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
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.”
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.”
“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.”
“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.
“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.”
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.”
“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.”
