#cillian murphy x oc

[feninina]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

if you want to be added let me know, it’ll be my pleasure🫶🏻

[boiohboii]

A mini heart attack: sponsored by YN and Cillian

(Cillian murphy x driver! Fem reader)

masterlist // part 1

Faceclaim: Angelina Jolie

Liked by lance_stroll, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 1,718,042 others

mickschumacher: I do sometimes calk them mom and dad

username: IT'S YOU!!!

username: you had every single yn and cillian fan lose their mind FOR A FUCKING WEEK!!!

username: it's me, hiii, I'm the problem it's me

username: he was watching twitter burning down with a smile

username: noooo!!! I just got emotionally ready to see yn and cillian's children, you can't do that to me!!

landonorris: can I call yn mum too?

lance_stroll: no

oscarpiastri: sure, if you want a repeat of what happened last time

landonorris: I hate you guys, I still get nightmares

lance_stroll: it was actually mick's idea

landonorris: @.mickschumacher you evil human being, how do you even come up with something that traumatising!

mickschumacher: if you want a doll talking to you at 3 am keep going

[indeediagree]

We love a young cillian murphy (and old)

[red-write-hand]

"As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.”

pairing -> thomas shelby x f!oc

trope -> hurt/comfort, argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband

warning -> argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband, fluffy ending (i promise)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He sat back in his plush chair. Today wasn't a good day in general. Between his brothers pissing him off and a couple business deals going south, it seemed like he couldn’t catch a break. He tilted his head back while his eyelids fluttered close. All he needed was time. All he needed was peace and quiet. He knew he was forgetting something but he couldn’t tell what he was forgetting. Like something was supposed to happen but nothing happened. He shook his head and started to pour another glass of whiskey. Another storm was brewing on the horizon. He hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. The great big door swung closed. The house had grown darker than it usually was, the dark oak everywhere kept it ambient but now, with the threat of something coming, it seemed even darker. Someone hung up their coat. Then it dawned on Tommy who had just arrived. His wife. His wife who had tear stained cheeks and wet hair. She didn’t look at him as she kicked off her shoes. His thoughts started to quicken as he tried to figure out what he had forgotten. Turns out, she was going to answer that for him. 

“For a man who projects the idea that he is on top of everything, you seem to forget what you say is most important to you.” She silently walked up to their shared room, quietly shutting the door behind her. He could hear her faint tears through the door. What had he forgotten? He sat back down in his office. He took a long drag of his cigarette. What was happening today? What was so special about today? What exactly had he forgotten? Upstairs, she slumped against the door. Her cheeks felt hot tears slide down them as she cried for a husband that took her for granted. She knew this was not true all the time, not the nights where he kissed the length of her body and made up for all the long nights and forgotten promises, not the days that he took off work and spent the day in bed with her, not the times where he noticed that she was uncomfortable and he slipped his hand in hers to reassure her that he was there, not the times where he let her cry in his lap until she fell asleep. Then again, this was a rather important thing to forget. Today was special. Today had been the happiest day of her life a year ago. She didn’t know, she couldn't fathom how he could forget a day like today. So she cried. She cried with her back against the door of the bedroom that they used to sleep in every night, the bedroom where they had planned on trying for children, the bedroom where they both forgot about the world and just focused on each other. She could hear footsteps outside the door. She reached a shaky hand up and locked it from the inside. She would rather cry herself to sleep against the cold, hard floor than face her husband who had forgotten her once again. She heard Frances, Thomas’ maid, from the other side of the door.

“Mrs. Shelby, Mrs. Thorne wanted to give you these–” Tony cracked the door open slightly to look at the small parcel Ada had left her. It had a small note attached to it. She thanked Frances and took the package inside, then relocked the door. She carefully pulled the brown paper off for it to reveal a small box of chocolates. The note had fallen to the floor, which Tony now started to notice. The note read, ‘Just in case you needed it. Remember that he does love you, even though he does get wrapped up in himself. Happy Anniversary to my favorite sister in law. Yours truly, Ada Thorne.’ Tony smiled and tucked the note under the box of chocolate. She heard a different set of footsteps come up to the other side of the locked door. It was much heavier and sounded much more familiar. She took a deep breath. She heard something hit the floor. A few curse words in a Birmingham accent floated in through the crack in the floor. She didn’t know what exactly she should say. Yes, she was angry, so she should chew him out? Then again, she was sad, should she guilt trip him? Make him feel all the feelings she was feeling? Another emotion surfaced, fear. The fear of abandonment. The fear that one day, he would leave her. The fear that she was slowly getting taken for granted by the man she loved most in the world. Again, she started to cry, then she felt something soft hit the hand she had been leaning on. It was a napkin from the dining room of the Arrow House. She smiled through her building sadness. This was how they had communicated the day of their wedding. They had passed notes on several stacks of napkins since it was customary for the groom to not see his bride. They had both thought this rule was silly and a little outdated but you don’t argue with Aunt Polly. The notes on their wedding day had been words full of adoration and love. Now the napkin that had been riddled with tear stains had two simple words on it.

‘I’m Sorry.’ She blinked a few times but this just made the napkin more and more wet. The handwriting was his. This was the handwriting that had moved millions of dollars. This was the handwriting that had written letters full to the brim of teasing words and innuendos while he was in London and she was in Ireland. This was the handwriting of the man she loved more than anything in this world. This was the handwriting of her husband. This was the handwriting of the man who had forgotten his own wedding anniversary. She gulped down another wave of tears and mustered up enough resolve to finally get words out.

“But are you though?” She could hear the breath being released from the other side of the door. She could almost hear the wheels in his head turning, trying to solve this problem quickly, but there is no quick solution to this. She was not the kind of girl who would say that a couple of kisses and a night of sweet love making would be a sufficient apology. She needed something much more substantial. She could hear him trying to think of the right words, the right phrasing, the best way of regaining the love of his wife back. 

“You have all the right in the world to be angry at me. You have all the right in the world to walk out on me. That is, as of right now, what I deserve. I have taken you for granted and forgotten many things I shouldn’t have. Yell at me if you have to. I will leave you alone if you need space to cry. My only request is that we figure this out together. This day, last year, we were married and you told me something that has stuck with me every single day–” He paused, trying to remember what she had said exactly to make sure he got his point across perfectly. 

“As long as I have love in my heart for you, my eyes will stay a pale gray. No matter what happens. No matter what I have to go through. As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.” He finished her quote with a long silence. 

“When you walked in from the rain, your eyes were darker than I’ve ever seen them. I wish there was a quick and easy way of fixing this so that I can have my Tony back to the way she was before I started to fuck up this entire thing…but there is no easy way. There never has been. You do things methodically, I do things sporadically, sometimes with a plan, sometimes spontaneously. Our love exists in the balance between erratic and consistent. If there is any way I can reclaim your love, I will go to any lengths for it. I know you might not believe me but your love, Anthony Bentini Shelby, is the thing nearest and dearest to my heart. Your love that is fleeting than trying to cup water in your hands, your love that makes a man fall to his knees at the sight of it, your love that is only shown to the most worthy of souls. You have changed the course of my life with your love. You have changed my soul with your love. If there is any way, if there is even a possibility of your forgiveness, I will wait weeks, months, years, sitting against this door, until you come to your verdict…and if you so choose to walk out, I will not stop you, just know that you have changed every single member of the Shelby family.” She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know if she should say anything after that. Thomas hadn’t spoken that much in weeks. He had let out a few sentences at most to her but nothing this long. Nothing this…important. She pulled a pen out of her jacket pocket and wrote carefully on the napkin before sending it back under the door. She simply wrote, ‘I forgive you.’ She cracked the door again to let her hand through to the other side. He laced his fingers between hers. She could hear his breath evening out. She could feel her own slowing down and she could feel her tears drying. She silently giggled when she felt him drawing small designs with his thumb into the back of her hand. She could hear his voice, now cracked and choked up. 

“Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Shelby.” She could feel him plant a small, gentle kiss to the back of her hand. He was never gentle about anything. The trademark of his love was that he tried to be more gentle with her. 

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. Shelby.”

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(16) - Epilogue

I Dreamed We'd Grow Old Together...

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Robert and Y/n's life over the next five years

word count - 2k

warnings - pregnancy, and an insane amount of fluff

a/n - and so it ends! This fic has been very important to me and has given me such a great outlet. I want to thank you all for your continued love and support for this fic! If it hadnt been for you guys I probably wouldnt have had enough confidence to continue it!

Please like/comment/reblog/follow!!!

a/n pt2 - Also seeing as I have fallen in love with this relationship I will be accepting questions and headcanons on their relationship!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

Questions and Headcanons on Robert x y/n - here

And so we came together. It felt like the culmination of a thousand dreams.

We went out on many dates. Robert would plan these luxurious and expensive expressions of affection: dinner at the fanciest restaurants, cinemas bought out for our private viewing experience. But we alternated who planned the dates, so when it came to my turn I went for the simplest. Walks on the beach, picnics in the park. One day I even found a crafting class for us, and I could’ve cried on the spot when I saw his eyes light up at the handmade windmills. Of course, he saw it as a happy coincidence when in reality I enjoyed feeling like I was healing his childhood self, one step at a time.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. We were out on a hike which I had chosen. He had grumbled about the idea of getting up early, but I could see the stress leave his body at the first gulp of forest air. I carried on ahead as he went to tie his shoe but when I turned back I gasped. Robert was down on one knee, holding a beautiful diamond ring.

“Y/n Cobb, I have loved you since that first moment I laid eyes on you, and I think even before that.” I walked closer to him so I could hold his other outstretched hand. Tears were streaming down my face and my smile was holding back an extremely loud yes. “I know how much you believe in dreams and so on. And last night I had a dream that we grew old together. When I woke up I knew it had to be my reality. Y/n Cobb, will you…”

I threw my arms around him.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” I placed a loud kiss right on his lips.

“You could have at least let me finish!” He teasingly whined.

“Well I could see where you were going!” I argued back but was halted when he kissed me once more. We pulled away long enough so Robert could slide the ring onto my finger.

Safe to say, we did not finish the hike that day as we quickly went home to celebrate.

I had moved in with Robert before so we visited Dad and the kids for lunch the day after to give them the news. Dad had always been weary around Robert, not knowing if he would recognise him. But it was fine as, in my Dad’s words, ‘when Robert is around Y/n, it’s like the world doesn’t exist.’. Dad still couldn’t stop himself pulling Robert aside whilst Philippa was asking me a million questions about the wedding and if she could be a bridesmaid. All he did was roughly grab his hand and pulled him close and merely whispered

“She’s my precious girl. And I have a gun.”

Safe to say Robert was healthily shocked.

We got married weeks later as neither of us could wait. I told Robert I didn’t care about a big expensive wedding, but he couldn’t seem to accept that.

I got my wish for a small wedding in the garden of my childhood home, with just my closest friends. But everything else about it was still ridiculously posh. Right down to the flower arch we were married under.

James and Philippa were my brides’girl’ and brides’boy’. My father walked me down the makeshift aisle. Arthur and Eames were there as well as Yusuf and Ariadne. They were all worried about the risk of the inceptors being so close to the mark after the heist.

“There’s no telling what could trigger his memory.”

“Well, y/n spent the most time with him out of all of us and she’s marrying him.”

“We can’t all sleep with him!”

“ENOUGH!”

I then put a rule that there was to be no dream talk at my wedding. My father even gave his own little speech explaining that if anyone ruined my wedding, he would kill them. We all laughed but his continued silence quickly shut us all up.

Robert did not want any family there. And he also didn’t have friends he felt were close enough to warrant an invitation.

One night, whilst planning, I cautiously asked him about inviting his godfather. He tensed up and lowered his eyes. He brushed it off saying it would be too many people. I reluctantly agreed with him whilst looking at the sparsity of his side of the guests.

The wedding was beautiful, and we finished with dancing on the grass well into the early hours of the morning. I got my first dance with my father, a day I thought would never come. Philippa asked Robert to dance, and he graciously accepted, lifting her up onto his feet and they swayed alongside us.

