help but let out a deep moan at the contact, impatiently wishing he’d fuck you with either his fingers or his cock already. But of course, Cillian loves to tease and take all you have to offer before giving you what you want. He releases your clit, now focusing on your soaking entrance as he laps up your arousal there, pushing his tongue inside you. Cillian moves your hips upward so his tongue delves deeper into you, causing your toes to curl. Suddenly, a finger slides in underneath his tongue, exploring your g spot. You tremble at the feeling as pleasure courses through your veins. Then, Cillian adds another digit as he begins to fuck you with his fingers and tongue simultaneously. You thrust your hips as his free hand guided you to mercilessly ride his tongue and two middle fingers. You can feel the pressure of an orgasm creeping up on you, but you don’t want to cum yet.

“I need you inside of me,” you struggle to speak, your mind cloudy with lust.

Cillian slowly removes himself from your needy pussy, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. He takes off his shirt, followed by his lounge pants and underwear. His length is hard against his stomach, leaking and ready for you.

“On your hands and knees, darling,” Cillian orders, and you hurry to the top of the bed, hugging a pillow as you lean down and jut your ass in the air. 

Cillian flattens his hand on your shoulder blades, running his palm along your spine until it reaches your ass, where he gently squeezes. He spreads you open with both hands and your arousal glistens in the moody light of the bedroom. 

“Soaked and ready for this cock, huh?” Cillian pushes your back down even further until your chest and abdomen are flush with the bed.

“Yes, sir,” you say, quivering with anticipation.

Cillian aligns himself with your core, sliding his head along your wetness, gathering enough for him to push in slowly without struggle. Your walls clench around him tightly as he inches into you. Finally, Cillian’s hips are against your ass, and he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in. 

“Fuck,” you sneer, fingernails digging into the pillow.

“Taking me so well,” Cillian grunts, slamming into you again, “Gonna slam my cock into your womb and fill it up with my cum.”

You whine into the pillowcase as his rhythm increases, your body rutting into the mattress. Suddenly, a slap lands on your cunt, causing you to jolt and clench harder around Cillian’s length. 

“That feel good?” Cillian leans over you, his face now next to yours, “You’re so wet, I can feel you gushing around me.”

You moan loudly into the pillow as he pounds into your cervix, his head dragging along your g spot flawlessly with every thrust. Cillian slaps your clit over and over with the same rhythm as his thrusts, making you cry out. He grabs a fistful of your hair as he sits back up, pulling your head from the safety of the plush pillow.

“I wanna hear you, sweetheart. I wanna hear you take my cock like the cum-hungry slut you are,” Cillian says, pulling your hair harshly.

“God, fuck,” you scream as he thrusts particularly deep inside you, “I’m your slut. I need you to cum in me, Cill. So bad,” you whimper.

His pace becomes relentless, his hips snapping into your asscheeks forcefully as he takes you from behind. But he then pulls out, lets go of your hair, and flips you over on your back, and you nearly scream from frustration at the sudden emptiness. Cillian wastes no time pulling your legs onto his shoulders and rentering you, grabbing your hips and pulling them forward so he can fuck you as deep as possible. He slaps your sensitive and red clit again, over and over, before reaching his hand around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, dizzying you as he slams his cock into your cervix almost violently. You were definitely going to be sore tomorrow.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp as Cillian grasps your breasts, harshly pulling and twisting your hard nipples.

“Do you want me to finish fucking this baby into you? Gonna milk my cock as you cum and feel me fill you up to the brim> Is that what you want?”

“Yes, please! Please, fuck, fill me up, Cillian. I need you so bad,” you moan, throwing your head back.

“Fuck,” Cillian growls, snapping his hips up, hitting you at a new and delicious angle.

It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm, as Cillian gives you one last particularly harsh slap to your clit before rubbing it vigorously. He soon follows with his own, his warm seed filling you as your walls milk him for every drop. Cillian runs his hand down your body until he pulls out, arousal and cum seeping out of you. He gathers some on his fingers before shoving them into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his digits, tasting a hint of yourself mixed with CIllian’s cum. 

“Did you want me to take my pill tonight?” you say after catching your breath and letting Cillian collapse beside you.

“Only if you want to,” he says, “But I think we’d have a beautiful child.”

You chuckle before rolling on your side and tossing your arm over his warm chest, “That we would.”

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[hoe4sports]

It was always you

Jessie Fleming x reader

A/N: She’s long y’all

Warning: Divorce? None really

Summary: Post divorce, thinks have fallen into a rythm developing over the span of years. But one of you, falls out of that rythm and struggles keeping up.

Divorce. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened. Not the administrative part of the divorce with lawyers, documents, protocol and court; but the emotional part of the divorce. You had spent hours in the early stages of your divorce trying to figure out what went wrong, analysing every aspect of your relationship.

Sure, things had undoubly gotten tougher after adding a second child to the mix. But, the second child didn’t feel like the reason as to why the slipping apart had happened. Jessie had been the one to bring up the possibility of divorce; thinking it would solve all your problems. It was a civil divorce, you and your ex-wife only wanting the best for your children. Never talking bad about each other in front of the girls, never bringing new girlfriends into the family.

Your kids were happy, they felt loved and they were well taken care of. To you and Jessie, that was all that mattered. Your oldest, Lilly was a hopeless romantic. Even at 6 years old, she would beg her mom to buy flowers for you. It was one of the traits that she had gotten from Jessie. Your other daughter, Eden, had walked in her sister’s shoes, adapting her sister’s romantic trait into her own personality.

The agreement on the kids was easy, one week each, living in the same neighbourhood only 5 minutes apart for each other. It made the divorce easier on the kids, knowing that their other mom was right up the road. Every other holiday, and a few weeks each summer for travel was shared between the pair of you.

This particular day, you found yourself sitting outside on the front porch waiting for Jessie to drop the kids off. She had taken your 12 and 8 year old to Canada for some well needed family time. You didn’t mind, you had know Jessie’s family for years and they were the most welcoming group of people. They still invited you on vacations and Christmas, claiming that you were still family. It was funny, you and Jessie had both dated other girls in the span of time since the divorce. But, nothing had ever lasted.

When you saw Jessie’s car pulling up, you looked at your Golden retriever, Murphy and tapped his head. “Look Murph, the girls are home!” You cheered in your puppy voice. He was an old man now, 12 years old, but he was still young at heart.

When Eden hopped out, Murphy sprinted towards the driveway while wiggling his tail. “Murph! Mama!” Eden yelled while running towards you with only one shoe. She crashed into your legs and wrapped her arms around your frame. “I missed you mama” she whispered while squeezed your legs extra hard. “I missed you too doll” you comforted while rubbing her back before she slipped inside to find her Barbie dolls.

“Where is my teen?” You yelled out while your daughter very quietly walked towards you. She was moving into her “cool teenage” phase of her life, and she never wanted to do anything “uncool”.

“Hi mama” she said calmly once coming to greet you. You instantly wrapped her into a hug. “I missed you lots my little girl” you whispered into her hair before giving her kisses on her cheeks. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna go to my room and call Kennedy” she said while wiping off the kiss eager to talk to her bestfriend.

Jessie came up with the girls suitcases smiling with her cap on. “Hi, here’s their bags. Mom washed most of their clothes so it wouldn’t be too much on you” she stated while placing carrying the suitcases up the little stairs with Murphy in her heels. After she placed down the suitcases, she turned around to your puppy and gave him pets. He instantly got excited wiggling his butt like only golden’s can.

“Hi Jess, how was Canada?”

“Good, I love showing the girls off to the family. I’m so proud of them, it’s ridiculous”

“I’m glad, how is momma?”

“She’s good, healthy. Back doing her water aerobics twice a week. She told me to give you a hug from her” Jessie shrugged while looking at the tips of her shoes.

You wrapped her into a hug, just like the old days. It wasn’t unusual for you to hug, but this hug felt different. Perhaps it was because it was from her mom, you figured. The hug lasted longer than usual, a sense of uncertainty lingering in the air.

“She told me to convince you to come to Canada. Grandma misses you too” Jessie said while finally looking up at you blushing.

“Aaw, that’s so sweet! But, you know I can’t” you finished looking at Murphy who was shoving his head in your hand.

“Right, right, see you next week?” Jessie said, eager to wrap up the conversation. It wasn’t really like her. Normally, she had plenty of time to chat and hang around.

“Busy? Are you meeting up with someone? Someone special?” You teased poking her shoulder. She gave you a faint smile.

“Something like that” She replied with a smirk on her face. You smiled politely back at her feeling uneasy about her dating some new, but at this point in life; it had been years since the last date with another woman. The pair of you said your goodbyes before you entered your home with the girls suitcases. “Well”, you thought to yourself, “I have to get to working on this unpacking”.

-

Later that day, you found yourself stood in the kitchen in front of the stove cooking up some pancakes for the girls to eat before bedtime. This was a tradition you had since they were young; every Sunday you sat down as a family and ate pancakes before bedtime while taking about anything and everything.

“Mama, I made you a picture! Do you wanna see it?” Your youngest squealed, in love with art from a young age. “Yes love, I always want to see your art” you confirmed while flipping the last pancake. Eden ran upstairs to her room to get her binder. It held drawings from when she was just a baby back in kindergarten. You loved taking care of the art, knowing that watching the pictures was a glimpse into her head at that time.

Your oldest appeared from the living room at the smell of pancakes. “Are the pancakes ready soon? Do you want any help?” She asked leaning into your side wanting some affection. You wrapped your arm around her side holding her in your embrace. “If you want to, you could set the table?” You suggested in which she immediately nodded to and got to work. Even though she was becoming a teenager, she was still always wanting to be helpful and close to her mom.

Eden came tumbling down the stairs with her files bringing it into the kitchen flipping through the pages. “Here it is! I already put it in, but it’s me, nana, Lilly and mommy in Canada! And this, this is Elena’s dog.” She said while pointing to something that looked more like a sheep than a dog. You scrunched your nose when your daughter mentioned Elena, Jessie’s Canadian ex. You didn’t know that they had seen Elena in Canadian which was out of character for Jessie. “Wow, amazing! Did you see Elena in Canada?” You asked eagerly without wanting to snoop around. “Yes, she came for dinner. Nana made a roast” she said as she shrugged. The thought made you uncomfortable, and you immediately decided to change the topic.

“Alright girls, pancakes are ready” you announced flopping the last pancake onto the plate and turning towards the table. The three of you sat down at the dark oak table chatting lightly about school and football. The girls both played football, and both of them were excited for school to start.

“So, how was Canada girls?” You asked while looking at Lilly. Lilly shrugged her shoulders just like teenagers do. “We went to this market with lots of little stands were people sold lots of things. I even saw someone selling crochet frogs!” Eden said excitedly happily munching on her food. “Wow, did you buy it?” You followed up. “No, they only had green and I wanted pink, so I got a pink scrunchie instead!” She continued blabbering on about Canada.

After pancakes and washing up, the girls had both gotten ready for bed. You checked your youngest first, who was soundly asleep holding on to her stuffed sheep. You reached for the duvet and pulled it up wrapping her in like when she was little. Then, you headed to Lilly’s room. Her room was tidy, but that was one of her traits: she was very organised.

“Hi mama” she said while yawning in her bed, a book in her lap. “Hi baby, ready for bed?” You asked scooting into her bed wrapping your arms around her. “Yea..” she started before tearing up a bit, quickly swallowing her tears away. “I missed you mom, it’s not the same without you” your daughter pleaded leaning towards your chest. “I missed you too doll, and I wish things weren’t like this. I know that Eden dosent really remember when me and mommy used to live together, but I know you do. It’s very valid and I wish we could’ve worked it out.” You assured her feeling her relax in your arms. Hair long hair was hanging on her shoulders, and you immediately started humming while brushing through her locks with your hands.

After a few minutes, her breathing had slowed down and she showed signs of being asleep. You eased her out of your arms and into her bed before kissing her forehead, and moving towards the door. Your hands reached for the light switch, but before you could turn it off; you heard a voice. “You know that mom still is in love with you?” she whispered out her eyes being closed, just moments away from falling asleep. “Good night, princess. I love you forever” you hushed leaving her room quietly. Both the girls preferred to sleep with their door slightly open, just in case they need their mom. You loved it, making you feel like you are still the mom to two little girls instead of soon teenagers.

You hopped down the stairs to clean up the kitchen, the words of your daughter lingering in the back of your head. You had been warned about kids of divorce wanting their parents to get back together, but this felt different. She had previously begged you to go on a date with her teacher, convinced that you were a match.

As you cleared the table, plate by plate being moved into the dishwasher, you couldn’t help but think about what life could’ve been like. You and Jessie had met young, just after she had gone to Europe and you stayed together for over 10 years. It was weird how it all came to an end, you couldn’t really remember why you ended things. Maybe it was a silly argument? Or maybe Jessie’s busy lifestyle?

After clearing the table, you went to wipe off the surface noticing your daughter’s book of drawings. You sat down in front of it, opening it and watching picture by picture pass. Hours upon hours of work, all to be shown to her family. She took pride in her drawings, drawing her feelings.

One picture was two houses next to each other. One person infront of each door, two little girls moving between houses. It was cute, all of them looked happy. That was the confusing part for you; why would Lilly say that Jessie was still in love with you, when she seemed perfectly happy with the custody solution.

The next picture was with your daughter in bed, your puppy sleeping next to her. She had always loved the golden retriever. Even back when she was a little girl, she would occasionally fall asleep leaning onto the dog. It was a relationship like no other.

As you sat and admired the pictures, you heard the sound of your dogs paws shuffling downstairs. He immediately waked into the kitchen and looked at you while whining.

“Are you waiting for me to come night night?” You asked in your puppy voice. The dog immediately wagged his tail in excitement bonking his nose into your leg. You got up from the chair, and brought the book of drawings with you, following your dog to your bedroom door. After opening up your bedroom, he leaped into your bed taking his usual spot by the pillow. He ways slept with you, you hadn’t really slept next to anyone but Jessie. Expect from your girls, but that dosent count.

After finishing up your skincare, you stood by the sink brushing your teeth listening to the soft snores of your dog. It made you smile seeing him knocked out, the excitement of having the girls back bringing him joy.

As you brushed your teeth, you flipped through the book of drawings watching her arts. Fingers tracing the drawings, taking notice of each carefully placed line. One of the pictures, had stuck to you. It was a picture of you, Jessie and your two girls eating ice cream in the park. She naturally had included Murphy in the picture, adding an ice cream to the top of his head. You giggled looking at it, quickly finishing your brushing to take a picture of the drawing.

You

Look what Eden drew, she’s hilarious!

*photo attached*

Seen

You huffed in annoyance when Jessie left you on read, assuming she was busy doing some kind of football related stretch at home. The lights were then turned off, and you were quick to go to bed.

-

A few months later, the summer was over and school was back. Luckily for you, the girls loved school. Eden’s favourite subject was Math and Lilly’s favourite subject was science. You truly felt blessed by having kids that were this easy.

“Is mommy coming over later?” Eden asked nervously fumbling with her backpack. You looked into the rear view mirror. “Of course she is” you confirmed giving your Oscar winning smile. Truth was that Jessie had missed out on your weekly dinners for the last few weeks. It wasn’t just you who were bothered by it, so was your girls.

“Bye mommy!” Eden shouted jumping out of your car before skipping down to the school meeting up with her friends. The group of them walked in together. It was routine, they always waited for each other.

This morning after dropping the girls off, the annoyance you had felt regarding Jessie was rapidly growing. She had changed for the worse since the end of the summer: never answering your messages or your calls. Forgetting to come to family dinners. It annoyed you to a t when Lilly came beaming downstairs saying that she had talked to Jessie on the phone.

Your solution to this was having Eden ask Jessie over for dinner. Now, it wasn’t unusual for you to have dinner together. It was fairly normal on your household; but Jessie hadn’t answered your invitations. However, you knew that she would do anything for her daughters.

That was how you had ended up cooking favourite meal; your authentic pasta carbonara after work. If she wasn’t gonna talk to you, she was gonna be forced to eat your food in your presence.

“Mama, I think she’s coming!” Eden yells excitedly jumping up and down making Murphy bark while happily wagging his butt. Your oldest came skipping down the stairs when she heard your youngest announcement.

Eden opened the door up and full on launched at Jessie, wrapping her body around her like a koala. “Mommy, you came!” She giggled holding Jessie tight. “Of course, anything for my girls” Jessie said while hugging her back.

When she moved inside, she quickly petted Murphy before wrapping your oldest into a bear hug holding her tight. “How are you today, girls?” She asked looking at the pair of them. Eden looked like she was about to burst out information, but eagerly looked at her sister’s approval.

“Go ahead, Eds” Lilly giggled knowing what was about to happen.

“Okay, so today at maths this stupid boy, Jacob, threw a pencil at me! So I hid his calculator, and then after maths, I had lunch! It was chicken, I just love chicken! And then, Tilly told me about how she and her parents are going to France for Christmas and she promised me a postcard, and THEN, we had a pop quiz in English and I had no mistakes so I got a sticker AND THEN when I walked home, I saw a squirrel!” She said spewing out all her thoughts making you and her sister giggle while Jessie stood with wide eyes looking at her.

“Oh my, sounds like you had an eventful day” Jessie said scratching the back of her neck. “What about your day, Lils?”

“Hmm, it was okay. Kennedy and I played football with the boys during recess.” She shrugged in her typical teenage character.

“Wow,did they play rough?” Jessie wondered.

“Well, duuh! But it’s okay because I’m faster and I’m better, so they can’t catch me” Lilly brags proudly crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“You are so clever, I’m so proud of you both” Jessie said pulling both her girls into a hug.

-

At the dinner table, conversation was somewhat limited. Jessie didn’t really take initiative to talk to you, rather talking to you through the girls. The girls happily chatted along with her. It was weird, you thought, feeling like a stranger in your own home.

While munching on pasta Eden decided to drop a bomb.

“Mommy, do you miss living in our house?” Eden asked curiously looking Jessie dead in the eye. Jessie immediately chocked on a piece of pasta making her cough while having a terrified look in her face. Lilly shot you a look whispering “this is about to be good” making you smile of her sassy comment.

“Uh, I mean, I miss seeing you girls everyday, but I have my house now” Jessie tried hoping the answer was enough for Eden.

“But your house is small, I like this house better” Eden complained forcing you to turn around to not break out in laughter. She pouted her lips and crossed her arm. Your eyes shifted to your oldest who looked like she was about to collapse into a laughing fit, making you smiles

“Yea, i get that..” Jessie tried before looking towards you for help. “How is work?” You asked giving her a helping hand out of the awkwardness. Jessie shot you a look mixed of relief and gratitude before nodding. “It’s good, I’m going back to play with Canada soon. We have a game against Norway” Jessie finished.

“Where is Norway?” Eden asked curiously. “It’s at the top of Europe, close to the North Pole” Lilly lectured, making her sister’s eyes widen at the answer. “Wow, I wanna go to the North Pole! Mommy, can I come? And Lilly? And mama?” She begged giving Jessie her best puppy dog eyes .

Jessie looked sweaty for the millionth time during dinner, once again looking at your for help. “Norway is very far away, but maybe we can make it work? I’ll talk to mom about it after bedtime” you reassured your youngest carbon copy of Jessie. She seemed happy with the response and munched happily on her pasta again.

After the four of you had finished eating, the whole family was helping clearing the table. Jessie still hadn’t said much except typical polite talk, not normal to her considering she was quite the talker. Just as you finished cleaning, Jessie announced her departure.

“Mommy, can’t you stay until bedtime? Please mommy, you are never here at mama’s house anymore” Eden begged with her big brown eyes looking up at Jessie. She tugged on Jessie’s arm trying to launch onto her. Jessie’s cheeks flushed, and she rubbed her neck searching for the smallest bit of comfort. “Uh..I..Well, I have early practice tomorrow…” She stuttered seeing her daughter’s heart break in front of her. Eden’s shoulders lowered, and her face turned into a frown. “Okay, okay mom, thats fine. Mama always have time to read my bedtime story.. Bye” Eden turned around and walked upstairs, her sister giving Jessie an annoyed look.

“Doll, would you mind going after your sister? I’ll say bye to mama, and then I’ll be right there, pinkypromise” Lilly nodded her head, moving up the stairs to find her sister. But before she walked away from the stairs, she turned to look down at Jessie.

