You probably don't know this but I've Tommy fanfic on wattpad and it's been a while since I’ve updated my Wattpad, mostly because I’ve been dealing with some serious stuff regarding my mental health but I miss the writing process, reading other fanfics, the shipping, the whole vibe and we are severely lacking in Cillian/Tommy Shelby fanfictions content these days. And because i need to get back into groove, anyone wants to commission a one-shot or a fic idea from me, please send me a message! I’m open to prompts. ➡️✍️
I mean, actors are overpaid, you know? It’s nice when you get paid, when you’re young, and you’ve gone from having no money, but the Catholic guilt kicks in immediately, and I’m like, “It’s all going to go wrong. You don’t deserve this.” And I don’t.
Happy 50th birthday, Cillian Murphy (b. 25 May 1976)
happy 50th birthday to our Cillian ,one of the rare actors who can say everything with just a look.
there’s something timeless about him. not just the talent (which is unreal), but the quietness he carries through every role. he never feels like he’s performing for attention. every character feels lived in, human, fragile, dangerous, heartbreaking and sometimes all at once. The fact that after all these years and the Oscar , he still seems slightly shy about fame somehow makes him even more admirable.
happy birthday Cillian and thank you for every performance, every quiet moment, every character that stayed with us long after the credits rolled 🤍
Hi I this is to soon to request a fix after the first one I complete understand and please feel free to ignore this, again thank you so much for writing the first fic about Cillian and the make up artist it was amazing!!! Could I request a sequel about the two of them of coming out to the media with there relationship, and other people on set kind of treating reader weirdly now that why know but Cillian being there for reader through it all and the two end up engaged. If you only want to use some of those ideas or known of them I completely understand again thank you so much for the first fic I hope you have a great day
Notes : i didn't plan this to have sequel so this what my brain had to come with.
This fiction has nothing to do with irl Cillian.
Banner credit : @cillmequick
MIRRORS AND MURPHY
Part Two
Three months after the relationship became public, your life no longer felt like your own.
At first, you told yourself things were settling, the headlines slowed down slightly. People on the Peaky Blinders set stopped staring every time you walked into a room.
So when filming wrapped and you got hired onto another production in London, it felt like breathing again. A fresh set, fresh crew. People who didn’t know you before, you needed that desperately. Needed somewhere you could just be you again instead of Cillian Murphy’s girlfriend
The first week was good. Almost normal,the actors were kind, the makeup department welcomed you easily,nobody treated you strangely when you introduced yourself.
For the first time in months, your shoulders stopped feeling permanently tense.
You called Cillian after your third day nearly smiling. “I think this one’s okay.”
You heard the relief in his silence before he answered. “That’s good.”
You lay across his sofa while talking to him, exhaustion heavy in your limbs. “They don’t look at me weird.”
“They’d be stupid not to hire you.”
“That sounds suspiciously supportive.” You laughed softly. God, you loved him.
“I miss you,” he murmured after a moment.
Your chest warmed immediately. “You saw me yesterday.”
“Still.”
That quiet sincerity in his voice ruined you every single time.
You smiled into the cushion. “I miss you too.”
It started with one paparazzi photo, then another, then ten.
You were carrying coffee and laughing at something another makeup artist had said, completely harmless. But suddenly photographers started appearing outside the studio gates every day afterward.
At first they only waited near your car, then they started shouting questions.
“Did you break up his marriage?”
“Are you living together now?”
“How does it feel ruining your career for an actor?”
You ignored them, head down, eyes forward.
By the second week, they’d started photographing actors arriving to set beside you. Articles spun fake relationships instantly. Crew members got annoyed because photographers blocked entrances.
One morning a camera flash went off directly in an actor’s face before filming, everything changed after that. You were halfway through applying makeup to one of the lead actresses when the producer asked quietly “Can I speak to you outside?”
Your stomach dropped instantly.
The producer looked deeply uncomfortable already. “We’ve had… complaints.”
You stared at him silently.
“The paparazzi situation is becoming disruptive.”
Humiliation crawled up your throat immediately. “I’ve tried handling them—”
“I know.” His expression softened slightly. “This isn’t really your fault.” Which meant it absolutely was. “We’re losing time during shoots. Actors are frustrated. Security’s becoming expensive.”
You already knew where this was going. Still, hearing it nearly shattered you anyway.
“We’re going to have to let you go.”
The words rang in your ears.
For a second you genuinely couldn’t breathe properly. “I—” Your voice broke embarrassingly.
The producer looked miserable now. “You’re talented, Y/N. Truly. This just became… complicated.”
