#murphy haven

[gatutor]

Gloria De Haven-George Murphy-Eddie Rochester Anderson-Charles Winninger "Broadway rhythm" 1944, de Roy Del Ruth.

[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

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Behind Closed Doors

Cillian Murphy x F! Make-up Artist Reader

Summary: Cillian uses you.

Wordcount: 8.3k

Warnings: THIS IS RAPE

Smut with a plot! but the plot sucks?, unsafe sex, switch! Cillian, extremely perverted! Cillian, virgin! reader, cherry-popping, peer pressure, threatening, gaslighting, manipulating, whimpering, whining, begging, crying sort of, m! oral receiving, f! overstimulating, fingering, semi-cockwarming, forced swallowing, forced kissing, face-fucking, spitting, breeding, choking, degrading, belittling, slapping, and no aftercare!

Cillian sat in his trailer on the bustling movie set, the faint hum of activity outside seeping through the walls. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, a habit he often indulged in when lost in thought. Today's scenes were relatively straightforward, nothing too demanding, but he knew the importance of being fully prepared. The makeup artist would be arriving soon, and he wanted to tidy up his space before she arrived.

The trailer was a small, cozy haven amidst the chaos of the film set. It was sparsely decorated, with a few personal touches here and there—a framed photograph of his family, a well-worn book on the table, and the faint scent of his favorite cologne lingering in the air. Cillian moved about the space with a quiet efficiency, straightening up the few items that were out of place. As he worked, he hummed a tune under his breath, a habit that helped him relax and focus his mind. The melody was soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the bustling energy outside. He glanced at the clock, noting that he had a bit of time before the makeup artist was due to arrive.

As he sat there, lost in thought, memories of his early days as an actor flooded his mind. The struggles, the rejections, the moments of doubt—they had all shaped him into the actor he was today. He had fought hard for his place in the industry, and he was grateful for every role, every opportunity that had come his way.

Cillian patiently sits in the make-up chair waiting, twiddling his thumbs, and kicking his feet which are just a bit off the ground. His presence in the room commands attention, his posture relaxed yet poised, exuding an air of quiet confidence. The soft glow of the vanity lights highlights his chiseled features, casting subtle shadows that accentuate his sharp cheekbones and intense blue eyes. As the door opens, Cillian's smile widens, a genuine warmth lighting up his face as he sees her enter the room. He stands up slowly, a graceful movement that speaks of both strength and elegance, and walks over to her. Setting aside her belongings, he opens his arms wide, inviting her into a warm embrace. His embrace is comforting, his body language conveying a sense of familiarity and affection.

Their hug is long and meaningful, a silent exchange of emotions that transcends words. Cillian holds her close, his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace. He can feel the tension melt away from her body, replaced by a sense of peace and comfort in his presence. As they finally pull apart, Cillian looks into her eyes, his gaze intense yet gentle.

His gaze lands on her, and he can't help but look her up and down, his eyes lingering on her figure clad in a provocative outfit that leaves little to the imagination. She stands before him, unaware of his scrutiny, adjusting her attire with a casual nonchalance that belies the effect she has on him. She exudes confidence, a sense of knowing that draws him in despite his best efforts to resist. Cillian's thoughts drift, his mind replaying their interactions, each moment etched vividly in his memory. He knows he shouldn't be looking at her like this, shouldn't be feeling this pull towards her, but he can't help himself. She's a temptation he can't resist, a forbidden fruit that beckons to him with every glance, every smile.

Cillian settled back into his makeup chair, the cushion sighing softly beneath his weight. He ran his fingers through his hair, the strands slipping effortlessly through his long, dexterous fingers. The action was habitual, a subconscious attempt to smooth out the day’s dishevelment. His hair, a striking shade of dark brown, shone under the soft, warm lights of the vanity mirror. He glanced at his reflection, his piercing blue eyes momentarily locking onto the mirror’s surface, analyzing the man looking back at him. His trailer was a sanctuary of sorts, now becoming where the magic of transformation happened daily. The air was tinged with the scent of various cosmetics, an olfactory mix of powders, creams, and the faint hint of hairspray, she always smelled like that but he never cared about it. The lighting, strategically placed around the mirror, cast a soft, flattering glow on his features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the chiseled contours of his jaw. It was a far cry from the harsh, unyielding lighting on set, which often required these moments of touch-up and refinement.

The makeup artist, a petite woman with a keen eye for detail and a steady hand, stood behind him. Her presence was a familiar comfort, a silent partner in the daily ritual of transformation. She was unlocking her makeup case, the metallic clicks punctuating the quiet hum of the room. She paused, glancing at him through the mirror with a soft, inquisitive expression.

"So how did you sleep?" she asked, her voice gentle yet curious.

Cillian chuckled lightly, the sound rich and warm, echoing softly in the intimate space. He flashed a soft smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and brought a touch of warmth to his otherwise cool demeanor. "Oh, I slept pretty well," he replied, his Irish accent infusing his words with a melodic cadence. His voice was calm, reassuring, a testament to the restful night he had enjoyed. As she began her work, her hands moving with practiced precision, Cillian closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the sensation. The soft brush of the makeup sponge against his skin was almost therapeutic, a soothing counterpoint to the often chaotic world of film production. He could feel the gentle pressure as she applied the foundation, blending it seamlessly to create the flawless canvas that the camera demanded.

His mind drifted, thoughts meandering through the events of the previous day. It had been a long shoot, the kind that left him both physically and mentally drained. Yet, the exhaustion was tempered by the satisfaction of a job well done. He thought about the scenes they had captured, the nuances of his performance, the subtle shifts in emotion that he had strived to convey. Acting, for him, was a dance of precision and passion, a delicate balance of technical skill and raw, unfiltered emotion. The makeup artist’s touch brought him back to the present. She was meticulously blending the makeup around his eyes, her fingers feather-light yet purposeful. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze in the mirror. There was a silent communication between them, a mutual understanding forged through countless hours spent together in this very chair.

"Any dreams?" she asked, her tone light and conversational. It was a question she often posed, a way to fill the silence and perhaps, glean a bit more insight into the enigmatic man before her.

Cillian tilted his head slightly, considering her question. "Nothing too memorable," he said after a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Just the usual mix of nonsense and fleeting moments." He rarely remembered his dreams, and when he did, they were often abstract and fragmented, a tapestry of images and emotions that made little sense in the waking world.

She nodded, her focus shifting back to her work. The next phase involved the subtle enhancement of his natural features, a process that required both skill and artistry. She applied a touch of concealer here, a dab of highlighter there, each stroke designed to enhance his already striking visage. Cillian watched her work, admiring her dedication and expertise. His thoughts wandered once more, this time to his family. The demands of his career often kept him away from home for extended periods, a sacrifice that was both necessary and bittersweet. He cherished the moments he could spend with his wife and children, the rare pockets of normalcy amidst the whirlwind of his professional life. They were his anchor, the steadying force that kept him grounded even as he navigated the turbulent waters of fame and success.

The makeup artist moved on to his hair, her fingers deftly arranging the strands into the desired style. Cillian felt the gentle tug and pull as she worked, her touch both firm and gentle. His hair had always been a defining feature, a canvas for transformation that allowed him to slip seamlessly into his various roles. Today, it was being styled for his latest character, a man as complex and layered as the roles he often gravitated towards.

"Looking good," she said softly, stepping back to admire her handiwork. There was a note of pride in her voice, a reflection of the care and attention she put into her craft.

Cillian opened his eyes fully, taking in the final result. His reflection was a blend of the familiar and the transformed, a testament to the collaborative effort that brought his characters to life. He smiled appreciatively, meeting her gaze through the mirror. "Thank you, my darlin'" he said simply, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. She nodded, her own smile warm and satisfied. "Ready to go?" she asked, knowing full well that the transformation was only part of the journey. The real work, the true magic, happened in front of the camera, where Cillian would once again bring his character to life with a depth and authenticity that was uniquely his own. He nodded, rising from the chair with a fluid grace. "Let’s do it," he said, his tone imbued with quiet determination. The day ahead was sure to be demanding, but he was ready. He always was.

After a slow day on set, Cillian felt the fatigue of the day seeping into his bones as he made his way back to his trailer. The air was thick with the remnants of the scenes they had shot, the weight of his character's emotions still lingering. He shrugged off his jacket, feeling the fabric slide from his shoulders and crumple into a heap on the small couch by the door. The quiet of the trailer enveloped him, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the set. Cillian took a moment to stand still, absorbing the silence. His eyes flitted around the small space, eventually landing on the book he'd borrowed from his co-star. It was an old, worn copy of J.P. Donleavy's 'The Ginger Man' and he had found himself lost in its pages during the few breaks they'd had. He picked it up from the bed, flipping to the page where he'd left off. The words flowed easily, and for a while, he was no longer himself but a mere observer in J.P. Donleavy's.

He found a stopping point, a natural pause in the narrative, and sighed as he set the book down on the bedside table. He pulled himself off the bed, stretching out the stiffness that had settled in his muscles. Moving to the makeshift kitchen, he leaned against the countertop, feeling the cool surface press into his palms. He reached for the knob of the small cabinet above, opening it to reveal a solitary whiskey glass. Cillian didn't usually drink after working on set. The lines between his roles and reality blurred enough without the haze of alcohol, but tonight felt different. He'd had a couple of tough days, the weight of his character's struggles bleeding into his own thoughts. He set the glass on the countertop with a soft clink, bending down to open the bottom cabinet. The familiar shape of the semi-filled Irish whiskey bottle greeted him, and he pulled it out, setting it beside the glass.

As he poured the amber liquid, he let his thoughts drift. The day had been long, the scenes emotionally taxing. He turned around, leaning his back against the edge of the countertop, the glass cradled in his hand. He took a slow sip, savoring the warmth as it spread through him, mulling over the complexities of his character and the nuances he tried to bring to life. His free hand ran through his hair, a habitual gesture of frustration and contemplation. The weariness was etched into his features, the fine lines of exhaustion around his eyes more pronounced under the harsh lighting of the trailer. Pushing himself off the counter, he made his way back to the bed, placing the whiskey glass on the small bedside table next to a framed family photo. His fingertip traced the edges of the frame, a brief touchstone to the world outside the roles he inhabited.

Just as he was beginning to relax, a sudden knock at the trailer door pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced at the alarm clock; it read 11:42. Rolling his eyes, he muttered to himself, 'Who needs me at basically twelve o'clock at night?' With a resigned sigh, he picked up his whiskey glass and made his way to the door. When he opened it, he was met with the sight of the makeup artist, her expression a mix of nervousness and determination. She smiled tentatively, "Hey, Cill... Sorry to bother you, but I think I forgot one of my brushes at your vanity. Can I take a look around?"

Cillian offered a tired smile in return, stepping aside to let her in. As she passed by, he couldn't help but notice the subtle grace in her movements, the way she carried herself with an air of quiet confidence. He shut the door behind her, the click of the latch echoing in the small space. She moved with purpose, her footsteps light but determined. Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, "I've gone to everyone else and they don't have it, so you're the only one that might have it..." Cillian watched her as she spoke, noting the slight flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes darted around the trailer, searching. "Sure, take a look. I know how important those brushes are to you lot," he said, his Irish accent softening the edges of his words. He took another sip of his whiskey, the warmth a comforting presence as he leaned against the edge of the kitchenette.

His eyes never left her as she moved around the room, searching for her brush. The late hour brought a stillness to the room, broken only by the occasional clink of glass and the soft rustle of her movements. He admired her dedication, the way she methodically lifted items, peering beneath them, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her body moved with a fluid grace, every motion purposeful and precise. She was barefoot, her toes curling slightly against the hardwood floor as she knelt, her dress riding up just enough to tease him with a glimpse of smooth skin. She was completely absorbed in her task, unaware—or perhaps all too aware—of the effect she was having on him. He took another sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her.

The silence between them was a comfortable one, the kind that spoke of familiarity and a deep, unspoken understanding. He appreciated these moments, the rare times when words were unnecessary and their presence alone was enough. But tonight, there was an undercurrent of tension, a barely-there edge to his thoughts as he watched her. She was teasing him, he was sure of it, the way she moved, the way she lingered just a little too long on the floor, presenting herself to him in a manner that was both innocent and provocative. He could feel the stirrings of desire, a slow burn that started in his gut and spread outward, his gaze darkening as he watched her. She had to be doing this on purpose. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the sharp taste a jarring counterpoint to the softness of her presence. Setting the glass down on the vanity counter with a decisive clink, he huffed slightly, the sound low and rough in the quiet trailer. His fingers moved almost unconsciously to his wedding ring, the metal cool against his skin. He slipped it off and let it drop into the whiskey glass with a muted clink, a symbolic gesture that seemed to echo in the silence.

His eyes never left her as he moved towards her, his footsteps soft but deliberate on the floor. There was something predatory in his movements, a barely restrained intensity that spoke of his desire. She was still on her knees, her back to him, her hands busy with her search. He stood behind her for a moment, taking in the sight of her, the curve of her spine, the way her hair fell around her face in a messy halo.

Slowly, he knelt down behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he leaned in close. "You have no idea what yeh doin' to me do yeh'?" His voice was a low murmur, his Irish accent curling around the words in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. She paused in her search, her body going still as she registered his presence. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her back, fingers trailing down her spine. She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. "Cillian.." She said softly, her voice almost a whisper in the quiet room. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, a mix of defiance and anticipation that sent a thrill through him. His hand moved to her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her of her skin tight sleep shorts. "Yeah, say my name just like that.." he asked, his voice a low rumble. There was a challenge in his tone, a dark edge that hinted at the depths of his desire. She didn't answer, her eyes meeting his in a silent battle of wills.

The floorboards of the trailer cool against his knees, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between them. His breath came in shallow, measured puffs, mingling with the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and intoxicating that made his head swim. His hands, those deft, talented hands known for their meticulous craft on set, now played a different role. They rested on her waist, fingers tracing the waistband of her skin-tight shorts, feeling the soft material stretch over her curves. His touch was light, almost teasing, as if testing the boundaries of how much he could push her before she reacted. The proximity of their bodies was electrifying. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric, and each subtle shift she made sent a jolt of arousal through him. His crotch, already straining against the confines of his jeans, brushed against her ass, and he couldn't suppress a low, throaty groan. The friction was exquisite, a tantalizing preview of what he craved.

