synopsis - tommy receives a phone call in the middle of having sex with his wife.
pairing - tommy shelby x reader / thomas shelby x reader
warnings - SMUT +18, rough sex, use of foul language, breeding kink, praising kink, creampie, just full of porn, unprotected sex, p in v
notes - short (w.c <850), gif and picture isn't mine, divider is mine
main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist
His hands explored every inch of your sensitive body with a satisfying touch that sent shivers down your spine. There was an irresistible affection between the two of you that was endless. Your breath caught as his dominant, wild hip thrusts into yours, causing hectic, unrestrained moans with every thrust.
"Oh my God- yes, Thomas!"
As he pushed you farther into the mattress, his weight and heat surrounded you as you lay beneath him, your bodies linked. He drew closer as your legs coiled around his hips, stretching you in the most delicious way as he slid deeper with each thrust. Tommy started to breathe hard, his chest heaving as sweat collected on his forehead and trickled down to mix with the heat from your smooth skin. He met your gaze with lust and something deeper than that.
"Yes, baby.. fuck- you take me so well.. so fucking well," he praised on your ear as he rested his head on your neck, his deep thrusts not stopping.
The telephone on top of the nightstand beside your shared bed rang loudly. Your husband stopped, looking at the phone near him.
Who the fuck is calling at this hour?
Tommy picked the phone up, not leaving the bed.
"Thomas Shelby." he answered.
You expected him that he would draw away and stop, especially when the phone rang. He stopped and reached for it, and you felt upset. Tommy, though, chose to stay still and answered the phone with one hand while tightening his grip on your waist with the other and suddenly thrusting his hips forward once more.
His thrusts continued to shock you, causing your body to tense in surprise, but before you could respond, pleasure took over. His cock sank farther, each malicious movement finding that exact spot. You ended up speechless by both of his soothing phone voice and the way he caused your body to react to him.
"What ha-happened?" Tommy asked over the phone, his breathing heavily telling each question with a struggled and unsteady voice. He attempted to keep his composure, but the force of his motions made it almost impossible as his chest rose and fell quickly. As he tried to concentrate on the talk, you could feel his heart thumping against your body and his breath rapid and hot against your skin.
Tommy looked at you, a smirk painted on his face. With his free hand, his fingers toyed with your hardened nipples, brushing them and squeezing it.
"Tomm-" you covered your mouth immediately as you nearly moaned his name out loud, afraid of whoever is on the phone hearing that Tommy is fucking his wife at the moment.
"Yeah, I'll handle that tomorrow morning," his voice was deep making you feel wetter and wetter. A familiar feeling coiled down through your stomach.
"Tommy, I'm so close," you quietly moaned. Your fingers gripped the silk bedsheets tightly as you felt your high coming.
The room was filled with the constant sound of your bodies meeting, the heat between you growing with each slap of flesh on skin. Your thoughts were taken over by the intense pleasure that was shooting through your entire body as your eyelids fluttered closed, buried in a fog of ecstasy. You vaguely heard Tommy drop the phone somewhere in the distance, but it didn't really matter. The way he grabbed you closer and pounded your hips with such merciless pace that every thrust sent shivers of pleasure through your entire body was all that mattered. Heavy intakes of breath from him, merging with your groans as he pushed you both to the edge.
"Good girl, yes, yes.. Finish on my cock."
Tommy experienced the same closeness as your cock clenched all over it. With a deep moan, he raised your right leg to his shoulders. He treated you like the most precious gemstones that thieves like him could take. Tommy groaned and praised as his head rolled back.
"D'you want me to cum inside you? Breed you? Make you mine?"
"Yes, yes! Fill me up, sir! Please!"
His back was scratched by your nails, and in a few hours, scars will definitely begin to appear. You groaned, breasts bouncing and the bed creaking with every pound.
And then, after a few more thrusts, he smashed deep inside of you until he poured all of his seed into your abused and tight walls. It was warm and filled. Tommy groaned loudly and pleased, then rested his head on the side of your neck to inhale yourself. He waited until every last drop of his cum filled you before pulling out.
As soon as he pulled out, a mixture of his and your load leaked outside your throbbing pussy. Tommy got up, grabbing a box of tissue and cleaned the both of you up.
"Who was that?" you asked.
"Just the betting shop asking for me to check on something."
"You think they.. heard me?"
"I'm sure they did and I'm glad so that they know how much I fucking please my lovely wife." he chuckled before planting another kiss to your lips.
You gladly kissed him back but the kiss deepened and the both of you know what that means.
Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Pointdexter x Fem!Reader
Summary: Dex hadn’t been looking for a new North Star, and admittedly, you weren’t a paragon of humanity for him to follow, but he wanted you regardless. He didn’t expect you to want him just as badly.
Title from “Ramalama (Bang Bang) by Róisín Murphy
Tags: No use of y/n, Photography, Breaking and Entering, Kissing, Freak for Freak, Don't worry Wilson Bethel I'm giving you that weirdo fucked up girlfriend
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Stalking, Scent Kink, Voyeurism, Virgin!Dex, Strip Tease, Lingerie, Vaginal Fingering, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Blood Drinking, Praise
Notes: I’ve been influenced by Bullseye edits on my fyp oh my lord he’s so sexy
Word Count: 5.1K | Cross-posted on Ao3
Dex hadn’t been looking for a new North Star, not since the disaster that was Julie and Fisk. No, he had long since accepted that he would remain unmoored, the only philosophy keeping him going being about balancing the scales.
Then he had seen you.
You were unassuming, blending right in with every other simpleton that walked the streets of New York. He wouldn’t have paid you more than a cursory look if you hadn’t stopped dead in your tracks and whipped out a camera from beneath your coat, snapping photos of the scenery around you.
You were completely entranced by what you had seen through the lens, indifferent to the nasty looks you received from others around you who had to move out of your path. Dex had tilted his head at your actions, his gaze darting between you and your camera’s line of sight. What could be so interesting to you?
The answer was the AVTF. There had been two officers just across the street adorned in heavy duty armor and brandishing their weapons, although there was no threat. Dex had melted back into the shadows, choosing surveillance over an immediate attack in broad daylight, not that he was above that.
You had snapped your photos, taking care to frame the scene with the AVTF as the center and create a distinction with the way civilians scattered away from them as if they were infested rats. Just as quickly as you had started, you had forced the camera back under your coat, narrowingly missing the roaming eye of one of the officers. You were quick to walk away, integrating yourself back into the crowds. Just another face amongst hundreds.
It hadn’t stopped Dex from following you, though. He could find those AVTF officers whenever he wanted, but he couldn’t afford to lose you.
You had unknowingly led him straight to your home, an apartment building that had seen better days. Silently, he had tracked your movements in the building until he located which apartment was yours, and from there, he had enough information to find out who you were.
It was easy to cross-reference your apartment number with the box out front, which boldly listed your name. It had dripped from his lips, carving its way through his mind.
In one afternoon, you had captivated Dex in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. In one afternoon, he had scoured the internet for as much information about you as possible.
People were so lax with their internet security, Dex had found. Knowing someone’s full name and address could unearth just about anything, as long as you knew where to look. Dex did, of course.
By day, you were a barista at some coffee shop down the street. By night, you ran a somewhat successful blog about the happenings of Hell’s Kitchen. Dex had expected to find the typical fluff of most blogs, like which restaurant was the best for a first date or which color worked best for which season. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find that you wrote the hard-hitting pieces that newspapers were too afraid to print.
Your latest post was about how corrupt and violent the AVTF were; how they were turning New York City into a prison state. Front and center was the photo you had taken just hours before. Dex had smiled at it, your first shared moment with him, even if you hadn’t known. Then, his smile had faded. You were publicly criticizing Mayor Wilson Fisk under your real name.
You were going to get yourself killed.
