#i am lost in cillian murphy's eyes

[gadingsaurus]

Barbenheimer on 4-colored pen

who doesn't like margot robbie and/or cillian murphy, let's be honest here. the events of barbenheimer (barbie-oppenheimer) on cinema was truly life-changing, and it's the most exciting thing that happened this year. doublehandedly saved the film industry.

[mysaintkitten]

smut with cillian murphy at the golden globes? am i crazy?

Claim Your Prize | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

!!disclaimer!! this fic does Not represent Cillian as a person, we love and support Yvonne here. this is simply for fun/fantasy! :3

WARNINGS: SMUT (MINORS DNI), public-ish sex, mirrors are involved, kind of sweet sex i think lol, creampie (of course)

“And the award goes to …”

A moment of silence and anticipation fills the room as the announcers carefully pry open the envelop containing the winners name. Beneath the table, you anxiously grab Cillian’s hand. He squeezes it gently in response.

“Cillian Murphy!”

As soon as his name escapes their lips, a wave of relief and appreciation crash over you. Finally, the most hardworking man you know is getting the admiration he deserves.

The people around you clap and cheer, and before Cillian heads up to accept his award you give him a quick hug and a kiss. A brief glimpse into the intimacy the two of you regularly share, yet are never public about it.

It then all becomes a beautiful, hectic blur. As cillian stands in front of everyone accepting his award, he seems to find all the right words to say, and all the right ways to say it. All you can do is stand back and watch him, giving him your utmost respect as he gives his thanks.

When his speech is over and the announcers move on to the next category, you get up from your table to meet Cillian half way. Since the rooms so tightly packed, the best route along the outer edges. As soon as he makes you out in the crowd he smiles happily at you, his eyes beaming with energy and gratitude.

Once you’re face to face, he hugs you again, tighter, finally getting a chance to hold you like he’d initially wanted to when they first announce his win.

Whilst getting ready earlier, you couldn’t help but brainstorm different ways to “reward” Cillian if he won. He isn’t very materialistic, and you knew that the only thing he truly wanted from you was your support, to stand by him whether he won or lost.

But you wanted more, you had to give him something you knew he needed after all these gruelling months of seemingly endless work.

So, after slipping into your dress for the event, you slipped off your panties directly after. Wanting Cillian to have as easy access as possible if he wins.

And now you’re here, wearing no panties underneath your dress, while hugging your winner of a husband.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper softly in his ear, turning your head a bit more to give him a kiss on the cheek, “so proud.”

He hums back, briefly nuzzling into your kisses before copying your gestures and kissing you on the cheek, leaving small quick pecks until he ended up back at your lips where he kissed you properly.

The kiss is passionate, warm, not yet sexual but you knew how easily it could fall into that territory.

“I have a gift for you,” you purr in his ear before dragging your fingers along his back, planting a small kiss on his neck and then pulling away.

“What is it?” Cillian asks, earnestly curious, he looks down for a moment but quickly realizes you aren’t carrying anything with you. With a mischievous grin, you grab his hand and lead him away to a private area. You’re able to sneak away quite easily, everyone else is much too fixated on the next winner anyway.

The hallways are vacant for the most part, a few scattered workers here and there, but all you’re thinking about is getting Cillian alone.

Whilst roaming the halls, you spot the bathroom. A unisex, single bathroom. Although it’s not ideal, it’s the best you’ll find in a place like this. Once Cillian sees where you’re heading, it doesn’t take long for him to figure out what your “gift” may entail.

After taking one more good look around, you decide the coast is clear enough and you both sneak into the bathroom before promptly locking the door.

It’s nothing special. A toilet, a sink, a mirror, what you’d normally expect to find in a bathroom. Luckily for you, the room had clearly just been cleaned. The counters and mirrors were spotless, and it smelt faintly of lemon and fresh laundry.

You swiftly turn around to face Cillian, placing your hands on the counter behind you, that sneaky little grin still spread across your lips.

With an equally naughty smile, Cillian presses his body against yours, him too placing his hands on the counter.

“So, what kind of gift does my lovely wife have in mind?” Cillian teases, kissing you gently on the lips, his voice lowers before he speaks again. “One that we need to be all alone for …”

The warmth between your legs intensifies, and the pressure of his body alone is enough to make your brain fuzzy. You drape your arms around his neck, briefly running your fingers through his hair.

“Just wanted to give you a little something that I know you’ve been missing,” you coo innocently, “something that you deserve after all this long …”

You pause for effect,

“And hard …” your voice becomes breathier as bring an arm down off his neck and snake it between your bodies, your grasp landing between his legs to palm him through his trousers, “work.”

Cillian growls, deeply inhaling your sweet and comforting smell, “you don’t know how much I’ve missed this.”

Quickly, Cillian turns you around, your hips now against the edge of the counter top. And now, you’re met with your own reflection. Both you and Cill with flushed cheeks and slightly messy hair, your makeup smeared around the edges of your lips while Cillian’s have a faint red-ish hue from your lipstick.

“I’ve missed this, too,” you sigh as your arousal stirs within you, at this point you don’t doubt that your wetness has made its way to your inner thighs. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

“S’all thanks to you, really …” Cillian groans against your neck, kissing the skin hungrily. “You’re the only thing that’s kept me fuckin’ sane throughout all of this.”

“Cill …” you giggle at his sweet words, your fingers carding through his hair while he stands behind you, his grip on your hips tightens and you feel him roll his hips against your ass. His warm bulge just begging to be freed.

“Honest,” he defends, “while I was on set, or late at night when I couldn’t sleep, the only thing that brought me peace was you.”

Despite how sweet Cillian’s being, you didn’t take him in here to some exchange kind words or swap some spit.

“You’ve got me here now,” you make eye contact in the mirror, his pupils blown and swimming with lust, “claim your prize.”

The palms of his run along your stomach, his head dipping down to place a kiss onto your neck before bringing his eyes back up to your reflection. Those same palms find your hips, gently gripping the soft skin before sliding his hands down further around your thighs.

He begins to grab at the material hanging down your legs, attempting to hike up your dress as best he can. You bite your lip and give him some assistance in pulling up the fabric, eager for him to see the little surprise you have for him.

Once your dress is lifted up enough, Cillian groans at the beauty in front of him. Your ass on clear display, no panties or tights obstructing his view.

“Were you like this the entire time?”

He watches you nod, a proud smile spread across your lips with your bottom lip still tucked between your teeth. With a smirk he shakes his head, quickly unzipping and unbuttoning his trousers. He pulls them down just enough to allow his cock to spring free, and you feel his hot member pressing against your ass.

Cillian dips a hand down between your legs from behind, trailing his middle finger along the slick seam of your pussy. He dips his finger in, moaning lowly at the warmth and wetness of your core.

“Jesus, baby. Missed my cock that badly, huh?”

You nod while watching him through the mirror, completely transfixed by the sensation of his body against yours along with Cillian’s effortless beauty and sex appeal. You’ve never had a partner that knew which buttons to press as well as Cillian, he could read you like a book.

A small sharp inhale is sucked from your lips when you feel the tip of his length teasing your pussy, smearing your arousal around before gently prodding at your opening.

“Look at yourself when I put it in.” Cillian purrs in your ear, sneaking a large hand up to your neck, gripping your neck and jaw and moving your head forward, forcing you to face your own pleasure.

Already you feel some small amounts of embarrassment, your cheeks are all flushed and your hairs all messy- how could you look so ruined already?

Before you can think too much, Cillian’s pushing his cock inside, slowly. You watch yourself as your mouth starts to hang open, and your brows pinch together. You feel his cock nearly splitting you open, giving you that oh so familiar sweet stretch that you’d been craving after all this time.

“You’ve gotten so fuckin’ tight …” Cillian groans from behind, his warm breath against your neck causing your body to shiver. “You missed getting filled up like this, sweetheart?”

You nod, panting heavily while barely being able to keep your eyes open. His hips roll back out before harshly snapping back in, forcing a pathetic whimper to slip from your lips.

“Yes, yes!” You moan, gripping the edge of the counter as Cillian’s grip on your jaw tightens. Your eyes crack back open and you see your own face again, the pure pleasure he’s giving you leaves you almost unrecognizable in your own eyes. “Missed y-you and your cock-k so much … love you so much …”

It wasn’t very common of either of you to say ‘I love you’ during sex. You’d say it regularly before and after the act, but during? Rarely happened. But since you’ve missed Cillian so much, and he’s been so busy, and now that all his hard work has paid off- it only felt right.

Well, that and the fact that you were already getting cock drunk off of him, your brain barely processing whatever words are coming from your mouth.

“Love you too, darling.” He breathes, kissing your neck while thrusting into you roughly, your hips pushing so harshly against the counter you’re certain it’ll leave a bruise. You don’t care. If anything, you want it to bruise. You want the physical reminder that your husband gave you a good, hard fucking after so many months of separation.

“Love your face, and how cute you look when you’ve got a cock inside you,” Cillian teases, nipping at the shell of your ear before kissing your neck again. “Love this pussy …”

“Fuck-“ you gasp, already feeling the knot in your stomach beginning to form. You really want to make this last, but it’s all been building up within you for far too long now.

“Love, love, love you, my sweet girl.”

“I-I- fuck-“ embarrassment pangs inside you, already too ruined to properly respond to him. Even though you hate it, you know Cillian adores it. While pounding into you, he feels your channel become slicker around him, the subtle sound of your wetness filling the room combined with some mewls and heavy breaths.

“C-Cill, gettin’ close-“ you warn, opening your eyes as best you can to see Cillian when you come. The hand that was gripping your jaw slides down your back, creeping over towards the front of your body where Cillian starts to rub quick circles onto your clit. His other hand digging into your hip.

“Come, baby. Please, missed seeing that pretty little face of yours come undone for me.” Cillian encourages with a growl, the mind-melting combination of pleasure had you tipping over the edge merely moments after.

Your orgasm hits you hard, the hardest you’ve come in months. You bite into your bottom lip roughly to try silence yourself. Your knees wobble, nearly giving out beneath you, but Cillian’s strong grasp on your hip keeps you up on your feet. While wincing from sensitivity, you push away the hand that was rubbing your clit, Cillian obliges.

“That’s it,” he groans, his own thrusts becoming sporadic and sloppy, “gonna come inside, baby.”

You nod and whine, the sensitivity and pleasure had your entire body vibrating.

“Please, please come inside. I need it.” You beg almost pathetically, wanting nothing more than to feel Cillian’s warm spend spilling out from inside you. He’s panting, cursing, sweating slightly, desperate to give you as much of his come as he can.

He bites down on your shoulder while keeping his hips flush against yours, his cock almost painfully deep inside you, you feel his cock twitch. His hot seed painting your silk walls, just like he’d been fantasizing about for all this time.

Once it starts to become too much, he slowly pulls himself out, only to lean his body forward while spreading your cheeks apart, attentively watching as some of his come trickles out of your pussy. He brings his middle finger up and gently shoves his come back in, earning a small whimper from you.

He leans back up and smacks your ass, making you gasp and giggle before letting the fabric of your dress fall back down to cover your legs.

Cillian turns you around and kisses you, sweetly and passionately.

“Thank you for the gift, my love.”

“This was just the first part, baby. The real gift comes when we get home.” You tease with a wink. You take the next few moments to clean yourself up and fix your appearance before heading back out to the event.

You spend the rest of that evening with Cillian’s come seeping out of you, a dirty little secret that only the two of you share.

—

this fic doesn’t really do it justice but I loooove in fics involving mirrors where the top or whoever’s in charge forces the other to look at themselves getting ruined :,( eat it up every time

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 2)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Smut in later parts, Age-Gap, Infidelity

Words: 1,867

Note: The fic is spoiler free and fantasy.

Later that day…

In the lavatory, you inspected your appearance for a moment. You were wearing an embroidered peasant blouse paired with a plain cardigan, a dark coloured skirt and a set of comfortable shoes. Your hair was pulled back in a random clip which, for the meeting with Dr Oppenheimer, you decided to remove. You looked much better with your hair being open and, just as you looked at yourself again, you felt a pang of anxiety, wondering what Dr Oppenheimer was truly thinking of you.

Did he think that you were smart and worthy his attention or did he simply took pity in you because you were a woman?

You then scrunched your eyebrows after a second of thought and adjusted your bag on your shoulder to prepare to face the beast.

For some reason, this man intimidated you and that also, somewhat, aroused you which was a combination of feelings that you never felt before.

Thus, almost hesitantly, you arrived at the lecture room at around 5 o’clock, which was almost thirty minutes after your last class for the day had finished and, when you walked into the somewhat dingy room, you saw him, standing there, looking at am array of calculations.

"You are late” Dr Oppenheimer then remarked without even looking at you at first before, finally, turning around.

"You didn't actually give me a time..."  you began to say as you walked towards him and watched him furrow his eyebrows.

“No, I suppose I didn’t” Dr Oppenheimer acknowledged before turning the chalkboard over so that you could not see his writing and calculations at all.

“Have you figured the problem with your calculation yet?” you asked almost bluntly as, awkwardly, you stood in front of him. Your lab coat was draped over your left forearm while your right hand held your bag's strap to your shoulder.

You kept your eyes forward, directly in line with where his neck met his chest before looking up into his deep blue eyes which, by this point, were full of questions.

“Who says that there is a problem with my calculations?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked almost out of the blue and a short moment passed before he took your coat and bag from your hands, laying them on the nearest table.

“I think that you took a wrong turn somewhere and…” you began to stammer just before released the nervous breath which you did not realise you were holding until he began to speak again.

“Sit, please” he gestured and, just after you complied with his request and sat down in front of his large wooden desk, you could feel Dr Oppenheimer’s presence next to you.

“Do you have a pen and some paper?” you asked and, of course, he did.

“Of course” Dr Oppenheimer said as he placed two white pieces of paper and a freshly sharpened pencil in front of you.

“Now, please show me your calculations” he then said while he stepped back but, even though he decided to give him some space, you could see him out of the corner of your eye, watching you as you worked.

You wrote down formula after formula, directly from your head and whilst this was nothing but theory, you imagined every single reaction in the back of your mind.

You were fast and Dr Oppenheimer’s mouth hung open as he watched you work, focusing intently to be sure that it all made sense until, suddenly, your mind went blank. The proximity was making you hot and you felt yourself burning up under your blouse.

“That’s it?” Dr Oppenheimer thus asked and you shook your head.

“I just lost my train of thought, again…” you said, sounding like an idiot, causing the professor to chuckle.

“Am I making you nervous?” he then asked and, as if you had not already embarrassed yourself enough, you nodded somewhat dumbfounded.

“Right. My apologies. I will just take a seat next to you” he then said before pulling another chair to the table and sitting down right next to you which did not make this situation any better whatsoever.

Of course, he was no longer towering over you, but he was now much closer to you than he was before, acting and behaving almost like an equal.

“Go on then” he said, wanting to resume your work while the heat of his body began to burn you. You squirmed uncomfortably on your stool until you had to put the pen down to take off your cardigan which, by this point, was still partially covering your blouse.

"What is it?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked somewhat concerned but you shook it off.

"Nothing, I am just hot" you said plainly before taking in a deep breath and resuming your calculations which is also when Dr Oppenheimer became more interested in again and decided that he needed a better view.

You were now getting to the point of where you assumed he made a mistake and he was intrigued by the route you were taking in your formula.

“Explain it to me” he demanded, wanting to know why you are calculating the chemical reaction in the way you were and you had no problem telling him, in scientific terms, as to how you arrived at your conclusions.

As such, you talked and talked while squirming around until, eventually, you got back into position and wrote down another formula, which was one Dr Oppenheimer had not considered before and, just as you placed pen on paper again, you felt something touch your neck. Not soft enough to be hair brushing your neck, but not enough pressure to feel entirely deliberate.

“You aren’t even looking?” you then said as you otherwise stayed completely still when felt Dr Oppenheimer adjust your twisted necklace.

“Because you did it wrong” he responded as he picked up the chain and turned the jewellery until the clasp is on the back, where he dropped it back onto the nape of your neck. If you did not know better, you would have thought you felt his fingertips linger a little longer on your skin than they should have lingered there, but you could not be too sure.

“I did? How?” you asked while thinking about the science as well as how his fingertips felt on you, raising goosebumps on your bare skin. Him moving your necklace would have been harmless and platonic if it was not for that hesitation at the end of the action. The half a second too long that his hand remained on you, brushing lightly at the skin on the side of your neck.

“Allow me” the professor then said before taring up one of your pages and giving a plain piece of paper to write on.

He then took the pen from your hand and wrote down what you had written until you took this wrong turn in your calculations, which is where he halted and prompted you to think.

“Think about implosion, not explosion” he said and, almost immediately, the penny dropped and you gently grabbed the end of the pencil he was holding while making sure to let one finger feather a touch onto one of his.

"May I?" you say quietly, feeling his eyes on the side of your face as you looked at the pencil. The whole exchange only lasted a couple of seconds before he released the utensil and you leaned down over the paper while letting your shoulder brush his.

"Is that right now?" you then asked innocently after finishing the formula, turning to look at him as you gauged his reaction. This was the first time you had really looked at him since he first started explaining where you went wrong, and you were not sure what you expected, but it was not this.

Dr Oppenheimer only had his left hand resting on the table now, his chest turned towards you as he searched your face and smiled. You smiled back and held his gaze, trying to think of something to break the moment while keeping the upper hand.

“I am impressed but…” he then began to say and, instead of saying anything to him in response, you remembered the pencil you were holding and quickly moved to hold it between you and him. Without looking at it, he reached forward and covered your hand with his, those blue eyes on the verge of pouring into you. He then slid the pencil out of your hand and leaned down one more time, changing one of your subtraction signs to an addition. In your mind, you honed in on the mistake, cursing his distraction for causing you to make a mistake in front of him.

"Now, you're perfect" Dr Oppenheimer then said nonchalantly as he stood back up.

“Hmm” you stammered while trying not to react to his comment, or the fact that he used your own tactics against you.

Considering the moment gone, you picked up the paper and retreated in order to quickly get out of there as you could not help but think that you made things almost awkward now. Not only did you have more questions now than you did previously, you feared you may have moved you both in a direction that bordered on inappropriateness.

Obviously, you were flirting with him and he was a married man in respect of whom you got no read on when it came to his intentions towards you, because you were so consumed by the moment. You were consumed to his body's reaction to yours, his eyes, his parting comment, saying that “now you’re perfect”…

You then recalled the moments when you feared that your cover was blown, that he caught on to what you were doing, namely flirting with him. Part of you hoped that he thought he was flattering himself, similar to how you have been feeling, but something about this man told you he scarcely denied his ego satisfaction.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tag List

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@hjmalmed​

[darkshelbyfiction]

The Nanny Diaries (Part 4)

Pairing: Dark Cillian Murphy x Innocent Reader

Warning: Dubious Consent, Smut

The morning following your encounter with Cillian, you found yourself lost in thought, reflecting on the gravity of the situation. Your guilt, shame, and confusion swirled together, filling you with turmoil. How could things escalate so rapidly?

While Lorna was away shopping for groceries and with the Murphy children in care, it was only you and Cillian at home when you woke up the next morning, sore and red from the previous night's encounters. It seemed as though the world around you flickered and shifted, becoming surreal, clouded by foggy memories of what had transpired. 

Knowing full well that you would be on your own with him again, you nervously walked downstairs around the spacious kitchen trying desperately to quell the fear growing steadily within you.

"Good Morning Y/N, did you sleep well?" Asked Cillian, pouring himself a cup of coffee while watching you intently. His piercing gaze sent waves of unease coursing through your veins, sending your pulse racing wildly beneath your skin.

Trying valiantly to disguise your discomfort, you managed a weak smile, replying nervously, "I think so." 

He returned your feeble gesture with a subtle smirk, savoring the taste of his brew.

"Are you sore?" he inquired mischievously, looking straight into your eyes, invading your personal space without remorse. Unable to suppress a wave of panic, you couldn't help but notice the intensity of his stare, which seemed to probe deeply into your soul. 

Swallowing hastily, you glanced downwards momentarily before answering. "Not anymore..." you lied, attempting to hide any visible signs of discomfort.

"That's surprising, considering how much time I spent inside you last night," he said smoothly, sipping his coffee and fixing his intense gaze on you once more.

Anxiousness rose sharply within you as his perceptive nature penetrated your carefully constructed façade. To break free from his scrutiny, you reached for a cupboard, pretending to search for something to eat.

"You took me really well," he added playfully, making no attempt to mask his intentions. This remark caused another surge of panic to rise within you, leaving you struggling to maintain composure. 

"And even let me cum inside you, which means that, today, you are probably still leaking my seed," he continued boldly, gesturing towards your lower region before approaching you with a wicked grin spread across his face.

"I will need to get the morning after pill, Cillian," you blurted out suddenly, your voice laced with apprehension.

"That's probably a good idea but, maybe before you do, I can fill you up some more?" suggested Cillian suggestively, moving closer to you while taking your hand and leading you towards the dining room table.

"I am...uhm...," you stammered, protesting weakly/ "We shouldn't do this," you argued feebly, unable to stand your ground in the face of his undeniably attractive demeanon.

"We already did it Y/N. My cock has already been inside you last night," Cillian said persuasively, leaning forward and brushing a lock of hair behind your ear seductively. Intrigued yet anxious, you found yourself helpless against his alluring charm. He noticed your hesitation and decided to seize the opportunity further. "Think about it…you want to take the morning after pill anyway. So why don't we make it worth it?" he proposed smoothly before spinning you around to place you firmly against the table. The musky scent of desire hung thick in the air as Cillian's large palms traced down your clothed back.