"I know yeh want me," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper tinged with his Irish lilt. The words were laced with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, yet there was an undeniable truth in them. He had seen the way she looked at him, the hunger in her eyes that mirrored his own. "I see it in your eyes..."

As he spoke, his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, his touch deliberate and exploratory. The pads of his fingers brushed against the hem of her panties, the silky material a stark contrast to the roughness of his skin. He took his time, savoring the moment, feeling the tension coil tighter between them. The whiskey coursing through his veins only amplified his desire, blurring the edges of his self-control. His eyes, usually so clear and piercing, now glinted with a dark, simmering lust. He could feel the alcohol's warmth spreading through his body, making his movements bolder, more assertive. He was a man driven by instinct, his usual restraint slipping away with each passing second.

"Did you really lose a brush?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. There was a playful edge to his tone, but underneath it lay a challenge. He pulled at the hem of her panties, the elastic stretching under his grip, and he could feel her body tense in response. "I bet you really didn't."

Her silence spoke volumes, a tacit admission of her game. He smirked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he continued to toy with the fabric, enjoying the way it clung to her skin. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along the edge, each touch a calculated move to draw out her anticipation. With a swift, practiced motion, he tugged the shorts down just enough to expose the curve of her ass. The sight was mesmerizing, and he couldn't resist the urge to run his hands over the smooth expanse of skin, feeling the way her muscles tightened beneath his touch. His thumbs hooked under the waistband of her panties, pulling them taut before letting them snap back into place, the sound a sharp punctuation in the quiet room. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You're a tease, yeh know that?" His voice was a low, rumbling growl, filled with a mix of admiration and frustration. "But two can play that game."

As his crotch pressed against her ass, the hard outline of his erection unmistakable through the thin material of his trousers. It throbbed with a palpable urgency, each pulse matching the erratic beat of her heart. The heat of his body seeped through the layers of clothing, a suffocating reminder of how close he was, how trapped she was. She was rigid, every muscle tense as if bracing for impact, her mind racing to make sense of the situation.

"I've got kids and a wife at home," Cillian's voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a rough edge that made her stomach twist. His Irish accent gave his words a lilt that contrasted sharply with their crude content, making the vulgarity of his statement even more jarring. "But it's so hard to fuckin' keep my hands to myself if yeh look like this~"

His breath was hot against the back of her neck, sending a fresh wave of chills down her spine. She could feel the weight of his desire, an oppressive force that seemed to seep into her skin and paralyze her. His hands moved from her panties back to her waist, sliding up her sides, the touch both possessive and exploratory. The tips of his fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to bruise but firm enough to convey his dominance. Her thoughts spun in chaotic circles, trying to pinpoint the moment when everything had gone wrong. She had come here for something as innocuous as finding her brush, a simple task that now seemed laughably distant. What had she done to give him the impression that she wanted this? That she wanted him? The internal questioning was a desperate attempt to find some semblance of control, but it felt like grasping at straws.

Cillian's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, snapping her back to the grim reality she was in. "Yeh just want an older man to fuck yeh nice and good, eh?" His words were a taunt, laced with a dark amusement that made her skin crawl. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath warm and invasive. "Is that it, love? Yeh lookin' for a man who knows how to take care of yeh?" She could feel his cock twitch against her, the pressure intensifying as he shifted his weight. His hands roamed lower, slipping under the waistband of her shorts again, his fingers tracing the line of her panties. The intimate touch made her flinch, a reflexive jerk that only seemed to amuse him further. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her back. Cillian's piercing blue eyes glinted with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. His breath was hot against her neck, mingling with the faint scent of cologne that clung to his skin. Every inch of his body radiated a primal need, a hunger that was both terrifying and compelling.

"Cillian, please—sir, don't do this..." Her voice trembled, each word a desperate plea. The reality of her situation crashed over her, a suffocating wave of helplessness. She had seen him on the screen, admired his talent from a distance, worked with him personally but this man before her was a stranger, a predator cloaked in charm and sophistication. She couldn't understand how things had escalated to this point, how she had become ensnared in his twisted desires.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her earlobe as he spoke. "Yeah, but the fing is all'yeh bitchin'....isn't goin' help yeh, is it?" His voice was a silky whisper, each syllable dripping with dark amusement. "I love when yeh call me sir, luv." The words were like a physical caress, sending a shiver down her spine. His accent, rich and lilting, wrapped around her like a vice, making her feel even more trapped. Her heart pounded in her chest as he continued to explore her body, his touch both possessive and tender. She hated the way her body responded to him, the way her skin tingled where his fingers roamed. It was a betrayal, a sickening reminder of the power he held over her. She could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against her, a silent promise of what was to come.

Cillian's lips trailed down her neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His teeth grazed her collarbone, eliciting a gasp from her lips. He chuckled softly, the sound filled with satisfaction. "Such a pretty little thing," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Don't fight it, luv. You'll only make it harder for yerself." His words were both a threat and a promise, the dark undertones sending a thrill of fear through her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensations, the reality of what was happening. But he was relentless, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her, breaking down her defenses one by one. She could feel his breath against her skin, his lips pressing kisses that were both tender and demanding. It was a dizzying contradiction, the way he could be both gentle and forceful, making her body betray her mind.

"Open yer eyes, luv," he commanded, his voice soft but firm. She obeyed, her eyes meeting his piercing blue gaze. There was a darkness there, a hunger that frightened her.

His breath was warm and whiskey-scented against her skin, the closeness of his body both a comfort and a torment. “Yeh’ve got no idea what yeh do to me,” he murmured, his Irish accent wrapping around the words like a caress. His lips brushed against her ear, sending another shiver down her spine. His hands moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. His touch was firm and confident, his fingers gliding over her skin with a surety that made her breathe catch in her throat. Her body betrayed her, hips arching slightly to meet his touch, a soft moan escaping despite her best efforts to hold it back. Cillian’s grin widened, a predatory gleam in his blue eyes as he watched her reaction. “That’s it, lass,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “Don’t fight it. Let me see how much yeh can take.”

His fingers found the slick heat of her arousal, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating through her body. His thumb brushed against her throbbing clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins. She bit her lip to stifle another moan, hating how easily he could unravel her with just a touch. But there was no denying the effect he had on her, the way her body responded to him even as her mind screamed for her to resist. Cillian’s movements were slow and deliberate, each touch calculated to drive her wild. He slid a finger into her dripping cunt, feeling it grip him tightly, the sensation drawing a guttural groan from his throat. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Just imagine my cock inside yeh…”

She whimpered at his words, the vivid image making her pulse quicken; she didn't want that to happen. His breath was hot against the back of her neck, the scent of whiskey haunting her senses. “Fuck,” he groaned again, his voice thick with conflicted emotion. “I love my wife, but… yer makin’ it so hard…” His confession was a knife to her heart, but his touch was even worse, the pleasure he gave her a cruel contradiction to the pain of his words. He grinned heavily, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “Yeh like that, don’t yeh? The thought of me, wantin’ yeh like this…”

She was denying it, but her body’s response betraying her even as her mind screamed for her to pull away. His fingers moved inside her, curling and stroking in a way that made her toes curl inside her shoes. Her nails digging into the trailer floorboards as she fought to keep herself grounded, the sensations overwhelming her. His fingers were slick with her juices, moving with a calculated rhythm that drove her to the brink of madness. Each thrust, each curl of his digits inside her sloppy cunt, elicited a desperate whimper from her parted lips. He could feel her inner muscles tightening around his fingers, a clear sign that she was teetering on the edge of ecstasy. His other hand, strong and commanding, encircled her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp for air, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his grip. The power he held over her in this moment was exhilarating, a heady mix of dominance and desire that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Look at yeh,” he murmured, his accent thickening with the whiskey-fueled haze. His voice was a low, seductive growl, dripping with lust and control. “So fuckin’ wet for me… Yeh want this, don’t yeh? Want me inside yeh, fillin’ yeh up…” His words were a taunting promise, each syllable rolling off his tongue with a tantalizing slowness that made her body tremble with anticipation.

His thumb found her clit again, rubbing it with precise, circular motions that had her arching her back, pushing her hips towards him in a silent plea for more, why was her body doing this to her?! He added another finger, plunging deeper into her cunt, the slick sounds of his fingers moving inside her mixing with her breathy moans. Her walls contracted around him, a testament to her impending climax, and he relished the control he had over her pleasure. Her hands clutched at his arms, nails digging into his skin as she tried to find something to anchor herself to in the storm of a horrible sensation he was creating. Cillian’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched the myriad of expressions play across it—pleasure and desperation; Cillian wrapped his hand around her pretty throat.

“Fuck, yeh look so beautiful like this,” he breathed, his voice rough with desire. His fingers continued their relentless assault, his thumb working her clit with a practiced ease that spoke of experience and an intimate knowledge. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to make her gasp. “Beg for me to let yeh come.” He wanted her to bed like the dog she was to him.

Her voice was nowhere to be heard, being choked by the hand around her throat and the overwhelming yet disgusting pleasure coursing through her. He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Fuckin' whore..but don't worry I'll fix that mouth of yers’,” he purred, his fingers moving faster, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. He smiled darkly when he felt her walls squeeze his fingers tighter. “Good girl… come for me. Come all over my fingers.” Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing as she screamed his name, her cunt clenching tightly around his fingers. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, riding out her orgasm with a relentless pace that left her gasping for breath, her body trembling from the intensity of it all.

As she came down from the high, her body still trembling with aftershocks, he finally withdrew his fingers, his touch gentle and reverent. He brought his hand up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers as he licked her arousal from his fingers, a look of pure sick and twisted satisfaction on his face. “Yeh taste even better than I imagined,” he said, his voice a low purr. He pulled the back of her hair roughly, making her look at him; leaving no room for argument, before capturing her lips in a rough-searing kiss, the taste of whiskey and her own fluids mingling on his and her tongue. She was forced to kiss him back, her hands pushing and clawing at his upper chest.

He broke the kiss and pushed off of he and quickly stood up, ee looked down at her, his eyes a mixture of lust and fury, clouded by the alcohol coursing through his veins. The flickering light bulb above cast eerie shadows on his face, accentuating his chiseled features and the intensity in his icy blue eyes. He pushed off her body, his breath ragged, and quickly stood up, his hands shaking as they fumbled with the buckle of his belt. His movements were frantic, driven by a primal need that bordered on the edge of violence. His belt clattered to the floor, followed swiftly by his pants, pooling around his ankles. He stood there for a moment, towering over her, his chest heaving with each breath. She lay on the trailer floor, the cold seeping into her bones, her body trembling not just from the chill but from the fear that had taken root deep within her. She could barely see through the blur of tears, her sobs muffled as she tried to stifle them, afraid of provoking him further.

"Get on yer knees for me..." His voice was low and guttural, carrying a hint of his Irish lilt, the words slurring together slightly from the whiskey. When she didn't move, he let out a frustrated huff, his patience wearing thin. Bending down, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her up with a roughness that made her gasp. The sudden pain was sharp, cutting through the fog of her fear and disorientation.

He dragged her to her knees, his grip on her hair unrelenting. His other hand moved to his boxers, pulling them down to reveal his throbbing erection, the tip glistening with pre-cum. His need was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to fill the cramped space of the trailer. He looked down at her, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he took in her disheveled appearance.

"Suck...my fuckin' cock..." The command was harsh, almost a growl, but she didn't respond, her lips pressed tightly together in a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. His grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes as he moved his hand from her hair to her nose, pinching it shut. She tried to pull back, to escape his grasp, but he was too strong, his grip like iron.

As her air supply dwindled, panic set in, and she was forced to open her mouth to breathe. In that moment of vulnerability, he seized the opportunity, thrusting his cock deep into her mouth, the sudden invasion causing her to choke violently. Her gag reflex kicked in, her throat constricting around him, but he didn't relent, his hips driving forward with brutal force. Cillian's breath hitched, a guttural sound escaping his throat as he felt her struggle around him. He relished the power he held over her, the way she was utterly at his mercy. He tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her to look up at him, his eyes locking onto hers. The sight of her tear-streaked face, mascara running in dark rivulets down her cheeks, only seemed to fuel his desire.

"Look at yeh," he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain and lust. "Yer such a fuckin' mess... but yeh look so fuckin' pretty like this, don' yeh?" His words were punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one causing her to gag and sputter, her tears falling more freely now. Her body shook with each brutal invasion, her hands instinctively coming up to push against his thighs, trying to create some space, some relief from the suffocating pressure. But he was immovable, his strength amplified by the alcohol and the dark urges driving him. He felt her nails dig into his skin, but it only spurred him on, the pain a twisted complement to the pleasure he was taking.

"Yeh, you fuckin' want it, don' yeh? Yeh fuckin' need it; don' yeh? Eh...?" His voice was a mocking whisper, each word laced with cruelty. He could feel himself getting closer, the pressure building as his grip on her hair tightened even further. She was trying to pull away, her body convulsing with the effort, but he held her firmly in place, his hips moving faster, more erratically. The sound of her choking filled the trailer, mingling with his ragged breathing and the wet, obscene noises of his cock driving into her throat. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of pain and desperation, snot running down her nose and mixing with her tears. It was a sight that seemed to intoxicate him even more, his pace quickening as he neared his climax. "Yeh fuckin' like that, don' yeh? Yeh love it when I use yeh like this," he panted, his words barely coherent through the haze of alcohol and arousal. He could feel the edge approaching, the tension coiling in his abdomen, ready to snap. He didn't let up, his hips slamming forward with a brutal finality, holding her head in place as he spilled himself into her mouth.

She gagged violently, her body writhing as she tried to breathe around the thick, bitter fluid filling her throat. He kept her there, forcing her to take every drop, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it painfully tight. When he finally released her, she fell back, gasping and coughing, her chest heaving as she struggled to draw in air. She looked like. a fucking fish out of water. Cillian looked down at her, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He reached down, his fingers brushing against her tear-streaked cheek, smearing the makeup further. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice softening slightly, though the underlying menace remained. "Yeh did good..." She lay there, her body trembling, the cold of the trailer floor a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, the violation she had just endured clashing with the strange, unwanted sense of relief that it was over. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn't truly over, that this was just a momentary reprieve in a night that was far from finished.