No, he wouldn’t allow that to happen. You had good intentions, if not naively executed. The world needed more good guys like you and him, so he would just have to stick around and protect you from whatever evil may come your way.
He wouldn’t screw up again like he had with Julie once upon a time. He’d keep his distance for the time being, make you feel safe and secure. Eventually, he would work his way up to meeting you "coincidentally" and then become your friend, someone you could trust. He wouldn’t slip up like he had with her, his act would be perfect this time. For that to happen, though, he would need to be on his best behavior.
Dex would make sure you didn’t notice him until he wanted you to.
~♦~
You were being stalked, that much was obvious. It had started as a tingling on the back of your neck; the overt feeling of being watched. You’d brushed it off at first, more focused on taking the photos necessary for your new post, but the feeling never truly went away. No matter where you went, the feeling followed. Reprieve was few and far between, and only for a couple hours at a time.
A job like yours required you to be just as good as any distinguished reporter. You had to be boots on the ground, had to get there first so that your blog stood a chance against the Bulletin or the Daily Bugle. This, of course, meant that you had your ear to the ground, metaphorically speaking. You listened to the police scanner, tracked down any possible leads, and even followed people that could steer you to a story.
All that to say, you were used to being the stalker, not the one being stalked.
It shouldn’t have felt as exhilarating as it did.
Any sane person would have reported the matter to the police by now, but you? You let the game continue, let whoever it was follow you to and from, mapping out your daily routines.
If your stalker knew where you were going to be at all times, then you would know where they would be, too.
Two could play at this game. The real question was: who would falter first?
~♦~
Dex had been continuing his surveillance of you for weeks now. Your schedule as a blogger unfortunately kept you from having a predictable routine, given how many random meetings in random locations you had to arrange, but your morning routines stayed the same.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday, you clocked in at your barista job. You left for work at 6:45 am each day, after taking approximately thirty minutes to get ready. Your walk to the coffee shop had you arriving before 7. You would clock in, put a fake smile on your face, and work until 4, then quickly leave before anyone could ask you to pull a double.
You had Thursdays off, which meant you typically slept in until the bustling noise of Hell's Kitchen woke you up. From there, you would laze around in nothing but your pajamas for most of the day–a long t-shirt and panties.
Thursdays were Dex's favorite days.
Saturdays and Sundays were wild cards for you, frustratingly so. You would sometimes cover shifts at the coffee shop or track a lead all over New York for some new story. Either way, Dex always managed to keep tabs on you, even if he was now more preoccupied with the AVTF.
The novelty of following you was starting to fade, that itch under his skin becoming more apparent. He needed more. The timeline he had self-imposed was already starting to fall apart. Dex just needed something to quell the loudness in his head, something that would let him learn more about you without compromising his distance.
His fractured mind settled on breaking into your apartment.
All he had to do was wait for you to leave on Saturday, your camera slung around your neck as you hastily locked your door before making it to the street. You didn’t even notice his position in the stairwell, steely gaze locked on your form.
Dex waited another fifteen minutes in case you doubled back for a forgotten item before he casually strolled to your door and pulled out his lockpicks. He made quick work of your door, the lock easily giving way into your space. Dex inhaled sharply, knowing he was about to cross the boundary he had placed when it came to you.
His mind was already made up, though. Quickly, Dex pushed your door open, stepping into the studio apartment he had only seen from the street and an unoccupied apartment across the way. There was an organized chaos to your home. Reports and printed photographs were everywhere, but they were all stacked in certain orders. Each for a different article, if Dex had to hazard a guess. Coffee cups littered your work desk, along with near illegible sticky note reminders stuck to your desktop and notebooks. Dex’s fingers itched to fix the mess, tidy up your space, but he couldn’t. He knew better than to change anything that might tip you off to a presence in your home.
He walked the length of your apartment slowly, using his close proximity to memorize every bit of it. Your kitchen was small, only a half-wall dividing it between your living room/bedroom. The lack of privacy had only made Dex’s surveillance easier. The only rooms he hadn’t seen were your bathroom and closet.
It was always interesting to learn what a person would do in the open when they thought they were alone. Dex had enjoyed being able to see that side of you, the way the tension bled from your shoulders or the way you talked to yourself out loud in order to catalogue your thoughts.
Warmth spread through his body at the notion that he knew you better than any other living person ever would.
He made his way to your bed, his fingertips running over the neatly made duvet. What a contradiction you were sometimes, he thought. You left every day for work at the same time and made your bed the same way every morning, but you were also the type of person to leave week’s old coffee cups sitting around.
Where did your brain draw the line?
The scent that lingered on your sheets broke Dex from his musings. Oranges and vanilla. Dex was sure if he went through your shower, he would find the exact combination in your shampoo and conditioner. He couldn’t help himself when he gently brought his knee down onto your bed in order to bring himself closer to your pillow, letting his face press into the soft material. He inhaled deeply, memorizing your scent. It was like heaven.
He could lay in your bed all day and imagine you were beside him, your head on his chest while he carded his fingers through your hair.
But he couldn’t. With a soft sigh, Dex reluctantly pulled himself back before he got too lost in the fantasy. Weekends were unpredictable for you, he had to remind himself. He didn’t know when you would return, although he had averaged the times to be about four to six hours. Logically, he had plenty of time, but there was no reason to test fate when it came to you. He wouldn’t lose you like he had lost her.
Dex straightened to his full height and swept his eyes around your apartment once more, looking for anything that would tell him more about you. He already knew a lot, thanks to the internet and his visible eyeline into your room, but there was so much more to a person, especially in what they hid where others couldn’t see.
He first checked through your desk drawers, carefully rifling through the documents you stored there. Nothing of utmost interest, mainly tax returns, paid bills, and inquiries. All Dex could ascertain from those were that you didn’t live above your means and you were good with money. His heart warmed at how responsible you were.
The next thing that caught his eye was your clothes drawer. Now, Dex knew that a normal person should never go through someone’s unmentionables, but you were already practically his. What’s his is yours and what’s yours is his, and all that. He only felt a twinge of guilt as he opened the top drawer and gazed down at your bras and panties. His fingers grazed the various materials, picturing you parading around the small room in each set just for him. He’d sit right on your bed as you would approach him, swinging your hips with each step. He’d place his hands on your hips to box you in between his spread legs and then–
Dex slammed the drawer shut with a little too much force, the sound echoing throughout the apartment. He physically shook his head, trying to disperse the mental image. His pants were already growing painfully tight that if he thought about you like that again, he might just break his promise and overstay his welcome.
This wouldn’t be his last time in your place, he had to remind himself. He could come back at any time you weren’t home to continue his search. Maybe he’d choose a day you were at the coffee shop next time, that way he’d have a clear timeframe for how long he’d be able to stay.
Yes, that’s what he would do. He had gathered everything he needed for today to satiate the buzz in his head, but he needed to leave.
Decision made, Dex started to walk toward your front door, shoulder brushing your clothes rack situated next to your drawer, before taking a pause, a clinical thought popping into his head. If you stored all your clothes in your drawers and on a rack, what was in your closet?
His gaze bounced between the rack, the closet, and the front door, indecisively. On the one hand, he could leave now and ensure that he wasn’t caught, but on the other, he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing the answer. He had seen you walk into your closet before, disappearing behind a door his binoculars couldn’t pierce. Mind made up, he briskly walked to your closet, throwing the door open before he could change his mind.
It was bigger than he expected, much bigger than a normal closet for a studio apartment in New York. It was dark, but Dex wasn't prepared for what he saw when his fingers found the switch and turned on the light.
Photos and newspaper articles covered the walls, nearly every inch. Photos and articles of him.
Dex froze, eyes swinging around. There were the obvious articles about his attack on the Bulletin and Josie’s, but what caught the breath in his throat were the photos. Sure, there was his official FBI headshot and one from his trial that was plastered on wanted posters, but those were in the minority compared to the surveillance posters plastered across the walls. Dex prided himself on being the hunter, the stalker, yet he hadn’t even realized that he was being watched.