"Bend over," commanded Cillian sternly, pushing you firmly onto the wooden surface of the dinner table. His authoritative tone left little doubt as to what would happen next. 

With unwavering determination, he pulled down your PJ pants, exposing your tender flesh to his hungry gaze. Feeling vulnerable and powerless, you struggled to suppress a whimper as he approached you. 

"Look at you, legs spread and ready for my cock. That's my girl," Cillian murmured approvingly, admiring your exposed form, letting his eyes roam across your silhouette before closing the distance between you two. Reaching downward, he gripped your ass possessively, claiming ownership over your body as he brought you flush against his rigid frame. 

"Your pussy is still quite swollen and red from last night, isn't it?", he taunted knowingly, evoking a shiver of dread deep within you. Surrounded by walls of temptation, resisting became increasingly difficult.

Desperate for release, you allowed him access to your core, giving way to primal instincts as they took control. Bracing yourself on the table, Cillian pushed down his boxer shorts and positioned himself at your entrance.

"So, you might feel a little sore since your opening hasn't yet entirely healed from our earlier session," he observed coolly, rubbing his thumb along your sensitive area.

Feeling self-conscious and embarrassed, you winced reflexively upon contact, but Cillian merely chuckled at your reaction.

"Let go of your inhibitions, Y/N. Remember how much pleasure I gave you," he whispered reassuringly, seeking entry with his rigid manhood. Clenching your teeth tightly, you tried to muster up enough courage to relax your muscles. Fear and uncertainty plagued your heart, yet you wanted nothing more than to satisfy Cillian's needs.

As his hardness probed deeper, you gritted your teeth, tensing involuntarily despite his gentle encouragement. Unperturbed, Cillian persisted, nudging you slowly and rhythmically until you began to adjust to the invasion.

"Relax, sweetheart. Let me show you just how amazing it can be when someone truly knows what they're doing," he urged softly, allowing his fingers to slide along your clitoris, eliciting a trembling response from your body.

As the warmth between your thighs intensified, so too did the fervor in Cillian's movements. Tightening his grasp on your hips, he delved deeper and faster, drawing cries of ecstasy from your lips.

Growing accustomed to his forceful thrusts, you surrendered fully to the euphoria coursing through your veins, embracing each rippling wave of delight with open arms.

The kitchen echoed with your gasps and moans, serving as a soundtrack to your mutually satisfying exploration. The weight of his body pressing against yours exacerbated the physical bond between you both, enhancing the connection beyond mere words. Lost in the throes of passion, there was no time nor reason to dwell on the consequences of this illicit affair.

As you neared the peak of your climax, Cillian wrapped one arm around your waist, anchoring you securely while his other hand teased your nipples expertly. The sensual assault on your senses proved almost impossible to ignore.

Arching your back slightly, you cried out loudly, your entire body convulsing with the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced. 

"Oh God! Oh my god!" You uttered breathlessly, feeling your insides contract incessantly as waves of ecstasy consumed you completely.

"Good girl. Keep taking it like that. Just think of me buried deep inside you. Yes, right there, baby. Can you feel it?" Cillian praised you amidst your lustful trance, stroking your cheek lovingly. As if hypnotized, you nodded absentmindedly, allowing him complete control over your body. Every movement, every touch, every word served to heighten the fierce arousal consuming you whole.

"I am going to fill you up now. Take me deep inside you, okay?" Cillian asked softly, holding your gaze with an unmistakable confidence. Your head dipped in submission, acquiescing to his demand, a blush creeping across your complexion. With swift precision, he thrusted back into you deeply, pushing himself up against your cervical opening. 

It hurt like hell, but you bit your lip, enduring the pain bravely.

"Fuck. Here it comes," Cillian groaned, erupting hotly within you, causing a small cry to escape your lips.

His seed flowed freely into your waiting depths, triggering a mix of relief and satisfaction that swept through your system.

As he pulled out and stepped back, you felt a familiar twinge emanating from your aching passage and, before you had a chance to stand up, Cillian dipped his finger into your raw hole.

He then spread his cum all over dripping entrance and said "good girl, you did well," before running his cum soaked finger over your rear entrance. 

"What are you doing?" you breathed uneasily, stunned by his actions as, slowly, his digit penetrated your anus opening.

Gasping audibly due to the unexpected stimulation, you fought valiantly to regain your composure as Cillian began circling his finger menacingly before gathering more of his cum from your sore pussy before pushing it into your anus.

Shame and guilt threatened to consume you, but his assertiveness quelled those feelings as his fingers continued to probe your newly opened orifice.

Cillian smiled smugly, reveling in his dominance over you. "Don't worry, it won't hurt anymore once I'm done stretching you out," he assured, attempting to ease your discomfort. However, hearing these words only managed to evoke more anxiety rather than alleviate it. Still, you remained steadfast under his guidance, allowing him to push boundaries previously untouched. 

Having grown somewhat numb to the initial intrusion, you submitted passively to Cillian's ministrations, accepting his authority without resistance.

Gently massaging your tender entrance, he sought to comfort you, whispering tenderly, "Just let go, sweetheart. It will get better soon." Though the prospect seemed farfetched, your trust in Cillian convinced you otherwise.

In an attempt to distract you from the burning sensation, Cillian moved lower and began to play with your breasts, rolling and pinching the soft mounds skillfully. Drawing circles around your nipples with his tongue, he alternately teased and kissed your supple skin, sending electric shockwaves through your body.

"Your ass feels so good, so tight," he marveled, unable to contain his excitement, by which point you could feel his cock becoming erect again, pressing against your thigh.

"You have such a beautiful body," he complimented sincerely, leaning forward to plant a light kiss on your back. He knew exactly where to strike to make you weak in the knees. Glancing down, your face flushed with anticipation as he caressed your shoulders intimately.

"Why do you bother trying to fight it? We both know that this attraction is undeniable. Embrace it."

Staring blankly into space, your thoughts tangled in confusion and tears welled up in your eyes as Cillian pulled out his finger and wiped off any remaining residue onto his shirt.

"Do you think you can take my cock again tonight, sweetheart?" He posed with a seductive grin, invading your mental turmoil.

Swallowing nervously, you nodded hesitantly, unsure whether you were agreeing to continue their sexual escapades or simply succumbing to Cillian's relentless charm. But regardless of your true intentions, he appeared satisfied, asserting his dominance once more over your life.

[denimbex1986]

'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

[weirdworldofwinnie]

Oasis in a Desperate Land of Dark Desire - Part Four: Riding out the Storm

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Wife Reader NSFW 18+ only

Summary: Robert and you spend an electrically charged night camping out in the desert on his day off, hoping to rekindle and rebound after a somewhat challenging week.

Word Count: ~4,395

Warnings: Mostly smut (unprotected and oral sex), age gap, anxiety/fear pertaining to thunderstorms

Usual disclaimers apply, obviously NOT based on complete real life historical accuracy, this is essentially AU fantasy/fiction with Cillian as Oppenheimer.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Tag List: @forgottenpeakywriter, @frozenhuntress67, @immyowndefender, @szde8-blog, @bypurple, @irenethewoman, @uniquetacofun, @noirrose21-blog, @gridmouse86

If you'd like to be part of the tag list, let me know.

When the following Sunday came around, you were in far better spirits for your cycle had tapered off and the general mood in town was boosted by many of the scientists, including Robert, who had the day off from working. He had decided on going riding and camping out in the desert tonight for just the two of you and was currently saddling and packing up the horses outside as you came out to join him, getting up on your mare as soon as he was ready to go.

He smiled and kicked his stallion in the flank, trotting fast after you out of the barriers of town and into the desert, where you kept at a steady pace until he caught up beside you, bouncing lightly up and down in the saddle.

"Don't you want to race or are you too afraid to lose?" he called over the rushing wind in your ears and you glanced at him, feeling spurred on by that comment, so you slapped the reins and gave the horse a push to gallop, thundering hard across the land. You looked back over your shoulder with a triumphant laugh as you left him in the dust and his horse was gradually diminishing in sight, a brown blur dotting the expanse.

Eventually, you slowed and he caught up, carefully riding along the edge of a canyon and slowly trailing it for a while, listening to the soft stomps of the horse's hooves and heavy breathing.

"I allowed you to win back there, you know," he commented cockily with a smirk and you rolled your eyes, unimpressed.

"Oh, I'm so honored at your consideration, but I think you're just not acquainted with the prospect of losing."

"Only with you I am," he muttered and you laughed, tossing your head to feel the air and dipping down the trail, gradually winding through pine forests and around boulders, rocky outcroppings, and thoroughly riding for a long while, farther than you'd explored previously and for minutes you wondered if you and him had become truly lost... But then the ground leveled and once out of the rougher areas and into broader flatland, you picked up pace again.

It was all very emotionally beneficial to be out in the open away from town and work, whether it be Robert's or your own housekeeping and studying. Even the socializing was a kind of effort and having time to be just together, hardly talking, out in nature with no obligations until tomorrow was such a microcosmic blessing. The clean air procured a clean mind and the scent on the breeze was a complete refresher from the stale cigarette infused buildings.

You inhaled and exhaled, dismounting the horse and running a hand through your tresses while catching your breath as Robert came up behind you and did similar actions before taking your hand and tugging you to a brushy area with a few shrubs.

"Mind if I relieve myself right here?" he asked, detaching from your hand and loosening his belt, unzipping his fly, and promptly dropping his drawers. You smiled, stepping back and watching him urinate a steady stream straight into the shrub. He glanced at you as you giggled openly at his liquidized "performance" and cast a bit of skepticism.

"You're very immature sometimes. We're married and it's a perfectly normal biological function, I don't see what is so entertaining about it?"

"Did you know yours is the only one I've ever really been exposed to on a regular basis? I've never had another man's so often as yours," you commented and he looked down, flicking before pulling up the pants and tucking it back in with a zip.

"I'm sad to say that you haven't been the only woman I've had the pleasure of being so intimate with." He strode back over to the horses, gently catching your cheek with his fingers along the way, caressing for a second.

"Remember when you took my virginity?" you asked softly and his eyes raked down your body frame, the past flickering in his mind.

"I do quite well; you were such a tight little thing and very nervous, so inexperienced that it took us a few go arounds to loosen you up to me." He smiled fondly, going to tend to his horse by giving him water from one of the canteens.

"How was your very first time?" you asked curiously, for he had never discussed much of his life particularly as a young man coming of age long before he had met you and it was others who had told you more about his mental and emotional difficulties at Cambridge during his time studying abroad for his doctorate. For whatever personal reason, he had always neglected airing his vulnerabilities from that period of his youth in front of you and you saw him glance down now, visibly uneasy.

"It was very unglamorous, I actually cried," he muttered bitterly and you raised your eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Yes, she and I both did. It was shameful, but thankfully that was an awkward phase I grew exponentially out of. Experience is a great teacher, if not occasionally harsh, but I have much better now... I have you and that's a comfort I suppose." He sighed wistfully, tugging on the bridle, patting the stallion's neck and rubbing his fingers through the coarse dark brown mane. You wandered away to relieve yourself as well, finding a more secluded spot and putting an indentation into the dry soil to crouch over and wipe clean with tissues you packed in a bag. By the time you came back, Robert was waiting on his horse and starting to move.

"It'll be getting dark soon, so let's find a site to set up camp not too far off," he announced with a brisk change of attitude and you nodded, going to saddle your own horse and he led the way only a bit further to a clear spot on a hill surrounded by several sprawling bushes and stunted trees on either sides. You helped him with the army grade spacious tent and built a small fire, which kept petering out from the growing gusts of wind and was unlikely to provide much warmth to last the night. You unpacked the two ham and cheese sandwiches you'd brought in the knapsack along, but as usual, he neglected an appetite and resorted to smoking a lone cigarette outside the tent, sitting by himself and staring out at the hills with a deeply pensive expression.

"Do you want one?" you asked of him, but it was as if he never heard you, fixed intently on the skyline.

"Robert, please eat something before we hunker down for the night and stay hydrated, will you? Your mouth will be dryer than a day's ashtray."

You left the sandwich on his lap and went to grab a flask of water, coming back to see he hadn't touched it.

"Eat," you pressed, picking it up and pushing it towards his mouth, causing him to finally - reluctantly - take a bite into it before setting it down again. You took a swig from the flask and watched him just sit there until you grew too frustrated and snatched it off his lap and back into the bag.

"You're worried about me," he muttered quietly and you sighed, nodding.

"I am. Don't lose any more weight, it's frankly scaring me seeing how almost skeletal you've been becoming these past few months. People rely on you here, you can't become too frail and catch sickness."

"My energy levels and functionality are stable."

"Well, I don't know how you do it, but I wish you'd have more than primarily drinks and cigarettes. You ate pretty well when the children were over, couldn't you do more of that? That was the healthiest I've seen you and dare I say happiest?"

He just nodded hesitantly with nothing further and you leaned your head on his shoulder, listening to his rhythms and watching the thickening clouds gathering in the west.

"It looks like rain tonight," you observed and he agreed, pulling you towards the tent.

"We might have quite a show," he said and you automatically tensed.

"Maybe we should head back..." you wondered worriedly, but he shook his head firmly.

"No, no time for that. We stay here and let it roll over. I've weathered storms like this before and once the air cools overnight, it will be bright and fresh as new by dawn."

You closed the tent tightly, checking for any chance of holes or leaks as thunder rumbled distantly and rain began to sprinkle the dusty ground. The tent buffered the blowing wind and you prayed the pegs would be strong enough to hold it down as gusts were making concaves in the fabric and shaking the framework. Lighting the kerosene lantern, you placed it in the corner where it cast black shadows with an orange glow and you shivered, drawing your light jacket closer. You turned around to see Robert unbuttoning his pale blue shirt and fumbling with his belt buckle, fingers twitching anxiously.

"Here? During the storm?" you whispered with a quickly parching dry mouth and he paused in trepidation with his trousers halfway down.

"Why not...? Are you frightened?"

"I hate these storms, we've never stayed out to experience one so close like this, and it's making me very nervous."

"Frank and I have been caught out in worse, calm down. I thought we could have a good time since we've been busy and out here there is no threat of interruptions, so you can be as crazy as you want."

You felt a prick of arousal and you do want him badly, but your nerves were skyrocketing more importantly.

"I'm too stressed," you admitted and he waved his hand dismissively.

"What you're forgetting, though, is that sex can very much be a stress reliever, so I'd be doing you a great favor."

But you pulled your knees up to your chest defensively and he sighed, reluctantly tugging his pants back up to sit at his slim waist. You took another sip of water from the flask and flinched at the first bright flash of lightning, but Robert's blue orbs lit up with excitement and before you could stop him, he unzipped the tent and crawled out, holding his hat to his head.

"Wait, where are you going?!" you gasped, going to peer out cautiously from the opening and you clutched the tent material in your fists, taking breaths to calm your racing heartbeat.

He was standing under the dark sky and tilting his face up to feel the splashing rain assault his skin and soaking his hat completely as the storm began to rage, full of angry gray blackening clouds harboring bolts of heat lightning with subsequent rolling thunder.

"Get inside!" you called, cringing, and he turned back with a grin, gesturing at the sky with a shout.

"Isn't it a marvelously grand natural spectacle?!"

You couldn't disagree, for it was in a frightening way, but you also saw it was rolling almost right overhead and the lightning was strobing at a wincing frequency with thunder booming, making your teeth rattle and you could feel the vibration in your chest. This was terribly dangerous.

"Robert, get in here now!" you nearly screamed and finally he walked back to the tent, crouching down and folding his body inside, quickly closing the entrance up behind him. You pulled off his wet hat and flung it to a corner as he smiled, nearly giddy, and you were not the least bit comforted.

"I really don't like this," you whimpered and his ecstatic energy faded, coming close to cup your face as you laid down on the sleeping bag, closing your eyes and shaking at the continuously booms. He removed the rest of his clothing and you grabbed his shirt, which smelled of pungent tobacco and sweat, to wrap tightly around yourself as he tossed the trousers away to the side and was now only in his boxers.

"Let me distract you," he breathed, but you were as tightly wound as a coiled hose and he leaned back, breathing with anticipation as the lightning cracked across the sky outside.

You watched his bare chest rising and falling, his boxers pressed for containment of his already erecting cock and the more you stared at it, the less rigid you began to feel and a feverish heat struck you, beginning to make you moisten, so you threw off his shirt and quickly unbuttoned your blouse, stripping it off and sliding your riding pants down to expose the dainty band of white underwear teasing out from your waist.

"Robert, touch me," you suddenly urged as he looked on with an obvious ache.

"I'd be glad to," he replied in a whisper, scooting over to lean in and help remove the bra, fingers grazing over your supple flesh until you were exposed, nipples hardened with blood. He slipped a hand down to your panties and jerked them down, carefully sliding them down your legs with the light force of surgical precision, until eventually you were left completely naked on the sleeping bag, still quivering slightly. He gently caressed your body length from neck to ankles and hummed a tune in an effort to calm you. Another crash of thunder made you jolt, but he came down on top and kissed you with impressionable impact, crushing his tongue into yours and smooshing his nose against your face, swirling tongues. You whimpered and panting, he pulled away abruptly as your arms reached out, groping at a bag nearby.

"What is it?" he asked, bringing it closer and you dug in a side pocket to find the spearmint chewing gum you kept on hand for situations without toothpaste, handing him a stick and one for yourself.

"Ah, I see." He popped it in his mouth and chewed fast before spitting it out and you did the same, satisfied enough. You then dug your fingers into his clipped hair, feeling every bristly inch of his scalp and neck.

"I need you," you breathed seductively with much desperation.

"I do more," he whispered back, going to meet your mouth again (he tasted deliciously of mint and he licked off the accumulating drool drizzling out the corner of your bottom lip) and then you pressed your forehead to his, goosebumps peppering up your arms with anticipation and excitement. He cupped your breasts with his palms and rolled his thumbs over your stiff nipples, surprising you when he tweaked them between two fingers and a whine escaped, giving away any reservations. You sat up and pulled him close, straddling his lap and wrapping your legs around his lean midriff while nuzzling into his neck and ear, making his breathing quicken and he murmured sweet nothings to your hair, cradling the back of your neck with one hand and the other resting under your bottom, lightly squeezing your ass cheeks, and you squirmed restlessly around his crotch, barely listening to the storm outside. You closed your eyes shut tightly, dulling the occasional flashing illuminating the tent and he moved his hands down to his boxers, ridding himself free and he sprung out against your stomach, the head dripping in warm, gooey pre-cum.

"Do you want a taste?" he breathed lowly and you nodded, blindly moving down and feeling his body until you came to his cock and you gripped the shaft, bringing it to your lips and suckling on the end, swallowing his fluids as if it were nourishment and he shuddered with the action of you taking him orally, struggling to control his own impulses. You pulled out, tongue raking over his swollen member and the indigo veins pulsating with rushing blood. He groaned, so close, and you pulled back to fondle his balls, delicately compressing teasingly.

"Don't hit top so fast," you chastised as he flexed, dangerously near to squirting.

"Then you will have to stop touching altogether," he gasped, face pinkening with the strenuous effort of holding back.

"Then do me, darling... Bring me to where you are," you coaxed, shifting position so he could access your vagina, which was creating pockets of natural lubricant swelling at the lips in anticipation. The rain pattered the tent and his finger wormed into your opening, exploring and your walls enveloped it, making him smile at your high pitching whimpers.

"So easy... You don't even need me entirely," he whispered in observance.

"Oh, but I do..." you moaned, getting closer to where you wanted to be and he jammed up another finger, making you twitch instinctively and writhe with heat.

"Robert, no, I can't stop it - I-I'm gonna-"

"Go on, then," he ordered and you squealed in overloading pleasure, grinding with his hand.

"That's a girl, that's my love," he whispered in praise and your back arched, a muscle spasming in your foot as he slowly removed his fingers, wiping them on your vaginal opening, smearing cum all over the skin.

"Now it's my turn," he murmured, his weight that was hardly over 125 pounds hovering onto you, arms down behind your head as he went in to align and thrusted his hips as fast as he could without piercing you too painfully. All too shortly, he grunted and his semen spit into your cervix, filling you up and you clenched before swiftly pushing him back to the sleeping bag, rolling with him in the fabric to come out on top, letting his cock join your pussy and you rocked with him, jumping slightly at another loud clap of thunder, but the pleasure was more pressing than whatever Mother Nature was displaying outside and minutes later, you internally exploded into euphoria overtaking every other function of your being, yelping as loudly as possible and desperately clinging, digging, into his shoulder blades.

"Fuck, it feels so gooood..." you moaned, riding the waves of arousal cresting and ebbing.

"Well, it had better if I'm doing it and if not, then that's simply an impossibility otherwise," Robert replied too smugly and you playfully smacked his chest, grooving up and down with his cock. He grinned, flashing his white teeth in the yellow-orange light of the single lantern and relished in observing you enjoying him a few more times until you grew fatigued, legs aching and trembling from the exertions.

"I love your orgasms," he said softly as you panted, catching air.

"How do you know you love them? You can't feel what I do," you breathed densely, stroking his throat.

"I enjoy watching you experience them," he clarified with emphasis.

"If beauty were a feeling, this would most certainly be it," you decided with a smile and he echoed it, palming your cheek and rubbing a thumb on your tender earlobe.

"Beauty isn't a feeling, she's a person."

You blushed and his grin grew broader, tracing his thumb down your jaw and ending at your chin, which he pressed into lightly and you giggled, straddling his dick again.

When you hit your last climax, you collapsed onto his chest with his cock still twitching inside you and the sticky mess was gathering between his body and yours when he shifted, gradually squirming out of your hole and you closed your eyes, listening to the lessening storm moving off to the east and Robert held you close as you mumbled faintly to his shoulder.