The morning after we were curled up together in bed. My back leaned on his chest as he played with my fingers. The morning sun bleeding into my childhood bedroom.

“Where do you want to live?” His morning voice broke the quiet.

“I thought we were going to move into your house.” I tilted my head to look into his eyes which were trained on a picture of me, my dad and my mum.

“I don’t wanna go back. Being here, in this house, with all the love in it. I just don’t want to go back there.”

“Okay.” I leaned up and planted a soft kiss to his cheek.

“So if you could live in any house, anywhere in the world, where would you live?”

I snuggled myself back into his chest and closed my eyes as I imagined.

“Somewhere in the countryside, with a big sprawling garden that backs onto fields and forests with plenty of walks. The house should be cozy, with a big kitchen with an old fashioned stove that keeps us warm in winter. Wooden tables where I can cook and bake all day long till my hearts content. The house should have big windows so the sunlight can dictate our day. Small bedrooms but big comfy beds, fluffy rugs, open fires. And maybe even an extra room...with a cot.” I met his eyes for the last word.

“Yes.”

“To which bit?”

“To all of it.” We kissed passionately.

A few days later and Robert woke me up and told me we were going on a trip. We bundled into his car and drove for hours until we came to a stop outside a house that seeped with familiarity. I got out, transfixed by what stood before me. It was as real from my mind as if I had created it in my dream. Robert moved to unlock the little gate which led to the front door. He turned to me and held out a set of keys with a little windmill keychain.

“It needs a bit of work and I know I shouldn’t have bought it without showing you—”

“I love it.”

We didn’t need a honeymoon, the two weeks to ourselves spent decorating and filling the house with our love was enough. I drew designs for each room and Robert would do the heavy lifting. I could see how much he enjoyed working with his hands after dismantling his business a week into our relationship. I also was unable to help much as my hand found softly stroked a barely noticeable bump.

We relished in the days of decorating, where trying to paint a single wall would turn into silly games or dancing round to music, intermittent with many kisses and hugs.

Eventually we had built our home out of our house and we relaxed into our sofa, a bottle of red between us. We sealed the night with a kiss and it definitely didn’t end there.

Five Years Later

I stand at the sink washing our dishes from lunch and look out of the window onto our expansive garden. Robert runs about the grass, clad in soft jeans and a ratty knitted jumper. Our three darling children chase around him at varying speeds. Our eldest, Isla, holds her baby sister Aspen’s hand, and Nicholas, the youngest, toddles behind his sisters, excited to be involved.

Arthur runs up from behind and scoops Nicholas up into his arms through the giggling shrieks of the three. He bounces Nicholas up into the air. Isla and Aspen then run over and begin shouting up at their uncle for their turn.

I don’t hear Robert make his way into the house, I just feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist and soft kisses being ladened up and down my neck. I sink back into his body which is warm from the sun. His arms snake down and his hands lay on mine.

“Leave those now. I’ll do them later.” I agree by turning in his arms so we can meet in a proper kiss. His fingers grip my waist and stroke my sides.

Our moment is interrupted by a loud opening of the door. I roll my eyes at the familiar sound and break apart to greet Eames at the door.

“Right! Where are my darling godchildren?”

“I give you a good time to come round, and you insist on coming just before their tea and bath time.”

He laughs and knocks my chin with his knuckle.

“Motherhood suits you.” I bat his hand away and gesture out the door. “Make it quick.”

I turn back to a still laughing Robert who quickly stops once he sees my stern face.

“I’ll ask Eames if he wants to stay for tea with Arthur.” He goes to go back into the garden.

“What you thinking for tea?” I ask his retreating form.

“Chicken and potatoes?”

“Delicious.” He smiles and leaves.

I begin sorting through the mail which still sat on the side. I smiled once I reached a postcard from Dad. He’d taken the kids to Disneyland for a week and sent a picture of them with Goofy. I pinned it up on our cork board.

My peaceful moment is soon interrupted.

“Y/n! Tell Arthur that I’m the favourite uncle!”

“Y/n! Tell Eames that fun does not have to mean dangerous!”

“Mama, mama, Uncle Eames turned me upside down and span me around!”

“See! Dangerous!”

“Honey, where’s the disinfectant? Aspen scraped her knee.”

“Mummy it really hurts!”

“Mama! Uppies! Uppies!”

I picked Nicholas up into my arms and simply giggled, perfectly happy with my life.

It was now night. Arthur and Eames had left after insisting on reading the kids stories which meant they were roped into reading 3 stories per child. Nicholas had gone down first. Then Aspen and even though Isla had loved staying up with mummy and daddy, tiredness had overcome her quickly. So Robert carried her up and tucked her into bed.

We now lay in bed together, curled up. Simply relishing in the silence that was so foreign in our big house.

“Do you wanna know something strange?” He broke the silence. “That day we met, I had a dream about a girl who I fell in love with. I like to think it was you.”

I bit my lip to stop myself uncontrollably grinning.

“And since then, my dreams have been consumed by you and our little family.”

I tried to meet his eyes, but he was locked in thought and I knew I couldn’t interrupt his thoughtfulness.

“The moment I met you I realised that I wanted to create my own family rather than continue working for one that never loved me.”

I hugged him tighter as his voice shook slightly.

“Well, that’s good. Because your family is about to get a little bigger.” I took his hand and drifted it down until it landed on a subtle bump.

“Perfect.” He kissed my hairline as his hand stroked up and down my stomach.

The silence resumed and we both fell deeper into the stillness of the night. But as I drifted off one thought plagued my mind.

Perhaps the idea never actually took hold.

Perhaps it was me and him.

Us together, that changed his life.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Thank you so much for reading!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612

[scorpiussage]

Written in the Stars (Jonathan Crane/OC)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/OC

Summary: Despite what many may think, Jonathan Crane does in fact have a soul mark – he’s just not particularly thrilled about it. (Soulmates AU where a persons first words to you are written somewhere on your body) 

Warnings: Awkward shenanigans, smut

Jonathan Crane is seven years old when his soul mark appears. He’s huddled under a pew, locked in the old abandoned church by his grandmother for a sin he doesn’t remember doing. A sharp burning pain erupts on his forearm, different from the bruising lashes that decorate his back. He holds his arm up to the dim moonlight streaming in through the dirty window and tries to make out the words. 

Whatever he thought his soul mark would say, is no where close to what it actually says. 

…

Most people that know Jonathan Crane, also assume that he doesn’t have a soul mark. He’s bitter and mean and not at all what people look for in a soulmate. Despite these perceived flaws, he does have one. 

A soulmate that is. Somewhere out there and he dreads ever having to meet them. 

He’s never been very lucky, though. 

…

Jonathan is exhausted, injured, and coming down off of his own fear toxin. His hideout is on the other side of town, too far away to get there right now, so he seeks the first open establishment he can find. 

“Hi, welcome to Rats-O-Cheese, the pizza-play restaurant for kids. My name is Y/N-Mouse, what can I get for you?” Is the disinterested monologue that greets him when he enters the building. On his forearm the words he’s been steadfastly ignoring all his life burns. 

Fuck. 

Now, Jonathan is not actually sure what one is supposed to do with a soulmate. Probably not kidnap them, but that’s what he’s done. 

He glances over at the tied up, and very irate, waitress and tries to figure out his next steps. He winces when her muffled shrieks interrupt his train of thought. Despite the gag, she’s still hell bent on chewing him out. 

God, he’s exhausted. 

…

Jonathan is in high school when the restaurant chain Rats-O-Cheese opens up, advertising itself as a fantastical arcade restaurant for children. 

He spends the next several weeks trying to erase his soul mark out of embarrassment. 

…

“I’m going to take off the gag. You can scream as loud as you like, no one will hear you,” Jonathan informs his soulmate, and then adds under his breath, “for my ears’ sake, don’t scream.” 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” She snarls at him as soon as her mouth is free. 

He considers that question and notes to himself that he actually has a lot problems. 

Y/N, on the other hand, has a fairly average life. She’s an only child in a two parent, middle class household. She’s not top of her class, not bottom either, in both high school and college. Just average. 

Her near-neurotic obsession with being normal probably has something to do with her soul mark words. 

“If you fight or scream, I’m going to inject you with this drug.” 

Who the fuck says that to someone?

It sort of tracks that she’d end up with a psychopath for a soulmate, and not a very successful one at that if his injured, disheveled state is anything to go by. 

“So, like, what’s your thing?” She ends up asking after watching him putter around his grungy little hideout for a while. 

He pauses and looks over at her with a cocked eyebrow, “My thing?”

She nods, “Yeah, you know, your villain thing. All the weirdos in this city have one. Like that guy with the riddles!” 

Psycho-soulmate actually rolls his eyes at her and snarks, “Please don’t compare me to the likes of Edward Nygma and his ridiculous neurosis.” 

Y/N doesn’t really think this man has any room to be throwing stones, but she keeps that to herself. 

…

Statistics say that a majority of people meet their soulmates during their college years. It’s something the general population is obsessed with – making movies, music, and art about the phenomenon since the dawn of time. Jonathan, in juxtaposition, isn’t interested. In fact, he would prefer to never meet them. 

He’s never needed anyone but himself and he doesn’t see that changing anytime soon. Especially considering the, frankly, ridiculous words that are on his forearm. 

In what universe would he ever step foot into a Rats-O-Cheese?

…

Psycho-soulmate determines after several hours tied up, that she’s no longer a flight risk and unties her. He does give her a stern look though, and tells her, “There’s no where you would run that I couldn’t find you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t run – got it.” 

She uses her newfound freedom to wander about his weird warehouse/hideout. There’s a very disturbing lone medical examination table with metal restraints that she edges around. Apart from the few pieces of actual furniture (a couch and a futon) it looks like a stereotypical horror movie science lab. 

She approaches a mannequin that’s dressed in a frayed suit and that has a burlap sack-mask over its head. Ohhh, so this is his thing, creepy scarecrow. 

She remarks as much out loud and Psycho-soulmate makes a loud clattering noise behind her, dropping whatever he was doing in surprise. 

“It’s for science!” He snarls, his ears turning pink in embarrassment. 

“Yeahhhh, okay.” 

Then she turns back around to look at him, “By the way, what’s your name? I’ve just been calling you ‘Psycho-soulmate’ in my head this whole time.” 

He gives her a dry look for that remark and introduces himself. Man, that name sounds awfully familiar. 

Then it hits her, “Oh! You’re the guy that broke everyone out of Arkham!” 

“Well, yes, but it was a dire set of circumstances.” 

He’s busied himself with his chemistry set again and as Y/N looks more closely at him, she notes that he’s very handsome – the kind of face that would sell well in a boyband line up. He’s also lithe in way that reveals how much time he spends hunched over his experiments. She has to wonder how a guy like that ends up as Gotham’s latest super villain. 

He sighs loudly and sets down the beaker he was currently fussing over, “I can feel you staring at me. Just ask your inane questions.” 

“No questions, just bored is all.” 

Jonathan’s eyes roll heavenward, as if he’s praying for the irritation to end. Well, hey, he’s the one who kidnapped her, he gets to live with those consequences. 

…

Jonathan is, surprisingly, a gentleman and offers her the futon to sleep on while he takes the couch. He only has a few changes of clothes here so she ends up sleeping in one of his button down shirts. She waits until his back is turned before she brings the collar up to her nose and inhales his delicious, masculine scent. 

She has no idea what cologne he uses but goddamn does she love it. 

A sort of pattern settles over them after a few days there. Jonathan will make the trek in the early hours of the morning to get them both breakfast, waking Y/N up with the clanging of the door when he returns. 

Once they’ve eaten, he immediately dives into his experiments and leaving Y/N to her own devices. All he has to do in this place is read his vast array of medical textbooks and journals, so that’s what she does. 

After nearly a week of this, she finally snaps, “When can we fucking leave?”

“Language,” Jonathan remarks, carefully finishing his task of measuring out chemicals before turning his attention to her, “Why would we leave?”

“Uh, because this isn’t an actual livable place and there’s nothing to do?” 

