#This is Cillian's fault

[martianbugsbunny]

this is.totally how their first fight with apep went down right

[evita-shelby]

i had a dream Cillian and Adria Arjona did a movie together and it was so steamy (those two have chemistry with anyone they pair them they would be 🔥 together)

[atomiccity77]

hrrrrggggg

[owlehh]

Favourite part about Red Eye (2005) last night was when she threw the chair at him and I said "Chaircrow" and my fiance considered moving out

[hello-god-its-me-sara]

hey siri

play mirrorball by taylor swift

🎵Hush When no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love🎶

[chillian-murphy]

Me resisting the urge to tag every picture of Cillian as "daddy's princess"

[lacycardigan]

Why did I watch Red Eye again? Why did I do it? I should have known I'd end up adding another fic WIP to the pile if I watched that god forsaken movie.

[deusfoundry]

aly can I please yell at you about psychiatrist!zayne because I’ve read it several times over and it gets better each time and I’m really not okay, I’m a damned mess from it 🫠

HELP YES FEEL FREE TO YAP ABOUT HIM ALL U WANT

[slut4thebroken]

Teacher’s Pet

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x reader

Summary | After months of trying to earn your professor’s praise, he finally gives you an opportunity to prove you deserve it.

Warnings | Smut, dub con, blackmail, coercion, humiliation, anal, bondage, praise, creampie, degradation, inappropriate use of fear toxin.

Words | 6.2 k

Notes | Started this a million years ago. Finally got the motivation to finish it cause of @hllywdwhre ‘s fic that I proofread lol. Also ty to the post that gave me the fear toxin idea 🙏🏻

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

In honor of the one year anniversary since the start of my Cillian hyperfixation <3

Dr. Crane was one of the most strict and unforgiving professors at Gotham University. He graded harshly, didn’t tolerate late or incomplete work, and no one would ever dare be late— if they were, they just wouldn’t show up because an absence was better than his response to tardiness. He didn’t have any favorite students, just some that he tolerated slightly more than the rest. That was what you hated the most. 

You’ve always been the favorite student for every single teacher you’ve had, whether they said it out loud or not. After the first couple of weeks, you figured he’d just be harder to crack than the rest. But after almost two months, you were starting to get frustrated. Nothing you did ever earned you any sort of praise. You were always early, always the first to turn in assignments, participated in class, paid attention— you were the perfect student. But he never seemed to recognize that. What made you snap was when he gave you a B on your latest essay. 

Lightly knocking on his office door, you tried to control your nerves and push down the nausea— You’ve never had to talk with a teacher about a grade before…

“Come in.” He called out. So you opened the door and hesitantly stepped inside. He glanced at you quickly, then did a double take once he realized it was you. “Close the door.” He said, resuming what he was doing. You took in a quiet, deep breath and closed the door before walking over and sitting on the chair across from his desk. 

“I’m assuming this is about your essay?” He asked, not even looking up from his work. 

“Yes.. You gave me a B, I was hoping to understand why.” You said tentatively. 

“Did you not read my notes?” Of course you did. But it still didn’t make any sense. 

“No, I did, but-” He finally looked up at you with a sigh. 

“Then you should understand why I gave you that grade.”

“This essay was practically perfect.” You argued, holding up the stapled together pieces of paper, marked up with red ink. 

“Clearly not if you got a B.” He raised his brows and you clenched your jaw, trying not to get too upset or emotional.

“Dr. Crane, I’ve aced every single test and assignment, I’d hardly say this is a fair grade.” You frowned. 

“Your argument was weak and biased.” Your lips parted in shock at the bluntness of his criticism. “And your previous assignments have no impact on my grading. If you’d like them to though, I’d be more than willing to grade them again to see if I missed anything.” 

“It- it wasn’t… I spent weeks on this.” 

“And yet… You still weren’t good enough for an A.” He said, making your stomach churn. Especially because he didn’t even say ‘your essay’ he just said ‘you.’ Looking down at the papers in your hands, you scanned them quickly as if it would magically give you the answer. “Review my notes for the next essay. Maybe you’ll do better.” 

“What is your problem with me?” You snapped, looking up at him again, watching his brows raise slightly. “Have I done something to offend you?” 

“I don’t tolerate entitled students who are used to being the teacher's pet. Whatever previous, unearned success and praise you're used to receiving is of no concern to me. It is not my fault if you came into this class expecting to be treated differently for doing the same thing as every other student.” 

“I- I’m not.. entitled. I just like my work and effort to be appreciated and not.. given a B.” 

“You want me to tell you that you’re such a good girl, turning in everything on time— as expected— and doing well on your assignments— as expected.” The faux praise, as well as the condescension that laced his voice, made your cheeks heat up instantly. 

“No, but,” 

“Then I think we’re done here.” 

The next day, you almost considered not going to class, but you’ve never had an absence on your record and you’re not about to start now. 

“We’re going to deviate from the lesson plan a little and talk about something else today; fear. Specifically, fear of rejection.” Your mouth dropped open at his words and if you had any doubts that this was because of your previous conversation, they quickly disappeared when he made eye contact with you.  

“There are a few different causes, can anyone give me an example?” This would’ve been the time where you raised your hand. But that apparently wasn’t necessary because he called on you anyway, making you freeze. 

“Um, I— I’m not sure.” You said nervously, sinking back into your chair a little. 

“There’s a perfect example right there; anxiety and social comparison. Too anxious and insecure to answer a simple question. Who else can give an example?” You stared at him with wide eyes that quickly started burning with tears. Now you felt even more stupid than you would’ve, had you just answered him and potentially gotten it wrong.

Class dragged on slowly. He talked more about causes, what it looks like, how it affects performance— especially in school— and various treatments. 

You couldn’t have been more relieved when he finally dismissed the class. You rushed to pack your things and stood up, quickly making your way to the exit. 

When he called your name though, you froze, praying you heard him wrong. “Stay back for a moment.” Your peers gave you sympathetic looks as you turned around and slowly made your way back over to his desk. 

“Yes, professor?” You asked, voice strained. 

“I hope you found today's lesson helpful.” You gritted your teeth and gave him a dry smile. 

“It was… inspiring, Dr. Crane.” You said plainly, trying to control your tone. His expression was only becoming more and more amused. 

“I’m glad. Though I didn’t see you taking notes.” That made you falter. 

“I- I was,”

“Great. Let me see them.” You looked away from him and shifted your weight awkwardly. 

“See them?” 

“Did you not understand?” Your face flushed with anger and embarrassment at his patronizing tone. 

“I did. I just wasn’t aware that notes were something you needed to see.” 

“If a student isn’t paying attention for the entirety of my class then, yes, notes are something I need to see.” You swallowed thickly, trying to come up with a response, and he watched you intently as he waited.  

“Look, professor, you’ve made your point, okay? I don’t think you need to continue humiliating me.” You said quietly, not looking at him. He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you watched in your peripheral vision as he took off his glasses, setting them down. He slowly rounded the desk and you couldn’t help it when you instinctively took a step back. 

“That’s a shame. I had hoped this lecture would’ve been helpful, but since you clearly weren’t paying attention, maybe I need to try another method.” 

“I- I was paying attention…” You muttered, keeping your head down. 

“Really? Then why don’t you tell me some of the ways one can overcome a fear of rejection.” He leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. The feeling of his eyes on you almost made you shiver and you took a quiet, deep breath before lifting your head to look at him again. 

This is an easy enough question. You can probably figure out the answer if you just use critical thinking since he was correct about you not paying attention. 

“Um… cognitive behavioral therapy?” You waited and when he didn’t out right humiliate you, you assumed that was a right answer and continued. “Exposure therapy. Self esteem enhancement… Emotion regulation?” 

“Anything else?” 

“…You said “some.’” You muttered, briefly looking away from him again. 

“I did, didn’t I?” His tone made it clear that he didn’t care about what he previously said. 

“Um, I- I’m not sure…” 

“Feel free to use your notes.” 

Fuck. 

When you looked up and saw the almost smug expression on his face, you finally snapped. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that for one day, I couldn’t pay attention after you humiliated me in front of the entire class.” You spat, clenching your jaw as soon as you finished speaking. The longer he stayed silent, the more uncomfortable you became under his gaze, making you look away from him awkwardly. 

“Tell me why this shouldn’t affect your grade.” You knew his question was rhetorical, but you still tried to defend yourself. 

“Dr. Crane,” You started, but he raised his brows, silently warning you to not talk back. 

“I’ll see you later today during my office hours.” He said as he packed up his belongings. 

“But,” 

“Five pm.” He didn’t let you continue as he walked toward the door. All you could do was stand there and watch him leave. 

At 4:30 you paced around your dorm, debating what to do. At 4:35 you decided not to go. At 4:40 you changed your mind. At 4:50 you were pacing outside his office. At 4:55 you finally knocked, feeling like you could throw up at any second. He called out for you to enter, so you hesitantly opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Close the door and sit down.” He didn’t even look up from what he was working on. You closed the door quietly, then made your way over to the chair in front of his desk. You tried to sit there patiently, but he wasn’t saying anything. Your leg bounced incessantly as you picked at your cuticles, over thinking more and more with each tortuous second that dragged on. 

“Professor?” You finally asked. 

“You’re early. I told you to come at five and I need to finish this.” He still didn’t look up from whatever “this” was and you were quickly growing angrier. 

Was this some kind of mind fuck? Making you sit here, stewing in nerves that were only getting worse? You weren’t sure how much time had passed because you didn’t want to check your phone and give him another opportunity to chastise you. But after a while, he finally sighed and gathered the papers, setting them in a pile on the side of his desk. 

You forced yourself to stop bouncing your leg and place your palms flat on your thighs to keep from fidgeting, trying to exude confidence you were severely lacking. 

“I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling to decide what I should do with you.” Immediately your stomach churned, getting even more anxious. “I could have you removed from my class, but that would be a lot of paperwork.”

“Professor,” 

“I’m speaking.” He said harshly, making your mouth immediately close. “However, that does mean I’ll have to put up with this for another few months… So the paperwork might be worth the hassle.” You tried not to cry at the thought. You need this class to graduate— getting dropped from it will set you back a semester unless you add another course to your already heavy schedule for next semester. You waited, not sure if he was done talking or not. After another few seconds you decided to try again. 

“Please…” You said hesitantly, waiting for him to snap at you again. When he didn’t, you continued. “Please don’t drop me, professor. I need this class to graduate.” He stayed silent, eyes dragging over your body as you did your best not to squirm. He still hasn’t said anything… Is he going to drop you anyway? With tears in your eyes, you tried again, “Please… Please I- I’ll leave you alone— I won’t bother you about grades anymore, I swear, just please don’t drop me.” You all but whimpered, feeling even more pathetic now. 

He sighed and took off his glasses, then set them on his desk before leaning back in his chair a little, still studying you. 

“I’d still have to put up with you in class as well though.” 

“Please! I’ll sit in the back and not talk— I’ll do anything, just please don’t drop me.” You cried.

“Anything?” You stiffened a little at the dark expression that suddenly took over his face. Would you really do anything? You wouldn’t mind fucking him if that’s what he’s implying— despite his off putting personality, you’ve always been attracted to him.  

“Y-yes?” You said, unsure.  

“That didn’t sound very convincing and I’m not going to force you so I’ll just go through with the drop request,”

“No! I will— I’ll do anything… Please.” He continued studying you, probably trying to gauge if you were telling the truth or not. 

“Fine. We’ll call it an internship of sorts. You’ll come with me to Arkham Asylum every Friday and help me in whatever way I may need— no questions asked.” 

“I- I don’t know if I’m qualified for that.” 

“Good thing it’s not an actual internship then.” He sneered, the patronizing tone making you blush. 

“What will you have me do?” You asked quietly. 

“It’ll be easier to just show you instead. Give me your essay and after Friday if I’m satisfied with your performance, I’ll change the grade.” Your heart practically skipped a beat— all you have to do is go to Arkham with him for a day and you’ll get an A? You’d be stupid to say no. So you retrieved your essay from your bag and handed it to him. “Good. Six pm, do not be late. I’ll meet you in the main lobby to take you to my office.” He said sternly. 

Since you left his office, your heart has been pounding. You weren’t sure what to wear so you just decided on a skirt and blouse that were professional, but still mostly casual. After that, there wasn’t much else you could do. You were too anxious to focus on literally anything so you just sat at home, overthinking. Friday rolled around and you left at five, just in case anything happened, and arrived at 5:25. So you sat in your car, waiting anxiously and watching the clock on the dashboard. You were too scared to even listen to music. At 5:55 you decided to go in, worst case you’d just have to wait five minutes for him, but you figured it’d be better to be early— even after what happened during his office hours. 

It was only a minute before six when he showed up. The second he saw you, he gestured for you to follow, so you trailed after him on wobbly legs. When you arrived in his office, he closed the door and told you to sit in the chair across from him as he sat behind the desk. 

“I want to make sure that we’re on the same page and I have your consent for anything that happens here.” The way he worded that made you nervous, but you chalked it up to the fact that you were already overcome with anxiety.

“Yes.” You tried to sound sure of yourself, but you were having doubts. What would he make you do? Would it really be worth a better grade?

“Good. Take this.” He picked up a small paper cup from his desk with one pill inside and handed it to you. 

“…Why?”

“There are certain aerosol drugs that are administered to patients sometimes. That will keep them from affecting you.” He explained calmly, easing your nerves a bit. So you took it from him and swallowed it, waiting for what was next. “Follow me.” He stood up again, this time holding a briefcase, and you followed him out of his office. He led you down some hallways before stopping outside of a door and unlocking it, gesturing for you to walk in. 

There was a small table in the corner and two exam chairs with restraints on them, one of which had stirrups. Other than that the room was bare. The door closed loudly, making you jump and turn around. 

“Sit.” He ordered, walking over to the table and setting the briefcase down before walking toward you. 

“Why?” You asked skeptically. He just stood patiently and watched you. You suddenly got hit with a wave of dizziness and stumbled to the chair to sit down. The dizziness quickly turned into exhaustion and you could barely keep your eyes open. When you started falling forward, he quickly moved closer to catch you, then leaned you back against the chair. 

Your head hurt like hell and you forced your eyes open to find that you were now laying on the other exam chair, thankfully not with your legs in the stirrups, but with the restraints on your wrists. You don’t even remember falling asleep. 

“The effects should wear off soon. I apologize for using that, but I figured you wouldn’t willingly let me restrain you and I didn’t feel like fighting you.” 

“What… what was that?” You asked through a breath. You could slowly feel yourself getting less and less foggy. 

“A drug.” He said, in the most annoyed and patronizing tone you’ve heard from him so far. 

“Why?” You whimpered, closing your eyes again because they still felt so heavy. 

“If you’re going to ask stupid questions then I’m just going to gag you. I already answered that.” You heard some rustling noises and his footsteps, then a hand was running along your cheek, startling you and making you open your eyes. “You remember our agreement?” You nodded hesitantly. It felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with how hard and fast it was pounding. “Be a good little girl and if I’m satisfied, I won’t drop you. I might even change the grade of your essay.” You didn’t need the reminder, but the way he said the first part was making your stomach flutter. 

“I have to say,” he removed his hand from your cheek and moved down to place it on your leg, just above your knee, “I prefer the sluttier skirts you wear to class than this.” He teased the hem of your skirt with his fingers, making you tremble. “Next week wear something shorter. And a more flattering top.” You figured by ‘more flattering’ what he really meant was more revealing. All you could do to respond was nod. 