"My father used to say when I was a child that thunder was the byproduct of the gods having a game of bowling."

"Then they're getting a lot of strikes tonight," he chuckled before speaking more seriously.

"Now, if we go by mythology alone, it would surely be the work of Astrapē and Brontē, unless Zeus is on the warpath again with his own thunderbolts that were actually fashioned by the Uranian Cyclopes, notably Brontes, Steropes, and Arges. Did you know brontē translates to thunder, the name 'Steropes' comes from steropē, meaning 'lightning bolt', and 'Arges' originates from argē, or 'flashing'?"

"Tell me about them all," you whispered sleepily and he began to recite from Greek, voice fading and tuning in and out like a poor radio broadcast as you drifted in and out of a state of sleep, disorienting your surroundings, but the one constant was him underneath you.

After a while and he had grown quiet, you groaned, getting off him with ears perked for noise of the storm, but there was only a steady rain trickling off outside, the light show and rock and roll done with, so you unzipped the tent and hurried outside. The fire had long gone out and the air had indeed cooled, moist on your skin and a balm to your lungs as you went to urinate over several feet away, letting some of the sexual fluids leak out, and as soon as you were finished, you scuttled back to the tent lightly soaked in rain and inside, Robert had made a comfortable nest out the sleeping bag and couple blankets, ready to rest with you. You snuggled in and he cupped your face, bringing you close to his side and you almost fell asleep instantly to dwell in a dark depth.

You were marked with a bit of relief when early morning came, the daylight breaking out over the mountains and you stumbled nude out of the tent, shivering from the chill and breathing in that stinging freshness of rain. You caught the first beam of sunlight coming up over the hills and you felt Robert come to hug you from behind and nuzzle into the side of your neck, him still unclothed as well. The thought of someone spotting the two of you out here bare as could be crossed your mind, but that was impossible for this was too remote. The sky was blissfully silent and pink clouds drifted lazily from the horizon, clearing out for another day.

"Have you ever had sexual intercourse during the course of a thunderstorm before?" you asked softly and he breathed out slowly, his warm breath blowing onto your neck and chin.

"I have done a great many unusual experiences, but none such as this with you. I would do it wholeheartedly a hundred times over."

"I think I would too," you replied sincerely and he spun you around to press his forehead to yours and cradle your head in a loving vice.

"I can't think of a more powerful way to express my love for you, Aphrodite," he murmured and you felt like crying for whatever reason. You blinked, lashes wet, and he pulled back to stare at you with a sort of fascination.

"We should dress," you pointed out and he glanced down at his bare appendages with a grin.

"What's the hurry?"

"The horses are watching," you said quietly and awkwardly, noticing both of them standing stock still and heads facing in your directions.

"Well, in that case..." Robert quickly ducked back into the tent, tugging you with him and falling to the sleeping bag with a grin.

"I'm ready for it, if you want a round two?" he asked with some excitement and then wasted no time as you let him feel you up before his cock pushed in again, but you weren't wet hardly enough and it made you wince at the brash roughness shoving into your semi-tight hole. He gripped the blanket pooling around your head and grunted, thrusting as you whimpered, attempting to shove him off.

"Robert, no, it hurts," you protested and upon seeing your visibly contorted face of pain, he immediately stopped trying, rolling off to the side and huffing.

"God, I'm sorry... I forget it's too fast sometimes, I suppose I should've brought lubrication," he apologized sheepishly and you sighed, cuddling into his slim body and resting a hand on his flat stomach.

"Do we have to go back to town? I think I could stay out here forever," you admitted and you could hear the prideful joy in his tone.

"I knew I could make it work, having combined my love for physics and the New Mexico countryside. Destiny, you reckon?"

"No, just hard work and the right connections," you answered flatly.

"Such a boring realist," he teased and you chuckled, lying in silence for a while with him until a glaring sunlight hit the tent walls, glowing up the space in a translucent light.

"Wait, what time is it?" you inquired pressingly and he checked his watch, the relaxation dimming into a grim seriousness.

"Time to pack up and ride back before they send the calvary to find us," he said, not covering his bit of disappointment and getting up to pull his boxers back on. You both redressed in the clothes from yesterday and folded up the tent, packing on the horses and you settled on yours to follow behind Robert on his out of the campsite and along the way you came from, give or take a certain pathway and few miles.

When you finally reached Los Alamos, it was broad daylight and military personnel were stationed as usual by the gate. Robert calmly nodded after checking in briefly and went clopping by the checkpoint first while you tried to ignore a few stares and some man actually whistled, making you feel entirely self-conscious, as though you were an open book and they could somehow know or likely assume all that had happened overnight, but that was absolutely absurd; security was tight here, but not that extreme to tail you out into the desert.

You trotted your horse up beside Robert's and he looked to you, raising eyebrows at your leery expression.

"Everything alright?" he asked curiously and you bit your lip, unable to voice your true doubts, so you downplayed it.

"It's really nothing, I'm just reacclimating to being in town after such a night. I'll tell you, even with that horrid storm, I didn't miss it much here."

He nodded nonchalantly and then gave you a cautious once-over, licking his lips.

"I'm already nostalgic for that wilderness journey. How about, if it's permitted, we do the same another time, just you and me again?" he proposed knowingly.

"It's a date, then." You smiled as the horses took you and him down the road towards home.

Thanks for reading, I always appreciate any feedback and the patience as I continue work on slowly developing this further. I will say there's going to be a party next chapter and I'll be adding Ernest Lawerence (Josh Hartnett) in, so maybe look forward to that ❤️

[shelbystales]

Ceramic Lessons - Part Seven

Cillian Murphy X Reader - Masterlist

Summary: after much insistence from his sister, Cillian attends a ceramics class with her. To his surprise, he feels a connection to the teacher, you. Will this connection go any further or will it be smashed like a bad ceramic project?

Previous parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Warning: swearing, fluff and mention of drugs

A/n: hey guys! please don’t forget to let me know what you think! Hope you like it.

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"Hey, is everything okay?" you asked as you approached him.

"Oh, yeah," he responded quickly, stealing a glance at you before returning his attention to the screen in his hands.

"Are you sure?" you insisted, placing a comforting hand on his back as you sat next to him.

He gave you a gentle smile and a short sigh escaped his lips. "Yeah, it’s just… It's my ex-wife," he started, a tired tone in his words. "She called me like a hundred times last night. My phone was down here and in silent mode. I didn't see it," he sounded frustrated.

"What happened? Is your son okay?" you asked, concern evident in your voice.

"I don't know," he sighed. "She's not picking up." He shook the phone.

"Did she text you or something?"

"No, nothing" he shook his head.

"Who called just now?"

"Sile. She wanted to know if I was coming to your class today," he chuckled, and you smiled.

"Well, I am sure you have nothing to worry about, huh? She’s got things covered, probably figured things out on her own?" you said, your hand gently running through his soft hair, trying to give him some comfort.

"Yeah, I am not so sure," he replied, locking the screen and tossing the phone to the side.

You frowned and waited for him to elaborate, but he sat there quietly lost in his own thoughts.

"Why?" you asked, adopting a caring tone in your voice, unsure if it was a sore topic for him.

He took a deep breath and locked his blue eyes with yours, silently debating whether to share or not. Your hand continued to leave patterns on his hair and neck, offering support in the best way you could. You could sense the tension in him.

"She is not a very good mother," he shrugged. "Not nowadays, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I told you my divorce got ugly? How she played Lukas as a joker card in her bargains?" he asked, and you nodded. "Did I tell you what was my breaking point?"

"You told me she cheated," you reminded.

"Yeah, but we stayed together for a few months after that," he sighed frustrated. "How about we make some coffee?" he suggested, and you nodded, following his lead to the kitchen.

As he filled the coffee grounds into the machine, his mind seemed elsewhere. You leaned against the counter, giving him time to collect his thoughts. The aroma of brewing coffee gradually filling the kitchen air.

Walking over to him, after he finished, you kissed his cheek and then his warm lips. His hand held you strongly, hugging you tightly against him.

"You know, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," you said, breaking the kiss.

"I want to; it's just... It's not a nice breakfast topic after such a great night," he explained.

"Being vulnerable is never easy; it has nothing to do with being during breakfast or after a great night," you smiled.

"Right," he smiled back, taking a small deep breath once again. "We went to a lot of parties when we were together. She’s an agent, so we had to, you know, to network. And she ended up having some friends that weren’t such a good influence. When we met, she had some problems with addiction but it was under control for years. She took care of herself. But after some time, she just stopped. I guess it was the people she started hanging out with, the people she started managing… they took her to the wrong path and i denied seeing it. Her actions started to make no sense, and after I realized what was happening, I tried to help. I know she's sick, and everything she was doing was a reflection of that. So, I went with it for a very long time. Allowing her actions to hurt me with no consequences at all. I tried to hospitalize her once, but that wasn’t pretty… so I tried every other possible way… none worked. I mean, they worked for a while but then just stopped. At that point I was a mess. My family was worried about me and constantly told me to just leave her. But I couldn’t, I felt guilty. I couldn’t be the one to destroy Lukas' family… but I just didn’t notice that she was the one doing it. My breaking point was when i found out she did coke in front of Lukas on a normal Tuesday morning as we were getting ready to take him to school”

“Oh my god…” you whispered as you reacted.

“Yeah… and I didn't even know it until he asked me, 'What was mommy sniffing, daddy? Does it smell good? Is it a flower? Did you give her flowers?' Those were his words as we walked out of the house hand in hand to the car. That was the end for me." he said, his voice not hiding the discomfort of the memories

“I'm so, so sorry you had to go through that, Cillian. It must have been tough for you and also for Lukas” you said. You tried your best to fill out the silence, but you didn't really know what to say.

The weight of his revelation hung in the air, and you could feel the gravity of the moment.

He took another deep breath, and you continued to run your fingers through his hair, offering a silent reassurance.

"Yeah, I tried to protect Lukas, you know? Shield him from the chaos inside his mom’s head," he continued, his eyes reflecting the turmoil of the past. "But that was a wake-up call. I couldn't let her jeopardize our son's well-being any longer… nor mine. She didn't want help, or at least she didn’t want my help."

The coffee machine signaled its completion, and he poured the steaming liquid into two mugs. The warmth emanating from the freshly brewed coffee filled the air, making you sniff the air enjoying the smell.

As you both settled at the table with your mugs, he glanced at you, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thanks for listening. It's not easy talking about this, but you make it easy."

You offered a reassuring smile. "I appreciate you sharing, and I'm here for you. Lukas is lucky to have you looking out for him."

He nodded, a mixture of emotions crossing his face. "Yeah, he's my priority."

"So, if you don’t want to answer you don’t have to, but is she still using?" you asked, your concern evident.

"Not that I know of," he shrugged. "I got full custody of Lukas after the divorce. She was only allowed to be with him after proving she was sober for 60 days. But I have this feeling that she will fail at any point and I will have to pick up the pieces or that i won't be there to protect Lukas"

The weight of uncertainty hung in the air as he spoke.

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, offering a supportive squeeze "You've done everything you can to provide a stable environment for him. Sometimes, all we can do is focus on what's within our control. There is no way of knowing if she will… but we do know Lukas will still have you and your family if she does.” you tried to find the right words

He sighed, appreciating the reassurance. "I just want him to have a normal childhood, you know? To be surrounded by love..."

"Well I don’t know him, but from what I’ve seen you're doing a great job at that," you assured him.

"Thank you," he smiled. "You're an incredible woman, you know that?"

You smiled and stood up from your chair. Moving towards him, you settled onto his lap, taking one of your hands to his face. “So are you… an incredible man, I mean" You both chuckled, the warmth of the moment lingering in the air.

As you gently caressed his cheek, you could feel the tension in his muscles, a manifestation of the concerns that still lingered.

"I know you're worried about Lukas and everything else," you said, your voice soft. " I'm Sorry there's nothing I can do to help "

He nodded, appreciating the sentiment. "You are already helping. Thank you” he smiled

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "Now, we need to get ready for your class. Are you coming? Could be good, keep your mind busy until she calls back" you suggested

"Yeah, of course," he replied, trying to shake off the lingering anxiety.

As you both got ready, Cillian continued to check his phone, the worry etched on his face. You could sense the weight he carried, and in those moments, your support meant more than words could convey.

Heading to the ceramic class, you intertwined your fingers with his, offering a steady presence by his side. You were the first to arrive, as usual. He helped you get the material for the class ready before the other students arrived.

The familiar routine of the class and interacting with students provided a welcome distraction for him. After last week's class he had become friends with one of your elderly students, she’s adorable and just goes on and on about her grandchildren… he loves to listen.

Sile arrived a few minutes later and it was good to see him smile and chuckle with his sister. What would she do if she knew what was going on with him? You wondered.

During the middle of the class, he stood up rushly, taking his phone to his ear as he walked outside.

It must be her calling, you assumed.

After a while, he returned and pulled you to the side, away from the other students.

“I have to go,” he said as you cleaned your hands on a red cloth.

“Is everything ok?” you asked concerned

“Yeah,” he said giving you a reassuring smile “I just have to go pick him up”

“Are you sure everything is ok?” you pushed

“No. I’m not sure. But I talked to him and he’s ok so that’s what matters. His grandmother was with him. She was the one that just called me”

“What about your ex?”

“I don't know. I’ll let you know soon, ok?” you smiled and nodded as he kissed your cheek and left.

“Is everything okay with him?” Sile asked as you walked past her

“Yeah,” you smiled and continued your class normally, not wanting to share anything because you didn’t know if he would appreciate it.

After the class ended you cleaned the studio for the following class. Sile asked you out for lunch today, but today was an awful day to plan anything. On Saturdays, you have one class after the other, and you barely have time to eat. So you suggested another day, and she agreed. You liked the fact that she asked you out, enjoying the fact she would like to get to know you more.

By the end of the day, you had no news of Cillian. You were lying on your couch, comfy pajamas and a pair of old socks kept you warm as you watched a random TV channel.

Staring at the screen of your cell phone again as you waited for him to answer. Worrying about him. Wanting to help him, to be with him.

“Hey! Just checking in. Text me when you can. Hope everything is well. Xoxo” You texted almost four hours ago.

It was getting late, and after waiting for a while you fell asleep on your couch.

You woke up with something vibrating under your head. You uncoordinatedly looked for your phone, as you were still half asleep.

“Hi” you answered not checking who was calling

“Hey, did I wake you?” cillians voice appeared from the other side

“Maybe” you played your head back on top of the cushions

“I’m sorry, I can call you tomorrow. It’s late” he said

“No…” you adjusted yourself and looked at the screen, it was 00:20 “i'm glad you called. I was worried something bad had happened”

“No nothing bad”

“Good” you smiled to yourself

“Lukas is here with me. Sleeping, he had some trouble sleeping today, he was agitated. Had to read him three stories before bed” he said, he sounded tired.

You chuckled “is that a lot?”

“Yeah, he's usually down after one”

“Oh, wow”

“Yeah he's a fast sleeper” he chuckled lightly

“So, do you wanna talk about what happened?” you asked

“Not really. Just… just wanted to hear your voice” he said, making you smile

“That’s sweet”

“Yeah, have to admit it was nice having you here last night. Your presence is missed”

You chuckled “well then you must invite me more often”

“Sure will”

“Well, do you wanna hear about my day?” you asked, assuming it would be just what he needed. To just run from his reality for a minute.

“I would love to”

You went on telling him about your day, about your classes and students. You told him the gossips your students tell you and ended up sending him some pictures of finished pieces you had done. He listened carefully and laughed at some of your student's stories.

After that you both said your goodbyes and wished each other a good night.

Taglist: @allie131313 @sherbitdibdab @sinceviennas @stilestotherescue @astheni-a @kitkatkaitin @amanda08319 @trixie23 @nancystrange @daisythekitty @cillianbabe @sinceviennas @si1ver06 @kitkatkait @isabbellagonzalezz18 @babypink224221 @1nterstellarcha0s @thenattitude

[lau219]

Red Carpet

Part 2

Part 1 here

…………………………………………………………………………….

Thinking back, Lauren couldn’t even remember a time when they’d had an encounter where they didn’t go back and forth like the way they had earlier that night. Every interaction between her and Cillian was laced with mutual disdain and sarcastic quips. And while an onlooker may say that Cillian had been flirting with her, she knew that that wasn’t true. There was no secret desire behind his behavior, no heart of gold beneath the façade. No, he just wanted to torment her for his own sick pleasure.

She had no idea why he’d chosen her as his target. When their paths had first crossed a year and a half ago at the publicist’s agency, she’d only recently been hired, and she’d made an over-the-top effort to make a good impression. She was definitely starstruck at first, and as a lowly assistant to the assistant’s assistant, she did her best to blend in and keep her mouth shut.

It was early one morning that she’d first encountered him at the agency, balancing a drink carrier full of coffee in one hand and trying to silence the repeated text chimes coming from her phone in the other hand. While looking down at her phone, she hadn’t realized she’d taken a wrong turn, and she’d soon found herself in a labyrinth of hallways veering off in different directions.

“Crap!” she’d muttered quietly, looking around for anything that seemed familiar. Why weren’t there any signs on the walls in this damn place? Everything looked exactly the same, and she started to panic as her phone chimed again, knowing she was going to be late.

Her wrist began to shake with the heavy drink tray. Deciding to switch hands, she attempted to swap her phone and the tray to opposite hands, but the small device slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor and landing a few feet away. The stack of papers she’d had tucked under her arm fluttered in every direction as she’d reached out to try and catch the phone.

“Fuck!” she’d cursed before she could stop herself.

“Having problems?” came an accented voice.

Lauren looked up and was momentarily frozen in her spot. The wind had been sucked out of her lungs by a pair of the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. As she pieced together the rest of him – which was just as breathtaking – she slowly realized she hadn’t answered him yet. He was staring at her with an expectant smile.

“Um, just, uh, dropped my phone,” she’d finally replied, “along with almost everything else.”

​He continued to smile at her.

​“I couldn’t help but overhear a few choice words from around the corner. Are you lost, sweetheart?” he’d said.

​Lauren had blushed, flattered at the pet name, still naïve enough to think it came from a place of endearment rather than mockery. If only she’d known how much she’d grow to hate it, coming from him.

​ “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized as she began to think clearly again. “I looked down for one second and now I have no idea where I am.”

​Before giving him time to respond, she’d lowered herself and knelt on the floor, carefully setting down the drink tray and then beginning to collect the papers all around her.

​“New around here, I take it?” he asked.

His voice and accent were sexy as hell.

​“Yes, I just started working as an assistant last week in Sharon Hamilton’s office.”

​Lauren felt him get closer as he knelt down near her and began helping her collect the papers. Geez, he smelled good, too.

​“Well, then you took a wrong turn at the elevators,” he said. He then reached out the papers he’d gathered to hand to her, making eye contact. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

​“Lauren,” she replied simply, her heart pounding as he looked at her.

​“Cillian,” he’d replied, proffering his own name. “Cillian Murphy.”

​“I know who you are,” she’d responded with a small nod and a shy smile.

​He smirked.

​“Well, I work with clients of Sharon’s often, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. That is, if you don’t get lost again.”

​Lauren blushed once more, but her thoughts were cut short when her phone chimed again. Looking around, she spotted it near Cillian’s foot.

​“Do you mind?” she asked him, gesturing toward the phone. “I’m sure Sharon is wondering where the hell I am.”

​Cillian looked behind him and grabbed her phone, picking it up and glancing at the screen.

​“Not exactly,” he’d said as he’d passed it to her, a cheeky grin on his face as he rose to his feet.

Still kneeling, Lauren reached out and took the phone, the color draining from her face as she saw the message from her friend on the screen. It was a snapshot of two of her bras, with the message,

“Hey bestie, I found these at my place. How can you still wear these?! The pink one has a safety pin holding the strap on! Want me to toss them?”

If, in that moment, she could have gotten lost again and never been found, she’d have been content.

​Her face bright red, Lauren looked up at Cillian, who was still smiling amusedly. Speechless, she’d just stared at him.

​“See you around, bestie,” he’d said with a wink. He’d then walked past her and disappeared around the corner.

​That had been a year and a half ago, and Lauren soon found out just how accurate Cillian had been when he’d said he’d see her around. Although Sharon wasn’t his publicist, her clients ran in the same circles as Cillian did. That meant Lauren was often running into him, especially as she grew within her job and started having a more frequent presence at events and gatherings. And while her impression after their first encounter was that Cillian was friendly, she soon came to learn how drastically wrong she’d been.

The text message from her friend had been his original material, and he’d mercilessly teased her about wearing “thrift store underwear.” Early on, Lauren assumed he was harmless, and that the teasing would soon ease up. Instead, he just came up with something new to torment her about, and she could count on a heckling from him almost every time they found themselves in the same place together.

Over time, as he saw how much it flustered her, he began adding the sexual innuendo. But she knew it couldn’t possibly stem from any actual interest on his part – the man could have any woman he wanted. As a bit more time passed and she knew what to expect, Lauren started dishing it back. As he wasn’t a client of Sharon’s, and since no one even really knew who she was anyway, she didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble for talking back to him. And if Cillian had any intention of getting her fired, he would have done it already. But no, he frankly seemed to enjoy it all.

Lauren rolled her eyes as she thought about it, letting out a sigh. But then, she remembered the way he’d cornered her that evening, and she could almost feel again the touch of his finger on her body, the sound of his voice in her ear. A shiver ran through her. She couldn’t deny that, despite his behavior toward her, she still found him unbelievably sexy. There were times, such as tonight, when she thought she’d melt under his gaze, and if he wasn’t such an ass, she’d more than willingly let him do to her any number of things that he’d mockingly suggested.