“Jessie, I think you really hurt sissy. She misses family dinners, and family nights, she talked about this all week. But it’s okay, because mama is always here to pick up the pieces, always making up excuses for you so that Eden dosent feel sad” she spat out leaving you feeling caught off guard while Jessie felt like the worst human in the world. Hearing her daughter call her out, and call her what was her government name instead of her most valued title.

Jessie felt uneasy, not sure how to handle the situation. All she wanted, was to get out of the house that she once had lived in. A part of her didn’t understand how you managed to live in the house with only the girls and your dog. How you were able to live in a house that was once filled with endless love. With to happy parents. Because recently, whenever she came over to pick up the girls or drop them off, she felt this heavy feeling in her gut having regrets about the divorce.

You heard your youngest sob upstairs before her bedroom door shut closed again. Jessie’s gaze met yours, and you gave her a sad look. “I’m gonna go deal with the girls, and I think you should leave.” You said moving towards the stairs. “You have the key, lock the door on the way out” you asked while moving upwards. Jessie stood still at the bottom of the stars on the verge of tears. “And for reference, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately; but you really hurt them, you know” and with that, you cleared the staircase moving in direction of your girls. At the drop of your last word, Jessie felt the tears press in her eyes. She looked at the staircase debating whenever to go after you, but she was too embarrassed of her own actions.

All Jessie wanted was for her family to feel prioritised, and important. But all she felt like she had done, was that she had failed you. She failed her duties as a wife, failed her marriage, she failed your agreements after the divorce and now she had failed her children. It hurt more than she could’ve ever imagined, and she quickly turned around to leave the house, locking the door on the way out.

You embraced your youngest who was sobbing in your arms, her older sister sitting across from you. “Eden, I’m sure she doesn’t mean it like that” you spoke trying to comfort the little girl. “But mama, she never used to be like this when I was a baby” Eden’s sob forced her to stop mid sentence, her clinging to you like back when she was a baby that didn’t want to go to kindergarten.

“I know love, and it’s not right of her to be like this to you, to both of you girls.” You said, trying to take notice of your oldest’s state of mind. “Mom..Do you think she doesn’t love us? Maybe she has found another family with another mom with other kids and other dogs and other houses..” your oldest spat out on the verge of tears. Their statements were bearing witness of the hormones about to change them from little girls to hormonal teenagers.

“Okay, girls. I know that we are feeling sad, and that’s okay. We are allowed to feel whatever we are feeling, it’s valid. But, I think your mom is going through something that makes her feel distant and spacey. She hasn’t been like this before. How about I try to talk to her?” You negotiated, trying to spare Jessie’s reputation. The girls nodded while sniffling in synch.

“How about we go to my bedroom, and we can watch tv until we fall asleep in mommy’s bed?” You suggested watching a spark light up in the girls eyes. They immediately eyed each other while nodding before getting up racing down the hallway, your dog bouncing after them. It made your heart swell: your daughter’s wholeheartedly giggles and your dog’s happy barks.

-

After the girls fell asleep, you got out of bed and sneaked yourself downstairs with your phone feeling determined to get an answer out of Jessie. You immediately dialed her number, waiting for her to pick up.

“Hi.. Is everything okay?”

“Hi, Jess. It’s me. What’s up?”

“What do you mean? I just got out of the shower, about to get ready for bed”

You rolled your eyes over her trying to play off cool.

“Stop being a comedian, it’s not working. What’s up with you recently?”

Jessie held a long silence terrified to say something wrong, that was if she could get something out.

“It’s nothing”

“Jess..”

“What? It’s nothing!”

You could hear Jessie getting annoyed, and for some reason: that annoyed you. She knew that you had figured out that she was going through something, and she hated that. You let out a groan in annoyance.

“For fucks sake, Jessie. We were married for many years, we had kids together; I know you better than this. Something is wrong, but you refuse to talk about it.”

Jessie felt like she was getting scolded, and perhaps that was what she needed; someone to talk sense into her. The truth was that everyone had noticed: her coaches had benched her, her teammates were confused and her mom was worried. Jessie hated carrying around this big bomb because it felt like it was about to explode at any second.

“Uh..It’s just..I should maybe talk to you about this in person”

A part of her felt like this might be good for her. To talk to someone about the problem. Someone who wouldn’t judge, and surely the woman she had kids with wouldn’t judge her for anything.

“Is it another woman?”

Jessie gasped in shock. How could you believe that?

“Sorry, but what?”

“Is there another woman? It’s fine if it is, I’m happy for you”

Jessie felt like throwing up by the thought of another woman. She didn’t want other women: she wanted her woman.

“Yea no, how about i stop by after work tomorrow?”

Jessie suggested, mentally kicking herself for forcing a conversation about the topic.

“After 21, then the girls will be asleep and we’ll have some privacy”

“O-okay, see you tomorrow then?”

“See you soon, Jess”

Jessie hung up feeling her heart beat rapidly, terrified of what was to come. She had lost you once, and she was terrified to lose you again. If you didn’t want to coparent with her anymore; that would be devastating for her. Possibly, career ending. She missed seeing you and the girls in the stands. She missed having the girls as her mascots. She missed having you come down to the pitch with the girls after games, Jessie chasing around Lilly while you carried Eden who was still a bay. Tears filled Jessie’s eyes as she sat on the edge of her bed. Tears of fear, frustration and anger for the divorce she had ended up in.

-

The following evening, you put the girls to bed waiting until they were asleep before texting Jessie to come over. You were happy to sort out whatever Jessie’s sudden problems was, just hoping that it wasn’t gonna be something related to your kids. A wave of nervousness dawned upon you, which lead to to quickly tidy up the house. Cups were moved to the dishwasher, the floor was hoovered and you made sure to fluff the pillows up. 10 minutes later, you heard knocking on your door.

Jessie stood nervously outside of the door waiting for you to open up the door. A part of her felt uneasy about opening up the door to let herself in; this wasn’t her home anymore, and she wanted to respect your boundaries.

You flung open the door looking at her with a smile, but you frowned when you saw her sad face.

“Damn, is this going to be one of those conversations?” You mumbled underneath your breath feeling Jessie’s sadness flare onto you. Jessie shot you a dirty look before mumbling something along the lines of “I heard that”.

“Feel free to sit”

You wanted her to take the lead on the situation, that way she could control the conversation. She slowly sat down on the couch looking like she was about to shit her own pants.

“Jessie? You seem like you are about to pass out. Relax! I’ve seen you naked” you teased hoping to make Jessie laugh, but your attempt at humor only got rewarded with a chuckle.

Jessie gulped trying to swallow the dry feeling in her throat without much success. She watched you sit down in the chair across from her, making her feel insecure.

You looked at her, waiting for her to talk.

“Jess? It’s okay, you can talk about whatever you want to, I won’t judge” you comforted her trying to meet her gaze. Jessie’s eye were glued to the floor, not bothering to give you as much as a glance.

“Could you maybe sit here?” Jessie spoke out, voice just above a whisper. Her hand patted the couch pillow next to her. You immediately got up and sat down next to her. Your feet sat down crisscross and you turned to face her.

“What’s going on, love?” You said looking into her eyes, her old nickname slipping out of your lips like air. Her heart fluttered over the use of her nickname, feeling an ache to have things back to what they once were.

Jessie looked up at you trying to find words, but she couldn’t spell out a single syllable. Her face ended up looking like a fish heaping for air rather than a person trying to speak.

“Here”, you said, “take me hand” you suggested offering your hand to her. She grabbed your hand back without thinking, making her feel dumb for looking so desperate.

She looked up at you trying to figure out how to drop the bomb on you. She couldn’t speak. She ended up just sighing again and again.

“Jessie?”

Her gaze met yours, eyes looking fragile and vulnerable.

“Talk to me, please”

You wiped away a tear from her cheek, scared of whatever was gonna come out from her mouth. Worried that someone might be sick, that she was going to transfer to another team or that she had done something dumb.

“Listen, the girls and I just want what’s best for you. I can see that you are suffering inside, please, talk to me. I want to help” you pleaded looking into her eyes, rubbing her thigh carefully.

Jessie sniffed before taking in a deep breath.

“The reason I have been so distant lately…” she started, but stopping as her word came to a loss.

“I talked to my mom when we were in Canada, and she made me realise a few things”

You nodded encouraging while offering her a smile. Her words came to a stop again, not sure how to handle the situation.

“Alright, keep going” you whispered giving her hand a squeeze. “It’s just me, love”, you said trying your best to support her.

“You see, that’s the problem. It is you. It was always you.” Jessie blurted out making you feel confused.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” You tried, not sure why you were offering your apologies when you couldn’t pinpoint what you had done wrong.

“No, no, god no! It’s not something to be sorry about..”

“Then what is it?” You responded, frustration lingering underneath your skin.

Jessie looked at you, at a loss for words once again. Her gaze felt intense, like she was staring into your soul. Her face moved towards yours.

“It was always you, y/n” Jessie whispered before closing the gap between you. The kiss lasted for a few seconds before you both pulled apart. You looked at Jessie, feeling confused.

“I miss you, I miss us. Leaving you, the kids, hell even Murphy was the biggest mistake of my life. The divorce was the biggest mistake of my life, and I know that you probably don’t feel the same anymore, and that’s okay. But I just, ugh, nobody will ever compare to you. I want you back, I want our life back, I want to wake up next to you again and know that I made the best decision when I married you.I don’t even know how to g-“

“Shut up, and kiss me Jess” you responded looking in her eyes feeling touched by the vulnerability of the moment. Jessie looked into your eyes before closing them and closing the gap between us, starting the process of rebuilding what once had been torn apart.

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART II

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). explicit sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! here's the second part, finally. i had lots of fun writing this one, happy reading <3

part one

After staying at Cillian's for awhile, you decided to go to the place you had rented. The truth is, you didn't want to leave, but you had already extended your stay longer than planned, and you wanted to give him space with his kids. And you also wanted to give him time to process the event that took place four nights ago in his bathroom. Or you wanted to give yourself time to process it.

At this point, you weren't sure who needed the space more.

It was all very confusing because, yes, you've had feelings for him for God knows how long, but you've squashed them down like a stubborn bug for the sake of your friendship and, most importantly, his family. Those two things were always at the forefront of your mind, guiding every action and decision. But now that his family is no longer a factor and the two of you almost crossed a line, it's hard to ignore those feelings.

Those feelings that crawl up your spine every time he smiles at you or brushes against your hand accidentally. Those feelings also make you feel like the worst person in the world, as if you're betraying his ex-wife and their children by even entertaining the idea of something more with him.

It's all so delicate.

The cottage is nestled between rolling green hills and the glimmering blue of a distant sea. The place is like a warm embrace. The floors are laid with wide, honey-colored wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, their rich, dark wood adding a sense of history and sturdiness to the space. The walls are painted in a soft, creamy white. The master bedroom is a haven of tranquility, with white linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze from the open window. The bed, with its wrought iron frame, is piled high with quilts and pillows in soft shades of blue and green. It's the best sleep you've had in months.

It rained earlier today. You've stayed inside all day, not wanting to venture out into the wet weather. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the window was a soothing backdrop to your day, but it stopped around mid-afternoon, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air.

Now you’re sitting at the rustic wooden table beneath the pergola, one leg tucked under you, grapevines overhead casting dappled shadows on the weathered wood. The garden around you is alive with color—wildflowers in every shade imaginable sway gently in the soft breeze, and the lavender and rosemary release their fragrant scent into the air.

Bon Iver’s voice drifts softly from your phone, which lies next to your notepad on the table. The music is haunting, its melancholy tones matching the weight in your chest. You’ve been here for hours, or maybe it’s only been minutes—time seems to blur together lately.

The notepad lies open beside you, filled with half-written lyrics, fragments of thoughts and emotions that you can’t quite bring yourself to finish. The pages are messy, scribbled lines crossed out, some words barely legible, as if your hand couldn’t keep up with the rush of thoughts.

You’ve been chasing this dream for so long—touring, recording, performing in front of thousands of people—but somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of why you started. The music that once brought you so much joy now feels like a burden; the words that once flowed effortlessly are now tangled up in doubt and frustration. The applause, the fame, the success—it’s all there, but it feels hollow. It feels lonely.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water, but you’re too tired to move. You prop one leg up the chair and rest your chin on your hand. You focus on the water, trying to find some solace in its steady flow. But all you can feel is a deep, gnawing sense of unfulfillment, a yearning for something you can’t even name.

How pathetic.

You’re tired, so tired, and the dream that once seemed so bright now feels like a chore.

The door creaks open behind you, and you catch the faint sound of footsteps on the stone path. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Cillian moves with a certain quietness, a soft presence that you’ve come to recognize. The footsteps grow closer until they stop just to your left.

"You should lock your door," he says, his voice low, carrying a hint of amusement but also concern.

You let out a small, tired laugh, not bothering to look up. "Didn’t think anyone would come by," you reply, your gaze still fixed on the stream; its gentle flow is the only thing that seems to make sense right now.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his shadow blending with yours. Then he pulls out the chair next to you, the wood scraping softly against the stone, and sits down. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle around you both.

You hear him shift beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you see him glance down at the notepad on the table. His gaze lingers on the unfinished words, but he doesn’t say anything about them. Instead, he just leans back in his chair, looking out at the water with you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice softer, almost reflective. "I know that look. The one that says you’re miles away, stuck in your own head."

You don't respond, knowing that he understands you more than most people. The music on your phone shifts to another Bon Iver song, this time Beach Baby.

He continues. "You know, sometimes I think about all of it—this life, the fame, the roles I play. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? I spend so much time being someone else, living in someone else’s skin, that it’s easy to forget who I am when the cameras stop rolling."

His words hang in the air, and you turn your head slightly to look at him. His expression is thoughtful, his blue eyes distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. "It’s like… sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m acting, when I’m being someone else. That's what made me fall in love with it in the first place. I just loved being somebody else. It’s easier, somehow. But then there are those moments, when the lights go out, and I’m just… me. And that’s when the loneliness creeps in."

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. "It’s the same with music, I guess," you say quietly. "There’s this rush, this high, when you’re on stage, when everyone’s looking at you and you’re giving them everything you’ve got. But then it’s over, and you’re left with the silence, the emptiness. It’s like… who am I when it stops?"

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you can see the shared understanding in his eyes. It’s a strange comfort knowing that someone else gets it, that you’re not alone in this feeling of being lost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the words you’ve been holding back suddenly becomes too heavy to keep inside. "I guess that's why I'm here. To escape. To escape the pressure, the expectations and…just be," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is a performance. Everything. When we're out in the world, we're expected to act a certain way, to fit into a mold. We have to edit ourselves. As honest as we try to be, there's always a part of us that remains hidden. And it's exhausting."

Cillian nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "And when you’re alone, you can let go of that and let your mind just be still," he says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s thought about this a lot. "It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it? But it’s also… terrifying. Being alone with your thoughts, with no distractions, no one to perform for. It’s like staring into a void sometimes."

You swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting you square in the chest. "Yeah, it is. But it’s also when I feel the most myself. When it’s just me, and I don’t have to be anything for anyone. Just… here, in the quiet, letting my mind rest."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The garden around you is alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the gentle murmur of the stream, the distant call of a bird. Bon Iver’s music still plays from your phone—Holocene.

You break the silence. "Sometimes I think about it. I think about letting go of it." It's a terrifying thought but also strangely liberating. You don't know what it means completely yet, but just saying it out loud brings relief. Cillian just looks at you, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy.

It was so easy, existing with him.

In this moment, you feel a little less lost, a little more understood. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, a mix of orange and pink hues, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you thought.

The next day dawns softer, brighter. You wake up with a sense of calm that had been missing for a while. There’s a lingering warmth from yesterday, the conversation with Cillian still playing in the back of your mind. As you sat at the same wooden table this morning, you found yourself scribbling lyrics that flowed easier, more naturally. They’re different—slower, more deliberate. There’s a depth to them that feels right, as if you’re finally tapping into something real, something honest.

Last night had ended quietly. After that heavy talk in the garden, Cillian stayed for dinner. The two of you kept the conversation light, avoiding the unspoken tension. It was there, hovering between you, but neither of you brought it up. Instead, you talked about mundane things and watched Punch-Drunk Love in the quaint living room. He pointed out every little detail he liked in it, and you listened, soaking in the emotion in his voice.

When the movie ended, he promised to see you the next day, and you reassured him it was fine, that you understood his absence. You meant it, even though a part of you always ached for more of his presence.

Today, with that newfound energy, you decided to venture out. An early morning walk turned into a drive to the nearby town. You pulled on a cap and sunglasses—a funny and somewhat ineffective disguise, but it was something. The town was charming, with narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops, and a relaxed pace. Most people didn’t give you a second glance, and for that you were grateful. It was nice to blend in, to be just another person out enjoying the day.

You wandered through the market, admired the local crafts, and even picked up a few things—a handmade bracelet, a small painting of the Irish countryside. Lunch was at a cozy little café, tucked away from the main street. You ordered a hearty bowl of seafood chowder, rich and warming, with fresh bread on the side. As you sat there savoring the meal, your phone buzzed. It was Cillian, asking if you wanted to grab drinks tonight. You hesitated, your mind running through a dozen reasons to say no, but in the end, you agreed. You wanted to see him again, even if you couldn’t quite admit how much.

Back at the cottage, you took your time getting ready. You set the atmosphere, lighting a few candles, playing some soft music in the background. It felt good to take care of yourself and put a little effort into how you looked. You chose a pair of jeans that fit just right, a black top, and your favorite leather jacket. Casual but confident. A swipe of red lipstick added a touch of boldness.

You didn’t know where the night would take you, but you felt ready.

Cillian arrived right on time, his car rolling up the gravel drive just as you slipped on your jacket. When you stepped outside, he was already out of the car, leaning casually against the door. He smiled when he saw you—a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes flicking over your outfit with an appreciative glance.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, a hint of nerves bubbling up but quickly pushed aside.

The drive to the pub was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You talked about your day, the town, the little things you’d picked up. He told you about his new movie coming out later this year, based on a novella set in the mid-1980s in a small Irish village. There was a comfort in the exchange, in the way your words mingled with the sound of the tires on the road.

When he pulled up outside the pub, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was a small, unassuming place, the kind of spot that felt like a well-kept secret. The sign above the door was weathered, the windows glowing warmly from the inside. It looked cozy, inviting.

“Do I need to bring out my disguise?” you asked, amused, as you glanced at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you’re safe here. No one’s going to bother us. I’ve been coming here for years. They don't give a shit about me.”

He was right. The pub was perfect—dimly lit, with a mix of old and new music playing in the background. The crowd was relaxed, more interested in their conversations than in who might be sitting at the next table. You found two empty stools at the bar and settled in.

Close to the drinks. Perfect.

You ordered beers—the kind that tasted awful but somehow fit the atmosphere. Cillian took a sip of his beer, and the reaction was immediate. He groaned, his head falling back as if in defeat, eyes closed as he savored—or perhaps endured—the taste. The dim light from the pub’s old-fashioned fixtures cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that had begun to form. His lips, still wet from the beer, parted in a wry smile that spoke volumes of his disdain for the drink. His brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes closed, letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh as if the beer was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a dramatic performance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how absurdly handsome he looked even in that moment. There was something endearing about it—the way he could make something so ordinary seem so intense. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead, and you found yourself staring longer than you meant to.

“Bloody hell, that’s awful,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes and giving you a side glance. His blue eyes sparkled with trouble, the corners crinkling as he caught the expression on your face. “You should’ve seen yourself, though. Looked like you were trying to swallow glass.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, please. You looked like you were about to keel over from one sip,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “Can’t argue with that,” he admitted, taking another sip with a grimace. “Piss beer, this is. I’d almost prefer water.”

“Almost,” you teased, lifting your glass to take another drink. The foam clung to the rim as you sipped, and you made a point to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the bitterness spreading across your tongue.

Cillian leaned in a bit closer, his Irish accent growing thicker with each drink. “But then, what would we have to complain about, eh? I think the shite beer is half the charm of this place.” His voice was smoother, more relaxed, and you noticed the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue, rich with the lilting cadence of his heritage. It was endearing, undeniably so, and you found it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

“Is that what they call charm here? I must’ve missed the memo,” you quipped, smirking as you met his gaze. The clever back-and-forth felt natural, easy, and it warmed you more than the alcohol ever could.