“Good. Let’s begin.” 

He reached for the zipper of your skirt on your hip, making you stiffen. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, beginning to panic again, and he paused with a sigh. 

“If you don’t consent, that’s fine… There is still the matter of your seat in my class.” He said coyly. “If you want me to let you go, just say that. I’ll fill out the paperwork first thing Monday morning.” 

“No,” You choked out. “No.. please.” You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack. He shushed you softly, staring at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Relax. If you consent to this, you’ll keep your seat in my class. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You nodded, looking up at him with teary eyes. “Good girl… Now be quiet and let me do this.” His tone was significantly darker and all you could do was tremble as he unzipped your skirt, then pulled it down your body before discarding it on the floor. 

“I’ve been working on a new form of a drug.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a strangled whimper when he grabbed your leg and placed it in the stirrup, then used the restraints to keep it in place. “We’re going to try it together.” He grinned wolfishly and did the same to your other leg. 

You heard his footsteps as he walked across the room for something, then back over to you, now wearing a latex glove on his right hand, holding a small bottle in the other. 

“Remember, you can withdraw consent at any time…” You couldn’t though. Because you would be dropped from his class and set back months. 

His hand landed on your thigh, making you jump a little, and he started slowly dragging it up. Once he was close enough, he brushed his thumb over your clothed mound, forcing a quiet sob from you.  

“You probably thought this was going to go in a very different direction, didn’t you?” He asked teasingly, making you blush. Truthfully, you didn’t put much thought into your undergarments because you were too busy worrying about your actual clothes and what he was going to make you do. You cried out when he suddenly ripped the lace off your body, feeling the burn of the fabric pulling too hard against your skin. “Ready?” He asked, almost eagerly. 

You saw now that the bottle was a clear liquid and when he squirted it onto his fingers, you assumed it was lube. As soon as his finger brushed your asshole, you stiffened. 

“Wait!” You rushed out, chest heaving as your heart pounded in your chest. “I- I’ve never…” 

“You’ve never done anal?” You almost thought he was going to give you sympathy. “Good.” You couldn’t even get another word out before he was pushing a finger in, making you tense up as you whimpered in discomfort. “Tell me when you start to feel it.” 

“Feel what?” You said through a breath, trying to relax around the intrusion. Even though it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting, your heart was pounding even harder and faster in your chest, and your breathing grew ragged. “Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, suddenly a million times more anxious than only a moment ago. 

“Already?” He checked his watch, “That was fast. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Anxious.” You said quickly, letting out a strangled whimper when he forced another finger inside. “M-my heart is pounding and it feels hard to breathe.” 

“That’s good… Anything else?” 

“My hands are clammy… and it feels like I'm sweating a little.” 

“No visual or auditory hallucinations?” 

“What?” You choked out, eyes widening. “W-why would I have that??”

“The drug we’re testing is my fear toxin. It’s a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala and releases stress hormones, causing a fear response in the brain.” He explained, only making you feel worse. “So far I’ve tested it two ways; administered intravenously and in aerosol form.” 

“I don’t understand..” You said quietly, trying to calm your breathing a little. He let out an exaggerated sigh and forced a third finger inside you. 

“I guess I should really expect you to.” He almost sounded.. disappointed. The realization made the twist in your stomach even worse. “Let me dumb it down for you. In its most potent form, it causes visual and auditory hallucinations of the subject’s worst fear.” If you weren’t currently on the verge of a panic attack with three fingers in your ass, you probably would’ve rolled your eyes at his tone. 

“Now I’m testing it via rectal administration. The concentration is about the same, but the effects shouldn’t be as strong. At least, that’s my theory.” His fingers continued fucking you slowly, occassionally spreading apart to open you up more. Despite the amount of anxiety you were currently feeling, you could just barely feel your growing arousal.  

“W-why would you want the drug in this form?” You asked, gasping for air between words. 

“I’m a doctor. Why wouldn’t I experiment?” He asked rhetorically. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the anxiety rather than the arousal, but it was only becoming more difficult. A choked moan escaped you when he suddenly dragged a bare finger through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. “Are you enjoying this?” His voice sounded unnervingly clinical. 

In response, you bit down harder on your lip and shook your head, denying it. You could practically feel his eyes on you, studying you closely. 

“I knew you’d be perfect for this.” He suddenly said, and you bit back a moan because he almost sounded proud. “You’re just pathetic enough and desperate for my approval to willingly become my little lab rat, and now look at you… Leaking onto my hand as I finger your ass.” He chuckled wryly. A dark blush took over your face and you whined quietly, but the flutter in your stomach was unmistakable. “I bet you want my cock also… Don’t you?” 

You let out a choked sob and turned your head, trying uselessly to hide yourself. When he suddenly pulled his fingers out, you whimpered quietly at the sudden loss. 

“Look at me.” He demanded, in a tone that left no room for argument. As if you were in a trance, you turned to face him and opened your eyes. “You want to keep your seat in my class?” He removed the glove and tossed it aside, then worked on unbuckling his belt and opening his pants. 

“Yes.” You whispered shakily. 

“And you’re willing to let me fuck your ass to ensure that happens?” He pulled his already half hard cock out and started stroking slowly as you gaped at it. How was that supposed to fit inside you?

“I- I’ve never..”

“It’s a yes or no question.” He sighed impatiently. “I fuck your ass or you leave and I fill out the form Monday morning.” 

“I… I’m scared.” You whimpered, looking nervously between his face and his cock. 

“That’s the whole point, darling.” Right. Because he was testing his fear toxin. You blushed furiously at the new pet name. “You have three seconds before I fuck you, then fill out the form anyway.” 

Your stomach dropped at the threat and when he raised his brows, you blurted out, “Yes.” Tears were brimming in your eyes and he stepped closer, but didn’t line up yet. He just used his free hand to gently rub your thigh. 

“Yes, what?” Your bottom lip began trembling when you realized what he wanted from you. “Say it. Beg your professor for it.”

“I- I want…” You let out a strangled sob and squeezed your eyes shut again, making his hand stop moving on your thigh to grip tightly in a silent warning. “I want you to fuck my ass… Please, Dr. Crane.” You whimpered. You’ve never felt more humiliated, but at the same time… you were only becoming more aroused. Your cunt ached to be filled, and your clit was practically throbbing.

“Good girl.” When you let out a choked moan at the sudden praise, he chuckled quietly. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.” He demanded, lining up. Only after your eyes fluttered open, did he finally apply some pressure, entering you with little difficulty. 

“Fuck- You’re so tight.” He hissed, moving his hand to your other thigh and squeezing almost painfully. Your breath and all of your sounds were caught in your throat as he pushed in deeper, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. “Tell me how it feels.” He said breathily, not moving yet. 

“Big.” You whimpered, barely able to get the word out. 

“Does it hurt?” You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the overwhelming feeling of being stretched as well as the anxiety still weighing heavy on your chest made it feel almost impossible. “You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.” He sounded uncharacteristically dulcet.

When he reached for your shirt and unbuttoned it to expose your bra, your breathing picked up even more as your heart started pounding even harder in your chest. He pulled your bra down below your breasts and groped you eagerly, showing little regard for your pleasure with his rough, almost painful touch. 

“Your heart’s beating so fast. Is my little lab rat still scared?” He cooed, very obviously mocking you. 

“Professor..” You whimpered, staring up at him with glossy eyes as you struggled to cope with all of the overwhelming feelings, both physically and emotionally. He shushed you softly and brought his hands back down to rub your thighs, trying to soothe you. 

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to take it.” He said plainly. “You try to resist at all and I’ll keep fucking you until I finish, then you won’t have to bother showing up to class on Monday. Do you understand?” 

You nodded reluctantly and he moved his hands to grip the tops of your thighs. He slowly dragged his hips back, then forward again, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock stretching you open. It didn’t… hurt. But it definitely wasn’t the most pleasurable thing you’ve ever experienced. 

When he suddenly sped up, you cried out and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on taking deep breaths. He was grunting and moaning quietly with each thrust, clearly enjoying this far more than you, and you couldn’t help but open your eyes again to watch him. His grip tightened on your thighs, making you whimper, and you watched his mouth fall open in a silent moan as he closed his eyes. 

“Fuck…” He said breathily, letting out a low groan before opening his eyes again. “I didn’t account for transdermal administration” He almost sounded amused again, but you could barely focus on his words. “The effects are far less than what you’re feeling, I’d assume. It almost feels like adrenaline, rather than fear. Next time we’ll try it intravaginally to see if your reaction is the same or more like mine.” 

You almost forgot that this wasn’t a one and done. You have to let your professor do what he wants with you every week for the rest of the semester…

“And I think I’ll try the other forms of delivery on you as well. Not so much for an experiment… I just want to fuck you while you’re hallucinating your greatest fears.” His lips curled up into a small smirk at the thought of that. “I can’t wait to hear you scream and cry for me.” He cooed, but his tone was far from comforting and your anxiety was only getting worse as he continued sharing his future plans for you. 

He started bucking into you rapidly and his sounds got louder, clearly getting closer to his release. You could even feel yourself just barely starting to inch toward the edge. Your moans caught his attention and a pleased look took over his face. 

“You like this, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan and bit your lip, trying to quiet your sounds. “It’s either that or misattribution of arousal... but that seems less likely.” Even though you knew his guess was correct, you were still going to convince yourself that it was misattribution of arousal instead because that was far less humiliating. When he started rubbing your clit, any chance you had of keeping quiet was gone instantly. His moans got louder too when your body tensed up, tightening around his cock. 

“Oh god— Dr. Crane, please.” You sobbed, feeling the arousal steadily taking over the anxiety that had settled in your stomach. 

“What do you want?” Now that he asked, you realized that you don’t even know what you want. You wanted the overwhelming anxiety and stretch to stop… but the thought of him pulling out and ending this almost brought tears of desperation to your eyes. His fingers sped up on your clit and your back arched off of the exam chair as an involuntary mewl escaped you. 

“Please let me come.” You whimpered pathetically and he let out a quiet chuckle in response to your brazenness. 

“How curious…” He murmured, gaze dragging all over your body. “I’ll admit, I figured some part of you would enjoy getting to please me, but I never imagined it’d be to this extent.” He said amusedly and your blush darkened in response. “You want to come?”

You were nodding eagerly before he could even finish. “Please.” 

“How about this— I'll raise the grade on your essay… or I’ll let you come.” You could see the barest hint of a smirk on his lips and you let out a frustrated sob, squeezing your eyes shut. “Well?”

“Dr. Crane…” You whimpered, bottom lip trembling as you tried not to cry. When you opened your eyes and stared up at him through the tears, his smirk widened. “Please..” 

“Should I choose for you?” 

“No…” You sobbed, looking away from him and biting your lip. The whole point of this was so he’d change the grade… You can’t give in to the pleasure now that you’re so close to finally getting what you came here for. “I- I want you to change my grade.” Your voice was barely a whisper. As soon as he got your answer, he removed his hand from your clit to grab the top of your thigh again, bucking into you rapidly as he chased his orgasm. 

“We’re going to have a lot of fun together, my little lab rat.” He was clearly satisfied with your choice and while part of you was almost crying from frustration… another part couldn’t help but revel in the fact that you pleased him, even if it was at the expense of your own pleasure. 

His hips snapped into you rapidly, the force of it almost pushing you up the exam chair, but the restraints on your legs kept you mostly in place. As he focused on his impending orgasm, you were practically mesmerized. He looked so… pretty. The pleasure in his expression was obvious and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. His normally pale blue eyes were darker as he took you in, studying every tiny reaction to his ministrations. 

When he suddenly pushed forward all the way and stayed there, you let out a whine of displeasure, knowing whatever pleasure you might’ve been feeling before was about to disappear. But the choked moan he let out as he closed his eyes made you almost forget all about it. His hips bucked forward sporadically as his cock twitched inside you with each rope of come that shot out, filling you up.  

Finally his sounds quieted into heavy breathing and his body went still. You waited anxiously for what was next, not sure what to expect. Opening his eyes again, he watched as he slowly dragged his hips back until his cock slipped free, forcing out a quiet hiss from him and a whimper from you at the sensitivity. 

“Push it out.” His voice was raspy and still thick with arousal. When you pushed his come out, he let out a low groan as he watched, bending down a little to get a closer look. “Good girl.” He cooed, making you whine as the words went straight to your cunt that was still aching with need. 

“You can remain here until the effects wear off. I want to see how long that takes.” He said, almost clinically, while checking his watch. Your eyes stayed on him as he tucked his cock back in his pants before collecting the lube and discarded glove. 

“Are you going to let me go?” Your voice was quiet and timid as submission still heavily clouded your mind. He looked over at you again, almost surprised by your voice. He glanced at the restraints before dragging his gaze all over your body for a moment. Finally, he smirked a little and went back to what he was doing. 

“Soon.” You sighed in response and stayed quiet. As you breathed deeply, trying to ignore the arousal still lingering in your stomach, you noticed that the anxious feeling was starting to subside a little. Your heart was still beating rapidly, but now it was hard to tell if it was from fear, adrenaline, or your own unsatisfied arousal. 

“I think it’s wearing off.” You told him and he checked his watch again. 

“What are you feeling?” He finally walked back over to you and stared at your face with an almost impressive level of professionalism, given the circumstances. 

“My heart is still pounding, but my breathing is better. And I don’t feel very nauseous either.” 

“Next week I want to test this again so I have a control group to compare these results to. It’ll be the same thing, but I won’t finger you for as long and I won’t fuck you until after it wears off.” He reached out and gently grabbed your chin, angling your face up to look at him as he stepped closer. “Of course… that’s assuming you still want to keep your spot in my class…” He trailed off, making the statement sound like a question instead. 

“I do.” You said quickly. Especially after this… you were desperate to stay enrolled in his class, but you were also— as much as you didn’t want to admit it— desperate for more after he gave you this small taste. 

“Good girl.” Your cheeks heated up instantly and he patted one with his hand before stepping back again. “Keep being my little lab rat and I have no doubt you’ll pass my class… maybe even with the grade you think you deserve.” 

[pennyserenade]

please please me | jackson rippner x you

summary | sick of waiting for you to return his endless favors, jackson finally says please--at least, in the nicest way he knows how. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | explicit content, dubcon, noncon, coercion, oral sex (male receiving), slut shaming, jackson's crazy inner dialogue, toxic dynamics, slight innocence kink word count | 2.1k+ a/n | if you seen me post this once before, no you didn't. i had a few problems with the original version that i needed to tweak before i could be really happy with it. also, this the first entry in cillian's beatles birthday bash series! which you can check out here: x. the first song i picked is please please me from the beatles' 1963 album of the same name.

This wouldn’t do anymore, Jackson had decided. He hated to be the bad guy - especially to you, such a darling little pawn in the grand scheme of things - but it wasn’t his fault you were so goddamned selfish. 

He’d been perfectly attentive since the moment you’d been assigned to him. In fact, he’d gone as far as to develop every trait you said you looked for in a man on that pathetic little dating website you signed up for: Polite. The perfect amount of introverted. Drank only at social events, didn’t smoke, owned one cat, took interest in topics such as: feminism, fiction, pop music. To put it short: he’d worked hard to become the sentimental, pussy eating man of your dreams. 

You, on the other hand, weren’t nearly as generous. At first, he had chalked it up to your nerves. It had taken longer than usual to infiltrate the distrusting bubble you lived inside; charm and simple gestures of affection didn’t work half as well on you as they had on the others. You wanted time. He had liked it in the beginning. It felt like a brisk walk after running marathons. But then it became tedious. You had let him touch you over your bra on the fourth date, but he had to wait an entire month and a half before you’d actually shown him your cunt. 