Complicated. That word again, always that word,not your work, not your talent. Just who you loved.
You nodded numbly because crying in front of him would somehow make this worse. “I understand.”
The cameras caught you leaving the studio carrying your things.
Of course by evening the photos were online.
Y/N exits set after production tension.
Mysterious firing rumors surround Murphy girlfriend.
You turned your phone off entirely after that then curled into bed at Cillian’s house and stayed there for nearly two days.
You barely ate, barely spoke. The humiliation settled deep in your chest like something heavy and poisonous, because this wasn’t just comments anymore. This was your career, the thing you loved.
Cillian tried everything. He brought food upstairs you barely touched. Sat quietly beside you for hours without forcing conversation. Played music softly when the silence became too heavy, but guilt consumed him visibly. You could see it every time he looked at you, like he was watching damage he caused in real time.
On the second night, you woke around three in the morning and found him downstairs alone in the kitchen, sitting in darkness.
Your heart cracked instantly. “Cillian.”
He looked up sharply and God. He looked devastated. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You crossed the kitchen slowly. “Why are you sitting in the dark like a Victorian ghost?”
A weak laugh escaped him but only briefly. Then his face crumpled again into something exhausted and guilty. “I’m sorry.”
Your chest tightened painfully. “Don’t.”
“I did this to you.”
“No, the media did.”
“They wouldn’t care about you if not for me.”
You hated hearing him talk like that especially because part of him genuinely believed it.
You stepped between his knees, touching his face gently. “This is not your fault.”
His eyes closed immediately beneath your hand. “Yes it is.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he whispered harshly. “You lost your job because of me.” Emotion thickened his voice suddenly, raw enough to hurt. “You loved your work.”
Tears burned behind your eyes instantly because he sounded heartbroken over it too.
“I still do.”
“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your life to be with me. If you wanna-”
The words sat heavy between you. And suddenly you understood something terrifying. He was thinking about letting you go, not because he wanted to, but because he thought it would save you.
Fear hit you so fast it physically hurt. “Don’t.”
His eyes opened immediately. “Don’t what?”
“You’re thinking about ending this.”
Silence.
That silence told you enough. Anger mixed instantly with grief.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
His face twisted painfully. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t want protection from you.”
“I’m destroying your career.”
“No,” you snapped suddenly. “The press is.”
Your voice shook now. “I’m so tired of everyone acting like loving you is some horrible mistake I made.”
Cillian stared at you silently.
You could see emotion building behind his eyes now too. Dangerously close to breaking.
“I lost a job,” you whispered. “That hurts. It really does. But losing you would hurt worse.”
His breathing faltered, and suddenly all that careful emotional restraint he carried cracked wide open. “You think this doesn’t kill me?” he said quietly.
The pain in his voice stunned you still. “I watch people tear you apart online every day. I watch photographers follow you. I watch you stop smiling more every week because of me.” His hands gripped yours tightly now. “And I keep thinking eventually you’ll realize I’m not worth this.”
Your heart shattered completely. Because beneath all the fame and composure and guardedness— There he was. Just a man terrified of losing the person he loved.
You shook your head immediately. “Never.”
Emotion flashed across his face so intensely it almost looked painful.
“I love you,” he admitted suddenly. “I love you so much,” he whispered hoarsely. “And I hate what this world is doing to you.”
Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. Cillian wiped them away instantly, forehead pressing against yours.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured again. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You shook your head, crying quietly now. “No more apologizing.”
“But—”
“No.” You pulled back enough to make him look at you fully. “I lost a job. Fine. I’ll get another one eventually.” your jaw tightened. “But I’m not losing you too.”
Something fragile broke in his expression then , relief , love.
And suddenly he kissed you like he’d been holding himself together by threads alone. One hand trembling slightly against your face.
When he pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours while both of you breathed unevenly in the dark kitchen.
Then quietly, fiercely, like a promise:
“I won’t let you go either.”
Hi could I request something about Cillian in a secret relationship with one of the make up artists on peaky blinders, and him accident outing the relationship when someone’s starts agrresivley flirting with the reader. Thanks so much and if you don’t want to write this I totally understand
hope you like it :)
NOTES :- This has nothing to do with the real Cillian , and i LOVE Yvonne.
- Be kind cause i'm still figuring out how to prosses writing fanfictions.
MIRRORS and MURPHY
The set of Peaky Blinders was always loud in a strange kind of way. Not because people shouted — though they did sometimes — but because every hallway buzzed with movement. Costume assistants rushing past with pressed suits hanging from their arms, producers barking schedules into phones, lighting crews dragging cables over concrete floors.