“You’re lucky I’m here to explain it to ya,” he said, leaning in just a bit more, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Otherwise, you might’ve gone your whole life without knowing the joys of terrible Irish beer.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words, but your smile gave you away. “I’ll add it to the list of things you’ve taught me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter, and you noticed how close he had gotten. His arm was now resting casually on the back of your seat, and every so often, your knees would brush, those accidental touches sending a small, electric thrill through you. The pub’s atmosphere, once filled with distant conversations and the clinking of glasses, now seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The world outside the booth blurred away, and all that was left was Cillian’s presence, the sound of his voice, and the faint, intoxicating scent of him that mixed with the pub’s woody, earthy aroma.

The more you drank, the closer you both seemed to get, each sip loosening the barriers that had been in place. His laughter grew louder, more infectious, and his accent, more pronounced with every word, sent a shiver down your spine. It was more than just the alcohol—there was an ease between you that you hadn’t felt before, a sense of connection that went beyond the usual playful exchanges.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in even closer. “I think I’m starting to like this beer.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk, feeling a little more brave. “Is that so? Or is it just the company?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear as he replied, “Maybe a bit of both.”

A familiar flutter stirred in your chest—the undeniable pull that you’d been trying to ignore for days. But tonight, in this pub, with its terrible beer and terrible lighting, you decided you didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not here, not with him.

You moved on to something stronger, whiskey that burned going down but left a warmth spreading through your chest that felt as intoxicating as the alcohol itself. With each sip, the edges of your nerves smoothed out, and you felt looser, braver, and a little sexier. You sat on the bar stool with your body angled slightly toward Cillian. The leather of your jacket creaked as you shifted, the red of your lipstick standing out against the dim light. You felt his gaze on you, not just looking, but really seeing you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck down to where your top dipped, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

His look was hungry, but it wasn’t just that—it was curious, intrigued. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours as he picked up his glass, watching you over the rim as he took a sip. The whiskey seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes, making them sharp and piercing, but there was softness there too, an openness that had grown.

“You know,” you began, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

His eyebrow arched in curiosity, and he leaned in a little closer, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah? That was… what, 7 years ago? At the Globes, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink, the liquid courage giving you the confidence to broach the subject. “Yeah, that’s right. And you… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly my biggest fan.”

Cillian looked taken aback, a surprised smile curving his lips. “What? I don’t remember it like that.”

“Oh, come on, Cill,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You kind of hated me."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate you. I just… I guess I had some preconceived notions about you."

“Preconceived notions?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He hesitated, looking almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought you were this… I don’t know, shallow, self-absorbed person. Just someone who was there for the attention, you know?”

You let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. “I’m wounded! I can’t believe you thought that about me, really.”

He chuckled, but there was a hint of regret in his voice as he added, “But I was wrong. I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “When exactly did you figure that out?”

“The first time we really talked,” he said, his voice equally soft, the words carrying a weight they hadn’t before. “After I saw you in the hall, crying. I don't know. You were so real, and I realized you weren’t what I thought. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Wow, so I had to have a full-on breakdown just to convince you I wasn’t a shallow, self-absorbed diva? Good to know, Cill. I’ll make sure to cry more often around you.”

He laughed, bringing his fingertips to his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it did the trick, didn’t it?”

You remembered that night vividly, how everything had seemed to spiral downward so quickly. “I was having the worst night,” you said laughing, a slight bitterness creeping into your tone as the memories resurfaced. “I’d just been dumped by the world’s biggest asshole that morning, and then there you were, tearing down everything I said with some esoteric joke.”

Cillian winced slightly, the regret more pronounced now. “Yeah… I wasn’t exactly charming, was I?”

“You were a bit of a jerk,” you admitted, but there was no malice in your words. “But you made up for it with that burger offer.”

A grin spread across his face as he remembered. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“Well, I figured a burger with you was better than sulking alone,” you replied, smiling at the memory. “And it was. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was exactly what I needed.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I asked, then.”

The bartender interrupted your conversation to ask if you wanted another round, and without a second thought, you both nodded in agreement. It seemed neither of you were ready to call it a night. The place was warmer now. As you waited for your drinks, your eyes drifted to the ceiling. Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" played softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the low murmur of conversation.

You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that a few couples had begun to dance, swaying gently to the music. There was something so natural, so easy about it, that you couldn’t resist the urge that bubbled up inside you. Turning back to Cillian, who was taking a sip of his drink, you couldn’t help but smile. “Come on,” you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Dance with me.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and skepticism. He muttered something in reply but you couldn’t quite make it out. It only made you more determined.

“I didn’t catch that,” you teased, leaning in closer as if trying to decipher his words. “But I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you, piano woman?” he shot back, his tone light but with a challenging edge.

“Yes,” you said, grinning. “You’re going to say that you don’t dance.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right about that. I don’t.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. “I know, but you’ll indulge me anyway.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. Then, with a small, resigned sigh, he downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass back on the bar with a decisive thud. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand and stood up, pulling you along with him.

It caught you by surprise, the suddenness of it, especially considering he had just insisted he wasn’t the dancing type. As he led you toward the makeshift dance floor, he leaned in and said with a grin, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laughed, a loud, genuine sound that felt as freeing as the night itself. “Oh, am I now?”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d be making a fool of myself like this.”

You shot back with a playful, “Well, let’s see just how much of a fool you really are, then.”

As you reached the space where others were already swaying to the music, Cillian took your hand and pulled you in close. You could feel the warmth of his body, the solidity of his frame as he moved with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that was surprisingly in sync. It wasn’t anything fancy—just simple, slow movements to match the easy tempo of the song—but it felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room.

Cillian leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Did you know I'm a failed musician?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, the alcohol loosening your tongue.

“Failed, huh? So, what happened? Couldn’t hack it with the rest of us rockstars?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Something like that. I was in a band, actually."

You leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You? In a band? Color me shocked.”

It was kind of hot, imagining him on stage with a guitar in hand.

"We even had a record deal and everything."

"What happened?"

Cillian’s expression softened as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “My brother was still in school at the time, and my parents basically told me I could fuck up my life if I wanted, but I couldn’t take him down with me. So, it fell through.”

As you continued to sway together, the story of his past unraveled between you, each word carrying a hint of regret mixed with fond memories. “Those were great times, though,” he continued, his eyes distant as if he were seeing it all again. “I’d be out late, drinking, playing music in small pubs, thinking we were going to make it big. It was a bit of a rush, you know?”

You could imagine him there, young and reckless, with that same intensity in his eyes that he carried now, but wilder, untamed by the years. “So music was your first love, then?” you asked, your voice soft, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I had been playing instruments since I was little. There’s something about it that just… gets into your blood. But then, acting came along."

“When exactly did you know that's what you wanted?” you asked, wanting to peel back more layers of him.

His smile turned almost bashful, as if recalling a secret he hadn’t shared in a while. “There was this guy who ran the Cork theater company—had a huge man crush on him. He was brilliant, and I ended up doing a workshop with him. After that, I just pestered him for an audition until he gave in.”

You chuckled softly at the thought of a young Cillian, determined and probably a bit of a nuisance, chasing after something he wanted so badly. “And that was it?”

“Well, there was a drama module in school when I was about 16, 17—during the transition year. That’s when I first got the bug. Ended up starring in A Clockwork Orange. It was sexy, dangerous, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I loved playing someone else, losing myself in the character.”

He paused, then flashed a self-deprecating grin. “There’s not much to look at, but if you give me a minute…"

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his modesty. “You’re selling yourself short,” you teased, leaning in closer, your bodies moving in sync to the music. "Cill, you literally have an Oscar."

“Ah, the Oscar... just a glorified doorstop, really,” he quipped, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of humility.

"It's the work that matters, blah blah blah," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully. His eyes were crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Exactly," he agreed, before pulling you into a twirl.

"Do you miss it? you ask, hands circling his neck as you sway. "Music, I mean."

Cillian blew out a slow breath, his eyes growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “Sometimes,” he admitted. "But life has a way of taking you where you need to be, not where you want to be.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy, as you mulled them over. Is this where I need to be? The question echoed in your mind, reverberating through the deeper corners of your thoughts. You weren’t sure you had an answer. You were a successful artist, living the dream so many could only imagine, but there was always that lingering sense of something missing, a quiet ache that you couldn’t quite place.

Where do I need to be?

The thought spiraled, unfurling like an endless thread, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. You started questioning everything—your choices, your path, the very essence of who you were. Those words seemed to tap into something deep inside, a reservoir of doubts and desires that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost like you were talking to yourself more than to him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, swaying slowly. See, this is the thing about Cillian, he had a way of making you feel seen and understood, even when you didn't fully understand yourself, even without saying a single word.

The warmth of Cillian's arm around you, the subtle way he moved—it all felt so natural, like this was where you were supposed to be. But then, the memory of four nights ago crept in—the way his breath had hitched as you said you weren't going to stop him from going further, the tension that crackled between you both like a live wire.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Heat flushed through your body, a dizzying sensation that made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you. A knot formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse.

The memory was like a current running through you, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Your mind was swirling with thoughts, the alcohol making you bolder, more aware of the things left unsaid.

"I can't stop thinking about what almost happened the other day."

“What almost happened?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, his lips dangerously nuzzled in your hair. “Don’t play coy with me, love. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your body reacted to his nearness. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it,” he continued, his voice a hushed murmur that only you could hear, “but I can’t.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. You wanted to let go of the restraint you’d been holding onto all night, but you were still aware of where you were, of the people around you—even if they weren’t paying you any attention. The thought of crossing that line, right here in the middle of the pub, was both thrilling and terrifying.

But Cillian, sensing your hesitation, didn’t push.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression serious but laced with that familiar smirk. “Wanna head out of here?” he asked, his voice low but with a note of urgency.

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

The night air hit you like a shock to the system as you stepped outside, the cool breeze carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The streets were quieter now, the lively noise of the pub fading into the background. You were drunk, the world tilting slightly with each step, and neither of you could drive.

Cillian pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly dialing the number for a cab. You watched him as he made the call, the way his jaw tensed slightly as he spoke, his voice low and calm despite the alcohol humming through his veins. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself, even in this moment of mundane practicality.

“What about your car?” you asked, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

He glanced over at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll pick it up in the morning,” he replied smoothly, his accent curling around the words in that familiar, endearing way. “Don’t worry, love.”

The cab arrived not long after, the headlights cutting through the night as it pulled up to the curb. Cillian opened the door for you, and the two of you slid into the backseat, sitting close together but not touching. Not yet. The space between you crackled with unspoken tension, the thrill of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You found yourself playing with your ring-clad fingers, the cool metal a small distraction as the silence stretched out between you. The driver turned up the music a bit, and the opening chords of Inhaler’s "Dublin in Ecstasy" filled the car. The song was somehow fitting, its pulsing beat and haunting lyrics adding to the electric atmosphere.

It started to rain, the droplets tapping against the windows and turning them foggy, adding a sense of intimacy to the small, enclosed space. The outside world became a blur of lights and shadows, the city fading away as the cab sped through the streets. You could feel Cillian’s gaze on you, the weight of it almost tangible as you sat there, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The music became more intoxicating, the beat syncing with the rapid thudding of your heart. He noticed you bopping your head slightly to the rhythm, and a small, surprised smile crossed his face.

“You know this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you replied with playful confidence, “I know every song ever made, actually.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Is that so? A human jukebox, then?”

“Something like that,” you teased, the conversation light but charged with something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

The cab’s interior felt smaller, more suffocating as you neared your destination. When you finally arrived at his place, Cillian paid the driver, and the two of you got out, raising your jackets over your heads to shield from the rain, which had grown heavier. You both ran to the entrance, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night as you giggled like teenagers, the spontaneity of it all making you feel light, carefree.

He fumbled with his keys for a moment, the sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air before he managed to unlock the door. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night sky through the large windows. The shadows played across the walls, casting everything in a soft, almost ethereal light.

You tossed off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor, your clothes clinging to your skin from the rain. You could feel the fabric sticking to your body, the dampness making you shiver slightly, but the heat in the room—and the heat between the two of you—kept you from feeling cold. Cillian wandered off somewhere for a moment, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When he returned, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory glint in his gaze that made your breath hitch. He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing as he asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of something dangerous, “What should we do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you, your pulse quickening. You moved toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, closing the gap until you were inches away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly despite the bravado in your words.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before trailing down to remove a stray piece of hair stuck to your face. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks of electricity through your skin, making you feel like you were on fire. His hand continued its path down your arm, and you followed it with your eyes, watching as his fingers traced the outline of your veins, the simple action making your breath catch in your throat.

He moved his hand up to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your top before slowly sliding it down, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of desire and something else—something that felt like shame, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too good, too right.

His hand slid up to your neck, his grip firm but not painful as he held you there, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. You clung to his black t-shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to steady yourself, but the room seemed to spin around you, the intensity of the moment making you dizzy.

Cillian’s eyes bore into yours, his expression dark and filled with an unspoken promise as he whispered, his voice rough and filled with desire, “Tell me what you want.”

You wanted him—every part of him. You wanted to forget everything else, to lose yourself in this moment, to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for days. And as his grip tightened slightly on your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, you knew there was no turning back.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

So he did. He kissed you, long and slow. His lips were soft yet urgent, and you melted into his touch. Your hands found their way to his damp hair, tangling in the strands as you deepened the kiss, savoring every moment. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with the faint taste of whiskey, his hands still cradling your face as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished.

But then the kiss deepened, the restraint unraveling as the need between you grew too powerful to contain. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss became more urgent, more demanding, as if he was trying to consume you, to lose himself in you. You responded in kind, your own hands gripping his t-shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more—needing more. The heat between you intensified, the tenderness giving way to something hotter, something that felt like it had been a long time coming.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windows, a distant sound that seemed to fade into the background as your focus narrowed to just him—to the way his hands gripped your waist, to the way his breath hitched when you bit down softly on his lower lip.

You started moving backward, the need to feel him against you overwhelming any thought of where this might be going. Your feet stumbled slightly as you both moved toward the couch, the dim light from the windows casting your entwined shadows across the floor. He guided you, his hands firm and sure, but there was a tenderness in the way he led you, as if he was still holding back, still trying to keep a grasp on the control that was slipping away.

You reached the edge of the couch, and he paused for a moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. “You're in control here,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the weight of the question, with the possibility of what was about to happen. "We stop whenever you want to, okay?"

Ever so polite, you thought. You answered him by pulling him down with you, your lips finding his again with a renewed urgency. The cushions gave way beneath you, the soft fabric enveloping you both as you sank into it. His body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

As the kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, you could feel the tension in him—the barely restrained control he was struggling to maintain. His hands roamed over your body, landing on your jeans and slowly playing with the button, a silent request for permission.

"Don't stop now," you teased, your voice barely audible against his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss even further, his hands moving with purpose as he unbuttoned your jeans. He stopped for a moment, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his hands taking off your shoes before sliding your jeans down your legs. He positioned himself between your legs once again, kissing you rough this time.

The couch was vast and soft underneath you as one of his hands traveled up your thigh—still not as high as you wanted it. You let out a needy moan, encouraging him. When his fingers brushed against the edge of your already wet panties, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. He pushed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours. When his fingertips made contact with the wetness of your folds, he groaned too, in a way you found very satisfying.

"I've thought about this…a lot," he murmured, slipping a finger inside you, making you gasp with pleasure. "What you might sound like. What you might taste like. What you might feel like."

He pulled away from you swiftly, and you moaned at the loss. He kneeled down in front of you, his gaze intense as he leaned in to kiss your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled down your panties. You went stiff, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. He opened your thighs a little more, as if he wanted to see more. "I want to make you feel good," he whispered. "Let me taste you."

"Yes," you breathed out.

You couldn't stop looking at him as he pleasured you, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each flick of his tongue and gentle bite made you arch your back in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment. His hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He groaned in pleasure, and you opened your thighs wider. His tongue was thorough and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision. Your hands grabbed the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself as you felt yourself spiraling into pure bliss. And just when you started to roll your hips, he slid two fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you gasp and moan uncontrollably.

It was too much. Pleasure consumed you as you arched your back violently against his touch and you moaned his name over and over again, letting go. You were drunk on him— his touch, his mouth, his scent—lost in the euphoria of the moment.

"Fuckin' incredible."

Well, yes, fucking incredible indeed. But not as incredible as it would feel to have him inside you completely, filling every inch of you. To reduce him to the whimpering mess he had just turned you into.

Before Cillian could do anything, you sat up and pushed him flat to the floor. You were both drunk and too eager to make it to the bedroom, so you might as well just do it right there on the living room rug.

He grunted in surprise, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips as you straddled him, pulling you closer. You removed your top, your breasts spilling out as you leaned down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as you pull away from his mouth, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

He stopped breathing as you worked your way down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper, and you eagerly slid them down his legs, revealing his growing arousal.

When your fingers wrapped around it—fuck—his skin felt hot and smooth against your touch, his breath hitching. You positioned yourself to take him in your mouth, savoring the taste of his desire as you licked a slow, teasing path along his cock. Cillian let out a ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair.

You lifted your eyes. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with his lips parted, pupils blown.

You had him.

You took him deeper, relishing the way he arched into your mouth, his groans spurring you on. With each flick of your tongue, you could feel him losing control, surrendering to the pleasure you were giving him. "Fuck, stop," he gasped, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you."

“Condom?” you asked, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You hesitated for just a second. “I don’t mind… if you don’t.”

For a moment, he froze, his blue eyes darkening as they searched yours, as if to make sure he’d heard you right. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, he nodded.

You released him with a smirk and sat up, swung over him. You positioned yourself so that his hands were on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alive with the need to be closer to him, to feel him, completely and without anything between you.

As you sank onto him, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping from both of you. The feeling of being filled by him sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire between you that burned hotter with each thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you matched his rhythm, lost in the intensity of the moment.

This was going to end you.

His movements became more urgent, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled gasps and moans, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. He felt so good, so right. His thrusts became more deep and harsh—you wanted even more. As if he read your mind, he sat up against the couch and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Bloody hell," he murmured against your lips, both his hands grabbed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes, and you circled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and circling your hips in rhythm with his. Your breasts pressed against his chest, the heat between you both rising as your bodies moved in perfect synchronization. He was close—you were close. His hands roamed your back, your ass, and your breasts, and you threw your head back when his mouth found its way to your nipples.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Yes, oh—" you screamed as white-hot pleasure shot through your body, causing you both to reach the peak of ecstasy together. You felt his cock swell, filling you completely as he released with a guttural groan.

The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He had leaned back to the floor, and you had gone with him. He was rubbing your back, and your face was pressed to his chest.

"You okay, love?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You hummed, feeling content and safe in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. His fingers kept tracing those gentle patterns on your back, grounding you, reminding you that you were still here, still connected. The afterglow wrapped around you both, a warmth that made you feel safe, cherished. You could still feel him inside you.

“How bad would it be if we just stayed here?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment. There was a part of you that didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you could feel the rumble against your cheek. “Well, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure how comfortable the floor will be in about twenty minutes, but I’d say it’s worth a try if you are.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Fair point,” you conceded, shifting slightly to look up at him. His eyes were warm, a little teasing, but there was an underlying tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands sliding down your sides as he carefully helped you up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I promise the bed is much more inviting.”

He rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You accepted, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood, still a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the care in his touch.

Together, you made your way upstairs, his arm draped around your shoulders as he guided you toward his bedroom. The space was warm, cozy, with a lived-in feel that made it undeniably his. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, as if he’d just gotten out of it before coming to find you.

He led you to the bathroom, where the soft glow of a single light illuminated the space. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature before gesturing for you to step inside. You did, letting the hot water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the night, though the memory of it clung to your skin. He joined you a moment later, his hands gentle as he helped you rinse off, his touch tender, almost reverent. You stood under the water together, letting the steam envelope you both.

When you were both clean, he handed you a towel, wrapping another around his waist. He left the bathroom for a moment and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, offering them to you.

“Here,” he said with a soft smile. “This will do.”

You took the clothes, slipping them on. The fabric was soft, worn in, and it smelled like him—woodsy, with a hint of something earthy and warm. You found yourself breathing it in, the scent comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

When you were both dressed, he led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. He held the blanket up for you, and you slid in next to him, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his body. He immediately pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist as you nestled into his side, your head resting on his chest once more.