But once you had let him inside, you really didn’t want him out of it. God, you what a whore you could be—which didn’t surprise him. The demure types typically were; he liked them best for precisely that reason. What did surprise him was the fact that you didn’t like to return the favor—not half as enthusiastically as he did it for you, anyway. The timid way you had wrapped your mouth around him those few times, while he’d sat rigidly, as not to frighten you, paled in comparison to what he did for you, day in, day out.  

No--he wouldn’t take it anymore. With his mouth still coated in your fresh slick, Jackson crawled up your body and pressed his lips hard on your mouth. He’d abandoned his usual politeness: rubbing it off on his shirt first because he’d even considered you might be too much of a prude to want to taste yourself. Now he thought you might need to be taught about the things you really did want; he didn’t think you knew. 

“I think it’s my turn,” he told you. His eyes flashed dangerously, daring you to protest. Your fingers grabbed onto the side of his billowy button up and confusion drew your eyebrows together. You masked it with a smile. “Hm?” you asked.

As if you hadn't heard him right. He wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty little neck. 

“Oh, please,” he chuckled. Jackson tried to keep calm as he spoke, to force his tone to be excruciatingly patient. He was so close with you, and he couldn't risk losing it all over this. He cupped your face in his palms. “I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I, baby? I mean…” He motioned down his cock, which had long ago begun to strain against his slacks. “Listen—I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining here, but I’ve been on my knees a lot more than you’ve been on yours.” 

He sensed the shift inside of you--could see the way you were beginning to cower already. Any other night, he’d be placating, reassuring you that it was okay—that he could wait—but he couldn’t do that anymore. It wasn't good for you. You wouldn’t be the first person he had to talk into doing something he knew was good for them. Besides, he was sure you’d come to see it his way. You were smart when you weren’t under his thumb. 

“You’re gonna suck my cock because you want to make me happy, don’t you, baby?” he spoke again, voice even. He watched you try to read his face. The mask had begun to fall and what was left was unfamiliar to you. How worried you looked, his pet. “Don’t you?” he repeated with more insistence. 

“Yea,” you croaked. The word had been lodged in your throat. 

Jackson smirked. “On the ground, then” 

He directed you down as his belt slipped through the loops of his pants. You were better trained than he gave you credit for. Even with the hesitancy - or was it cold, hard fear forming? - in your eyes, you still did what he said. And my god, what a sight you were, kneeling at the side of the bed. 

With his palms pressed flat against the bed, Jackson leaned back on expectantly. “Take it out,” he guided. 

You hesitated. “Jack-”

His responding smile was terse as his eyes darkened. He was quickly finding out of the infinite pool of patience he thought he had for you did have its bottom. “Fine, I’ll start,” he said, tugging himself free.

You were about to work up the courage to tell him you couldn’t do it, as you had many times before; he could see it in your eyes. 

“I’m trying to be patient—“ He paused to stamp out the hardness that was forming in his voice. He knew it would do no good, frightening you. It would only make everything much messier than they needed to be. He continued on, conscious of every word. “—but this is just silly. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“But Jack-” you stuttered. You watched his jaw clench beneath the surface of his freckled skin. He looked a little frightening, his blue eyes all iced over as he stared down at you. 

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to look at him. While his hold on you wasn’t anything you couldn’t escape from, you were aware, for the first time, how strong Jackson could be. “It makes me feel good to make you feel good. Don’t you want to make me feel good?” he asked. 

“But I wasn’t any good at it before,” you protested.

“You didn’t try,” he insisted. “Try.” 

“Jackson, really—“

“Do it,” he spat. The last of the kindness had ebbed out of his voice. Forcing an encouraging smile back onto his lips, he said, much more lightly, “Please.” 

You wrapped one of your hands around the base of his cock, but hesitated still. Jackson let out an irritated sigh before you found the courage to bring your lips down around the head of his cock finally. 

Like before, it lacked a certain enthusiasm, but he wasn’t going to complain just yet. The hot, wet warmth of your mouth felt so good after having craved it for so long. All he could do to restrain himself was fist your white sheets in his hands, and watch you as did exactly as he had told you to do. Your eyes shifted up to look at him, always hungry for approval. Jackson tried to motivate you with a dazed smile. It was more genuine than he liked, given that you were hardly doing anything. 

He let your bop up and down, liking the way he was disappearing inside your mouth. There was beauty in the unskilled way you took him in—you were artless in your approach, eager to please. Innocent, in a way. You couldn’t take too much before you got nervous and came back up. He’d was certain he'd probably experienced better in high school, but he didn't care; he'd wanted it so badly from you. Already, he could feel the mounting arousal rising inside of him.  

He allowed one of his hands to sneak up your shoulder, resting at the place just where your neck began. His thumb moved over the soft exposed skin there, soothing you. His voice was low, just slightly above a husky whisper as he said, “You can do more, baby. I know you can.” 

Jackson moved his fingers up the side of your neck before he brushed his thumb delicately over your jaw. His lips parted in a soundless moan as you took more of him in than before. “That’s it,” he said, gasping, “Use your tongue—ah, fuck, yes.” His fingers twisted up in your hair, losing consideration. “Faster.” 

You were trying, he could tell, but he felt you had more in you than this. He’d seen how depraved you could get, after all. Just last week you’d let him fuck you into you the with no condom. The entire time you were begging for it, arching up and moaning while he pushed your face down into the bed. You liked being a whore. Week by week he’d been unraveling you, finding you out, bit by bit. 

He cradled your neck. For a moment, he saw the flash of awareness in your eyes—could see the obstinacy begin—but he held on tighter and said, “Remember when you sat on my face? When I let you do what you want to me?” 

With that, you let your resistance go. He wasn’t doing much more than you had been, after all, only guiding you down the wet line you had already created on his cock, only slightly faster. Still, your eyes kept darting up, nervous. 

He watched as a dribble of saliva escaped out of the side of your mouth and traveled down his cock. He knew then he couldn’t resist any longer. You felt so fucking good, so warm and wet, and he needed more. No, he deserved it. His other hand came up to your head and he pushed you down, making you take all of him. He hit the back of your throat with his cock. Surprisingly, all you did was gurgle.

Your nails pressed harshly into his thighs and you jerked back, slipping off of his cock with a crude pop sounding. Betrayal flashed in your eyes. He expected as much. 

Jackson ran his thumb along your glossy bottom lip. “I didn’t say you could stop,” he chided. 

“You…I just wasn’t expecting you to do that to me,” you stuttered. Startled tears had begun to gather in the corners of your eyes. “I’m not good at this, Jackson.”

He frowned, playing along with your little pitiful act. His tone became softer. “I didn’t do that because it felt bad. You’re were getting pretty fucking good, actually.” His cock jutted against his stomach, impatient as he felt. He stared blankly at you before adding, “I don’t really want to say please again, honey. You’re not gonna make me, hm?” 

Though it wasn’t necessarily a question, he appreciated the obedient nod you gave him. 

Taking his cock in his hand, he held it up for you to put back in your mouth. Your hands rested against the tops of his thighs and pride swelled in his chest as you took him back inside of your mouth. Your fingers pressed into his legs, but you didn’t jerk back as he guided you down again.

He wanted to cum in your mouth, to make you swallow it all down, because he knew you would. You’d do anything for him, probably. He only had to push you into it, sometimes, but wasn't that the way of relationships?

His orgasm was quickly building inside of him, only spurred on by the way you had begun to flick your tongue against the underside of his cock again. Jackson let go of your neck, grasping onto the sheets behind him once more. Tears began to slide down your cheeks. He wiped one away with his finger as you bobbed down on him.

Your nails dug deep into the skin of his thighs, but he didn’t mind; the stinging sensation only made what you were giving him all the better, mixing the lines between pleasure and pain in a way he knew you yourself would come to like eventually. 

You began to take him so deeply that you gagged around on his cock, but you didn’t stop. You were doing so much better than he anticipated now. He could feel the rise of his orgasm in his groin, could sense the way he was about to lose all control, but he said nothing. He didn't want you to know.

Jackson hissed and his cock twitched inside your mouth. Hot ropes of his cum spilled down your throat and he could see the surprise register in your glassy eyes as you looked up at him, but he didn’t care. He deserved this. He had been so patient. So good. “Fuck,” he moaned, his head lolling back as you took the last of his cum.

You rose quietly off of him after, wiping your mouth against your hand. Jackson liked knowing the way you looked—hair mussed, eyes watery, lips puffy and red—was because of him. It was so rare you weren’t in tiptop shape. 

“Was that good?” you asked weakly. Your voice was gravelly and he couldn’t help but smile, knowing how deep his cock had been inside of your throat just moments before; it was probably sore.

“Yeah," he nodded, smiling proudly. "I told you you could do it, didn’t I?” he beamed. 

The hollow look in your eyes as you nodded and smiled back at him only added to his heady elation. He leaned forward and kissed you on the lips once more. He could practically feel the way you molded in his hand now. “Mm,” he hummed, “that’s my good girl. Practice makes perfect.”

[kinkyniragi]

Cillian’s Duchess

Pairing: Cillian Murphy Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 2,6k

Summary: Your husband Cillian has been filming a steamy Peaky Blinders scene with the infamous Russian Duchess. You try to play it cool, but the flicker of jealousy is unmistakable. So you ask a few questions. Dig a little deeper. And before he knows it, Cillian finds himself swept into your version of the script — written just for the two of you…

CN: CNC roleplay, gun play, handcuffing, oral (male receiving), orgasm denial, fingering, toying, rough sex. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

Friday evening.

You hear the door click shut and the rustle of keys on the console. Before you even turn your head, you call out, “Didn’t expect you back this early.” In fact, you were eagerly looking forward to the weekend with your husband Cillian. Two days off from the exhausting filming of the new Peaky Blinders season—just the two of you.

Cillian’s voice drifts in, warm and low. “Didn’t expect my wife to look this comfortable without me,” he says, grinning as he steps into view, finding you on your familiar curled-up spot on the sofa.

He looks tired but electric, that post-shoot buzz still clinging to him. He shrugs off his jacket, sets it over the back of a chair, and heads straight for the sideboard. You hear the soft clink of glass as he pours two whiskeys—his first real one of the day, no doubt, after hours of sipping colored water on set. He hands you a glass without a word and sinks down beside you on the sofa, his thigh brushing against yours.

Even in sweats and a plain black T-shirt, he carries the aura of Tommy Shelby. No doubt that it’s the hair—sharp and era-perfect, still smelling faintly of the care products they use in the studio—and some tiny details like the way he holds his glass, like it’s a prop, an extension of the role. He’s ditched the tailored suit, of course. He hates being clocked by fans on the street and usually hides the telltale haircut with a beanie. But tonight, in the safe shadow of your living room, he's halfway between man and character and you wonder what use it could be for you that evening after you haven't seen— touched each other for what feels like an eternity.

You take a sip of your drink, ice clinking gently. “Good shoot?” you ask.

Cillian leans back with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Your attention inevitably remains on this striking part of his role. His role, which you find as hot as it is dreadful.

 “Yeah. Scene with the Russian Duchess today.”

“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow. “The one who strangles you?”

“Mhm.” He smirks into his glass. “You know, standard foreplay.”

You snort, revealing that the comment lands sharper than you’d like to admit. “Huh. Sounds like you had a great time,” you try to casually distract from it.

His eyes flick to you, amused. “Jealous?”

You scoff. “Of some fictional czarina? Please.”

Still, something stirs in your stomach. The thought of him, hands touching someone else’s body—even in character—makes your gut tighten. You force a breezy tone. “Tell me more.”

He gives you a sly look. “Duchess, not Czarina. You already know the important parts. And I did sign an NDA, remember?”

You stare at him, a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look in your eyes.

Cillian just ignores your expression.

“Gonna shower.” He stands, stretching, and heads for the bathroom.

Then, with a grin, he adds, “If my wife should be curious enough to snoop around in the script in the meantime, that wouldn't be my fault, of course.”

You watch him disappear down the hall, biting back a smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing—throwing out just enough breadcrumbs to get a rise out of you.

You hear the water start, the rhythmic creak of pipes. The bathroom door stays cracked open. An invitation.

But he has to wait. First, you have to fulfill your role as the curious wife. With trembling hands, you flip through the tattered pages of notes. Your ears grow warm — from excitement... and something else. A flicker of jealousy you refused to admit. And it's growing bigger.

Eventually, you slip into the bedroom, peel off your clothes, and tiptoe down the hall. Through the steamed-up glass of the shower, you see him lathering his hair. You step into view.

He doesn’t startle. He simply opens the door and grins, eyes gleaming.

“Good to be back, love,” he murmurs, dragging you into the heat.

He cups your face with sudsy hands and kisses you, slow and deep. His hips press against yours, firm and demanding, and there’s a tightness in his grip that’s just a little too rough, too possessive. Tommy’s still there—just beneath the surface.

After the shower, while he towels off, you pad back into the hall and head straight for his suitcase. Inside, carefully folded, is the Peaky Blinders suit—should’ve stayed at the studio, but he always brings it home.

Method acting.

Obsession.

If he takes his work that seriously, he can damn well walk you through the details of the scene...and beyond.

You toss the suit to him in the living room.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks hypocritically, as if he didn't already know that.

“Put it on,” you reply, already disappearing into the bedroom. “You’ll see.”

As you walk, casually, you throw over your shoulder, “What was the Duchess wearing?”

There’s a pause before his voice follows you. “A long, black dress with provocative lingerie underneath, oh, and suspenders. Over it, an elegant coat.”

You don’t comment—just change quickly into something that might fit the occasion and help yourself to the box of props that he keeps as naturally as he brings things from the set for his rehearsals. Then you return to the living room.

He’s dressed. Fully in character. The charcoal vest, the starched collar, the unmistakable silhouette of a man used to being feared. It’s unnerving how fast Cillian becomes him. You cross your arms, studying him with a growing arousal. He sits down at his desk.

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk. “Just don’t light a cigarette now.” As much as you love Cillian as Tommy, you hate that he's a chain smoker.

He doesn’t laugh.

He’s already too far gone in the character to bother. You can see in his eyes that he loves it.

And that he loves what's coming next.

So, it’s your turn. He looks at you with curious eyes, deadly serious. You clear your throat and turn into the mad Duchess.

You stride past him, stilettos clicking on the floor, a velvet clutch in one hand. From it, you produce a prop pistol — a replica, but it looks real enough under the low light. You purposefully toss it onto  the desk in front of him.

He watches you and doesn't seem impressed in the slightest.

“You’re hard to reach these days, Mr. Shelby.”

He sits there, motionless, hands folded on his lap, watching you. “Didn’t realize I’d made myself available.”

You sit down in front of him. “I’m here for an answer.”

“To what question exactly?”

You lean in closer. “I’ve been told alliances with you are dangerous things. I wonder if that’s true,” you whisper, gently stroking the pistol as if it were a pet.

He turns his head slightly, his ice-blue eyes cool and calculating. “That’s not even a question.”

You pause. Then your smile returns — small, deliberate, unsettling.

“Fine.” Your voice is softer now, but laced with something darker. You are now fully immersed in the role now.

“What if the real danger... is me?”

Before he can answer, you grab the pistol in one smooth motion and aim it at his chest.

He doesn’t flinch.