But, in the end, that’s what he was – an ass.

What a waste, she thought.

Part 3

[samstclair]

Tommy Shelby's Barmaid

Tommy Shelby X Reader

Anonymous Request - 

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night Sammy Sammy yes I am! So check this out - I just saw Oppenheimer and came to the conclusion that I really miss seeing Cillian Murphy's face. So that night I began rewatching Peaky Blinders and am just in awe. So you know the point. I want to be his barmaid. No hate to Grace, love her, but let a girl just imagine. And that's where you come in. So yeah I wanna be his barmaid and sing to him. Maybe we're off to the races? Do your thing or else I'll might do a thing and report your account! :)

Word Count: pretty long

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And where are we off to, Miss?" 

"One ticket to London, please!" you told the airport cashier, (or whatever they're called I'm not sure tbh), with your gleeful, bimbo smile. "The UK, one, thought. Not the Ohio one! Can't have that happening again!"

The lady didn't respond, she instead gave you a soft customer service fake ass laugh pretending she knew full well what you were talking about and kept her eyes down on the computer, securing that flight. You no longer trusted yourself to use computers or laptops, thanks to those Benadryl pills you used to be addicted to. But now that you were evicted from your New York apartment, you lost those pills in the process, and honestly all of your personal shit, so you've been forced to quit cold turkey and was actually experiencing withdrawals at the very moment. But, you couldn't let anyone know this! You needed to leave America fast. 

"Okay, to confirm your name, Y/L/N, Y/F/N, correct?" 

"Yes, ma'am!" You passed her your credit card and she did her magic, charging you a fuck ton of money!

The printer pooped out your ticket and she passed both that and your card back to you. 

"Enjoy your flight. Safe travels," the lady wished you. 

"Oh my god, girl, you too!" you wished back. You turned around and found your terminal, buying an expensive Starbucks drink of your choice and plopping your big butt down on a chair. You sat and looked around, sipping your coffee like a mother, taking in your surroundings of this little JFK airport they got going on. 

"I'm really a world traveler right now...like, I'm on some Lewis and Clark shit right now," you thought to yourself. 

You looked down at your luggages, or perhaps, just luggage. All that remained after your eviction just filled one Hello Kitty-themed suitcase you bought from TJ Maxx. You also had your rare vintage Juicy Couture purse you bought from Depop, thats faux leather was literally peeling off like dead skin, filled with all your essentials - lip gloss, nearly dead Elf Bar, crumpled up two-year-Goodwill old receipts, wired headphones because that's what cool people use walking down the street, crystals, loose hair ties, a baby Calico Critter, wire-exposed phone charger, and more that aren't too important to mention. You did miss all your other knick knacks and items that were lost, but since you were traveling light you 1. saved more money since it was just carry-on and 2. looked mysterious, just a girl on the road on her own adventure. 

"After all, items are just like - items. Things." you thought, trying to convince yourself that all material items are just not real and people don't really need those things. This is what you repeated to yourself over and over but in all honesty it wasn't helping. You were fucking pissed you lost all your shit. 

With all your items was your go-to airport fit - a Juicy baby blue tracksuit. So now you resorted to old PJ's you had shoved to the bottom depths of your drawer, wrinkled to the house boots down and forgotten of existence. They were a pair of Nike shorts and a baby tee that read "I <3 Surfer Boys". You then looked down to your white Crocs with the knock-off Jibblitz - the ootd would just have to do. 

As you sat in your terminal, waiting, you thought about what adventures UK would bring to you. You wondered what people you'd encounter, what new storylines you'd get wrapped into, what NPCs would say to you - it really did feel like you were fast-traveling into another country in a video game. 

Safe to say, you were ready for liftoff! Whenever that liftoff! would be because your flight was delayed like three times cause that's just airport things! This was the start of a new adventure! New and humble beginnings! No more America and their never-ending obsession with you committing financial fraud or whatever the IRS loved to say! But never mind that don't ask don't PUSH!!!!!!

Some hours later, you were finally able to board your flight. By this time, let's just say - people were fucking pissed about their flight being delayed, but you didn't really mind it. Yes, you were in a big time rush to leave America as soon as possible, but all that time waiting allowed you to finish the only downloaded show on your phone: LPS Popular. Shit was finally getting heated, Savannah Reed was def the no nonsense type of girl you envisioned yourself to be. 

Anyway whatever you boarded on, took your window seat and went through the usual bullshit of waiting for everyone to board on and take off and turbulence and random ass baby crying and shitty food and whatever. 

About a half hour in the sky, you looked through the catalogue of movies available - none which caught your interest. 

However, after scrolling for another half hour - you found the one. 

"Oh my god, a movie about two lovers flying in the sky staring Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams?!" you thought excitedly. "That's some good shit right there."

You hit that play button, scooted deeper into that seat, propped your patas up, and was subsequently locked IN for the short ass movie Red Eye. 

The majority of the plot went over your head because you were to entranced with the Irish actor's cunty little face, sassy little attitude and blue big orbs for eyes, causing you to replay certain scenes over and over. (Specifically that bathroom scene. You didn't miss SHIT there). That hour and a half passed by and the movie had finished. Safe to say, you were NOT expecting any of that shit to go down.

"If that were me, I'd call that fucking hotel before he even told me to. Shit. I get Mark Wahlberg, if I was on that plane, things really would have gone differently," you thought, shaking your head. ]

After your almost seven hour flight, you had finally made it to London Town. It was indeed a stormy day, he was right, but you could go outside and roam around, contrary to popular belief. In order to prep for this trip, you stuck to just watching British films, trying to get an overall vibe of what those little redcoats were like. Pride and Prejudice (2005), Love Actually, Trainspotting, Little Women (Greta's version), Clockwork Orange, Barry Lyndon - let's just say, your Letterboxd was going crazy. You sobbed pretty disgustingly to all of them, except Trainspotting and Clockwork, which made you feel just icky. And Barry Lyndon just made you angry fuck that guy fr. 

A/N - I just realized that Little Women, both Greta's version and the older 90s Winona Ryder one take place, in FACT, America. Oops! So yeah disregard move on u horndog <3

You once thought you were well-rounded on what chaos was, after all, you've been 1. in theater school, 2. briefly in the Medellin cartel, 3. worked in corporate America - but all of those experiences looked like fun Sunday pastimes the moment you stepped your fat butt off of the plane into London's Heathrow airport. Nothing could've prepped you for this shit. Too many people all doing different things in different directions was NOT your favorite place to be in! Let's just say - shit was hectic. 

You boarded off, left your terminal and gathered your one Hello Kitty-themed suitcase and bolted the fuck out, running at your highest speed possibly, your Crocs locked in their sports mode, you just ran. It's what you did best, your superpower some might say. Maybe since Ezra Miller is canceled for being a kidnapper, you could possibly replace the Flash? Who knows tbh. 

You ran so fast, miles and miles, (kilometers here!), you didn't realize you were now standing in front of the Big Ben. It was, admittedly, pretty big. Too bad you couldn't read time like that. 

You looked down to your phone to see your receipt - you needed to be back in three hours for your next flight to Glasgow, Scotland - your actual destination. This London shit? Yeah it was only a layover. But you couldn't miss it. 

You ended up missing it. You fell asleep on the big red bus, thinking you could sneak a little tour in before having to return for your next flight. By the time you woke up, it was morning, and you were alone, just you and your carry on. 

"Ello Miss? Miss?" 

Your eyes fluttered, adjusting to the brightness. A big English dude with missing and fucked up teeth was poking you awake. 

"Bro what?" you muttered, pushing yourself up. 

"Miss, it seems you've drifted off to sleep," the man said.

"Wait," you collected your thoughts, looked around at your surroundings, then down to your phone - your flight was seven hours ago. You felt your heart fall to the acidic pits of your stomach - 

"Ain't no fucking way I'm stuck in London", you blurted out.  "AIN'T NO FUCKING WAY!"

As if you took ten shots of DayQuil, you jumped up, scrambled for your shit and rocked the bus side to side as your Crocs took you across it, out to the exit and back onto the cobblestone streets of London Town. It was cloudy as always. 

"Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh no. NO I CAN'T DO THIS I CAN'T!" you yelled, running back towards the direction of that hell of an airport. You needed to get back. You NEEDED to get back to Scotland, you literally saw Trainspotting just for Scotland!

But alas, it was too late. By the time you made it back to Heathrow, there was no refunding. You would have to pay another fat BUCK to get on another flight. 

"Oh fuck that," you told the English lady. You walked back out, no way this little kingdom was gonna make a profit off of your ass. "I'd rather walk!"

And then you began to walk. Not run, you were a little hungry and needed some energy for that amount of dedication. 

You stopped by a tea place and thought that you might as well have a crumpet or whatever, which sucked ass. They charged so much for what?  A pastry with like three grams of sugar? Girl bye. 

You sat on the curb, looking down at your phone and opening a map, you could literally just walk to Scotland. Yeah it'd be a pretty fat walk, but you might get a crazy BBL ass for free from all the walking. 

"Babes? Are you alroight?" you heard a strong British voice call. You turned and there it was - a chav. A real fucking chav. 

"Oh my god, you guys exist?"

She furrowed her dark over-filled brows as she smacked her nude-lipsticked lips on a piece of gum. There were other chavs behind her, all bleach blonde, overly tan and red ass cheeks. It was like your friend group, but in an alternate universe. 

"Wot?" she asked again, more confused than offended. 

"Listen girl, I don't know if you can tell - but I'm not from here. I need to get to from the UK to Scotland. How does a girl like me do that?"

"Babes? Yor in the UKay, loike, this is London?"

"Huh?" you asked, like Trisha Paytas in the car. 

"Babes," another chimed in, "the UKay is loike, mooltiple places poot into one? Loike, England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales -"

"Oh, so they're all like, the same?"

Their faces dropped with fear. 

"Babes, don't say that. I've just met you, but I'd definitely tell you loike, don't say that around other peepol," the main chav warned. 

"Especially the Irish, yeah," another said. "They'd be mentool."

"Oh, no worries here. I'm an ally to all," you assured, "so do you know where I can rest for the night?"

"Babes!" the chav said excitedly, "I've got family in Birmingham! It's up norf, already on the way for yor travels! I'll text me nana so you can stay there fo free!"

"Babes," you said, you're cheap frugal ass getting hyped, "you're such a babe! Thanks girlie!"

You ended up dropping some money to take an Underground from London to Birmingham, because you then really realized your Crocs could only momentarily take you so far. Also, tat withdrawal wasn't doing you any favors. Anyway you enjoyed the ride, drinking some complimentary tea with your headphones in and disassociating as you looked out the window into the cement walls. You started to regret not bringing some sort of sweater because who would've thought a baby tee and Nike shorts would be enough. Shit was chilly. 

You stepped off into the platform, feeling a strong GUST of wind rush past you. You first kinda enjoyed it like it was some sort of main character moment, but the moment that ghastly smell of smoke hit your nostrils - you went frozen like Mitch McConnell. 

"Jeeeeeesus CHRIST!" you bellowed, "who fucking farted?"

You looked around, but soon became even more confused. Everyone was giving you the hardest stares you've ever received in your lifetime. But it wasn't their stares, no, you've been stared at before for worst things, it was cause of their - fits. 

Everyone was dressed like some 1900s shit. It reminded you of the show Downton Abbey, the show your old boss Logan Roy used to binge. Little particles of what looked like dandruff floated around you and everything else just seemed gray. 

"Wait, are you guys filming?" you asked in your bimbo self, smiling, "did I just walk onto set?"

No one replied. They really thought you were insane. There you were - rough looking, mid-withdrawal, I <3 Surfer Boys, old high school Nike shorts, Crocs, Five Below socks, Dollar Store sunnies, Hello Kitty-themed suitcase and Juicy bag, Elf bar in one hand and your phone with dangling earbuds wrapped around it. They were petrified. 

You grew angry. You just stood there as they stood there too - both you and the Downton Abbey cosplayers were in a stand off.  

"Okay whatever," you said, rolling your eyes. "Stay hating!"

You whipped around and began walking down the pavement, calling, or as the English say "ringing", that chav's nana. However, it rang and rang, you dialed and dialed, the lady was not picking up. 

"Um, what the fuck?" you said looking down at your phone, "can this girl pick up?"

You continued to dial, your other hand to your waist like a Karen. You continued to look around as it rang, really impressed with the set. 

It had been very foggy, and the cobblestone roads led down between old brick buildings where people in their 1920's costumes walked along, smoking and dodging the occasional explosion from the coal-burning coming from inside the buildings. Horses were trotting, carrying hay and other shit. People were yelling in their crazy accents and the dandruff kept raining down. Pillars up in the sky let out dark clouds of smoke. That gross exhaust smell still lingered, and no matter how much Nicki Minaj body spray you put on yourself, there was no way to mask it. 

"Great. I'm homeless AGAIN!" you thought, giving up on that nana. "Whatever. I didn't even want a roof to sleep under anyway. C'est la vie honestly."

The stares did not cease. In fact, it got worse. You knew you were hot but like what the fuck can't a girl just walk and bitches mind their business?

Things were getting worse. The cobblestone ass road made it hard for you to pull your suitcase, so you were just essentially dragging it, you phone was on ten percent, you were hungry and thirsty because let's be real you did not eat much on that train, and honestly just over it. 

You passed all the workers, dodged some random explosions, evaded random running children, spit some of that dandruff out of your mouth. Safe to say, you were angry but needed to persevere!

Eventually it was nighttime. You couldn't really tell if it was night or if it was just the pollution in the air at first, but after asking a random man he assured you it was indeed nighttime. 

"I don't know how you guys live with all this dandruff," you told him, shaking your head. "You guys must be getting paid good as extras."

"Dandruff?" the man said, "that's ash, luv!"

"Thank god, that makes more sense. I was thinking I was gonna need to buy some Heads and Shoulders. I hate Heads and Shoulders."

He continued to look at you weird while he smoke his, what you were pretty sure in the span of you two talking, sixth cigarette. "Heads and shoulders? Fuck are they to do with your hair?"

"I know, horrible branding. I feel bad for the people in Pompeii. They probably thought it was like, a dandruff epidemic."

Eventually the man directed you to the Garrison, which was supposed to be this pub or whatever that all the locals hit up. You really just wanted a drink of water and like Taco Bell or something. Maybe a "Macky D's"? By the time you made it to the establishment, it was midnight, since you took forever cause you kept getting lost. 

It was situated in a weird spot, where several men would occasionally run out and throw up bad on the dirt floor. It sounded hella noisy and rough in there, which was something you were not looking forward to. But again, you're hungry. 

"I'm fucking starving," you thought to yourself as you pushed those heavy doors open, your suitcase getting caught in them. A surge of anger caused you to yank it past the swinging door, causing the it to slam against the wall and crack the glass. You got scared cause you didn't wanna pay for it, so you applied the "hear nothing, see nothing" tactic. It always worked <3

Nothing could've prepared you for when you entered. The energy was just not it. Heathrow vibes for sure. Hoards of drunk ass English men doing, well, things that drunk English men do. They were yelling, cursing, fighting, just being overall very annoying and overwhelming. It took you by surprise, you were just in awe that English were real. It was literally like a Call of Duty lobby but the English colonized it as they always do.  

"These motherfuckers are crazy bro," you thought to yourself, getting a seat at the bar. The bartender made his way to you, and after some hesitation on his end, he finally spoke. 

"Em, what can I get you, ma'am?" he asked, looking at you confused. 

"Y'all got a menu?" 

"I'm sorry?"

"Food, bro. I want food." You were not having it. 

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid there's just drinks here."

"Fine, fucking alcoholics," you said, holding in your hangriness, "what about water?"

"Huh," he thought, "no one ever asks for water. I forgot we served it!"

He turned around and as he began to pour some crusty water into a dusty glass, you felt a tap on your shoulder. But before you could even turn to ask what the fuck whoever wanted what, another big burly English drunk dude was all up in your face. 

"ELLO MISS! MIGHT I HAVE A CHANCE AT BUYIN' YA A DRINK?"

You were flabbergasted. Dude REEKED of some ale. 

"Uh, you stink," was all you could muster, pressing your fingers on your nose. 

His face fell into a very angry one. "YOU FOOCKIN' JEZEBEL!"

You weren't sure what 'jezebel' meant so you just rolled your eyes and turned back to the new glass of water placed in front of you by the bartender, and before he could walk off you downed the entire thing. He, too, like McConnell, was frozen at your abilities. 

"Sorry about that man, Miss," the bartender said as he poured you another. "You're very pretty. Must be getting used to it by now around here."

"Yeah, like, about that," you started, taking your time with the water this time because you didn't know how much they had left in this place, "why is everyone cosplaying? Like, people here are DEEP into their character, which, don't get me wrong - I respect. I used to be a theater major myself, so I get it. But this is like, crazy. I know the English love their theater, but god."

The bartender, with a hypothetical gun to his head, could not for the life of him understand what the fuck you meant. You kinda got that vibe when he didn't reply right away. He actually looked worried for your mental wellbeing. 

"Um, why did you just like, disassociate?" you asked. 

"I'm sorry, Miss," he chuckled nervously, "you've just confused me, is all."

"Yeah, all that alcohol is giving you that early onset dementia. Do you know where I can get food around here?"

"Hmm," he thought, "I don't really know, to be honest with ya. And it's quite late, so I'm not sure what's open."

You could cry. You hated being hungry and tired at the same time, added to literally everything else that was happening around you. You were able to tune out the drunken men yelling behind you, but only to a point - mama was close to blowing. 

"Oh my GOD," you started. "WHAT'S A GIRL TO DO TO GET SOME FUCKING FOOD AROUND HERE?!" you caught yourself. The bartender was growing more concerned. "I'm sorry," you cleared your voice, "it's just like, your queen for real sucked."

"Queen?" he asked. 

"Wow, you're really dedicated to the craft. Like I said, I respect." You continued to drink your water. 

"How'd you end up here in London, anyway?" he asked, leaning against the counter. You later found out his name was Harry, like Styles. 

"Oh, buddy," you said, "what a story I have for you."

You then began to blabber on about what brought you to this point, which helped because it made you forget about your current grievances. Soon, the entire pub went dead quiet, tuned in to your story time. You felt like Tana Mongeau, and these were your viewers. You get why the majority of YouTubers were lowkey conceited. (Not Tana though she's funny love you girl <3). It was like a big kindergarten story time. 

About half an hour later, you were mid-way through. 

"And so, when my boss literally fucking died, I was like, 'oh shit, I've like lost my job by like, proxy'? It was scary."

"How'd he pass?" one of the drunk men asked. 

"Dude, get this. He died getting his phone out of the toilet. Like, some Elvis shit," realizing they wouldn't get what you just said, you thought it best to move right on, "anyway, I was like, 'maybe this is a good time to move on, maybe America isn't the place for me.' I was also wanted by the Men in Black, too. They don't fuck around."

"Who's the Men in Black?" Harry asked. 

"The IRA were after ya?" another asked, in shock.

"I. R.S. It's not important. So, after he died, one of his kids had to be chosen to take over the company. Imagine like a Game of Thrones sort of thing. My on-and-off boyfriend, Kendall, is the oldest so you'd think it'd be him, right? Like, his name was underlined and everything. Or crossed out, you know, is the dress blue and black or white and gold? The day of, I snuck into the building for the board meeting. I wasn't supposed to be there, cause you know, I'm not a share holder or whatever, but I thought 'if I act like nothing happened, maybe technically I'm NOT fired cause my boss died, maybe nobody will say anything?' Confidence takes you a loooong way let me tell you! So at the board meeting, I voted Kendall, but his stupid home alone ass brother Roman was like 'oh YOU'RE still here?'. Then he told me to fuck off and that I should've died with Logan? Could you believe that?"

They were all in shock, muttering angry English curse words to each other. 

"And then I was like, 'no fuck you. What ever happened to democracy? I don't have a vote?'. But whatever, Kendall didn't win and he left the building. No, Horton Hears a Who Tom won, and while everybody was celebrating I was like, 'guys? GUYS! ALL EYES ON WINDOWS! WHERE DID KENDALL GO? All eyes on windows!'. Then I got like, kicked out or whatever. I kept spamming Kendall, texting him and calling him and nothing. Like 'Kenny, wya???'. He was ghosting me. Then I saw right after he put his phone on Do Not Disturb. Targeted, really. I saw his location at Central Park, facing the water, and this had me WORRIED. Kendall and bodies of water? Yeah they don't mix well. I needed to talk to him before he jumped! But when I got there, his new dumbass body guard was like, 'Can you leave? He's not seeing anyone'. I kept calling him, and he wouldn't turn to look at me. He was like, mega dissociating watching that horizon."

"Must've killed him that he's no longer the number one boy," a drunken English man said, somber. 

"Def," you said.

"So you and Kendall?" another asked.

"No more. He never picked up, so I thought we were done," the men in the bar were devastated. "Yeah, really sad. I already mourned, though. So, yeah, I was like, 'what do I do now?' Logan gave me some money, so I can really just do anything? I was walking down the streets of New York and saw a random man in a suit I thought was the IRS, and it hit me - I'm lowkey a fugitive? I need to like, leave. Logan isn't there to protect me anymore, you know? And then it hit me - I'll go to Scotland! In Logan's honor! Like, his hometown. Plus, I thought Scotland didn't have extradition, but it was actually Venezuela. But it's okay, same shit. And that's why I'm here."

"But this is Birmingham?" another man said. 

"Oh, yeah, don't worry I fully aware. But yeah, that's it."

Again, the pub had been silent. They'd been intrigued, captivated. You waited for someone to speak up and break the silence, but about two minutes later you realized that wasn't gonna happen. 