His smirk was cold, a predator toying with its prey. "Yeh think I'm done with yeh… yer fuckin' wrong if yeh think that," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. He advanced towards her, the sound of his boots echoing ominously against the hardwood floor. She was cornered, her back pressed against the wall, eyes wide with fear. Tears streamed down her face like a waterfall, her cheeks glistening in the faint light. "Cill, plea-please… Don't… no, no, no… don't… I'm begging you don't…" Her voice was a broken symphony of desperation and fear. Cillian's response was immediate and brutal. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back and forcing her to meet his icy gaze. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "Keep whining, keeps my cock hard… slut," he hissed, his words laced with venom. He released her hair, his hands moving with lightning speed to pin her wrists above her head.

With one hand holding her wrists in a vise-like grip, his other hand snaked its way down to her shorts. He practically ripped them off, pulling them down with such force that the seams tore. Her panties followed, yanked down to her ankles, exposing her vulnerability. The sight of her wetness made him smirk, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "Yer fuckin' soaked… didn't think yeh'd be this ready for me," he mocked, his voice a low growl. She sobbed, her pleas becoming more frantic. "Please, Cill… stop… don't do this… I'm begging you…" Her voice was shrill, filled with terror. Suddenly, his hand struck her across the face, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. She cried out in pain, her cheek stinging from the blow. He pointed a finger in her face, his eyes blazing with anger. "Yer making me go soft… either yeh shut up or beg like yeh did before," he snapped.

His hand found its way down to her dripping cunt, his fingers barely grazing her wet folds. Her body trembled, and her cries grew louder. "Please… don't… I'm a virgin…" she pleaded, her voice breaking. Cillian froze for a moment, processing her words. "Fuck… luv… looks like I'll be poppin' yer cherry," he said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. Without warning, he removed his hand and positioned himself. In one swift motion, he shoved his cock into her cunt, bottoming out completely. She let out a loud, pained cry, her body convulsing with the force of his intrusion. Tears streamed down her face, her expression one of agony. Cillian grunted, the tightness of her virgin cunt taking him by surprise. He paused, adjusting to her snug fit, the scent of iron filling the air. He looked down to see blood dripping from her cunt. "Looks like I popped it, real good," he muttered, almost to himself.

He began to thrust, deep and hard, his movements rough and unrelenting. Her cries of pain spurred him on, each thrust more forceful than the last. He watched her face contort with each plunge, her tears falling in a steady stream. His hand moved to grab her thigh, pulling her leg up to allow him to fill her even deeper. Her body jerked with each thrust, the pain evident in her every movement. "Fuckin' tight… yer squeezin' me so good," he groaned, his voice husky with arousal. He could feel her walls clenching around him, her cries music to his ears. She whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Please… Cill… stop…" But he was beyond reason, his desire consuming him. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "Shut up, slut… this is what yeh deserve," he whispered harshly.

Each thrust was a brutal reminder of his dominance, his control over her. Her sobs grew louder, her pleas more desperate, but he paid them no mind. He was lost in the sensation, the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure. "Yer mine… yeh understand? Mine to fuck, mine to use," he growled, his voice a possessive snarl. He gripped her thigh tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. Her leg trembled, her body barely able to withstand his relentless assault. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, her cries mingling with his grunts of pleasure. "Look at yeh… such a pretty little whore," he taunted, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. She tried to turn her head away, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Don't look away… I want yeh to see what I'm doin' to yeh," he demanded, his voice cold and commanding.

Her eyes were wide with fear, her body trembling under his touch. "Please… Cill… it hurts…" she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening. "Good… I want it to hurt," he said, his tone devoid of any compassion. He thrust harder, his pace increasing, each movement more brutal than the last. Her body jerked violently with each thrust, her cries of pain echoing in the room. "Fuck… yer so tight… so fuckin' tight," he groaned, his voice a mix of pleasure and frustration. He could feel himself getting closer, the tightness of her cunt driving him wild.

The pain she was in seemed to only fuel his dark desire, his need to dominate and break her completely. He leaned over her, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol against her tear-streaked face. His fingers dug into her wrists, holding her in place as he thrust into her with brutal force. "Shut up… yeh can take it… yeh will take it," he snarled, his voice a guttural growl that echoed in the small space. His accent was thicker than usual, slurred slightly by the whiskey, giving his words an even more menacing edge.

Her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Each thrust was more desperate, more erratic, as he chased his own release. He watched her through hooded eyes, her pain and fear a twisted aphrodisiac that spurred him on. He felt the tight grip of her body around him, the way she clenched and shuddered with each violent movement, and it drove him wild. The edge of release was so close, a tantalizing promise just within reach. Finally, with a guttural moan, he bottomed out one last time, his hips slamming into hers as he found his release. His hot, sticky cum pumped into her, filling her completely. His eyes locked onto hers, a dark, predatory gleam in his gaze as he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "Probably goin' get yeh pregnant...but yeh deserve it...because yer just a cocksleeve for me to use.." His voice was a low, dangerous whisper, each word dripping with venom.

He stayed inside her, his cock still twitching as he emptied every last drop into her womb. He reveled in the feeling, the way her body seemed to milk him dry, her tightness squeezing every bit of his release from him. Only when he was sure he had given her everything did he finally pull out, a satisfied smirk on his face. He let go of her wrists, and she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, her body too weak to support her any longer. Cillian stood over her, watching as she lay there, broken and defeated. The sight brought a twisted sense of satisfaction, a dark pleasure that seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach. He took a moment to collect himself, to let the last waves of pleasure ebb away, before straightening up and pulling up his boxers and pants. His eyes never left her, a silent command in their depths.

"Clean yerself up...and go," he said, his voice cold and detached. He watched as she struggled to move, her body trembling with the effort. There was no sympathy in his gaze, no hint of remorse for what he had done. To him, she was nothing more than a means to an end, a vessel for his darkest desires. As she finally managed to stand, her legs wobbling beneath her, Cillian took a step back, giving her space to gather herself. His eyes followed her every movement, a predator watching its prey. The room was silent except for her labored breathing and the occasional hiccup of a sob. He felt a twisted sense of power, knowing he had broken her, had pushed her to her limits and beyond.

She stumbled towards the door, her movements slow and unsteady. Her clothes were in disarray, her body marked with the evidence of his brutality. She paused at the door, casting one last, broken look over her shoulder. Cillian met her gaze, his expression unyielding. There was no comfort to be found there, no hint of the man he could have been. Only the cold, ruthless persona he had become. She turned away quickly, her hand fumbling with the doorknob as she hurried to escape. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Cillian alone in the silence. He stood there for a moment, letting the reality of what had just happened sink in. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, a heady mix of power and satisfaction. He could still feel the ghost of her touch, the way her body had responded to him, had yielded to his every command. It was a high like no other, a dark thrill that he craved more than anything.

Cillian walked over to the vanity and picked up the whiskey glass; picking his wedding ring out of the empty glass and putting it back on. He moved quickly so he could pour himself another glass of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp, the burn a welcome distraction from the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. He knew he should feel something—guilt, shame, regret—but all he felt was a hollow emptiness, a void that seemed to grow with each passing moment. He poured himself another drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as he lifted it to his lips. His hands were steady, his movements precise, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him. He took a slow sip, savoring the taste, the way it burned down his throat and settled in his stomach. It was a familiar comfort, a numbing balm to his fractured soul.

Author's Notes:

Wow, this was very hard to write, not only because I'm afraid of the way you will react to it but also because I really suck at writing him in a dom light unless it's in this setup. It's really hard to write things like this because I always have to take breaks because it's such a dark topic.

[queenshelby]

The Price for Fame (Part One)

Pairing: Dark!Cillian Murphy x Innocent!Reader

Warning: Manipulation, Infidelity, Smut, Dub-Con, Age-Gap, Cillian is being a bully in this one. It's pure filth.

Just last month, you turned eighteen and moved to Los Angeles to pursue your acting career.

With the help of your friend, Florence Pugh, you scored a role in a new movie which was produced by several big names in the industry, including 48-year-old Oscar winner Cillian Murphy.

Bold enough to believe that life as an acclaimed actress could be yours, you traded the innocence of a rural and religious upbringing for this glitzy haven where fame and glamour wove a pernicious network but it did not take long for things to fall out of place when you screwed up big time on set.

The embarrassment settled in like a slow, tormenting burn as you messed up your lines during a critical emotional scene as much as ten times, causing the shoot to be cut off momentarily. The director, Damien Chazelle, tried to hold his composure but the frustration simmered below the surface. You knew already that he had it out for you, wanting another actress to take your space, and your failure to perform this scene was simply the last straw for him and possibly the end of your career. 

Thus, a quick huddle of the film's top players led to Cillian pulling you aside.

"Let's have a chat," he said coolly, those famous blue eyes impaling you with a steely glare. It was more of a command than an invitation.

"Sure, Cillian. I am so sorry about what happened on set," you stammered, knowing what this was going to be about. 

He was one of the producers of the movie and it was his investment at stake, so you cut right to the chase, "I know you're disappointed but I swear it won't happen again. Anything you want me to do, I just want another chance."

Cillian studied your face for a beat, his blue eyes so piercing you thought he could see right down into the depths of your very soul.

"Let's talk in my trailer, Y/N," he finally said, and began striding off and you followed close behind, unsure of what to expect once you entered his inner sanctum. 

"Listen, I'm getting some heat thanks to you," he began as he sat down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "Damien wants  you out and I'm getting slammed on all sides for not firing you."

"Listen, I'm getting some heat thanks to you," he began as he sat down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "Damien wants  you out and I'm getting slammed on all sides for not firing you."

Your heart dropped into your stomach, the implications clear as day. You had to somehow atone for the massive screw-up on set and convince Cillian that you were still a valuable part of this project.

"Please, just tell me what to do and I'll do it," you said, looking him straight in the eye. "I can't afford to lose this opportunity. I'll do whatever it takes."

The words hung heavy in the air and Cillian seemed to consider them before finally responding.

"Whatever it takes, huh?" Cillian repeated, as if mulling over your words. His gaze never left yours, and the intensity of it made you squirm in your seat. "Well, you are a young and attractive woman, Y/N and we could, potentially, come to some kind of arrangement that would keep you employed on this film."

The implications of his words sent a shock through your system. Was he suggesting what you thought he was suggesting?

"What... what kind of arrangement?" you stammered, hating how weak you sounded but unable to control it.

Cillian leaned back in his seat now, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I think you know."

You shook your head in confusion. You didn't though, not really.

But the way Cillian was looking at you, like you were some sort of puzzle to be figured out, made you feel exposed and vulnerable.

"You need to be more specific," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Cillian leaned forward again; his gaze unwavering. "Alright then. Let me be clear. I want to have you in my bed, every night, sometimes even during the day, until we are done filming," Cillian said, his gaze intense.

"What?" you exclaimed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You want me to, uhm, like have sex with you?" you asked and Cillian nodded almost bluntly.

Your mind raced as you tried to process his words. Was this some kind of joke? It had to be, right? Except Cillian's expression was completely serious.

"I don't understand," you said finally, your voice shaking. "Why would you want that? You are married and I am much younger than you," you protested, still reeling from his outlandish request.

Cillian sighed and rubbed his temples before looking back at you. "I am married but my wife is not here, and I do have needs, so this seems like an easy solution for me. Plus, I won't deny that I find you attractive," he told you and you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was not what you had expected when you agreed to come to his trailer. Your mind raced as you tried to come up with a response that wouldn't ruin your career completely.

"I am flattered but I have a boyfriend and we were waiting until marriage, so I have never been intimate with anyone," you told Cillian, hoping that would put an end to this conversation. But instead of appearing taken aback, Cillian seemed almost pleased by this revelation.

"Really?" he said, with a cunning smile before carrying on. "Well, I can be gentle and, as I see it, no one needs to know about this arrangement. Not your boyfriend, not my wife, and especially not anyone on set," Cillian leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.  His piercing blue eyes bore into you, softening just slightly.

"I don't know. I don't think I can do this," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was still racing, and your mind was swirling with indecision. On one hand, you couldn't afford to lose this opportunity, and on the other, you couldn't imagine betraying your boyfriend like this.

Cillian leaned back in his seat, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Look, Y/N, I understand your hesitation, but this is purely a business arrangement," Cillian said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to persuade you.

A silence fell between the two of you as you contemplated his words. The dilemma wrestling within you was palpable, the weight of the decision threatening to crush you.

His voice broke through the silence once more, "Think about it, Y/N. You need this role, and I need... well, I need something else."

Cillian's words lingered in the air, making you uncomfortable, and the thought of betraying your boyfriend's trust made your stomach churn.

"Okay, but you have to wear a condom and no kissing," you finally agreed, trying to put in some boundaries.

Cillian's face lit up with excitement as if he had just won a jackpot, but he quickly hid it with a mask of composure. "Of course, Y/N. Whatever makes you comfortable."

You felt violated by the sudden power shift, but you couldn't deny that Cillian was offering you a lifeline, an opportunity to save yourself from drowning in the cutthroat industry of Hollywood. You had come too far to throw it all away for principles that seemed so trivial now.

"Tonight, 8 o'clock at my house, wear something nice," Cillian instructed, before dismissing you with a wave.

The audacity of it all left you breathless. In no universe did you imagine that your innocence would be the currency for maintaining employment in this industry. Yet, here you were, walking away from his trailer, carrying the burden of a secret agreement that clashed heavily with your very soul.

***

Eight o'clock came around soon enough, and after hours of overthinking, you stood by Cillian's front door, wearing an elegant red dress and high heels. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you hesitated for a moment, hesitant to knock.

Cillian answered the door with a seductive smirk on his face. "Right on time," he drawled. His gaze raked over you, leaving a trail of discomfort in its wake. You murmured a soft greeting and stepped inside.

The terrace he was staying it for the duration of filming was nice, tastefully decorated and obviously very expensive.