Of course he doesn’t. He knows the script. He is Tommy Shelby.

His eyes drop to the weapon, then back to you.

“Well, at least this is a real question…but tell me one thing, sweetheart, is that supposed to scare me?”

You rise slowly, stepping behind him, keeping the gun trained on him as your other hand moves to your clutch.

He hears the metallic click before he sees the cuffs.

You snap one closed around his wrist. He doesn’t resist.

The second follows.

“Tell me, Duchess,” he murmurs, voice low, “What game are we playing tonight?”

You lean down, your breath warm against his ear.

“One where the rules change... every time you think you’ve learned them.”

You circle back around to face him. His arms are still behind the chair, cuffed, his breath slower now—but steady. Controlled. Like he’s weighing every move he could make, and deciding not to.

You don’t break eye contact as you reach for his belt.

He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t speak. Just watches with that unreadable glint that’s somewhere between challenge and surrender. You wonder, briefly, if he’s still acting—or if it’s just you he’s reacting to now.

The metallic clink as you unbuckle him echoes in the low light.

You lower yourself between his thighs, your fingers deft and deliberate, and when your mouth finds him—slow, sure, claiming—his entire body draws taut. One sharp inhale. Then stillness.

You must inevitably remember how he said the crew had trouble keeping straight faces.

You don’t. And you start to love your role as Duchess.

So, you take your time, dragging it out, keeping him just at the edge.

And just when you feel the tension beginning to crest—when his breath turns ragged and you know he's seconds from unraveling—you stop.

Pull back.

Rise.

His chest lifts and falls with the effort of restraint, his jaw clenched tight. His eyes are locked on you now, sharp and hungry.

But he says nothing.

You both know the scene ends here in the script. But you’re not done playing.

You wonder if Tommy Shelby would’ve overpowered the Duchess as revenge. You’re curious to find out if Cillian will.

“So…” you say slowly, tilting your head. “How would you have liked the scene to end?”

Cillian lifts his eyes to meet yours — that unmistakable Tommy Shelby stare. “With you begging me to stop,” he says quietly. “And not meaning a single word of it.”

There’s a challenge in his tone, in the way he watches your face for the flicker of a reaction. You don’t disappoint. A slow, teasing smile spreads across your lips — of course you want to keep playing.

Before you can respond, he moves.

With no warning, he twists his wrists, and the handcuffs spring open with a soft click. You blink in surprise.

“Film cuffs,” he murmurs with a smirk. “Little lever. Always good for a dramatic exit.”

You barely have time to register the words before he’s on his feet, reaching for you.

He lifts you effortlessly, arms locked beneath your thighs, and carries you through the house. The pace is slow, deliberate — and filled with tension. Like he’s letting you feel every second of what’s coming. Like he’s making sure you know you don’t get to walk away from him like that.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulse racing, breath shallow.

He stops in the bedroom. Presses you back against the wall, body pinning yours in place. His mouth brushes your ear, voice rough and low: “You wanted the real Tommy. Now you’ll learn how he punishes unfinished business.” With every word, he grinds his hardness unerringly against your stomach, letting you feel just how serious he is about letting you take responsibility.

He kisses you — a tender, hungry mix of Cillian and Tommy — and it melts you from the inside out.

“You know,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough with meaning, “if the Duchess is the one Tommy can’t trust…” His hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, moving with slow certainty until his fingers find the heat between your thighs. “…then she shouldn’t be surprised,” he finishes, sliding two fingers deep into you, “when he claims what’s hidden in her treasury.”

You feel something hard pushing into you — but in the next moment, it's only the rhythmic motion of his fingers that holds you captive, making your breath hitch.

A soft moan escapes you — helpless, needy — as his tongue finds yours again, this time with a reckless hunger. His fingers move with practiced rhythm, pushing you closer to the edge.

And then suddenly, as quickly as he came into you, he’s gone. He pulls back without warning, leaving you aching, empty, breathless.

Tommy fucking Shelby knows how to get revenge.

He takes a step away, eyes locked on yours, deliberately denying you the touch you crave.

Then he lifts something small and black into the air, slick with your juices.

A sleek, obsidian egg — unmistakably intimate, obviously taken from the toy box both of you use from time to time.

“What…?” you start — but he cuts you off, voice smooth and mocking.

For a second, you catch that wicked little smile. Pure Cillian. What a delicate requisite, you think.

“So you were telling the truth after all. That’s where you Russians hide your jewels.”

He inspects the glistening object like a priceless find. “A beautiful sapphire,” he muses. “Must be several carats at least.”

His eyes flick to yours again, amused and merciless.

“But since it’s standing in the way of me plans…” He casually slips the ‘gemstone’ into his pocket. “…I trust you won’t mind me takin´ it.”

He leans in, his voice low against your neck.

“Can’t really trust anyone these days, eh?”

He stays close as he murmurs instructions — quiet, dirty, commanding. “Get off your dress. Slowly. I want to watch.”

You obey, pulse wild. His eyes don’t leave you, not for a second. He stands still, hands in his pockets, as if weighing what you’re worth now that he’s taken what you tried to hide.

When you’re down to nothing but lace and tension, his mouth curves — not quite a smile. More like satisfaction. Or hunger.

“Beautiful,” he mutters. “Even without the jewels.”

He steps forward at last. No more waiting. No more teasing. His hands are rough and sure as they grip your hips and turn you to the bed. You feel the heat of him against you — demanding, undeniable — as he lowers you down.

You gasp as he enters you without hesitation. There’s nothing gentle in it — only heat, only claiming. Like he's not just taking you, but marking you.

"Seems like that treasury of yours still had more to offer,” he growls into your ear, thrusting deeper, harder. “Locked it up so tight — and still, here I am. Too bad, eh?”

You whimper, arching into him, unable to hold anything back. “Maybe I wanted you to find it.”

His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back so your eyes meet. There’s fire in his — raw, dark, unmistakably Tommy.

“Say what exactly you want,” he demands.

You breathe the words like confession. “Fuck me stupid, Tommy, I need it so badly…”

His lips crash into yours, and then there are no more questions, no more games — only skin against skin, bodies locked, breath stolen. Every movement is a reminder: this is the cost of mistrust. Of temptation. Of daring to play with a man like him.

And you pay it gladly.

Your climax hits like a wave, pulling him over the edge with you — a tangle of breath and heat and release. For a long moment, there’s only silence, except for the shared rhythm of your ragged breathing.

Then his weight eases against you, his chest rising and falling against you. The tension melts from his body, and the last trace of Tommy slips away with it.

You turn your head slightly, still catching your breath.

He’s quiet. Still. Barely holding himself up.

You smile with satisfaction.

“Welcome back, Cill.”

He lets out a soft laugh, burying his face in the curve of your neck. “Bloody hell. If that’s how Tommy handles unfinished business… remind me to never leave a script lying around again.”

You both laugh — the sound warm, shared, real.

And for the first time that night, it's not the game, not the roles, not the lines. Just the two of you. Entwined in something far deeper.

***

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[mypoisonedvine]

dark dilf delinquent season cillian lusting after the new neighbors daughter; who not so coincidentally has a penchant for undressing with her curtains open 🫣 & sneaking in guys who kinda (definitely) maybe resemble cillian? from her club nights 😭

he’s dark & like kinda pathetic but we love him anyway

i feel like this is too specific but I can’t get the thought out of my head 🥲

it is very specific but I'm not mad, and I love writing a pervert <3 but a dilf AND a pervert?! yes please!! obviously I love this concept cause I went a liiiiitle overboard with it, oops...

𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 | neighbor!reader x dilf!cillian

length: 3.3k

warnings: m and f masturbation, voyeurism, slightly dark but not very much, unspecified age gap, infidelity

When it first started, he really was just trying to read. It wasn't his fault that the book was boring, or that your curtains were open, or that he caught a glance of you in your window.

It was innocent then, too— he liked watching you do normal things, like put on jewelry or laugh on the phone with a friend. It made him smile... he wasn't sure why, but it just made him feel a little better after a long day, seeing you up there, reminiscing on his younger days as he got a distant view of yours...

But it had been months since it started, and it was far from innocent now. He'd become an expert at compartmentalizing the shame; he'd become addicted to the cycle, to the watching and the waiting and the sick anticipation— not to mention the fear that someday, you'd notice him watching. The fear, and yet, the hope.

"Fuck," he panted under his breath as he wanked himself— not too fast yet, but certainly much faster than the slow and teasing strokes he liked to start off with. You were taking off your shirt, pulling it over your head and folding your arms in that crazy origami way girls do that he'd never totally understood; he bit his lip as his eyes dragged over your back, trying to imagine how it would feel to run his fingers up your spine until you arched it just right—

He heard the kids yell downstairs and he stopped for a second, heart pounding with nervousness as he feared they might come up and knock at the door. He used to only do this when they were gone... but he couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, a perfect view of you stripping in the window.

The noises stopped and his movements started again, fisting his cock with a stifled groan as you reached behind your back and undid the clasp; even having seen your tits probably a dozen times by now, his mouth was slack and dry in anticipation of you turning around and letting him see them again.

You teased him for a while longer, messing with your hair and stretching your arms up until he found himself mumbling between panting breaths: c'mon, baby, show me— lemme see, sweetheart, fuck, please...

Sort of like willing a stoplight to turn green, it's obviously not possible but it will work at some point: you turned and faced the window, your eyes shut with a sigh as you started to open your jeans. He had to grip his cock's leaking head tight just then, too overwhelmed with the view of your breasts— he was afraid to come too soon.

He'd never had to hold himself back like this before, never delayed his gratification— because, normally, it's totally antithetical to the point of masturbation. He only ever jerked off for the gratification, and he only ever watched porn to help get there a little faster... but you, you were so much better than porn. The thrill of doing something wrong, the longing of knowing you (if not very well) in real life, the lack of control over you and being, in a sense, at your mercy as you undressed as slow as you wanted... it was all just terribly erotic. And he refused to let himself come until you let him see a little more.

You slid your jeans down your legs and he actually bit his lip, just to muffle his moan. "Yes," he whispered to himself, cock pulsing in his grip as he watched you step out of them, turning around to lay them over your bed— and giving him the perfect view of your ass in those cute cotton panties as you did it. "Fuck," he grunted, twisting his hand over his tip and feeling his hips jerk instinctively— he couldn't think of the last time he was so sensitive. "See what you do to me?" he chuckled to himself— he wished you could see it, but then again, he had his lights off in the room for a reason. All you could see was a dark window, and for now, he preferred to keep it that way.

You laid back on your bed, looking relaxed and contented as you ran your hand down over yourself— fuck, is she about to--?

You slipped your hand into your panties, and he tilted his head back with a heavy sigh, only allowing himself a second to shut his eyes as his balls tightened up, threatening to blow it all right then and there. He'd never actually seen you touch yourself before— though he had seen you take a vibrator out of your bedside drawer and, infuriatingly, go to take a shower where you presumably got to use it with complete privacy. The image in his head had been plenty to get off on that night, but seeing you now as your fingers moved under the thin fabric, your lips opening for what he hoped was a quiet little moan? It was almost too much to bear.

You spread your legs a bit, the angle giving him a hint of a view of what you were doing; he sat up in the chair, leaning to the side a bit, desperate for a better look at how you were touching yourself. Were you just rubbing your clit, or were you going to put a finger or two inside? "Baby," he panted to himself, watching your tits get harder as your hand moved, "baby... y-yeah, just like that, fuck..."

The sight of you playing with yourself was just too beautiful; he had to keep reminding himself to shut his mouth so he wouldn’t make too much noise, but then it would just fall right back open again as you arched your back.  

“Feels good?” he noticed, raking his gaze over every sign of your pleasure.  “Tell me how good it feels…”

He wanted to imagine your voice, then, the way you’d respond to him: feels so good, Cill.  You’d never actually called him that, you always called him Mr. Murphy.  He tried not to acknowledge how much that turned him on, but anyways, he couldn’t conjure your voice in his head anyways.  He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks, not since you’d babysat for him and his wife… he tried not to acknowledge how much that turned him on, either.

Seemingly out of nowhere, you took your hand out of your panties and expanded your cheeks with a big sigh; he knit his eyebrows together, watching you roll over and grab your phone off of the nightstand by your bed.  His sicker side instantly assumed you were going to find some porn to watch, but your lackadaisical attitude about the whole thing made it seem more like you’d had a sudden mid-masturbation urge to check Instagram.  Kids and their phones, he thought to himself, even though you were far from a kid— he was just much, much further from one than you were, is all…

And, this should come as no surprise by now… that turned him on too.  He’d come to be weirdly fascinated by his own perversion, finding it just as shameful as he did sexy.

His phone vibrated on the desk and his screen lit up— he wasn't going to answer it at first, nothing was more important than watching you right now... but then it went off again. He looked at it and back at you, seeing you getting up suddenly and walking around the room... surely you hadn't come already? It certainly didn't look like it.

Even though he couldn't imagine why you'd stopped so abruptly, he figured it was a good opportunity to make sure the messages weren't important. He awkwardly got up and grabbed his phone, feeling a bit strange about walking around with his jeans open and his erection poking out. Unlocking his phone to read whatever was sent, he felt a massive sigh leave his chest as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

He never even saved your number, but he recognized the previous conversation you'd had-- just a few texts back and forth about a little backyard gathering your parents were having, and some question about when you needed to come over to watch the kids, but you usually messaged his wife about that kind of stuff.  But since he’d committed those brief conversations to memory, it took him only a split-second to know it was you— and, obviously, seeing that you'd just texted him, he thought his heart might just stop right then.  He had to blink some blurriness out of his vision to even read them, with how fast the damn thing was beating.

hi mr. murphy.

turn on the lamp on the desk.

He whipped his head around to look back at you, only to find you smiling around a bitten lower lip, staring right into his window.  Fuck.  Fuck!

He set his phone down, not sure what to do— and quickly locking the screen as he realized you’d probably seen the glow of it.  He groaned softly again as he watched you sit down on your bed again, facing directly towards him, those pretty legs spreading nice and slow as your hand moved over your panties again.  Fuck.

He felt like he was in a dream or something as he flipped on the lamp— maybe it was an out of body experience.  If he was out of his own body, he at least knew whose he wanted to get into: he never took his eyes off you as he slowly walked back to his chair, sitting back down in it and meeting your half-lidded gaze as you tossed your phone away and used your free hand to toy with one of your hard nipples.  “Fuck,” he said aloud this time, seeing your eyes trail down to his cock— it was still out, of course, sticking up proudly against the black shirt covering his stomach.  Maybe it was proud, but he was a little bit terrified, his face getting hot as he snatched the throw pillow nearby to cover himself with; he saw you laugh, sighing through his nose dreamily as he wished he could hear the sweet sound of it, and then shake your head with a grin.

You stood up then, turning around and bending over as you ever-so-slowly pulled your panties down, making him purr as he got a thorough look at your bare ass.  You looked too damn good bent over like that— what he would give to stand behind you, pushing your shoulders down with one hand as he gave that cute arse a good spank with the other—

He saw you looking back at him, a proud smirk on your face; “Dirty girl,” he scolded under his breath, watching you stand up straight and sit on the bed again.

Your legs were pressed tightly together, and when he look up to your eyes, he found them focusing on the pillow in his lap; you met his gaze again, a pink tongue darting gently over your lips.  A silent promise: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.  With the way it made his heart pound and his palms clammy, he felt like a schoolboy all over again.