There were dozens and dozens of photos of him from days where he knew he was following you. Him on the subway last weekend when you went to meet with a source, security footage of him in the coffee shop, him going into the building across the street from your apartment. All the times he had let his guard down because he was so sure that you were unaware of him. The most disarming sight though, was the flashing red light in the corner of the room. A camera.
“See something you like?” you asked from behind him. Dex startled at the sound of your voice, his hand already itching to grab for a knife. You tsked, staring up at him with a frown. “You wouldn't hurt me, would you?” you questioned with a tilt of your head.
Slowly, as if he couldn't believe this was actually happening, he turned his head to finally look at you. You appeared unafraid that a man had broken into your home. You stood there with an eyebrow raised and your arms crossed, looking more expectant than upset.
“No,” he breathed out, his hand falling away from the knife holster. His mind fired through all the possible scenarios for what the hell was going on. Was this a sting operation from the cops? A way to get him trapped with his guard down? No, too many variables. Plus, if this was the police or AVTF, they would have already busted in. “What–” he couldn’t force the words out.
“Do you like it?” you questioned again, taking a step forward into the small space. “I worked really hard on getting these all up.” You lovingly stroked one of the photos, one of him peeking from behind an alleyway. Distantly, Dex could recall that day. You had turned around and snapped some photos, but he had been sure that he had ducked behind the brick wall before you could notice him.
“How long have you known?” he found himself asking instead, the words tumbling from his lips.
“Known that you were stalking me? Oh, quite a while. You’re good at it, I’ll give you that, but I can feel when I have eyes on me,” you explained, taking another step closer to Dex. You breached his space so carelessly, like you didn’t care who he was. “See, at first, I thought you were some PI hired by Fisk or some company I slighted with one of my articles. But, well, if that were the case, I probably would have already been hit with a lawsuit or an assassination attempt,” you laughed, like the thought of someone killing you was funny. Dex’s face twitched with anger at the thought of someone trying to hurt you. “So, not a PI. Then I thought you must be one of those run-of-the-mill stalker fanboys. I’ve never had one before, but it sounded kinda fun.”
You trailed your finger across the wall, grazing each photo. You circled Dex, finally stopping on the opposite side, which put him with his back to the closet door and you away from a clean exit. The lack of concern for your own safety confused Dex.
“It wasn’t until I took a couple of photos of you that I realized who you were.” Your eyes found his again, and you looked up at him with barely concealed mischief. “Benjamin Pointdexter, disgraced former FBI agent, wanted mass murder, Bullseye.” you raised an eyebrow at him, checking to see if he would interrupt you. He didn't, just swallowed. You watched his Adam’s apple bob, transfixed on the motion. “What did I do to get the number one wanted vigilante in New York’s attention?”
“The AVTF,” he finally said, his throat dry. “You took photos of them. Wrote that article, too.”
“You read my article?” you asked, your cheeks heating up. Dex nodded, unsure with your reaction. This wasn’t how he had expected today to go and the sudden shift was really throwing him for a loop.
“I liked it, but you put yourself in Fisk’s eyeline,” he admitted, looking down at you with disapproval.
“Is that why you continued to stalk me? You were protecting me from the mayor?” you teased, not mincing words. “How sweet.” And to you, it really was.
“You think so?” Dex asked in a genuine tone. No one had ever found his compulsions as anything other than creepy.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, looking up at the greyish blond-haired man through your lashes. “I don’t put this much effort in for just anybody, you know?” you said, gesturing around at the closet. You’d devoted hours of your life to researching and catching shots of the man in front of you, all so you could build up your shrine for him. “I was so pleased when I saw you in the stairwell; I knew today was the day that we’d finally speak.” You had noticed him outside your apartment this morning, and he thought he had been so sneaky. “Did you like touching my panties, Dex?” you asked, innocently.
The question froze Dex in shock, his mind struggling to keep up. You knew he was following you, knew he was dangerous, knew he had touched your things and spent the morning in your apartment. He had never met someone like you before, the only one that came close was when he looked in the mirror.
You weren’t his North Star. You were his equal.
“Dex?” He had been silent for too long.
“Yes,” he said, rushing to get the word out. You raised an eyebrow, silently pushing him to continue. “Yes, I liked touching your…things.” He couldn’t say the word, the mere thought of it sending bolts of heat down his body.
“My things?” you asked with a smile. You walked straight into his space again, your faces now mere inches from each other. “Tell me, Dex, did you picture me when you touched them?” God, he loved the way you said his name, like you could see straight into his soul.
“Yes,” he choked out again, pleasure building embarrassingly fast. Dex feared he’d cum from your voice alone if you kept talking to him with that tone.
“I thought so.” You nodded, more to yourself than to him, then your hands were on him. They circled his shoulders until they rested behind his neck. Dex tried not to freeze at the casual embrace, but he had never experienced such tenderness before. “What was I doing?”
“You were, uh, wearing them–the lingerie–and I was on the bed.” Dex’s face felt flushed, both from embarrassment and arousal. You hummed again and then he was being forced backward by you, your arms still locked around him. His hands automatically rested on your hips, taken aback at your actions. You forced him back until the back of his knees hit your bed, and with gentle hands, you guided Dex until he sat down.
“Like this?” you asked, finally able to look down at him. Dex nodded, his mouth too dry to form the words. “Lucky for you, I thought today might be special.” He wasn’t able to ask you what you meant before you stepped away from his arms. He missed your warmth immediately.
You took more steps backward, never letting your gaze fall from his own. Slowly, you traced a finger down your shirt and popped a button open. Dex’s eyes dropped to follow the motion, enraptured with how nimble your fingers were. You worked another button open and Dex dipped his head in hunger at the sight of the lace that hid beneath. You continued your work until there were no more buttons and peeled the shirt off of you, carelessly throwing it onto the floor.
In any other situation, Dex might have been annoyed at the messiness, but the only thought on his mind at that moment was getting his hands on you.
Next came your pants, the sleek fabric pooling at your feet as soon as the button popped open. He licked his lips at your matching panties. You’d wore lacy underwear for him. Dex’s mouth watered at the sight before him; you were like an angel straight from the heavens.
Dex was suddenly achingly aware of how hard he was, his dick straining against the material of his pants. He fidgeted on your bed, the movement only exacerbating the drag of fabric against his sensitive skin. Yet, he never once reached for his zipper. He wouldn’t do anything until you allowed him to.
You took a second to capture this moment in your memory forever: Dex, arguably one of the dangerous men in the city, coming undone by the mere sight of you. His face was flushed red, the scarlet blazing all the way up to his ears. He was perched on your bed, his skilled hands digging into the soft fabric, like if he let go, he would pounce on you like the predator you knew him to be.
The smile that stretched across your face was one of pure joy, as you dragged your hand across your body, feeling Dex’s eyes follow your every movement. Across your bare stomach, up to your clothed breasts, and then down to the waistband of your underwear; his eyes never once faltered. Agonizingly slow, you dragged your fingertips along the lace before finally dipping below. You were already so wet from watching Dex break into your place, but having him in front of you and at your mercy was like turning the dial up to a hundred.
How had you gotten so lucky?
You interrupted your own thoughts by circling your clit, rubbing slow circles around the tightly wound bud. Dex’s huff of agitation at not being able to see what you were doing beneath the fabric was like music to your ears. After so long of him teasing you in the form of stalking, it felt wonderful to have a leg up on the vigilante.
The slickness between your thighs had already soaked through your panties and made a mess of your fingers, so you tested the waters by sliding a finger inside of yourself. You met no resistance, overtly aroused at the turn of events for today. You were so wet that you felt comfortable enough to add a second finger.