"Okay? Anyway, so nothing to eat here?" you asked Harry. 

He shook his head, stunned. You then slowly crept off the chair, gathered your shit and saw your way out. "Weirdos," you thought. 

You exited back out, it was now fully dark with few lampposts shining light onto the falling dandruff. It all reminded you of exactly where you were - stuck. 

You slumped against the wall, onto the ground where you didn't see any of the mud that splashed all over your shorts. You were too tired and over it to give a fuck. You pulled out your phone, and saw the battery on 2%. 

"Man FUCK!" you exclaimed, "I know damn well none of these Lin Manuel Miranda stans built an electric socket." 

You went on to scroll mindlessly through your feed, which barely loaded because of the lack of signal. You were in the middle of spamming the refresh button until you received a notification from Snapchat that read, "One Year Ago Today". You clicked it open, forgetting you still had that app downloaded, and its contents nearly pushed you over the edge to start balling. 

You clicked play. 

"Oh, don't be a pussy, Greggguh!"

"Mumusdsfjks," Greg said, shoving more marshmallows into his mouth, "Chubb Bunif."

"Sorry, buddy, couldn't hear you!" Tom said, giddy, shoving his own marshmallow down Greg's mouth.

"You got it Greg!" you heard yourself say. 

You wanted to cry. You wished you could just go back to Waystar in that moment, playing the Chubby Bunny challenge with gay lovers Tom and Greg. 

"Man, I miss them," you thought. But alas, that was all gone now...

You quickly closed the video, going to your bank app to see how much money remained. After all, Logan DID leave you with enough, but you couldn't help yourself on those McDonald's breakfast orders through Uber Eats.  

Your tears quickly evaporated like they were put through the snap of Thanos when you got a glance of your credit score though. Oh no. 

"OH MY GOD?!??! MY CREDIT IS AT 400????!!? I'M LIKE, FUCKED?!???!"

"What's a credit score?"

You nearly shit yourself at the deep, sullen voice. You looked up and let's just say - you were intimidated. It's the terrorist dude from Red Eye. He wore a flat cap and a tweed little suit type of fit. 

But it wasn't the tweed that had you transfixed - no, it was those eyes....they were familiar. The last time you felt power of being in a trance like that were those Furbies... it forced you to look at them, you had lost all ability of self-control. They made you question yourself, your purpose and whole life being. They were commanding you with their uncanny valley vibe. Their immense gravity caused all time to slow...

"Dude, put those away!" you yelled, forcing your eyes shut and looking away. 

He didn't reply. 

"I'm sorry," you giggled, realizing he wasn't gonna reply to you and instead just stood there. "I'm just really hungry. You got anything?"

He thought for a moment. "Actually...we don't eat." He had a little sassy, matter-of-factly tone of speaking you fucked with heavily. 

"Yeah, that's why your official dish is tikka masala," a glance of that dish popped into your head. "Man I could fuck that up right now."

"I can take you to my office, I might have something there," he said. You agreed right after, anything would have to do. Little did you know, this would be the man who would save you. Not in a self-fulfilling sense but he'd grab you something to eat. 

You two made it to his office, some ways away. It was just a big ass dark room with tables in the middle, which you would later find out the betting on his horse racing took place. 

You sat down and he took off his coat and goofy ass hat, then went to the back for a moment. You looked around, you felt like you were in a dungeon. You looked down to your phone - shit was dead. 

He came back moments later, with a single loaf of bread he placed in front of you. He then took a seat across from you, took out a cigarette and did what the English do best, smoke. 

You were a bit taken aback, and it definitely showed, since his little sassy face got more sassier. 

"Well?" he bellowed, motioning to the food.

"Honestly," you started, not wanting to offend cause he did scare you (in a hot way), "I don't know what more I was expecting. I know Panera bread when I see it."

You began to eat, he just watched you. You would be annoyed had this been anyone else, but man was too fine. 

Some minutes went by, and he just smoked while you ate. He was definitely a man of few words. 

"You're so mysterious," you said. "Is that your character?"

He took in a big puff and put his feet up on the table like he owned the place, cause he literally did. "You don't belong here."

"Yeah, no fucking shit. I'm supposed to be in Scotland."

"What's in Scotland?" he asked, tapping his cigarette into an empty whiskey glass. 

"Bagpipes, I've heard."

He then leaned to the side, grabbing his cigarette case out and offering you one. You declined. 

"It's okay, I don't like cigarettes. They're gross," you went inside your bag and pulled out your crusty geriatric Elf Bar that was on life support, "here, try this! She's my sidekick!"

He stared at it, not a thought behind those eyes. He then rose up. 

"What about a whiskey, eh?" He went to a table against the wall and poured two glasses. You shrugged at his decline of your Elf Bar, and took some shitty hits cause girl it's dead give it up. 

As he had his back to you pouring the glasses, you really thought about how manly he was, in a way all those Ryan Gosling Drive stans love. He reminded you of those mafia boss fanfics you used to read. The way he spoke was so low and serious, but it made your feet rock like crazy!

He turned back around and placed your glass in front of you. Before he sat, he took a swing of his and literally drank it all in one shot like an animal. Wanting to impress him, you did the same, but soon regretted it right after. You'd tried whiskey before, but that was just not good. It was so strong it burned your esophagus, causing you to feel like you had strep throat all over again. You nearly gagged and threw it up but you couldn't let Tommy see you that way. He was staring. 

"Jesus Christ," you said in a raspy, chain smoker voice, trying to smile through the pain, "that's some real shit right there. I'd much prefer a BuzzBall."

"What brings you to the UK?" he asked again, a little more interrogating. 

"Fine. I'm avoiding parole."

"Parole?"

"Have you ever been on parole?" you asked. 

He took a moment, your question hit hard. "Ever since men like me got back from France, we've always felt we were on parole under the king." He had a sadness to it, which then made you kinda sad. 

"Aww, you're a parole baby <3."

He rose his brows in a "yeah this girl off it" way. 

"Does France give you bad memories?" you asked, wanting to know both out of being a nosy bitch and seeing if you could break him. 

"Most nights," he said. 

"Don't worry, me too."

"You served?"

"I might has well have," you replied, thinking of that past life living with your old boyfriend. 

"I wasn't aware women served."

"We always do," you assured. You kept looking into his eyes like it was a staring contest. 

"What's it you're looking at?"

"You have a very, no-nonsense cunty face. Like BBL," you first smiled telling him that, but it then reminded you of when you told your old boyfriend Kendall the same thing. The thought of him made you sad, you wondered where your number one boy was now...

You didn't realize but Tommy noticed your change in demeanor, initially believing you were thinking about your time during the war in France. He rose and grabbed another drink, placing one in front of you as he killed his in less than a second. 

You snapped out of your sadness. "Oh, no thanks. I don't think I can have anymore. This trip will definitely be very detoxing for me."

You two then sat in comfortable silence for some time, as if you two were both mourning after the innocence lost before France. You were something different for him, a new comfort he couldn't find much else in that polluted ass city. And you found comfort in him, he really did seem like he needed fixing. But that's not what you do, no no, he's a grown ass man and can fix himself. You'll just watch from the sidelines <3. 

Eventually, you stayed in Birmingham. Once you were aware that your money had no value in the UK, you realized you needed to be employed again to save up for Scotland. Dollars, turns out, did not equal shillings and pounds or whatever. Tommy hooked you up after finding out your situation and generously gave you a job at the Garrison as a barmaid, along with Harry, who in time, became your BFF. It wasn't that hard of a job, these men never mixed any drinks and would instead have their alcohol straight like a bunch of monsters, so you kinda ate at this job. Another perk was that these 1920s bitches loved thin eyebrows, so your Y2K overplucked eyebrows fit right in! Full circle shit!

But perhaps the best perk was when Tommy would come in every so often and give you a little LOOK. Oh that shit made you rabid yes it did! It made you all hot down there and you couldn't handle it! You two barely spoke, as he would go into the side room for meetings and whatever mumbo jumbo he got up to with his brothers, but when you did you did your best to bring out that old femme fatale. You knew damn well he'd fuck that shit up. And let's be real so did you. 

You knew that you had Tommy in your CLUTCH when he was once lecturing you - basically there was talk about some Billy Kimber dude amongst him and his brothers and the members of the gang, but you couldn't get past how fun it was to say the man's name, especially in their wild ass accent. You kept incessantly shouting it, to what you thought was a joke, "BILLY FACKIN KIMBA" in every possible moment you could, but it would send all the men into a paranoid shock thinking Billy boy was just around the corner. Obviously, he wasn't, in fact you couldn't point out who Billy Kimber was in a crowd of English, but let's just say - it sent them for a sheer panic. They would constantly tell Tommy to get you to stop, since it was bringing back war trauma basically and never felt fear like that since the war. You personally thought they were being a bunch of pussies but whatevs. 

Anyway Tommy found you at the bar after closing and wanted to have a serious talk with you - no more random BILLY FACKIN KIMBA. As he was lecturing you on the dangers of it, you actually started to disassociate in those eyes of his. You then started to think, 

"What if I just grabbed his hat?"

Those intrusive thoughts grew stronger and stronger as the moments flew by and the more his voice became a bunch of muffled nothing. And they won. 

"GOTCHA HAT!" you spat before taking his flat cap off and running with it, jumping over the bar on some parkour shit and pushing those doors open onto the grimy streets of Birmingham, in an excited manic.  You ran for nothing, since you didn't notice in the adrenaline of it all he didn't move an inch and instead just stood at the bar, stumped. From that point on, he knew you weren't like other girls. Cause let's be real who in their right fucking mind would do that to Tommy Shelby? You did girl xoxo <3

But when your image with Tommy REALLY hit home for the guy, it was one night. One very special night...

You were working the night shift at the Garrison, again. It was another rainy day in London Town, and you were all alone cleaning up. You started to think about Gabbie Hanna, and how low key right she was. You continued to rap to yourself, 

"♪ Overwhelmed, overworked, overpaid. I'm on top of the world sitting pretty ♪ -" 

The doors flew open, causing you to jump pretty high up. You looked to the entrance, it was Tommy. And man was drenched and tired looking, your fave combo. 

He walked over, behind the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He was always a little emo and to himself, but something about him now was really depressing, like man's definitely going through it.

He then took a seat at a table, and looked at you with dead eyes. 

"What's with the frown?" you asked, trying to lighten up the mood but was severely unsuccessful. (Unbeknownst to you he literally just had to put down a horse he thought was cursed :/ it's a canon event!)

He didn't reply. Surprise surprise instead he just drank his whiskey done. You chewed your gum, clueless. 

You just continued to clean, continuing Gabbie's rhyme in your head. 

"♪ Overwhelmed, overwork, underpaid ♪ -"

"Can you sing?"

You turned around again. He fr sounded sad asf. It shocked you, cause did he like, read your mind or sum? 

"Uh, yeah. You want me to sing?"

"Every barmaid knows how to sing."

"Okay, sure. Like acapella?"

He just stared at you, lost again with your mumbo jumbo. 

"Well, I know Lana, I know Nicki, my ex had a song L to the OG-"

"Lana. She sounds nice."

You nodded. "She really is, I love her. Okay, I think I know a song."

"Stand up there," he pointed to a table. You were a bit hesitant, the last time you did that you ate shit like that one girl on YouTube who was also singing on a table and ate shit. But it was for Tommy so you did so anyway. 

You climbed up, took out your gum, flicked it in a bucket, cleared your throat, moved your hair out of your face, and fixed your posture - this was your Pose moment tonight, and Tommy's Billy Porter. 

You then started to sing White Mustang by Lana, but the moment you got to the chorus, which was, well, White Mustang, he told you to stop. 

"Something else, please," he asked demanding yet softly.

"What? Too close to home? Don't worry, Lana does that," you assured, "here, I'll sing a song that hits close to me, it's called How to disappear, it's what do when I'm trying to run from the IRS."

You cleared your throat again and started to sing and girl you ATE THAT SHIT!!!!!

You hit those fucking notes, you were lost in your little own world envisioning yourself in a music video. You understood why America's Got Talent contestants were nervous, cause the pressure? Yeah it's real. And not only is Tommy Billy Porter, he's also Simon Cowell - a yes from that Brit would secure your spot.

Speaking OF Tommy, because momentarily you forgot he was there with you - the man was enthralled, ENCHANTED. He sat silently, the rainwater dripping down his face, as he was taking in every small gesture you made, taking in every musical note that came out of your BBL mouth, (even the voice cracks), and just taking, well, you in. At that very moment, he was in love. YOU were the femme fatale he needed in his life, the one that would complete him, make him feel whole, and would give him purpose. 

Once you were finished, you snapped back into reality and realized you actually weren't in a music video. You looked to Tommy, whose face barely made any other emote other than the one where he looked like he was annoyed, staring up at you. A wave of anxiety flooded over you - you were the center of his world right now, and that pressure was too hot!

You quickly climbed down, and flashed him a big smile. 

"So?" you asked, now LITERALLY feeling more grounded on the ground. 

He didn't respond at first. Moments later, he did. 

"Do you have something nice to wear?"

"Like what?"

"A dress?"

"Um," you thought, trying to remember the contents of your Hello Kitty-themed suitcase, "maybe. Why?"

He rose up, getting ready to leave from the fear and insecurity of the emotions he just experienced. "I want to take you to the races."

"We're gonna race?"

"Horses. Horse races," he corrected you, making his way to the exit. "Be ready by tomorrow, I'll collect you before noon."

"Oh my god, like a date?" you were too slow to come to the conclusion because by that time he'd already left. The excitement quickly mixed in with the anxiety, which wasn't the best feeling in the world. You knew in anticipation for tomorrow you were gonna need SOMETHING to take the edge off, so before closing up you snatched some bottles of alcohol to take to your flat. You weren't really sure what exactly they were, but what you did know was that it was gonna taste like fucking ass. But when mama needs her go go juice, she TAKES her go go juice.

The following morning you woke up at the crack ass of dawn to get ready - you knew you needed TIME. Not that it takes a while for you to get all pretty, girl you're already naturally stunning! but time and place - you needed to stunt today. Also, you already weren't a morning person so you didn't trust yourself to snooze. Actually, you barely slept at all last night since you were too caught up about what makeup you were gonna do, how you were gonna style your hair, what dress to wear and most of all, your ass was just asked out by Tommy. You wondered if this is how nervy the soldiers felt when they encountered bin Laden's bunker. 

You had already finished your makeup and hair, looking pretty snatched. Too bad your phone's been dead for the past couple of weeks and you couldn't take pictures. But anyway you did the usual 1920's makeup tutorial you remember watching on some Buzzfeed video a while ago, pretending you were doing a Vogue makeup tutorial in your mirror and talking step by step your process. You curled your hair into the 1920's bob they were obsessed with back then, packing on an obscene amount of gel just to keep that wave stiff. You struggled but nonetheless you got it girl. 

You were now staring at the remaining contents of your Hello Kitty-themed suitcase - let's just say, you had nothing. That's a lie you did have SOMETHING but was it appropriate for the time? No. Like if you're going to the Renaissance Fair, your ass isn't gonna wear some Skims ass dress. But guess what? That's actually all you had. 

It was a black, tight, spaghetti-strap slip-on dress that was above the knee - definitely NOT the vibe for the era, maybe a bit too revealing? But what other choice do you have? You're I <3 Surfer Boys tee? Exaaaaactly. 

You slipped it on and was taken aback - you know how you forget how good you look when it's been a while since you've dressed up and you actually surprise yourself? Yeah that was you right now. Kim would be proud to see you in that dress, in fact, she'd probably cheer you on to wear it proudly at the races. Even though she wasn't your favorite sister, you imagining her company right now really did help.  

You kept feeling yourself in the mirror - girl you looked GOOD. You put on some black heels, some perfume and that was it - you were simply that bitch now. 

"Oh my god," you thought to yourself, "Tommy's gonna flip. Shit, I'd get with me."

And just like that, you heard the honks of a car coming from outside your flat. You peered through the window, and there you saw some vintage, rinky dink ass car. 

"Oh, fuck!" you shouted, mainly to yourself, but they heard. "Coming!" you called out the window. 

It was actually happening - oh fuck he's here oh yes he is. Quickly, you grabbed one of the bottles you confiscated and took the fattest swig. It was the most horrendous, grotesque warm vodka you've ever consumed. But it would have to do.

You quickly made it downstairs, taking a moment before appearing outside to calm yourself down and make it seem as if you effortlessly just went down some stairs without a care or worry in the world. You made sure to grab a fur coat, faux of course, and your keys. 

Down by the car was Tommy in the driver's seat, with his two brothers, Arthur and John, seated in the back. They all looked at you in awe - they had never seen so much of a woman's legs in their entire life. 

"Bloody foockin' hell, Tommy! What do we have here?!" Arthur exclaimed. 

"Jesus, Tommy," said John, "I didn't think it was bloody possible for you!"

Tommy stared at you for a few seconds longer, a bit taken aback himself. 

Tommy ignored his brothers and exited his side, helping you into the passenger's. You got a whiff of his cologne that brought out an animalistic, innate horndogness of you that you remembered to keep in check. Now was not the time but it was admittedly hard cause the man just looked so good. 

He climbed back into his side, then started driving off, the cobblestone road causing you to feel even more nauseous than you already did. You didn't realize it, but you were mute for the first ten minutes from how disassociated you were. That vodka was hitting deep and swimming in circles in your empty tummy - you hadn't had breakfast, essentially raw dogging and running on nothing, because you knew if you munched on some Panera bread, you would've thrown it up from the nervousness. You were now really accepting the fact that it was a grave mistake. 

"Well, what's wrong with her?" Arthur bellowed, "is her bloody tongue cut off?"

Tommy gave you a quick little side eye, then fully turned to you after realizing you were, indeed, gone. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned with a TOUCH of attitude. Or maybe they were both the same you couldn't differentiate it when it came to Tommy. 

"Uh, yeah," you cleared your throat and sat up straight, "just really taking in the moment, you know? It's my first race."

Tommy turned back to the road. 

"You guys look great!" you complimented, wanting to move on. 

"Why thank you, Miss Y/N. I shall wear your kind words like a medal from tha war," said Arthur. "You look like one of them silent film stars!"

You blushed. "So, wanna listen to some music?" you suggested, hating sitting in quiet cars.

Tommy scrunched his brows. "What do you mean?"

You looked down to where the touchscreen on the car WOULD be, forgetting this car was quite literally just a box on wheels with an engine attached. AUX and Bluetooth are not in the vocabulary of these people's brains for another couple more decades. 

"Like, carpool karaoke," you suggested. 

"What?" John asked. 

"Bloody hell is that?" Arthur also asked. You also forgot, these English men wouldn't face the atrocity that is James Corden in ALSO a couple more decades. 

Tommy scoffed, a small little smile on his face but nonetheless a smile. He gets it. "Singing. She likes to sing."

"Is that right?" smiled Arthur, "wow, you've really done a number on Tommy boy over here! He's now a fan of the musical arts!"

The two brothers began laughing and smacking Tommy on the shoulders and head in a playful, men-in-a-gang, manner. He smirked. 

"I'll start, I have the perfect song - this one's called Off To The Races," you turned to Tommy, "also by Lana."

You two smiled at the little inside joke y'all had going on now. You then started singing, really into it like the night before. You were hitting those "scarlet, starlet" notes a little too good. Once you wrapped up, you left the three men in a silence that lasted for a couple minutes. Except Tommy, he was always silent. But his brothers were a little confused, but decided to just roll with it since you made Tommy happy. You thought they were just floored by your abilities. 

"Lovely," John finally said, hesitant and low to break the silence.  

"You've got yourself a bloody mental one here, Tommy," said Arthur. Tommy smiled, you were indeed a little unwell but it was okay to him. So was he <3

It had been about an hour after your arrival, you had been helping yourself to a shit ton of food by a table, stocking up like a bear ready for hibernation. You were literally the only one there, and you assumed so because the cigarettes and alcohol these Brits were fucking up were acting as appetite suppressants. Your fat ass wasn't complaining. 

Besides being the only one actually eating something of nutritional value, you were getting HEAVY looks and side eyes for your outfit. You didn't care, your ass looked good from all the walking around the pub you've been doing. Upon entering, Tommy noticed the looks to. You whispered in his ear, "it's cause none of these interbred Habsburg jaws know what a real woman a real BITCH looks like 💅." 

He didn't get exactly what you meant, but got the vibe and he liked it. He, actually, loved that you were the center of attention here, as you SHOULD be. Afterwards, he told you he had some business to attend to and knowing you were hungry, led you to the food table. He said he'd get you after he was done, and man was taking his time. But again you didn't care you were just munching away. 

"Try the scone, darling, it's absolutely dashing!" a rich, socialite said to you. Her costume was just as amazing as everyone else. 

"You know, I've been avoiding it but, maybe I will. Why not?" you smiled, grabbing one and taking a chomp. It tasted like actual ass but you have a great poker face. You moaned like Mark Weins, even hitting his crazy facial expressions. "It's great!" you mumbled. She smiled and talked on about something you didn't really pay attention to. 

Eventually, Tommy came up behind you and grabbed your arm gently. Had this been any other man, you would've pistol whipped them in the face with the rock of a scone in your hand, but it was Tommy so you just got all the butterflies inside. You turned and smiled, chewing your food and swallowing it almost hole to say something and not just stand there. 

"Fhey Tomyif," you mumbled through the dry scone. 

"Feeling better, eh?" he said in a low tone. He seem a little more cheery, which made you cheery. He was enjoying himself, as he should. And so were you, as you should. Let's just say, the vibes were good. 