Cillian led you to the living room where he handed you a glass of wine and whilst you did not usually drink alcohol, you decided tonight was different. You needed to calm your nerves and calm down your inhibitions. 

As you sipped on the red liquid, he gave you a tour of his house and, without losing too much time, he led you to his bedroom.

"Let's get this over with," you gasped quietly, trying to sound confident but your trembling voice betrayed your true emotions.

"Eager are we?" Cillian chuckled as you put down your half-finished wine and sat down on the edge of the mattress, noticing a packet of condoms and a bottle of lubricant on the nightstand.

"No, like I said, I just want to get this over with," you reiterated, biting your lower lip nervously. "I don't want this, but you do, and I want to keep my job, so let's just make this quick," you added, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Alright then," Cillian chuckled, that smug grin still on his face as he moved closer to you. Without losing any time, he pulled his t-shirt over his head before slowly undoing his belt. 

"Why don't you get down on to your knees and get me hard , hmm?" Cillian suggested, the lascivious look in his eyes causing you to shudder.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling repulsed at the idea of going down on him but before you could protest, he grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him. "Don't pretend you don't want this," he growled, his hot breath on your face making you cringe.

"Okay," you nodded reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You sunk down to your knees on the plush carpet, feeling completely degraded and humiliated. You could feel the bile rising in your throat as you looked up at him, his crotch directly in front of your face.

Cillian's face was smug as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already semi-hard and pointing directly at your face.

"Go on then," he commanded gruffly, unaware that you had never done this before either. 

But you knew you couldn't refuse him. Not if you wanted to keep your job and avoid any negative consequences.

So with shaking hands, you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft.

Cillian let out a low moan as you began to stroke him, your grip tight as you moved your hand up and down his length.  Your heart was pounding in your chest, and every movement made your stomach churn.

But you knew this was the price of maintaining your career, so you forced yourself to continue. 

Pre-cum glistened on the tip of his cock, an indication of his growing arousal and, even though you did not know what it was, you pulled away slightly.

"Now be a good girl for me and open your mouth ," Cillian demanded.

You hesitated again, feeling even more repulsed by the request. But you knew there was no room for hesitation or resistance, not if you wanted to keep your job and avoid any negative consequences. So, with trembling lips, you parted your mouth as wide as you could, trying to suppress the sick feeling rising up in your stomach.

"Now stick out your tongue," he ordered.

You did as you were told, sticking out your tongue and closing your eyes which is when Cillian collected some of his pre-cum with his index finger and smeared it on to your tongue.

You opened your eyes , still trembling as you stared up at him, hating every moment of this degradation. Cillian just smiled down at you before nodding for you to continue.

You reluctantly wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, wincing as the taste of salt and bitter muskiness filled your mouth. 

Cillian then grabbed a fistful of your hair, using it to guide his cock deep into your mouth. He pushed it in farther than you expected, causing you to gag.

"You're going to have to relax and take it all in," he said, his tone cruel and condescending. "Otherwise we're never going to get anywhere."

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit as you felt his cock hit the back of your throat.

"Sshh , deep breaths," Cillian cooed softly, tugging on your hair as he pulled his hips back and thrust forward again.

You kept your breathing steady and shallow, trying to prevent yourself from gagging on his length. Tears streamed down your cheeks as Cillian's rhythm grew quicker. He groaned with pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening.

Suddenly he pulled out of you, and the sudden emptiness caused relief to flood through you.

"I want you on all fours now, baby," Cillian growled, his voice husky with lust. "That way, I can see how your virgin hole stretches around my cock when I stick it in there."

You swallowed hard, feeling scared but still you complied. You reluctantly positioned yourself on all fours, your heart pounding in your chest as Cillian reached for the condom packet and lubrication.

Cillian tore open the condom packet with his teeth, rolling it down his hard shaft before squeezing out a generous amount of lubrication onto his fingers. He traced them teasingly over your dry folds, causing you to flinch at the unfamiliar touch.

"Please, just get it over with," you whimpered, your voice trembling as you braced yourself for the excruciating pain of losing your virginity.

Cillian chuckled at your eagerness, but you could hear the sarcasm behind it. "So eager to give up that sweet little cherry of yours, huh?" he asked as he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock brushed up against your entrance.

"This might hurt a little, but I want you to relax and let me in," he said as he began to push himself inside of you.

You couldn't help but let out a loud gasp as the burning sensation of pain spread throughout your entire body. You couldn't believe that you were actually doing this, allowing yourself to be used like this, for nothing but your career.

"Just breathe," Cillian whispered in your ear as he continued to push deeper inside of you.

You felt him bottom out inside of you, and the feeling of fullness was almost too much to bear.

But before you could say anything, he began to thrust in and out of your tight hole, the friction causing a burning sensation to radiate throughout your body.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Cillian groaned, his hips snapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. You couldn't help but let out a loud gasp every time he entered you, feeling every inch of him as he stretched you open.

Sweat dripped down Cillian's forehead, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he continued to pound into you.

"And you are going to have that cock of mine inside you every day now," Cillian grunted, his voice hoarse as he continued to pump in and out of you.  His words made you feel dirty and cheap, but there was nothing you could do to stop him. You were trapped in this situation, trapped in this twisted arrangement between a successful actor and a desperate young actress trying to make it in Hollywood.

Cillian reached between your legs, his fingers finding your clit as he began to circle and rub, causing you to moan involuntarily. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, making it hard for you to catch your breath.

You came, fast, and then you were in a state of shock, unable to fully comprehend what was happening to you. The man behind you, Cillian, continued to thrust into you with no mercy, his balls slapping against your clit with each pump. His fingers were still manipulating your delicate button, and the combined sensations were building up deep within your core.

Cillian grunted, his pace increasing. You could feel his cock swell inside of you as he approached his own climax.

He then groaned loudly, his fingers digging into your hips as he slammed into you with a final thrust. You could feel him pulsating inside of you, the condom filling with his hot seed.

Soon after that, Cillian withdrew from you, and your body ached with the emptiness. He tossed the used condom to the side before collapsing onto the bed next to you.

"You impressed me tonight," Cillian said breathlessly as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

His body was slick with sweat, and his cock was still semi-hard against your thigh.

"I had to," you muttered, pulling away from his embrace. You couldn't bear the thought of being close to him after what just transpired between you.

Cillian chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. "I know, and I'm grateful," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss on the curve of your shoulder.

"I want you to go on the pill," he said, his voice firm. "I can't be bothered with condoms all the time, and I want to feel you bare. Can you do that for me?"

His request caught you off guard, but you didn't protest. You were already in too deep, and a part of you wanted to give him what he wanted.

"Okay," you murmured softly.

Cillian smiled at your response, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare thigh.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, before pulling you close for another bruising kiss before leaving you to clean yourself up and head back home.

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[profeminist]

"New Jersey’s Democratic governor has a message for the LGBTQ+ community. He issued an executive order on Tuesday indicating that, unlike in some Republican-controlled states, New Jersey is open and welcoming to everybody regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. In addition, he says New Jersey is a “safe haven” for those seeking gender-affirming care.

Gov. Phil Murphy directed all state departments and agencies to implement protective measures to protect gender-affirming healthcare providers and recipients with his executive order 326.

As a result of this order, LGBTQ+ youth in New Jersey, including transgender and non-binary youth, will have equal access to quality health care services regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity, gender expression, or whether they live in New Jersey.

Read the full piece here: https://www.advocate.com/politics/gender-affirming-care-nj-haven

My home state! NICE WORK NJ!!!

Meanwhile the GOP war on LGBTQIA+ continues in Indiana: Indiana bill banning gender-affirming care signed into law

U.S. readers, register to vote here: https://www.vote.org/

[d-criss-news]

Darren Criss on Bringing Robot Love to Broadway With ‘Maybe Happy Ending’

Chances are the multi-talented Darren Criss is as cross-eyed as the rest of us are with the twists and turns his career has taken over the past 13 years. In 2009, he began in television with six years of Glee, playing the lead singer of the Warblers, and helping power a Warblers focused soundtrack album to Number 2 on the Billboard album chart. Then in 2018 he switched fromsinging to spree killing, giving a stunning, steel-plated performance as Andrew Cunanan in Ryan Murphy’s American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace. That got him a Golden Globe and a Primetime Emmy and set people to thinking there might be a serious actor lurking inside that singer.

Before that could be settled, the singer reemerged, as a replacement in a Broadway revival of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, raking in $4 million during his three weeks. That was followed with an Off-Broadway revival of Little Shop of Horrors at the Westside Theater and a stint in Hedwig and the Angry Inch at the Belasco Theater.

Two years ago, the actor was back when producer Jeffrey Richards hired him for some deep-dish David Mamet drama, American Buffalo. Now Richardshas returned Criss to the Belasco, and singing, for an original Broadway musical, Maybe Happy Ending—a very original musical, in that it’s about the love life of robots in Seoul circa 2064.

You’ll not find much of that Glee guy you know and love in the character Criss plays in Maybe Happy Ending, a lonely Helperbot robot who putters aimlessly about his tiny apartment, listens to jazz and devotes all his TLC to a favorite pot plant. That changes swiftly when a female form of Helperbot, Claire (Helen J Shen), drops by to borrow his charger. Sparks fly, then conversation, and inevitably a kind of amorous connection.

Despite the nuts and bolts, what we have here is basically a rom-com, with a charming book and score by a couple of NYU classmates.

Actually, there are two books and two scores, one in English, one in Korean. Will Aronson, 43, of New Haven, composed the music, and Hue Park, 41 of South Korea wrote the lyrics. Once they did that, they put their heads together and wrote “connecting tissue”—a play in praise of love’s rejuvenating effects. Even robots at the end of their warranty are susceptible.

Evidently, Hue won the toss because the Korean version premiered first—in Seoul, where the story is set—and proved to be such a success that stateside productions were put together. The English edition made its first U.S. appearance two years ago at Atlanta’s Alliance Theater, where The New York Times’ Jesse Green deemed it “Broadway-ready.” Thus, we now have a live-action robot show going strong on West 44th.

The terror of doing this kind of production, Criss confesses, is that actors are afraid they’ll look like cartoons of their character, taking big, blocky robot steps around the stage. “The show has no listed choreographer,” he tells Observer. But he feels he has that situation well in hand. He and director Michael Arden “have taken a particular interest in making sure the physicality is distinct,” he says. “And I’d be remiss not to mention  a teacher at Juilliard, Moni Yakim, who had some Zoom discussion with us about this.

“It’s kind of a cocktail of those three things: Moni’s suggestions, Michael’s pursuit of perfection and my own interest in physical theater. It’s a skill set that I’ve never been able to utilize—at least to this level. When I was in college, I took a semester off so that I could study physical theater at the Accademia dell’Arte, the performing arts school in Arezzo, Italy.”

A cast of four inhabit the show: Dez Duron, Marcus Choi, Criss, and Shen. You may detect a little kinetic energy between Criss and Shen. That’s because they both attended the University of Michigan—albeit, not at the same time. “She graduated about two seconds ago, and I may have graduated a little longer ago than that,” concedes Criss.

“She graduated two years ago, and 10 years ago my name was up on the marquee at the Belasco Theater. And to be able to come back to the Belasco—but this time to share that billing with a fellow Michigan grad—is a very special moment for me. I’m now the upper-class man to the freshman of Helen J Shen. This is her Broadway debut. It’s a big moment for her, and getting to see her through that on stage—to call that a job is really a special thing for me.”

The enthusiasm Criss brings to the stage is practically palpable—and he still remembers where it came from: encountering Robin Williams at an impressionably early age in the 1992 animated Disney flick, Aladdin, in which his outrageous Genie-jiving was almost heart-stoppingly hilarious.

“I was probably six or seven—and I noticed how this audience connected with each other and with this Genie on the screen. I was very taken with that idea, and I wanted to give people what this Genie was giving them. Then, I found out the voice of that Genie was Robin Williams, who was such a prominent figure out in San Francisco, where I grew up. That made it an accessible concept: ’Oh, Mr. Williams is an actor. I’d like to be an actor, too.’ So I hopped right on it.”

[peterswonderland]

Introduction

By now, we all have our opinions of The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology. It has received mixed reviews from critics to fans alike.

In the Gaylor community, many have dubbed it her “straightest album,” which I am inclined to agree with. BUT.

If you do not like Gaylor or Swiftgron content, feel free to block and/or keep scrolling!

I’ve seen and read theories for years. In this post I will be referencing the Swiftgron Masterpost. I’m also an avid listener of the What I Will Say podcast. (No one affiliated with the podcast is involved with this post, and for all I know might disagree with it entirely. However, I will be referencing the masterpost at points, and it is only fair to give credit where credit is due.)

This is celebrity gossip, and everything is alleged. I do not know Taylor or Dianna. This is alleged (don't sue me, tysm!)

Peter is…Dianna?

Halfway through my first listen of “Peter,” I was fully convinced this song was about Dianna. That Peter was Dianna.

First, I will go through the lyrics that most pointedly seem Dianna-coded to me.

Forgive me, Peter My lost fearless leader In closets like cedar Preserved from when we were just kids Is it somethin' I did?

Taylor references closets in “seven” on folklore:

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet

Cedar closets are used as a "safe haven" to put valuable items in. The closet has preserved everything from when Taylor and the muse were "just kids" (likely meaning their early twenties.) Shoutout to Kristin in the WIWS Discord for mentioning this!

Credit

Another interpretation I found on Genius mentioned that the closet line in “Peter” could also be a reference to another fantasy story, The Chronicles of Narnia, wherein stepping into a closet revealed a new fantasy world. This fantasy narrative ties in with “Peter”/Peter Pan and “Wonderland”/Alice in Wonderland, which we’ll get to in a second.

The line “And I think you should come live with/Me and we can be pirates” can also be connected to Peter Pan. Peter Pan and the Lost Boys often have to fight off Captain Hook and his pirates. There are also theories that pirates/Captain Hook are old Lost Boys. TL/DR: Old lost boys are either killed by Peter Pan or can choose to become Lost Boys…at least by these fans’ interpretations. A weak link I know, but still an interesting one. 

“We can be pirates” because you’ve been forced to grow up too quickly…? Hm.