You pumped both fingers in and out as best as you could, leaning against your couch for stability. The angle was awkward, especially considering the barrier of lace that your fingers continuously hit. With your other hand, you tore your underwear down hastily until it hit the floor. Finally free from your confinements, your fingers continued to curl inside of you unfettered.
You didn’t bother to hide your moans; Dex deserved to hear how you sounded. Through your lashes, you could see Dex’s composure start to crack. His breathing was heavier, the long exhales resonating throughout the room in tandem with your own moans. Your fingers curled again, this time spreading wider to stretch your pussy out. Your head flew back and your eyes slid shut, already so worked up.
Your other hand crawled back up to knead at your breasts, aching for the touch of the man in front of you. Though, you wouldn’t be the first to break.
The shifting of fabric drew your attention back to Dex, to the way his hips shuttered in small movements. He was humping your bed, those hazel eyes of his never once straying from your figure. It made you feel powerful, desired. The high of being worshipped by a man like Dex was going straight to your head…and to your growing orgasm.
Your fingers moved faster, hitting that soft button inside your body that sent a jolt throughout your system each time. With each withdrawal, you dragged your fingers against your clit. The pressure was building, but you needed to time it just right.
Give Dex a show, but not enough to push you over the edge until he had jumped first. From the looks of things, it wouldn’t take too long.
Dex’s forehead dripped with the sweat of restraint, but the bulge visible against his pants let you know he was close. His hips dipped low enough for his crotch to catch the seam of his pants with each drag, and he let out a tiny puff of a moan when his clothed penis hit the perfect spot.
Dex wasn’t much of a moaner, but you were. You were loud and arched your back into the sound, which only helped your fingers find your spot with ease.
“Dex!” you moaned out. Fire blazed in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to shoot up and off of the bed to be at your side. He swallowed thickly, his hips picking up speed. “Dex, fuck! Close!” you said, pumping in and out.
“Fuck,” he grunted out. He couldn’t see his dick, but he was sure it was turning a concerning shade of red and purple from how badly he wanted to cum. “Close, too.”
“Yeah?” you asked innocently, like you weren’t aware of your effect on him. “Will you cum for me, baby? Wanna see you cum.” You were playing dirty, but damn did you do it well. Dex nodded and his eyes slid shut in concentration. Your pace slowed down, instead focusing on circling your clit.
Dex choked out a moan like he wasn’t used to being heard and jerked his hips violently. Immediately, he doubled over and you could see the way his body shook from the exertion. The only notion you had that he had cum was the low swear from his wrecked voice. Dex straightened up, still shaking slightly, and looked at you with watery eyes.
The heat in your stomach doubled, but before you could cum from just his gaze alone, you prowled toward him. He was still trying to catch his breath, but it caught in his throat once you made it to him and swung your legs to sit on his lap. His hands found your hips and you could feel the damp spot of his crotch against your pussy. You looped your hand around to roughly grab at the back of Dex’s head and drew him in for a kiss, more teeth than anything.
He panted into your mouth, the hot air combining with your own. You brought your other hand back down to play with your clit, picking up speed with each swipe of Dex’s tongue in your mouth. Dex bit at your lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste filling your mouth in seconds. With a cry, you came fast and hard, your orgasm tearing through you and leaving you without the energy to even stay upright. Dex’s hands clamped down to keep you in pace, his lips never leaving your own. You shuttered against him, freshly sensitive.
“Mmm, Dex,” you moaned out, finally breaking the kiss. You brought your fingers, the ones that had been sheathed inside of you, up to your bloody lip, feeling the wound. Dex tenderly grabbed your wrist and brought your fingers forward until they slotted in his mouth. He licked your cum and blood off the digits with fervor, eager for the taste of both. Another shot of arousal spiked through your body.
“You did so good,” you praised him, your hand playing with his greying hair.
“Want to fuck you,” he breathed out, his hips jolting again. He was so eager to be inside of you, he needed it. Refractory period be damned.
You let out a laugh, more genuine than mocking. “Don’t worry, honey. You will. I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured. There was no way either of you were leaving this apartment until you were both completely drained and satisfied.
You weren’t going anywhere. The words echoed around Dex’s head nonstop; you wouldn’t leave him like everyone else. You wanted more of this, more of him. Dex couldn’t help the smile that crawled across his face, pulling his scar tight across his skin. You kissed him again to seal the deal.
He was yours and you were his, as it always would be.
coughs… can I request more lore/art/anything on Milo’s driver? He is so cool hehe
I lowkey do not have much art of him atm 😭🙏 but I do have LOREEE
He’s married to Eleanor, she has an adopted kid named Elise, so he technically became a dad when they got married. They met in Firefly Foundations and worked together a long time before they ever got feelings for one another. They’re lowkey both very deadpan people so they don’t outwardly show affection for one another but they do love each other deeply!
In present day Elise is dead, due to reasonssss, and it kind of broke both of them for a long time, Edison got really suicidal but Eleanor is what made him never go through with it. He’s still not really the same due to what happened, and neither is Eleanor. Their relationship is a little more strained but they both know they have no one else that knows each other the same way so they’re still together despite it all.
He kind of had beef with Murphy (founder of FF, Milo’s dad..) because he was a huge asshole and Edison wouldn’t deal with his bullshit, he’s shocked he didn’t get fired tbh. Sometimes he and Eleanor would babysit Milo as he was a kid at the time, and Elise and Milo would have play dates, they were close childhood friends. Edison and Eleanor could really tell he has some bad shit happen to him with his dad (but couldn’t do anything about it due to Murphy being their boss). In present day he still kind of views Milo as a little baby and does not see him fit as the new person running the entire foundation he works for.
Milo tries to not be too close with Edison but Edison doesn’t gaf and constantly gives him advice or whatnot. Edison tries to be a father figure towards Milo but Milo just does not want to put his facade down around anyone so it’s hard for them to truly have a bond. Edison deep down really wants what he had like with Elise again and is using Milo to cope with it all, but Milo won’t give that to him, and Milo DEFINITELY won’t talk about Elise with him.
Another smaller note Edison used to work in bigger parts of the field, like the full on mafia killing shit, but as he got older and couldn’t do that all he just decided to be Milo’s driver and do smaller tasks that help Milo. Milo still pays him the same even if it isn’t as much work.
Oh! Here’s Eleanor and Elise, I need to update their designs badly lol
heyy! I was wondering if you’d be able to write a cute comfort fic of Cillian or reader being away from each other for a while and their homesick and the other is comforting though like a FaceTime or a call…! Thanks!!
Oh btw I love your fics, you write Cillian so cutely!
Homesick
Pairings: Cillian Murphy x Female Reader
Warnings: long distance, homesickness, emotional vulnerability, heavy comfort
Summary: While filming Peaky Blinders in London, Cillian grows homesick and struggles to hide it from Y/N during a late-night call.
A/N: thank you so much for this request it’s so sweet and comforting! I loved writing it!! So sorry it took so long I’ve been so busy with everything 😭
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The London sky was heavy with fog, city lights blurred against the glass of Cillian’s hotel window. He’d been in this same suite for almost a month now, white walls, neatly pressed sheets, tidy furniture that felt sterile, temporary. It wasn’t home. Home was quiet, warm, and full of her.
Cillian sat on the edge of the bed, his script still open on the nightstand, though he hadn’t turned a page in hours. He rubbed his hand across his face, feeling the stubble at his jaw, his eyes burning with fatigue. His body was tired from the day’s filming, but his chest felt heavier than usual, a slow ache that had nothing to do with work.
When his phone buzzed with her name on the screen, his lips curled automatically into a smile, though it was faint, forced at first. He swiped to answer, leaning back against the headboard.
“Hey, love,” he said softly, his voice carrying that husky wear of exhaustion.
Her face appeared, lit by the soft lamp on their bedside table back home. Y/N looked warm, familiar, hair down, her expression instantly softening at the sight of him.