The room was dark, but the faint light from outside filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. You could hear the rain still pattering against the window, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy between you. His hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close, his breath warm against your forehead. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady and reassuring, and it lulled you into a state of deep relaxation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You don't know for what exactly you were thanking him, but it felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

He responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything more. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You both knew that tonight had changed something between you, something profound and unnameable, but for now, it was enough to just be here, together.

a/n: there you have it, i hope you guys liked it!! please like, reblog and comment. i wanna hear your thoughts! and as always, thank you for the support <3

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Under the Weather | Cillian Murphy x Reader

Summary | It's your one-year anniversary with Cillian and he's just finished filming The Party but as the night goes on, you begin to feel feverish and sick. Cillian comes home and takes care of you.

Warnings | fluff lol; age-gap.

Pale Blue Eyes- The Velvet Underground 🎶

word count: 1421

Don't interact if you're a Yvonne hater. This is a completely fictional piece and does not reflect Cillian or his family in reality. Read with the assumption that Cillian is not married and does not have children.

........................................

She started to feel sick around noon, the inklings of fatigue and fever creeping up into her head. She went to dinner with Cillian as she said she would for their one-year anniversary but her pearl earrings felt colder than usual against her feverish skin and she shivered when she had pulled on her dark green dress with the boat neck that exposed her collarbones to the chilly air. Curling her hair was too much, and the heat had left her exhausted and sweaty, even though she was cold. She tightened her green buckled flats and sat up in her chair at the vanity, placing a warm hand against her hot forehead and sighed. She wasn’t sure if she was actually sick or just anxious from the weeks of filming that Cillian had been preoccupied with for The Party. But he was done now and focused on his private life, the life that included her now. 

He was 41 and she was 28, and already the media had a lot to say about their relationship. She was young but not that much so, she’d gone from crappy sitcoms and low-budget movies to blockbuster films and award shows. She was just as relevant as Cillian, though she may be a decade younger. She loved Cillian and the way that he helped her with her rehearsals and her anxieties. She confided in him and spilled her guts and he listened, his eyes gentle and validating. He was quiet and reserved when she had first met him on set for Peaky Blinders as one of Micheal Gray’s love-interests. She was almost never in the same scene as him so they never had a moment to speak until an interview that she was invited to attend with the main cast. She was seated next to him on the raised platform in front of the cameras when the clip keeping the back of her dress together broke and nearly unraveled in front of everyone. Without hesitation, CIllian had reached over and pulled the two ends of fabric together, keeping her dress from falling down her chest. He kept his hand against her back for the remainder of the interview, and still added to the discussion and smiled when prompted to. When the cameras stopped, he helped her get up from her seat, still holding her dress together and helped her off. He only left once a crew member had successfully pinned her dress, giving her a kind smile and a nod.

And now here they were. 

She checked Cillian’s watch on the bedside table and hurried to finish getting ready before he arrived at 7. He’d made reservations at a small restaurant in Dublin where he knew the owners and their children. Smoothing down her short emerald green dress, she hurried down the stairs to the first floor of the walkup she shared with Cillian in Dublin and waited anxiously by the door for the familiar sound of footsteps on the granite steps. She saw his silhouette through the textured glass on the front door and threw it open before he could knock. He was startled but smiled when he saw who was waiting for him. 

“My God, you look lovely darling!” He smiled and closed the door behind him, blocking out the summer breeze. He put each hand on her waist and turned her around slowly to see what she was wearing. He’d finished an interview for The Party and changed into his suit in the dressing room before driving back, so he looked slightly rumpled but unmistakingly beautiful.

“How was the interview?” She asked, her hands clasped around his neck.

“Eh, I’m happy it's all over with ya’ know?” The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. 

He kissed her head but when he pulled away, he frowned down at her. 

“You feel warm.” He put the back of his hand against her cheek and moved it to her forehead, clucking his tongue. “Do you feel alright, love?” 

“I thought I might be getting sick but it's not bad, I can still go.” She waved him off. 

“Ah ah ah, not so fast. I think you have a fever.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen and picked her up, setting her down gently on the countertop. 

“You mustn’t make such a fuss, Cillian.” She sighed defeatedly, her hands clasped either side of the cold marble countertop.  

“Hush, love.” He rummaged through the medicinal cabinet in the kitchen and retrieved the mercury thermometer that they had bought at a drugstore as a house-warming gift for themselves. “Open your mouth for me,” she complied, touching her tongue to the roof of her mouth, “good girl.” He praised her. 

“This is ridiculous. I feel fine, Cillian!” She mumbled around the thermometer. He rested his arms on either side of her body, his legs planted firmly between her knees. He said nothing but glanced down at his watch every few seconds to check the time. When it was done he pulled the thermometer from her mouth and read it to her. 

“100.3. You’re sick, love.” He laughed softly and placed the thermometer on a folded cloth by the sink to wash later. “Come on.” He spread his arms and she reluctantly hugged him around his shoulders so that he could pick her up. He sighed softly as he arranged her in his arms and climbed the short flight of steps to the second floor. 

“What about the dinner reservations?” She whined into his shoulder, her nose crushed against the soft fabric of his suit. 

“It'll be fine, darling. Let me worry about that.” He passed through the doorway into their bedroom and laid her down on the bed. She squirmed in protest when he went left, going down the stairs quickly. She could hear him moving around the kitchen for a while before coming back up the stairs, a glass of water and Tylenol in his hands. She sat up against the pillows at the headboard and curled her knees into her chest. He sat on the edge of the bed and gave her two of the distinct white chalky pills. 

“Take these.” He ordered softly and waited. 

“Yes, sir.” She grumbled and swallowed the pills, downing them with water. He took the empty glass from her hand and placed it on the nightstand. 

“Let me get you out of these” He unbuckled her shoes and tossed them aside, his hands patting each ankle as he did so. 

“I’m sorry, Cillian.” She whispered, her arms held up in the air in a pitiful request for affection. He leaned over and hugged her. 

“For what, darling?” He furrowed his brow and stroked her hair. 

“For being sick on our anniversary.” She sniffed and fought back childish tears. He pulled away and rubbed his thumb over her feverish cheek. 

“That’s nothing to be sorry for, love. We still get to spend the evening together, right?” He smiled and kissed the top of her head. 

“Ok.” She nodded and allowed him to remove her earrings, sliding the backings off into his hand and returning them to her jewelry box. She turned to the side as his hands found the top of her zipper. As he pulled, her skin tingled with goosebumps all the way down to her tailbone. His hands slid the dress off her shoulders and pulled it over her head. She was naked besides her underwear and sensitive to the cold. Cillian quickly took one of his long sleeve shirts and pulled it down over her head. She slid her arms through the sleeves and curled into his side as he leaned over, resting the dress carefully on the arm of a chair. When he straightened back up, he put one arm around her shoulders and the other one on his stomach. She nestled beneath the sheets and wool blankets beside him and breathed him in. 

As she started to fall asleep, he cradled her in his arms, holding onto her with security and love. He waited patiently as she slept before changing out of his suit. He turned off the lights and applied a cold washcloth to her head as she slept soundly beside him. He laughed softly when her nose was congested and she started breathing through her mouth, drooling slightly on her pillow. He combed his fingers through her hair and kissed the crown of her head into the night before he fell asleep himself, his arms tightly around her.

[darkshelbyfiction]

The Nanny Diaries (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Innocent Reader

Warning: Dark Cillian has an innocence kink...Smut...Infidelity...Dub Con

It had been three months since you started working for Cillian and Lorna Murphy, looking after their two young children Sienna and Mitch.

You had recently turned eighteen and left your small town in America, eager to see the world beyond your front door so, moving to Dublin, was the perfect opportunity for you.

Through a family friend, who was an actor as well, you were given the chance to work as an Au Pair for the famous Irish actor who, with his wife and children, lived in a beautiful country estate just outside Dublin city, surrounded by vast gardens filled with flowers and trees.

Their home was like a sanctuary where nature merged seamlessly into luxury - wooden floors, high ceilings adorned with original works of art and large bay windows which looked out onto acres of greenery.

Their children were absolutely adorable.

Little Sienna was full of energy, running all over the place, whilst little Mitch would be curled up watching cartoons quietly. At first, it seemed strange, but gradually you found yourself enjoying every moment spent playing games, reading bedtime stories and preparing meals for them.

The only person whose company made you feel slightly nervous, however, was Cillian himself. You felt a strange and somewhat forbidden attraction towards this 45 year old man, something no one could quite understand considering how close he was to your father’s age.

However, being strictly catholic and engaged to young man back home, you brushed this off as simply being star struck and though Cillian wasn't exactly flirtatious, there was something undeniably captivating about him.

Cillian soon noticed the way you looked at him, the subtle flush of excitement that crossed your face when he walked into the room, and despite his own marriage status, he began making excuses to get closer to you. His constant praise made you blush, while the lingering glances gave you butterflies in your stomach.

One evening after Lorna had gone to bed, Cillian invited you to listen to some music with him in the dimly lit living room.

There was a comforting familiarity in the scent of leather, polished wood and roaring embers in the fireplace as you sat down beside him on the plump sofa. For some reason, your heart skipped a beat as you sank deeper into the soft upholstery and Cillian silently handed you a glass of wine and smiled.  

"You did well today. Thanks for looking after them so diligently," Cillian acknowledged just as you traced the contours of his strong jaw line with your eyes.

"They are good kids. Despite, looking after them, is my job," you stammered in response. You couldn't help feeling nervous around this man, even more now since it was just the two of you.

"Still, it's nice not having to worry. So, thank you," Cillian said while leaning back into the couch, crossing one leg over another. "It can be quite draining sometimes looking after them."

"It can be," you smiled while your cheeks reddened as you tried not to stare at him openly. For a moment silence enveloped the space before you continued speaking softly, barely audible enough for him to hear properly.

"So you like Portishead, huh?" you asked, changing the topic to music as their album "Glorybox" was playing in the background. His face shifted to curiosity briefly, then turned serious again as he reached out slowly to brush his hand over your knee. 

"I do. How about you? he asked, turning his head towards you.  "Do you like their music?" he then asked and you felt a mix of fear and excitement surging through your body upon the sudden contact - your heart raced faster, and a warmth seemed to rise up inside you as his fingers caressed gently along your thigh. Trying hard to maintain composure, you responded casually yet uneasily.

"I do," you managed to utter softly as his fingers traced higher along your inner thigh. As his hand lingered there uninvited, your breath quickened involuntarily – a mixture of panic and arousal coursing through your veins. It wasn't right, what he was doing, but still, deep within you, a primal urge took hold.

"How is your boyfriend? Are things good between you?" Cillian prodded, leaning closer as he spoke. You could feel his breath tickling your ear as he whispered these words, sending chills down your spine despite yourself. Your hands trembled lightly, unsure whether to push him away or surrender to his advances, caught somewhere between terror and thrilling anticipation.

"He...uhm...yes... he is good," you stammered as his fingers dipped deeper beneath your skirt, brushing against your underwear teasingly, causing a wave of heat to ripple throughout your core.

Aware of the danger you were in, a part of you wanted to resist, while another desperately desired to succumb to his touch, craving the sensuality he offered with such intensity. 

"Do you miss him?" Cillian asked quietly, almost tenderly while his fingers ran circles over your moistening panties.

Unable to think clearly due to the intensity of his advances, you struggled to find your voice. Involuntarily, your mouth hung open, dazed by the sensations that flowed through your body.

"I do miss him, yes," you finally murmured, unable to meet his eyes, as you fought to quell the desire rising up inside you. This was wrong, terribly wrong, but why did it feel so right?

"Do you miss him touching you like this?" Cillian asked huskily as, finally, he pushed aside the wet fabric of your knickers, allowing his finger to slide tantalisingly over your wet slit.

"He never..." you mumbled hesitantly, trying to regain control of both your mind and body, struggling to ignore the growing sense of guilt mixed with exhilaration that consumed you. 

"He never what?" Cillian challenged, his tone darkening as his finger continued to explore the sensitive folds between your legs. One of his fingers began to push its way inside you, penetrating your tight entrance gently yet firmly, eliciting gasps and whimpers from you as pleasure ricocheted through your body. 

"He never touched me down there before," you admitted reluctantly, knowing it wouldn't matter anyway because you knew deep down that this went far beyond mere physical exploration.

"Really?" Cillian queried with disbelief, pulling his fingers free from your quivering passage before pushing it in again, harder this time, his thumb pressing rhythmically against your clitoris. You let out a strangled cry, lost in the throes of ecstasy as your entire body writhed in pleasure.

"Have you ever touched yourself like this?" Cillian questioned deeply, his tone laced with raw passion, drawing a sharp intake of air from you. You didn't answer immediately, too absorbed in the exquisite sensations consuming your body. But eventually, the truth emerged haltingly from your lips.

"No. It's not allowed," you confessed seeing that you were strictly catholic, ashamed of admitting the fact aloud, wishing to sink into the floor beneath you.

"Do you want me to stop?" Cillian asked softly, lifting his hand away from your drenched crotch to rest it once more on the armrest of the couch. Your mind reeled as the erotic spell broke, leaving you feeling bewildered and confused.

Despite the intensity of the encounter, you shook your head defiantly, determined not to allow yourself to be further enticed.

"Alright. Can you take off your panties for me then?" Cillian commanded authoritatively, breaking the momentary awkwardness. His eyes bore into yours, demanding obedience. Reluctantly, you nodded, sliding your skirt lower until your knickers slipped off easily, exposing your naked thighs and pussy. The bold act sent shockwaves through your system, filling you with a potent cocktail of shame and arousal. Cillian observed you hungrily, appreciating the sight of your supple curves and smooth skin.

With determination in his eyes, he reached for your exposed thighs, rubbing his palms alluringly up and down them until his fingers found your wet labia. Gently cupping your sex, he teased you playfully, watching closely as your breath caught in your throat and your pupils widened with desire. 

His erection strained against his jeans, making your nipples perk up in response.

He then inserted not one but two of his thick digits into your dripping core gently, feeling the resistance of your virginity as he thrust them in and out as small streak of blood trickled onto his fingers.

There was some discomfort in your expression, partly due to the pain caused by your first sexual experience but also fueled by anxiety and confusion regarding the situation.

Inside you, your mind wavered between feelings of remorse and yearning satisfaction as his powerful hands controlled your movements, taking command of your pleasure.

As he moved inside you, his touch became firmer, his pace picking up speed, creating a sensation unlike anything you had ever known before. Your whole body ached, your muscles twitching with the force of the waves crashing through you.

"You are incredibly tight," Cillian remarked approvingly, withdrawing his fingers momentarily only to plunge them back in again with greater fervor. His rough hands expertly navigated your insides, working you mercilessly, ignoring the protest of your uninitiated flesh. Each penetration drove a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, your nerves firing rapidly, setting every inch of your skin ablaze until, suddenly, you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a loud moan escaping your lips, you eventually came undone and Cillian covered your mouth with the palm of his free hand as your body  began convulsing violently in orgasm.

"Sssh, we don't want to wake up Lorna," he chuckled quietly as your vision swam as your world turned upside down, your entire focus narrowed down to the sensations washing over you. Aftershocks radiated through your limbs, causing tiny tremors to run up and down your body as if electric currents surged through your very soul.

Breathless and flushed, you collapsed back into the embrace of the couch, exhausted and invigorated simultaneously as Cillian carefully withdrew his fingers from inside your body. 

Wetness and a tiny amount of blood tickled down onto the leather fabric on which you were sitting as your heart hammered wildly in your chest.

Cillian smiled devilishly at you, amused by how quickly he had brought you to climax, and you felt both grateful and somewhat shocked.

Your stomach squirmed with a strange mix of emotions: gratitude, humiliation, and embarrassment battled furiously amongst themselves. Your cheeks reddened with a combination of both physical stimulation and shame.

"I shouldn't have done that," you muttered, attempting to make sense of your own behaviour. You had committed a sin against God and your morals, and now, here you were - wanting more of it.

The thought scared you, but something stirred deep within you, telling you it would be foolish to dismiss it entirely. There was a power to this darkness that held an addictive quality, like the forbidden fruit you had just sampled.

"You seemed to have enjoyed it though," Cillian smirked. His statement carried undertones that left no doubt as to what he meant just as you both were startled by Lorna who came walking down the stairs to fetch herself a drink from the fridge.

Quickly, you adjusted your skirt to cover your slightly bruised and still wet entrance before hastily grabbing your discarded knickers. Cillian, without missing a beat, made himself appear nonchalant, leaning casually against the armrest beside you.

Lorna looked curiously at the both of you, remarking "It seems quite late. You should come to bed Cillian", unaware of the recent events transpiring.

"I will be up in just a minute love". Cillian lied, hoping to prolong the interaction with you for just a little bit longer but, unfortunately for him, you decided to head to your room instead, claiming tiredness.

After you closed the door behind you, the tension dissolved slightly and Cillian sighed audibly, running his hand through his messy locks, visibly conflicted, pondering on about what happened. 

Even as he prepared for sleep later that evening, right next to his wife, he couldn't help but dwell upon the enchanting image of you submitting to his touch, succumbing under his influence. Something about your innocence intrigued him even more than other women had. Perhaps it was the challenge you presented—the thrill of dominance over someone who belonged to another man.

Or maybe it was the sweet, lingering aftertaste of guilt you left on his tongue whenever he took liberties with your pure body. Whatever the reason, he simply could not resist pursuing you further despite the danger it posed to his marriage.

Meanwhile, you too, were laying in bed, thinking about what had transpired. 

Your mind raced through memories of your earlier interactions with Cillian – his confidence, his touch, his mannerisms. There was that secret part of you that craved more contact, regardless of where it might lead. This newfound curiosity frightened you almost as much as it excited you. 

You wondered what it would be like to touch him the way he had touched you, whether his experienced body would respond to you as you did to him. For so long, the idea of intimacy had been taboo for you, yet somehow, those strict boundaries seemed to shift when it came to Cillian. 

Your core ached from the intrusion, and your cheeks burned with indignation, but there was a spark of excitement that lit up deep within you as well. 

You wanted him to do this again and you knew that this was wrong and so did he. 

[lokischocolatefountain]

Separation

Series Masterlist

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+ (*slaps the roof of this fic* This bad boy can fit so much smut, angst and fluff in it)

Word count: 8.4k words wtf

Summary: The last time Javier Peña saw his wife was almost three weeks ago in Steve Murphy’s apartment. He’d finally done it. He’d fucked up the only good thing in his life, driven her away with his neglect.

A/N: Why is it that whenever I write Javi, there’s angst? What is it about this beautiful pathetic man with big brown eyes (and big strong arms) that makes me want to hurt and comfort him? Also, if any of you want to be tagged the next time I post Javi (or just husband Javi) lmk and I’ll make a tag list.

The last time Javier Peña saw his wife was in Steve Murphy’s apartment, holding a sleeping baby Olivia Murphy on her lap as she consoled an anxious Connie Murphy. That night, he’d finally brought his partner home to his wife and child. Relieved, he went home only to find a note from his wife by his bedside informing him that she would be staying with a friend for a while. No explanations, no phone calls. Just a note.

That was almost three weeks ago.

Her side of the bed stayed untouched. Her bedside table was unusually empty without her novel of the week on it. When he reached out for her in his sleep, his heart craving the familiar comfort of her touch, he found it cold and empty. He’d wake up with a start, unaccustomed to an empty bed even though he’d spent all his bachelor life before her sleeping by himself. It was as though married life had been a cruel fantasy he was awoken from to be forced back into the reality of his lonely existence.

No matter how many times he longed to call her friend’s landline, he couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. She’d been by his side ever since he asked her to move in with him. Undying loyalty, a shoulder to lean on, a body to hold when he awoke from nightmares. She deserved a break from him.

The refrigerator sometimes had boxes of meals for him, his whiskey glass was chilled, her laundry done and dried for him to fold up. Dishes left in the sink for him to wash. He had a wife and she did come by the apartment but never when he was there too. She’d been like a ghost, slipping in and out and probably through walls without his notice.

Their anniversary came and went. Still no sign of her.

It wasn’t their wedding anniversary. It was the anniversary of their first date. That was not something they celebrated like they did their wedding anniversary but her absence made him remember and it fucking stung.