Further connecting “seven” to “Peter” is the idea of being just kids, although in “seven” it seems to be more literal, while in “Peter” she might be referring to when she and Dianna actually met: Taylor was ~20 years old, and Dianna was ~24. 

From “Peter”:

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer? I've heard great things, Peter But life was always easier on you Than it was on me

Dianna is stunning, and has often been referred to as a scene stealer.

Credit

“When we cast Dianna as Quinn, she ruined the part for me,” Murphy says. “She was supposed to be the Cybill Shepherd, Last Picture Show cunt, so to speak, but she humanized it. She can cry at the drop of a hat. So now her character has a conscience, a soul and great vulnerability.” Ryan Murphy, Rolling Stone. Credit

Credit (Shoutout to ellie from the WIWS Discord server for bringing the TCA nominations for "Female Scene Stealer" to my attention!)

Credit

More from “Peter”:

And I won't confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn As the men masqueraded, I hoped you'd return

I viewed this through a queer lens upon first listen; the definition of masqueraded (verb) is “to go about disguised/to assume the appearance of something one is not.”

When Taylor sings “as the men masqueraded, I hope you’d return,” the you is implied to not be a man. 

We’ll circle back to lamps burning/lights in Part 2.

And you said you'd come and get me, but you were twenty-five And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired Lost to the "Lost Boys" chapter of your life

Dianna was twenty-five when she and Taylor allegedly began dating.

Dianna, through multiple interviews and her old tumblr blog (that often mentioned children’s fantasies and stories), seems to cherish her inner child and not be in any rush to “grow up.”

From an interview for Galore Magazine in 2014:

Credit

There are also Dianna’s frequent posts on Tumblr about fairytales and children’s stories - this could lend itself to the idea she was living a “Lost Boy’s life.” More on that later.

But the woman who sits by the window Has turned out the light

Again, there is a reference to light, which is a theme (amongst many) we will visit in Part 2 of this analysis.

These lyrics draw natural parallels to Disney’s animated Peter Pan film, wherein Peter Pan visits the Darling children through their window. Wendy is seen sitting by the window, yearning for something more.

In another TTPD track about windows, “I Look in People’s Windows,” there are obvious parallels to “Peter.” These parallels are so strong that I believe these songs are almost certainly about the same person.

Credit | Credit

In “cardigan” from folklore, Taylor seems to categorize herself as Wendy and an unknown muse as Peter.

I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy

More “cardigan” parallels will be drawn in Part 2. Part 1 is focusing on “Peter” itself as well as its tie ins to another TTPD song, “I Look in People’s Windows.”

I Peter Looks in People’s Windows

Connecting “Peter” and “I Look in People’s Windows” is almost too easy, yet I didn’t catch it on my first few listens. Let’s break it down.

The images referenced above show that windows are a central plot point to Peter Pan. Waiting by the window symbolizes yearning for something more, something magical. Wendy is waiting for something more: for Peter’s return. We can draw parallels between Wendy’s window and the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland: a portal to something whimsical and dangerous.

If you’re new here, “Wonderland” from 1989 is known to many as one of Taylor’s most blatant songs about a woman: Dianna Agron. I encourage you to read this portion of the Swiftgron masterpost if you’re new or need a refresher!

Sit and Wait, Sit and Wait

The first theme we’ll discuss is longing/yearning. Both in “Peter” and “I Look in People’s Windows,” Taylor conveys a strong sense of yearning for a person with whom a relationship has permanently died, despite her hopes.

From “Peter”:

The goddess of timing Once found us beguiling She said she was trying Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feelin' she did And I didn't want to come down I thought it was just goodbye for now

/

Said you were gonna grow up Then you were gonna come find me Words from the mouths of babes Promises oceans deep But never to keep

/

Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried To hold onto the days when you were mine (Hold onto the days) But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light

The woman (Taylor) who sat by the window has given up hope (turned out the light.)

Also, fun fact about "my ribs get the feeling she did": Dianna Agron removed a Wonderland tattoo after the song "Wonderland" was released. Guess where the tattoo was?

On. Her. RIBS.

Credit

"We're all mad here."

Also, "What will we become? We become ourselves," is a quote from poet Patti Smith. Yes, the same Patti Smith referenced in the title track for The Tortured Poets Department. (Thanks to thea from the WIWS discord for pointing out the Patti Smith connection to me!)

Credit

(Shoutout to reddit user aztraps for pointing out the rib lyric to me!)

The themes of yearning continue on “I Look in People’s Windows” during essentially the entire song, but here are some highlights:

A feather taken by the wind blowing I'm afflicted by the not knowing so

I'd be remiss not to mention that Peter Pan, throughout many adaptations, is known for his feather in his cap. 

Credit

Credit

The Paradise of Peter Pan by Edward Mason Eggleston, 1934

You might notice in this painting that Peter looks like...well, a woman (stereotypically and historically!) The character of Peter Pan is normally played by a woman on stage and is often depicted with female features. This makes Dianna being Peter even more...suspicious.

More from “I Look in People’s Windows”:

I look in people's windows In case you're at their table What if your eyes looked up and met mine One more time

This is a love that is ended, yet Taylor can’t help but wonder what might happen if flames rekindled. 

I know what you’re thinking – Taylor Swift isn’t walking around random neighborhoods peering into neighbor’s windows. You’d be right (hopefully.) This song is a metaphor, in my view, for “insta-stalking” or social media “stalking” an ex, constantly checking up on them to see what they’re up to, who they’re with. She checks mutual friends’ pages, looking to see if she sees her love (Dianna) “at their table” (with them.)

The real question is - why use windows as the metaphor for internet stalking your ex? Perhaps to tie it into another song about that same ex?

More "ILIPW" lyrics:

I tried searching faces on streets What are the chances you'd be Downtown, downtown, downtown Does it feel alright to not know me? I'm addicted to the "if only"

Taylor is YEARNING for this person. She also seems to be unable to believe this person has been able to seemingly move on without her (just like Peter has.)

In “Peter,” Taylor’s relationship didn’t turn out as she hoped. She hoped this person would come back, and they didn’t. (“Come Back…Be Here” anyone??? PART TWO)

“I Look in People’s Windows” highlights the fact that Taylor has not completely moved on. As she goes about her daily life, she still “peers in people’s windows” (checks instagram/twitter/etc.) for this person. IT’S THE SAME MUSE!!! (Allegedly.)

In addition, the line: “I'm addicted to the "if only"” is especially interesting given Dianna’s interesting response to rumors of dating Taylor in a May 2023 (!!!) Rolling Stone article:

The theme of waiting is also important to discuss. In “Peter,” Taylor is waiting for someone who said they would grow up and find her; she’s sitting by the window waiting for them. In “ILIPW,” Taylor is looking through windows waiting for this person’s eyes to meet “mine one more time.” Both songs have this sense of sit and wait, sit and wait, sit and wait.

Taylor looking into people's windows and obsessing over gatherings where the muse might be in attendance reflects a sense of longing and yearning, reminiscent of Wendy's yearning in Peter Pan to reconnect with Peter despite being unable to bridge the gap between their realities:

Lyrics from “Peter”:

We both did the best we could do underneath the same moon In different galaxies

Eternal Youth

More from “I Look in People’s Windows”:

I look in people's windows Transfixed by rose golden glows

To view something in rose colored glasses is to see something in “favorably disposed opinions : optimistic eyes.” 

One could compare this to the rose colored glasses Wendy takes on when visiting Neverland, or when Alice visits Wonderland. (Again, we will be reviewing Wonderland’s connection amongst many other songs in connection to “Peter”/��ILIPW” in Part 2.) Both of these fairytales cater to the inner child and youth.

The theme of eternal youth in “Peter”, based on the fairytale of Peter Pan, is self explanatory, and I don’t feel the need to go into detail in this already MASSIVE post.

For this example, we’re going with the theory that “Peter” and “ILIPW” are inspired by the same muse/relationship. “ ILIPW’s” theme of yearning can be interpreted through the lens of Wendy's relationship with Peter—a story that encapsulates the longing for eternal youth (which Taylor writes about in “22” on Red, a song that is DEDICATED TO DIANNA, the pain of growing up, and the poignant realization that some connections are meant to remain in the realm of dreams and memories.

Rediscover Your Sense of Wonder

Peter appears unexpectedly and at random to seemingly bring a sense of magic and wonder to those around him, including Wendy and her siblings. Peter visiting the Darling children through their window symbolizes the allure of escapism, especially for someone like Taylor who cannot lead a normal life, and the desire to remain forever young.

“ILIPW,” if you allow the interpretation that it is intrinsically connected to “Peter,” indicates a longing to recapture, if anything, the innocence and adventure embodied by Peter/the muse. Taylor’s fixation on windows is a search for moments of enchantment and wonder that the Peter muse gave her.

If we follow this line of thinking and allow Dianna to be the muse of “Peter” and “I Look in People’s Windows,” it’s very interesting that the song canonically dedicated to Dianna centers around the very idea of youth and wonder: “22” from Red, as seen in the Rolling Stone piece mentioned above.

From “22”:

We're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time It's miserable and magical / It seems like one of those nights We ditch the whole scene and end up dreaming Instead of sleeping / Everything will be alright If we just keep dancing like we're 22

Tumblr / felldowntherabbithole

Dianna once had a tumblr with the url felldowntherabbithole. While I searched what archives I could find, it was quite overwhelming, and I didn’t get through many of her posts throughout the years she was active. However, I will mention posts I did find that showcased her interest in fairytales, and why Taylor might choose one (or two…“Wonderland,” anyone?) as inspiration for songs she has written about Dianna.

FIRST: This old post was found by Cam from whatiwillsay. She is not affiliated with this post and did not endorse it. However, I was unable to find this screenshot myself on the Wayback Machine, so I want to give her credit for finding this post on Dianna’s blog:

Credit

Now, onto some screenshots I found myself of Dianna’s love of fairytales, all courtesy of the Wayback Machine:

References from bottom to top: Goodnight Moon, Dr. Suess, Alice in Wonderland, Little Red Riding Hood, Underland (a retelling of Alice in Wonderland)

Part Two

PART TWO is here!

If you have any comments, suggestions, or questions, I’m more than ready to hear your thoughts!

Part Two will cover "Peter" and "ILIPW's" connections to other songs associated with Dianna.

Part 3 will cover anything I missed that I didn't feel I could edit into Part 1 or 2, as well as some more reach-y theories that I still feel deserve an honorable mention!

This post will be edited for grammatical and factual errors as necessary, as well as adding more evidence I feel needs to be included in this post.

[somedaylazysomeday]

SomedayLazySomeday's Masterlist

Hey, friends! Here is the collection of everything I’ve written up to this point. Fics have their own page to keep things neat, and those links are posted under the media to which they belong. 

All fics feature a female reader with minimal physical description and no use of ‘Y/N’. All of these works are rated mature or explicit and are not intended for minors. Please take note of the warnings listed on the chapter links for each fic.

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

- Ink 

Arcane (2021) 

Good Intentions - Silco x fem!reader. - 54.7k words. Reader runs a charitable organization, the Haven, which seeks to help people overcome their Shimmer addiction. Silco soon takes an intense interest in the Haven and the woman who operates it.

Noisy - Viktor x fem!reader.  - 7.2k words. Reader is a student at the Piltover Academy and lives in student housing, one floor below Viktor. He’s a bit of an insomniac… and a noisy one at that.

Avengers (2012) 

Cold - Loki x fem!reader. - 3k words. Reader is in a casual physical relationship with Loki. When she attends a party at Avengers Tower with someone else, he’s bothered by the idea that she’s ashamed of him. Themes of jealousy and minor monsterfucking.

Beetlejuice  

A Deal with a Demon - Beetlejuice x fem!reader. - 13.3k words. Reader is a witch who’s a little down on her luck. She summons a demon for help, but he turns out to be very different from what she expected. Themes of magic, desperation, and monsterfucking.

Black Sails  

Captured - Captain Charles Vane x fem!reader.  - 9.1k words. Reader disguised herself as a man to cross the ocean, but her ship was captured by pirates who brought her on as a member of their crew. Vane eventually figures out the truth. Dub-con themes in Part One; mind the warnings!

The Boondock Saints 

Na Buachaillí - Murphy MacManus x fem!reader, Connor MacManus x fem!reader. - 13k words. Reader is a high school science teacher working temp jobs over Christmas break to help pay for her divorce. 

Ex Machina (2015) 

Winner Take All - Nathan Bateman x fem!reader.  - 11.6k words. Reader knows Nathan from MIT, and they constantly run into each other during trivia night at a local bar. Enemies to friends to lovers vibes.

The Gray Man (2022)

Paranoid - Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader. - 9.7k words. Reader runs into Lloyd and he takes a liking to her. She can’t say the same for him. Dark!fic with themes of non-con. Mind the warnings on this one!

The Hobbit 

Dexterity - Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader. - 14.6k words. Reader sells wool at Erebor’s markets and is familiar with the king, handsome and aloof. But Thorin rapidly warms up when a storm forces her to stay in Erebor overnight…

A Boon - Elvenking Thranduil x fem!reader. - 20.2k words. Reader owns a bar in Lake-Town and is very unimpressed with the Elvenking, even as he slowly works to win her over. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Labyrinth 

Dreams - Jareth x fem!reader.  - 7.7k words. Reader wished away her college roommate, beat the labyrinth, and resisted the Goblin King. But he isn’t done with her yet… Themes of dark fae, magic, and predator/prey.

Random Jareth Fics - Jareth x fem!reader - 6.8k words. Reader is a teacher who was wished away by a young student. She becomes Jareth’s eyes and ears in the human world, working to keep his legend alive. Over time, she becomes less human, but an occasional need still arises.

Narcos

Informant - Javier Peña x fem!reader. - 2.3k words. Reader has some information about Pablo Escobar and ends up making a different sort of deal. (Similar in tone to Oaths, but I hadn’t quite figured out how to write Javier Peña’s character yet.)

Oaths - Javier Peña x fem!reader. - 11.5k words. Reader is a nurse who treats the Escobar family. She turns information over to the DEA, though she doesn’t care for the agent assigned to her case.