“Hi, baby,” she said gently, her smile brighter than his. “You look tired.”
Cillian chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Long day. Just finished not too long ago.”
“Did you eat?” she asked, tilting her head, her usual way of fussing over him.
“Yeah… grabbed something from catering before I came back.” He shifted, trying not to let his sigh slip out, but it did anyway.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, noticing. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he replied quickly, shaking his head, though his gaze drifted down for a moment. “Just the usual, you know. Filming’s intense.”
But Y/N knew him. She knew the cadence of his voice when he was hiding something, the way he tried to wave it off with vague words. She stayed quiet for a moment, just studying his face through the screen.
“Cill…” her voice was lower now, gentler, coaxing. “Something’s off. Tell me.”
He swallowed, jaw tensing. “I don’t want to—” He paused, shifting again, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Don’t want to put it on you.”
“Put what on me?” she pressed softly. “You’re my husband. That’s what I’m here for.”
Her words made his chest twist. He let out a shaky breath and leaned his head back against the headboard, eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, they looked softer, almost vulnerable.
“I just…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “I miss you.”
Her face softened immediately, her lips parting.
“I miss you so much, love,” he went on, the words tumbling out now that he’d let the first one slip. “It’s only been a month and it feels like bloody forever. I wake up in this room and it’s so damn quiet. No smell of your shampoo in the bathroom, no sound of you padding around in your slippers. Just me. Feels… empty.”
Y/N’s eyes glistened a little, though she forced a smile for him. “Oh, Cill…”
He rubbed at his temple, embarrassed at himself for letting it show. “I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause I know you’re holding things down at home, and I should be tougher than this. But tonight it just hit me. Like, all at once.”
“Hey,” she interrupted softly, her tone firm but full of love. “Don’t you dare think you’ve got to hide this from me. Missing each other doesn’t make you weak. It just means we love each other that much.”
He looked at her through the phone, his lips twitching into a sad smile. “You always know how to make sense of me.”
“That’s my job, isn’t it?” she teased lightly, though her eyes stayed soft.
He chuckled, but it faded into a sigh. “I keep thinking about coming home after a long day, just lying on the couch with you, your hand in my hair while I fall asleep. The little things. I’d give anything for that right now.”
She pressed her lips together, her chest tightening as she watched him. “And you’ll have that again soon. It won’t always feel this long. But for now… you’ve still got me, even if it’s through a screen. You’re not alone, baby.”
His throat bobbed as he nodded, eyes misty though he blinked quickly, trying not to let it show.
“Talk to me,” she said softly. “Tell me about your day, about the scene you filmed. Let me be there with you, even if it’s just through this phone.”
Cillian gave a little laugh, the heaviness in his chest easing just slightly at her words. “You always know what I need, don’t you?”
“Always,” she whispered.
He sat up straighter, his eyes fixed on her, drinking in the sight of her face. “God, I love you. More than anything.”
“I love you too, Cill. More than you’ll ever know.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, just looked at her, his hand pressing against the phone as if he could touch her through it.
Cillian leaned back against the headboard, his phone balanced in his hand, Y/N’s face glowing softly in the dim hotel light. The city outside buzzed faintly through the window, but here, in this moment, it felt like just the two of them.
She tilted her head, watching him closely. “So… tell me, what’s going on in that pretty brain of yours, hm?”
He smirked a little at the choice of words, though his shoulders sank. “Hmm.. Feels more like a scrambled one these days.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Scrambled or not, I want to know what’s in there. Start with today. How was it, really?”
He sighed through his nose, scratching the back of his neck. “Long. We did that big market scene—loads of extras, noise, smoke everywhere. Took hours to reset between takes. I was on my feet all day, running lines in my head when I wasn’t filming.” He paused, then shook his head. “But none of it feels worth talking about without you here to come home to.”
“Cill…” her voice softened again.
He gave her a tired half-smile. “I know, I know. I sound ungrateful. It’s a dream job, and I do love it. But you know me, love. I live for the in-betweens—the quiet bits after. Sitting at the kitchen table with you, having tea, not saying much. That’s the part I miss the most.”
Her eyes softened even more, her chest tightening at the way his voice cracked just slightly. “You’re not ungrateful. You’re just… human. And a husband who misses his wife. That’s nothing to apologise for.”
Cillian swallowed, nodding, his eyes flicking away for a moment. “I keep telling myself to just tough it out. To focus on the work. But I’ll be honest—I’m not sleeping much. Can’t switch off when I’m alone here. My head just keeps going.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “You’re not sleeping?”
He shook his head faintly. “Couple of hours here and there, but… not properly. I lie there thinking about home. Thinking about you. What you’re doing. If you’re lonely without me.”
“I am,” she admitted softly, “but not in a bad way. More like… I just miss you. Same as you miss me. But Cill, you’ve got to rest. You can’t run yourself ragged, especially with the hours you’re keeping on set.”
“I know.” He exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know how to quiet my head down.”
“Then let me help,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “Tell me what’s running through it when you’re lying there. What’s keeping you up?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “You really want to know? It’s not very… poetic.”
“Try me,” she teased, her voice warm.
Cillian looked down for a moment before meeting her eyes again through the screen. “I picture you in bed, on my side. I wonder if you’re using my pillow, if it still smells like me. I think about whether you’ve eaten enough, if you’ve locked the doors. Stupid things like that. But they pile up. And then I start thinking about the next day’s shoot, about whether I’ll get it right, if people will like it. And by the time I’ve wound myself up, it’s morning.”
Y/N’s expression softened into a mixture of love and sadness. “That’s not stupid. That’s you caring. About me, about your work. But baby, you don’t have to carry it all alone. Next time your brain won’t switch off, call me—even if it’s the middle of the night. I don’t care. I’d rather you wake me up than sit there with it all on your chest.”
His lips twitched, emotion flickering in his eyes. “You’d really want that?”
“Of course. That’s what we’re here for—each other. So promise me, no more lying there alone with it, okay?”
He nodded slowly. “Alright. I promise.”
“Good,” she said softly, then gave him a little smile. “Now, what about food? Are you actually eating properly or just telling me you are?”
Cillian chuckled, guilty. “Caught me, did you?”
“Always,” she grinned. “So…?”
“I’ve been skipping meals here and there,” he admitted quietly. “Schedule’s mad. I just grab coffee most mornings and hope it holds me.”
Her face fell. “Cill…”
“I know, love, I know,” he said quickly, holding up his free hand. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll do better. I’ll make sure to eat.”
She softened again, though her voice stayed firm. “Promise me you will. No more running on coffee. I can tell when you’re not looking after yourself, and it worries me.”
“Promise,” he said, his voice earnest.
There was a beat of silence where they just looked at each other, the distance between them achingly real. He pressed his thumb gently against the edge of the phone, wishing he could touch her.
“You always know how to pull it out of me,” he murmured. “Things I don’t even want to admit to myself.”
“That’s because you’re mine,” she whispered, her smile small but full of love. “And I’ll always take care of you—even from here.”
He closed his eyes briefly, his chest loosening at her words. When he opened them again, they were glassy but warm.