He’d finally done it. He’d fucked up the only good thing in his life, driven her away with his neglect. She gave him everything and asked for nothing. Not even the bare minimum. Her parents had begged her for a proper wedding and he couldn’t even give her that. She married him at the embassy and went home alone in the short white dress she bought herself from a regular store as he went off on some fucking raid that ended up failing anyway. She watched as her friends had weddings and baby showers and children while he kept her stuck in the same place in life.

And she was finally gone. After putting up with everything, she’d slowly disappeared from his life without him even noticing it.

Javi found himself outside her classroom. He’d walked into the English Literature department, opened her drawer and checked her schedule, ignoring the questioning staff with the same practiced authority he had as DEA agent.

For the first time, he took in the force that was Professor Peña in action. He knew she was a fucking genius. But to see her command the classroom’s attention was something else.

On one of their first nights together, he’d put his head on her lap and closed his eyes as she played with her hair and asked her unashamedly to read her book out loud to him. He had a reputation of being an asshole, of sleeping around a lot. There was an image of him being a callus man who hopped from one bed to the next. It couldn’t be further from the truth. He gave bits and pieces of his heart to every woman he slept with, he asked personal questions, kissed foreheads and comforted them over their troubles. He lied on the lap of the woman he would one day marry and asked her to read him a bedtime story of how Anna Karenina fell out of love with Alexei and in love with Vronsky. Javier may have been an asshole in others’ eyes, but on her lap, he was the man who kept his parents’ easy intimacy in the back of his head as he looked up at her and wondered if he could have something like that with her.

As she engaged the classroom in a discussion about Frankenstein’s creation, he witnessed everyone around him fall for her just as he did. He watched as she pulled them into discussions and got them involved in passionate debates amongst themselves about the nature of the creature. She was the perfect leader, knowing just how to steer the large group, get the stubborn young people to question their world views and lead them to answers to questions they didn’t even know they had.

She was a wonder.

If this was all he could have of her, he would take it. If she wouldn’t come home to him anymore, he would show up to her classes and sit in the back seat just to hear her voice and see her eyes twinkle with passion.

She didn’t notice him, her attention reserved for the students who asked questions and argued their points passionately. He had to wait until they’d all submitted their papers to her and had a little conversation to continue their discussions. He’d never seen students so reluctant to leave a classroom. He couldn’t blame them; he didn’t want to leave either. Only when most of her class had shuffled out did he have the courage to approach her desk.

He stood there, making no sounds, just fidgeting with his right hand as he tried to find the courage in him to speak to the professor who was counting the number of essays that had been submitted to her.

“Sorry, I have to get home now. Office hours are before class on Monday,” she said, not even looking up at him.

“Sure, if that’s the only way I’ll get to see you.”

She stilled mid-count, letting go of the papers as she looked up at him. She opened and closed her mouth, as though swallowing everything she thought to say.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, finally.

He shrugged and managed a half-smile. “Had to catch you somehow.”

When she said nothing, he continued, “Where do you go when you tell your students you’re going home? Because you don’t come to ours.”

He carried her papers, her handbag and her lunch bag to the jeep. As though he had to confiscate all her belongings to make sure she’d actually come home with him. As though he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers like the sicarios he chased.

Her hand didn’t cross the physical space between them. Her head rested against the glass of the window and her eyes were closed. She didn’t reach over to switch the radio on, didn’t ask him about his day, didn’t reach over to pinch his cheek or steal his aviators.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice shaking as he realized he didn’t want to hear whatever it was she had to say. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh truths. All he wanted was to take her to bed and kiss her all over and hold her tight so that she would never leave. He wanted to cry like a little boy begging his dad to not leave for work because he would miss him too much during the day. He wanted to overwhelm her with his love, manipulate her mind into taking him back though he couldn’t admit to himself that at some point she apparently stopped wanting to keep him.

His hand was on her knee as he sat at her feet and looked up at her face expectantly for her to speak. It wouldn’t have taken him more than a second to get on his knees. He was no religious man. That stopped the day he buried his Ma. But he would get on his knees again and pray to her to stay, to be his benevolent goddess and forgive his sins for the nth time.

“I don’t know what I did, I really don’t,” his voice cracked as he confessed. “But it must’ve been something terrible for you to stop coming home.” It shamed him to discover that he had become the man he promised himself he would never be. One of those inattentive men who’d grown so comfortable in the kindnesses of their wife that they’re shocked when she decides she has had enough. Neglect killed love. And he had been neglecting her, leaving her alone most days and most nights as he traveled back and forth between Bogotá and Medellin.

She stared at him, her expressions indiscernible. She accepted his hands when he placed them on hers, the small action giving him hopes. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it,” he begged, holding on tight. He needed her to believe him.

She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “It’s not— you didn’t do anything wrong.”

After relief came surprise. He hadn’t done something wrong this time? The relief was quickly replaced by worry. If he was the cause of her running away from him, he could handle that. He could change himself, fix whatever within was wrong to make her come home again. But it was something else, someone else…

“What is it, then?” He asked, cupping her cheek and gently directing her to look at him instead of her lap or the walls. “Is it work? Are your parents doing well back home?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

He inhaled and rubbed his eyes. “It can’t be nothing. You left me. You packed up your bags and left. I think I deserve an explanation.”

She let out a sigh. “I’ll come back then.”

His hand curled into a fist and his jaw clenched. So that was it? All he had to do was ask? Her easy compliance made him want to throw something at the wall.

He got off the ground where he was knelt at her feet and began pacing across the room.

He expected some resistance when he barged into her workplace uninvited and demanded that she come with him. He expected— no, hoped for a fight for it would give him answers for her sudden disappearance. But she just walked with him to the parking lot, no questions asked. And now she just agreed to move back in. All because he demanded answers.

“Fucking tell me!” He yelled, his hand fidgeting at his side.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said, her voice too calm for the gravity of the situation. Like this didn’t fucking matter.

Oh, you don’t wanna fight? You don’t wanna fucking fight? You fucking ran off and you don’t want to—

“I don’t either, but you’re making it very hard to not do that.”

He heard her take in a deep breath before he heard the unmistakable whispers of sniffling. Great. Fucking amazing. Now, he’d gone and made her cry.

Her sounds of despair were enough for his rage to evaporate off him. He rushed back to her side and pulled her to his chest, forcing comfort upon her in the hope that it would serve as a salve to whatever wounds he’d ripped open. To his relief, she didn’t push him away. But she didn’t pull him close like she always did when he embraced her. Things had changed and he hadn’t even noticed it happening. All he could do now was hope that whatever this rift was between them, he could patch it back together.

—————————

Even in the blistering heat of Bogotá, Javier chose to keep his wife pressed to his chest when he slept. She was disgusted by their sweat combining and their clothes sticking to their bodies, but she indulged his need for closeness. She knew he loved with his body and she accepted his love, in all its sweaty sticky mess.

So he had no choice but to interpret the chasm between them on their marital bed as her rejection of his love.

As soon as he brought her back home, he had to leave for Medellin. Any hopes for setting things right had been crushed when he had to leave from work straight to the other city. He’d called home before he left, informing he would be gone for a long time once again. She didn’t say much, just hemmed and hawed before asking him to be safe out there. No exaggerated smooching sounds to make him laugh, no promises of what would be awaiting him when he came back home to her, no I love you before she said goodbye.

Over ten days after the call, he was back but without any of the feelings of satisfaction he usually had when coming home to her. Instead, there was just dread. She met him at the door as usual and wrapped her arms around him, but she separated without a kiss. The cracks in the foundations of their marriage ran deeper than he’d feared.

“Hey,” he whispered awkwardly when she finally opened her eyes. She stilled, her head jerking up as though surprised he was there.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice groggy from sleep as she shuffled under her blanket.

“I missed you so much, mi amor…” he said carefully, afraid that anything he might say would snap the last thread that held them together. His hand slowly crept into the space between them, an offering to share the littlest bit of marital comforts.

“Missed you too, Javi,” she conceded, not taking his hand but settling for playing with his fingers. He allowed her to lead, giving what little contact she took from him and taking back only as much, afraid to cross any lines.

Her nails were uncharacteristically unkempt. The woman he knew did not tolerate chipped nail polish, wiping all her nails with acetone when the paint began chipping off. Almost all her nails except her pinky had chipped paint now. Her thumbnail was bare.

“May I paint your nails?” He asked, hopeful. She nodded and he left their bed in search of the box in which she kept all her manicure tools and paints.

When they sat together on bed as he took the pink off her nails, they were closer. He handled her hands with care, refusing to scrub too harshly even when the pieces of glitter clung to her as stubbornly as he did. Manicures were something she got done from salons, but she painted her own nails just as often. She said it calmed her.

He then brought the glass file to her nails, reducing them to a shorter oval shape the way she liked them. Any longer and she found it hard to use her typewriter. He made sure to file the edges in the same direction, recalling that she’d told him filing in opposite directions was not good for nail health. He repositioned her hand in his, turning it left and right as he evaluated his work. Satisfied with the shape, he brought his lips to the finger, his eyes remaining on hers the entire time to check for any signs of rejection. He pressed little kisses from her fingertip to her wrist, relishing in the shy smiles she rewarded him with.

He repeated his work with the other nails and then used the little wooden stick she had to push her cuticles back in preparation for the paint. The shower would wash it off soon, but he still slathered some moisturizer on her hands, using it as an excuse to massage her hands. He pushed the excess cream beyond her wrists and up her arms.

He kissed the back of her hand and looked up at her, her eyes clouded with sleep and something else, her plush lips parting as his own traveled up her arm. “You feel so good, baby, so soft,” he praised, making her shudder. When he reached the sleeve of his t-shirt that she liked wearing to bed, he pulled it down, exposing her shoulder. As he neared her neck, she cradled his head in her hand, guiding him by his hair to place kisses where she wanted them. His lips went willingly, loving her up in every spot she took him to. She was all sweat, citrus shampoo and the jasmine of the lotion he’d rubbed on her. He breathed her in, her scent being his choice of drug.

She pulled him back from her neck, gazing at his lips before closing her eyes and leaning forward. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, making her giggle. He smiled before leaning in again but kissing her chin.

“Javi,” she whined as he kissed along her jaw and the corners of her lips and even her nose, refusing to press his lips to hers.

“Yeah, baby?” He asked, feigning innocence. But she knew him too well to believe the act.

“Jodón.”

“Tell me what you want.” He demanded, craving the feeling of being wanted. He needed to know that she needed him just like he needed her, that she wasn’t just capitulating to his desires, that she desired him.

“Kiss me.”

He found himself grinning as he took her face in his hands and tilted his head, unhurried in how he grazed her lips with his. She took initiative, pressing her lips to his. She consumed him, not like a starving woman but like one ready to savor each second of her meal. He let one hand wander down her back, caressing her through the thin fabric but not daring to slip it under her t-shirt. He needed her to take this at her pace, unaffected by his greed and desperation to have all of her. It was fantastic how just a kiss from her could make him feel his heart beating for her.

He’d kissed other women before her and he enjoyed all those times. But with her, it was different. It wasn’t the first step in fucking, wasn’t a means to an end. When he kissed her, he wasn’t a lonely man trying to imitate a deeper intimacy he’d never had merely to quell his yearning for connection. In her lips, he found not just the thrill of desire, but the safety of home.

The first time he kissed her, every other kiss ceased to exist and she’d become the only one. Everyone he kissed after that first kiss left him unsatisfied. None of them tasted like her, didn’t send jolts of electricity through him, didn’t make his heart leap out of his chest.

She mewled into the kiss as his tongue danced with hers, giving in to her exploration of his mouth as she pulled him closer to herself. Taking her sounds as encouragement, he tangled his hands into her hair. He poured a month’s worth of longing into the kiss, asking with each sigh and moan ‘Can you feel how I yearn for you? Can you not feel how you broke me when you left and put me back together with just this kiss?’

She pulled back first and he found himself panting, taking in the air he didn’t know he was depriving himself of. He pounced back, needing her more than he needed oxygen. He took her lips between his, pushing her head into the headboard as he pulled her into a heated kiss. One hand roamed his shoulder and then his arms, up and down and driving him mad as the other rested over his heart. He brought a hand to hers, trapping hers over his heart. He felt lightheaded as she staved him of air, but he happily drowned in her. He needed her to feel him, feel how his heart beat to her tune, how it missed having her head rest on it as they slept in each other’s arms.

“Please, Javi. Need you…” she broke off to whisper. He placed one last kiss to her lips before he slid down the bed, pulling her to the edge before pulling her shorts off her. He dove in and licked her through her panties, savoring the taste of her wetness on the cotton. Her hand found his hair and tugged gently.

“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve missed having you, querida…” he said, placing a kiss between her legs.

“I miss you so much, Javi…”

“No, you don’t know,” he insisted, angered that she would claim to have missed him after she left him. If you missed me so much, why didn’t you come back? He pressed his thumb on her clit, pressed a bit harder than she liked and she whined.

“I’m sorry!”

“You left. You walked out on me, didn’t tell me shit and I was fucking miserable,” he confessed, passing on the hurt right back to her. She mumbled a few more apologies, but nothing would be enough until he got to take her again.

“Gonna let me show you how much I missed you, baby?” He asked, placing kisses on her belly. “Gonna let me make love to you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Need youuu—” she cried as he pushed the cotton of her panty aside to lick her.

“You need me?” He asked, licking her again. God, how he missed his favorite taste. “Did you miss my cock like I missed this pussy, baby?”

She nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed to know from her lips, needed her to scream for the entire city to know how she missed his touch. He pushed her legs back together and pulled her panties off before setting it aside. He wrapped his lips around her and sucked on her clit, exacting the sweetest little sounds from her.

“I need to hear you.”

“Missed you, Javi. Missed your cock,” she confessed, tightening around his finger as she did. He wished he had his cock inside her as he made her tell him how much she missed it. He would pull more confessions out of her with a promise of an orgasm and he knew she would say anything he wanted.

“You have ruined me, mi amor. Can’t make myself cum just as good anymore without this pussy. Hate my own fucking hand.” He praised before he lapped and laved at her core, licking her up as he made her wetter and wetter for him.

“I sneaked your panties out of the laundry hamper, took it with me to Medellin like a fucking creep,” he confessed, unsure if her cry of his name was the work of his fingers or the confession of his depravity. “The pink one with the stripes, covered in you from when you touched yourself, when you kept this cunt to yourself and kept me away. I needed to smell it when I wrapped my fist around my cock and imagined I was fucking you.”

She clenched around his finger and that sent a rush through him. “That make you feel good, Cariño? Knowing you’ve turned me into a fucking pervert?”

“Javi, baby please…” she cried as he busied his lips once again with her cunt. He would’ve left her pussy lips for the lips that cried his name so prettily but she kept him down with her hand on his hair. She fucked herself on his fingers, gasping when he added a third one to stretch her out further.

His idle hand traveled up her body, its every nerve ending enjoying having her tremble beneath him once again. He took his time, roaming everywhere, feeling every inch of skin that he would soon trap under him as he fucked her for the first in a long time. This was the longest they’d gone without each other ever since they decided to pursue what they had for real. Even with his job being the way it was, he managed to come to Bogota every now and then to have her.

She wrapped her legs around him, trapping his head with her thighs as she dug the heel of her foot into his back. He growled into her cunt as she thrust up into him, fucking his mouth and his fingers at the same time. She still wanted him in between her legs if nowhere else and if he had to, he would fuck her into staying with him forever.

A few more minutes of licking and sucking and she was pulsating around his fingers, her thighs setting enough pressure on him to make him fear that she might crush him. With a cry of his name, she came for him, coating him in her juices. He drank up all of her, not showing any restraint.

She pulled him up by his hair and he obeyed, kissing her lips to bless her with her deliciousness. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, meeting her tongue as she moaned with her own taste. He placed his hand over her collarbones, smearing her all over the place before he crept up and held her neck as he relished in the vibrations of her moans.

He gasped into the kiss as she wrapped her hand around him through his boxers. He grabbed her wrist and held her in place, keeping her from stroking his cock. It’d been too long since he had her and he wasn’t going to waste this morning by coming in his fucking underwear.

“Let me have you, baby,” he begged, dipping down to her neck to lick up her cum that he had smeared over her. He wasn’t going to let any of her go to waste.

“Yes, fuck!” She reached into his boxers and took him out, painfully hard and already leaking precum. He licked and sucked the skin until it was marred from his attention.

“Wanna be on top, please,” she begged and he rolled them around, acquiescing to her. She sat up on him, her knees planted on either side of him before taking her t-shirt off to reveal her pretty tits. Before he could reach up for her himself, she took command in taking his hand and placing it on her breast.

“Missed this so much, Javi,” she said as she stroked his cock. He kneaded her breast in his hand, enjoying having the ample flesh in his hands.

“Need to be inside you, please,” he breathed, trying as much as he could to clear his thoughts for if he focused on her hand around his cock and how gorgeous she looked on him, he would burst in an instant.

She obliged, adjusting herself over him before living him up with herself. She let him inside her wet heat, just the tip, before pulling back up. He groaned at the loss of contact, biting down on his lip as she repeated the motion, giving him just a bit of her pussy before pulling away once again.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t fucking tease. I haven’t had you in the longest time, darling. I need—ssss” he hissed as she took him in once more.

“I’m not teasing,” she gasped silently as she allowed a little more of him inside her. “So big, Javi. Haven’t stretched me out like this in s-so long,” she praised as she swallowed him bit by bit. “So fucking thick, gonna ruin me.”

“That’s right, baby… You love this cock, don’t you? Can’t go for anyone else ever again. I’ve made you mine,” he said, moving his other hand to her clit, moaning when she rewarded his touch by gripping him tighter.

“Mmmm love your cock,” she moaned as she struggled to take more of him even though he’d gotten her nice and wet with his fingers and mouth. Poor thing needed time to get used to his girth again after having gone such a long time without him.

“You are so beautiful like this… Look so fucking sinful trying so hard to take all of me, sitting on top of me like that and letting me touch your tits,” he praised as he played with her nipples, pinching and tugging and rolling between his fingers to make her tighten around him. She might have been on top, taking the reins, but he still had control. He knew her body like he knew the communas where he chased men, knew every shortcut, memorized every path, knew where to go to corner and capture them. He could elicit every desired response from her by touching her in the right places and saying the right words. She belonged to him, body and soul, and he enjoyed using every inch of her body to remind her to whom she belonged.

He let her set a slow torturous pace as she adjusted to him, groaning as she finally swallowed him to the hilt. It was pure bliss to be surrounded whole by her, to feel all of her wet, velvety heat. He felt her all over, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and it was everything. She was everything.

It was sweet torment to be exposed to the cold air of the fan only to be swallowed back up by her hot cunt. He needed her so fucking bad, needed her not just for the carnal pleasures that sex brought but the feeling of home when he found himself buried in her— he needed her to devour him whole and keep him right there, inside her, all hers and nothing else. Only the Javier that belonged to her was worth existing. Everything else he’d become in over three decades of life was insignificant.

Inside the walls of their home, on their marital bed, there was no world outside. She brought him the delusions of safety and he luxuriated in it, allowing himself to forget everything that wasn’t her. The world was just her tight cunt, her tits under his hands and the filthy sounds from her lips as she slowly went from a woman in control to a writhing, moaning mess. He met her halfway with his thrusts when she struggled to keep up on top of him. He sat himself up and pulled her to his chest, giving in as she stole his lips. It was hurried and sloppy as they explored familiar territory, still as excited as the first time they kissed each other. Practiced lovers, savoring the familiar comfort of each other’s lips yet excited to find something new each time.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he begged, holding her face in his hand and making her look at him in the hopes that she would see just how much he meant it. “I can’t, without you… I— I c-can’t, mi amor— Please…”

“I w-won’t,” she managed to stutter out as she grew breathless.

“Promise me,” he demanded even though what he wanted to do was beg.

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to form words as he set a relentless pace, taking over as he thrust into her and thumbed her clit.

“Fucking promise me!” He growled, forcing himself into her in hard, merciless thrusts.

“Aaaah! Ja—”

“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine, get it? This isn’t— We aren’t just da-dating. I’m your husband. You can’t just leave like that.” He forced himself deep and inadvertently hit her cervix. She jolted in his arms and let out a pained cry, letting him know his mistake and he pressed a kiss to her cheek in a silent apology.