Matter of Perspective - Captain Horacio Carrillo x fem!reader.  - 9.6k words. Reader works for the DEA in Columbia and accompanies the Search Bloc to prove one of her theories. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Southern Vampire Mysteries/True Blood

Blood Donor - Eric Northman x fem!reader.  - 2.4k words. Reader is a were-animal working for the vampires of a town Eric is visiting. You are sent to feed him. 

Star Wars 

Target Acquired - Jango Fett x fem!reader. - 9.6k words. Reader is a bounty hunter who often finds herself in direct competition with Jango Fett. They have a deal: whoever catches the bounty sets the terms of their night together.

Pursuit - Boba Fett x fem!reader.  - 6.5k words. Reader is a bounty Boba finds, but she must convince him to let her go… even if they both know it’s only temporary. 

Star Wars: The Bad Batch 

Hunted - Hunter x fem!reader. - 7.3k words. Reader works with the Bad Batch. She has a crush on Hunter that seems one-sided… until a chance encounter with a mysterious substance on a mission. Sex pollen and themes of predator/prey. 

Aim - Crosshair x fem!reader. - 9.9k words. Reader works with the Bad Batch and gets stranded with Crosshair after a mission. They won’t make it back to the Havoc Marauder without blowing off some steam. Enemies to lovers vibes in both parts. 

Experiment - Tech x fem!reader. - 3.5k words. Tech thinks he can’t be distracted from his work. Reader bets that isn’t true, and she’s willing to prove it.

Stretch - Wrecker x fem!reader.  - 13.5k words. Reader and Wrecker are a strong couple, but there are some challenges that come with dating someone so physically large. 

Different, But Still Good - TBB!Echo x fem!reader.  - 3.4k words. Reader is a sex-positive asexual, unbothered by the ways Echo was changed during his time with the Separatists. They’re both a little surprised when he volunteers to help on an unusually needy day. 

Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Bitten - Commander Wolffe x fem!reader.  - 13.4k words. Reader has a crush on Broadside, a pilot with the 501st. When it isn’t returned, a helpful stranger encourages her to let Wolffe provide a distraction.

Tied Up in You - Commander Fox x fem!reader. - 9.8k words. Established relationship between Fox and Reader. Sickeningly sweet glimpses at a loving, unlikely relationship.

Misbehaving - Commander Cody x fem!reader.  - 9.2k words. Reader is in a relationship with Cody. Their relationship is one of control and boundaries, but they’re both willing and ready to test each other.

Star Wars: Legends

Bodyguard - Alpha-17 x fem!reader.  - 9.2k words. Reader is a Senatorial aide, assigned to work for a hated senator who endangers both of their lives with his politics. Fortunately, Alpha is sent to keep them safe.

Gar Cyare Spice Fics - Alpha-17 x fem!reader. - 6.8k words. Assorted spicy chapters of an ongoing fic on my main blog. (Gar Cyare by WanderingInkSplot) Established relationship between Alpha and the fem!reader.

The Boys

Hooked - Billy Butcher x fem!reader. - 8k words. Reader is a tow truck driver sent to tow Butcher's car. He's less than pleased.

The Walking Dead 

Arm Candy - Negan x fem!reader.  - 18k words. Reader is a Savior and a prospective wife. Negan likes to show her off at meetings, but he is easily the most distracted person in the room.

[blurscolours]

The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea | Part One

Masterlist

Summary: An attack on Arthur’s imprisoned brother Orm leaves him with no choice but to rely upon you, a friend made due to unfortunate circumstances nearly a decade ago, to provide safe haven while he restores peace to Atlantis. Suddenly tasked with sheltering a sullen former king results in a very different summer vacation than you had originally envisioned, but changes both of your lives forever.

Warnings: Language, Discussion of Injuries, Discussion of Events of Aquaman Movie, Reader Has No Dietary Restrictions, Orm Is A Picky Eater, Arthur Is A Drinker, Alcohol

Word Count: 1781

Sunset Country, Northwest Ontario, Canada – Summer 2019

You leaned back on the lounge chair, looking out over the diamonds on the water of the lake where you had spent your summers since the year you were born. It has been in the family since the 1920s. The footprint of the cottage had changed over the years, as had the neighbours, but never the peaceful scenery. The granite rocks, the crooked jack pines; they had been there for centuries and would remain long after you were gone.

As the world became less and less familiar, the consistency of this place was a comfort to you. It was why you had decided to spend the month of August here for summer holidays. You glanced over at your phone as it chimed with a message on Facebook Messenger. Probably a reply from Tom. You unlocked the screen and looked over the panorama of the coast he’d sent in reply to your panorama of the lake. You really needed to get back to Maine one of these days…

A well-earned respite from the daily grind! It’s a beautiful day down here, too. Enjoy your vacation!

You replied with a GIF of Eddie Murphy in a lounge chair enjoying a glass of champagne with the caption ‘vacation mode’ and chuckled at his reply of laughing emojis. Sure, Facebook and it’s Messenger companion weren’t for the cool kids anymore, but out here with only WIFI, they were the most reliable way to stay in touch with others.

You set the phone down and took a sip of your own cool beverage before burying yourself in the book you’d been saving for this exact purpose. You passed the day reading, swimming a few times, enjoying some snacks, but never really leaving the dock. The lapping of the water on the rocks, and the creak of the floating dock attached to the solid one upon which you sat were your soundtrack. It was heaven.

It was just about time to head up to the cottage, to think about dinner, when two figures suddenly burst out of the water and landed on the end of the floating dock. The water you had been drinking missed your mouth entirely and poured down the front of your bathing suit, the cold shock against your warm skin propelling you to your feet with a gasp.

“Jesus fucking Christ” You exclaimed. “Arthur?!” You squinted at the dark haired, towering man who you had not seen in person in nearly a decade. “What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even…” You trailed off as your manners caught up to your shock. There was someone else with him.

Arthur smirked a little as he strolled across the wooden boards towards you. “Easy Brokedown Girl, can’t I visit an old friend?”

You nodded dumbly, but your eyes were resting on the figure beside him…His blonde hair shone in the long light of the afternoon, his eyes were a pale blue. He didn’t stand as tall as Arthur but was just a broad and perhaps even more imposing due to the stoic look upon his face.

“Orm, this is Brokedown Girl. Brokedown Girl, my brother Orm.” Arthur’s introduction pierced through your thoughts, and you cleared your throat.

“It’s been seven years, Arthur. Will you ever let me live it down?” You smiled to them both and introduced yourself properly to Orm. He nodded in return and that is when you noticed the rips in his black suit…it looked akin to a wetsuit but definitely seemed more advanced. Arthur wore something similar, though with more structure and gauntlets. Most noticeable, however, were the wounds on his brother’s exposed skin. “Why don’t you come inside and tell me why you’re really here…”

You grabbed your things and led them up to the modestly-sized cottage, holding the door open for them as they filed in, finding themselves in the kitchen.

You headed further into the building, through the open dining and living room and down to the hall to grab a couple of towels and the first aid kit from the bathroom, before returned to guide them to sit on the wooden chairs at the dining table. They would take the damp better than the soft furniture of the living room.

A screened in veranda with a pair of day beds and a few chairs was attached to the front of the cottage, facing the lake, accessible from the dining room, while access to the back deck lay opposite, facing miles of uninhabited forest.

You came up to Orm, admittedly intimidated by his handsome appearance and cold demeanor, but set the first aid kit in on the table in front of him.

“I’m trained in first aid; can I help you?” You asked while trying to assess the extent of his wounds.

He shook his head.

“No need. I will see to it myself, where may I get cleaned up?”

You nodded and led him to the bathroom, leaving him with the first aid kit and more towels before coming back to Arthur who had stripped to the waist and was towelling himself off at the table. Well at least he didn’t seem injured. You grabbed him a cold beer from the fridge and offered it to him, hoping it would help him explain what was going on.

He took a grateful, and deep, swallow before looking to you and sighing. “He was supposed to be safe. Our mother had been visiting him, things had been going so well…”

You held your breath at the mention of his mother, holding back your shock, and nodded as though you knew the full story. You were honestly just relieved he’d started talking. Your nod was enough to prompt him into a fuller explanation. Of the attack on the surface, the ring of fire, the trident, finding his mother…that part brought a smile to his face…the battle, and finally the defeat and imprisonment of his brother. By the time he finished his story, Orm had joined you at the table, bandages visible through the tears in his suit, his hair combed back neatly.

“I am going to find out who did this…I am going to bring peace to Atlantis and then all seven of the kingdoms…but I need to keep you safe, little brother. You’ll stay here with Brokedown Girl.” Orm opened his mouth, most likely to protest, but Arthur shook his head and continued.

“No one but my father knows who she is or that she even exists. You know how hard it was for us to get here, it is the safest place for you to be until I fix this.”

You swallowed tightly, processing the extensive information he had just provided to you, and now the fact that you were going to be sheltering his brother.

“Are you certain, Arthur? You know I’m not…”

“You are the safest place in the entire world. There is no one I would trust more with my little brother.” He interrupted you firmly.

You nodded in reply, lost for words at the heartfelt nature of his statement.

“Well,” You cleared your throat “You’ll be needing something food before you head back, right? Steak and potatoes?” You stood and grabbed the ingredients from the refrigerator, seasoning the steaks and washing the potatoes before wrapping them in foil. You could hear them talking to each other quietly as you worked, and you consciously ignored them. It was obviously not a conversation for your ears.

You cooked everything on the barbecue on the back deck, burning any remnants of food off the grill while the steaks rested to prevent any temptation to the local bear population. You made a salad just before you sat down together to eat. Arthur was ravenous, obviously having used a lot of energy to get his brother to you, so far inland. Orm was somewhat more reticent. He tried bites of the steak and potatoes, mostly seeming to gravitate toward the salad, but hunger eventually won out and he cleared his plate as well.

You were already planning on going into town to get him some clothes. You’d make sure to buy some food more to his liking as well. The sun was beginning to set when Arthur announced he would get going. The two of you followed him down to the dock as he pulled his suit back onto his torso while walking.

“I will come back once it’s safe.” He grabbed Orm’s forearm and pulled him in for a hug. Orm seemed somewhat stiff in the face of the affection but nodded as Arthur pulled back.

“Just remember you can’t text me out here, ok?” You reminded him, giving him a hug. “Be careful…” You said firmly but offered a smile.

“Don’t you worry about me, Brokedown Girl. Just make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble.” He patted your head, and you shot him a look of annoyance. Orm did not look overly impressed with his comment either. Neither of you had the opportunity to reply, however, as he promptly leapt backwards into the lake, leaving a ripple of wake in his trail as he shot off through the water.

You turned to Orm, the light of sunset playing off the water onto his striking features and swallowed.

“Well…I’ll, uh, show you your room.”

He turned to you and nodded. You were close enough to see the stunning blue of his eyes. A shade reminiscent of some tropical waters off in the Pacific somewhere. You managed to turn away before he saw you swallow visibly, or at least you hoped that was the case. You led him back up into the cabin and down the hall past the bathroom and towards the bedrooms. You stepped into the one beside yours, looking out over the water.

“Will you be comfortable in here?” You asked.

He nodded quietly. “It will do, yes.”

You smiled a little, relieved. “I’m just next door, please let me know if you need anything. I’ll be up for a while yet reading, but I understand in you’ve had a long day?”

He nodded again. “I will retire for the night.”

“Good night then.” You smiled again and stepped out, leaving him to his privacy.

You cleaned up the kitchen and sat on the veranda as the night closed in, cooling off from the heat of the day. You tried to pick up your book again but found your thoughts drifting…drifting back to Arthur’s words, back to his brother just down the hall. You sighed as you looked out over the water and couldn’t help but feel like your life had just become very, very complicated.

Read Part Two

Masterlist

[kursed-curtain]

Intro Post ✨

Like for real? For real!

-+-

I'm KursedCurtain (I go by Kursed or Curtain, whichever you like) and this is my funny little fandom haven!

I use they/them or pronouns like dude/bro/guy, I think I'm genderfluid but who am I to know ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

This blog has my... Everything. Who needs side blogs?? Just throw everything into one place! I post my art here but I also reblog stuff too much! I mostly make fandom OCs ^^

Media I Like: King's Quest, Monkey Island, Psychonauts, Portal franchise, American Arcadia, Starkid, THSC, Ace Attorney, Don't Starve Together, Milo Murphy's Law, Phineas and Ferb, hfjOne, Storyteller, Parkour/PVP Civilization, Smile For Me & Great God Grove, uhh too many others that I don't remember...

-+-

QnA!

Q: Are you okay with fanart? (Fanart of your OCs, fanart of your AUs, etc.)

A: Absolutely! Especially fanart of my OCs, it makes me so happy to see that y'all like the silly little characters I've designed to the point of making art of them! It's awesome, and always welcome (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

-+-

My Toyhou.se

My ArtFight

[iamprchung]

'Grateful'

Fluff Alert.

Scully, with a mischievous pregnancy craving, calls a grumpy-but-secretly-soft Skinner in the middle of the night. Tacos and lottery tickets later, their late-night ritual unfolds, filled with playful jabs and unspoken worry. As Scully gets closer to her due date, the question of where she'll stay hangs heavy in the air. Will their late-night talks and midnight deliveries lead them to a solution that keeps everyone safe and happy?

"Grateful"

by PR Chung

It was... what time?

The phone was... ringing.

Who's calling? Skinner thought, groggily reaching out from his sleep for the

receiver.

"Yes?" His voice was rough with sleep. "Is everything okay" he asked after a

moment, and sat up in the darkness of his bedroom.

He listened for another moment, rubbing his face. "All right," he answered and turned on the light. "Sure. No, it's all right. I'll... be there in a while," he promised slowly as he looked at the time; 12:34. "I'll see you in a whi-- And a what?” He listened, and repeated, “A Power Ball ticket? Sure. No problem."

He hung the phone up, shook his head to clear the sleep. He sat for a second, an amused grin growing across his expression. “A Power Ball ticket,” he said, and chuckled.

Skinner stood, ready to dress and his cross-town journey.

-----------------------X---------------------

"Who is it?" Scully's voice sound through the door.

"The Taco Man," Skinner called back, dryly.