“God, I can’t wait to come home to you,” he whispered.
i'm trying to get back into my on and off relationship w/ twst and my first twst oc (or is this more like headcanons?) ended up being MISS FUCKING ROSEHEARTS. 💔
her whole 'world's youngest pushing 50 y/o' shtick doesnt rly work when every twst mom looks like she stopped aging at 25 - 30 but oh well
"Drós Marye" was inspired by Donna Murphy's (mother gothel's og VA) name
Unique Magic — Rewinding Thread: does the same thing as the golden flower except it's a give and take, making the user able to rewind the physical state of living beings but at the cost of their own lifespan being gradually depleted as collateral: the target's body goes back in time by one hour = half an hour is taken away from the user's own life. dr. rosehearts' signature spell being able to bring flatlined and brain dead patients back from death and also having the potential to reverse catastrophic injuries the second they happen is what makes her a renowned magical healer
→ the spell also comes from her deepest desire to turn back the clock on her unfulfilling life. if it were possible she could go back in time to make different choices, she WOULD (if it weren't for her being THAT deep in denial), but fantasizing only harms her in the long run because she won't actually make an effort to change
anyways: my srs interpretation of her
(just to clarify, in NO WAY am i giving her a sob story to try and justify her actions. explanation ≠ excuse
oh and shes gonna stray slightly away from canon bc of who i twisted her from🙏 i had to do a lot of filling in the blanks so pls bear w/ me)
if we ever get a ridomom reveal PLEAAAAAAASEEEE let her be a living cautionary tale as a character! i literally based drós off the gilded cage archetype!
im SO convinced by the rosehearts generational trauma hc 'cause of how riddle was straight on the path to becoming his mother if he hadn't overblotted and never worked towards righting his wrongs afterwards. in my version, mrs. rosehearts genuinely views her own childhood abuse as "tough love" bc from an outsider's perspective, she has the "perfect life": working whats traditionally deemed one of the best jobs, presumably affluent, is the most respected in town, husband is also successful, has an obedient and diligent child, etc
i like to think riddle got his prideful denial and black-and-white thinking from drós because ofc no one would want to view all the hurt they had to endure as done in vain, so seeing that she grew up to live an admirable and righteous life after not receiving what she views as "coddling" (i.e. emotional support), mrs. rosehearts bruteforcing riddle into becoming a prodigy was her way of making sure he has what SHE considers the best of the best for both riddle's sake and because specifically HER child being nonpareil would also be the best for her fragile ego built up on equating achievements with the end-all and be-all, just like how her son doesn't know where he belongs if not ranking first in all subjects
and technically, she succeeded in making riddle this exemplary person who is astoundingly capable and talented, but at such a detrimental cost that he'll have to bear the weight of for the rest of his life.
oh and shes the protecting final boss now coz i luuuuv those angst arts of riddle seeing his mom in himself (;ﾟ∇ﾟ) like, it should totes go the other way around too,,, very intentional how she got more vicious the moment she stopped seeing her son and started seeing her "old unrefined herself"
(in mother knows best: a tale of the old witch, manea/gothel's mom wasn't a good mother either... i swear it all comes full circle)
regardless of how good her intentions might be, riddle's mom is a perfectionist and a helicopter parent with a temper who is objectively not a good mother, but she also has her arguably more gentle moments which i think contributes to just one of the many reasons why riddle has an "but that's my mommy 🥺 thats mama🥺🥺" outlook on his upbringing whenever he has to face the fact that his mom isn't infallible + reinforces the idea within riddle that he must live up to her unforgiving standards 24/7 in exchange for feeling loved. honestly, i headcanon that the 'nice mrs. rosehearts' from riddle's dream is him entertaining an extremely overexaggerated hypothetical of what if his mom's seldom sweet moments were an everyday and unconditional thing rather than him making her up out of nowhere 🤷 just saying, he who had no TV growing up and spent majority of the day studying had to get the baseline concept from somewhere
from how i see it, i believe marye's love for riddle would show through what she can do for her son/how she can provide for him, which is also why she tries dictating every aspect of riddle's life. from teaching herself how to bake that 'healthy birthday cake' to younger riddle being adorably styled in that cardigan and ribbon combo that looks both comfortable and presentable, EVERYTHING she chose to do to him, whether innocuous or harmful (as well as what she failed to do for him!!!), comes from a place of woefully misguided love
referencing how mother gothel saw rapunzel for the flower instead of as her own person and raised her accordingly, my specific version of mrs. rosehearts made the parenting choices she did cause shes lowkenuinely living vicariously through riddle as well💀… riddle is both her beloved son aka the best thing ever to come out of her complicit life choices AND the spitting image of his mommy which also makes him marye's "second chance" to be absolutely flawless, therefore why she acts like 8y/o riddle just swore himself to a life of drugs and crime in riddle's post-overblot flashbacks everytime he goes what she perceives as "off script", and or when a child wants to act his age and make the same "mistakes" she did (months later, Julie Nathanson's line delivery still gives me baaaad heebie jeebies😭😭😭)
lol get it. riddle being an 'extension' of herself. like…like mother gothel,..shjes 'lengthening' her life span thru her GOLDEN chil🍅🍅d🍅🍅🍅
how riddle sees his relationship with his mom is of course drastically different from how mrs. rosehearts thinks it is too.
like for example, riddle says this in the screenie above, but mrs. rosehearts refers to him as "riddle darling" in the anime (at least in the dub vers). riddle loves his mother just as much as he is TERRIFIED of her. he is under the impression that her love disappears when he achieves anything less than greatness, so her abuse is whats most memorable to him, meanwhile mrs. rosehearts mostly recalls the opposite. she doesn't remember half of the times she freaked out on riddle over small things but with riddle essentially being her magnum opus, her focus zeros in on riddle's potential and solely that instead of riddle's current needs knowing that his mother loves him no matter what because she sees happiness as a guarantee once a person is successful, except her definition of 'success' is very traditional/inflexible and thats what makes her wrong despite the sentiment alone being accurate on some level
the cherry on top is that even though drós endured similar expectations throughout childhood, she severely underestimates just how much her words and discipline negatively shaped her son after growing up during a time when corporal punishment against kids only recently started to be frowned upon but was still widely considered 'the norm' + outdated thinking such as "i have never hit my son so i can't be abusive" + she views her strictness as a 'necessary evil' that is the 'correct' of life. she fully believes that one day when riddle grows up and "comes to his senses", he will "see reason just as she had" and be thankful for how hard she was on him.
the mommy issues + how the child was affected in this case are definitely different but it's okay cuz this one's for the pokémon x twst fans 🫡 lwk that one manga panel where dr. rosehearts' lack of defining facial features gets zoomed in on followed by a teacup shattering gave me the same creeping feeling of dread as watching lusamine lose her lusa-mind
A/N’s: ah this has been in my drafts for a while so I thought of finishing it to post it and clear my WIPS 🥰✨ I hope you like it!
And last but not least, I want to share a quote I came across the other day, in the middle of rush hour, in the middle of a hurry… and it made me stop on my tracks and stare at those words for what seemed like an eternity. “If it makes you happy, it doesn’t have to make sense to other people.”
You sighed as the document showed you the saved message.
“Y/N! Are you available?” Your boss texted you just as you had finished your work.
“Yes, everything alright Kian?” You asked right away. But before you had the chance to lock your phone, she called you.
“I know you asked to take the day off tomorrow, just wanted to check if you’d be able to save us for an interview?”
“Well I took the day off to arrange everything for my moving.”
“Let’s do this, you get the day off any other day you want and you don’t even have to register it in the system, if you say yes, you’ll keep your full holiday.”
You bit your lower lip debating how to organize everything.
“I had Craig for this interview but he had something personal coming up and isn’t available.”
“Alright, I’ll do it.” You agreed
“I know you’ll do a fabulous work darling, just like you always do.”
“Stop the flattering.” You joked. “So, what time should I see you at the office?”
“Oh no, you’re going to Dun Laoghaire.”
*****
Your heart had been beating so fast since last night when you heard you’d be interviewing Cillian Murphy, an Irish native, the man of the moment as some media called him. If anyone asked in Ireland, he was considered as a national treasure.
And he was for so many reasons.
Googling his recent work last night, you realized some of the comments of how he didn’t do photos, or how a lot of people mispronounced his name, he wasn’t a follower of trends either and answering the same questions over and over again made him uncomfortable.
You thought you had prepared enough material for this project. That’s why you arrived at the place your boss instructed you earlier to set up everything. But nothing prepared you for that ocean stare when he arrived holding his dog’s leash.