He grabbed the pillow and slowly moved it away, your legs opening at the same pace in perfect time with it; he groaned through a tight jaw as he stared at your pussy, one of your hands running down to spread the sticky lips even wider for him.  “Fuck,” he moaned, holding onto his cock tightly again as he felt totally helpless to the sight of it, unable to look away.  “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, starting to stroke himself as you bit your lip again and rubbed your clit with two fingers— the nails still had that baby pink polish, the one he’d watched you paint on a few nights ago.  Why was something as simple as that so sexy?

Your mouth fell open, and your head tilted back; he tried to imagine how you’d sound, your sweet voice a little darker and deeper with pleasure.  You rubbed yourself a little faster, a little harder, and he felt his lips curl into a sneer.

“Good girl, like that,” he panted, “play with it for me.  Play with that cute little cunt— f-fuck, yes—”

You looked at him again, eyes glued to his cock, and he felt it flex in his grip as if it wanted to wave to you; he saw you smile, an oddly sweet smile for something so dirty, and he watched your fingers slide down to your tiny, seeping opening.  He nodded in encouragement, watching your face fall into a shockingly innocent gasp as you slid a finger into yourself.

“Yes, baby,” he moaned, “y-yeah, s’it warm inside, sweetheart?  Bet you’re so fucking tight, baby, I know your pussy is so goddamn tight—”

You pumped the single finger in and out, head falling back for a moment, and he squeezed his cock tight again to try to hold back another close call— he’d feel pretty stupid coming so fast with you watching, but he’d been doing this a lot longer than you had… fuck, how long had you known he was watching you?

Your mouth opened wider as you pushed another finger into yourself, and his hips shifted roughly in the chair, his hand moving faster as he growled.  “Fuck, it’s not enough, is it?” he hissed.  “Two little fingers isn’t enough— you need my cock, fuck, you need my fuckin’ cock— I’d fill you so good, sweetheart, I’d be so fuckin’ deep inside you—”

He was almost bucking up into his own hand now, his whole body suddenly pulsing with energy— it was a good thing you weren’t here now, even if he wanted it more than anything: he would’ve treated you awfully if he could’ve gotten his hands on you, fucking you hard and rough, tossing you around, pinning you down… he needed you so bad, he couldn’t imagine having the patience for anything but one of those nasty, fast, rough, animalistic fucks.  He’d fucking ruin you right now, if he could.

You were rough about it, too— roughly pinching and tugging on your tits, roughly fucking yourself on your fingers… you even pulled your hand out and gave your clit a little smack at one point, and he choked on his loudest moan yet as your body jolted.

“Dirty fucking slut,” he growled, “fuck, come for me.  Please, baby, I need to come, I need to fuckin’ come—”

You were saying something, obviously he couldn’t hear a damn word of it, but the shape of your lips made him pretty damn sure you were chanting over and over: yes, yes, yes—

“Come, baby,” he begged, knowing he couldn’t hold himself back much longer, “let me see— show me how you come, sweetheart, show me that pretty face when you come on your fucking fingers— soak them, honey, come for me—”

You were shaking all over, legs quivering and tits bouncing with the force of it— you pulled your fingers out and he could fucking see it, see that cute little hole flexing, and obviously he was done for pretty much instantly.  He moaned roughly as hot ropes of come painted his shirt, rolled down his shaft and shaking fingers, one drop even finding its way down his balls which was sort of pleasantly ticklish…

You looked so gorgeous coming like that, your hand and pussy all shiny with your arousal, your eyes heavy and your lips swollen from all the biting… he blinked quickly as he tried to catch his breath, letting go of his slowly-softening cock and leaning back into the chair.  You smiled at him; funny how, even now, that could make his heart skip.  He watched you stand up and wiggle your fingers in a cute little wave at him as you approached the window, and his tired smile fell quickly when you reached for the curtains.  “N-no, don’t go,” he pleaded softly, leaning forward as if he could stop you somehow, “please, wait—”

You slid them shut suddenly, and he whined a little as he fell back into the chair, running his (clean) hand over his face as he contemplated what he’d just done.  When his phone vibrated again, he jumped up to grab it, but frowned in disappointment when he saw it was from his wife.  Be home in a few, please come help with the groceries.

He tried to type a quick reply, only to grimace when he realized how filthy his hand was.  He wiped it off on his shirt— but his shirt was filthy, too.  Sighing, he set the phone down and took the whole thing off, balling it up to toss into the hamper, leaving him in just his undershirt.

Going straight back to his phone, he opened the conversation with you, praying to see that little grey bubble pop up or something; he started to type a few times, things like will I see you tomorrow? or come over next time the house is empty, but he always felt like an idiot and ended up erasing it.  He didn’t get a chance to think of a good thing to send before he heard a car pulling up in the driveway.  Shoving the phone in his pocket, he sighed and made his way downstairs, navigating around the pillow fort in the living room to get out the front door.

“Just help me with the bags in the boot, will you?” she asked him, not even looking at him, as she rifled through whatever was in the backseat.  He opened it, sighing as he looked at them.  Nothing like a bunch of brown bags to bring you back to reality.

His eyes widened when he heard his wife say your name, and he poked his head around the car to see you standing there, wearing a zip-up and leggings.  “Good evening, Mrs. Murphy,” you smiled, and he figured he looked like a deer in the headlights— if a deer could hold a paper sack full of pasta and biscuits— as your gaze fell on him.  “Hi, Mr. Murphy.”

He opened his mouth to try to respond, but nothing really came out; “Looks like you’re going for a run,” his wife noticed, saving him for the time being as your attention turned to her again. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “figured I could use some exercise.”

He cleared his throat, just a way to try to fight the lump forming in it, but it unintentionally caused both women to look at him again— once again, he found himself uselessly floundering for a response, and only getting out a soft ‘er’ before you said something.

“Aren’t you cold in just a t-shirt, Mr. Murphy?” you asked him, tilting your head.

“It’s fine,” he choked out, “I was feeling kind of hot anyway.”

You smiled at him, then waved goodbye to his wife as you pushed your earbuds in and continued walking down the street— you were acting so innocent that he started to feel like he’d dreamed up the whole thing.  

She probably saw him staring, watching you jog down the sidewalk, that ass looking terribly familiar covered by the athletic leggings; but she didn’t say anything, only shutting the car boot to get his attention as he finally carried the paper sacks into the house.  "She's sweet, isn't she?" she broke the moment of silence as they walked up the driveway together.

“I-I guess,” he tried to sound as non-committal as possible.

“You don’t think so?” she pressed, apparently noticing his cryptic answer.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “maybe she’s not as sweet as she looks.”

[queenshelby]

A Little Help (One Shot)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin Reader

Warning: Smut

The summer sun beats down on the white sandy beach, a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air inside the beach house.

You sit on the plush sofa, legs tucked under your body, nursing a cold beer, trying to calm the storm brewing within.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, being here at Max's family beach house, away from the comfort of your own home, the tension between you and Max feels even more palpable.

              You'd been so excited for this trip, imagining romantic walks on the beach, cozy movie nights, and finally, the perfect opportunity to take your relationship with Max to the next level. But now, as you sip your drink, you can't help but feel a sense of dread. The memory of the previous night's failed attempt at intimacy still stings.

              Max had been eager, his hands exploring your body with a sense of urgency that left little room for your pleasure. He'd tried to push past your barriers, both physical and emotional, and when the pain became too much, he'd pulled away, frustration evident on his face. "It's not me, it's you," he'd said, his voice laced with accusation. "There must be something wrong with you."

              Those words had cut deep, and now, as you sit in the beach house, you can't shake the feeling of embarrassment and hurt. You knew Max's family well, having been friends with him for years, but this new dynamic between you and Max was uncharted territory.

              Just as you take another sip, trying to gather your thoughts, the sound of the front door opening startles you. It's Cillian, Max's dad, returning from his morning jog. His lean figure fills the doorway, and his bright blue eyes scan the room until they land on you.

              "Hey, there you are," he says, his voice warm and inviting. "I thought I heard someone in here. How’s everything going?"

              You manage a weak smile, setting your drink down. "Oh, hi, Cillian. I'm okay, I guess. Just enjoying the peace before everyone wakes up."

              Cillian steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "Peace is good," he says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your face. "But something tells me there's more to it. You've been a bit quiet since you arrived. Is everything alright between you and Max?"

              You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. How could Cillian sense the tension so easily? You clear your throat, looking down at your hands. "It's just... things are a bit weird at the moment. Max and I... we had a bit of a disagreement."

              "A disagreement, huh?" Cillian sits beside you, his casual demeanour making it easy to forget the age gap between you. "About what, if you don't mind me asking? I'm not one to pry, but I can't help but notice something's off."

              You take a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs. Here you were, about to confess your intimate struggles to Max's father. "It's... it's about sex," you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. You feel your face heat up, and you're certain your cheeks are now the colour of ripe tomatoes. You immediately regret what you had just said, and you have absolutely no intention to talk with your boyfriend’s father about intimacy.

Cillian, however, already knows about the problem. His son had mentioned something like this to him before and Cillian had given him a lecture to be more considerate,

              Thus, Cillian's eyebrows shoot up, but he remains composed. "Sex, huh? Well, that's... quite the topic,” he says, swallowing harshly before, reluctantly, adding  “I assume this is about your first time?"

              You nod, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as you confess. "It's just not working. I mean, we've tried, but it hurts. A lot. And Max, he gets frustrated, and he said it's my fault, that I must have some kind of problem."

              "Oh Y/N. I am sorry," Cillian says, his voice gentle. "That's not right. Max should know better. It's not your fault. First times can be tricky, and it's not uncommon for it to be a little uncomfortable. But it should never be painful."

              His words are like a soothing balm to your wounded pride. You find yourself wanting to tell him everything, to seek his guidance and understanding. "It's not just the first time. We've tried a few times now, and it's always the same. I can't relax, and it just won't fit. I've even tried by myself, but it's no use."

              Cillian's eyes widen slightly as he takes a seat next to you and leans back, considering your words. "Max needs to learn some patience, that's for sure. And he should be doing more to make sure you're ready. It's not just about him, you know."

              You nod, feeling a surge of validation. "That's what I thought, too. But he just gets so... frustrated. And I feel like I'm letting him down."

              "Nonsense," Cillian says firmly. "Max is just young, and he's got a lot to learn at that age, but that’s no excuse and you need to know that it is never your job to please him at the expense of your own comfort."

              His words resonate with you, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. Cillian's understanding and support are like a breath of fresh air.

              "I wish I could talk to Max like this," you say, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "He just doesn't seem to get it."

              Cillian chuckles, a deep, warm sound. "Max is a good kid, but he's still learning. And sometimes, we all need a little guidance. I'd be happy to have a chat with him, if you'd like. Set him straight on a few things."

              You consider his offer, the thought of Cillian talking to Max about sex both amusing and comforting. "Oh god no… I mean, it's a bit awkward, isn't it?”

              "Yeah, maybe," Cillian agrees before thinking about something else. “But, look, why don't we do this? I'll have a word with Max, without mentioning our little talk and see if I can get through to him. In the meantime, why don't we work on helping you relax and enjoy yourself? No pressure, just some friendly guidance."

              You look at Cillian, his eyes sparkling with kindness, and you feel a surge of trust. "You mean, you and me, uhm…trying?” you stammer and Cillian nods reluctantly.

“Sure, I mean, I do have some experience. But no pressure, alright?” he says, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'd do anything to help my son's girlfriend, especially one as lovely as you. And besides, I remember what it was like when I was his age. A little guidance would've gone a long way."

              The idea of Cillian helping you sends a shiver down your spine, but it's not an unpleasant sensation. You trust him, and the thought of learning from him, of being guided by his experience, is strangely enticing.

              "Alright," you agree, a sense of determination building within you. "I'd like that. I want to enjoy this, and I want Max to understand. Maybe then we can really make this work."

"I think we will be able to, although this needs to stay our little  secret, right?" Cillian says, his voice low and reassuring. "I won't tell Max, and you won't either."

You nod, agreeing to his terms. "Okay, I can do that. I just want this to work and I want to enjoy it."

Cillian smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Good, good. So how about this? I will meet you at the guestroom tonight, at around 11?"  Cillian asks, standing up and stretching his lean, muscular frame. The setting sun casts a warm glow over his short grey hair, making him look even more approachable and kind.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "Okay, that sounds good. I'll be ready."

Cillian smiles, a reassuring and gentle smile. "Great. And remember, no pressure. We'll take this at your pace. I just want you to feel comfortable and enjoy yourself."

You return his smile, feeling a sense of relief and anticipation. "Thank you, Cillian. I will see you tonight, " you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as you watch Cillian walk away, his shoulders and confident stride leaving you with a sense of security. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You know that tonight is going to be different, and you're ready to take this step.

At 11 o'clock on the dot , you make your way to the guestroom, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the floor.

Cillian is already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back straight and his eyes fixed on you as you enter. He's changed into a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans that hug his muscular thighs. 

"Hey," he says, his voice low and gentle. "You ready for this?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I think so. I want to try, at least."

Cillian smiles encouragingly, patting the bed beside him. "Good. Come here, sit with me."

You walk over and sit down, your body tense and nervous. Cillian puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch is warm and comforting, and you can feel your muscles begin to relax.

"First thing we need to do is get you comfortable," Cillian says, his voice low and soothing. "We're not going to rush anything, alright? We'll take this slow."

You nod, leaning into his touch.

His arm around you feels natural, and you can't help but feel safe with him. Cillian's fingers gently stroke your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine.

"That's it, just relax," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "There's no rush. We've got all night."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Cillian's hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft and reassuring, and you feel a flutter in your stomach. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss. It's soft and tender, a stark contrast to the urgency you've felt with Max.

Cillian's kiss is patient, his lips moving gently against yours, coaxing a response from you. You part your lips slightly, and his tongue slips inside, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate pace. You can taste the faint hint of mint on his breath, and it's strangely comforting.

His hand moves from your chin to your neck, his fingers gently caressing the sensitive skin. You can feel your heart racing, your breath coming in short gasps as his touch sends waves of heat through your body. Cillian pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he finds none, he smiles softly and leans in again, this time deepening the kiss.

His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. You can feel your body responding, your nipples hardening beneath your thin t-shirt. Cillian's hand moves from your neck to your breast, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple through the fabric. You gasp into his mouth, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire. You nod, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, it's okay. It's more than okay," you whimper. 

Encouraged, Cillian's hand moves to the hem of your shirt, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above your waistband.

You shiver at his touch, your body aching for more. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lifts your shirt over your head, exposing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Absolutely fucking stunning."

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. Cillian leans in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. You gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

Cillian's mouth is hot and wet, his tongue flicking against your nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit. He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast before moving to the other, his fingers gently teasing and pinching your neglected nipple.

"That feels nice," you whisper, your voice barely audible, as you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his mouth. He smiles against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

"Good, I am glad,"  he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Now why don't you lie down for me,"  he instructs, his tone gentle but firm. He wants you to be comfortable, and he wants to see you sprawled out in front of him.

You do as he says, your heart pounding in your chest as you lie back on the soft bed, your body tense with anticipation. Cillian's eyes roam over your body, taking in every curve and line, and you can feel his gaze like a physical touch, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to taste every inch of you."

You shiver at his words, your body aching for his touch.

He leans down, his breath hot on your skin as he trails kisses down your stomach, his hands gently caressing your sides. You can feel his fingers tracing the waistband of your shorts, and you arch your back, silently begging for more.