And through all of it, Cillian Murphy moved quietly. Almost too quietly.
He liked it that way, specially because nobody noticed the one place he always drifted toward between takes: the makeup trailer. Toward you.
The first thing you noticed about him was how carefully he listened, not in interviews, not during rehearsals But On set, when nobody else was paying attention.
Most actors sat in your chair scrolling through their phones while makeup artists worked around them like invisible machinery. But Cillian always looked at people when they spoke. Quietly attentive , calm and polite.
The first real conversation you had with him happened at three in the morning. Rain hammered against the studio roof while half the crew fought exhaustion and nicotine cravings. You were cleaning brushes in the makeup trailer after touching up fake blood for the fifth time that night when the door creaked open.
Cillian stepped inside still dressed as Tommy Shelby, coat hanging from his shoulders, cigarette tucked behind one ear.
“Thought everyone had gone home,” you said.
“Could say the same about you.”
You shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
His eyes drifted over the organized rows of palettes and powders. “Looks complicated.”
“It is.”
“I’d be terrible at this.”
“You’d definitely poke yourself in the eye with mascara.”
A small laugh escaped him unexpectedly that surprised both of you. Nobody else got those smiles, not anymore.
After his divorce, he’d become even more private than before. Interviews were shorter. Public appearances rarer. On set he kept polite distance from almost everyone. Except you.
And even then, only when nobody was paying attention.
The relationship had started accidentally. Long nights during filming. Quiet conversations after wrap. Shared cigarettes outside the studio doors while Birmingham rain soaked the pavement.
He started showing up early before scenes, leaning against the trailer doorway while you prepared products just staring at you.
You learned how he took his tea.
He learned you hummed absentmindedly while concentrating.
Sometimes he’d sit silently while you worked, exhaustion softening the sharp lines of his face.
“You’re frowning again,” you murmured once while blending bruising along his cheekbone.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
His mouth twitched. “You always insult your clients?”
“Only the difficult ones.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “So just me.”
And somehow, without meaning to, you started waiting for those moments.
Until the night he found you outside the studio wrapped in your coat against the freezing Birmingham wind.
You sat on a concrete step smoking half a cigarette despite repeatedly claiming you were quitting.
“You hate those,” Cillian said, approaching.
“I hate everyone today.”
“That bad?”
You tipped your head back dramatically. “The continuity department wants Tommy’s dirt smudges identical in every scene. Do you know how impossible that is?”
He sat beside you ,close enough that your shoulders almost touched.
“I think you’re the only person on this set scarier than Helen McCrory when she’s angry.”
You gasped quietly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He laughed under his breath, Then silence settled comfortably between you. The kind that only existed between people who understood each other.
You turned slightly toward him and realized he was already looking at you. Not casually. Not absentmindedly. Just… looking.
Something shifted in the air. His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.
Your breath caught as he leant in and kissed you like he'd been trying not to for months. Careful at first. Then not careful at all.
Afterward, both of you stayed silent. Breathing hard. Foreheads touching.
“We can’t tell anyone,” he murmured eventually.
“I know.”
And you really did.
After that, secrecy became second nature. No touching in public. No lingering looks if crew members were nearby. No arriving together. No leaving together.
The only people who suspected anything were the hair department, and they suspected everything anyway.
After that, the tension became unbearable. Not obvious to anyone else. But devastating to you.
His hand resting too long against the back of your chair. The way his voice softened when he said your name. How he unconsciously searched for you the second he walked on set.
“Sit still,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with two fingers as you dabbed at fake bruising along his cheek.
Cillian’s hands rested loosely on his knees, pale eyes fixed on your face instead of the mirror.
“Stop staring,” you said softly.
“I’m being professionally observant.”
You snorted. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is for actors.”
“Mm. Sure.”
Still, months passed without anyone truly knowing. It might have stayed this way too , if Daniel from lighting hadn’t started flirting with you. Relentlessly.
At first it was harmless. Too many compliments. Too much hovering around your station. Bad jokes that made you fake-laugh out of politeness. But then it escalated.
“You know,” Daniel said, leaning against the doorway of the makeup trailer, “you should let me take you out while we’re in Manchester.”
You kept organizing brushes. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Come on. One drink.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even thought about it.”
“I have. The answer’s still no.”
He grinned like you were playing hard to get instead of actively trying not to throw a contour palette at him.
Behind him, you noticed Cillian walking toward the trailer.
His expression unreadable beneath Tommy Shelby’s undercut and long black coat.
Daniel didn’t notice Cillian approaching. “You know,” he continued, leaning closer, “one date and I could change your mind.”