“Hello I’m Cillian.” He introduced himself and greeted you with a kiss. As an assistant informed him he’d attach a microphone to his jacket, he couldn’t help but joke. “You look a bit different, Craig.”
“Y/N, nice to meet you.” Y/N smiled and then bent down. “And who’s this.”
He nodded and whistled at his dog. “This is Scout.”
Greeting his dog with your hand you chuckled and explained Craig had some personal matters to attend. “Heard you couldn’t reschedule.”
“Yeah, there’s loads of events coming up.”
“You don’t sound excited.” The wind blew his hair.
You were surprised how he didn’t ask for an stylist or someone to assist him.
He looked down. “Don’t get me wrong, I am… but I’m not at the same time, it probably doesn’t makes sense.”
“I’ve never attended any, so…”
His hands were suddenly hiding in the pockets of his jacket. “You aren’t missing a big deal.” Then he laughed nervously. “What you must be thinking, what’s he complaining about? It’s just it’s a lot to take in, someone is always telling you where to stand, where to look, what to do…”
“We’re ready.” The camera guy approached you.
“Give me a minute.” You asked, looking at him, then you turned to Cillian. “Don’t worry, it’s not my job to judge anyone. I’m just here to have a chat.” You smiled at him.
That seemed to make him feel at ease with you as he started talking about the multi awarded film. He was sharing lots of personal insights of his preparation for this role in a way that made you feel as if you were having a conversation with a friend you haven’t seen in a while. He made you forget about all the questions you had prepared.
“Would you say there’s a Cillian before and after this movie?” You asked stopping to pet his dog.
“I’d be a liar if I tell you no. Because in a way, there’s a before and after.” He paused for a second to stare at the ocean, it was a beautiful and breathtaking sunset. “But then, I feel like I’m the same you know?”
You contemplated the way the golden hour highlighted his features, his voice made you feel like you were floating.
“I don’t want this to change me, to get it in my head.”
“I don’t think this will, but you definitely are getting more attention lately. Has it been hard to deal with that part of the fame?”
He smiled and pointed towards some rocks and you followed him. “For a moment it was, I mean I had a very publicly divorce in the middle of filming.” He chuckled and you gasped, the only rule your boss requested was no personal questions.
Cillian must’ve sensed your nervousness because he touched your arm. “It’s alright, everybody knows about that.”
“We can edit and cut it from the final version.”
But he shook his head. “It’s all part of what you saw on the big screen, Oppenheimer wasn’t a saint, he had struggles, his own battles. Just like myself.” He added showing you a side that he had never shared before.
“How do you keep this out of your characters? How do you draw a line between set and real life.”
Cillian raised his eyebrows. “That’s a good question… I don’t know to be honest.” He looked down at your parted lips and lost track of his thoughts for a second. “When I hear the word action, something deep inside me steps back and the character emerges. But then when I go back home Mum just sends me over to take the trash can.” He chuckled and a few lines appeared around the corner of his eyes. “It’s hard to explain, you must think this is crazy.”
Crunching down to pick up a rock, you shook your head. “It makes more sense than you can imagine.” He gave you a surprised look. “To me, I feel that way when I’m writing an article.”
Apart from this, you had a weekly column in a well known newspaper both, printed and online that was quite popular. Lots of people reached out assuring you the column described perfectly how they felt.
“I read your article about finding different kinds of soulmates. It was so interesting.”
You blushed at the thought of him reading your article. “It sparkled a debate. I got a bunch of replies and letters with opinions divided, some people agreed and the rest accused me of confusing them.”
Your phone ringing interrupted the conversation, but taking a look at the screen, you knew you had to take it. “I’m really sorry, it’s my grandma.”
As you moved a few steps away to answer the call, Cillian stared at you in silence. For the past hour you hadn’t been bombarding him with hundreds of questions, you had been making him talk freely about what he loved the most, about something much more than just his job.
“Oh no don’t worry granny.” He heard you say softly. “Yes, it’s the interview I told you about.”
There was a huge smile on your lips and the sudden wind blew the scarf you were wearing.
“Absolutely, I’m sure the weather fairies listened to your prayers that’s why isn’t raining.” You threw a subtle glance in his direction, he was staring at you. “Oh, Cillian says hi.”
He winked, pleased with the positive answer you gave him on your grandma’s behalf.
“I gotta go soon, but I’ll see you on Sunday. Love you.”
“Weather fairies? That’s new.” He pointed out before whistling at his dog.
“She swears there’s a fairy in her house hiding her something, so she might put her to good use asking for a good weather today.”
“Which seems to be working so far.” Cillian stared at the clear sky, it was a surprise there hasn’t been any raining.
“I guess she’s right, I wouldn’t want to piss off a fairy tho.” You stated jokingly resuming the walk. “What are you looking forward now?”
“Some time off.” Cillian answered right away. “All of this attention is mortifying.” He laughed out loud, feeling at ease with you.
“Completely away?”
“Loads of reading, cooking, some walks here and there. Ya know?”
You opened your mouth, but decided to not say anything.
“What?” He asked fixing his eyes on you. “Boring right?”
“No, I was going to say it’s a bit shocking… you’re the total opposite of a big movie star mold.”
“In other words… boring, I know.” He repeated.
And now you felt mortified by insulting him. “No, no I mean…”
“Hey I’m just messing with ya.” His palm came to rest on your shoulder. “To be honest I’m also looking forward to spend some time with my people, being away during filming it’s a bit hard sometimes, I’m not always around for birthdays or important moments.”
“What is it a couple of things that can’t miss during your breaks?”
“Music and food. I love having people over all the time… I’m not the introvert everyone thinks.”
“You’re an extrovert with the right people.” You stated lifting your face towards the sun. Take it in.
Cillian’s eyes followed you. There was something magical on your face.
“Exactly.” He let out in a whisper.
“How is it to work with Christopher Nolan? Everyone says he’s hard to please.”
Cillian frowned. “He always has a very clear idea of what he wants, he’s brilliant.” He’d work with Chris every time if he could. “He just expects the same high level and commitment he provides in return.”
That made you think how unfair people made him look, it’s easier to say he’s very picky when in reality he’s just steps ahead of everyone and lazy people prefer to say he’s difficult. Your understanding seemed to calm Cillian.
“He’s just like his mind is always ten steps ahead,” he explained with a smile. “Would you like to see something unique?”
“What, are you going to FaceTime him?” Your eyes opened wide at the thought.
“No, he doesn’t have a phone.” Cillian admitted. “Come on, I want to show yo something.” He motioned the crew and you to follow him.
As you were walking, he explained why he chose that place, he wanted to settle down by the beach, it reminded him of the holiday home he used to visit as a child and not only that, he shared a lot of his personal favorites of the neighborhood, it was as if he took over the tour guide role, sharing the best places to grab some food and the local antiques store after learning it was one of favorites things to do.
“So… what are you doing for the holidays?” Cillian asked hooking the lash on Scout’s collar.
“Driving to Enniskerry to be with my family. What about you?”
“Ah that’s beautiful.” He would be almost three hours away from there. “I’ll be down to Cork. Also for the family gathering.”
“That’s amazing, I hope you get to have some good time.”
“After you.” He held the door open and gave you a welcoming smile.
This wasn’t scripted, never in your wildest dreams you’d have imagined Cillian would invite you over to his house. This was his safe place, so intimate, and being honest with yourself you don’t just invite someone you just met.
He was incredibly kind and offered everyone something to drink, he was constantly moving his hands and explaining how he got that painting or the vintage piano sitting in a corner… he seemed so down to earth, your mind was just so full of everything that was happening, trying to register every little thing.
“Here it is.” Cillian announced after excusing himself for a couple of minutes downstairs. In his hands he was carrying the Oppenheimer script. “Go ahead, you can hold it.”