The apartment door came open and Skinner's eyes immediately went to Scully's round belly-- It was an unavoidable reaction each time he saw her now.

Self-conscious, he lowered his gaze and lifted the bag from Murphy's 24/7 Taco Haven. "As you requested."

"You're a saint," Scully said and grinned, reaching for the bag.

"That's arguable in some circles," he replied, following her inside and shutting the door behind himself.

"Oh, did you--?"

Before she could finish Skinner produced a Power Ball lottery ticket with a magician-like flick of his fingers, holding it up for her to see.

Scully smiled and went back to exploring the bag of food she'd set on the kitchen table. After a moment, she stopped and frowned at the contents. "I didn't need this much food," she said, glancing at Skinner.

"You're assuming an awful lot," he said with a smirk as he came into the kitchen, "some of those tacos are mine."

-----------------------X---------------------

They ate at the kitchen table; Scully wolfing down her special delivery midnight snack, while Skinner ate at more leisurely pace. Once she finished, Scully slowly looked up across the table, a self-conscious spark of realization in her blue eyes.

"Did you taste your food?" Skinner teased.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Scully said, trying to rise as gracefully from her chair as her pregnancy would allow. "And it was delicious."

Skinner finished his food, watching her move around the kitchen with careful slow steps, cleaning, and straightening. Nesting was the word that came to his mind after a moment of watching her. He would have offered to help, if he hadn't before and been shot down by her vehement refusals. She was determined not to grow weak just because she was pregnant, but she was going to have to

relent at some point, and Skinner only hoped it was sooner than later.

At least she'd called on him to make the cravings run instead of going out late on her own; this fact, although a little frustrating at times, made him feel more secure about her and the baby's safety.

Scully went to the living room and settled into a corner of the sofa and turned on the television. Skinner followed, settling next to her to watch whatever she decided on, in companionable silence. This had become a sort of ritual with them in the last few weeks; the late-night food deliveries and then television for a while before one of them fell asleep. Scully needed the company, and so did Skinner, plus being with her helped ease his mounting concerns about her being alone as she neared her due date.

Skinner glanced at her, and her tummy; very round and cast in the soft blue glow of the television. It wouldn't be much longer, he thought.

Scully flipped channels, settling on the weather channel until the area forecast was over then moved onto Headlines news. Skinner waited until after the sports segment before he moved or spoke. Bringing his arm up to rest on the sofa behind Scully, letting her nuzzle into his side.

"When will you come stay with me?" he asked her, making no effort to mask his displeasure or concern.

"This is my home," she answered.

"I'm not asking you to abandon it."

"I know," Scully said glumly, and sighed.

"I could come here," he suggested, rubbing her arm softly.

"You wouldn't be comfortable here, and it wouldn't be fair to make you stay."

Skinner placed his hand on her hair and began to caress her head. "There's plenty of room at my place."

"I know," her voice grew softer, lower.

"I'd feel better," he matched her tone, nearing a whisper, "I think you would, too."

"I'm fine here," Scully hesitated, looking up at him. "You just don't want to be driving around getting food at all hours."

Skinner chuckled softly. "I'd still be driving around at all hours getting your food no matter where we were. The only difference would be how soon after the trips I'd be able to crawl back in bed."

"My sofa's not as comfortable as you thought it would be, huh?"

"No," he smiled, looking down into her eyes. "You know you're running out of time," he said seriously, "you need to decide what's in both yours and the baby's best interests now."

Scully lowered her gaze slowly and snuggled deeper at his side, saying nothing.

Skinner allowed her the time to mull it over.

"There's a lot of things I need," she said after a moment.

"Excuses."

"Well, what about you? Don't you need things when you're here-- a shaver and your clothes?" Scully lifted her head and looked at him closely. "It was like the end of the world when you woke up late that one morning--"

"I remember, you don't have to remind me again."

Scully put her head back down on his chest. "I won't," she said quietly.

Skinner glanced down after a while, seeing her eyes fluttering shut then forced wide open only to fall shut once again.

"Thank you for getting the food," she said, sounding very drowsy.

"You're welcome," Skinner whispered, resting his mouth against the top of her head.

"You're going to stay again," Scully asked, "aren't you?"

"Of course," he whispered, and placed a kiss into her hair.

Scully was quiet a very long time before Skinner checked to see if she was asleep, but when he moved she lifted her head and looked around the room until her gaze found him. She looked at him a second, as if she wasn't certain who he was, then smiled kindly at him. "Thank you," she said, putting her head to his chest again. "I'm so grateful for you."

Her breath grew deep and slow, and Skinner carefully took the remote from her hand to turn off the TV. The room went dark, and silence dowsed the two of them.

Skinner listened to Scully's steady breath, resting his cheek against her head once more. He exhaled softly, quietly and with so much weighing on his every thought. "Me, too."

------------------------------ xXx -----------------------------------

'Grateful'

A one shot fic.

[ficretus]

Feel like Cinder's Haven plan gets too much flack. For the most part it was ok plan with catastrophic results. Its failure lead to lovely fanon Cinder interpretations which have room temperature IQ.

Most common complaint is that Cinder shouldn't have invited good guys into Haven and should have just went for the Relic. It's simpler plan but it leads to the mostly same end result. Cinder would still had to have beaten Raven to get the Relic no matter what, which as we saw in canon wasn't easy. At most, she could have negotiated her own escort to Vault (which would have likely been Emerald) but that's still hardly a guarantee for success considering two of them did get beat by Penny few volumes later. I don't think Raven would have accepted the deal if Cinder got to be accompanied by more than one person into the Vault. But even with Emerald potentially there, plan runs into risk of both of them targeting Vernal and losing their advantage. So overall, it changes very little in grand scheme of things.

Now, was inviting all your enemies to your location really that bad of a plan? Look at the forces of both sides:

Bad guys have: two Maidens (Cinder, Vernal), two elite Huntsmen (Hazel, Raven) and Emerald, Mercury and Lionheart all of which should be at least regular Huntsman level.

Good guys have: one elite Huntsman, six Huntsmen in training and some farm boy.

Cinder's side should have had an overwhelming advantage and be able to destroy them and capture Ruby. Most things that ended up going wrong are things Cinder couldn't have predicted. Keep in mind that last fight against Salem's faction member good guys fought was against Tyrian, and he was holding five of them in a stalemate. If you go back to Beacon, Adam managed to beat both Blake and Yang with minimal effort. So logic would dictate that fighters like Hazel should have no problem fighting them. There is also an issue of Oscar actually being Ozma's vessel, something Cinder also couldn't have predicted. And another unknown that went against her was their plans being leaked via Ilia's scroll and Faunus militia intervening in the fight.

And funniest part is that none of this would have mattered if Cinder secured Spring Maiden power since she would have been able to turn the fight around if she returned. However, Cinder and her allies didn't know that Raven was actually Spring Maiden, not Vernal.

So overall it was relatively logical plan. Cinder is working with information that: Vernal (someone who should be weaker than her) is Spring Maiden, good guys should be significantly weaker than them, and that thanks to Lionheart's scheming, there would be no reinforcements. Therefore she should be able to beat both sides, effectively killing two birds with one stone.

However, Cinder got struck hard by Murphy's law: Raven is Spring Maiden and she is stronger than her, good guys are actually main cast of pseudo shonen anime and therefore got significantly stronger, Ozma is back and good guys got unexpected reinforcements.

[sillyname30]

Darren Criss on Bringing Robot Love to Broadway With ‘Maybe Happy Ending’

The star of the new musical on learning to move like a machine and how he first caught the acting bug.

Chances are the multi-talented Darren Criss is as cross-eyed as the rest of us are with the twists and turns his career has taken over the past 13 years. In 2009, he began in television with six years of Glee, playing the lead singer of the Warblers, and helping power a Warblers focused soundtrack album to Number 2 on the Billboard album chart. Then in 2018 he switched fromsinging to spree killing, giving a stunning, steel-plated performance as Andrew Cunanan in Ryan Murphy’s American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace. That got him a Golden Globe and a Primetime Emmy and set people to thinking there might be a serious actor lurking inside that singer.

Before that could be settled, the singer reemerged, as a replacement in a Broadway revival of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, raking in $4 million during his three weeks. That was followed with an Off-Broadway revival of Little Shop of Horrors at the Westside Theater and a stint in Hedwig and the Angry Inch at the Belasco Theater.

Two years ago, the actor was back when producer Jeffrey Richards hired him for some deep-dish David Mamet drama, American Buffalo. Now Richardshas returned Criss to the Belasco, and singing, for an original Broadway musical, Maybe Happy Ending—a very original musical, in that it’s about the love life of robots in Seoul circa 2064.

You’ll not find much of that Glee guy you know and love in the character Criss plays in Maybe Happy Ending, a lonely Helperbot robot who putters aimlessly about his tiny apartment, listens to jazz and devotes all his TLC to a favorite pot plant. That changes swiftly when a female form of Helperbot, Claire (Helen J Shen), drops by to borrow his charger. Sparks fly, then conversation, and inevitably a kind of amorous connection.

Despite the nuts and bolts, what we have here is basically a rom-com, with a charming book and score by a couple of NYU classmates.

Actually, there are two books and two scores, one in English, one in Korean. Will Aronson, 43, of New Haven, composed the music, and Hue Park, 41 of South Korea wrote the lyrics. Once they did that, they put their heads together and wrote “connecting tissue”—a play in praise of love’s rejuvenating effects. Even robots at the end of their warranty are susceptible.

Evidently, Hue won the toss because the Korean version premiered first—in Seoul, where the story is set—and proved to be such a success that stateside productions were put together. The English edition made its first U.S. appearance two years ago at Atlanta’s Alliance Theater, where The New York Times’ Jesse Green deemed it “Broadway-ready.” Thus, we now have a live-action robot show going strong on West 44th.

The terror of doing this kind of production, Criss confesses, is that actors are afraid they’ll look like cartoons of their character, taking big, blocky robot steps around the stage. “The show has no listed choreographer,” he tells Observer. But he feels he has that situation well in hand. He and director Michael Arden “have taken a particular interest in making sure the physicality is distinct,” he says. “And I’d be remiss not to mention  a teacher at Juilliard, Moni Yakim, who had some Zoom discussion with us about this.

“It’s kind of a cocktail of those three things: Moni’s suggestions, Michael’s pursuit of perfection and my own interest in physical theater. It’s a skill set that I’ve never been able to utilize—at least to this level. When I was in college, I took a semester off so that I could study physical theater at the Accademia dell’Arte, the performing arts school in Arezzo, Italy.”

A cast of four inhabit the show: Dez Duron, Marcus Choi, Criss, and Shen. You may detect a little kinetic energy between Criss and Shen. That’s because they both attended the University of Michigan—albeit, not at the same time. “She graduated about two seconds ago, and I may have graduated a little longer ago than that,” concedes Criss.

“She graduated two years ago, and 10 years ago my name was up on the marquee at the Belasco Theater. And to be able to come back to the Belasco—but this time to share that billing with a fellow Michigan grad—is a very special moment for me. I’m now the upper-class man to the freshman of Helen J Shen. This is her Broadway debut. It’s a big moment for her, and getting to see her through that on stage—to call that a job is really a special thing for me.”

The enthusiasm Criss brings to the stage is practically palpable—and he still remembers where it came from: encountering Robin Williams at an impressionably early age in the 1992 animated Disney flick, Aladdin, in which his outrageous Genie-jiving was almost heart-stoppingly hilarious.

“I was probably six or seven—and I noticed how this audience connected with each other and with this Genie on the screen. I was very taken with that idea, and I wanted to give people what this Genie was giving them. Then, I found out the voice of that Genie was Robin Williams, who was such a prominent figure out in San Francisco, where I grew up. That made it an accessible concept: ’Oh, Mr. Williams is an actor. I’d like to be an actor, too.’ So I hopped right on it.”

[lost-carcosa]

The Devastating Effects of Fireworks on Pets and Wildlife

By: Kendra Coulter     

Fireworks have become a fixture of many celebrations around the world, from weddings to national holidays. But there are many among us, including the furry, feathered and finned, who feel fear with every thundering boom.

Animal caretakers, wildlife rehabilitators and fire services see firsthand the damaging — and sometimes fatal — effects whenever and wherever fireworks are deployed.

Real risks for animals

Cats and dogs both experience sounds at far greater intensity than humans. Fireworks appear for them as discordant noise without warning.

Studies suggest up to 50 percent of dogs are afraid of fireworks. Frightened animals awakened from sleep or startled from a state of relaxation will hide, pace, shake, cry or flee, unable to process what is going on or find a safe haven.

I had a tough and confident rescue dog named Ms Macey who was only afraid of one thing: fireworks. She would try to find reprieve by hiding in the bathtub.

Horses’ innate fear responses can take over when they hear fireworks. This led to the tragic death of a horse in Nova Scotia in 2022, neither the first nor last related equine casualty.

So far this year, Murphy and Tallulah were two horse victims of fireworks, the latter so afraid she ran through a wooden fence.

It’s not only animals who are at risk either. Spooking horses can accidentally hurt people trying to handle and comfort them. Bystanders can also be injured when horses bolt out of fear.

Wild animals’ responses

The dangers are serious for wild animals like birds, squirrels, frogs and fish too. During fireworks explosions, nearby resting birds will flee in fear en masse from trees and ponds, and fly off into the night sky.

Some birds have flown so far out to sea, they would not physically have been able to return to land alive. Birds can crash into buildings, get lost and disoriented and literally fall, by the thousands, onto communities.

Because fireworks are launched at night, the full effects on wild animals are challenging to document. Researchers expect that millions of birds are affected around the world and that the results linger after the smoke has disappeared.

In spring and early summer, when animals like birds and squirrels are nesting or in the early stages of rearing their offspring, the risks are even greater. Babies die of dehydration or starvation when terrified or disoriented animal parents cannot find their way back to their nests and burrows. These painful deaths are particularly tragic because they are completely avoidable.

Risks to people

The negative impacts of fireworks extend beyond animals — they can also trigger refugees and veterans.

When set off, fireworks can release toxic chemicals and pollute the environment. And during warnings of the potential of an intense and dangerous fire season, the incendiary risks of fireworks are even more dire.