"Omg, def," you said, finally swallowing the last bit of food, "you know, you should try eating something. I know you don't do it much, but, I feel like it can be a great experience for you."

He looked into your eyes. He loved that you cared. A soft smile came on his lips. 

"Not hungry."

You thought for a minute. "But like, I'm pretty sure you haven't eaten since France."

"Maybe later. Do you dance?"

"Do I dance? With a little spicy marg in me, Tommy, it's over." But alas, the bartender would have no clue what a spicy marg was, so you kinda had to retract your statement, "But no yeah I can dance sober too no biggy."

"Good," he said, grabbing your hand gently and leading you to the crowded dance floor. You turned back to wave at the socialite lady, who gave you a little wink. My girl knew you scored. 

All you knew was that the Brits LOVED their Charleston dancing, something that you definitely needed Just Dance to teach you. But she wasn't here. You were frightened at the thought, but when Tommy pulled you in, and you two just started going at it, it was as natural as your BBL ass. That one Pride and Prejudice dancing sequence had you mastered in the art. 

With his hand at your waist and the other in your hand, and your other hand around his neck feeling his buzzcut, there was no force on this earth that could stop you. You honestly just moved your legs around and were great. 

Up close to him, you were again in touch with his cologne. You needed to control yourself, but it didn't help that he was like three inches from your face. In this sea of people, it just felt like you two and no one else. 

As you two were fucking up that dance floor to that 1920s jazz music, you looked around at the other faces of people dancing around you. Some you caught staring, others pretended not to. You smiled at the fact your hot ass was intimidating. 

"Man, if I were to do the Woah here, they'd all lose their fucking minds," you thought. "What if I like, just started twerking? No, I can't. I can't let them win."  You knew those intrusive thoughts cannot get another W against you again. The last time that happened, you were expelled from theater school. You couldn't, you couldn't embarrass Tommy - but the urge was too strong. 

Almost as if Tommy read your mind, he pulled you aside the dance floor. 

"I want to introduce you to someone," he said. He then took you to a table where a man with the craziest middle part and mustache sat, beside another who looked like an owl with glasses and other carbon copies of English dudes. At the table was a fuck ton of coins and money, along with drinks and clouds of cigarette smoke from ashtrays. 

"Y/N, this is Billy Kimber. He owns the tracks here," Tommy said. Oh my god it's him, its Billy fackin Kimba...

You weren't sure why Tommy would introduce you, but you took it as a compliment. Maybe he just wanted to stunt on this guy? Who knows. 

The man with the goofy ass fucking name had a wry grin on his face that you did not like at all. The vibe was not good no more around this guy. He stuck out his hand to you, and you obliged very hesitantly. He grabbed your hand and kissed it. With that a wave of disgust flew over you, feeling as though you've been stained. Ew gross. 

"Lovely ta meet ya," the man said. He rose, "Mista Shelby, might I ask your lady for a dance?" 

"Oh, no thanks! <3" you said, a welcoming smile on your face. Tommy and Billy both looked at you as if you just said the most out of pocket shit. The owl man and English robots also gave you daring looks.

"Wot?" Kimber spat. 

You almost laughed. 

"Uh, yeah like, I don't wanna dance." you said, mimicking Tana Mongeau's "a bleach and tone".

Billy saw absolute red. He was livid. He turned to Tommy, who, too, was speechless. 

"The fuck are you on about?" Billy spat again. You really weren't sure what he didn't understand.  

You then realized - there was no getting out of this. You didn't want to cause a scene, cause you kinda already did. So you again invited those intrusive thoughts. 

"Fine," you said, clearing your throat and standing straight. "I'll dance."

You then pretended to throw something in the air, looking up in an anticipatory, worried way. They all looked up too, confused. 

"Oh my god, do you see it? Mr. Kimber, where is it?!" you said as if a bomb were to fall. 

He looked up and then to you, growing increasingly worried. He was too in shock to speak. 

"Where is it?! Where is it?! Do you see it?!" you kept looking up at basically nothing, but you knew it was something. You kept them on their toes, scared at this point. Your feet dancing softly, they were ready for impact. It was time to come down. "There! There it is and -"

With that, you pulled it down and committed the hardest, most nastiest Woah you've ever done. The last time it was that riveting was during middle school lunches. 

When you brought that down, the pose you ended on had your head down and body limp, as if you were Aang in the Avatar state during the episode where he was fighting Zuko's papa and had to unlock and harness such force.

You left them taken aback, disoriented. They didn't know what to do or how to react. You looked fucking insane. 

You took a deep breath and stood back up straight, satisfied. Once you realized that the room had fallen completely silent, even the musicians, you felt you needed to excuse yourself. 

"Um, so," you struggled to find the words. You felt the anxiety creeping up again, the lightheadedness arising. And most of all, it was time for you to empty yourself. "I've, uh," you thought harder and harder - "I'VE GOT AN ITCHY BUM!"

You split, running and running as fast as your pumps could take you. You ran and ran, it was always the most liberating activity honestly. All that dancing with Tommy, the nerves piled up along with the hors d'oeuvres - they lead to this very moment. 

You searched round and round, desperately for a bathroom. No where in this bitch was there a sign or indication, and time was running slim. This was some real Mission Impossible, Tom Cruise is on a time crunch, shit. You pushed through crowds of drunk, belligerent and yelling people, feeling your body slowly succumb to the intense body heat. 

Eventually, you spotted a familiar face. You ran. 

"Arthur!" you yelled. He spun and looked back to you. 

"Y/N! What is it?" he asked, worried. You looked a bit wild. "Are you alright? Where's Tommy?"

"He's fine, he's," you thought, "somewhere. Look, it doesn't fucking matter."

"The mouth on you -"

"Where the fuck is the bathroom in this bitch? Huh? The loo? The toilet? The washroom whatever the fuck y'all call it?"

"Well, I was on me way. It's just over there -" he pointed and you bolted. 

As you were entering, you literally ran full force into the socialite from earlier. She wasn't angry, just like Arthur, worried. 

"You look absolutely GHASTLY darling!"

"Girl move -"

You went into one of the stalls and laid your worst. Thankfully since it was a Skims dress, all you had to do was pull your Victoria Secret thong off and go. You felt bad for the ladies in their dresses and stockings and shit here - convenience was definitely not a factor yet. 

After you cleared your business, (and subsequently the whole bathroom), you stepped out of your stall, refreshed and effortless. You washed your hands, fixed your hair and makeup just a bit in the mirror, and felt yourself again. You took mental selfies, since it was all you had. 

As you left the bathroom, you heard the grunts and yells of men. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but it sounded like some shit was fr going down. You crept to the source of the noise, coming from the men's bathroom. At first, you thought someone was probably constipated, but instead it was Arthur, John and a few others absolutely rocking this guy's shit. They were beating him, cutting him with the razors sewn into their goofy caps, and curb stomping his head into the sink. So sink stomping? 

You made a gross face and walked back out. "Yeesh."

After all, it wasn't the first time you were so close to the mob.

 You remember your number one golden rule you learned from earlier during your time with Pablo: Hear nothing, see nothing!

After walking past the dance floor again, you were relieved to see that everyone and everything had gone back to normal - people were back to dancing, drinking and chatting - back to the script. You actually forgot this was supposed to be a horse race. 

But, there was no Tommy anywhere. You searched and searched, yet you couldn't find that 75% shaved head anywhere. 

You then walked back outside by the entrance, where you saw a woman smoking. You went up to her. 

"May I bum a smoke?" you asked in your best English accent, trying to speak their language. She turned to you and pulled one out, lighting it for you. "Thank you so much, you look lovely, darling."

The woman smiled. You loved hyping the girls up!

"You too. I must admit, I find your choice in wardrobe absolutely admirable and daring!"

You smiled, "Aww, really?" you quickly corrected your accent, "Oh dear, many thanks, many thanks yes."

You took a hit of that cigarette. Shit was gross. But when in Rome...

You and the woman spoke for some time, deep in conversation. It was refreshing to meet another girl here, safe to just talk shit and have a break from all the drunken men and oh no there's Tommy. 

You saw him approaching you and he looked again, upset and emo. It didn't exactly burst your bubble, you really liked Tommy, but were afraid that you possibly embarrassed him in front of the Bilbo Timberland from earlier. 

You bided the woman goodbye and walked towards Tommy. He then took you two back to his car and started off onto the road. By now, it was nearing evening. The car ride was pretty silent, you were looking out admiring the brief countryside. Shit was beautiful like a Microsoft Home Screen. 

"So, what's wrong?" you asked. "You're like, down in the dumps again. And where are your brothers?"

"They'll find their own way home," Tommy said, low and serious, the usual. 

"So is that it? Y'all got into a fight or something?"

He let out a deep breath. "I told Billy Kimber he could have a dance with you."

"Ew, why?"

"Well," he didn't want to say 'business', cause like okayyyyy shout out to 1920's gender roles!, "because you look...nice. You look pretty."

You blushed hard, trying to control your smile. Seeing this side of Tommy was like a sneak peak, it was so exclusive!

"Oh my god, Tommy, are you flirting with me? I didn't even know you had that setting available!"

He smirked, his frown OFFICIALLY being turned upside down. He chucked in disbelief of himself. He was falling. 

Once you made it back to the neighborhood, the sun had gone down and the streets were once again pretty dark. Smoky depressing England like what the Smiths wrote about you get the vibe. 

Anyway he took you to his flat, saying that he wanted to "show you something". You weren't sure what that something was, it could've honestly been like a dead body but actually it wasn't! It was dinner <3

"I've uh," he started, not crazy about the fact that he was falling for you, "I've prepared dinner."

You gasped and made a very soy ass face. How absolutely gentlemanly of him!

"Oh my god, no you didn't Tommy!" you said, "You're so sweet, that's like, so sweet! You shouldn't have!"

He smiled softly, in a "yeah I did that" sort of way. And he did just that. You were 90% sure whatever was inside he didn't cook, but it's the THOUGHT that counts!

He escorted you inside like the gentlemen he was, shutting the front door behind you two. The lights inside the flat were dim, and by the table were two plates. Upon closer inspection, you were absolutely FLOORED!!!!

"No way - tikka fucking masala?!" you exclaimed. He chuckled and it was hot. 

You walked closer and saw two very familiar, VERY FAMILIAR, colorful orbs. You turned them to the side. All this time since you'd last seen one, you forgot what they were or looked like. 

"AND FUCKING BUZZBALLS?!?!?!" you said. "Tommy, how the fuck did you even get these?"

He pulled the chair out for you, and you scooted your big fat butt in. 

"I know people. It's my job."

You couldn't help but smirk.

"It's so hot when a man has connections," your dirty Jezebel mind thought. 

He cracked the BuzzBalls opened and poured them for each of you, like it was some high end expensive ass champagne. You watched him, relishing in the moment - you had your GRIP on this man. Chivalry was in fact, despite popular belief, not dead. But it was also the 1920s so you forgot about that bit. 

You looked down at your plate - you were going to fuck. this. up. He'd never seen this side of you - the side that would tear your meal like a fucking ape cracking open a coconut with a rock for water. You thought if you should warn him, but told yourself - he needs to know ME for ME. 

You gripped that naan, grabbed a fat ass chunk of that chicken - and the moment it hit your lips, you had started giggling like Mark Weins again but subtract the poker face. You had forgotten the long lost love of spice other than pepper and salt. You could've cried if it hadn't been for the fact your makeup looked too good. 

You two dined and wined (there's no wine) for the next hour, talking and talking and chewing and chewing. Seeing him eat was hard for your mind to process, you just never thought he was capable of it. Anyway as he was talking you felt bad because you were zoning out looking at him as if he was another dish of tikka masala. He had such a sigma vibe to him, maybe alpha? (I don't know I'm not familiar with gym bro brain rot TikTok lingo but you get the vibe.) He was just so manly and yet so gentle and calculating, it kinda scared you because like he could literally have everything set up to kill you right now and you wouldn't know cause you were too charmed. But then you realized, he wouldn't have done all this shit for someone he wanted dead. No girl, he just wanted YOU! Your toes tickled at the thought, and those butterflies? They were fluttering. 

For the first time, you had anxiety but hadn't felt the need to shit yet. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol calming your nerves, or the chill vintage ambience going on, or Tommy's comfortable/intimidating presence. In other words, this felt natural and you were fucking with it. 

There were several times you needed to burp, but forgetting you weren't with your girls, you had to swallow that shit deep. After all, girls don't burp. You tried to keep your femme fatale composure. 

You were the light he needed in his very dark emo life. It had been a very long time since he had a genuine laugh, despite the fact he might have had no idea what the fuck you were talking about or saying half the time, but seeing you all bubbly and happy made him feel content. He was finally being vulnerable, letting go a little and just, well, living life. Being free. #livelaughlove

"What will you do? When you've saved enough for Scotland?" he asked. 

The idea brought you down a bit. You forgot about that shit. "Oh, well, I don't know. I kinda like the barmaid stuff, so maybe I'll try to find something similar there?"

You were eating his leftovers. He didn't eat much but liked watching you eat like it was a mukbang. He loved a girl who eats. 

"Why don't you stay?" he asked, avoiding eye contact with you as he poured himself another BuzzBall. You could tell he wasn't a fan but drank it anyway for you because you liked it. 

You again couldn't help but smirk. You loved seeing a guy CRACK!!!

"Do you want me to?" you asked, biting your tongue like the white mom. You hadn't done that in a while either, this English life didn't permit it. 

He took a sip from his drink. "Perhaps you'd be interested in working for me."

"Aren't I already, low-key though?"

"Garrison's not mine," he said. "Do you know anything about bookkeeping?"

He lit a cigarette and offered you one. You took it, not wanting to offend. 

"Well, I gotta tell you," you said, "math is NOT my forte. But oh my god yes babe thanks!"

You ran over and jumped to hug him, he hugged tightly back, he then threw you on the hard table, pushing everything to the floor and you felt his member pressed against your leg. He began kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fought for dominance but you let him win. He eventually started going down on you, taking your Skims dress clean off, and started kissing your labia.

"This...this is a bloody fucking labia," he says. 

You lifted your legs as he began to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He held your foot up and raised himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes were closed, ready to take the boy from Birmingham in. This is it. No missed flights, no drunk men to call you Jezebels, no lung cancer from cigarettes and factory smoke, no IRS or IRA, nothing - just you and Tommy.

You and Tommy laid on his bed, in each other's arms. Since his bed was high-key smaller than a twin, it was pretty cramped, but neither of you minded. You two were smoking (him a cigarette and you your Elf bar), reminding you of that one band Cigarettes after Sex and how Tommy would've liked them, but they wouldn't drop music for another couple years in this time zone. 

You two talked softly as the rain patterned on the window's glass, some of the street lights peering through the curtain. If there was some incense on, it'd be a vibe. You originally thought his opium pipe was an incense holder but you were very mistaken. 

" - so yeah, that's why people picked team Jolie. But in all honesty, I feel bad for Jennifer, you know? Like, he literally cheated on her. Over what? A fucky boof ass movie? It was ass," you hit your Elf bar, refusing to accept it was dead. "I guess it doesn't matter now, cause NONE of them are together anymore. So what do you think? Aniston or Jolie?"

He took a drag of cigarette as he stared at the ceiling. He made an unsure face. 

"I'm not familiar with them."

"True. Fine, let me think of something you'd know. Like something English drama," you thought. "Okay, team Blur or team Oasis? I hear there was a lot of blood shed during the battle of Britpop."

He again took another drag of his cigarette. Anyone would be looking at this and thinking he found you hella annoying, but he didn't. He just genuinely thought you had a great imagination. 

"Neither, I guess. I don't have time to listen to music."

He was right, which was why he loved when you sang at the pub and most of all, to him during your private Lana concerts. 

As time went on, you were in DEEP. Scotland? Yeah never heard of her. Not only were you working for Tommy doing whatever bookkeeping is, but he had even introduced you to his family, which you KNOW damn well is a sign that shit is serious. 

You loved the Shelby's, even though they were a bit off their shit sometimes. But it wasn't anything new, you'd been well familiar with crazy families before. You loved talking shit with Polly, going to the 'cinema' with Ada, fucking with Arthur until he got mad, supplying John with his toothpicks and making little Finn believe in the fake number 'derf'. You got along with them well, they saw you as a perfect fit for the family - something different, vibrant and bright! You loved them and they loved you! Polly would even tell you in confidence that you made Tommy a happier person, something he lost after the war. Getting Polly's stamp of approval was literally it, that's all you needed. 

And you and Tommy? Yeah y'all were a thing. An item. During work hours he'd give you little looks here and there, and so did you, as if it was some secret office romance. But it wasn't secret literally everyone knew you were his girl. And that's power. 

You learned the ropes pretty fast, again it wasn't your first rodeo in the mob. It was like Colombia all over again, but we don't talk about that. Tommy fucked with you having a secretive criminal past, he thought it was pretty hot. 

Besides bookkeeping, you still worked in the bar. All the patrons loved when you sang Lana, it just went on to prove that she's indeed a poet. They eventually memorized them and sang along, which annoyed you sometimes cause you just wanted to hear yourself and they sounded like ass when they were drunk. But you just go along with it! 

Some of the songs you in the pub (and Tommy's room) sang included:

Bartender (cause hello? You're LITERALLY at a bar)

Shades of Cool (for Tommy's big blue ass eyes (you wished they could hear that guitar solo cause the acapella didn't do it justice :( ))

Cola (singing this for the fist time made you realize you had to censor a couple things, they weren't a fan of that intro)

Stargirl's Interlude (Lana's part obvi, but it's again for Tommy cause he's your starboy <3 he loved when you hit those high notes)

Brooklyn Baby (you avoided it cause it reminded you of your ex)

Video Games (hello it's for Tommy)

Love Song (this makes them all cry)

Money Power Glory (again hello it's Tommy, but this wouldn't hit until he's a member in Parliament)

National Anthem (being in England for so long made you forget the United States anthem)

Fucked My Way Up To The Top (literally you rn)

Speaking OF a bunch of drunk men, the gang loved you. You thought you were like the comedic relief of the little theater thing they had going on here. You had to admit, you admired the method acting everyone had done so far. It only, to you, proved that it worked, since you were GENUINELY left in deep in a psychosis where you're just a 1920's flapper girl. 

There was some rules and etiquettes you needed to remember, however. One, was of course, the "BILLY FACKIN KIMBA", and another was you finding out Tommy did NOT fuck with brujeria or anything dark magic related. You thought it was kinda funny, he reminded you of those Reddit r/atheist accounts but at the same time, he was low-key scared of zodiacs. Not that he didn't like it, he was paranoid at them. You literally asked his zodiac sign and he responded very sternly and seriously, 

"Y/N, don't."

You then said. "That's a very Capricorn thing to say."

Besides that, everything was great and chill.

It wasn't long before this annoying ass Irish inspector dude pulled up to the pub. Once he saw you, he locked eyes with you and approached the bar. You didn't like his vibe in the slightest. In fact, no one in the pub liked his vibe either. They all fell silent when he entered. 

"Excuse, me, ma'am," he said. You turned, not really wanting to talk. 

"Yeah, what?"

"Do you know about a Thomas Shelby?" 

"Yeah, what about him?" you didn't fuck with anyone who referred to Tommy as Thomas. Like?

"Do you know where I can find him?"

You were really starting to not fuck with his vibe even more. Something was def fishy. 

"You should really go back to being with the dinosaurs," you said. He didn't like that. 

He leaned in. "Do you know who I am? Who do ya think you arrrrrre?" the R's went very crazy. 

And just in time, as if he was your guardian angel, Tommy opened the doors to the little room beside the bar. Babes was hearing everything and he was NOT gonna let this dude talk shit to his girl like that. 

"You need to speak to me? Inspector Campbell, is it?" he said. "I've read about you in the papers."

Tommy then took Campbell soup outside to speak. Before leaving, he (Tommy) gave you a wink and you winked back. You knew that was code for 'let's hit my flat later'. Little did you know, this would be the last time.....

P.S. - when you asked one of the men at the pub who he was and someone replied IRA, you originally interpreted that as the Irish IRS and shat yourself. You didn't know how to tell Tommy your time was ticking, they'd located you - but you were not going down without a fight. 

You were both in his bedroom as usual, he was lying in bed smoking, you were hitting the Elf bar, rain pattering, English people yelling outside yeah you get the vibe. Anyway, he asked you to sing - a request you took quite seriously. You knew this was his only time of relaxation and you had to make the best of it before you break the news you needed to escape again.

You rose, sitting up and looking down at his BBL face. 

"Lana or Nicki?"

"Lana."

"Can I do Nicki? You never ask for her."

He took a drag and nodded. "Go ahead."

This, now this would be where you fucked up. Let's just say, you wish you could wipe out this night from your memory. Alas, all things need to come to an end, even the good ones, unfortunately. You'd never thought it would be like this though tbh. 

You stood up on the bed, as usual, cleared your throat all that bullshit. You thought and thought, "what's a good Nicki song? What's fitting?"

And then it hit you - it was definitely a deep cut. 

He had a soft smile on his lips, watching you as you were thinking. Little did he know, you were going to harness a part of yourself you hadn't seen in a while. This was a mode you unlocked that was such a release after, and you knew you had to go all or nothing. 

You cleared your throat. 

"Okay, so this one's kinda not AS well known, but it has British themes I think work well," you prefaced. "Okay, here I go."

The moment you opened your mouth, you let the spirit of Nicki come in. And once she's in, there's no going back. And Tommy was not prepared for that. You then started Nicki's verse in Sean Kingston's "Born To Be Wild".  