Cillian hooks his fingers into your waistband, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls them down, revealing your bare pussy to his hungry gaze. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel desired, wanted.

"You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "And I really want to taste you."

"Taste me?" you whisper, your voice barely audible as you look at Cillian. "I... I've never done that before."

Cillian smiles reassuringly, his fingers gently tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "It's okay. It will feel good. I promise." 

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax. Cillian's touch is gentle yet firm, his fingers teasing your skin, sending waves of heat through your body.

"Now spread your legs for me, okay? Let me see that pretty little pussy of yours," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling a rush of embarrassment, but the intensity in his eyes makes you feel safe. You slowly part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully. Cillian's gaze locks onto your most intimate area, and you can see the hunger in his eyes.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I could look at you all day."

You blush at his words, but the heat in his eyes makes you feel beautiful, desired. He leans in, his breath hot on your inner thigh, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through your veins.

He starts at your knee, his lips pressing soft, gentle kisses up your thigh, his stubble rough against your soft skin. You can feel your breath hitching in your throat, your body tensing with each kiss, each touch.

Cillian's lips are warm and wet, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your inner thigh, his stubble rough against your soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

You can feel the heat building between your legs, your pussy aching with need. Cillian's eyes flick up to meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sees the desire written all over your face. He leans in closer, his breath hot on your pussy, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Cillian's eyes meet yours, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sees the desire written all over your face. He leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste your clit, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

"Ssh, it's okay , I got you" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. You can feel your body responding, your hips bucking against his mouth as he eats you out. 

Cillian's fingers gently part your folds, his tongue delving deeper, tasting your wetness. He looks up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slides one finger inside you, his tongue continuing to work its magic on your clit.

"Is that okay?" he asks as he slides it in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You nod, biting your lip as a soft moan escapes you. He adds another finger, stretching you gently, his tongue still working your clit in a relentless rhythm. You can feel your body responding, your hips bucking against his hand as he fingers you expertly.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I love how your pussy tastes and you are so tight and warm. I could eat you out all night."

You moan, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to finger you, his tongue circling your clit with expert precision.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you gasping for air. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as Cillian's fingers curl inside you, hitting that sweet spot that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Cillian," you gasp, your voice barely recognizable as your own. "I'm close. I'm so close."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "That's it, come for me, baby. Let me see that pretty little pussy come all over my fingers."

His words are filthy, obscene, and they send you spiralling over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Cillian's fingers are relentless, drawing out your orgasm until you're a trembling, gasping mess. He pulls his fingers out slowly, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "But we're not done yet, are we?"

You shake your head, your body still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm. "No, we're not," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You want more. You need more.

You need him. You need to feel him inside you, filling you, stretching you. You need to experience the raw, primal connection that you've been craving. 

"Alright," he says, his voice low and husky as he quickly undresses. "Let's take this slow, okay? I want to make sure you're comfortable every step of the way."

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as you watch him, his cock springing free from his jeans. You can see the thick, hard length of him, the head glistening with a drop of pre-cum. Your eyes widen slightly, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. 

"I don't think it will fit. I have never been able to do it before" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. Cillian smiles softly, his eyes filled with reassurance.

"Trust me, we'll take it slow. I won't hurt you. I promise," he says. and you nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax. 

"Are you on the pill ?" he asks, his voice low and husky as he climbs onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

You nod again, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes, I am," you say, causing him to smile.

"Good, because it will feel nicer for you  that way, and I really want to feel your wet pussy around me.

Cillian reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "I'm going to go slow, okay? If it hurts, you tell me, and we'll stop. No pressure, no rush."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief and trust. "Okay, I trust you."

Cillian leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. His tongue gently probes your mouth, and you open for him, letting him explore at his leisure.

His body is warm and hard against yours, and you can feel the thick length of his cock pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent. You reach down, tentative fingers wrapping around his shaft, and Cillian groans into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly at your touch.

His cock is thick and hard, the skin soft and velvety, and you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. You stroke him gently, your hand moving from the base to the tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that has gathered there. Cillian's breath hitches, and he pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

"Fuck, that feels good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "But not as good as it's going to feel inside you."

You feel a rush of heat at his words, your body aching with need. You guide him towards your entrance, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. Cillian takes over, positioning himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours.

" Just relax, okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. "I promise I won't hurt you."

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you feel the head of his cock press against you. He's big, and the sensation is intense, but the look in his eyes is one of pure tenderness and patience.

He starts to push in slowly, his hips moving in a gentle, rhythmic motion. 

"Is  that okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Are you alright?" You can feel him stretching you as part of him slides in, and you gasp, your eyes widening slightly. He stops, his body tense, waiting for your response. You nod, your breath coming in short gasps.

He could feel your barrier now and he knew he had to be careful. He whispered, "You are so fucking tight, I don't want to hurt you." He pulls back slightly, his cock still poised at your entrance, and you feel a rush of disappointment. But he's not stopping; he's just giving you a moment to adjust before slowly pushing the tip back in.

You feel the pressure, the stretch, and you can't help but tense up. Cillian notices immediately. He leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot on your face.

"Relax, baby. I promise, I won't hurt you. Just breathe. And if it gets too much, you tell me, okay?" he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to relax your body. Cillian begins to move again, his hips gently pushing forward, inch by inch. You can feel him stretching you, filling you in a way you've never experienced before.

He pushed against your hymen now , a thin layer of skin that would soon be gone. He was taking his time, though, and he was being so gentle with you, that you found yourself relaxing, and pushing your hips forward, wanting more of him, wanting the pain to be over and done with.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, your voice barely recognizable as your own. "You're so big, Cillian. It feels... it feels like a lot."

He pauses, his body tensed, his cock poised at your entrance, and you can see the concern in his eyes. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint. "We can stop if you need to. I don't want to hurt you."

You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "No, don't stop. I... I want this. I want you. Just go slow, okay?"

Cillian nods, a determined look in his eyes. "I promise, I'll go slow. Just relax and let me do the work. And if it hurts, we stop, no questions asked. Okay?"

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to relax.

Cillian begins to move again, his hips pushing forward with a gentle, steady pressure. You can feel the head of his cock stretching you, the sensation intense and overwhelming. He pauses, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your reaction.

"You're doing so well, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Just relax and let me in."

You take another deep breath, trying to relax your body, and he pushes a little further, the head of his cock slipping inside you. You gasp, the sensation of being filled so intensely sending a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure through your body.

"That's it," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves as he slides in more until, finally, he pushed past your hymen, his cock now fully sheathed inside you. "Fuck, you feel so tight and warm, baby. So perfect."

You take a moment to adjust, your body tensing around him as you feel the full extent of his length and girth inside you. Cillian remains still, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your signal to continue. You can feel the stretch, the burn, but there's also a deep, primal satisfaction in having him inside you, filling you completely.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I'm ready. Go slow."

Cillian nods, a reassuring smile on his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to move now, okay? Just tell me if it's too much."

You nod, your breath hitching in your throat as you feel him begin to move. He starts with slow, gentle thrusts, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm. You can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, the sensation intense and overwhelming. His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every reaction, ensuring your comfort and pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his voice strained with restraint as you dug your nails into his back. "So tight and wet. I could stay like this forever."

You gasp, your body tensing as he pulls out slightly before pushing back in, his cock stretching you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless.

"More," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "I want more."

Cillian groans, his hips picking up speed, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing intensity. You can feel every inch of him, the thick head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

Cillian's hips move with a steady, relentless rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease now that you're so wet and ready for him.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice low and husky. "I can feel your pussy gripping my cock like a vice. It's so fucking good."

You moan, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to pound into you. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as he hits that spot over and over again.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Let me feel that pretty little pussy come all over my cock," he says and his cock is relentless now until you come.

"Oh my god, yes!" you  cry out, your voice raw and desperate. "Don't stop, Cillian. Please, don't fucking stop."

Cillian's eyes flash with heat, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into you with a force that steals your breath. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a primal, obscene symphony that only serves to heighten your arousal.

Your orgasm hits you like  a tidal wave, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner muscles clench around Cillian's cock, milking him, urging him deeper until, finally, he too could not hold on any longer. 

He groans, a deep, primal sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours, as he begins to cum, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. The sensation of him coming inside you sends you spiraling over the edge once more, your body convulsing as another orgasm tears through you.

"Fuck, yes," Cillian groans, his voice low and husky as he collapses onto you, his body slick with sweat, his cock still throbbing inside you. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breath hot on your neck as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

His cock is still hard inside you, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and you can feel his seed leaking out of you, coating your thighs. The sensation is filthy, obscene, and incredibly arousing.

"Fuck, that was... intense," Cillian murmurs, his voice low and husky as he finally pulls out of you, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. You feel a rush of emptiness, a longing for him to be back inside you, filling you completely.

He smiles down at you, his eyes soft and tender despite the raw, primal way he just took you. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your palm. "I'm more than okay. That was... amazing. Thank you, Cillian."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. "You're welcome, beautiful. I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I'm glad I could help you feel good."

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @kikimurphys

[ladydeadrabbit]

North Star- Daredevil: (Bullseye) Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

(Note: Originally this was to be an Arkham Knight x Reader, but with the new episodes of Daredevil, I couldn't help myself <3 I think the next story I write will be a Scarecrow x Reader [Cillian Murphy, of course, bc he's dreamy]. Also, sorry not sorry if this one-shot kinda sucks, I lost motivation in wiriting it about a quarter of the way through, but enjoy!)

Summary: Dex takes a cute girl out on a date. She’s a shy rookie FBI agent naive to his psychopathic nature. Charmed by his grandeur, she falls victim to his desire for her to be his “north star.”

In the 30 something years that Dex had been alive he’d not felt much– call it a result of his trauma from his abusive foster parents, or the psychological disorder he’d been diagnosed with in his early years; but Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter had liked to think he was immune to the weaknesses of normal human emotions. He knew what sadness was, of course, he’d gotten a nasty taste of that in his late teens when Dr. Mercer had passed on– as well as anger, like when his promotion had been delayed at his job.

But there was one thing that Dex had not felt, or at least experienced, in a long, long time– and it was the feeling of jealousy. He knew jealousy, of course, he’d remembered all too well how he felt when his baseball coach had made him sit out in favor of giving the other kids a turn. He also remembered how he felt nothing but resentment towards his coach, and later apathy once he’d thrown the ball to crack his previous mentor’s skull.

Jealousy, to say the least, was something the tall, blonde, handsome FBI agent did not usually feel as a full-grown man. Jealousy was for the weak-minded, for those who lacked the inner peace and structure he’d created carefully in his mind for himself. You see, structure was the key to everything for Dex– it was the essence of his sanity, carefully curated for him with the help of his late doctor.

It was why he followed the same routines in his day-to-day life, it was the sole purpose of the reason why he’d sought out a job in law enforcement. So when Dex awoke this morning and headed into work, one could imagine why he’d felt entirely off put when you weren’t there to greet him with a shy smile and an awkwardly cute little wave. Perhaps his attraction to you was purely from the unspoken routine that the two of you shared, or perhaps it was because of the slightly too tight, slightly see-through, white button-up shirts you had seemed to love to adorn– but if there was one thing that the blonde was fore-sure of, it was the stirrings of the unwelcoming jealousy that boiled within his gut when you weren’t there to greet him by the coffee machine and instead were found to be hold-up in conversation with Agent Nadeem.

Dex didn’t care and paid no mind to the fact that the Agent in question was married with a kid– the sight of him stealing your attention away from the morning greeting that Poindexter looked forward to every day made him grind his teeth and clench his fists in rage. Briefly, though Dex immediately pushed the thought aside, he imagined what it would be like if he threw the pen in his pocket into the back of Nadeem’s head. 

Would his skull explode upon impact? Would his brains go spattering all across your pretty smile? Would you scream and cry?

A shiver of excitement ran up his spine.

Nadeem, as if sensing Dex’s concentrated hatred, turned around to face him. His eyes widened upon contact with Dex’s, but only briefly, and just as quickly as he’d come, Nadeem was quickly moving away from you with his head bowed and over to his private cubicle. That’s when Benjamin’s gaze snapped over to yours.

You smiled kindly, as if not seeing or sensing the tension from the two men in the room, before gliding over to where Dex stood near the coffee machine.

“Rough night?” You asked, ever so kindly. Dex couldn’t help but immediately forgive you at that moment.

It wasn’t your fault that the world was full of predators out to steal you away. You were goodness incarnate, pure, and everything that Dex needed to be.

“Not really, why do you ask?”

“You just seem a little tired today, thought I’d ask.” Your smile widened a little as you said this. “It’s not because of the whole Fisk case, is it?”

Dex’s stomach turned. He did not like you saying his name, or just being reminded of the Kingpin in general, for that matter.

“No. Not at all… let’s change the subject– you, me, dinner at my place?” Dex’s lips moved faster than his brain could process, and by the time he’d realized just what he’d asked you, it was a little too late.

Your smile dropped, eyes going wide, but only for the briefest of moments before the light in your face came right back and you were grinning again.

“Sure! That sounds fun. Have you already decided on the meal, or are you open to suggestions? Because, honestly, I’ve been craving Pizza like crazy!”

Internally, a sigh of relief echoed in the FBI agent’s mind.

“Pizza it is!” He smiled and laughed, mimicking your expression with intent.

The remainder of the day followed without incident. Dex even found himself with a little more skip in his step as the day neared the end. He’d been dreaming of when he could take you home for himself for quite some time now– he just never fathomed he’d ever work up the proper amount of courage to ask you out.

When the Agent had arrived home, he immediately started to put his plan into motion. The two of you agreed to have dinner at around 7– a little late in the evening, but you both decided it would be enough time for both of you to finish up and work from the day, as well as to clean up a bit for the evening. It was never flat-out stated, but tonight was a date– casual, but still a date nonetheless.

Dex showered, changed into a button-down shirt and dark jeans, and ordered the food. He already knew exactly what you liked from his observation of you from the past year, but asked you through text anyhow, just so he would come off all the more casual. While waiting for you and the food to arrive, the dexterous man straightened his apartment up a bit.

There was not much to clean or move around. Dex lived in a simple one-bedroom apartment. The entrance into his home was a small kitchen that was only divided from the living room by a countertop, and to the left of the living room, was a simple wall and door that divided his bedroom and bathroom from the main part of his home.

His walls were a plain cream color, the only photo to be seen was that of a group photo from his old job, and a few childhood drawings pinned to the fridge for memorabilia’s sake. Dex had no family or close friends to have captured memories of. Nor any real interests outside of his job.

Although on the bed of his bedroom door, he did keep a small dart board hung up, just for those late nights he couldn’t fall asleep.

It took you longer than you would have liked to get ready for your dinner date with Dex. Nerves, you supposed, fluttered in your stomach wildly throughout the day. The conversation you had had with Nadeem that morning was the root cause of the anxiety that forced your heart to do jumping jacks in your rib cage.

You had suspected for a while that Fisk was using the FBI as a means to get rid of the competition to his illegal business, and you knew damn well that his lawyers were likely the culprits handling his business affairs while he sits pretty in that damn penthouse. But when Nadeem came to you with a concerning theory that one of your own was working alongside Fisk, you couldn’t help but feel a little on edge, especially after he told you to watch yourself around Dex.

You liked Dex, you did, you had ever since the first day in office when you accidentally spilt coffee on his shirt and he charmed you with a corny (yet somewhat morbid) joke about having worse spilt on him (or… perhaps he was trying to make a dirty joke? You weren’t sure, but laughed anyways). So when Dex came up towards you this morning, after the shocking revelation that Nadeem dropped on you, you jumped at the opportunity to agree to go on a date. You wanted so badly for Dex to be innocent and this itself presented the perfect opportunity in understanding the mysterious agent more.