“Of course I have a child for a soulmate,” he grumbles before getting up, “We won’t be leaving. But, I’ll see if I can procure more suitable entertainment for you.” 

Honestly, that’s better than nothing. 

And she does not squeal in delight at the stack of romance novels he returns with the following morning, she’s just excited to be able to read something that isn’t about psychology. 

…

The phenomenon of soulmates is a fascinating one, Jonathan notes. One he’d be more than interested in studying if his research into fear wasn’t so pressing. 

Hell, even Edward Nygma has a soulmate–Julian Day. 

Jonathan’s own soulmate is interesting to say the least. She’s annoying and childish and loud, the opposite of himself in every way possible. 

She might be growing on him. 

He has a bit of an accident while mixing up a new batch of fear toxin. In those moments, he found himself far more concerned for Y/N than himself. Worried that he may have injured her by mistake. 

He hates it. 

He’s never wanted a soulmate and certainly never the feelings that come along with one. 

If anything were to ever happen to her, he would burn the entire world to the ground. He can no longer imagine his life without her in it and it’s driving him insane. 

…

It’s on a particularly quiet night, months into Y/N’s captivity, that Jonathan breaks out his stash of very expensive whiskey. He’s never been one to drink, but he finds that he’s agreeing with Y/N, he’s so bored lately. 

The flush of alcohol looks pretty on her face in the warm, dim light of the warehouse. He can almost pretend that they’re out on a date, enjoying each other’s company like normal people. 

It’s her that kisses him first, though. 

Her lips are soft and she tastes like the whiskey they’re drinking and he can’t seem to get enough. The euphoric feeling that comes over him is even better than his fear toxin, he thinks. He wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her closer and onto his lap where she fits so perfectly that it’s no wonder the universe chose her for him. 

She breaks away from the kiss, peppering his jaw and neck with follow up ones, “God, you’re such a freak, but I really, really like you.” 

The admission makes him more feral, gripping her impossibly closer and yanking at her clothes. He needs her in a way that he’s never needed anyone before. He feels like he might die if he doesn’t get her naked. 

She helps him remove her top, her breasts already bare as she’s forgone wearing a bra. He groans and buries his face between them, licking and kissing up her sternum back to those addicting lips. Her hips are grinding down onto him, lining up her core with his erection with unerring accuracy. Even through the layers of their clothes, he can feel how wet she is, how warm he knows she’ll be. 

He pushes her down onto the cushions of the couch, slotting himself between her legs and yanking at the button of her jeans. Her hips lift helpfully, allowing his hand to slip them down her thighs. 

He was never a very sexual being, always preferring the company of books rather than people, but he can see in this moment what he’s been missing all these years. There’s something so electrifying about touching and being touched by another person, something that sends delightful shivers all up and down his spine. 

He wants to own her entirely, and for her to do the same to him. 

Her deft fingers slip down his torso towards his groin, cupping his cock in her hand sweetly. He groans and the feel and his hips stutter down to grind against her palm. 

“Can I see?” She asks him, and it hits him in that moment that she never does anything without confirming his consent. He’s never had anyone do that for him before, his body always being the subject of either outright abuse or covetous leers. He helps her open his pants, letting those pretty fingers of hers slip past the hem to wrap around him. 

His eyes roll back as she grips him firmly, pumping his cock better than he’s ever done himself. 

Once he gains some coherency back, he makes quick work of removing her pants and underwear entirely. 

She’s bare before him, her most intimate place glistening and beckoning him forward. He’s never once had the desire nor fantasized about going down on a woman before, but he can’t stop himself from getting a taste. He runs his tongue between her lips, gathering the slick from her hole and dragging it up to her clit. 

He groans against her as the flavor registers, he already knows he’s never going to get enough of this, of her. Her essence is all he’s ever going to think about from now to the end of time. 

Her fingers bury themselves into his hair, tugging and grasping as he devours her. His name is being chanted, spurring him on to torture that little bud at the top of her sex. 

He can literally taste her orgasm as it gushes out of her, coating his lips and chin and it about makes him finish himself. 

Sitting up, he fists himself, hurrying to line himself up with her opening. Still coming down from her high, she mewls as he sinks into her, the walls of her cunt sucking him in as if it’s welcoming him home. He doesn’t think he ever wants to part from her, doesn’t ever want to draw his cock away from her. He pushes himself as deep as possible before drawing back and pushing back in. 

Her arms wrap around his shoulders, tugging him down so that their foreheads press. Somehow this is far more intimate that literally being inside of her and it makes him flush with how flustered it makes him. 

He doesn’t last long but he forgets to be embarrassed about it because he’s never felt so good in his life. He never wants this feeling to end.

He settles beside her, keeping himself firmly tucked into her tight heat. 

On her ribs, right beneath her heart, are his words and proof that they were meant for each other. 

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 16)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut

Words: 2,566

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

Kitty stormed off, her fury seething within her like an erupting volcano. She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed, the ultimate betrayal right before her eyes.

As she made her way home, her footsteps echoed with a mix of anger and hurt. Robert followed in silence, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had made a terrible mistake, and now faced with the consequences, he braced himself for what was to come.

Finally reaching their home, Kitty turned to face Robert, her eyes burning with fury.

"How long, Robert?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. Robert looked into Kitty's eyes, feeling a pang of guilt twisting in his gut.

"A few months, Kitty," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with regret.

And what about the others, Robert? The countless affairs I've discovered over the years?" she asked, her voice quivering.

Robert closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his actions bearing down on him. "Kitty, I-" he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“It doesn’t matter. I've known about your philandering for years, but this one feels different,” Kitty acknowledged before asking her husband whether he loved you.

Robert hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yes," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung heavily in the air, each syllable piercing Kitty's heart like a thousand knives.

She feared this admission, yet hearing it out loud shattered any hope she clung to.

Kitty's voice cracked as she spoke, her pain evident in every word.

"And what about us, Robert? The life we built together? Are you willing to throw it all away for her?" Kitty wanted to know and Robert's gaze dropped to the ground, his anguish palpable.

"I don't know, Kitty," he murmured, his voice filled with confusion as he thought about you. "Y/N shares my beliefs, and she knows what I am doing here. She knows the secrets I cannot share with you and understands the world differently than most. We have a connection that I cannot possibly explain, Kitty” Robert explained, telling Kitty how you are the first woman he met who was that intelligent and shared his passion for physics.

Fury ignited within Kitty's eyes as she clenched her fists. "Oh, so this is about changing the fucking world? This is about your ego and the pursuit of knowledge?" she spat, her words laced with bitterness. Robert reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it on Kitty's arm.

"No, Kitty, it's about more than that," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. Kitty yanked her arm away, her voice seething with contempt.

"Well, Robert, you made me a promise when you took my hand in marriage, and I will keep you to that promise,” Kitty told him sternly as a steely determination washed over her features. "You have a choice to make, Robert. Either you end this affair and commit to our marriage or lose everything, including the project. I know things Robert and I can make life rather unpleasant for you and your little lab rat here at Los Alamos," Kitty told her husband in anger, whose chin dropped.

***

Meanwhile, you stood in the streets of Los Alamos. You were alone, and your heart was pummeled by abandonment. You couldn't comprehend why Robert had left you standing there, like a discarded piece of lab equipment and wondered whether his words meant anything.

“Just you and me” was what he said many times and, with that, confusion and sadness washed over you as you stared at Robert’s house and decided that, come tomorrow, you needed an answer.

As such, the following day, you found yourself standing outside Robert's office, your heart pounding beneath your chest.

You had to confront him to understand why he had left you standing there without a second thought or regret. He did not even send you a note that night or bother to apologise, which, in the end, hurt you the most.

***

Gathering your courage, you pushed open the door to Robert's office and stepped inside.

“Robert! We need to talk," you said with a quivering voice as Robert jumped, dropping the pen he held.

"Y/N, I... wasn't expecting you,” he said.

"Clearly," you replied, your voice laced with irritation, and Robert looked up from his desk with surprise etched across his face. Guilt washed over him as he knew he had to explain himself.

" I didn't mean to leave you like that," he stammered before you even had a chance to speak, and your eyes bore into his, a mix of pain and determination shining within them.

"You know, after all the things you said and wrote to me, Robert, I thought we had something meaningful together”, you pointed out, and Robert took a deep breath, his gaze searching for the right words. "Yen, we do. I love you, Y/N, but I cannot leave Kitty. Not yet,” Robert told you just before your emotions began to spell forth.

"Robert, you have to decide. I can’t take this any longer. It's not fair to either of us," you told him, and Robert's shoulders slumped as he absorbed your words, the weight of his decisions pressing down upon him.

"I know, Y/N”, he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. Silence hung in the air momentarily as you and Robert stared at each other, grappling with your situation's complexities. The unspoken pain and longing swirled around you, begging for resolution.

“I want to leave her, Y/N, but it is complicated,” Robert acknowledged, and your heart ached, torn between wanting to believe him and running away from the pain.

"Complicated doesn't even begin to describe this mess, Robert,” you said, your voice filled with pain and determination. "If you choose to stay with Kitty, then let me go. I am begging you” You began to cry, and Robert's brows furrowed as he listened intently, searching for the elusive answer that would guide him out of this maze of emotions.

“I can’t, Y/N. You know that. I love you and I need you,” Robert told you, and you took a step closer, your eyes locking onto Robert's. The raw vulnerability within your gaze sent shivers down his spine.

“You must, Robert. Don’t put me through this, seeing you with your wife every day,” you begged him as your lips quivered as a tear slid down your cheek.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on Robert's cheek, and, silently, a mix of sadness and hope danced in Robert's eyes as he caressed your hand.

“Give me two weeks, and I will figure it out. I will leave Kitty," he begged before you continued your heartfelt conversation, exploring the depths of your love and the challenges that awaited you if Robert left his wife during the project.

“Will I see you tonight?” Robert then asked just as it was time for you to leave and attend this medical appointment he had instructed you to make, as your superior rather than your lover.

“No, Robert, I will not see you again outside work until you make your choice,” you told him before you left his office with a final kiss.

Twenty minutes later…

You arrived at the Los Alamos clinic twenty minutes later and the doctor's office was filled with an eerie silence. You stared anxiously at your hands, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. This appointment was supposed to provide answers, but it only deepened the mystery.

Radiation poisoning was what Robert was concerned about after your frequent exposure to radioactive plutonium, and whilst you downplayed your symptoms, they had gotten worse in the past week or so.

"Good afternoon, Miss Y/LN," a doctor greeted you. His face was etched with concern as he glanced at your medical chart.

"I understand you've been experiencing some symptoms like nausea and dizziness. You are also exhausted lately, forgetting things in the laboratory that you shouldn’t, and Dr Oppenheimer is concerned about potential radiation poisoning. So, let's run some tests to get to the bottom of it, shall we?" he suggested and you nodded, feeling a knot tightening in your stomach.

"I told Robert…uhm, Dr Oppenheimer that it may just be the heat here at Los Alamos that is making me sick. I am not used to it” you told him as, without words, the doctor fetched his equipment and began examining you, his eyes never wavering from the task at hand.

"I'll thoroughly examine you to determine if there are any physical signs of radiation poisoning, ma’am, starting with a radiation exposure test,” he told you before pulling out a radiation detector, making you chuckle.

“So, you think I may be radioactive, and still, you sit here, wearing no protective gear whatsoever?” you joked, playing down your very own nervousness as the doctor prodded and probed your skin with the device.

“Quite frankly, Miss Y/LN, I don’t believe that you have radiation poisoning, and yet, I am obliged to test for it. It’s protocol”, the doctor told you before continuing the test until, eventually, concluding that his assumption was correct. You had not been exposed to unsafe limits of radiation.

“I have finished my examination, and the good news is that I couldn't find any indications of serious radiation exposure," the doctor said, removing his gloves and setting them aside. "But there might be another reason for your symptoms,” he said with a smile.

A ray of hope washed over you, only to be overshadowed by the doctor's next words.