“Sorr— hnnng! ‘m sorry Jav—”

A tear slipped down her cheek and he kissed it, tasting her. He breathed her name the way a dying man would call for his god in desperation. He prayed her name, each syllable a request of Save me, never leave me, breathe life into this wretched man.

She pulsated around him, collapsing on his chest and relying on him to hold her up as she reached her peak. She was deadweight in his arms and he held her tight as he reamed into her, her back arching and her hair cascading down her back, shaking from his hard thrusts. She took him along with her, erasing his world and making herself his everything. She had dragged him to the peak of the world and now she was pulling him down and he went with her willingly, taking everything she gave him, getting lost in her body. She was like a breath of air after drowning for eternity, she gave him life, gave him meaning even though she’d been the one to rob him of it.

He wiped her tears and kissed her all over, showering her with all the love he had for her. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he poured out, he couldn’t show her the depth of his feelings for her. No words compared, no kisses came close to the place she had in his life. No matter how many times he told her he loved her, she would never know just how much.

“Te amo, Javi,” she broke off from their kiss to whisper. He collapsed on the bed and brought her down with him. He pecked her lips once and then twice before setting his gaze on her eyes.

“Si me amas…” he paused to take a breath. “¿por qué me dejaste? ¿Por qué?”

She looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her rings as she spoke, “Y-yo no quiero perderte.”

He shook his head as he said, “No me perderás. Yo soy tuyo.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest over his heart. “Tuyo.”

She scoffed, her hand curling over his chest. “More Escobar’s than mine at this point.”

“What?”

She shook her head and looked away, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t complain.”

“No. No, you talk to me. What is this about?”

“We’ll fight if we talk about it. Like Steve and Connie.”

“Do you…? Do you want to leave…? Like Connie did?” He asked, unable to steady his shaking voice. Three weeks with her gone was hell enough. If she wanted to take off permanently, he didn’t know what he would do with himself. Hunting the hijo de puta had become his purpose in life over the past few years. But he now had another important purpose, a woman he’d made promises to. Promises he was insistent on keeping.

She shook her head.

He sighed as he tucked her hair behind her ear, needing to see her without anything in the way. It was fucking frustrating, not knowing what worried her so much that she couldn’t even talk to him about it, that she chose instead to run away from him. But he had to be kind if he wanted her to open up.

He began by caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. Gently, like soothing a wounded child. “Baby… If you don’t tell me what this is about, how am I going to fix it? Hmm?”

“It can’t be fixed,” she said, same as that day.

It took him a moment to know how to answer her.

“When I asked you to marry me, you asked that I give you all of me. Have I not kept that promise?” He asked, knowing that he had so far. No matter how ugly, no matter how broken, he brought home all of himself. To her credit, she accepted him just as he was.

She nodded and said, “you have.”

“Now I’m asking. I want everything, too. Whatever you’re hiding from me that has you worried will make us fight. Is it about my job?”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she nodded, head hung low as tears spilled out.

“No, no, nothing to be sorry about. Just talk to me. What about my job?”

“S-scared.” His chest tightened at the trembling of her voice. Relationships were not something he was comfortable with after he left Lorraine and it was alright for his dangerous new lifestyle as an agent in Colombia. There was no one else he was putting in danger because of his line of work. But then he had to go and fall in love.

It was one of the reasons he proposed to her as soon as he could. Being his wife offered her more legal protection than did being his girlfriend. And knowing that she was it for him, he saw no point in waiting. But she was still afraid for her safety.

He reached out quickly to reassure her.

“I’m here, okay? Our home is safe. Those bastards won’t dare touch you here, won’t dare touch a US federal agent’s wife. I got you,” he whispered into her ear and rubbed her back, hoping to help her relax in his arms. She didn’t. She just tensed.

“‘m not worried about m-myself,” she said softly. “Ever since Steve got kidnapped, I—”

He took in a deep breath and pulled her in closer even though there was no gap between them. What was he supposed to do? Tell her he was safe? Lying wasn’t something he was ready to do in their marriage. Even if he did, she wouldn’t believe him after she had to comfort a panicking Connie. He had the same job as Steve, faced the same dangers. It could be him next. And he might not be lucky enough to come home.

The CNP guys were in much greater danger than he was as an American. Call it gringo privilege. But he couldn’t make promises. He couldn’t promise that a jump from the roof wouldn’t end up terribly. He couldn’t promise that he would never catch a stray bullet. He couldn’t promise that a crazy motherfucker wouldn’t target him for the bragging rights over nabbing a US agent.

Small town sheriff Javier Peña hadn’t thought of all this when he signed up for this job in his mid twenties. There was just an opportunity to run away from a town that hated him— a town he hated more for how it smothered him from all sides as he grew and grew yet it remained small, insignificant. It was his chance to do something great, to be the good guy fighting big bag guys and he took it. He hadn’t been warned that he’d one day be sat holding his sobbing wife, speechless because he couldn’t make the most basic promise— to fucking stay alive.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, the tremble in her voice tugging at his heartstrings.

“No, no. I’m sorry.” Sorry I can’t give you more. Sorry I made you cry. He pulled her into his arms and sat on the couch, cradling her in his lap more for his comfort than hers.

“I shouldn’t complain. I know I married a man with a dangerous job. I signed up for all this, but… ‘m so scared, Javi. I can’t sleep at night. I wake up from nightmares and I lose you every single time. I get scared when I get a call because what if—” she stopped, breaking down into sobs.

There was nothing he could do to fix this, she was correct. The thing that was causing her all this agony was his whole life.

“Do you want me to quit my job?” He asked, regretting it the minute the question left his lips. What if she said yes? What if that was the only way to fix their marriage? He would quit. There was no question about that. But that would mean that almost a decade of his life’s work would be worth nothing. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Resentment would break anything they had left between them.

Please don’t ask that of me.

She shook her head and he had to keep himself from letting out a huge sigh of relief.

“Do you know I have students who— I shouldn’t tell you. I’m not on the field like you and I don’t know all the things you know, but I see everyday how he’s fucking ruined lives. I want you to catch that motherfucker. You’re in this fight and I’m not letting you leave it without crushing his blood empire. I just don’t want us to be collateral damage. I can’t bear losing you whether it is to divorce or a bullet. I can’t—” she brought her hand to her lips, biting on her newly shaped nails.

He swallowed, tugging her hand away from her mouth and giving it a kiss. “I can’t make promises about the latter,” he said softly, unable to look her in the eyes as he said it. He didn’t want to know what he did to her with those words. “You know I can’t. But when I die, whether it’s tomorrow or 40 years from now, I’ll die your husband. I don’t do divorce. You might think it’s not a big deal for me, the guy who left his first fiancé at the altar. But trust me, you’re a catch and there’s no way I’m letting you escape”

She laughed and nuzzled into his neck. He rested his head on hers and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m not joking. You should be very scared, baby. As far as I’m concerned, I’m it for you. Won’t let you leave no matter what you do.”

“Yeah?” She laughed, her eyes glinting with tears but also something new. Her lips quirked up in a mischievous smile. “What if I slept with a bunch of guys?”

He raised an eyebrow, reeling the unhinged jealous little man in his heart to join her in whatever this was that made her smile through her tears. “Good for them. Best pussy they’ll ever have. I mean, I will beat them to death for touching you. But you’re still my wife. Not divorcing you.”

“What if I fucked Steve?” She challenged, raising an eyebrow.

He knew what she was doing. She was making it personal, putting a face to the act and making said face a very familiar one. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Last thing he’ll ever do in his life. I’ll kill him and Connie will help me hide his body.”

“Mhmm? What if…..?” She trailed, looking into the distance as she stroked her invisible beard. “What if I let someone else knock me up?”

“You bitch!”

She gasped and shoved at his chest. “How dare you call me a bitch!?”

“How dare you even think of letting another man do that?”

“I won’t actually do that!” She defended, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m just trying to get a raise out of you.”

“And you did,” he supplied, making her scoff.

“How about…? Okay! What if I fucked Escobar?”

“Shit, I would tell everyone!” He laughed. “My wife? Getting that close to that piece of shit and living to tell the story? Yeah, I’d be on the rooftops with a megaphone. Oh and I’ll kill him. Of course. Goes without saying.”

“Well, you were gonna kill him anyway. What will you do to him for touching your wife?” She asked, twirling his overgrown hair around her finger.

Was this…? Noooo! He was just joking, but she seems to like the idea of him killing men for wanting her.

“Baby, what’s wrong with you?” He asked, laughing. She surprised him every goddamn day.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she licked her lips and drew shaped on his chest with her index finger. “There should be an explanation for why I signed up for all this.”

“You like this, don’t you?” He asked, lowering the register of his voice the way she liked as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You want me to possess you, to hurt anyone who would want you that way I have you. You like that I can be a dangerous man.”

She shivered, but quickly stabilised herself, looking very blasé as she spoke, “Huh, that answers my question. I always wondered what kind of idiot would be with Escobar. I guess women just like to fuck a powerful man. And money. She’d gotta be in it for the money.”

“She married him before he got rich, actually. And it’s not just women who are attracted to powerful men,” he added, letting her know just how much he liked when she was in a position of power.

“Men too? You’re gonna tell me you want to fuck Escobar?” She asked, making him laugh. He pinched her bum, making her squeal and attempt to get off him. He pulled her back in immediately, not ready to lose contact.

“When I came to your class, I sat in the back the entire time. I enjoyed seeing you in your element, leading the discussion, getting a big room full of people to listen to you. And your ass in a pencil skirt. If I was your student, I would wank off every day thinking of you” he groaned, his cock twitching inside her at the mental image.

“Oh my god!” She exclaimed before hitting him playfully.

“Whaaat? I feel bad for those fuckers in your class, having to talk about Frankenstein’s monster to impress their hot little literature professor.”

“Don’t sexualise my job!” She looked positively scandalised. Like he’d suggested that she let him fuck her on the streets.

“Uh huh? Now you know how it feels? What was that you asked me for your birthday?” He teased. “On yds, the little interrogation fantasy. You’ve been begging me to tie you up and interrogate you.”

She hid her smile from him, covering her face with her hands, but he pried them off to see her looking so sweetly shy at being reminded of the depraved things she wanted him to do to her. “You don’t have to do it,” she said, shy and quiet and she played with her rings.

“Mmm thank you baby, but I’m gonna make your dreams come true. Just be happy I’m not CIA. Cause CIA has some terrible interrogation methods. They’ll fucking waterboard you.”

“Oh my god! Okay this isn’t fun anymore,” she said, getting off him, but he pulled her right back onto his cock, laughing as he caught her expression.

“Let me go!”

“No, no sorry. I shouldn’t talk about the CIA in bed, they’re such a turn off.”

“You think that’s why I’m trying to escape?? Javi, women don’t like talking about waterboarding with a dick inside them.”

“Okay, okay, I know. Just stay in bed. I have today off and I need to be inside you,” he said, rubbing her back in an attempt to coax her into foregoing her household responsibilities for a lazy day in bed with him.

“I have work to do. Papers to grade and clothes to wash. Oh and some pervert,” she said, poking his chest a few times. “has been stealing my panties so I have to go wash them before he gets to them.”

“Oh please, it was just one pair,” he lied, looking away quickly but it wasn’t enough for him to get away with it.

She squinted her eyes at him and he relented. “Fine. It was three. Pink one with the stripes, blue lace ones and a white cotton panty.”

“Pervert!”

“Or I’m just really in love with my wife. You should see the sweet side of it. You don’t know how other guys act on the field. It’s like as soon as they’re in Medellin, they aren’t married.”

“Uh huh?” She said as she tilted her head, her tone suggesting that she wasn’t convinced by his words. “And I’m supposed to be grateful that you aren’t sleeping around? Pendejo!” She punctuated her curse with a slap to his chest.

“That’s not what I meant!” He defended, taking her slapping hand and giving it a kiss.

“Sure, Cabrón.”

He laughed, amused at how adorable she was when angry. He pulled her down to lie down with him, her head on his chest and his hand in her hair. Mornings like these had become so rare. Even without their period of separation, they didn’t have quality time together. Work always called, always overwhelmed and left him with very little to give as a husband. Being too tired to do anything else, he couldn’t even take her out anywhere for dinner. But that would change tonight.

“I made dinner reservations for us. Are you free tonight?”

He’d booked it a while back, but he didn’t know if she would want to go with him after she left. And he didn’t want to promise her a date night before he knew for sure that he would have the day off from work. She did not take it terribly when he had to calculate on her for work, but something told him it wasn’t good for a marriage to keep breaking promises.

“Hmm, I don’t know. This pendejo said he’ll paint my nails and did a half assed job. I might have to book a nail appointment for the night,” she teased, making him laugh. He’d completely forgotten that their activities were preceded by his request to paint her nails.

“I’ll finish the job now,” he said, getting up, but she pushed him back down and trapped him in a loving hug.

“Later. I just wanna stay like this a little longer. Feels good…”

“I like when you hold me like this, mi amor,” he confessed, his voice softening as he opened himself up to allow himself to bask in the euphoria that holding her to his chest brought him.

“I- it calms me down. I need to hear your heart beating. I wake up from bad dreams sometimes and I can’t fall back asleep if I don’t lie down like this.”

He froze. He had no idea she had nightmares. “You never told me.”

“Didn’t want to worry you.”

He said her name softly, making her look up at him from his chest.

“You have to tell me these things,” he said, moving her hair out of the way so he could have an unobstructed view of her. Her features were soft, her eyes open, vulnerable.

“You have a lot on your plate already… I don’t want to be one of your problems.”

“Jesus,” he swore before sighing. “You’re not- I’ll never think of you as a problem. I understand why you worry. It’s not unwarranted. I would never ask you to hide your feelings for me. I thought we talked about these things. You’re the one who’s always telling me that we should communicate about difficult things. What happened to that?”

“Do you remember when I made you choose? Either date me for real or stop coming over for anything other than sex?”

He hummed in response, encouraging her to continue. They'd been fooling around for around two months back then and one night when he was dressing himself to leave, she forced him to confront how he’d been treating her— he’d been giving her mixed signals, pulling her in and pushing her away. He’d act like her boyfriend one minute but get distant the next and she was understandably annoyed.

“And you said you wanted to date me but you warned me that your job was dangerous and that attachments were a weakness. I didn’t want to be your weakness, I still—”

He shook her head, interrupting her mid-sentence, “I was talking out of my ass, I was just scared. And it’s different now. We’re—”

“Yeah but when I think of you strapping a gun and badge on yourself to go out and get shot at by those malparidos, I want to stop you,” she choked on her words, getting up off his chest and hugging her knees to her chest. “I told you I could handle it. That day and the day you asked me to marry you. But, I can’t. I can’t handle it. Ever since Steve was kidnapped- and I know you said he wasn’t in any real danger, but fuck! It was terrifying to see Connie like that and I couldn’t help but worry and put myself in her place. And I couldn’t stop thinking about every terrible thing that could happen to you and I just wanted to lock you up at home. So I left- because I don’t want to be your weakness. But I can’t be brave, I can’t be strong.”

It broke his heart to know that behind the scenes, behind her easy smiles and her strong shoulders he leaned on everyday, there was so much fear. So much insecurity. There was shame too. Had he been more attentive, he would’ve known without her having to tell him, without her having to run away.

He sat up, pulled her close and placed a kiss on her head. “You are brave and you’ve been so strong, putting up with more of my shit than you need to… Sometimes I think I won’t get through this with my soul intact if it weren’t for you. So never think that you’re my weakness.”

She listened, her eyebrows furrowed and eyes never leaving him. She bit down on her lip, pulling at the skin with her teeth, something she did when anxious. He reached over and thumbed her lip, not wanting to wait until she started bleeding.

“I… I’ve put you in a difficult position, but I would never ask you to hide your fears for my comfort. And you leaving definitely did not make me stronger. Just scared the hell out of me. I thought I’d done something so shit that you’d left for good.”

“Sorry I left… I just—”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me. Not like that would’ve solved anything,” he scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing short of stopping that bastard is going to solve this.”

“I know, I know…” she sighed.

“I’ll get him,” he affirmed, taking her hands in his. All the things he’d done since he landed in Colombia, all the things he’d lost because of that man… To think he might lose her too… It was chilling. He’d lost friends, made enemies, became the guy everyone called an asshole for not cutting corners, for not putting up with anything that wasn’t right. He’d lost so much, but she wasn’t going to be one of them. He wouldn’t allow it.

Javier Peña wouldn’t rest until Escobar was history.

.

.

.

Series Masterlist

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part 14)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

Please comment and engage! Sorry this part is super long!

The dining room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words. The table, usually a hub of laughter and warmth, was cloaked in silence, adorned only by scattered plates and an unfinished bottle of wine.

Danielle sat at one end, her gaze distant, the light glinting off her teary eyes as she cradled a glass of red, taking small, shuddering sips when her daughter walked into the room, just minutes after you had you had dropped her off in front of the house.

As she spotted her mother, Nina furrowed her brow with worry.

"Mum? What's going on?" she asked, her voice trembeling slightly and concern washing over her features.

Danielle's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, but she didn't respond immediately, her gaze lingering on the patterned wallpaper, lost in thoughts only she could get to.

"Is everything okay?" Nina pressed, stepping closer, her heart racing.

Finally, Danielle turned her head, a flicker of annoyance sparking in her sorrowful eyes.

"I'm fine, Nina," she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

"Clearly," Nina replied, the sarcasm biting at the edges of her concern as Nina's two siblngs joined in aswell.

Danielle downed the last sip of wine and set her glass down sharply as all of the teenagers took their usual seats around the large table.

"If this is about the incident at school again," Nina's brother cut in, crossing his arms, but Danielle interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

"It's not," she snapped, her voice sharp as she shot him a weary glance which almost made him drop his phone.

In that moment, the door creaked open, and Cillian entered with a weariness that seemed to engulf him. His complexion appeared grey, as if he had stepped directly from a nightmare into reality.

He took a moment to survey the somber scene, the tension palpable and, even though her father had not yet spoken a single word, Nina's pulse quickened as she knew this wasn't going to be an ordinary family meeting.

"What's this about, Dad?" she then quickly asked, her voice steady despite the unease.

Cillian glanced at Danielle, an unspoken plea reflected in his gaze. "Your mother and I have something important to talk with you about," he began, his voice steady but laced with tension.

"No, you have something you want to talk about with them, Cillian!" Danielle snapped, cutting him off, her voice rising in anger. "None of this is my choice," she explained and all of the children exchanged glances with one another, bewildered and confused.

Cillian held his ground, attempting to keep calm amid the storm. "Danielle, let's not escalate this. You promised to keep—" he began, but was cut off quickly.

"Keep what?" she interrupted, furious. "Keep pretending that everything's fine? Look at us! I've waited long enough for you to find your damn courage!" she spat, her voice laced with anger.

Nina shifted, agitation coiling in her stomach. This wasn't the first time their parents had fought, but it felt more volatile today—raw wounds reopened.

"Guys, can we just get on with it?" she tried again, desperation creeping into her voice. "Without fighting maybe?" she suggested and at least her father nodded.

"Yes, of course," Cillian said, addressing his daughter with a heavy heart. "Things haven't been well for a while now. I moved out before, and—" he then began, but again, got interrupted, this time by Nina's younger sister.

"No shit," Cillian's daughter retorted, crossing her arms, which gave Nina the oppertunity to raise a question

"So you're moving out again? Taking another break from us? Your fucking family?" she asked, but Cillian shook his head, seemingly hurt by the choice of words from his eldest.

"I never took a break from you and your brother and sister, Nina. I love you, and I need you to understand that," he stressed, his deep blue eyes searching each of their faces for some hint of comprehension.

"But you don't love Mum," Nina threw back, her voice stiff. "I mean, it's obvious! Just say it already!"

Cillian's jaw clenched, frustration etching deeper lines into his face.

"No, I don't Nina. Not anymore," he interjected, his voice strained as he met her fierce gaze before continuing what he had to say. "And even if I did, your mother and I simply can't keep going like this forever. We are both unhappy in this marriage which is why we have decided to get a divorce," he concluded, each word a heavy stone cast into turbulent waters.

Danielle flinched as if struck, her earlier bravado evaporating. "No, Cillian!" she shouted, breaking down again, her hands covering her face as tears freely fell. "You did!" she spat. "You told me today that you wanted a divorce, so here we are," she explained to her children who were staring at their father with expressions of disbelief.