That, and you did like him and hoped he did too.

So, with the plan in motion and your determination set, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror before calling a cab and heading to the address he texted you.

Dex answered the door with the first knock, startling you within the hall of his apartment complex. He lived a little further downtown, but in a relatively quiet neighborhood. Not the best apartments you’ve visited in Hell’s Kitchen, he could probably afford nicer if he wanted, but nice nonetheless, and clean.

Bashfully, the opposing Agent in question smiled and apologized for the abrupt answer to your knocks, before inviting into his abode. You laughed it off, and for a second, the doubts of what Nadeem told you earlier bounced around in your skull.

“You arrived just in time!” Dex said, smiling, guiding you over towards the small kitchen that led into the even smaller living room. “Pizza just arrived.”

You smiled back, allowing him to take the leather jacket you had decided to wear over the dress of the evening. Briefly, you felt his eyes flutter over your figure as you turned and pretended not to notice whilst taking a seat at one of the two bar stools he had set up. Dex hung your jacket next to his FBI jumper on a coat rack next to the door.

“So handsome. What kind of movie are we watching tonight?”

Flirtation was never your strong suit, but you played it off well tonight.

A sheepish smile spread coyly across his face, and you watched as Dex’s cool demeanor suddenly stopped, and a fresh flush blush adorned his face.

“Uh-I- ha,” he laughed bashfully, scratching the back of his neat little hair cut. “I was so focused on ordering the food and waiting for you that I forgot all about selecting a movie.”

You laughed, easing his nerves.

“That’s quite alright! I’m sure we’ll find something entertaining.” 

You moved from your spot on the bar stool to the front of the couch in his living room– which, really, was more of a slightly longer loveseat than an actual couch, before snatching up the remote that lay on the coffee table in front of it and switching on the tv. From behind you, you heard Dex move closer.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I don’t watch tv? Well, besides keeping up with the Red Sox during baseball season.”

“You like sports?” You asked, turning to face him briefly. 

“Only baseball, and not as much as when I was a kid. Really I keep up with it to pass time and to make conversation. You?”

“Not particularly. I just didn’t take you as the competitive type.” With your attention turned back to the TV screen ahead, you watched as it flickered to life seamlessly.

Oddly, Dex’s apartment felt cold– not exactly in a literal sense, the room was at a comfortable temperature, rather, the place didn’t feel very “lived in” as some would say. It was clean and minimal, and somehow his home felt more like a hotel room rather than someone’s actual living space. All of this dawned on you when the smart TV’s option screen came to life before you.

He had no apps downloaded from the menu screen– normally people would at the very least have some sort of channel subscription service like Netflix or Disney Plus to choose from, but all that greeted you were the basic free channel services that almost all tv’s nowadays had predownloaded. 

‘I supposed he really wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t watch TV,’ you thought to yourself; pulling up one of the free channels available and looking through some free movies.

“How do you feel about horror?” You asked, breaking the silence that briefly enveloped the room during your search.

“It’s… okay,” he hesitated, as if he were testing the waters for your reaction. Was he trying to gauge what kind of movies you liked? How sweet.

“This channel seems to mostly have those kinds of movies on it– and you’re not really giving me exactly a selection here. I tell you what,” you made eye contact with him again, “I’ll put an older one on, and if you decide that you don’t like it– we’ll turn it off and try to find something else.”

Dex smiled and agreed. 

The featured film for this evening was titled “Psycho”, naturally, if you were going to put on an old black and white film, you’d rather it be a classic, and Psycho was a grand as they came in American films of this era and genre. The film revolved around a woman stealing money from her job and skipping town to go meet up with a man. During her travels she stops and rests at a hotel where she is then brutally murdered by the owner who plays dress-up by night as his deceased mother.

It was an eerie plot, but by today’s standards, it was nothing in comparison to what is commonly shown.

Dex was silent throughout the movie, and you stole glances from him when you could, trying to understand whether or not it was boring him or if he was actually entertained. The pizza he ordered was fantastic— it was actually from one of your favorite takeout places in town, and you enjoyed it with a soda beverage.

As the film neared the end, you now finished eating and were sitting crossed legged on one end of the couch, felt an ever-so so shift beside you. You ignored it, assuming of course that Dex was just readjusting, until his arm came to wrap around your shoulders.

Shock was the first reaction you had to his boldness, and then came ease. You eased into Dex’s side, allowing him to envelope you. 

It’d been too long since you had the pleasure of being in the company of a man, and despite the slight dwellings of doubt that flickered from your mind– you liked Dex, and so far, he’d given you no reasons to suspect him of the suggestions Nadeem had made earlier about him.

No words were passed between the two of you when the credits began to roll, there was no need. As if possessed, you turned your face up at him and leaned up to capture his lips in a chastening kiss. You meant it only to be an innocent peak; a sorta thank you, for the relaxing night, but when the opposing agent reciprocated, it turned heated.

Dex’s lips were cold and possessive and they moved faster than yours could to keep up. The bite and sucked on your lower lip before trailing to the corner of your jaw, down your neck, where they then made perch on a particularly sensitive spot.

You gasped and shuddered beneath him, slightly taken aback by his behavior and fully turned on from it. You allowed yourself, however, to be dragged down beneath him on the couch. You allowed him to slide a space in between your legs, and you revealed him in the moment.

Your hands, shaky and unsteady, grabbed on to anything within reach to gain some level of control– the couch, Dex’s hair, his shoulder blades– but no matter what, you felt yourself spiraling, drowning in him.

His hands, just like his lips, were ravenous and everywhere. You couldn’t even fathom what all was transpiring until your dress slipped over your head and you were left shivering on his couch in your undergarments and heels.

Dex, ever the sadist, laughed at your reaction before scooping you up into his arms and whisking you to his room. Almost cruelly, he tossed you onto the bed and stood above you as he began undressing. Sluggish, you tried sitting up and undoing the strap on your heels to kick them off, but like a natural predator, he was on top of you before you could be successful.

Dex forced you into a somewhat awkward position, with your knees to your chest, practically folding you in half. You gasped and squirmed in the uncomfortable, compromising angle, but made no real efforts to stop him as he shimmed out of his pants and tossed his shirt to the side. You were in awe for a moment as the agent presented himself in all his glory to you.

You knew Dex was fit, it was a requirement to maintain your health as an FBI agent, but you supposed you never knew just how athletic his build way under those button-down shirts.

Dex’s room was dark, the only source of lighting coming from the kitchen that peeked out from the half-open bedroom door, but it was just enough for you to take in all the details of the man before you.

Dex smiled down at you, noticing your stare, but said nothing as he swooped down on you, stealing your lips in a shockingly more tender kiss. It didn’t last long as a moment later the heat between the two of you reignited and he was back to devouring you while you were left helpless but to grasp onto his shoulders and neck. Dex was a wild animal.

You awoke sometime in the night to a bump in the dark. Norepinephrine and histamine are not quite yet doing their job on your brain as you struggled to comprehend where you were and the events that lead you there— until everything, just like a switch, flipped in your brain and you were hit with a bus full of memories. 

Dex…

You struggled to pull yourself up from the comfort of the thick covers that embraced you in their safety. Eyes bleary from sleep and crusted over; you could hardly make anything out in the dark, and as a result, found yourself fumbling about. Miraculously, you manage to regain enough mobility to flop yourself over onto your stomach, where you then army-crawl over to the nightstand.

You were still at Dex’s apartment, that much was for sure— but where Dex was at this time was beyond you. Snatching up your phone from the bedside table and unlocking the screen, you squinted at the time.

6:41 am.

‘Damn, it’s early!’ Your subconscious screamed at you.’Where the hell is Dex?’

You glanced over where he’d once slept— the memory of what the two of you did just hours prior floating through your mind. You squeezed your thighs together and reveled in the soreness that followed.

‘Focus!’ The more logical side of your brain complained. With aching muscles, you followed its instructions and moved from the comfort of the bed to the cold hard wood flooring.

A chill shuddered your nude body and you made it a point to cover yourself with the nearest article of constructed clothing— conveniently this being the dress you wore earlier… though, where you’re underwear went, you had no ounce of an idea.

Now arguably more decent than you were before, you ventured forth into the main living space that was Dex’s apartment. It was empty, you found, as your tired gaze swept across the kitchen and living room.

‘Is he in the bathroom?’ The question briefly flickered in your mind, the possibility being highly likely as you turned back into the bedroom… and that’s when your stare caught it.

Next to the front door, Dex’s coat closet stood ajar— of course, nothing about that per say would be strange— except for the large safe that lay within. Said safe, just like the closet, was also pulled open— and that’s where you found a box racked full of cassette tapes. You didn’t mean to pry— hell! You didn’t want to be the one digging through his stuff, but something uncomfortable stirred within your gut and compelled you to reach forward.

“What’re you doing up, darling?”

Dex’s voice startled a yelp out of you and you spun around to face him.

“It’s late, my love. Let’s go back to bed,” he urged you with gentle words. You choked out an embarrassed excuse, allowing him (albeit begrudgingly) to guide you back to bed.

(A/N: If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read my fics an entire month in advanced, please consider becoming a member of my Patreon: https://linktr.ee/starrstuder

Let me know what all you thought of this fic down below, as well as be sure to leave a like and reshare for other <3 and as always, stick around for more content!)

[little-diable]

DIABLE. I feel your lack of inspiration deep within my soul as I, too, have been struggling.

That being said, I'm back on my Cillian Murphy bullshit and would love to see some domestic Tommy, maybe after a really long day of blood and gore he comes home to a plush world of softness and love and consideration and he can turn it all off.

My darling, thank you for sending this in, it definitely inspired me! I hope you enjoy this little drabble. <3

Summary: Tommy will always do what his wife asks of him, especially when he needs a few calm moments himself.

Warnings: nothing, just nudity, full on fluff and fun

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (about 800 words)

Somewhat of a follow up Drabble

It was a mild August evening, a day that had been too hot for (y/n)’s liking which had passed all too slowly. Perhaps it had been the fault of all the running around she had done – whatever it was, the second the kids had been put to sleep, she had told their staff to leave for the night, desperate for a few hours of silence.

The second she had been left alone, (y/n) had hurried outside, shoes long forgotten as she dragged the old, ceramic tub through the garden. Sweat had pooled on her forehead, forming pearly drops that dripped down to the ground, but she had been determined, set on cooling off while watching the sunset.

She had run back and forth to fill the tub, arms and legs begging her to slow down and rest for a minute or two. But (y/n) hadn’t stopped moving until the tub had been filled to her liking. And with a satisfied grin glued to her lips, she had shuffled out of her dress, underwear following moments later.

Her squeals had echoed through the evening as she had sunken into the cold water, unable to stop her laughter from clawing through her. She had been grateful that nobody else was around, they surely would have called her a hysteric madwoman, calling the doctors on her for the childish glee the cold water had shot through her veins.

(Y/n) was too focused on the sunset to hear the call of her name, she was also too distracted to pick up on the confused expression tugging on Tommy’s features as he spotted her through the windows. With a cigarette between his lips, he slowly stepped outside, undoing the buttons of his jacket as he moved closer.

“What a nice view to come home to, eh?” She jerked in surprise as Tommy spoke up, forcing her wide eyes towards her grinning husband. Tommy’s gaze wandered down her throat, watching the water drops stick to her soft skin. The water was clear enough to expose every inch of her body, leaving Tommy groaning as he dipped his head down to kiss her. “Tell me, how did that tub end up right here?”

“Well, what do you think? I doubt the faeries miraculously carried it over here.” A deep rumble of laughter vibrated through Tommy, momentarily reminded of the stories he had read to their children the night prior, feeding their obsession with faeries and mystical creatures. “Will you just stand there or join me like a good husband would?”

Tommy watched her for another moment before he threw his cigarette to the ground and began to shrug out of his clothes, exposing his body inch by inch. (Y/n) pulled her knees to her chest to make room behind herself, grinning in excitement as he began to step into the tub.

“Fucking hell, do you want me to freeze my cock off?” His curses left her giggling, eyes sparkling with mischief. But Tommy kept on moving with curses rolling off his tongue, till he finally got into a seated position. He pulled her against his chest with a hum, pressing a kiss to her cold cheek. 

“How was your day?” (Y/n) murmured her words, eyes closed, head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. He interlaced his fingers with hers, letting his thumb run over the back of her hand with slow movements. 

“Exhausting, sometimes I wonder if I’m still made for this life. I’m getting old, eh?” She froze in his grasp, let her eyes shoot open and slowly turned towards him. Her eyes wandered over Tommy’s exhausted features, instantly able to pick up on the hurt flushing through him, the anger he couldn’t shake, and the greedy desperation he had never been able to feed well enough. 

(Y/n) cupped his cheek, she pressed a kiss to his lips before she began to speak up, “You’re anything but old, dear husband of mine. And trust me, if I’d feel like you’re getting old, I’d instantly sell you to the faeries.” 

Loud laughter rumbled through him, a sound so carefree, (y/n) hadn’t heard it in a long time. And with a widening grin stuck to her lips, (y/n) pressed another kiss to Tommy's lips, knowing that their evening together was just about to get exciting.

[dbnightingale24]

React

A Stepcest Love Story About Jim

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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5,

Okay, I know it took me forever to upload this, but it's actually not my damn fault for once. Patreon is being weird about this story, and I'm trying to keep all of my accounts on the same page. It's not working though, lol. I wanted to wait, but it's Cillian's birthday, and I have the next four chapters ready for you guys. So, I'm sorry it took for-fucking-ever, but here's chapter 6....finally.

Word Count: 5,994

Warning(s): Swearing, Heartbreak, Emotional Cheating, Fluff, Drinking, Depression, Forbidden Love, Family Drama, Crying, Angst, Sneaking Around, Stepcest, Step-Daughter/Step-Father Relationship, Jim Being A Sweetheart and Salvaging Christmas....I think that's all of it?

Summary: Now that Christmas has been ruined and your Mother has drunkenly told you what she thinks of you, you have to make a choice: do you give your relationship with Jim a real shot? Or do you walk away from everything and everyone for good?

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I do not give permission /consent for my works/stories to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of relationship, this is clearly for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter 6

“Angel?” you faintly hear Jim’s voice call as he approaches you on the swing. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been at the park and, thanks to the whiskey, you can’t tell how cold you actually are. 

A small silver lining on the shittiest day you’ve in a while.

“Go away,” you squeak out with a sniffle, using the back of your hand to wipe your nose.

“Angel-”

“Don’t Jim. Don’t comfort me-”

“She was wrong. Ciara almost lunged across the table after you left, and your Mother and I got into a huge yelling match in the bedroom. She knows that both she and Rose were out of line.”

“I just wanna leave,” you sob with a slight slur.

“Angel,” he sighs, crouching down in front of you and cupping your face in his hands, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“I didn’t even wanna come!”

“I know, Angel. I know. Lets just go back-”

“No, I never want to see her again. I know what we did was fucked up, but she doesn’t even know about that! That’s just how she feels about me! How she’ll always feel about me! That’s just how she fuckin’ feels, and I...I have no choice but to accept that.”

“She’s drunk-”

“She’s always drunk, always angry with me, always blaming me, and I’m fucking tired of it. I’m tired of her!”

