#teader x Cillian Murphy

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Party Twenty Seven)

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

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

We Got Issues

Part Twenty Seven: Y/N and Cillian have an unsettled night. Both tired and tense, little things aren't so little in their small hotel room. Facing a day on poor sleep, anxieties and tempers are a little frayed. [Anxiety themes. Adult conversations]

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

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You groan as you're dragged from sleep, annoyed when your hard achieved slumber is destroyed after hours of tossing and turning by the noises of Cillian fumbling around and string of curses that would have been comical if it were not three am and you hadn't only been asleep for an hour. “Fuck sake, Cillian,” you huff.

“I'm after nearly breaking my fucking ankle on the runners you left by the bathroom door, and all ye have for me is ’fuck sake, Cillian’?” he hisses at you. The room is almost pitch black, what small illumination there is comes from a streetlight behind the curtains and it isn't significant. “Nearly fucking pissed myself just trying to get into the fucking toilet.” he tutted.

“If you weren't waking up in the middle of the to go, like a seventy year old with prostate issues, then you wouldn't be waking me up after a single fucking hour of sleep.” You match his tired annoyance. “Or maybe if you weren't sinking bottles this evening…” you dig at him as you turn over, your back to him as he gets back into the bed. He sits on the side for a moment, and you can feel his eyes burning into your back. You know there was no need for your comment, and you know a simple ‘sorry I left my shoes there' would have been enough, but you're exhausted, and now you're awake you feel sickly, and he'd woken you up!

“Sinking bottles?” He snaps at you, “Two fucking beers when you were after telling me you're pregnant? Fuck off, Y/N. How about you don't leave your fucking shit at your arse, and put your shoes somewhere other than the middle of the fucking floor.” He threw himself down against the mattress and as he moves, his backside collides with yours and you smirk at him giving you his back in his mood. You decide there and then that he's as childish as you are, if not worse.

You try to settle your annoyance and calm yourself to return to sleep, but now you're awake you need a pee, and your mouth is dry, and you kind of wish he'd turn around and spoon you, cuddling you so you can fall asleep with his arms, and his heartbeat, and his signing little breaths. But you're annoyed at him, and he can fuck off if he thinks you're going to apologise, and he can also fuck off if he thinks he's getting a blowjob in the morning (not that he was even aware thar you'd thought about it for a split second earlier that night), and he can further fuck off if he thinks he's ever touching you again because all you want to do is fucking sleep! You sigh and turn over onto your back, then turn your head towards him. You're able to make out his shape beneath the covers and the back of his silvery head. He feels far away, and your annoyance begins to seep from your body, replaced by the urge to hold him. You turn onto your side and shuffle close, pushing yourself up behind him, and wrap your arm around his waist. You move your hand until you find the hem of his shirt, then slide your hand underneath and rest your hand against the skin of his abdomen, moving your fingers in the trail of dark hair beneath his belly button. You push your face into his back, between his shoulders, and sigh as you inhale the smell of his skin and clothes, and close your eyes. “I'm sorry.” You whisper into his shoulders. “You should be able to pee without breaking bones.” You feel his tummy muscles tighten for a moment beneath your hand as he scoffs a small laugh.

“I've to wake up in a couple of hours for work - go to sleep.” He says, and he's calm and sleepy, and the contempt has gone. He hasn't apologised for snapping at you, but you're breathing him in and he's warm and you're willing to concede that you're the problem this time. But to yourself - not to him. He shifts slightly and he reached his arm back and rests his hand against your hip for a moment before drawing it back again. Was that his sorry? It'll do.

You sigh contentedly as you keep your body close behind his, and you will sleep to return. You can hear and feel when his breathing changes as he falls asleep, and you envy him. You keep your hand on his belly and try to breathe steadily like he is, wondering if it'll relax you and put you to sleep, but after ten minutes you just feel a little breathless and you're still wide awake. You reluctantly decide to leave him be and move slowly away from his body. You turn back to your side of the bed before sitting on the edge. You get up and walk slowly and carefully to the bathroom, and shut yourself inside before you turn on the light, worried that the flood of it into the room might wake him again. When you emerge, you ensure the light is off before you pull the door fully open, and frown when you realise he's awake. “Cill?” You whisper into the dark.

“Flushing that toilet makes a fucking racket in here,” he croaks. “Not your fault,” he adds, though it's distorted as his jaw drags down in a sharp yawn. He groans as his mouth snaps shut again. “What time is it?” He asks, despite his phone being very much within his reach and his watch on his wrist.