"Tell me, have you been experiencing any irregularities with your menstrual cycle?" he asked and you froze, your cheeks flushing with colour as you realised the gravity of the doctor's question. Your last period had been eight weeks ago, a fact that had slipped your mind amidst the chaos surrounding your affair and your move to Los Alamos. How could you have been so careless?

"I...uhm...my period...it's been absent," you stammered, your voice barely audible.

“Regular intercourse?” was the doctor’s next question, phrased more as an assumption, to which you silently nodded.

"Well then, given your current symptoms, it is possible that you are pregnant,” the doctor then said and his eyes narrowed with concern. Immediately, panic surged through you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf your senses. Pregnant? The mere thought struck fear into your heart. Children were not a part of the equation. Your ambition burned too brightly to be snuffed out by motherhood.

"Pregnant?" you whispered, your voice tinged with disbelief. "But how? I mean... I..." you stammered, gasping loudly. Of course, this was a rhetorical question.

“You are a smart woman, and I don’t expect to have to answer this question,” the doctor said as he offered you an empathetic smile and leaned back in the cold, sterile chair, your mind racing. This was a dilemma of epic proportions. Should you continue this pregnancy, tying yourself forever to the man you loved but shouldn't? Or should you make a different choice?

“Are you sure doctor?” you asked and the doctor shook his head. Of course, he wasn’t sure and there was no way to positively diagnose a pregnancy until at least the second semester.

“I cannot be sure, but I can order some blood tests to see what is what. Sometimes it indicates whether we are looking in the right direction,” the doctor said, his voice gentle yet firm.

“Yes, I will take the blood test,” you told him as some apprehension washed over you, but, what he said to you next, made you tremble. It was something that you had not expected.

“I will have to write a report to Dr Oppenheimer in respect of my interim findings, ruling it safe for you to return to work in the laboratory, but I feel as though you may wish to discuss this matter with him first, in person,” the doctor then said and, of course, your heart sank. You knew that you had to tell Robert before he received this report and, thus, you nodded in agreeance.

“Please give me 48 hours, doctor” you told him and he nodded reluctantly, giving you a note of absence from the laboratory until then.

[cantameher]

CAMGIRL . . . Chapter one: This is only a beginning, doll. (series)

tw: age gap, smut, sex working

taglist: (if you want to be added just comment below).

──── ✰࿒࿎྇ ༃࿐ ONE

༶•✧. ┊“That’s all I had for you guys today, I hope you liked today’s stream. See you tomorrow at the same time, kisses” the girl with a masquerade mask smiled at the camera, showing the heart made of her hands.

She ended the stream and smiled at the amount of coins she received today. Her account was new on this platform, but she has a small group of lovely fans, that supported her little career. She never thought that this would be her method of making money, a few months ago she had ambitions, she was at the best law university in her city, what went wrong? Nobody knows it, maybe it was because of her laziness, maybe she had done something wrong? I guess we would never know.

Her family didn’t know about her internet career, well, they didn’t know anything about her. Plus, she was careful with her streams, because she didn’t want to be recognised by anyone. It would ruin her social life. And she cared about it so much.

She just wanted to earn some money from desperate men, who would pay her a crazy amount of money, just to see her tits. If she had moral fibre, she would be concerned about them and the fact, that it could be their last money, but honestly she didn’t care. It is their choice to donate these kinds of people.

When she was about to enter the bathroom, she heard the sound of notification from her laptop. With an annoyed sigh, she looked at the screen and saw the direct message on the platform she ‘worked’ at. She didn’t recognise the username, but she clicked on it anyway. She was open to new fans.

xxusername: Hi:) Your profile is very intriguing… I wondered if you make private sessions or just regular streams?

dreamdaisy: hello:) yes i can do a private session but it’s only available for my active fans

xxusername: And if I would pay you?

dreamdaisy: hmm… how much?

She didn’t have to wait for his response, because right after his message, a big amount of money showed up in her online wallet. It was something new for her, she didn’t think that he would be serious, but she smiled to herself, biting her lower lip.

dreamdaisy: wow… you must really liked me:* well, in that case, we can have private session tomorrow after my stream

xxusername: I knew that would encourage you;) See you tomorrow baby;*

She didn’t knew what she get herself into.

[lunarubra]

Hi :) this is the first chapter of the Shadow of the Sea, let me know what you think about it in the comments. A big thank you to @cillmequick for beta-reading and being the sweetest person ever. I wouldn't have published it without her assurance that it doesn't completely suck.

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan)

Summary: In this AU set in 2010, Cillian has just finished filming 'Inception'. He has never been married, and after a few disappointing relationships, he finds himself feeling blocked in his personal life, even as his career continues to rise.This is a completely fictional story, not based on real life. I wrote this with the utmost respect for the man and his family.

Warning: Homesickness, Family Distance, Mention of Sexual Assault (not between OC and Cillian), Sexual Harassment, Date Rape Drug/Roofies

Words: 2700

Next | Masterlist

Part 1: Eire's Depths

Closing the laptop with too much force, Jiyan started massaging her temples, hoping to alleviate the tension and praying she wouldn't have to deal with a migraine anytime soon.

The library was silent; the only sound was the rain against the windows, soothing the last students. Even if the new semester just started, there were only a few people left in the study area on a Saturday afternoon. Most students had already headed to the pub for a pint or were getting ready for the clubs later.

Jiyan checked her phone, noticing too many messages she had been ignoring since the morning. Sighing, she opened her brother's chat and found three unread messages.

14h11: Ready for a call later?

16h22: Mom is pacing, almost started ironing. You need to call tonight.

18h42: Seriously sis... if you don't call tonight, I will sedate her and take the first plane to yours.

Jiyan chuckled and quickly answered Mikael.

19h13: Ironing, huh? Almost need an intervention.

19h13: Will call soon, little bro. Don't despair.

Clearing the table of books and notes, she put her laptop and the last few things away in her backpack.

Outside, it was raining. Again. 

And it was dark. Already.

Coming from a country where the sun kissed Jiyan's skin almost every day, the continuous rain on this island pierced her heart each time. She was tired and hoped to get home, have a cup of tea, and finally make the call she had been postponing for the last two weeks, perhaps even forgetting what she was doing on this verdant yet depressingly weathered island.

The ride to her place was fast, and the bus was on time, something she was gradually getting used to. Entering the small studio made her feel restless and anxious, intensifying the pressure on her temples. Looking around the space she had started calling home in the last few months did ease her discomfort a little. 

Having spent her childhood moving to different countries, Jiyan was acutely aware of the housing crises almost everywhere. Still, she was taken aback by the difficulty of finding a flat in Dublin.

After a month spent in a hostel dorm and countless useless house visits, her desperation reached a point where she considered a dubious Craigslist post seeking help in renovating an old studio. 

When she first checked it out, she realized the studio was actually above a car repair shop, and apparently, no one had lived there for about 30 years. Sean, the guy who owned the shop, almost cracked up when she asked about costs and materials. It took her a good 5 minutes to persuade him that she was capable of almost any woodworking task and that she could undertake the restorations in her spare time and during weekends if she could live there. They struck a deal: Sean would foot the bill for materials, and until the renovation was done, she'd cover her living expenses by doing all the work herself.

After two months of solid effort, she'd managed to put in new wood floors, set up a functional bathroom with a brand-new shower, and even start building herself a kitchen. Sure, the place was small, didn't have central heating, and still looked like a bit of a mess, but the one thing that sealed the deal for her was the wood stove. It reminded her of her mom’s cabin up in the mountains, where she'd spend lazy afternoons by the fire, lost in a good book with a cup of tea in hand. So, if she could bring a bit of that cozy feeling into her new place, she figured she'd be all set, even with juggling her university work and research study.

It took a couple of minutes to get the fire going and put the kettle on for some fresh mint green tea. Once she finished her first cup, she dialed her little brother's number.

"Finally, are you becoming such a loser that you're spending your Saturday at the library now?"

"It's called work, Mika. Something you'll learn soon enough."

"Yeah, of course, like I'm not living with a psychopath right now. She almost started ironing the bed sheets, Aji. We need an intervention here, immediately. Mom never cleans; she moved from Turkey because she couldn't stand spending her time cleaning. You need to convince her that you're fine."

"I am fine," Jiyan repeated for the thousandth time. "And Mom moved from Turkey because we're Kurds, and she wanted to avoid spending her time in jail for teaching her language in school."

"You're fine?" Mikael said incredulously. "You're living in the land of Mordor. It's been a week since you've seen any sun; I checked the weather!"

"It's not that bad. I'm starting to like the rain," Jiyan said, convincing no one. "And I like the job."

"Is that Aji?" she heard her mom in the background, stealing the phone from her brother.

"Aji, how are you?" her mother's worried voice asked.

"Hey Mom, I'm good. Mika told me you need an intervention."

"Your brother should be studying for his finals, focusing on his Latin test," Jiyan's mother said after a pause. "It's been weeks since we've heard from you, Jiyan."

Jiyan stared out of the window, feeling guilt and pressure rising in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just... I'm super busy with work and renovation here. I started building the kitchen from scratch, and most of the time, I forget to check my phone. I'm fine, really," she tried to reassure her.

"You're avoiding, little star, and today is a difficult day for you. You should be here, not alone on an island without sun," her mother insisted.

Jiyan really didn't want to have this conversation; she moved to this island to avoid this topic.

"It's all good, Mom. It's not a big deal," she said. "Also, I'm meeting new people; it's a good change," she added, feeling the lie stinging her tongue.

She heard her mom sigh. "I miss you, little star."

"I miss you too, Mom. Also, Mika, I need to go now. I'll call you next week."

"You do that, or I'm sending your brother there to check on you."

Jiyan chuckled and smiled. "We'll lose him at the first change of trains."

"Every battle has its losses."

Now really laughing, she closed the call. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, little star."

Jiyan put down her phone, staring again at the window. She knew she needed a distraction and couldn't spend the rest of the day inside alone. Not even building furniture could distract her today. 

She put on her jacket and boots, grabbed the keys, almost sprinting outside in the rain. 

Again.

Snap.

5 points.

Snap.

5 points.

Snap.

15 points.

Sighing disappointedly, Jiyan walked over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. It had been two weeks since she discovered this pub near her place. The music was usually pretty good, and it could be a cozy spot during weeknights. It wasn't usually too crowded, which suited her just fine. She'd come in to have a soda and play darts, avoiding the regulars and the occasional group of tourists who tried to strike up a conversation.

She knew she stood out as a woman in a pub on a Saturday night, playing darts alone. That night, she had already dodged two American tourists who tried to flirt and offer to "teach her" how to play. 

On the other hand, the regulars, after giving her strange looks for the first couple of nights, now hardly noticed or bothered her, accepting the odd loner who didn't drink beer and spent hours throwing darts. Tonight, unfortunately, the pub was busier than usual, with some tourist groups disturbing her vibe.

Feeling a presence behind her, she tensed up immediately.

"Hey, baby, what are you drinking? Can I buy you the next round?"

Jiyan turned around to face a stranger who looked like the typical Chad character from any American high school drama.

"No thanks, I'm good," she replied shortly, turning back to focus on her game.

"Come on, I saw you looking at me. You were checking me out, I saw you."

"Excuse me?" she said, annoyed, not having a clue what he was talking about.

"Yeah, when you went to order your drink, you smiled. The guys and I are having a blast; you could come join us. I promise you a great night."

Jiyan took a deep breath, trying not to get too annoyed. "Listen, Chad, if that's even your name—I don't care. I'm not here to make friends or have a good time with your guys. I was having fun until 30 seconds ago when I didn't even know of your existence. Can we go back to that, please? Thanks, bro."

"My name's not Chad," he replied, irritated.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Jiyan said dismissively, hoping the conversation would end there, and she could get back to her new form of therapy: throwing darts.

Chad returned to his table muttering something about a "stupid bitch," but Jiyan didn't have the energy tonight to educate a stranger about basic respect and boundaries.

She took the last sip of her lemonade and headed to the bathroom, ordering another one from the bartender. When she returned, finding the new bottle of lemonade near the dartboard, she resumed her evening.

Cillian was onto his second pint when his attention wandered again to the peculiar woman in the far corner of the pub, throwing darts.