Your patience snapped. “Daniel—”
Cillian just stopped in the doorway, script tucked under one arm, blue eyes fixed on Daniel.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Oh,” Daniel laughed awkwardly. “Didn’t see you there, mate.”
Cillian said nothing.
You recognized that look instantly — the one that meant he was annoyed enough to become frighteningly calm.
Daniel, oblivious, kept going. “I was just asking Y/N here out since she keeps rejecting me.”
Cillian’s jaw tightened.
You shot Daniel a warning look that he completely ignored.
“She’s tough, huh?” he continued , then he winked at you.
That was apparently the final straw.
“She said no.” Cillian stated .
Daniel blinked. “Right…”
“So stop asking.” his tone calm yet sharp.
Daniel laughed nervously. “Relax, man, I’m only flirting.”
“And she’s clearly uninterested.”
You stared at Cillian because this was already too much. Too protective. Too personal.
Daniel noticed too, his eyes flicked between the two of you slowly, before he left.
The second he left, silence flooded the trailer. You kept your focus on organizing brushes even though your heartbeat had picked up.
Then quietly asked you “He bothers you?”
You glanced at Cillian in the mirror , his eyes were fixed on you now, soft blue made sharper by annoyance.
“I can handle him.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
The low tone in his voice made warmth creep up your neck.
You stepped closer to fix the shadowing beneath his cheekbones. “Are you jealous?” you teased gently.
His gaze lifted to yours instantly. “No.”
Lie, a terrible one.
You smiled despite yourself " ok"
The problem was that Daniel didn’t stop. If anything, he got bolder. Especially after cast drinks started becoming more frequent near the end of filming.
The pub was crowded and warm, buzzing with crew members celebrating another finished week of shooting. Music played low beneath overlapping conversations while glasses clinked constantly around you.
You sat wedged between hair stylists in a booth nursing your second drink when Daniel slid in beside you. Far too close.
“Move,” you said immediately.
“You wound me.”
“You’re sitting on my coat.”
“Worth it.”
You rolled your eyes.
Across the pub, Cillian stood near the bar talking quietly with producers. You felt his attention before you saw it. That familiar awareness.
Daniel followed your glance and grinned. “Murphy’s watching again.”
Your stomach tightened. “He watches everyone.”
“No,” Daniel said knowingly. “Definitely not everyone.”
You ignored him. Bad decision. Because alcohol had apparently given him confidence.
“You know,” he murmured, leaning closer, “if you went out with me once, I think you’d have a hard time going back to boring men.”
“Daniel—”
“I’m serious.”
His hand landed on your knee.
Everything inside you recoiled instantly. “Don’t touch me.” you yelled
Before he could answer, another hand grabbed his wrist hard enough to yank it away from you. Cillian.
The entire booth went silent.
Daniel blinked up at him. “Jesus, man—”
“I think she asked you not to touch her.” His voice was terrifyingly calm. Not loud. That made it worse.
People nearby had started turning toward the tension now.
You stood quickly. “Cillian—”
Daniel laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off. “Relax. We’re joking around.”
“She said no.” Again that same tone , sharp enough to cut glass.
Daniel stood too now, alcohol and ego combining into stupidity. “What’s your problem?” he snapped. “You don’t own her.”
The second the words left his mouth, you saw it happen.
Something in Cillian’s expression broke. Not dramatically. Not explosively. Just… snapped.
Months of restraint. Months of hiding. Months of silently watching another man ignore your discomfort.
Gone.
“You should learn,” Cillian said quietly, “when to leave someone alone.”
Daniel scoffed. “Or what? You’ll hit me?”
You saw regret flash across Cillian’s face a fraction too late.
Because Daniel smirked “you fuck her or smothing?”
The punch landed hard enough to send him stumbling backward into the table.
The pub erupted instantly , someone yelling, “Holy shit!”
You froze in complete shock because Cillian was not a violent man. You had never even seen him raise his voice properly before.
But now his breathing was uneven, eyes dark with fury as crew members rushed between them.
Daniel stared up from the floor “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he said as he spat blood into a napkin.
“Cillian,” you said quickly, grabbing his arm before he could move again.
The instant you touched him, he stopped, his expression changed completely. Anger draining instantly and reality returning.
Before Cillian could say anything , another voice cut through the chaos.
“What the hell happened here?” His manager. Of course.
Martin looked exhausted before he’d even reached the table, weaving through staring crew members with the expression of a man already preparing for disaster then he saw Daniel bleeding.