"♪ If you will die, then why would you try and if you reply, a suit and a tie is what I will buy then you will be mine because you and I were born to be wild, I am Martha you King Arthur who knew you would land me, I’ve been known to eat these rappers, cook em like chef Ramsey - ♪"

You were too deep to notice Tommy's rapid increasing worry and fear as you spat out those lyrics. It was too overstimulating for him to handle. You ate, but that was just want concerned him - he didn't know you were rapping. In fact, no one at this current time did. 

" ♪ - Mission accomplished, your my accomplice cover of vogue yeah ima go topless ima go bonkers ima go crazy ima get reckless then have a baby then hang the baby off the balcony teach him to moon walk tell em he's Japanese - ♪ "

No, he thought you were putting a curse on him. No, he was CONVINCED. 

"Stop! STOP!" Tommy rose from his bed, pushing the sheets off of him. 

You were shaken out of your trance, confused. You became worried, what happened? Did you miss something? Were y'all in danger?

"Wait, Tommy -"

"Enough! Stop!" you had never seen panic in that man's eyes. Never. And you didn't like it. He was looking straight at you, talking to YOU. 

"Stop what -"

"You're a bloody fucking witch!" he yelled, rubbing his hand through his hair while the other TIGHT on his hip. This was his evaluating stance. "That's what this is - that's what it's been."

"Uh, Tommy," you said, more annoyed that he interrupted your moment, "I'm no witch. I'm just, well, Y/N."

He took a deep breath, now facing away from you. He couldn't believe it. All this time, all that mumbo jumbo that came out of your mouth, all this time - they were just that. Curses. No wonder he didn't understand them, you were literally speaking in tongues this whole time. 

You walked towards him, slowly. This man needed that opium right now. 

"Tommy -"

"Leave. LEAVE!" he yelled, grabbing your messy bun, and doing what you didn't think would happen again for a very long time - he beybladed you. 

Spin. Spin. Spin.

"LET IT BLOODY RIP!"

And there it was. 

And there you went. 

He twisted you in the air round and round, ready for a different kind of liftoff. He flung you out the window, you crashed through and onto the cobblestone streets of Birmingham. 

That was it. All these months, all this rehearsing - it all came to an end. On a random Tuesday evening? The Tommy you once thought you knew was no more - after all this time, he never trusted you? Didn't he know who you were? Like dude he watched you be vulnerable at fuck up a tikka masala. TWO of them at that. 

Anyway, you realized maybe the entirety of UK just wasn't your vibe, anyway. With this 'IRA' now in town, your ass needed to be grass. Before leaving, you broke into his horse racing betting place whatever it's called and committed a little fun heist, taking all the money. What? A girl needed to sustain herself in this economy. Dog eat dog world shit. And plus, all your stuff was back at his apartment and you were DEF not gonna go back. Who knows? Was HE working for the Men In Black? Wining and dining you to gain his trust and he turned you in? Maybe he did you a favor in the end. 

And maybe you could upgrade to the latest iPhone when you got to London with all this horse money? With a shilling and a pound, the possibilities seemed endless. 

You walked down the streets, sad, but again more confused and a little relieved, onto your next destination, wherever that maybe. Anywhere Y/N went, it was all just a big adventure of a girl having fun being, well, just a girl having fun in this world. And THAT'S all that matters. 

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo, 

~Sam St. Clair

[cilldistilled]

In the Morning - a spoken word short story

by Enda Walsh

narrated by Cillian Murphy

They were once made, of course, these wooden blinds. Once brand new. Wrapped tastefully, probably, and bought as part of a bigger dream, by a young couple, maybe, who made a longish car journey to the outskirts of the city, to a warehouse housing various homewares. And the wooden blinds, so carefully placed in the boot of the car, and removed and carried up to this- I think it must be a flat, I’m not too sure yet, but - but the wooden blinds, with care still, are attached to the window, and she and he must’ve sat on the sofa, a sofa I’m aware of but have not looked at yet, for I know what’s lying there. But they sat on the sofa, drinking tea and eating into a packet of biscuits, and stared up at these wooden blinds, and what they felt in their stomachs beneath the sugary mush of tea mixed with biscuits, what they must have felt was…pleasure; not pleasure- success.

They have lost their luster, these blinds, not completely, but a few summers have baked them dull. Even from where I’m lying I can see it, or maybe just guess it, that from the outside they are graying, like I am. They are tired, like I have been. They have been ignored, like everything else.

I try again to think of the faces of the couple who bought these blinds, who owned this flat, for now I’m sure it’s a flat, but I can’t see their faces when I shut my eyes. In the darkness I try to construct what they looked like again and so drag together eyes and noses with no definition, hair that moves like a cloud on a changeable head. I make some composite of a man and a woman whose features bleed back into black.

I send my eyes back open, back onto the wooden blinds. My stomach sours for a moment, not from anything eaten- I don’t eat.. I know that much. But lying on the floor is a… cream-colored carpet? I can see that now. And lying here on this carpet I can feel my stomach share the sourness with the rest of me, with my hand certainly. What have I done? it speaks. But it knows; it talks through the wooden blinds. Unspoken it calls to me to sit up, to walk around the flat, to uncover what it was: to uncover what happened here, to look at the sofa. I can’t. I won’t. Because I know… of course…

I have blood on my hands. I won’t look at them. I can feel the blood there. And there is a lot of blood. My fingers, the skin stretched, there must be much blood, I guess, and dry now, they curl over the cuff of my shirt. It’s wet still, the cuff. And I’m aware of my clothes and how they’re on me, lying on me all crumpled, everything else dry at least, but for the wet cuffs, the cuffs and my eyes… they seem to be crying. But not just yet, but- I feel like I should be. And the eyes are asking me to think about what happened last night, for it’s morning time and I’ve woken like this before, in another room. Other rooms. 

The sourness turns, and images I can see of me as a shadow and having found my way into the room I shouldn’t be in, I sit watching television. Sometimes I make myself a cup of coffee, depending on the type of coffee that the family buy, and always I sit and wait. And it seems wrong to open the drawers for wardrobes, to enter bedrooms, even, seems disgusting and intrusive, definitely, and wrong too to steal that coffee, to use their electricity to watch whatever’s on, but I do. Why shouldn’t I? I sit, and I’ve sat often on sofas, and it is the most still I feel. With nothing on my mind the world is frozen and silent, and only the silent moving images of daytime television brightly hitting my eyes but not my mind. The mind is untouched still, yet turning, imperceptibly.

To sit in another person’s life, to sit surrounded by their things, a world that’s invisible to them now. A place grown dull and beneath normal, a room ignored as this room was before I sat here and made it something special. To sleep through life, to forget so easily the wonder and effort of how your life is pulled around you and how it stays. When all outside is sliding and crashing about, to forget with easy indifference the home that you made, the room that you made to keep you safe, to forget all of this?

How many times have I sat on other people’s sofas and waited to kill them? Many. A reckoning I’ll bring, a reckoning to the spoiled, to the forgetful. From the carpet I look up and see them on the sofa. They’re still. I can hear their souls wailing outside and calling me out of this room, out of this flat, back onto the streets. My rest is over. It’s morning time, and time to move on.

[imjustagirl247]

CILLIAN MURPHY

Cillian takes your hand, leading you to the bedroom. The room is dimly lit, with soft music playing in the background. He pulls you close, his body warm against yours. His black hair falls around your face as he kisses you, his lips soft and gentle."You're so beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I'll be gentle with you, don't worry."You nod, your heart racing with anticipation and nerves. Cillian lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours. He kisses your neck, his lips soft and teasing. You shiver, your body already responding to his touch.Cillian's hands roam your body, caressing every curve. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. He kisses your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. You moan, your hands tangling in his hair.Cillian trails kisses down your chest, his hands unbuttoning your shirt. He kisses your stomach, his lips warm against your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You're so perfect," he murmurs.You nod, your breath coming in short gasps. Cillian finishes undressing you, his hands lingering on your skin. He kisses every inch of your body, his lips soft and gentle. You've never felt anything so sensual in your life.Finally, Cillian climbs on top of you, his hard length pressing against your hip. He kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, a heady and erotic sensation.Cillian positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked with yours. "Are you ready?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.You nod, your heart pounding. Cillian enters you slowly, gently. You gasp, stretching to accommodate him. He feels big, but in a good way. Cillian stills, letting your body adjust to his size."Am I hurting you?" he asks, concern etched on his face.You shake your head, wrapping your legs around his waist. "No, it feels good," you whisper.Cillian begins to move, slowly and gently. He kisses you passionately, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. You can't get enough of his kisses, his taste, his touch.Cillian's hands roam your body, caressing every curve. He kisses your neck, your ear, your collarbone. You moan, lost in a haze of desire. Cillian's thrusts become more frantic, but he never loses his gentleness."You feel amazing," he breathes, his forehead pressed against yours. "I could stay inside you forever."You agree, your body tightening around him. Cillian's breathing becomes ragged, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. "Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with lust.You obey, your body clenching around his. Cillian follows soon after, his cum filling you to the brim. He collapses on top of you, his body covering yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close.Cillian rolls off you, pulling you close. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your lips. You kiss him back, savoring his taste, his touch. He's the best kisser you've ever met.Cillian trails his fingers down your spine, sending shivers down your body. "You were amazing," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I've never had a more beautiful partner."You blush, snuggling closer to him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. You fall asleep in his arms, safe and content. You've never felt so loved and desired in your life.

[starsarefire824]

🌟 10 questions for writers 🌟

thanks @foodiewithdahoodie for the tag! <33

how many works do you have on ao3/tumblr?

I have 42 works on ao3. I don't post fics on tumblr. I used fanfiction.net back in the day, but those fics are lost to to the interwebs now.

what's your total ao3/tumblr word count?

I'm at 649,251 on ao3 :)

what fandoms do you write for?

right now i'm pretty much writing for stranger things exclusively. it's just a fun world! in the past i have written for Severance, The Morning Show, Star Wars Trilogy, Game of Thrones, and my beloved Turn: Washington's Spies.

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I usually always try to respond. Sometimes things get away from me and I feel like the time has passed if we're chapters and chapters further in the story, but I really appreciate them, so I always try to respond, and sometimes it can lead to some interesting conversations or things about the characters I might not have thought about per se, so I really enjoy responding! Sometimes, I respond to some friends on discord so I usually will just leave my screaming over there. :)

have you ever had a fic stolen?

I do not think so. There was an instance of reading something very similar in someone's fic who I knew had read my fic prior. While a little annoying, it was not enough to really bother me. But if there are things out there, I haven't seen them!

have you ever cowritten a fic before?

yes! I was working with @perpetualexistentialcrisis17 (perexcri) and @thornywords on a byler p&p au. It's posted on ao3, but it is on hold for now until we all are ready to delve back into it. <3

what's your all-time favourite ship?

Townhull from Turn and Byler. In the past, Reylo.... and Petyr x Sansa from GOT.

what are your writing strengths?

hmmm, I think maybe staying within one character's lens and finding the emotionality in sex scenes. People have told me that I am good at tension between characters and the way i reveal parts of the story.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Oh man, definitely rushing. Sometimes I get tired of looking at something, and then when i go back i find tons of little typos. So i'm constantly doing minor editing on a03. I wish I was funnier and better at actions scenes. I've gotten much better at this as I've gotten older and just write so much more, but sometimes I forget plot points if it's been too long writing lmao. Also I talk about eyes too much 😂🫠

first fandom you wrote for?

Buahaha, when I was 14 a Wes Crave movie came out called Red Eye with Cillian Murphy and Rachel McAdams. I was obsessed and wrote a fanfic with them that I never finished. That ship would have sailed so hard if that was released now. XD

I'm tagging @greenfiend, @souverian-are-we, @perpetualexistentialcrisis17, @thornywords, @wisehearts, @magentamee and anyone else who'd like to do this! @me so i can read! <3333

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part Two: Jazz Bar

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

The jazz concert took place in a small bar, downtown Soho. It was a Thursday evening, at around 9 o'clock, when you arrived at the establishment with the view to meet your best friend and fellow student Lucy there. Lucy was two years older than you and you shared a dorm room with her on campus. 

Just like you, Lucy was nerdy and focused on her studies, telling you years ago that you should not have gotten involved with Max but, of course, you did not listen to her at the time. 

That evening, Lucy stood you down, not intentionally but out of necessity. She had an assignment due the following day and recognized that she had not spent enough time on its content. 

So, at around nine that evening, you received a message from her saying that she had to bail on you, leaving you alone in the quirky bar which, by now, was filled with art students, middle aged men and women and a few musicians. 

Still, you were determined to make the most of the night. After all, your favorite band was playing, and this alone encouraged you to order yourself a drink and take a seat close to the stage.

A few minutes later, the band started a lively tune, and soon everyone began dancing.

You found yourself swaying to the rhythm, feeling the energy of the crowd enveloping you and, just as you were starting to get lost in the music, you spotted a familiar face.

It was Cillian, Max's father, who was standing near the bar, nursing a glass of red wine. 

The sight of him jolted you, sending a wave of mixed emotions coursing through your veins. You hadn't seen him since that fateful weekend in Dublin over fifteen months ago, and the memory of his captivating blue eyes and mesmerizing voice lingered within you. You watched him from afar, unable to tear your gaze away.

Cillian appeared to be engrossed in a conversation with a group of people, but every once in a while, he would glance around the room, scanning the faces of the attendees.

That's when his gaze landed on you and he excused himself from the group of people he was with. 

Approaching you with purpose, he smiled warmly. "Y/N, hey...it's nice to see you again," he greeted you. "How have you been?" he wanted to know and, immediately, his deep voice resonated through your body, stirring a familiar spark within you.

"I'm doing well, thank you," you responded, trying to remain composed. "How about you?" you asked before asking "what brings you here tonight?" with some surprise. 

"Oh, I saw that this band was performing and thought I'd check them out," Cillian explained casually with his thick Irish accent. 

"Are you in London for work or to see Max?" you asked Cillian, trying to keep your voice steady. 

"I am here for work, shooting a commercial, but I did catch up with Max yesterday for dinner," Cillian answered. "He seems to be doing well, even though he dropped out of medical school," he explained, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness knowing that you may have been the reason he quit his studies. 

"I am sorry Cillian, I feel like I caused this," you admitted hesitantly, remembering the countless arguments you had with him about his lackadaisical attitude towards academics right before the break-up. 

"No, you didn't. If anything, he hung in there as long as he did because of you," Cillian reassured you. "He is a good kid, but he lacks the discipline and commitment for such a difficult field of studies, and I must admit that, so did I, when I was his age," he chuckled before telling you that, at the age of twenty, he dropped out of law school. 

"Well, fortunately for you, you discovered acting and that clearly turned out to be your calling," you said with a wink and Cillian laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"That's right, I guess," he agreed, sipping on his wine. "So, no doubt Max will find his way too, at least once he gets over you," he then added calmly before gesturing towards the chair next to yours, wanting to take a seat.

"I am sure he is over me. It's been a year already and I see him quite often on campus these days. He may have transferred to the Arts Faculty, but he is still chatting up and flirting with the medical students," you joked before indicating to Cillian to take the seat. 

"He's a charmer, that's for sure," Cillian said with a hint of pride in his voice. "So, tell me," he leaned in closer, his scent intoxicating, "have you narrowed down your field of practice yet? Are you still interested in pediatrics?" Cillian asked you, his eyes sparkling with interest. "I mean, you mentioned it the last time we saw each other, but have you decided on anything yet?" Cillian pressed further, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I suppose that's accurate," you replied, feeling a surge of nervousness wash over you. "Pediatrics is definitely the direction I'm leaning towards, particularly oncology research."

"Oncology? That's fascinating," Cillian remarked, his eyes widening.

"Why oncology specifically?" he pressed, genuinely curious. "Is it because of your friend who battled leukemia? I remember you talking that," he went on to say and you were impressed by the fact that he remembered. Unlike Max, Cillian appeared to be a good listener and you appreciated that. 

"Yes, that's right. Ever since visiting my friend in the hospital, I've been fascinated by the idea of using science to combat diseases. Research gives me the opportunity to contribute to the advancement of healthcare," you explained earnestly.

Cillian tilted his head, studying you closely. "Your dedication is admirable," he complimented, admiration glimmering in his eyes, and you blushed faintly, feeling flattered by his praise.

"Thank you, Cillian," you mumbled shyly before downing the rest of your drink.

"Would you like another drink?" Cillian thus asked, being observant, as he settled into the chair, his scent wafted over you, a mix of expensive cologne and freshly laundered linen. "My shout," he then went on to say as he noticed you hesitating and, immediately, you suppressed a shiver, suddenly aware of the intimate setting you'd created.

"Okay," you muttered nervously, gazing down at your empty glass. "Thank you," went on to say and, not long after that, Cillian walked off and instructed the bartender, handing over his credit card.

When he returned to the table, you both fell quiet again, awkwardly staring at the dance floor. The band played a slow, bluesy number, and couples danced intimately beneath the dim glow of the stage lights.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, you attempted to change the subject. "How is Danielle?" you asked, swirling the wine in your glass.

Cillian hesitated, his expression clouding over. "Alright, I suppose," he muttered, a hint of melancholy creeping into his voice.

"Alright, you suppose?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. The way he answered your question seemed absurd.

"Yeah, well, things aren't exactly smooth sailing with us," he admitted reluctantly. "We have been having problems for years," he confided in you, causing your heart to skip a beat.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," you sympathized, genuine concern etching your features. "Max did mentioned about you fighting a lot," you commented cautiously, careful not to cross any boundaries.

Cillian exhaled deeply, his shoulders drooping slightly. "We've been trying to work things out but it hasn't been easy," he confessed, his voice laced with sorrow. "Sometimes it feels like we're stuck in a cycle of misunderstandings, accusations and resentment," he admitted.

"I may have heard about certain rumors, in the tabloids, concerning you and other actresses," you ventured delicately, "but I know that these gossip magazines tend to blow things out of proportion," you quickly added just as Cillian chuckled and interrupted you. 

"I didn't take you to be the kind of person who reads these kinds of magazines Y/N. I am really disappointed in you," he mocked, giving you a sideways glance, which made you blush. 

"I don't, unless I am at the hairdressers and my phone is running low on battery," you admitted, meeting his gaze. "And I know the press loves to feed on drama," you added defensively, trying to cover up the embarrassment.

"Well then, for what it's worth, I can assure you that I have never cheated on my wife," Cillian stated plainly, his eyes locked on yours. "Not that I haven't had the opportunity though," he admitted without hesitation, his honesty striking you speechless.

"I am sure you have had many opportunities," you commented lightly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

"Maybe not many, but I had some," Cillian laughed before changing the topic to something lighter. 

"What about you?" he asked. "Have you met anyone new since you broke up with Max?" he wanted to know before apologizing for his question, telling you that you did not have to answer it if it made you uncomfortable. 

You swallowed nervously, your pulse quickening at the mention of your former lover. "No, it's okay," you told him. "I haven't had much time for dating," you lied, fiddling with your napkin. "Med school takes up most of my time," you added, not wanting to reveal the truth that no one had caught your attention since Max, at least not yet.

Cillian nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine," he said, before pausing briefly, watching you sip your drink before continuing with caution. "So, besides med school, what keeps you busy?" he questioned, curiosity burning in his eyes.

You sighed softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Not much, honestly," you confessed, shrugging nonchalantly. "I mean, there's the occasional date with friends, dinners with family, and that's pretty much it," you admitted. "I can't lie though, it does get lonely sometimes," you revealed, peering down at your lap.

"I get like this when I am away filming for weeks," Cillian shared, nodding sympathetically. "When the loneliness creeps in, it makes you feel so isolated, doesn't it?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, absolutely," you agreed, your voice barely audible. "I've learned to appreciate moments like these, though, because they remind me how precious human connection truly is," you confided in him, reaching to clasp your hands together.

Cillian gazed at you, his gaze softening. "It must be tough, being so dedicated to your studies. How do you manage to balance everything?" he pondered aloud.

"I've developed strategies to cope. For instance, I set aside time for myself each day, whether it's going for a run or reading a book," you admitted, your voice trailing off and it was at this point that you learned that you shared even more common interests with Cillian. 

He, too, liked to go for runs and read, and not just scripts for upcoming projects. He enjoyed historical fiction as well as thrillers, and his literary horizons were broad. You found this refreshing, considering how insular and self-involved actors could be.

After ordering more drinks, you and Cillian talked some more and shared some laughs. Your conversations flowed effortlessly, covering various subjects ranging from books you both loved to visit places you hoped to travel to someday. Cillian spoke passionately about the beauty of Ireland and its rich history, while you eagerly described your fascination with Italy, having taken a trip there during your gap year.

You exchanged stories, sharing experiences both past and present, discovering more similarities between the two of you. Cillian was intrigued by your intelligence and wit, while you admired his charm and charisma. The chemistry between you intensified, growing stronger with each passing moment.

By the time it was midnight, the group of people he had talked to earlier left and the music had stopped, which is when Cillian reached across the table to refill your glass from the bottle of wine he had ordered thirty minutes ago and, just as he did, his fingers brushed against yours, igniting a spark that neither of you could ignore.

An awkward silence ensued, but instead of dissipating quickly, it grew thicker with tension.

Cillian's intense gaze bore into you, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your arms. You glanced at the stage, searching for a distraction, but the band had packed up their instruments and left.

Cillian cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Well, time flies when you' are having fun," he murmured, his voice husky and seductive. "It is nice talking to you, but it is getting late," he added, checking his watch conspicuously. "And I should probably head back to the hotel," he concluded and you blinked twice.

"Where are you staying?" you blurted out impulsively, catching yourself off guard by your sudden curiosity.