She seemed to be in her late 20s, sporting a hand-knit beanie that partially obscured her long dark hair. Her frame was small, drowned in a pair of jeans and an oversized dark hoodie. Each time she retrieved her darts from the board and turned around, Cillian found himself momentarily distracted from the conversation, captivated by her large green-leaf eyes.

Despite her efforts to blend in with her dull, oversized attire, every straight man in the pub couldn't help but notice her attractiveness.

Dermot, noticing Cillian's repeated glances, remarked, "She's new around here, lives in the area, spends her nights alone playing darts. Connor was annoyed the first night because she doesn't drink or eat, but apparently, she tips well, so we see her almost every night now."

Cillian raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Do you stalk all the newbies at the pub? Should I be worried? Should I give Connie a call?"

Dermot chuckled. "Like you didn't glance in her direction every five seconds. Just doing you a favor, pal."

Snorting, Cillian covered his blush with a sip from his pint. "I was just curious, and I wasn't staring at her the whole time."

"Sure, sure. Maybe we don't need to worry about you after all. You've been holed up in your basement for a month, and now look at you! You should go talk to her."

Cillian shook his head. "I'm gearing up for the new role, and it's been busy..."

Dermot glanced at his friend. "It's okay, you know, to try again? You're not a bad guy, and not all stories work out, mate."

Cillian looked down at his pint, taking another sip. He hadn't wanted to go out tonight and dwell on his last relationship. After a couple of weeks of seclusion, he was finally finding his balance. It wasn't that he missed her; they both knew the interest had faded months ago. They had reached a point where they were uncomfortable around each other and only ended up hurting one another.

He was just tired.

At 34, he was already questioning if this was it, his life—filled only with jobs he loved and relationships that would fill his life for a few months before inevitably ending.

Glancing up, he noticed a tourist from a nearby table approaching the young woman. Dermot and he said nothing for a moment, watching with interest. She appeared mostly annoyed and seemed to handle the situation well. After a brief exchange, she returned to her darts, and the guy slunk back to his table looking disgruntled.

Dermot chuckled after a sip from his pint, jesting, "Or maybe not the best idea, it looks like not even your piercing blue eyes would work this time."

Cillian snorted. "I think Enda would kill me if I showed up tomorrow with anything less than perfect condition. He owns me until the end of this play."

"Best not risk it, then."

They spent the next half-hour joking, with Dermot updating Cillian on Corinna and their new pregnancy. Cillian tried not to glance at the dartboard anymore, but he couldn't help but notice the American guy hurrying back to her corner after she ordered something from the bar, only to return to his table before she came back. Hopefully, he had finally realized she wasn't interested.

Around 11, they both decided to settle the bill and end their Saturday night.

Connor asked if everything was okay, and they both tipped him generously. It had taken some time for Cillian to find a place where no one cared about him or his career, and he didn't want to ruin it.

While Dermot quickly went to the restroom, Cillian cast one last glance at the dartboard, only to find the corner of the pub empty, with only her half-drunk bottle remaining.

Connor followed his gaze and grunted. "She forgot to pay, these damn tourists."

Surprised, Cillian looked at him. "I can cover her tab..."

"Why should you?" interrupted Connor, waving his hand dismissively. "She's here most nights; it will be covered, don't worry."

While waiting for Dermot, Cillian's eyes wandered to the American group's table, where they were laughing and shaking their heads conspiratorially. He noticed almost immediately that the persistent guy was missing and a bad feeling washed over him.

"Ready? Conie's going to kill me if I get home too late again, and maybe this time I can avoid sleeping on the couch," Dermot said, noticing Cillian's worried expression.

"What?" he asked Cillian.

Shaking his head, Cillian replied, "Nothing, let's go. Goodnight, Connor."

"Goodnight, lads."

Stepping outside, the cold, fresh air jolted Cillian awake. The street was quiet, unusually empty for a Saturday night. Glancing around before bidding farewell to Dermot, something caught his eye. In the corner of the street near the alley that led to the back of the pub, he noticed a jacket he recognized from inside. Dermot was saying something to him, but he wasn't paying attention, drawn closer to the alley where he found the guy from inside with his arms around an intoxicated young woman. She seemed unaware of what was happening and unable to stand on her own.

"Hey! What are you doing to her?" Cillian exclaimed, getting the guy's attention.

The guy jumped, almost letting the girl fall to the ground.

"Just helping her, man," he replied quickly. "Mind your business and go back inside."

Dermot, who had reached Cillian by then, also saw the scene unfolding before them. "What the fuck is happening here?"

The guy appeared more concerned now and, realizing Cillian wasn't alone, released the woman he was carrying, pushing past Cillian to leave the alley.

Cillian quickly moved closer, trying to catch her before she hit the ground. She now looked unconscious, and he gently laid her down, checking her vitals.

"What the fuck, man, this is so fucked up," Dermot said.

"Dermot, call 999. I'm not sure if she's breathing properly," Cillian said, alarmed. "Who knows what the fuck he gave her."

He wasn't paying attention to his friend but was focused on trying to make her a bit more comfortable. After a few moments of cradling her head, he noticed her scrunching her nose and grimacing. She opened her eyes, and Cillian found himself momentarily lost in them.

"Hey," he said softly as she stared at him. "It's going to be okay, alright? Just breathe; the ambulance is coming."

She didn't respond, just continued gazing at him with those beautiful green eyes, looking a little confused.

"It's going to be okay," he repeated, even softer this time. "I'm here. You're not alone. Just rest."

And she smiled, causing his heart to skip a beat, before closing those bright jade eyes once more.

Next | Masterlist

Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

amazing dividers from cafekitsune

[feninina]

𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙧 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

jonathan had a very twisted mind and he knew how to hid it perfectly. he also knew, since the moment your father brought you to him practically begging for his help that he was going to have too much fun with you; shaping you, deconstructing you to craft your mind into something so wrecked, so useless, that your only thought from now on would be him.

you were young, naive, beautiful; all that he could ever want and wish — and there you were, heartbroken and desperate, opening your heart to him maybe hoping he would help you, and, in jonathan’s eyes, that’s what he was going to do, he was going to cure you and make you the perfect trophy wife, to nobody else but him.

you were sick, and he had the perfect antidote for you.

“i know what a girl like you needs”

“you think, doctor? what is it?”

“yeah, to be fucked stupid”

i’m so very anxious and nervous to publish this but i also can’t wait omg 😭 anyways hope you enjoyed that little snippet

[boiohboii]

Am I a yn fan or a cillian fan?

(Fem!driver!reader x cillian murphy)

N.B: just a little something for fun cause I'm in love with cillian murphy, hope you like it!! WARNING: not proof read, the word cunt, if I missed anything else please let me know!

Faceclaim: Angelina Jolie

masterlist

Liked mercedesamgf1, danielricciardo, murphy-lnchild and 2,618,910 others

Audifomrula1: congratulations to our Royal couple, our lovely driver yn ln won her first World championship with us this year, making it her fourth while her husband, cillian murphy, had his movie premiere starring in a, yet another, Christopher Nolan film.

username: while her husband 😂😂

username: she's barbie and he's just ken vibes

username: SIR, PUT THAT TONGUE BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM!!

username: the hair, the neckline, the gloves... yn please step on me

username: yn looks like a princess

Susiewolff: congratulations to both of you!

Sebastianvettel: very happy for you both!! You deserve it

username: susie and seb commenting even tho neither of yn nor cillian have instagram is such a wholesome thing

username: this entire friend group gives me life

Susiewolff has added to her story

Caption: back to our vacation house with our favorite people

Tagged: @.sebastianvettel

part 2

[indeediagree]

[look-at-the-soul]

The Photoshoot - When we were young

(Golden Globes special edition)✨

Request: by my dear @zablife as part of my Adele challenge but also + Grandma’s series ♥️

The Photoshoot 2014, 2015

Lee, when you sent in the “When we were young” song I knew right away it would be one of the most special parts of this series, I knew I wanted them to go back in time but I still wasn’t sure where/when/how to add it to the series as it could easily fit into any part. Then when things happened, I remembered I had your requests in my drafts, I knew I had to add some Grandma into the mix, as it’d give me a different approach 🥰

If you don’t read this series, don’t worry! No spoilers!! You just need to know that Yael Murphy is a photographer and Cillian just won his first Golden Globe award.

Word count: 1,175

Based on Adele’s song “When we were young”

Knocking on the door, Yael looked at her husband, a smile growing in her lips.

“Your social battery is still low huh?”

Everybody loves the things you do

From the way you talk

To the way you move

Cillian chuckled and moved on the bed to make room for her.

“How do you know?” He accepted the cup of hot chocolate she was offering him, grateful for the warmth the cup was providing.

“Well you’re hiding in your old bedroom while everyone is downstairs.” She pointed out resting her head on his shoulder.

After the Golden Globes win, they flew back to Ireland and Cillian wanted to go straight home, but one look later from his wife and they were on their way to his parents house for a little family gathering. The Murphy family wanted to celebrate the award with him, but he was worn out, and not because of the jet lag.

Everybody here is watching you

'Cause you feel like home

You're like a dream come true

“You’re adorable, I swear.” Yael teased stealing a quick peck.

Cillian chuckled in response, she knew him so well. He wanted to hide underground after being exposed to cameras, the press and all the people gathered for the awards.

“No matter what you say, wining that Golden Globe it’s huge, and I’m so fucking proud of you and all you’ve done.” Something on his lap catching her eye. “You look just like her.”

Cillian shot her a look, surprised by her words. “It’s my grandma, you think…?”

“Totally, same nose, lips, her eyes were bigger but it’s the same kind, if she didn’t have curly hair I’d thought it was you dressed as a woman.”

A content sigh escaped Cillian’s lips and his eyes went back to the photograph he had found in that old album. His grandmother was wearing a floral dress while holding his mother as they stared at the cake. He had been looking at the albums his Mum had been showing everyone earlier and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back in time, to his childhood around his Ma.

“She was adorable.” He added with a hint of nostalgia, his mind and heart going back in time too the townhouse property, where he spent a huge part of his life. “I remember being so nervous about a stupid prom thing, so one afternoon she was knitting something and I asked her if she knew how to dance…” Yael saw the way his eyes lit by the memories, his soft voice murmuring the little treasure he just remembered, “she stopped and almost threw the needles and yarn, and went straight to the living and started playing music, she showed me where to place my hands, how to guide-you know, lead the way… she made me hear the beat, but she said you need to feel the music.” He added mimicking a femenin voice with a chuckle.

“That’s beautiful.”

But if by chance you're here alone

Can I have a moment?

Before I go?

“She somehow is responsible of who I am today, you know? Those early years while my parents were working all day…” his voice went dry, “she was with me, we went together to the grocery store, we cooked together, the park, she even took me to church.”

Yael chuckled and made a funny face at his last statement.

“That was probably the last time you showed up.” She teased.

Her heart filled with even more love as she saw how tender his expression grew by the memories.

“When I started acting, she always asked me for the script so I could rehearse with her.”

Yael nodded, thinking how much it meant to him.

“And when I did this film The wind that shakes the Barley, the post office released some commemorative stamps, she went and bought a bunch and she’d say to her friends this is my Cill, my grandson.”

You look like a movie

You sound like a song

My God this reminds me, of when we were young

Yael got lost in his velvety voice, it was so immersive, driving her into the memory lane with him.

“The movie had a huge impact in her, since her father passed away in that very same war, trying to defend Ireland, she never got to meet him.”

“I guess in a way, you portrayed that for her, and gave her a closure.”

Cillian tilted his head towards his wife. “You think so?”

“Absolutely sweetheart, books, movies and music, have a way to heal us from the pain we didn’t even know we were carrying…” She squeezed his hand.

Let me photograph you in this light

In case it is the last time

That we might be exactly like we were

Before we realized

Turning on the next page, Yael stared at an image of a woman leaned against a convertible.

“The quality of these photos it’s incredible.” She couldn’t help but admire not only the beauty of the shoot, but the angle and background.