"And this is it? You just give up? Just like that?" Nina then asked just as Cillian was going to respond to Danielle's accusations.

Cillian met his daughter's gaze, pain flickering in his eyes. "It's not that simple, Nina. I've tried for years to make this work," Cillian continued, his voice wavering. "But trying is not enough anymore" he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Nina clenched her fists, frustration boiling over. "Don't say that! You're just giving up on us. Again," she said and her words sliced through the tense air, leaving a heavy silence in their wake as Danielle's sobs filled the space, drowning out any hope of reconciliation.

"I am not giving up on you Nina," Cillian's voice broke through the tension, each word weighted with urgency. "And I need you to understand that this isn't about you. It's about your mother and me."

"But you're choosing to walk away!" Nina shot back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"From my marriage, yes. But not my family," Cillian's gaze softened, the strain of the conversation knitting deeper lines across his forehead. "I'll always be here for you guys, no matter what happens between your mother and me," he assured, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around them.

"Where will you even go?" the youngest, Isla, then piped up, her innocent voice trembling at the edge of the chaos swirling around them.

"I'll just be in town for now, in a small rental," Cillian replied, his heart breaking at the thought of his children's pain. "We can still see each other regularly though. I can come and visit you here, take you to school, hang out with you guys...nothing will change that."

Isla peered up at him, confusion mapping her features. "What does that even mean? Mum, please, where will we live?" she asked, glancing anxiously between both parents. "Will we stay with you? Or with dad sometimes too?" she wanted to know, but her mother simply shrugged her shoulders.

Cillian interjected and cleared his throat, "We'll figure it out soon sweet pea. But for now, it's important for you to just do what you would usually do, alright?" he suggested, causing his youngest to nod. "Go to school, meet up with your friends, and know that we'll work through this. We are still a family, just in a different way."

Danielle crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "We are still a family? Do you even hear yourself?" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger before throwing her glass to the floor. The glass shattered, a sharp crack slicing through the tense atmosphere.

"You need to calm down Danielle!" Cillian's voice rose, the force of it surprising the children.

"Calm down? After everything you've done to this family tonight?" Danielle's eyes blazed, fury mixing with despair. "I can't calm the fuck down with you being here," she spat, shards of glass crunching underfoot as she glared at Cillian.

Nina stepped forward, a fierce determination igniting her voice. "Mom, we need to talk about this. Yelling won't solve anything," she insisted, her gaze fierce as it swept between her parents.

"You are right Nina, but maybe it would be better for your mother if I left for now, just to give you all some time to breathe," Cillian suggested, his voice dropping to a near whisper, eyes searching for understanding.

Nina's jaw clenched, determination flickering in her gaze before she nodded.

"Yeah, maybe," Nina then murmured, her voice steady despite the storm behind her eyes all the while her mother sat back, arms crossed tightly across her chest as Isla stepped forward to give her father a hug.

"Just know I love you all," Cillian he urged, his voice breaking as his youngest daughter clung to him, her small frame shaking with quiet sobs.

Nina's bother, on the other hand, just shook his head and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, a silent rebellion against the chaos rattling the house.

Cillian's hand lingered on Isla's back, steadying as his heart clenched. "We'll find a way through this baby. I promise," he vowed and Isla nodded.

"I know dad," she whispered, her voice trembling as she finally took a step back, which is when Cillian met her gaze, the weight of unsaid promises heavy in the air.

"Love you guys," he then said as it was time for him to go and Nina stood frozen, tears shimmering in her eyes, as her father turned to leave.

...............................................

Shortly after Cillian had left, Isla too had disappeared into her room, and Nina finally found herself at the threshold, her heart aching as she looked at her mother's crumpled figure.

She was still sitting there, sobbing into her hands, the rawness of grief filling the room.

"Mum, why didn't you tell us that it is that bad between you and dad?" Nina finally asked, her voice thick.

Danielle lifted her head, red-rimmed eyes searching her daughter's face.

"Because I thought I could still fix this," she murmured, her voice cracking. "I hoped it would just click one day, that he would stop sleeping around and focus on us again," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"So you think that he was cheating on you again? Is that why you have been fighting with him so much lately?" Nina queried, having heard the many rumours about her father.

Danielle's eyes glimmered with fresh tears. "It's not just that, but yes, there most definatly is another woman in the picture right now, and it infuriates me," she spat, trembling with anger as her hands clenched into fists on the table.

Nina stepped closer, her heart racing. "Are you sure? You think Dad is with someone else?" she queried in disbelief, her pulse quickening.

Danielle's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "I found some make-up stains on his t-shirt today, after he had put it in the dirty wash, and I could smell her perfume on it too," she murmured, sorrow drenching her words abd Nina's heart thudded against her ribs.

"Mum, are you even sure that it was his t-shirt you grabbed from the laundry basket and not my brother's?" Nina leaned closer, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "I mean, he steals dad's clothes all the time to go on dates and stuff," she argued, folding her arms defiantly.

"I am sure," Danielle repeated, her voice shaking as she wiped away another tear. "It was your dad's and that's why I confronted him, which is when things escalated and, in the end, he asked for a divorce," she explained to her daughter who couldn't help but wonder.

"So, you think he has someone else? Just like that? And he is leaving you for her?" Nina asked and Danielle nodded, eyes brimming with tears.

"Yes and I think it is someone we know too, because I have smelled that perfume before, somewhere. I just don't know where..." Danielle murmured, her fingers trembling against the table's edge, but for Nina, all of this was too much.

"That's absurd, Mum. You can't just jump to conclusions because of some smell on his t-shirt," she challenged, frustration flooding her voice as she no longer knew what or whom to believe and, thus, quickly brushed off her mother's concerns.

"I just have a feeling Nina. I just know something is off," Danielle's voice trembled, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

"Feelings don't prove anything, Mum!" Nina shot back, frustration igniting the space between them. "But maybe he did cheat. Or maybe he did not. You have been accusing him of cheating for years on end and, at least now, it no longer matters. He is gone and I think I will leave for a little while too. I might stay at Y/N's house for a few days to clear my head," Nina declared, her voice firm, conviction anchoring her stance and Danielle's eyes widened, a mix of anger and sorrow flooding her expression.

"So you are leaving me? Just like your father?" she asked and Nina stood firm, her jaw set.

"Yeah, I need space, Mum. This place feels toxic right now," she determined before leaving her mother in an emotional silence, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken burdens.

Tags:

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[nyxlarkyn]

Jinx's Dynamics Between Sevika and Isha Will be My Current Roman Empire:

Isha is holding onto the role of an inner child/Powder for Jinx.

I keep seeing mother/daughter comparisons between the two. A nice sentiment but not what's playing out. Think of Brittany Murphy's "Uptown Girls" Where a young girl forced to grow up early falls into the care of a woman clinging to her youth. Isha and Jinx will be about the cycle of trauma children face under the corruption of the upper and under cities. Isha is forced to survive at all costs at a young age and Jinx is a damaged individual lost within herself due to the same conditions Isha currently faces.

She's introduced to Jinx almost exactly the same way Silco took Powder in; terrified for her life a child buries herself in an adult for protection. Silco raises a hand to the child and his cronies watch on afraid of what he may do to this kid. Jinx waves a gun at her child and the audience watches on with the same dread Silcos lackeys held. Both sparing the girl and choosing to protect her. When Isha risks her life to save Jinx, I couldn't help but think of how Jinx must've been at that age with Silco. How she made a name for herself as his psycho daughter. The weight of a child ready to risk their life and kill for you.

Almost all of Isha's movements feel like they're just Powders old animations being recycled or her actions directly mirroring hers.

Isha's wardrobe is also very detailed. She has a similar helmet we've seen Powder wear, her boots have a very prominent X stitched on one and the other has a very deep V silhouette, she has one glove that looks like Jinx's gloves, her other arm is covered and wrapped with a red string- reminiscent of Vis wrappings, she also wears a beaded chocker that's laced around her neck the same way Jinx and Sevika wears theirs.

Speaking of Sevika:

Jinx chose to gift Sevika a new arm made out of parts of the old punching game the girls would train on as kids. We know the significance it holds to Jinx, so her taking it apart for Sevika is huge. This act is her dismantling her old relationship with her sister to form a new one with Sevika.

Sevika's eyes reflect more silver this season than brown making her more reminiscent of Powder and Vi. Her hair being down later in the season and Vi growing hers out and dying it black adds to their mirroring. They also fight with mechanical fist(s).

Silco was a man both Jinx and Sevika answered to. Whether or not Sevika viewed him as a Paternal figure, he was her most respected authority figure. Both women have that grief over Silco and bond over their resentment towards him and aimlessnes with him gone.

This post below inspire me to post this, because seriously why aren't more people talking about this.

[former-ghost-of-the-internet]

One Night in Medellín

(Screen shot and image edits done by me)

Summary: Takes place during s2ep5, when Los Pepes first attacks the narcos on the streets of  Medellín. You lose your hearing during a standoff and are dumped at the Search Bloc base. Javi comforts you in the aftermath, finding ways to communicate through your temporary deafness. 

Javier Peña x f reader

Word count: 3526

Rating: 18+ for some dark content in the background. My blog/‘place I keep my reblogs’ is very Mature, so no minors allowed there, sorry.

Warnings: series typical violence, hurt/comfort, soft Javi, tiny bit of your blood, descriptions of panicked reader, generally able-bodied reader, might read as shorter than Javi, only one instance of female clothing for a funny awkward moment, no specific descriptions of reader, hopefully this is fairly inclusive for everyone. No y/n, no smut.

Authors note:   100% bad information on everything medical related in this story. Any cultural inaccuracies are my own fault too. Apologies to Steve Murphy for being the butt of a joke or two. First time writing in second-person. Not American so the spelling will be slightly different.

Please enjoy 😊

....

Medellín nights were always festive, despite one man’s war with the Colombian government. 

You’d had a long but good day, far far away from the UNICEF office and in a little communa church hall, where you and the other doctors and nurses had vaccinated as many children as could be rounded up. Even the abuelitas had rooted out the most stubborn kids, and either guilted them into coming down, or whacked them in the right direction with their walking sticks and shoes, if not open palms on skulls. Each time was a commotion, and to ease hurt childish feelings, you slipped enough pesos into their hands for an ice cream. For the hard-working abuelitas a coffee cart vendor happily provided free coffee, after you had thrown a pretty smile his way and warned him the little old women were worked up enough to be a threat to anyone not on their side. And he absolutely wanted to be on their side. 

With the unused vaccines stored at a major hospital, and saying goodnight to the local doctors who’d been right next to you since sunrise, you’d headed to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant one nurse raved about during one break you’d taken with her, with free coffees, thanks to a sharp glare from the abuelitas, bless their hearts. 

It was further from the city centre than where you’d been told to stay close to at night, but you hoped your very bright UNICEF shirt would offer some protection in the dark. Even your backpack had a big red cross on it. Anything to say you were a doctor, here to help, and absolutely not a threat. 

The restaurant was packed, even the few plastic tables shoved outside were full, and the small waitstaff offered paper plates to take-away, which many people had chosen, and sat on the street curbs to eat, under the yellow streetlights.

At last the line to order, which the waitstaff had banished to wait outside the actual restaurant, had shortened to only you and the two men in front of you. They both carried full gym bags. And as you noticed with a slight chill through your spine, handguns tucked into their belts. They chatted together without a care in the world, as you looked away to make sure you didn’t see their faces, even in low-light. 

You stared up the street to the top of the hill and the man who walked down it with an assured swagger, encased in khaki pants. Like he’d stepped out of the jungle. 

You frowned as he passed under a streetlight. Something about his face was familiar in a bad way. 

He had his focus on the men standing next to you, and in a blink, drew his own handgun out. 

An arm grabbed you around your shoulders, pulling you back into a chest, your backpack falling to the ground. Then the cold metal of a weapon held to your ear. 

Shouts in Spanish between the men, some sort of negotiation happened as you tried to simply breathe. This is what everyone was afraid would happen to you, from the president of Colombia, to your superiors, and your family, down to the Medellín officials and a couple of American DEA agents. They’d all wanted you to stay out of the murder capital of the world. You’d told them no one would target you. The local doctors were still here, so why shouldn’t you? 

Now you were a human shield, not because of your work, but because you were the closest person to grab. You had never considered the possibility of it before this minute. 

The man behind you moved a step back, taking you with him. Except your legs refused to work, staying where you had left them. Another step back, dragging you along, and your legs crumpled underneath you, making you slide down his body at an awkward angle. Enough for the man in khakis to shoot.

The bullet entered his chest right by your ear. All sound stopped and you were falling.  

You landed on a dead man’s chest. On instinct, you curled into yourself and away from everyone, hitting the rough and hard concrete of Medellín’s streets. 

Hands grabbed you and hauled you to your feet, half carrying you to a waiting SUV. First you, then your backpack were bundled into the darkness of the back seat. The dead men’s gym bags also ended up with you. The owner of the hands hopped into the front, and the driver took off.

A hand came back to tap your cheek, grabbing your chin and twisting your head to look up. The accidental light of street-lamps and cars flashed across your view. He smiled at you and his mouth moved as if he was talking.

You frowned and focused on his mouth. None of his words were getting through to you. You blinked hard to try to clear away the fuzziness of the world, but it changed nothing.

His mouth made these exaggerated shapes and his spare hand moved in circles, like a hamster spinning uncontrollably on a wheel. Maybe he was shouting at you.

You blinked again to be sure, and then had to shake your head. You couldn’t hear anything.

He smiled then tapped your ear and gave a thumbs down. You nodded. 

That caused an explosion of arms from him, as he whacked his driver on the shoulder. Looking back at you, he took note of the UNICEF insignia on your shirt, and you realised where you had seen him before. Carlos Castaño. A paramilitary man based in the jungle, fighting communist guerrillas. 

You had met once before. You’d had to get permission from every side, paramilitary commanders, regular military commanders, government officials, and even the guerrilla commanders, before they let you step anywhere near the Amazon. All so you could vaccinate a few children in a communist village.

The communists had been straight-forward to convince, once you talked in their lingo, focusing on healthcare for all. For the others, a bribe that came out of your pocket, another a promise not to get in the way of anything and to get out in under 24 hours. The Castaños you convinced by saying the communists were dirty, potentially disease-ridden plague carriers. If the brothers couldn’t promise you every communist in the jungle dead in three months time, then they had to let you in to vaccinate, so no epidemic could start from their continued existence. 

You hated saying it, and drunk too much later that night to get the sound of it out of your mouth, but it worked. Those kids wouldn’t die from a preventable disease. But you couldn’t save them from a bullet shot by mad, greedy men. 

Carlos smiled at you again, and pointed his driver to take the next left. 

Some minutes later, the car pulled up to the curb.  Carlos turned to you and put a finger over his lips and shushed you. Then he dragged the same finger across his neck and finally pointed it at you. 

You didn’t know what your face was doing at this point, you probably looked like a scared rabbit, all wide eyes and trembling body. Carlos broke and laughed at you, waving you out of the car. You fumbled with the car door, and stumbled onto the dark, damp street, dragging your backpack with you. They sped off into the night as you stumbled with your own weight.

Not far away, in a pool of white light, was a gate-way guarded by Search Bloc officers. Carlos had dumped you, the little lost foreigner, in front of their base. Your legs co-operated long enough to get you to the gate.

The guards stopped you with one hand up and the other resting on their rifles. You raised both hands up, and announced to everyone’s ears but your own, your name and nationality, that your passport was in your bag. The words felt like they slurred coming off your tongue, like they were heavier than usual. You wondered if you made any sense, but one man nodded at you to continue. It took you no time to dig out your passport. 

With a short inspection of your passport, and a torch flashed into your face, the guards waved you through the gate. One of them touched your ear and brought it up to your eyes to show you blood. The other held his radio up to his mouth. 

As you checked your ear for more blood, a police car came from the base, and the guards helped you in. A short ride and you were taken inside the bright building. The lights blinded you, and you tried to cover your eyes, barely seeing the medic ushering you to a bench. 

You kept blinking, like if you could turn off the world for a bit you would be alright again. You’d be able to focus, to think, to speak, to hear. The outside world was right there in front of you, and as much as you tried to reach out, you were locked behind your eyes. 

A warm hand caressed your arm and shoulder, bringing your attention to its owner. Javier Peña. He stared at you with big brown eyes, looking you over better than any doctor. His hand slid down to yours, keeping it safe under his. 

Javi listened to the medic, then his attention went to a nearby officer, and you saw his lips ask a question, his eyes straying to the dark streets beyond the base. You shook your head, grabbing his shoulder with your other hand, pulling his eyes back to yours, shouting out your warning in clumsy sounds you couldn’t quite hear. If you had your way, no one, not even the narcos, would be out on those streets tonight. Especially not him. 

Because Javi cared. No matter what anyone, or even he said. His heart cared for so many people you’d lost count, though he tried to keep it secret from the rest of the world.

And somehow, somewhere, he decided he cared about you too.

Javi nodded, as serious as ever, and cupped your cheek. Message understood. Relieved, you crumple into him, his arm wrapping around you to hold you close. His chest rumbled, maybe talking to you, or maybe to the officer. After a few breaths, he squeezed your hand and tilted your body back to look at him. He nodded towards the stairs. You nodded back and he helped you up, letting you lean against him.

He led you upstairs, past many doors, until he reached one particular darkened room, and ushered you in. You recognised some of Javi’s colourful shirts piled on a chair, and larger piles of Steve’s shoes, pants, and tops, scattered over half the room and one of the two-tier bunk beds.

Javi led you to a small desk, its small lamp draped a soft light over the room, pulled out the chair for you, and poured a glass of whiskey. He made sure you had both of your hands cradling the drink before he let you take the slight weight from him. You sipped a little at the strong drink, watching as he first gathered up his few visible clothes, shoving them in a suitcase, and then collected Steve’s mess, roughly sorting and folding, then at last dumped into a closet.

Javi went to the neater bunk bed, not Steve’s, pulling back the thin covers, inviting you to rest there. But you didn’t move. You just sat there blinking at the world.

He came back to you, dropped to a knee, and untied your shoelaces, gently taking off your shoes. Setting them aside, his eyes looked you over again, and settled on the whiskey in your hands. He pointed at it, and then glanced up at you. It took a second or two before you realised he was asking if you wanted more. You shook your head and moved the glass away from you. Javi plucked the drink out of your hands. He had a quick debate with himself, ended with a short shrug, and then downed the remains.

Putting the glass on the desk, he swallowed again, before catching your gaze with his. He lifted both hands to his chest, cupping them like the air was something heavy he could hold up, and jiggled them up and down. Then he pointed at you and made a gesture like he was swiping a cobweb away. You frowned and he repeated the sequence. This time his cupped hands looked like a bikini top. You still had no idea what he wanted to say.

With a quick lick of his lips, he reached forward and tapped a finger on your bra strap under your top.

Your face heated as you realised his question. Did you want to take your bra off? Yes, you did, and you nodded at him.

Javi joined you in nodding, but then put a finger up, telling you to wait. Another nod from you, and he was on his feet, dragging out his suitcase again, digging to the bottom of it. At last he brought out a khaki green t-shirt, and placed it on the end of the bunk for you. As you got to your feet, he shoved the suitcase away and retreated to the door, closing it behind him.

He could have stayed and turned his back, but maybe Javi thought that was too hard to mime. You change out of everything except your undies, draping it all over the back of the chair, and slipped on the t-shirt.

The door remained shut. It felt colder without him in the room. You rubbed an arm to try to stop your shivers. Was he coming back? Should you wait? Or was this everything you could expect from him? He had done plenty for you.

He’s probably not there. Why would he be? He’s got files to read still, the radio to sit by, informants to call, Steve to rescue, or maybe he’s finding another bunk to sleep on. So long as he stayed on the base it would be fine. He would be fine.

The hallway is empty. It has to be. You were on your own, you just had to be alright with that. And you would be. Eventually.

It would take time but you would be good again.

You huddled into yourself, your eyes dropping to the ground, as you tried to make your heart understand that Javi had done enough for you tonight. Then you saw the shadow under the door, like something was behind it. Your hand was on the knob before your brain could think.

Javi twisted his body to face you. He had stood guard on your door as you changed. The worried look over his features seems to be a permanent guest this evening.

Your eyes must have said please come back, as he maneuvered you inside with a gentle hand above your elbow, and followed, closing the door again. He sat you down on his bunk bed, and then further down to lie on your back.