“Nearly four,” you say quietly, looking at your own watch.

“Fuck sake,” he grumbles. “Well, will we shag like rabbits?” He says, absolutely not serious at all, and he sits up, legs over the side of the bed, and reaches out to the locker beside his pillow to flick on the lamp. A soft white light bathes the room and you blink to adjust your eyes.

“Want tea?” You offer, mostly for something to say. He shakes his head as his left hand scratches against the back of it, and he yawns once again. He looks fed up, and tired, and he keeps pursing his lips and you know his brain is full of many things. “Hug?”

He pushes up his bottom lip as he looks at you, and his eyes have a soft smile to them even if his lips don't. “I always want a hug,” he says, still grumbly, and he opens out his arms as you walk towards him. You stand between his knees and hug his head against your bust. His arms are tight around your back, and he hums - grumbly but contented - as you run the nails of your left hand back and forth across the back of his head, through the more tightly cropped section of his hair. Evidently, it feels good. After a minute, he laughs and tips his head back. His chin rests between your boobs and he raises his eyebrows high. There's a cheeky glint and an almost smile. “So are we riding or wha’?”

You tut and swipe the back of his head where your hand rests. “No.”

He forces a comical pout, “Ah, you're no fun.” He smirks, and adjusts his head again so that he is resting his right cheek on your right breast. “I can already tell I'm gonna be in foul humour all day,” he sighs. “You'll come again today, yeah?”

“I think it's too distracting. Especially now, knowing… you've not slept properly, you're stressed, you've a job to do. It'd be better if I wasn't there. You need to focus, love.” You say gently, “What time are you on set this morning?”

“Nine,” he says, yawning again. He taps his hand against your back and it's the silent calling time on the hug he always does. He sits back and looks at you. “You'll have to get in touch with the doctors when we're home.” He says and sits forwards again, one hand held out to rest against your stomach. He places it just below your belly button, over your shirt, and twists his lips. “Make sure everything's alright, like.”

“Why wouldn't it be alright?” You frown, a little bemused.

“Jays, there's a whole load of things that can go wrong, and sure some don't even…” he stops abruptly, and then he looks up at you, looking very guilty. “Ah, no, Y/N. Everything will be grand.” He insists quickly.

“Why would you say something like that?” Your frown deepens. “Is that why you're being so fucking calm about all this? Got your fingers crossed that something goes wrong?”

He looks genuinely shocked at your words, “Hey, no, of course not.” He says, and take this hand away from your abdomen. “Absolutely not, Y/N.”

“Well you're pretty fucking chill considering your speeches recently, Cillian. And why would you say something like that, just now? Why would you even be thinking about it? This is supposed to be a happy fucking thing.” You can't keep your tone from being sharp, but you do well not to shout. You shake your head as he looks back at you, a little dumbfounded admittedly. “I can't believe you.” You sigh.

“Jesus, if I'd have lost the head of meself, I'd have been a prick. Telling you I'm not unhappy but I'm scared apparently also means I'm a fucking prick. I can't win!” He pushes himself off the bed and stands before you. “It was a throwaway comment, I didn't mean to frighten you. And I am not hoping for something to go wrong here, that's be terrible, Y/N.” He sighs and you watch his cheek push out as he runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “I didn't mean to scare you, but things can happen, you do understand that? Maybe it isn't a bad thing to be prepared that you mightn't like something you could hear.”

“Like?” You push. “You mean like disabilities? I wouldn't terminate a child for….I don't know, Down's Syndrome, or limb differences, Cillian. Not a chance.” You tell him, your face firm and your tone even firmer. “Is this your way of telling me you would?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Jesus, all I said is things can happen. And I shouldn't have. I didn't think or say anything else, I didn't secretly fucking mean anything else.” He sounds pissed off, actually, and you want to punch him on the nose. He walks away from you and digs around by the dresser at the far end of the room. When he turns around, he has his jacket over his arm and his cigarettes and lighter in his hand. “I'm going for a smoke.”

“Cillian!” You call out as he approaches the door. He stuffs his bare feet into the trainers he had left there and throws his jacket on over his pyjamas. “You childish little shit.” You shake your head, laughing sarcastically, as he drags open the door and disappears out into the hotel corridor. “Prick!” You bellow, knowing full well he could hear you out there.