“This must be from my grandparents honeymoon.” Cillian frowned removing the film that protected the photographs. “Yup… I recall grandma saying they didn’t have a budget to go in a trip somewhere ese, so my grandad drove all around the coast.”

“That’s lovely.” Yael murmured placing the photo closer to have a better look. “They’re together in that one.” She then pointed out.

“That’s why they wanted to go back to Kerry every summer.” Cillian sighed. “He built a small house later and I remember staying over there for the holidays every single time, they had to sell it though.”

“Remember when we went? That was a long time ago.” Yael moved her hair away. “Haven’t been there in ages.”

“Time to plan a little holiday?” Cillian gave her his signature eyebrow raised.

“Should I start packing?” She teased, knowing he was eager to disappear for a couple of days. “I’ll book us a place.”

We were scared of getting old

It made us restless

It was just like a movie

It was just like a song

Moving onto the next page, Yael found the cutest photo from all times.

“Oh man! I can’t believe this!” Cillian laughed out loud, dimples showing.

“How come I’ve never seen this one?!” Yael’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “You’re the cutest little boy! Look at you!”

You still look like a movie

You still sound like a song

My God, this reminds me, of when we were young

She looked at her husband and then back at the photograph.

There he was, with the biggest smiles of them all with half his body inside of a vintage mailbox.

“I love every bit of this photograph. It’s perfect.” She beamed at her husband’s portrait. Pure joy and love oozing from every fiber of him.

He looked so carefree and happy.

Let me photograph you in this light

In case it is the last time

That we might be exactly like we were

Before we realized

“Wouldn’t it be amazing to bottle up that little one?” Yael expressed, thinking of her own childhood. “I loved spending the weekends at the cottage with grandma, she played a huge part in my recovery, always looking after me so my Mum could take care of everything else.”

Scrolling through her phone, she found a photo her Mum shared over the holidays.

As a child she loved playing dress up with her cousin, Val.

When we were young

“I remember the very same day my grandma made this dress for me.” Cillian offered his hand to her, to stare at the photo. “She made it out of a nightgown she loved.”

“Is that a Polaroid?” He asked looking back at his wife.

“Yes, my grandpa carried his everywhere.”

“Isn’t it great? How a photograph can take you back in time all the way down?”

Yael smiled proudly.

“That’s the magic of photography… in just one click, you can turn something into a lifetime memory.”

***

Thank you for reading!!

I hope you liked this ✨♥️

Photo inspiration :

And yes, the part of the stamps is real, I read it somewhere and I loved the idea of his grandma buying Cillian’s stamps 💝♥️

Tag list @lyarr24 @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @winchestergirl22 @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @heidimoreton @thenattitude @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @queenshelby @ange-thoughts @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel @rangerelik @already-broken144 @alessioayla @paprikabadger @dolllol2405 @conversationpits @itsilvermorny @lafell @imichelle-l-rigby @yrli8 @cutecurly-hair @mrkdvidal1989 @cillspropertea @hyperfixationsonshuffle @sydneyyya @abbymcguire @shelundeadxxxx @elk96 @pono-pura-vida @lovemissyhoneybee @slimeantha @kmc1989

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(13)

Lies Are Weak Foundations

description - In the hunt to retrieve Robert, y/n will be shown much more truth than she ever could have expected.

word count - 2.9k

warnings - incepting an idea against someones will, suicide, allusions to child abuse

a/n - fun fact, in the original plan for the story it ended on 13 chapters so I added one extra because I believe in the unluckiness of that number. Butttt then the chapters became too long so I was breaking them up anyways so the story would have actually never been 13 chapters.

Previous Chapter Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

“Do you trust me?”

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

Dark.

LAYER FOUR: LIMBO

A crushing wave layers over my throat and the chill seeps down over every inch of my skin. I gasped in search of breath, feeling my position was not helping my desire to not drown. The sun bled my eyes but I could not direct myself out until a pair of arms wrapped around me. They dragged me up and out as I spluttered everywhere. Dad collapsed onto the beach still holding me close to him. I pressed up and took in the world around me. Skyscrapers crumbing down to be forgotten. The majesty around screamed of futility. But their memories thrummed in the air. I curled my fingers through the damp sand in search of a foundation to stand up on. Tiredness gave way and the sand was not a strong enough footing. I fell down once more. Dad stretched out his hand to me. With slight hesitation, I grasped it and we used the others weight to pull ourselves up.

“You all right?” a nod was all I could offer.

“This is your world?” my words whispered out the unspoken agreement.

“It was.” His firm tone matched his serious face. I tried to show no fear but he was still my father. “This is where she’ll be.” Another wave crashed over, stinging my ankles, and I could only hope my shiver was from that. “Come on.” He gestured for me to follow him.

We began to walk and passed over to the expanse of industry. It looked uncommon from the beach we had been on moments ago. And the distinctness was felt by the clench in my chest. Where I once felt free now controlled me. The chains I felt inside me could be traced to my mother’s hands.

“You built all of this?” I asked my father who walked through with predetermined confidence whereas I dragged behind stunned into carelessness. It seems the further we walked the stronger the structures stood. Their thoughts were concrete and had not succumbed to time…yet. “This is incredible.” I breathed out through a laugh of disbelief.

“We built for years. Then we started in on the memories.” Dad responded.

My skin bristled and a thousand eyes were trained on our very movements.

Dad stopped.

I stopped.

James and Philippa played in the streets, supplanted into this created memory.

Tears burned at my lids and I wanted nothing more than to run over and clasp them in my arms. But my feet stood stock. They were not real. They were not real. They’re at home. We can go home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“This was—”

“Our neighbourhood.” I finished his thought when the familiar image struck my heart.

“Places from our past.” He continued. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and drew my attention to a building to the left of us. The house looked out of place and it’s nostalgia did not match the ingenuity around us.

“Recognise?” He teased and squeezed my shoulder in comfort.

“The apartment.” I smiled through my words. I could feel every muscle relax and suddenly I was free of the links that had bound me for years. Behind the linen curtains, shadows danced around a thought. I was transported back and could feel the shadow of myself return and with it the innocence I had failed to keep.

“You reconstructed this all from memory?” I slurred out over the lump in my throat.

“We had lots of time.” His whisper was enough prompting I needed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We entered a sleek apartment complex. The cleanliness seeped off it like a fume.

“We’d always wanted to live in a house but there was something about buildings like this.” I audibly agreed. “In the real world, we’d have to choose.”

We entered the elevator and Cobb’s hand pushed out for the right number. The doors slammed in front.

“How are we gonna get Robe—Fischer back?” I asked whilst fidgeting with my jacket sleeves.

“We’re gonna have to come up with some kind of kick.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna improvise.” He readied his gun in his hand and I assessed his moves with fear. “listen, honey, there’s something you need to know about me.” I met his statement with confusion. I looked on to my father and struggled to think what he could have possibly kept from me when we had been each other’s all for the past years. And what was so horrifying that I didn’t know. “About inception.”

The doors opened and the warm light of our house bled into the steel of the elevator. Dad raised his gun to stalk forward, primed.

“An idea is like a virus. Resilient. Highly contagious.” We walked further into the hallway, with each step feeling like two, and the walk back even longer. “And the smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define…” Dad raised his gun as we finally made it to the largest room. “Or destroy you.”

The head of the table was occupied and the limited view did not stop me recognising my own mother. The closer I came to her, the less assured I became.

“The smallest idea such as ‘Your world is not real’.” Her voice sung the air and its tones were all too familiar to my ears. If my father hadn’t blocked me I could have crumbled right into her arms. “Simple little thought that changes everything.” She turned to face us and a smile tugged at my lips when I could see her beauty once again. “So certain of your world, of what’s real. Do you think he is?” she jutted her chin to my father but directed her question to me. “Or do you think he’s as lost as I was?” My eyes bore over his frame and my face fell at the question I had already asked.

“I know what’s real, Mal.” My dad spoke as if approaching a skittish horse. He pulled out the chair waiting for him and sat down so their eyes could meet.

“No creeping doubts? Not feeling persecuted, Dom?” She perched on her arms to lean towards him. “Chased around the globe, by anonymous corporations and police forces?” She then turned her eyes towards mine. “The way projections persecute the dreamers.” When our eyes met, they were filled with sympathy and I felt that this Mal had somehow seen my whole life. Through the eyes of my own father.

She grasped his head in her hands. “Admit it.” She persisted. “You don’t believe in one reality anymore. So choose. Choose to be here. Choose me.” Her words pierced me as believing in one reality meant forgetting another and her words of disbelief to my very existence were too near in my mind. And I flinched at every word in attack.

“You know what I have to do. I have to get back to the children. I have to take Y/n home.” Dad soothed Mal’s passionate heart. “Because you left us.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You’re confused, our children are here.” Her eyes pierced the side of my head. “Our real children.” From behind I heard the giggles of the projections of James and Philippa. “You would like to see their faces again, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m gonna see them up above, Mal.”

“Up above?” She laughed out at the apparent foolishness of the term. “Listen to yourself. These are your children. Watch.” She leaned back and announced to the room. “James! Philippa!”

Their faces twitched and both my father and I flinched away and hid our eyes, fearing that our truths could be confused.

“Mal, please don’t do this.” My father pleaded, knowing her game. “Those aren’t my children.”

“You keep telling yourself that. But you don’t believe it.”

“No, I know it!”

“And what if you’re wrong, and I’m what’s real.” Her desperation seeped through her words. “You keep telling yourself what you know.” She mocked his stubbornness. “But what do you believe?” She whispered out. “What do you feel?”

“Guilt.”

I snapped my gaze to my father. His word choice confusing me.

“I feel guilt, Mal. And no matter what I do. No matter how hopeless I am, no matter how confused, that guilt is always there, reminding me of the truth.”

Mal’s face stoned. “What truth?”

My breath stuck as I waited for either one to admit what hung in the air unsaid.

“That the idea that caused you to question your reality…came from me.”

I gasped. Blood froze in my veins. My bones seemed to melt.

“You planted the idea in my mind?” Mother questioned, her tone more hushed than when she had certainty.

“What is she talking about?” I spluttered out still holding out on the idea of another explanation.

I could not force my father to meet my gaze.

“The reason I knew inception was possible was because…I did it to her first. I did it to my own wife.”

I choked on my own sob which fought to break through.

“Why?” I gasped out.

“We were lost in here. I knew we needed to escape, but she wouldn’t accept it. She had locked something away, something deep inside. A truth that she had once known, but chose to forget. And she couldn’t break free. So I decided to search for it. I went deep into the recess of her mind and found that secret place. And I broke in… and I planted an idea. A simple little idea that would change everything. That her world wasn’t real.”

“That death was the only escape.” Mal finished, her eyes still downcast.

“You’re waiting for a train.” I began reciting what I had heard all of my life. “A train that’ll take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you… but you can’t know for sure. Yet it doesn’t matter.”

“Because you’ll be together.” My father continued.

“And then you woke up.” I remembered watching over their lithe bodies resume life. I struggled to realise all that had proceeded. And all that would come to follow.

“But I never knew that that idea would grow in her mind like a cancer…that even after she woke…That even after you came back to reality… that you’d continue to believe your world wasn’t real. That death was the only escape.” I shuddered upon the memory and tried to scrub out the image of her lifeless frame on the table.

I couldn’t help but sigh in almost relief. The feeling felt wrong but I couldn’t help at relish at the answers for actions and words that had troubled me for years.

She broke into tears.

“You infected my mind.” She sobbed out.

“Mal, I was trying to save you.”

“You betrayed me.” She cried out. “But you can make amends. You can still keep your promise. We can still be together, right here, in the world we built together.”

The world rumbled in a mimic explosion but no flames could be seen. I jumped in realisation at Eames’ attempt to revive Robert. The lightning confirmed my fear.

“Dad, we need to get Robert.”

Mal whipped around to me and practically spat. “You can’t have him.”

“If I stay here, will you let him go?” Dad was still held in thought.

“DAD, NO!” I cried out at the thought of losing him too. “You can’t do that to me. Not me. Not again. I can’t do it again!”