He rubbed your arms a few times, slow and comforting, staring at you for a while. At last one hand came up to cup your cheek and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You nuzzled closer, his mustache tickling your skin. Your heart, mind, and body called out for Javi to stay. Nothing else would help you, could soothe your tremors, calm you and find yourself again, like being close to him.

Javi drew back, and your hand shot out to grab his arm, gripped tight so he couldn’t leave you.

His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb soothing over the slight hurt he’d caused.

When your breathing eased, you pointed at him and then at the bunk below you.

Javi looked over his shoulder at the door, like he was saying he would find another place to sleep, but that wasn’t what you meant.

You jostled his shoulder to get his attention once more, pointed forcefully first at him then at your bunk. Not another bed, this one. With you. This time he understood. His eyes flicked from place to place, your bunk and then Steve’s bunk, even down at his shoes as he thought of something, and then he nodded.

You were shuffling to make room for him when he stopped you. Javi pointed at you then covered his eyes with a hand. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, so he could get comfy too. But it meant you’d be down another sense. No sight and no sound. The world would be even further from you.

His eyes begged you to trust him. You took a few deliberate breaths, and he waited for you, watching for any sign of major distress. At last, you nodded and used both hands over your eyes to show you weren’t peeking.

In your darkness and quiet, the only company you had was the bunk under you and Javi’s weight next to your thigh. You could smell his aftershave and cigarette smoke, not overpowering, but most definitely there with you, and not leaving anytime soon. Nice and comforting and him. You took deep breaths of it.

He shifted his weight forward, one way then another. Shoes, you guessed. He came back to you, and did a short wiggle. Something landed next to your arm, soft and warm. His shirt.

Javi’s weight left the bunk completely. Panic made your muscles clench, and you forced your hands down into your eyes, trying to glue them in place, and breathed as best you could.

Something rougher and stiffer and warm landed on top of his shirt. Jeans? He was still here.

You waited a long, long moment for something more to happen.

Two fingers tapped the back of your hand. A deliberate action, purposeful, a message to you. Safe to look now. You drew your hands away and saw Javi standing next to the bunk in a pair of white boxers, folding his shirt and jeans away in his suitcase. He leaned over and placed a quick kiss on your forehead. A thank-you for your bravery.

He left before you could catch him, going to the bottom end of Steve’s bunk, lifting it up and closer to your bunk. He repeated with the top end, and you got to your knees, reaching over to grab the metal frame and pulled it in snug next to yours.

Javi, the genius man that he is, had just created a queen-sized bunk bed. Room enough for your body and his broad shoulders.

You watched as Javi climbed into his side, wondering how he wanted to sleep, when he draped his arm over to you, hugging you to lay snug against his side, your head resting on his bare chest, one of your arms across his waist. He fussed with the covers for a moment or two, making sure most of your body was underneath it.

He was warm and smooth and solid. Safe. At last. You breathed in deeply, his unique scent filling your nose, and then let it go. Another in, and out again.

Your heart had settled. The world was as far away as it needed to be right now. Or perhaps the world was as small as this room, as this bunk. This man. Your arms around him, and his around you.

If your eyes closed tonight, Javi would be there, under your touch.

One more thing left to do. You shifted to look into his eyes. They were filled with concern, until you whispered your thanks to his ears alone. Even a tiny smile on his lips crinkled the corners of his eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself from planting a kiss to his cheek. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, and he nuzzled his nose against yours as soon as your lips left his skin, then moved up to your forehead, kissing it again.

Those brown eyes locked with yours for a moment, before he closed his eyelids, and then opened them quickly and nodded at you.

He wanted you to close your eyes. So you did. You felt Javi lean in closer still, and then his lips placed a kiss first on one eyelid, then the other.

Opening your eyes, you pressed your forehead to his, and moved your hand from his chest, to soothe over his jaw, his chin, then trace over his lips. You wanted to kiss him there. And from the glint in his brown eyes, he wanted it too.

But it wasn’t the right time. Both of you knew it. Besides, you wanted to hear him.

Javi’s lips twitched into a soft grin as if he heard your last thought. His mouth formed words, slow but firm. Three short words. Then he settled you back down onto his warm chest.

You felt Javi’s heartbeat against your cheek, counted its beat without numbers, let its languid pace lull you further towards sleep, until at last your eyes closed with the peace he gave you.

And in your dreams Javi’s heartbeat was your world.

....

Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!

[cillians-sweetheart]

The Marriage Pt. 2 (Pregnancy) - Cillian Murphy

Cillian Murphy!Husband (34) x Wife!Reader (18)

Plot: (During the Middle-Bronze age (the era of the bibles setting)) After the seven days of love making between Y/N and her husband Cillian, she is delighted one morning with the absence of her period, and births the child of her dreams.

(Story is based off the novel, The Red Tent by Anita Diamant)

Content: Religious themes/rituals, speak of menstruation, fluffy husband x wife, age-gap, pregnancy, childbirth (kinda graphic), emotional Cillian

It was days after when I had left the lust-filled tent to return to my sisters. My beige robe dragged against the grass. It held a scent of sweat and arousal, from both Cillian and I’s bodies.

I was greeted sweetly by my sisters outside of their tents with delicate kisses. Leah was the first to come to me with endless questions. They had such curiosity about Cillian; about what he held between his legs. Many young girls -the daughters and nieces- dreamed of having him as their husband. To carry and birth his children. To have him as the man to first remove their robes. Just as he did to me.

Circling around my sisters and aunties in Leah’s tent, I told them about the joys and pleasures he had given me. With his words and with his seductive touch. The experience we had throughout those seven days.

“He was good unlike any other man. Kind, and gentle with a good scent.”

“Did he bless your womb, love?” My auntie spoke as her gentle hand rubbed over my thigh. Her hand traveled up to my lower abdomen. I nodded and she took my face into her hands, kissing my cheeks and nose tenderly.

“And in the night he held me to his chest, stroking my arms and legs.” I said with an uncontrollable smile growing on my lips. “He told me that I gladdened his heart like a sunrise.”

My sisters awed with every word about Cillian. Each already wished their husbands would pay any attention to them as he did. To them, I was the blessed one. With beauty and the love from a good husband.

Another sister of mine -Rachel- came to me with a cup of wine. She lifted my chin and held the cup to my lips. The fruity bitterness flowing down my throat. I was greeted throughout the evening with bread and fresh baked cakes from my mothers. And as I slept I was sung prayers, and Leah's light fingers combed through my hair. It was now that I would wait for the next moon to reveal either my monthly bleed, or a growing pregnancy.

Each night before I’d sleep in Cillian’s arms, I would glance around the sky for the glistening moon. Waiting for the day it is black, meaning the beginning of the new moon, and the anniversary of my first bleed.

And eventually the day came. I woke in the red tent with the hay below me dry and the rag between my legs clean of blood.

I sprung from my bed to Leah and Rachel who were lying in their beds next to me. “Sisters! My bleed, it’s late!” I squealed with excitement, shaking their shoulders. Leah sat up and held my hands in hers.

“Oh sister” Her cheeks glowed pink and she grinned warmly. She stood and pulled me to her chest. Her arms held firmly and lovingly around my back. My other sisters and aunties stood from their beds and all reached to touch and caress my young belly. And with the sounds of the excited women, my mother became curious from my fathers tent. She arose from her sleep and walked lightly to wear the happy cheering came from. Slowly she lifted and peered inside the red tent. Her eyes found me, then to Leah, and Rachel.

No one had to say a word. With the sounds and faces on my sisters, she knew. Everyone was silent as my mother came to me, taking my young hands in hers, and the other on my clothed belly. “I did not think I would live to see a grandchild,” She said delicately to me while smiling ear to ear. “Beloved girl, daughter mine.”

I felt true love from my mother at that moment. Love I hadn't witnessed since I was just an infant. With me now holding life in my womb, I could be treasured by the mothers and grandmothers of our family. I now held purpose.

As the evening came, and the women baked, I found Cillian in a group of men and sheep. His blue eyes shining in the setting sunlight, and his robe clean as always.

The men quieted as I approached him. He turned away from them and came to me. I brought my hand to his scruffy cheek, “Dear husband, I am with child.” I grinned warmly, looking up into his eyes. Those beautiful eyes of his lit up with love. He took my face in his hands and kissed me lovingly.

My sisters in the distance watched and awed. It could be seen that out of several wives, I was the one who held his heart in the palm of my hands. He’d sacrifice all for me, and our growing child.

Cillians hand came to my belly and womb. He rubbed it with the palm of his hand sensing the little life inside. “My precious girl…” He cooed. “You are my Queen of Heaven.” His smile soothed me and made my insides lighten with love.

Over several months, my belly began to swell plump and round against my tunic, and my ankles swelled. Leah and Rachel would caress the life in my belly in the morning, and in the night Cillian would trail kisses along my soft, stretched flesh. His finger would trace gently up the line below my belly button and he’d message my swollen, sore breasts until I’d fall asleep. He treasured my body and the life within it. As did the women in the camp.

During a feast I sat alongside my aunties and sisters as they prepared food for the men. With my belly growing larger and rounder each day it became harder to stand and help bake. Eventually it became impossible to even touch my feet.

As the men began to gather around for their meals, an older woman came from the trees in a colourful flowy robe. I’d seen her before. My mother walked to her and bowed her head. I watched and slowly stood from the stack of hay. She was my grandmother. The midwife of our family. She didn’t live at our camp, but came when the gods told her a child will be brought into the family. When Leah was with child, she traveled weeks just to bless her womb.

My grandmothers wrinkled eyes met mine and she walked past my mother to me. Her hands came straight to my belly. She felt and pressed down against the baby's tiny limbs through my belly. “A daughter.” She says, her eyes coming up to mine.

The women go silent at her words. Throughout the months of my pregnancy I had always felt the life of a boy in me, but hearing my child is a girl made me feel something new. I wasn’t disappointed, I was delighted, and almost relieved though I’ve only ever wanted a boy.

My mother standing next to us smiled widely and pulled me into her arms. She cried and kissed my cheeks. My sisters and aunties gathered around me and smiled giving me their blessings. The commotion and laughs of the women brought confusion to the men. Cillian and my father stood and came in between the circle of women.

We quieted and I looked into Cillian’s eyes in front of me holding my belly, “a girl… we are bearing a girl…” I smiled. Cillian stood lost for words, with an expression on his face that was hard to read before he grinned widely. He slowly stepped to me through the grass and his hands came to the little girl in my womb. He held her through my heavy flesh.

“You lucky girl,” Leah held my shoulder. “To bring a daughter, a giver of life, to our world.”

Cillian took my hands into his and kissed them until every inch was blessed with his lips. I could feel the intensity of his love from his kisses alone.

On the morning of the new moon, 9 months past my absence of my monthly bleed, I woke to cramps churning in my stomach. At first I was able to breathe past it, only lasting a few minutes and being an hour apart. I continued with my day preparing meals the best I could and cleaning the fresh picked vegetables the men had gathered.

I peeled the layers of useless skin from onions and bathed them in barrels of water. The cramps deep in my womb became sharper, and more frequent. They became contractions that caught the attention of Rachel. She came to me putting her arm around my back as I panted and squeezed my eyes close. My skin became hot and my breath became laboured.

Rachel called over Leah to help keep me on my feet while they guided me to the tent. While I stepped forward, gushes of water flowed down my legs. I froze as my robe darkened and became soaked in my fluids.

The pain hit me like a blade to the stomach as my water broke onto the dewy grass. I hollered and felt as if my legs would fall. Leah quickly hauled me into the red tent and laid me onto the stack of hay and blankets.

Sweat dripped down my red face, and the stabbing pressure increased. Leah lifted my robe and peered between my legs. By now I was yelling and panting as if the baby were about to come out at any second, but the head wasn’t even visible.

More of the women began to crowd in, including my mother. She sat at my side and ran her hand on my forehead wiping away the sweat and bits of hair. At my other side Rachel held my hand and I squeezed her tender flesh with my every contraction. And each second the pain grew worse causing me to tremble and go wide-eyed. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I peered around cluelessly. All I wanted was Cillian. I needed to hear his voice, and feel his loving hands, but men didn’t attend births until after the child was born and cleaned.

My mother, being the daughter of one of the greatest midwives, learned every skill and technique of my grandmother. In her life she’s seen hundreds of births and was the most experienced in our camp.

She gently guided me to my side and she rubbed my belly while her other hand reached up inside me. I howled and screamed, and my mother soothed the inner lining of my womb with mint oils. “The baby is near.” My mother smiled, her fingers lightly glazing her head from inside. “Soon you will need to stand on the bricks when her head is lower.”

I nodded and took quick breaths. My sisters surrounding my trembling body rubbed my legs and back while praising and reassuring me.

“Good, good, good, my girl.” Leah cooed while her hands messaged my aching back. “Good, good.”

I screamed and shook as the baby's head began to crown at the entrance of my sex. Quickly my mother and Leah lifted beneath my arms to my feet and laid bricks for me to stand on. My mother pressed down on my stomach while my legs shivered and shook, squatting over Rachels hands.

My aunties held me with all their strength as I was not able to keep myself up. My legs felt as if they would break and die at any moment, and my sex stretched and ripped around the baby’s head.

Screamings of mine could be heard far throughout the site. Cillian sitting just meters away from the tent cried in fear and sadness of my pain. A previous wife of his lost her life during birth, and the thought of that happening to me made him nauseous.

Finally after the hours of blood curdling pain, my mother told me to push. My eyes bulged, and my skin turned red and blue. Gushes of blood flowed from between my legs as my daughter's head came free. And with my little remaining energy, I pushed and her little body slipped out of me and into Rachel's hands.

She screamed and squirmed and my body fell weak against the stack of hay. My sisters and aunties cheered and laughed. They passed the baby around the tent, wiping her and kissing her, praising her limbs, her torso, her head, and her little nose.

My womb was stuffed with cotton and bits of straw, and my face and legs were wiped and cleaned. The crying little girl was wrapped in a rag and handed to me by my mother. In my arms her crying calmed. I took out my breast and she grabbed onto my nipple eagerly with her tiny lips.

She was so beautiful, incredibly perfect. Every bit of her little face resembled Cillian’s gorgeous features. I cried and leaned to lay gentle kisses onto her soft head. And as I kissed her, Leah returned into the tent -without me even noticing she left- with Cillian. His eyes were red and glistening as he slowly approached and lowered down to the sucking baby. The women in the tent silenced. Cillian cried joyfully at the sight of his first daughter. “Oh, my love” He cooed gently, caressing the top of her head. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

I looked up from our little girl into his eyes. He smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. I reached and held onto his face. I felt fulfilled and relieved to finally have him at my side, and to have this little girl finally in my arms. I never expected I could love someone as much as I did my girl and Cillian.

As my energy began to return, I left the tent to join Cillian in his. The people in the site crowded around our baby with words of prayer and praise at her stunning little features.

In his tent, we sat and while staring at her face and glowing blue eyes, I named her Adina. A daughter of delicacy.

“She is a jewel,” Cillian purred, tenderly caressing her cheek. “A princess sent from heaven. Like her mother.” he grinned and brought his lips down to mine. His hand stroked lovingly through my hair, and Adina cooed in my arms. It was known as a mix of the two most beautiful people, comes a goddess of a child. Adina would be praised and shown off by every mother who would hold her at their hip and kiss her little face. She was Cillians treasure who would be forever loved and protected in his arms.

And as the sun set he insisted he be the one who’d hold her to his chest throughout the night. He removed the layers of his robe revealing his muscular chest. I took the rag from around Adina and laid her bare skin down onto his. She cuddled against his warmth and closed her innocent eyes. I watched as Cillian tickled her bare back with his fingertips until each of us were asleep. Cuddled together as a family.

[crienselt]

So a few days ago I saw someone (elsewhere) questioning Zutara fans’ excitement about the scarf scene. It wasn't a mean comment, more general curiosity. And well, I didn't have time to get my thoughts out then. But they haven't gone away, so I'm getting them out here:

Here’s what everyone need to understand about Zutara shippers. We were baited baaaad during the initial run of the show–from the magazines to the shorts to the trailers and how they were cut. And Zuko and Katara’s relationship on the show certainly underwent a lot of development and featured objectively emotional–if not overtly romantic–moments between the two. We were well fed, and we had reason to hope. Right up to the end, we had reason to hope.

The shipping wars were the shipping wars, of course, with all the usual tensions; there are always going to be overzealous fans of each (and any) pairing willing to get toxic. Generally, I think Kataang fans were always jealous of Zutara’s popularity and Zutara fans, post finale, were jealous of Kataang’s, well, canon status. But really it operated much the same as any other large fandom’s shipping wars.

And then came Bryke and the panel where they showed and mocked Zutara fan art, some of which had been created by teens if not straight up children. Then came their, “Come on, kids! It was never going to work. Zutara is just dark and intriguing.”* And the pièce de résistance, their telling Zutara shippers (specifically girls/women) that they were doomed to have failed romantic relationships. Like, what? The thing with the art was arguably cruel, and the rest of it was oh, so condescending. Just all around not well done. 

The after effect was that Zutara went from being simply a fanon pairing to a wrong pairing. The ATLA fandom at large became a far more hostile place for Zutara fans, who were now more commonly deemed delusional and viewed as lesser fans. The vitriol only got worse when the show came to Netfilx and the next wave of antis rolled up with their co-opting of legitimate socio-political terms to paint Zutara not just as wrong but morally corrupt if not evil. It’s all very puritanical.**

So Zutara fans need to be reminded that we weren’t delusional, and we aren’t alone. It’s why it means so much to know that Dante Basco and Mae Whitman shipped their characters. And that so many other VAs came out as Zutara supporters too: Jack De Sena, Michaela Jill Murphy, Grey DeLisle, Janet Varney--even the cabbage man. For it to be revealed that it was discussed in the writers room; that the writers fought over it; that it WAS a canon possibility. (And that writers Joshua Hamilton and John O’Bryan are perfectly comfortable admitting their preference for Zutara.) To know that the Elizabeth Welch Ehasz described Zuko and Katara as an “Avatar-style Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” in the script for The Southern Raiders, and used the phrase “Zutara-feuling synchronicity and cooperation” to describe their action sequences. To see Giancarlo Volpe, a Kataanger, admit Zutara might been the better pairing in retrospect and choose a quiet scene between them (to see their “chemistry”) as what he’d most look forward to in the live action adaptation. It’s why we cling to the artwork done by Korean animation director. We aren’t delusional. We aren’t alone.

But try telling that to the general fandom, right? Most are ignorant of a lot of this, particularly Hamilton and O’Bryan’s revelations re: the writers room. A lot of Zutara fans don't even seem to know. But being baited by Netflix on their official accounts? Oh, people see that. And we are reminded in a big way that we aren't delusional and we aren't alone. And everyone else has to remember it too.

So, of course, we're having fun clowning over the scarf scene. And I think most Zutara fans know we are clowning. I don't think most expect to get canon Zutara in live action because of one little scene or the fact that their Netflix icons are facing each other. (I headcanon that that was totally the doing of Zutara shipper on staff, though, lol. Because there are a lot of us, and we are everywhere.)

And this is okay. Zutara has been doing just fine as a fanon ship. Meanwhile, NATLA might actually do Kataang justice. It always worked better as a future ship. (Really all the pairings do. But I especially don't ever need to see another 12 year old kissing let alone making out, in animation or live action, ever again.) There's a reason Padme and Anakin don't get together in Phantom Menace, after all. Also, there's always the chance they could give us Dante's or Mae's headcanon of them basically suppressing their feelings and choosing duty over love/right person-wrong time. And the odds of getting some more moments to clown over are high enough. 

Anyway, TLDR: Zutara has been made to feel like an out-of-nowhere crack ship and the live action crumbs remind us that it is not. And this is at least partially why we are enjoying it. (Because, also, it's just fun!)

*Side tangent: I’ve never gotten this dark and intriguing comment. Even during Season 1, the height of the capture fic era, Zutara was always a ship fundamentally about hope, predicated on Zuko's redemption. (Back in the day, there were also plenty of antis arguing that there was no way Zuko would ever be one of the gaang.) And they say “intriguing” like it’s a bad thing? Are we not supposed to be interested in the relationships of their characters???

**There have been some very good think pieces written lately on late stage capitalism and consumption as morality. Worth googling.