Nearly 20,000 blazes were started by fireworks in the United States in 2018 alone, killing five people and injuring dozens more. The fact that fires are already decimating forests and communities makes these facts even more alarming. It’s difficult to see why fireworks are permitted at all.

Harm is nothing to celebrate

Thankfully, some communities are taking action and exploring alternatives to conventional fireworks.

In 2018, the Italian town of Collecchio made headlines as the first in the world to implement “silent” fireworks; they aren’t completely noiseless, but make far less noise than traditional fireworks.

That same year Banff, Alta. moved to a much quieter pyrotechnic display for its Canada Day event. And this year, the city suspended the light show to “review the impacts of noise and light flashes on wildlife and the secondary impacts on pets and people in the community,” which is laudable.

It is a disturbing display of ego that the human desire to light up the quiet night sky with explosions continues despite the serious effects it has on vulnerable people, other species and our shared environment (not to mention the cost when governments are footing the bill).

Since backyard and community-run fireworks continue in most places, concerned animal caretakers should take steps to protect their animals.

But individual actions aren’t enough to mitigate the damaging effects of fireworks on domesticated and wild animals. The more this issue is raised, the more likely this harmful practice will be replaced with alternatives that are more respectful and genuinely joyful. Harm should be prevented not cheered. Governments ought to ensure celebrations consider the well-being of humans and other animals alike.

[queenshelby]

The Accident (Part Seven)

Pairing: Reader & Cillian Murphy

Warning: Domestic Abuse, Religious Themes, Trafficking

Thank you @blondie-22 for this amazing idea!

That night, you fell asleep almost instantly, the exhaustion crashing over you like a tide. The guest room, decorated with soft linens and a plush comforter, embraced you in a cocoon of warmth.

You tucked Mika close to your chest and inhaled the comforting scent of baby shampoo, a sweet fragrance that vibrated with innocence. Sarah too slept well, and long, her small body curled into a ball beside you on the plush mattress, a peaceful haven in the chaos.

The following morning, light streamed through the thin curtains, casting soft shadows that danced across the room. You stirred awake to the sound of birds chirping outside, the gentle cooing of Mika drawing your attention. She lay beside you, her small hands flailing slightly as she grunted playfully in her sleep.

“Good morning, little one,” you whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead and enjoying the way her tiny features scrunched up in response.

You were still in your clothes from the night before but you hardly noticed. The soft warmth of the sheets and the comfort of the room wrapped around you like a protective blanket.

“Sarah?” you murmured, glancing over to check on her little form sprawled beside you. She lay in blissful slumber, her curly brown hair fanning around her like a halo.

You allowed her to sleep a little longer before wandering downstairs where Cillian and Naomi were already in the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of toast, creating an inviting atmosphere. The kitchen glowed with warmth, sunlight pooling in through the expansive windows, illuminating the room in a golden hue.

Cillian stood at the counter, pouring coffee into a mug, while Naomi scrolled through her phone, her carefully manicured nails moving rapidly over the screen.

As you stepped into the kitchen, Cillian glanced up, his face breaking into a warm smile.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted, his voice rich with sincerity. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a log,” you admitted, a small smile creeping across your face as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the enticing aroma of brewed coffee that filled the air.

Cillian chuckled lightly, pouring another mug. “That’s good to hear. You needed the rest after everything,” Cillian asked, motioning towards the table for you to sit down but all you really wanted was to have a shower.

"Would I be able to take a shower?" you asked, the words escaping your lips in a rush, as anticipation of feeling clean bubbled within you.

“Of course,” Cillian replied promptly, nodding. “Just down the hall,” he gestured toward a door situated at the end of the hallway. “There are towels in the closet. Take your time.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, your voice filled with relief.

“Do you want me to watch Mika while you go?" Cillian offered, his eyes sparkling with eagerness.

You hesitated, the protective instinct kicking in momentarily, but the thought of a hot shower—just the chance to wash away the remnants of the past few weeks—felt like a balm for your frayed nerves.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you said, relief washing over you, causing Naomi to roll her eyes.

She wasn't fond of young children and infants and her disdain was palpable, her expression contorting slightly as she feigned a smile.

"Uhm, I hate to ask, but could I also borrow a t-shirt or something clean? I will give it back to you. It's just that I didn't take anything for myself," you added quickly, glancing between Cillian and Naomi, the slight anxiety creeping in again.

"Sure," Cillian replied without hesitation before looking at Naomi again, who raised her eyebrows.

"My clothes would be way too small for her," she scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “You are like what, a medium or large?" she went on to say in a tone that was mocking your less perfect body than hers, which was something that hurt you just a little.

"Jesus, Nom," Cillian whispered, shaking his head silently. "You can borrow one of my t-shirts and I am sure Nina has some trackpants that will fit and that she won't miss. I will have a look," Cillian said, his voice firm yet kind as he made his way toward you to take Mika. As Cillian reached for Mika, you felt a flash of vulnerability, instinctively tightening your grip for just a moment longer. But the comfort in his blue eyes calmed your nerves.

“It's alright. I won't break her. I promise. Despite, I delivered her, remember?" he said with a gentle chuckle, his tone imbued with warmth.

You relinquished your hold, allowing him to cradle Mika in his arms, his hands steady and confident.

Cillian gently nestled Mika against his chest, and the soft cooing sent a wave of calm washing over you.

It was obvious to you that he actually adored children, the tenderness in his touch revealing a side of him that radiated warmth.

With that, you disappeared into the hallway, the sound of soft murmurs and laughter echoing behind you as you made your way to the shower.

After you got undressed, you turned on the faucet, allowing the water to warm before stepping beneath the cascade. The droplets enveloped you like a soothing embrace, washing away the remnants of fear and anxiety that had clung to you for so long. As the warmth soaked into your skin, each drop felt like a gentle reminder that you were taking strides toward renewal.

Hurrying so that Cillian was not left with Mika for too long , you lathered the soap quickly, the suds slipping down your arms. The hot water streamed over you, melting away the tension that had clung to your muscles like a second skin.

Once done, you stepped out of the shower, a cloud of steam enveloping you as you towelled off. The mirror fogged up around the edges, but you caught a glimpse of yourself—a weary woman who wore the marks of survival etched across her skin.

You wrapped a towel around you quickly, realising that you had not grabbed the clothes from Cillian before you walked into the bathroom. You hesitated, the towel clinging to your damp skin as you glanced back toward the door.

Opening it slightly to peer out, you found Cillian standing nearby, cradling Mika in one arm while rummaging through the hallway cabinet with the other.

"Uhm, can you pass me that t-shirt please," you called out, the flush of embarrassment creeping into your cheeks as you held the towel tightly around you.

Cillian turned, a smile breaking through the concentration on his face. “Of course! Just hang on a second," he replied before gathering the small stack of clothes he had put on to the table in the hallway.

"Here you go," Cillian said, extending a soft t-shirt toward you, the fabric displaying a faded graphic logo.

You reached out, fingers brushing against his as you took the t-shirt from his hand with a shy smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly, realising that he was looking at your scars and bruises.

You knew that he did not mean to stare, but it was hard not to. But your instinct pushed you to draw the towel tighter around yourself, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to spill forth.

“Take your time,” he said gently, not breaking his gaze as you stepped back into the bathroom, holding the t-shirt close to your chest.

Once inside, you took a moment to breathe before you slipped into the oversized t -shirt, the fabric enveloping you like a protective cocoon.

He had also handed you a pair of trackpants which you quickly pulled on too before retreating to the hallway, your heart racing as you re-entered the shared space.

Cillian stood by the window, looking out as the rain had begun to clear while cradling Mika.

“Feeling better?" he asked as he caught sight of you, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Much better, thank you,” you replied, your voice steadier as you stepped into the kitchen area. Cillian gestured for you to take a seat at the table before handing Mika back to you.

“Now, I spoke to my lawyer this morning. He has a collegue who will be able to help you, for free. He is a caseworker for a local charity focused on helping those in domestic situations. He can assist you with legal options, housing resources, and even aid in navigating the asylum process. He's got a law degree and I think it might be good to meet with him today,” Cillian explained, his brow furrowing with determination.

You blinked, processing his words as hope flickered viscerally in your chest. “Really? You think he can help?” Your voice trembled slightly, a cocktail of fear and cautious optimism pooling within you. Hope felt unfamiliar but intoxicating.

Cillian nodded earnestly, his expression steady. “He’s helped plenty of people like you. He’s experienced with cases involving domestic abuse and can guide you through the legal avenues available. I know you’re scared, but this could be the lifeline you need," Cillian explained before throwing some caution at the wind.

"Apparently though, until you are issued with a residency card, you aren't eligible for housing assistance and the other stuff the government would usually provide,” Cillian clarified, his voice imbued with reassurance. "You would have to live in an asylum seeker facility while your immigration case and your domestic violence allegations are being investigated and assessed. I think that would not be what you want for your kids."

You felt a lump rise in your throat, each word he spoke unravelling the tightly wound anxieties within you.

"I did put some money aside. I could rent something but no one would give me accommodation without ID," you finished, your voice barely above a whisper as confusion tangled with your desperation. You looked down at Mika, who cooed softly in your arms, blissfully unaware of the storm swirling around your life at that moment. You brushed a finger along the soft cheek of your baby, drawing strength from her innocence.

"I have a small townhouse not far from here which I purchased as an investment property, for my daughter. It's not renovated, but furnished. I am waiting for development approval to do some works on it, but it’s liveable,” Cillian continued, his gaze earnest as he held your stare. “If you need a place to stay while sorting everything out, you and the girls could stay there.

You stared at Cillian, your heart racing. “You would let us stay there?” The words barely escaped your lips, drenched in disbelief and wonder. "I mean, I could pay you!"

Cillian raised a hand to calm you, his eyes shimmering with sincerity. “You don’t have to pay me. It's sitting there empty, so someone may as well use it," he continued, his tone calm and assuring. "Plus, it's in my name and your husband won't find you there. The neighbourhood is good. It's located in a secure complex, complete with gated access. So it should be safe," Cillian concluded, his expression unyielding, as though he had set his mind to help you and nothing would dissuade him from offering you this opportunity.

You blinked, processing the enormity of his offer. “Are you serious?” you whispered, your voice barely cracking through the wave of disbelief threatening to swallow you whole.

Cillian nodded, his expression unwavering. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it," he continued, his voice steady, each word reinforcing his sincerity.

"Now, let's get you to see this case worker this morning and then, this afternoon, we will get you settled in at the house," Cillian continued, his tone laced with unwavering certainty.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. The enormity of Cillian's offer hung in the air like a promise, its weight pressing down on you, pulling you into an unknown but hopeful future as, unbeknownst to you, James was already looking for you and his daughters.

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[betterbooksandthings]

Romance Book Recommendations

Here is a complete guide to books I would recommend without question to anyone looking to read romance. This was, in fact, the shortest I could get it so have fun!

Straight Sci/Fi Fantasy romance The A.I. Who Loved Me by Alyssa Cole that time i got drunk and saved a demon by kimberly lemming Mating the Huntress by Talia Hibbert

Straight Historical Wild Rain by Beverly Jenkins The Duke who didn't by courtney Milan Unclaimed by Courtney Milan

Trans Historical A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall M/F (transfemme) Unmasked by the Marquess by Cat Sebastian M/N Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall N/N

Sapphic Historical

The Perks of Loving a Wallflower by Erica Ridley The Lady’s Guide To Celestial Machanics by Olivia Waite That Could be Enough By Alyssa Cole

Gay Historical The Gentleman's Book of Vices by Jess Everlee The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by K.J. Charles We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian Tommy Cabot Was Here by Cat Sebastian Slippery Creatures by K.J. Charles Something Fabulous by Alexis Hall It Takes Two to Tumble by Cat sebastian Two Rogues Make a Right by Cat Sebastian

Sapphic Fantasy Romance Walk Between Worlds by Samara Breger The Rogue Crown by A. K. Mulford (third book in a series first two have m/f pairings) A Song of Silver and Gold by Melissa Karibian Can’t spell treason without tea by Rebecca Thorne A Restless Truth by Freya Marske

Trans Fantasy Romance The Demon's Bargain by Katee Robert F/N The Evergreen Heir by A. K. Mulford N/M

Gay Fantasy Romance Socially Orcward by Lisa Henry & Sarah Honey Red Heir by Lisa Henry & Sarah Honey a marvellous light by Freya Marske wolfsong by t.j. klune (series) A Veil of Gods and Kings by Nicole Bailey (series) A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows (read TW) Witchmark by C. L. Polk (series) Reforged by Seth Haddon Frostbite by J Emery A Rival Most Vial by R. K. Ashwick The Magpie Lord by K.J. Charles Bisclavret by K L Noone Human Enough by E.S. Yu From The Dark We Came and Help Wanted by J. Emery

Poly Fantasy Romance Wicked Beauty by Katee Robert Elf Defence by Lisa Henry & Sarah Honey

Sapphic Contemporary Romance D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding by Chencia C. Higgins Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail by Ashley Herring Blake Delilah Green Doesn't Care by Ashley Herring Blake Sorry, Bro by Taleen Voskuni How to Find a Princess by Alyssa Cole

M/F Contemporary Romance (Some Bi and Ace) A Merry Little Meet Cute by Julie Murphy, Sierra Simone Scandalized by Ivy Owens A Thorn in the Saddle by Rebekah Weatherspoon The Comeback by Lily Chu Forget Me Not by Julie Soto Knot My Type by Evie Mitchell Get a Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert Take a hint, Dani Brown by Talia Hibbert Act Your Age, Eve Brown by Talia Hibbert Haven by Rebekah Weatherspoon Rafe by Rebekah Weatherspoon Xeni by by Rebekah Weatherspoon Trade Me by Courtney Milan The Romantic Agenda by Claire Kann

Gay Contemporary Romance A Dash of Salt and Pepper by Kosoko Jackson The Missing Page by Cat Sebastian Something Wild & Wonderful by Anita Kelly The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun The Hate Project by Kris Ripper Counterpoint by Anna Zabo Just Like That by Cole Mccade Syncopation by Anna Zabo

Poly Contemporary Romance The Life Revamp by Kris Ripper