“But you’d have Fischer.” He sincerely answered. I became confused through my screams. One look between us confirmed it. He’d seen it all. But he wasn’t mad, he seemed genuine.

“Fischer is on the porch.” Mal announced unable to hide the smile at her win.

“Go check he’s alive, Y/n.”

“No, Dad you can’t do this. Not for me.”

“Go check he’s alive. Do it.”

I hurtled outside, gun at the ready. The newly acquired wind whipped my body around and I struggled to stay straight in the face of the storm. I saw the barely conscious body of Robert. He was tied up and his mouth was gagged. I hurled his body up to lean against the balcony. I checked his body over for injuries and found nothing too concerning. His eyes met my own and the familiarity seemed to unleash his tears. I tried to soothe him but I felt ill-equipped in my own situation.

“He’s here and it’s time but you have to come now!” I shouted back.

“Take Fischer with you, all right.”

“You can’t stay here to be with her!” I screamed to permeate his stubbornness. Every part of my body was desperate to drag him back home with me and destroy whatever poison she had him under. “That’s not mum!”

“I’m not.” He stated. “Saito’s dead by now. That means he’s down here somewhere. That means I have to find him.” My heart loosened and I broke a smile. The thunder rumbled around us. “I can’t stay with her anymore because she doesn’t exist.”

“I’m the only thing you do believe in anymore.” She shot back.

“I wish.” He deeply exhaled in desperation to return to the time before. “I wish more than anything but I can’t imagine you with all your complexity, all your perfection, all your imperfection.”

I ripped down the gag from Robert.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” We both had to shout to be heard over the thunder.

“Look at you.” My dad continued. “You’re just a shade. You’re just a shade of my real wife.”

I caught Mal’s thumb stroke over a knife I had seen before. My arm pained once I saw the offending weapon.

“And you were the best I could do?” Dad continued to push. “I’m sorry, you’re just not good enough.”

“DOES THIS FEEL REAL?” She jumped up and slammed the knife down into Cobb’s thigh with murderous passion. But before she could raise it again, I grasped my gun and shot her. One bullet.

My body froze, gun still cocked. I couldn’t move from the position I’d found myself in. Thoughts ran around and infected each part of my body. Spiralling down I struggled to pull myself back up until a gentle tap hit the back of my thigh. And I turned around to find Robert manoeuvring himself into an uncomfortable position to merely comfort me in whichever way he could. My resolve crumbled when our eyes met, and I dropped the gun and launched forward to embrace him. To feel him close, if not for anything else.

Dad reached over to cradle Mal in his arms as she died. He gratefully acknowledged the gun in my hand and I smiled in agreement. It had to be me.

“Y/n I need to know if you can ever forgive me.” He choked out. “For this and for everything else. This life should have never been yours.”

“It was my choice.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“You think you could have stopped me?” I teased. “Don’t forget who I learned it from.” We both forced out a laugh.

“You know I think I finally understand you.” I announced, my voice rising over the thunder.

“The greatest mistake I ever made was letting you come with me that day.” My face fell. “And all the pain and suffering it has caused you.” I nodded in the most thanks or forgiveness I could force out.

“I would have done it again in a heartbeat.” I shouted. Dad looked up at me through his tears. I smiled through my next words. “Because I got to be with my dad, and that’s all that matters to me.” I searched to meet his eyes which had fallen once again so he felt my full meaning. “That we weren’t alone.”

I rose to stand and walked to stand on the precipice of the balcony.

“Mum couldn’t have been helped.” I stated. “But you came back to me.”

“I will always come back for you, darling.”

“But I won’t let you lose yourself, like mum did.” I pleaded with him through gritted teeth which held back my tears. At the next crack of lightning, I hurriedly lifted Robert up and braced him to be flung off the building, simulating a kick. But I stopped and turned back to the image of my father over my dying mother.

“I’m gonna stay.” I announce. “You need help to get Saito back.” He understood my fears and the possibility that he won’t come back but he merely smiled at my concern.

“No. I’ll be fine. You go with Robert. You need to be with him.” He lowered his voice and the sincerity in his words electrified the air between us. I softly smiled to match his own. Grasped Robert’s body in my arms. I leaned back and let gravity consume us.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A gasp awoke us both and the crack of the defibrillator drew my attention to Robert. I scrambled up and crawled over to his body. He jumped to life and his eyes shot open. They softened once they met my own and I could barely wait to embrace him again. Once we met in a hug, he weakly reciprocated and placed a soft kiss on my hairline. I leaned back and cupped his face, stroking his soft skin to commit it to memory.

“You need to go now. You need to see what’s in that vault.” My eyes flitted up towards the door and he stretched back to follow my gaze.

He clambered up and faced the door. His footsteps forward stalled. He turned back and faced where I merely watched.

“Will you come too?” He stuttered out as if afraid for my answer.

“Of course.” I confidently spoke despite my beating heart. I ran up to him and clasped his hand in my own. We looked at each other in newfound comfortability. We needn’t speak as we both knew that whatever was to come, neither one of us were facing it alone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ahhhh we're getting so close to the end!!

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[scorpiussage]

The Lost Footage of You | Part 1 (Tom Buckley/OC)

Pairing: Tom Buckley (Red Lights)/OC

Summary: Tom gets called to a review a very odd case involving a young woman and some unexplainable found footage. 

Warnings: Violence, very dark themes

i.

Tom hates dealing with cops and he’s certain they hate him just as much. They watch him with open disdain as he gets buzzed through the locked security check points that keep the patients at Creekwood Sanitarium in and the regulars of society out. 

A nurse with the look of someone exhausted down to their soul meets him once he’s completely through security. She holds out a laminated visitors pass and he barely gets the chance to grab it and fix it to his clothes before she’s marching away from him down the main entrance corridor. 

“You’ll get thirty minutes to talk to her, so make it count,” the woman utters boredly, her gait surprisingly fast given her overall disposition and it causes Tom to have to power walk in order to keep up with her.  

“Er— right,” Tom replies weakly, trying to get his thoughts in order, “Has she said anything since being admitted?”

The nurse shoots him a sharp eyed, pursed lip look, “No.” 

Tom mentally adds “Nurses” to his ever growing list of things and people he hates. 

This entire case is sort of an unconventional one for Tom. Usually he’s exposing supposed psychics and tarot readers as fraudulent— never has he been asked by law enforcement to work on a case. 

Two weeks ago, six people were found brutally murdered at what appeared to be some sort of séance. A seventh person was found unconscious at the scene, a one Y/F/N Y/L/N, and with her a camcorder and a purse full of tapes. Now, Tom hasn’t seen the tapes yet, (he’s still waiting for clearance from the county judge to be allowed to watch them) but he’s been told roughly what they consist of. Whatever is on those tapes has law enforcement quaking in their boots. 

Tom has been called in to not only determine the validity of the tapes, but to also see if the young woman involved has some sort of supernatural ability. The police certainly think that the tapes are supernatural in nature. 

For a psychiatric facility, the living quarters of the patients and the inmates are actually pretty nice compared to the standard. Y/N has her own room and it has a few furnishings like a desk and a cushioned chair near the barred window. She’s sitting in said chair, starring out into the gray gloom of the facility grounds and the forest beyond them. 

This is the first look that Tom is getting of her and while they told him she was young, he’s still surprised. She can’t be older than 25 and she’s shockingly beautiful too. He sort of freezes in place when their eyes meet for the first time. He feels all too like the skinny weird kid he used to be and being faced with the local hottie. 

“Remember Mr. Buckley, 30 minutes,” the nurse says, shocking Tom out of his trance as she leaves the two of them alone, locking the door behind herself. 

Tom clears his throat awkwardly and takes a seat on the edge of Y/N’s desk, realizing too late that it probably makes him look like a middle school teacher trying to seem down to earth. 

“Hello,” he says with a weak smile, “I’m Dr. Tom Buckley.” 

“You don’t look like a doctor,” Y/N replies with a voice so soft that Tom has to lean forward to hear her better. 

“Er— I’m not a medical doctor, actually I’m a physicist.” 

Trying to grasp onto what to say next, Tom pulls the desk chair out and brings it over to where she’s sitting, placing himself in front of her, “I’m sort of a specialist in my particular field.” 

The woman stares at him blankly and it prompts him to start info dumping, “I deal with uncovering frauds who claim to be psychic or to have supernatural abilities. Not to say that that’s what you are, but that’s why I’m here.” 

The woman nods, “The police think I killed all those people.” 

Tom winces, “Um, yeah, they do.” 

Sinking into her chair she regards him with those piercing eyes of hers, almost making him feel like he’s being dissected. 

“Sometimes things happen around me that don’t make sense,” she says after a while, cutting off Tom who was about to start asking questions if only to fill the silence, “I carry around a videocamera to document everything.” 

“Have you? Documented these weird happenings?”

Y/N fidgets, her eyes darting to look back out the window, “A friend of a friend of a friend heard about me and requested me to do this séance? Like with a ouija board and stuff? I didn’t really want to do it but he said he’d pay me for my time.”

She takes a deep breath here, seemingly struggling to say out loud what occurred, “I told them it was a bad idea. The weird things that happen around me? The energies don’t like being taunted and I told those people that but they didn’t listen to me.” 

Tom quickly pulls out a notebook and pen, ready to take notes, “Can you tell me a bit more about these ‘energies’? What do they do?” 

“I— I wouldn’t call them ghosts, that seems too simple to what they are. They just— they’re always there, following me around? They get mad if I ignore them too long or if I try to provoke them.” 

“What do they do if you ignore them?” He asks. 

Y/N bites her lip nervously, eyeing him like she’s trying to decide if he’s trustworthy or not. She must come to the conclusion that he is, because she turns around in her chair and lifts up the back of her shirt. 

Tom’s notebook and pen go clattering to the floor, his shock audible in the horrified gasp he lets out. Big ugly bruises and weeping claw marks mar her back, in locations and styles that she would not be able to do to herself. 

Tom thinks that this case is going to end up being more than he bargained for. 

ii.

Tom isn’t sure what to expect when he finally gets approval to view the video tapes. He’s left alone in an unused interrogation room with a small box TV and a larger-than-he-expected stack of tapes. None of them are labeled and the cop that escorted him to the room fucked off without saying anything. 

With a deep sigh, Tom grabs the first tape on the top and pushes it into the VCR. It starts off how all home made videos are want to do, with jumbled, unfocused images before they finally settle.

It’s Y/N filming herself through the reflection of a bathroom mirror. She’s breathing heavily and the camera is shaking with her unsteady hands. Gulping audibly, she starts talking, “It’s— uh— Tuesday, August the 5th. The noises are back.” 

She jumps when a loud thump echoes in the background. She swings the camera to face a closed door— either the door to the bathroom or a closet, Tom can’t tell. Everything is still and quiet before another bang visibly rattles the door in its frame. Like someone slammed their fist into it. 

Y/N drops the camera in fright, the visual becoming that of her feet and the bottom of the door. 

Tom is both captivated and horrified, this whole thing is playing out like a real life horror movie.

“Don’t do it, don’t open the door,” he mutters to himself, both literally and figuratively on the edge of his seat. He holds his breath when she cracks the door.

She stands there for a moment before reaching down and picking up the camera. The door is now open to show a tightly packed linen closet. There’s absolutely no where a person could hide in that. 

Tom turns off the TV. 

iii.

The next time Tom goes to visit her, it’s during the patients’ outside recreational time. She’s sat off by herself under the shade of a large tree and she’s ripping up fistfuls of grass boredly. Tom rubs his sweaty palms on his pants before taking a seat near her. 

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly, “How are you?”

She shrugs and he tries to figure out what to say next. 

“How long have weird things been happening to you?” He eventually lands on, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Since I was a kid, I guess? My mom kept making us move because she was convinced the houses we lived in were haunted.” 

The ‘but it’s actually me’ goes unsaid. Tom feels a lot of sympathy for her, he can’t imagine being terrorized by unseen forces for years. He doesn’t really know how to express that sentiment to her though without flat out saying her life is a fucking horror movie. 