Saw Cillian standing rigid beside you. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Nobody spoke. Martin looked between everyone once before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Tell me,” he said carefully to Cillian, “that nobody filmed this.”
The silence answered him.
Martin closed his eyes briefly like he was praying for patience.
Daniel gave a humorless laugh. “Your client assaulted me.”
“You put your hands on my girl,” Cillian snapped immediately.
The entire pub quieted again.
Martin’s eyes flicked sharply toward you. Then back to Cillian.
A pause.
“Your girl?” he repeated.
Cillian realized it too late. Again.
You felt the tension beside you instantly.
Martin looked at you both more carefully now. Too carefully.
Daniel pushed himself upright, wincing dramatically. “I’m calling the police.”
“No you’re not,” Martin said immediately.
“I absolutely am.”
Martin sighed deeply then motioned toward the back hallway of the pub. “Come with me.”
Daniel smirked. “So you can threaten me?”
“So they won't fire you tomorrow.”
That shut him up.
Barely.
Daniel followed Martin toward the hallway while the rest of the pub exploded into whispers around you.
You dragged both hands through your hair “you shouldn’t have done that.” you mumbled.
“He touched you after you told him not to.” His eyes finally met yours before he touched your wrist gently “ You alright?” he asked quietly.
You nodded once.
That seemed to matter more to him than the possibility of police involvement.
Twenty minutes later, Martin returned looking murderous.
“Well,” he announced flatly, “congratulations. He’s not pressing charges.”
Relief flooded you instantly.
Cillian exhaled . “How?”
Martin gave him a long look. “I paid him.”
Cillian’s face hardened immediately. “You what?”
“I paid him,” Martin repeated. “A significant amount of money to keep this quiet and avoid turning you into front-page material.”
“That prick practically assaulted her.”
“And you punched him in a crowded pub.”
“He touched—”
“I know what he did.”
Martin lowered his voice slightly.
“But legally? Witnesses saw you throw the first punch.”
Cillian looked furious now. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”
“No,” Martin agreed coldly. “I shouldn’t have.” before he pointed between you both before let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re actually together.”
Still silence.
“How long?”
“Martin—”
“How long, Cillian?”
“…Months.”
“Months,” Martin repeated blankly. “During your divorce.”
“It started after.”
“Do you think the press will care?”
The question hit like ice water.
Cillian’s jaw tightened instantly because he knew the answer. No. They wouldn’t.
Next morning , Martin walked inside Cillian's without waiting properly for permission, you standing close to Cillian barefoot in his kitchen at nearly one in the morning. And Cillian immediately moving toward you unconsciously as he sensed you stressed.
Martin stared at both of you then slowly, he said “You’re serious about each other.”
Not a question.
Cillian stayed silent which answered enough
Martin sighed " fucking knew something was up, Disappearing at the same time. Him practically tracking your location every five minutes on set."
Martin looked directly at Cillian now.“This stops being secret immediately.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Cillian”
Cillian’s voice sharpened. “I’m not dragging her into this circus.”
“You already have.” Martin softened slightly then. “The divorce already has the press circling you like vultures. If this leaked without context, they’ll paint her as the affair.”
Your stomach twisted because he was right.
Cillian looked physically sick realizing it too.
Martin continued carefully “If you go public yourselves, you control the narrative. If you hide it and they expose her first, she gets destroyed online while everyone calls her a homewrecker.”
The word hit hard.
You saw Cillian flinch immediately. “No one’s calling her that.”
“They will,” Martin replied bluntly. “Unless you get ahead of it.”
Silence swallowed the room again.
Then finally, very quietly you spoke “What do we do?”
Martin looked at him for a long moment.
And for the first time all night, his expression gentled.
“You tell the truth,” he said softly.
Cillian’s eyes moved toward you immediately , always toward you like your reaction mattered before anything else. Even now , Especially now.
He hold your hand and squeezed gently “You ok with it? ”
“Yes, ” you smiled softly at him, as he hold your face and kissed you , his fingers caressed your cheek before his arm rested on your shoulder , he looked at Martin again “Do it, i don't care as long as i have her, ”
remember when Cillian's fanfiction used to carry your nights??? like you’d log onto tumblr thinking there’d be a new chapter waiting and there always was and now it’s just… quiet!
I just missed old times when his tag felt alive
like every refresh brought: a new slow-burn fic with 10k words per chapter and writers apologizing for being late and then dropping the most devastating update ever and now half of them are gone or moved on to another fandoms 😔(no judge ofc) BUT I missing the feeling these fics gave at 2am when everything was quiet and it was just you, the screen, and a fic that understood you a little too well idk🥺