Your fingers trembled at the contact.
Time froze for an instant as you took in the handwritten note from Chris to Cillian.
“You left her speechless.” The camera man pointed out with a chuckle.
And you were definitely out of words as you went through the pages.
“Wow.”
“He printed it on red paper because if someone tries to copy it won’t be clear. It’s even hard to read as it is.” Cillian explained with excitement in his voice.
“I hope you get this framed.” You stated still in shock to be able to see something like that with your own eyes.
There were plenty of notes made by Cillian in literally every empty space.
“Oh that is actually a great idea.” He leaned back on the sofa staring at you for a little longer. “I’m glad you appreciate it as much as I do.”
“Are you kidding me? I mean… is there anything better than this?” You held the script on your lap as if it was some holy grail.
“Can we get a close up?” The camera man walked around the reading room but you gave Cillian a glance, to make sure he agreed.
He nodded, showing you some of the words he added, little notes like open eyes, walk slowly.
“How do you get over this? Seriously, you deserve every single award.”
Cillian seemed to blush after your statement. He really didn’t know how to get a compliment.
“Well…”
“No,” you quickly interrupted him, “that’s the way it is.”
“Thank you, I’m still not used to the attention.” He let out a nervous laugh, processing your words, letting the compliment linger in his mind.
“Would you change something?” Y/N asked taking Cillian by surprise.
“No,” he answered right away. “I’d do it all over again.”
Y/N nodded pleased with his answer. “That’s good, because if you did something differently, you’d get a different result. And everything happened just the way it should have.”
“Y/N.” The camera man tried to get your attention, pointing at his clock.
“Oh my! This got way longer than we expected.” You remembered he had a family affair to attend. “Thank you so much for having us, and for sharing this unique moment Cillian.”
Cillian studied the crew members, trying to buy himself some time. “Thanks y’all for the incredible work you did.” The camera man was gone and now only the microphone guy was around. “So how does it work now, do you’ve everything you needed?”
“We’ll send it to the editor and wait for a proposal, I usually change a few frames after they do the edition and I’ll send my final version to Kian and I’m sure Craig will want to take a look first.”
“Grand.”
You wrapped your scarf around your neck and bit the inside of your cheek. “I can send you the preview if you want.”
“Urm guys I need to catch the bus, see ya.” Paul the one in charge of the microphones waved goodbye.
“How about a pre-preview?” Cillian asked rubbing his arm. “Would you like to go for a drink?”
He saw a chance and decided to take the risk.
“Is this still part of the interview?” You had to ask, to see where you’d stand.
“No, it definitely has another intention on my part.” He flirted openly. “And maybe we could meet sometime between Christmas and New Year’s let’s say in… Kilkenny? Right in the middle.”
“Uh direct aren’t you?”
“That’s the way it is.” Cillian admitted.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you got to enjoy this little silly idea ✨ please remember your feedback is the best gift you could leave, it keeps the inspiration rolling 🥰♥️
Master list
Inspired by these photos from the 60 minutes interview:
Tag list: (if you want to be added/removed please let me know)
March of Pain 2026 𐴱 10k Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog
Summary: 10k gets shot in the chest during a shootout. You do what you can, but at a certain point, you both realize that there is no saving him this time.
Warnings: Angst, Whump, Hurt/NO COMFORT, Blood, Bleeding out, Major Character Death
This is Day 3 of my March of Pain writing challenge, where I post a whump piece inspired by a list of prompts every day.
Prompt: Bleeding Out
WC: 970 Words
He knew from the second the bullet tore through his abdomen that he was done for. He hadn't felt it right away. Had just been knocked back a step from the impact and instinctively pressed his palms to the spot where blood was quickly blooming against his shirt and stared at his bloodied hands with a furrowed brow.
His ears had started to ring once the pain registered. It was white hot and blinding, like someone had shoved a hot fire poker through his chest and held it there just to inflict the maximum amount of damage.
His legs came out from under him, his free hand scrambling for purchase against the bar stools behind him only to fall anyway, crumpling in a heap on the stained carpet.
The first lungful of air burned. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath since he'd taken the hit, and breathing through it only seemed to make it worse. Each contraction of his diaphragm put a strain on the wound, drawing jagged gasps for air that hurt worse than a steady breath might have. It felt like he couldn't get a proper lung-full of air and it took him a second to realize that one must have collapsed.
He could hear you calling out to him, screaming your throat raw as you ducked for cover, too far away from him to help. Your voice was barely audible over the gunfire, muffled and choppy beneath the ringing.
His rifle had slipped out of his grasp almost immediately and he briefly wondered if he'd actually been holding it at all. It had felt like an extra limb since the dead had started to walk, constantly out in front of him, even when he was asleep some nights.
Things had been a little different since you'd come along. He'd swapped the rifle out to cradle you in his arms on cold nights and couldn't help but worry he'd never get to do it again.
There was little he could do but lie there and writhe in pain, hoping that nobody else had been hit.
When the gunfire stopped, for a second, all he could hear was his own ragged wheezing and he felt the panic surging through him.
You weren't screaming anymore.
He couldn't hear Doc, or Warren. Not Addy, or Murphy. No one.
The sound of your knees hitting the ground next to him was deafening, but filled him with relief no matter how surprised he was that you'd gotten so close without him noticing.
"No." You breathed, eyes darting from his chest, wide with panic. "No, no, no."
He could feel your hands replacing his over the bleeding wound and immediately gasped in pain.
"I'm sorry!" You sobbed like it was hurting you just as badly "Oh, god, Tommy. I'm so fucking sorry, but I've gotta do this. Don't move, baby."
You were trying desperately to apply pressure to the gaping wound in his chest with your hands, but they weren't big enough. Nothing was big enough. Even your coat, shrugged off in your haste did nothing but soak up the blood, drenched through in what felt like seconds.
He tried to say your name. To try and calm you down a little. Let you know it would be alright. But, all that spilled from his lips was a gurgling sound and a drop of blood. You weren't letting yourself look, too engrossed in trying to heal and fix, but his brow furrowed all the same.
Why couldn't he speak?
He was trying, with everything in him to get a word out, but it felt like he was choking.
"You can't die on me." you choked out, finally looking up at his blood-splattered face with hot tears rolling down your cheeks. "God, Tommy. You just can't."
He was so pale. His skin ashen and gray like he was already dead. Like he was hanging on by a thread, and shit, maybe he was.
"It's-" He managed to choke out, so soft and shaky that you almost couldn't hear it over your ragged breathing. "It's-Okay"
"It's not okay!" You shouted, "Nothing about this is okay!"
"I can't-" A sob wracked through your body hard enough that your knees would have buckled had you been standing. Instead, your shoulders slumped and you gave him a look so full of defeat and sadness that it seemed to have made him start crying too.
Tears cut through the semi-congealed blood painting his cheeks, carving a trail of misery through the gore.
He tried to reach for you, but his limbs felt heavy and not quite in his control.
That couldn't be a good sign.
You seemed to understand just from the way his fingers twitched through, because you grabbed his hand and held it both of yours, cradling it to your chest.
You seemed to have realized that holding pressure wouldn't help at this point. That all you could do for him was hold his hand and try to comfort him in his last moments.
His head was spinning, dizzy from the blood loss. His thoughts grew sluggish, like they were traveling through jello before they had the chance to become fully formed.
It was only getting harder to breathe.
"I love you." You breathed, looking down at him with a devastated look "Do you hear me? I love you so much that it hurts, Tommy."
He tried so hard to say it back, but all he could do was mouth the words.
"I'm gonna be okay."
It was a lie if he'd ever heard one. He wasn't sure that he'd ever hear you any more not-okay in all the time he'd known you. But it didn't matter. It still brought him some comfort.
Enough to rest his eyes for just a second.
Dividers and Banners by me. for more graphics, check out my side-blog @dividers-are-us