Deciding to change trajectory of the conversation, he asks, “Can you tell me more about that night?”

“It was supposed to be a seance,” she tells him and then after a long pause adds, “I think.” 

He frowns, “You think?”

She brushes the loose grass off of her palms, “The set up was really weird. Everyone was in a circle and they made me sit in the middle.”

“You were in the middle?”

She nods, “I brought my camera, but they told me I wasn’t allowed to film. I lied about turning it off and left it recording inside my bag. I just felt weird about the whole thing.” 

Tom bites at his thumb as he thinks. He hasn’t made it to the video of that night yet and this conversation is creating more questions than answers. 

“What happened next?” He finally asks. 

“That’s the thing. I can’t remember.” 

iv

Tom doesn’t know how many more of the tapes he can watch. Each one is more horrifying than the last and if it were him, he would’ve taken a swan dive off a building out of sheer terror. 

For not the first time, he wishes Margaret was still alive to give him some guidance on what to do. Part of him feels relief that there’s another with strange abilities, but not at the suffering of this poor woman. 

He’s only halfway through the stack and he feels like this entire experience has aged him 10 years. With an exhausted sigh, he pops the next one into the VCR and hits play. 

The video starts off with a visual of the end of her bed before she turns the camera around to show her face. The lighting is poor, coming only from the faint glow of her bedside lamp. 

“It’s 2:38 am,” her voice is in a hushed whisper like she’s afraid of being overheard, “There’s something under my bed.” 

She peeks the camera over the edge of her bed to show her wooden floors. Nothing happens for a long moment before the camera jolts as the bed is shaken in its frame. She lets out a scream and buries herself under the covers like a child would, bringing the camera with her. The video goes on with a close up of her panicked face until eventually she falls asleep. 

Tom feels like he’s the only one who’s capable of protecting her. 

to be continued...

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 21: THE HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student

Minutes later...

“Twenty-three?” Cillian chuckled, thinking that, clearly, the DJ got it wrong but when your heart skipped a beat and you literally turned red in the face, he realised that something was wrong.

Emma too looked like she had seen a ghost and, as tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, Cillian pulled his hand away from yours.

“Y/N?” he asked in disbelieve while all eyes were on you, in these included Kit’s.

“It is true. I am sorry” you said with great emotion in your voice, causing even Dermont’s and Connie’s chin to drop.

“I don’t understand…” Cillian began to say, stammering, as he was lost for words before standing up and asking you to follow him.

“Can we talk somewhere please?” he asked and, of course, you nodded before standing up as well and following him outside to one of the more secluded smoking areas which is ultimately where he confronted you about your lie.

“So?” he asked and, by this point, you could tell that Cillian was upset,

“I am so sorry” you told him just as tears tumbled down your eyes while Cillian was shaking his head.

“You are sorry?” he asked angrily before taking in a deep breath, watching you nod. “You know how bad this looks. You didn’t just lie to me, but to my friends too. Why?” he wanted to know and you tried to explain your reasons.

“The night we met, at the pub downtown, I could tell that you were much older than me and I figured that, if I told you my real age, you wouldn’t have taken any interest in me” you said and, of course, Cillian knew that there was some truth to it. He would not have considered taking you home that night if he knew that you were only just half his age.

“So just fucking lied?” Cillian asked nonetheless, causing you to nod reluctantly.

“Yes, I thought that it is just going to be a one-night stand and that I would never see you again after that. So, I lied. Emma knew and it was nothing but a white lie at the time” you told him, trying to justify your actions, but Cillian did not take well to your justification.

“And you never even bothered telling me the truth even after I told you that I was in love with you?” he asked in disbelieve. He was hurt and confused and you knew that this may likely lead to a break up.

“I didn’t know how to” you tried to reason but Cillian was so angry that he simply shook his head and cursed.

“Fuck!” he spat while tears continued to tumble down your cheeks and you tried to reach for his hands, which was something he would not allow.

“Cillian, it’s not going to change anything” you told him after he pushed your hand away from his.

“You are half my age Y/N! It changes everything!” he argued a little too loudly before tuning it down again.

“How so?” you asked, seeing that your difference in age did not really mean anything to you, so why should it mean anything to him?

“How so?” he asked angrily before giving you an explanation. “Well, for starters it will impact my career and it will also impact my family. Despite, how am I meant to trust you after this?” Cillian reasoned and you knew that the writing was on the wall for your relationship then and there.

“So, you want to end it then?” you thus asked and he pretty much nodded immediately.

“Yes” he said with some frustration before sighing deeply, with the intention to walk away from you and leaving stand there alone.

“Cillian, you said that you love me. That has to mean something to you, right?” you tried to reason with him but, again, he shook his head.

“Yeah, but apparently it doesn’t to you because you just made up a big fucking lie, didn’t you?” Cillian said without any emotion on his face before telling you that he did not want to see you again any time soon.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you” you cried in response as, by this point, you were an emotional wreck.

“Well, I appreciate that, but you did and I am through with us. I am going through a divorce and I don’t need this kind of crap right now Y/N, so I suggest that you find someone your own age who matches your level of maturity, because making up something like this is really fucked up” Cillian spat before cursing again and then, finally, walking off and leaving you standing there on your own.

***

Just as Cillian barged into the bar again, featuring some rather teary eyes, he ran into Kit who could see the look on his face. He was distraught and she knew that her plan had been successful as you did not accompany him back inside.

“Everything alright?” she asked Cillian nonetheless who nodded reluctantly.

“I am fine” he then sighed but Kit could tell that he was not, thus she offered him a drink which, in the end, was an offer he declined.

“Thanks Kit, but I just need to get out of here” he told her before approaching Dermont and Connie again, telling them both that he was heading home in order to get some rest.

“Where is Y/N?” Emma asked as soon as Cillian reappeared without you in tow and now all eyes were on him.

“I don’t know and I don’t care Emma, but it was good to see you again” Cillian said, trying to sound polite but Emma saw right through him. He was stricken with anger and it was obvious to her that he had, indeed, ended it which she knew would break your heart.

“You men are all the fucking same! Jesus!” Emma thus cursed before grabbing your belongings and storming off in order to find you which, after about ten minutes, she did.

You were still in the smoking area and had found someone to hand you a cigarette which you now smoked in the quietest corner of the establishment. Tears were still tumbling down your cheeks and a heavy sense of sadness was visible on your blotchy face.

“He isn’t worth it” Emma said as soon as she approached you but you simply sighed, knowing very well that it was you who had screwed up.

“No one ever is” you acknowledged nonetheless before allowing Emma to take you home which is where you spent the next two days, avoiding drama school at all cost.

For some reason, even after such a short amount of time, you were saddened by your break up from Cillian. You cried yourself to sleep until your throat and eyes hurt.

Your mind raced, thinking about what could have been if you had not lied to him and just as you thought about the endless possibilities, you were overwhelmed by so many different emotions.

You also could not help wishing that you could go back to last week and leave everything as it was, which is when you had told each other that you were in love.

At some point, you believed that, unlike James, Cillian truly cared about you but now, you were not so sure anymore whether what he felt for you was love or something else.

“Could he have loved you and then leave you simply because of your age?” was what Emma had questioned you on several occasions now and, in your mind, the answer to this question was probably ‘no’…

He was going through a divorce and maybe he was just confused. Maybe he was right and you were, in fact too young for him or maybe he was simply being a full, like all other men you have met thus far.

In any event, you had to adjust quickly to squashing your feelings and getting on with your studies which was something you were not looking forward to.

You called in sick twice by now and knew that you could not avoid drama school or work for much longer and, when Emma pushed you out of bed on Friday morning and told you to make your way to school, you reluctantly agreed.

You dreaded seeing Cillian there and, to make matters even worse for you, you knew that you had two private lessons scheduled with his daughter Nina, today and tomorrow respectively, both of which were on Cillian’s days as, the day before your birthday, the courts had finally given him shared care for his children.

When you arrived at school, however, you were surprised to see someone else in his place. It was a man named Enda Walsh and you had already heard a lot about him. He was Cillian’s friend and a rather famous playwriter in the UK and Ireland.

According to Lorraine, Enda had taken over the class earlier in the week as, on Wednesday morning, Cillian resigned from his position as lecturer. He claimed that he was simply too busy to run this class and engaged his friend Enda instead which, at least to you, came as a relief.

To the rest of the class, including Lorraine, however, this was disappointing and all you heard about that day were the rumours about Cillian’s real reasons for resigning.

Lorraine was of the view that he was finally commencing production for the Peaky Blinders’ movie while two of the other girls in your class thought that, maybe, he wanted to spend more time with Florence Pugh, who had been rumoured to be his girlfriend.

But then, there was also James who, surprisingly, had returned to school the day before, after his suspension had been lifted and his lawyers made you drop the apprehensive violence order following a written apology from him.

James was of the believe that there is another reason behind Cillian’s resignation and shared this same view with you, although he was clearly barking at the wrong tree.

“I think he had something with one of the students and that is why he resigned” James told you privately, causing you to almost choke on your lunch.

“What makes you say that?” you asked somewhat surprised. There was no way he knew you thought and, since that this was the first time that day you engaged in a conversation with him, he became rather excited.

“Wow, Y/N, I knew you would talk to me if I was to engage in a little gossip” he said almost sarcastically, causing you to roll your eyes. After all, you still hated his guts after what he did to you by sharing those nude pictures. But, the last thing you wanted was for him to make matters even worse for you, so you needed to know what he knew.

“Just tell me what you know, would you?” you thus asked, causing him to chuckle.

“I know that you have been to his house a few times in the past few weeks. The rest is just a wild guess and, going by your reaction, I think that I was spot on, wasn’t I?” James told you and, since your chin dropped and you seemingly appeared rather worried in front of him, he knew that he may catch a lucky break after all.

“No, you are an idiot, James. I am coaching his daughter in ballet. That is all” you told him nonetheless, putting on your poker face and, even though you were a fantastic actress, he saw right through you.

“At night?” he thus asked, chuckling some more. “I mean sure, if you say so…” he then teased and you knew that you had been caught out. He must have followed you and that was not very surprising to you either, seeing that he had a habit of stalking.  

“What do you want?” you thus asked in a panic and James quickly made his demand.

“I want you to withdraw the complaint you made against me to the principal” he told you, but you shook your head as this was nonsensical to you.

“You are here. Your father obviously made a generous donation to the school, so what else do you want? You get to finish the course, even after all you put me through” you explained.

“What I want is for this kind of shit to disappear from my school record” James said in response, knowing very well that an incident like the one reported would have a negative impact on his career prospects if his employer were to request his school records from the school.

“I never lodged a report. Cillian did” you told him, seeing that this was out of your hands.

“I know and this is why it is not getting removed from my record for this semester even though my father had begged the Dean to do so. The school wants Cillian’s endorsement and I need you to get him to withdraw his report” James demanded and since you were no longer with Cillian, you knew that this would become an issue.

“I will try, okay?” you said nonetheless before, in your mind, thinking about arranging a meeting with the principal yourself. Since you were the victim in all of this, perhaps the principal would listen and strike off Cillian’s report.

“Good. I will give you three weeks before I give the Irish Times a call. You know my mother works there, right?” James then threatened and you sighed in disbelieve.

“I do remember how influential your parents are and this is why you get away with so much shit! Hopefully one day you learn how to stand on your own two feet though” you lectured your ex-boyfriend who could not help but laugh at your comment.

“Says the student who hooks up with our famous lecturer. That’s rich” he teased, which is when you had enough.

“Fuck you James” you thus cursed before everything just became too much for you.

You felt as though you could not catch a break and, just as you thought about heading to the Dean’s office, you were overcome by a heavy bound of nausea.

Then, a feeling of heat rushed to your head and you started to feel uncomfortably warm everywhere. Your mind became dizzy and your vision turned blurry, making you want to throw up which, in the end, you did, saying goodbye to your peanut butter toast.

“For fuck sake. Why is my life so complicated?” you asked yourself with your head above the toilet bowl, not knowing that this was only the beginning of several turbulent months ahead.

Please comment your predictions!