"At the Hilton," Cillian replied simply, adjusting his posture in his seat. "It's not far from here, actually," he added, his voice drifting into a contemplative tone.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, contemplating your next move. "That's convenient," you murmured, attempting to sound casual. "I have heard that they have a decent bar downstairs," you stammered, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Cillian chuckled softly, his eyes glinting mischievously. "They do. So, perhaps we should grab a nightcap before you are heading home," he offered you almost nervously, causing your heart to race. 

"I would like that," you said softly, offering him a gentle smile, hoping that he would interpret it correctly.

With a nod, Cillian rose from his seat, his frame casting a shadow over you. He extended his hand, helping you to your feet. You felt the warmth of his touch and the strength of his grip, and your knees weakened slightly.

As you followed him towards the exit, the crowd parted, making way for you two as if silently acknowledging the magnetic pull between you two.

Once outside, the cool air hit you, a stark contrast to the heat inside the bar.

The neon signs cast a hazy glow on the cobblestone streets, and the distant hum of traffic blended seamlessly with the whispers of passersby. A sense of excitement pulsed through you as you allowed your senses to heighten, embracing the intoxicating atmosphere.

You and Cillian headed for the Hilton, which was a five-minute walk from the jazz club.

As you approached the hotel lobby, the ambient lighting and plush furnishings provided a cozy refuge from the chilly night air but, much to your disappointment, you noticed that their bar was already closed.

"I suppose we won't be having that nightcap after all," you lamented, pouting your lips while Cillian contemplated whether or not to ask you to join him in his room. 

He bit his lip, looking up at the ceiling before making a decision.

"We could always go to my room and order a bottle of wine," he then suggested, his voice trembling slightly. "If you want to, that is," he added hastily, turning his gaze onto you and, immediately, your heart skipped a beat, your breath hitching as you stared into his deep blue eyes.

"Okay, yeah, why not," you managed to utter, feeling a rush of nerves wash over you. "Just for one drink though," you insisted, hoping to ease your mounting anxiety while Cillian's piercing blue eyes lighted up.

"Sounds perfect," he agreed, leading you towards the elevator bank with a pang of guilt flooding his mind as he thought about the possibility of taking this further than his vows would permit. "Just one drink then," he thus reminded himself as he pushed the button for the top floor, hoping that his loyalty to Max and Danielle would prevail over the desire for you.

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[rinasunny]

Red Eye (2005) Early Screenplay Trivia

First of all, I'm very sorry for clogging your Red Eye/Jackson x Lisa feed with DVD commentary. I was planning to do the same with the final shooting script but I guess it will just one post with the juiciest stuff (and just give the link to the script with highlited Jackson/Lisa stuff).

Now, to the main topic of the post. In 2011 someone nicknamed "cougarlady" posted a link for Red Eye's early script draft by Carl Ellsworth on Cillian Murphy's fan forum (https://cillianforum.proboards.com/thread/4257/original-red-eye-script). The bad news is the link currenty doesn't work. The good news is one printed copy of that script still exists. If you have spare 169$ you can purchace it on e-bay (https://www.ebay.com/itm/353755359870). Another good news: some lucky fellas on the forum shared their impressions regarding the script so we have some bits and pieces of the early movie script, which is quite different from the final product. So here's what they

One more important thing to consider (it wasn't discussed on the forum) - Lisa and Jackson were meant to be older (5-10 years) than Rachel and Cillian were at the time of shooting. Especially given that Wes' first dream casting were Sean Penn and Robyn Wright (who were married at the time btw).

Lisa's backstory was different: she wasn't raped but lost her husband instead (he died). Also she had an affair with Keefe at some point. (accoriding to Cyraus)

Speaking of Keefe, he was meant to be a businessman, he only became a polititian after test screenings. (this wasn't mentioned on the forum, but you can find it out in DVD commentary and interviews maybe).

Rippner was the one to stand up to irritated passanger (Lisa didn't take part in it, I guess). (accoriding to Cyraus)

Jackson seems to be much more cruel and cold-hearted than Cillian's rendition. Users described him as narcissist and sociopath. "Also, this Script-Rippner seemed very inconsequent about his feelings for Lisa. He seems to REALLy hate her at some parts." (quote by iseebutterfly)

Jackson threatens Lisa to kill not only Joe, but her entire family. It seems like he killed her grandmother, unfortunately no context, 'cause in the movie the last part would make no sence. (according to cougarlady)

Funny enough Jackson has no tangible evidence that he can order kill anyone (unlike the movie). (according to cougarlady)

And despite this the chemistry is still present. "I love the scene where he kisses her forehead, even if just to unsettle her, but I hate that the took away this thing they had, this weird chemistry, neither of them could explain." (quote by iseebutterfly)

The early script doesn't have the lavatory scene yet. (accoriding to Cyraus)

"The part where he has her in his clutches ready to break her neck with his mouth crawling over her almost makes up for not having the lavatory scene." (quote by Cyraus)

A little bit about Jackson's name. Given his "No Lie" rule (at least when it comes to Lisa) the watchers assume it is his real name. However, Wes said in one of interviews that it is made up (to suit Lisa's father initials). A this is quite confusing tbh. Anyway the early draft suggests that Jackson's real name is... George King. And you thought Jack Rippner was bad... Although there is no consensus on whether or not "George" is his real name either. (according to Cyraus, cougarlady and iseebutterfly)

Jackson and Lisa had a dialogue where Lisa said that his is fucked. His replies are "Lisa, that language doesn't suit you." and "If you don’t look at me, you’ll get a glimpse of just how f*cked I am." There's no context unfortunately. (according to Cyraus and Cait)

The ending was different. They do not specify it. But from what we know from DVD commentary, the final fight in the Reiserts' house was Wes's idea.

P.S.: I probably missed something, so I suggest to check out the forum page yourself.

[creativepawsworld]

Everything But You - Part 6

Pairing = Cillian Murphy x OC

Summary = Things take a wrong turn when Andrew shows up at the next The Sons of Mr Green Genes Concert. 

Warnings = Language, Grammar, 90s Cillian, Insults? 

Word Count = 1852

It had been two weeks since Cillian and I had sex at the dance studio and things were definitely different this time. He was calling more, wanting to hang out with just the two of us. I honestly felt myself falling for him.

Brushing off the lint from my black skirt, I checked my appearance three more times in the mirror before getting a taxi and arriving at the Black Duck bar, where Cillian's band was performing tonight.

My eyes instantly fell on Billy who was standing outside having a smoke, jumping from foot to foot as the cold December air nipped at his bare arms.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, feeling the cold against my skin. I forewent a coat to maintain my sexy, rocker chick look. I felt like a coat ruined the illusion, style overcame substance tonight.

"Marion bailed and I wasn't going out alone I am not that desperate." He scoffed with a slight roll of his eyes, wrinkles creasing at the sides of his lips as he inhaled deeply on the white cigarette.

"Besides I heard young blue eyes is playing tonight." He wriggled his eyebrows at me.

"He is. That is true." I blushed, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"What's going on with you two hm?" He questioned, a cheeky grin spreading across his face once he noticed my reddened cheeks.

"I really like him Bil…"

"Tell me something I don't know." Billy rolled his eyes, putting the ends of his cigarette out against the pebble-dashed wall before tossing the remains down a drain. "Come on let's get inside before we turn into ice cubes."

Walking arm in arm, we pushed our way through the crowd, Aoife was sitting at a table with one of Andrew's friends, Calvin. I instantly felt bile rise in my throat at the thought of him being in the same bar as both myself and Cillian but mostly because I would have to see him again.

"Don't look so scared, he isn't here. I don't believe so anyway." Billy spoke in my ear. Without realising it, I had pulled him to a stop at the sight of the taller man at the table but hearing his words I felt relief wash over me.

"Effs, been getting rather close to this doctor hunk."

"I can see that." I nodded, walking next to him, and approaching the table with a smile, which Calvin returned.

"Cillian was here. He was looking for you. Wanted to talk about something but wouldn't say what." Aoife acknowledged my presence with a smile. "I think someone is smitten." She winked, wrapping her pink lips around the tiny red straw in her drink.

Glancing over at Calvin, he was watching the conversation with an indifferent look on his face before allowing a smile to take over.

"Don't worry I won't say anything to Drew." He chuckled with a shake of his head. "He didn't deserve you."

"Oh okay, thanks." I nodded bringing the drink Aoife had slid over to me into my hands and up to my mouth, sipping through the straw my eyes wandered throughout the crowd for a certain blue-eyed musician but he was nowhere to be found.

Being late to the party, I was in charge of getting the next round of drinks, I didn't mind as it allowed me to scan the crowd a bit better.  My heart sank when I noticed a familiar blond sitting at the bar nursing a pint of Harp in his hands.  

Rolling my eyes, I turned my back on him completely hoping the bartender would serve me in record time so I could escape back to my table without dealing with him.   But it appeared luck wasn't on my side.

"Brianna, fancy seeing you here." Andrew's voice entered my ear. I felt his hand slide across my lower back from behind before he stood in front of me, pint half drunk.

"What do you want Andrew? You don't even like bars like this."

"No but I wanted to see you and I knew you would be following that loser from the band around like a lost puppy." He laughed darkly, the smell of alcohol ripe on his breath, looking into his eyes I noticed his pupils were slightly dilated, he had a lot more than that pint to drink.

"The only loser I see around here is you" I spat back, turning to glare at the bartender who had once again skipped over me to serve another.

"Don't be like that Brie, come on you and I had a good few years let's not throw it away over some wannabe musician." Andrew's words were slightly slurred.

His hand came up to place some hair behind my ear, and the back of his fingers stroked against my cheek, working their way down towards my jaw before I pulled away.

"We are done Andrew get that through your head."

  *****

Returning to the table, I placed the drinks down just as The Sons of Mr Green Genes got on stage to perform.

Cillian took centre stage. He looked gorgeous tonight in his tight-fitted black t-shirt that clung to his smaller frame. Throwing the strap of his guitar around his neck, he adjusted the microphone to his lips, it was then I noticed the annoyed scowl on his face.

"Someone upset Mr Blue Eyes this evening." Billy mused, eyebrows raised so high they were practically touching his hairline.

Glancing over at him, I squinted my eyes and shook my head in confusion, silently asking him what he was talking about as the band started to play the song -Time Travel.

"He saw you talking to Andrew before he went on stage." Aoife sighed, a sympathetic smile on her face as she placed her now empty glass onto the bar tray, taking her new drink in its place. "I think he believes you invited him."

"I didn't!" I defended myself immediately.  "Why is he even here? You said you wouldn't say anything about me being here." I pointed at Calvin who had held his hands up in defence.

"I haven't said a thing. He has been following you for weeks, showing up at this band's gigs across the country just to see you."

"What?" Aoife screeched, jumping out of her seat to stand next to me, a concerned look on her face as she stared down at her date for the evening. "Why did you say anything?"

"He's harmless." Calvin brushed it off.

"They are always harmless until they aint." Billy scowled throwing one of his dirtiest looks at the buffer gentleman sitting across from him.

"That's disturbing. What a creep." Aoife scoffed, throwing a look of disgust over her shoulder but Andrew was gone. Where? I wasn't sure but he was out of my sight.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to ignore what had happened focusing all my attention on Cillian who was once again so lost in his music, he looked like he was in a complete trance. I felt my heart beating in my chest, as I thought about our last few encounters and we were certainly overdue for another.

Losing myself to the music, I swayed in time, Billy joining next to me for a few before returning to his seat. Cillian avoided eye contact with me the entire set, his brother Paidi waved to me a few times before the beginning of each song, and even nudged Cillian, nodding in my direction but still he refused.

Feeling deflated, I returned to the table, taking a large mouthful of my drink when Emer appeared at our table, dressed in a red dress two sizes too small. Her chest was straining against the bust, one wrong move and she would be flashing.

"Jesus." Billy choked on his drink. The liquid coming out of his mouth hit Calvin like a spray.

"You alright?"  I asked, patting him on the back, his eyes turned red from the lack of oxygen, and the drink was running down his nose as he gasp loudly. Handing him a white napkin he patted himself down.

"She nearly fucking killed me." He wheezed pointing at Emer, who stood innocently at the end of the table. A doe-eyed look in her eyes as she watched Cillian on stage, completely obvious to what was happening around her.

"Emer? What are you doing here?" I asked, ignoring Billy's over-the-top dramatics, another male in my life that would excel in the art of acting.

"Oh Cillian invited me, between us I think he is into me but he is trying to play it cool." She giggled and for the first time tonight, Cillian looked in our direction sending a wink.

Biting back a growl, I felt a pang of jealousy in my heart as Emer jumped up and down on her feet, clapping her hands together frantically as the band finished their set.

"You okay?" Billy asked, sliding next to me, and wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders.

"I'm done. I'm so fucking done." I growled, throwing myself back into my seat, and crossing my arms over my chest.

I didn't want to put a sour note on the night, Emer had disappeared into the crowd no doubt going to find Cillian after his set and I was determined to enjoy myself.

I was not going to let Cillian fucking Murphy get to me anymore.

  *****

  Yelling loudly, Billy and I both giggled as we jiggled on our feet, fighting off the taste of yet another shot of tequila. Aoife and Calvin had disappeared into the night after the band's set finished, no question what it was they disappeared to get up to.

"FUCK THE MEN." Billy cackled loudly, slamming the now empty glass on the table. Throwing his hands in the air and dancing to the music in his head.

"Enjoying your night?" I heard that Irish brogue that if I had been sober, would have had me weak at the knees. Turning around to face him, he stood behind me with his hands inside his jeans pockets, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I am. Where's Emer? Get bored of you already?" I asked with a hint of venom. I heard Billy behind me creating loud cat noises. I could just see him in my head, scratching the air with his claws.

"Toilet," Cillian answered flatly.

"Great," I replied with a small shake of my head as an awkward silence fell over us. "What do you want?" I asked breaking it.

"Where's your boyfriend?"

"Don't have one."

"I saw you with Andrew earlier Brianna, seemed pretty cosy."

"What does it matter to you?" I snapped, stepping into his space but he only shrugged his shoulders in response.

"The man is stalking her blue eyes," Billy answered his question for me. "She came here for you but you chose the blonde who wears her little sister's barbie doll dress out in public so FUCK YOU."

"Yeah FUCK YOU" I laughed joining Billy as we held up our middle fingers. "This is your loss, Murphy."

*****

Anyone interested in the bands song I found it on YouTube - Time Travel it’s rather a bop if I do say so myself. 

Taglist

@stars-of-scorpio @lovemissyhoneybee @peakyscillian​ @cillmequick​ @forgottenpeakywriter​ @lyarr24  

[cillspropertea]

No Fucking Way

Chapter 5: Tiny gates and heels.

Synopsis: Y/N finds herself in a unique situation where her heart wants to believe everything but her mind wants her to repress herself to prevent heartbreak. The love of her life is miraculously close enough to touch but everything stops with the question, “Is any of this real?”

 Authors note: I apologize beforehand to how medically incompatible this story will be, as I am not a professional doctor, just a fanfic writer with an idea she cannot contain in her head anymore. So, please, bear with me.

   The test results weren’t expected before midnight, but ‘our’ flight was at 6:30 in the morning so Marie had decided to utilize our time by packing up my stuff at ‘home’. Yes, our flight. Cillian had bought my ticket and upgraded Mom and Marie’s tickets to first class as well. And yes, home. My home apparently. We were in my ‘husbands’ car right now, which was being driven by his driver. “It’s good to have you back Mrs. Murphy.” He’d greeted. There was that name again. It made me happy and sad at the same time.  

    The conversation with Marie had been a revelation. I had to share the details with Dr. Sophie or any other Doctor I was going to consult in Istanbul. Plus I had to know what had happened at the night of the accident. Everyone was being so tight lipped about it. I hope they understood that it was only making me more curious. Even my phone was wiped out. Everything deleted and wiped before it was handed over to me. Only the wallpaper remained and my contacts.

    Thinking about having to talk to Cillian, one on one, was giving me tingles in my stomach. I had practiced for a bit in front of the bathroom mirror before getting out. I had seen myself, completely, for the first time after getting out of the hospital. I had lost a lot of weight and had some scarring on my body as well, no doubt from the accident. It made me a bit self-conscious knowing that Cillian could even rock a sack if he had to. I had dark circles under my eyes as well, making my face look a bit faint and tired. In simple words, I could go to audition for a Tim Burton live action with the satisfaction that they wouldn’t have had to use a lot of makeup on me. I wondered what Cillian would think of this thought of mine and chuckled.

    Before I knew it we had reached.

   The house wasn’t something I would have thought of buying for myself really. Yet, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of familiarity at all. The moment I had laid my eyes on it, I felt like I had travelled in to a memory. Everything felt slow-motioned. It looked like a house with old bones but a youthful soul. The blinds were drawn so there wasn’t much I could make about the inside of it. The small black gate screeched as I slowly pushed it open and stepped inside.

   ‘I am late! Fuck! He would be so mad at me. I hurriedly park the car and literally run towards the gate. It won’t open! Why isn’t it opening danm it. I look around to make sure no one is watching, especially ‘him’. He would tease me to death if he sees me doing this. And when I’m sure, I simply jump over the tiny gate and almost fall on my butt because of my tight fitted dress and heels. I was wearing them because we are supposed to go on a date right after his friend’s housewarming party here. But before I can ring the bell the door opens…’

     I wobbled and almost fell backwards as I was still in a daze but Cillian had caught me, “Hey! I’ve got you.” He had opened the door even before I could ring the bell. ‘What was that?’ I wondered silently. His hand lingered on my waist as he steadied me. “You okay?” he asked clearing his throat. “Yeah…” my reply was breathier than I wanted it to be. His scent was bothering me again, no, intoxicating has to be the word. It was not just perfume, it was him. Definitely him.

    Marie came and Cillian greeted her and let us both in.

    The house was beautiful from the inside as well. Cozy, warm and inviting. The color blue could be found almost on every inch of the place, with accents of gold and beige. It was casual with a strong lacing of extravagance and elegance. I loved it instantly.

    “Oh my! I never thought I would see you in this hallway again Mrs. Murphy!” an old lady with an apron around her waist rushed towards me and clasped my hands. Cillian gave her a look which made her nod and move back. “This is Grace umm… the housekeeper and cook.” He announced to me of course. Grace looked at me expectantly, as if she was waiting for me to say, ‘April’s fool’ in November. “Hello Grace. It’s lovely to meet you.” My words made her flinch. A look of disappointment crossed her face before she gathered herself. “Likewise.” She said curtly and went into the kitchen mumbling something I could not catch. We went and sat in the living room.

    You know how every house has its own fragrance? This one had one too. But the only name I could give it would be ‘déjà vu’. It felt like something very nearly in my minds grasp but not quite. Grace brought in tea on a trolley but I refused it. All of this was making my stomach churn. The last thing I wanted to do is puke all over Cillian’s beautiful house. “Did you talk to Ashton? Is he okay with having Y/N over?” Cillian asked Marie, once again pretending like I wasn’t just sitting right in front of him, “’Cuz if he is not, I can arrange a separate…” “Oh no Cillian. Ashton said it was absolutely fine. We would just have to keep it a secret from Ashton’s mother. You know how she is right?” Cillian simply nodded with raised brows, “Oh I do! I remember her fits of fury on your wedding quite well.” I kept looking between them. This was exactly what I’d always wanted. I wouldn’t have survived this long if my sister hadn’t supported and guided me throughout my life. So naturally whenever we’d discuss our ‘ideal man’, one of my most valued qualities was him having a good relationship with Marie. Because it was a fact that I wouldn’t ever ditch my sister, especially not for a guy and she had pledged the same. But right now, looking at them like this did not feel great. I was lost. It was as if I did not even exist. They did not even need me to have a genuine conversation.

     I know in my head that I’m being irrational and silly but my eyes water up. “I need to use the restroom.” I should have asked Cillian but I looked at Marie instead. If he wants to ignore me than two can play this game. “Of course.” She instantly stood up and led me towards a bathroom under the stairs. I washed my face and breathed in and out slowly. I needed to get a grip on my emotions again. I could feel the leash slipping away. Wiping my face with a towel I went out, but instead of joining my husband and sister I decided to look around a bit. It was ‘my home’ after all, wasn’t it?

    Walking up the blue carpeted stairs, I found myself in a long stretched hallway with framed glass windows on one side. There were at least five bedroom doors. I started with the first one on my left. It was a standard bedroom, obviously not used much. The furniture mostly covered with sheets and plastic. The same happened with the two other doors. But when I tried to open the fourth one, it wouldn’t open. I tried to open it a couple of times but it still did not budge. Strange. The one in the end of the hallway was a store room of sorts.

    Boxes and packages covered in dust were roughly placed inside the dark, windowless room.

Just when I was about to close it and turn, a figure in the beginning of the hallway almost made me shit my pants. I yelped, “Fucking hell!” Cillian chuckled, “I was wondering where you’ve gone.” I blushed, he’d caught me snooping around in his house. “I was just looking around.” I said, trying to explain. “It was quite obvious I wasn’t included in your conversation with Marie.” I said looking straight into his eyes. It was pretty clear he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Like Marie said, he has to be tired of waiting for me by now. A successful actor like him could get anyone he wanted in a blink of an eye. “That is not true.” He said staring right back at me matching the ferocity and answering my painful thoughts even, sort of. “Technically it was you we were talking about.” Hmm, “Technically you are right I suppose” ”You can look around all you want.” ‘It is your house too…’ he did not say it but I knew he was thinking it. The look he gave me made me look away. He gradually walked towards me and when I was certain he was about to touch me his hand slid behind me to open the door next to me, the one I hadn’t seen yet. “After you.” His smile was full of flirty mischief as he invited me to ‘our’ bedroom.