“You can’t stay out here all night, it’s too damn cold-”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Where do ya want to go?” he sighs, getting up and sitting on the swing next to you, taking the bottle from you and taking a drink from it.

“You have to get back-”

“Danielle took the kids with her, along with the gifts ya got ‘em. Ciara and Darragh took Nora home, because Ciara was too furious to think straight. I told your Mother I wasn’t coming back tonight during our argument-”

“Jim-”

“Rose is gonna stay with her, Angel. Whatever you want to do, I’ll do.”

“I just want to be with you, Jim. We don’t have to do anything, I just want to be with you-ya clothes!”

“It’s fine, Angel. I know everywhere is booked, but I know I’ll be able to find us somethin’.”

“What about-”

“Just let me take care of ya, Angel.”

He always makes it all seem so easy. He always seems to have a plan and he’s so damn calm. No matter what happens, he’s always so calm, and maybe that’s part of the reason you’re so tethered to him. 

After a few more swigs from the bottle, and a couple of phone calls, Jim is able to find you both a room for the next few nights. 

“Don’t you have to go back-”

“No,” he answers confidently as he stands up and holds out his hand. “Lets get your clothes from Ciara.”

“What about your-”

“I can get em tomorrow. C’mon, Angel.”

“Jim-”

“I promise to get em tomorrow. Now, lets go,” he smiles softly towards you.

You take his hand and as you stand up, you realize just how stiff you are.

“How much was the room?” you as you two slowly make your way to his car. 

“It’s a gift.”

“Jim-”

“I’m not tellin’ ya, so drop it,” he chuckles softly, opening the door for you.

“I feel bad-”

“Stop feelin’ bad for the mistakes she makes. You didn’t even want to come and, truth be told, I was gonna bring the kids to see ya at school,” he smirks before closing the door.

WHAT?!

“Jim, what do ya mean-”

“They’ve missed you,” he shrugs as he gets into the car, closing the door and starting the engine. “I almost suggested that we take them to see you a few times, but I knew it’d make you unhappy.”

“Jim-”

“I keep tellin’ you I want this, Angel. Yes, the sex is phenomenal,” he laughs softly as you giggle, “but there’s so much more to us than that. I’m not confused or angry, or any of that shite. I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you. You’re the first thought I have in the morning, and the last one I have at night. I’ve missed watching movies with you, eating dinner with you, cuddling up and talking about nothing...this isn’t just physical for me, Angel. I have a lot to consider with us perusing this, and I don’t think you understand that. I have to deal with the possibility of my children hating me, your Mother berating me, Rose being...Rose, and I can only imagine what Danielle will do and I can’t blame her. Still, with knowing all of that, I still came after you tonight. I’ve been trying to get you to see that since we started this.”

“I just don’t see why ya’d want me,” you mumble before taking a drink from your bottle. 

Yes, you know you shouldn’t be drinking in the car while he’s driving, but you’ve had a nightmare of a day.

“None of the things your Mother says about ya are true. How can I not love ya? Not want ya? Angel, I’m amazed that you want anythin’ to do with me,” he scoffs as he pulls up to Ciara’s place. “I love you for all the reasons I’ve already told ya, and a million more that I’m just not ready to tell ya,” he promises as he kills the engine and looks over at you. “Lets get ya things.”

The second Ciara opens the door, she engulfs you in a hug and is apologizing profusely.

“You were just tryin’ to protect me,” you sigh as you and Jim make your way inside, “and I love ya.”

“Ya drunk,” she sighs, once she notices you stumbling a little.

“Only a little, besides, I’m not stayin’ here tonight-”

“You know you’re always welcome to-”

“I know, I know,” you quickly clarify, “but I don’t want Nora seeing me like this, and Jim got us a room for a few nights, so I’ll be there. I’ll come by before I go back,” you smile weakly.

“I’m so sorry, I really-”

“Ci, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was a dumb idea to begin with,” you sigh as you wipe away a lone tear falling down her face with your thumb. “Let me get my stuff.”

It’s not like you brought a lot to begin with, but you still pack your things with a heavy heart. It’s not like you’d expected the trip be amazing by any means, but you’d hoped for more than...this. You’d expected your Mother to be shit faced, but you really had done your best to keep her happy. You stayed out of the way, avoided Jim, made dinner, kept the children happy and entertained, and even played nice with Jim’s ex-wife even when she showed her claws. All of that work, and for what? You to end up alone in a park, drunk, and your...situationship to rescue you.

Happy fuckin’ Christmas.

“I don’t have my charger,” you sigh once you’re back downstairs with your one duffle bag packed.

You really hadn’t packed much.

“Do ya need it tonight, Angel?” Jim asks, taking your bag from you.

“She’s gonna-”

“Fuckin’ let her call and call!” Ciara snaps. “She deserves to feel like shit.” “Ci-”

“No Y/N. Do not try and protect her. She should feel horrible. Besides, you know that Rose is only over there encouraging her bad behavior. Your Mother never defends you, so why should you defend her?”

She has a valid point.

“I’ll let you know when we’re at the place,” you promise, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Y/N, do not try and-”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

The both of you exchange gifts before you and Jim finally leave, and you somehow feel more defeated than you did before.

“What are you thinkin’, Angel?” he asks after a few minutes.

“Just tryin’ to figure out when she really started to hate me,” you chuckle humorlessly. “When did I really start to ruin her life?”

“Angel-”

“Cause it wasn’t always this bad. Sure, she’s never shown up all that much, but we could at least have fun together. We could skate, watch movies, have dance parties...we had some sort of a relationship, but now? Now, it’s all gone to Hell.”

“Angel, we’ll focus on that tomorrow. Lets just try and salvage the rest of this Christmas.”

“I ruined it for-”

“She ruined it,” he sighs, parking the car.

“Where are we?”

“A friend of mine manages this place. He was able to give us a discounted price on a room for a few nights.”

“Does he know about...us?”

“Yes.”

You groan as you put your head in your hands, “Jim!”

“Ciara knows!”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

“She’s known my Mum for as long as she’s known me. She knows how terrible she is, how terrible she’s always been, and is very understanding of this whole...us. Your friend doesn’t know me from a can of fuckin’ paint,” you mutter, hating how much you feel like a child. 

“You’re right, he doesn’t know you, but he knows about the situation between your Mother and I. It’s fine, Angel.” “Jim-”

“I’d never bring ya somewhere where ya not safe. Lets get inside,” he smiles softly. 

You slowly get out while Jim grabs your bag out of the backseat. As your eyes trail over the building, you can’t help but wonder-

“No, this is not where Yvonne and I would go when we had our affair,” he sighs heavily, walking ahead of you, and you slowly follow after.

Now you feel like an even bigger asshole. 

“Hey, can we speak with Charlie, please?” he kindly asks the man behind the desk. 

“I’ll get ‘im for ya,” the young man smiles before disappearing behind the door.

“Jim, I’m-”

“It’s fine, Angel. We’ll talk in the room, okay?”

“I can stay with Ciara-”

“Angel, please just let me take care of you. I love you, I want to be here with you, and I want to do this. It’s all going to be fine, so please don’t worry.”

“I love you too, Jim,” you mumble, looking down at your feet. 

Today is making you feel so incredibly small and you hate it. 

“Thought you’d be here much earlier,” a man you’re assuming is Charlie laughs as he greets Jim.

“Had to get a few things together, but we’re here now.”

“One bag?”

“I’ll pick up some of my things tomorrow.”

“Really goin’ through with it this time, eh?”

“After tonight? Yeah, long overdue,” Jim scoffs, shaking his head as the man hands him a room key. 

“I’ll get ya when ya leave.”

“You sure?”

“You’ve got enough to think on, just leave it. Is this the little lady?” Charlie asks, smiling at you.

“She’s a little somethin’,” Jim laughs and you roll your eyes. “Y/N, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Y/N.”

“It’s nice to know ya,” you offer with a small smile shaking his hand. 

“Well, I’ve got food and a few bottles waitin’ up there for ya. Try to enjoy the rest of your night. We’ll talk in the mornin,” he nods towards Jim, who just nods in response, taking the key and heading towards the elevator.

God knows what that means.

“Angel, just be here for now,” he encourages as you two take the ride up.

“You’re doin’ all of this and I’m just-”

“Y/N, please stop. I love ya. I love ya so much, and I’m happy.”

“Jim-”

“I’m so happy to be here with you, and it’s not like I pictured it at all, but I’m still with you.”

“Jim...today has been such a mess and, if we stay together, they’re gonna be a lot more days like this before they get better.” 

“I know that. This isn’t like before for me. I know what’s waiting for me when we go through with this. I’m goin’ to be looked at as the dirty old man who seduced you, and ruined your relationship with ya Mum. I know Danielle is goin’ to be disgusted with me, and she’s gonna have an issue with the kids stayin’ with me. Rose is gonna raise hell and convince your Mother to do the same...I know what’s waiting for me,” he sighs as he opens the door to the room. 

“Jim...” you gasp as you marvel at it.

“I didn’t tell him to do this much,” he laughs, walking in behind you and closing the door, “I just told him I want somethin’ nice for ya.”

“This is...oh Jim,” you smile at him as your eyes start to water. 

Jim honestly could have gotten the two of you a rat hole, and you would’ve thanked him endlessly, but this? The room was gorgeous. Beautiful shades, a spacious bed, bottles of your favorite wine and champagne, food (which you’re more than thankful for because you’re ravenous), a gorgeous bathroom, and a small living area.

“Let me help you pay-”

“No,” he laughs, tossing your bag down. “Let me do this.”

“Jim-”

“I love you,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“I love you.”

“So lets enjoy this, yeah?”

“Bathe with me.”

“Angel-”

“No tricks, no sex. I just wanna be with you a bit,” you promise, slowly breaking out of his hold and taking your shirt off. “I’ll get the water ready,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing the half finished bottle of whiskey, an unopened bottle of wine, and two glasses along with a wine opener, before making your way into the bathroom.

No, you shouldn’t mix alcohol, or be drinking anymore for that matter, but you’ve earned this. 

You’re quick to shed the rest of your clothes, grabbing your phone from the pocket of your jeans and scoffing when you see that your Mother has called 40 times and has sent 20 texts, then finally start the water. You’re well aware that between the two of you, you like your water hotter than Jim does. However, thinking back on how the whole day went, you know you both can use a bit a warmth to shield you from the cold of life awaiting you.

“I expected you to find you texting your Mother back,” Jim laughs, making his way into the bathroom in just his boxer briefs.

“I am tempted to, but I just want us to enjoy whats left of the day. There’s not much left anyway,” you shrug, turning to face him as he steps out of his boxer briefs. “You get in first, I wanna lay against ya.’

“How bad am I about to get burned?”

“I’m playing nice tonight,” you giggle, pouring the both of you a drink.

He’s slow to stand in it, but the second hes completely seated, he lets out a sigh of content, and looks up at you with the most loving look in his eyes. You hand him his drink before carefully stepping in. Once you’re settled comfortably between his legs, you lean against him and close your eyes as he wraps his arms around you tight.

You’re home.

You sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before asking, “Jim?”

“Yeah, Angel?”

“I love you.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and strokes your arm softly, “I love ya too.”

“What did you mean earlier?”

“Hmm? When?” 

“When you said they’re a million reasons you love me, but you’re not ready to tell me.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before taking a sip of his drink, “ya keep runnin’ from me, Angel.”

You didn’t think it was possible for you to feel any worse, but you stand corrected.

“And I understand,” Jim quickly adds, trying to lessen the pain from the blow he just landed on you. “I’d be a fool if I didn’t, but I’m not gonna lie to ya.”

“Jim...it’s just hard-”

“You have your reservations and rightfully so. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt, but I know how this looks from your point of view. I cheated before, married your Mum, and now I’m cheating on her with you. Her daughter. I know how much of a scum bag I look like right now.”

“Ya told me about the cheatin, though,” you sigh, grabbing your own glass off the floor, and taking a drink from it.

“I can understand why it doesn’t mean anythin’ to you.”

“I don’t want to hurt ya, Jim-”

“I know you don’t, Angel. That’s why I don’t get angry or frustrated. This is a lot and I know it’s nothing either of us ever imagined. All of this is complicated, and it’s worse for you. If you really decide you don’t want this, then I’ll walk away. Either way, I’ll be divorcing your Mother and you’ll never hear from or see me again.”

“I don’t want that.”

“But I can understand if that’s what ya decide.”

“How are ya so sure, Jim? Why are you so confident?”

“When I cheated on Danielle...that was me being stupid. Yes, a large part of me had feelings for Yvonne, I thought she was pretty, but it wasn’t love. It was so exciting at the time, that I told myself it was love and made excuses for my actions, but I knew better. That’s why it was so easy for me to turn the idea of trying again with her down when she brought it up. After everything settled and I could think clearly again, I knew it was just a moment. It wouldn’t have lasted. That’s probably why I rushed to be with Orla. God, what a fuckin’ nightmare that was,” he mutters, before taking another sip of drink.

You start making little circles on his chest with your index finger, “what went wrong there?”

“You’re gonna think so much less of me,” he groans and you giggle softly. “I could never.”

“The first time I met Orla, she was a mess. Swearin’ in front of my kids, short tempered, combative, and I later found out that she drinks a bit much, which is a lot comin’ from me. That’s why I fell in love with your Mother, or, at least thought I fell in love with your Mother. At the time, she was the exact opposite. No, I didn’t feel as strongly for her as I do for you, and maybe all it was, was a sense of relief. She didn’t drink as much, she wasn’t so short with me, she didn’t assume that I was always out cheating...it felt like it used to with Yvonne. Then...”

“Then I came home,” you scoff.

“You came home.”

“What do you feel for me now that makes all of those times different?”

“None of it is gonna make any sense,” he chuckles, pulling you closer to him. “I just felt it when I first saw you in person. I had seen pictures of you and thought you were beautiful, but seeing you in person...I really wish I knew how to explain it. I just felt this...”

“Connection?”

“You felt it too?”

You hang your head and sigh in defeat, “yeah, I did.”

“Angel, I need you to understand that I didn’t intend for any of this to happen. I honestly did my best to try and stop this, but you...you are everything. This isn’t about the chase, this isn’t for my fuckin’ ego, and I won’t be someone else to hurt and let ya down.”

“Jim...it’s gonna be so bad.”

“I’ll face all of it with you, Angel.”

You turn a little in his hold and look up at him. You can tell that he means every words, but that he’s just as terrified as you are. Not that he’ll fuck it up, but that you’ll go running for the hills again. You reach up and cup the right side of his face into your hand and closes his eyes and leans into it.

You’re both so tired of fighting and running from what you both truly want.

“I love you, Jim.”

He dips down and kisses you passionately, “I love you so much, Angel,” he breathes once you two break apart. 

“Can we stay in here just a bit longer?” you question with a small smile as tears come to your eyes.

“We can do whatever ya want, Angel.”

You resume the position you were in before and lay your head on his chest, as he plays with the ends of your hair that are in the water. Why can’t it always be this easy?

“Have you always had Charlie’s support about us?”

“Fuck no,” he laughs softly and you giggle a little. “He asked me if I was out of my fuckin’ mind, and told me that I can’t be with you.”

“You told him-”

“After the first night I met you. I met up with him at that pub round the way and told him that I fucked up.”

“Were you and my Mother having issues before I came back?”

“Honestly? No, not really. We had little arguments here and there, but nothin’ to make me think there was a completely different side to her. After the first night, he convinced me that I was just angry and I’d get over it, and I tried to get myself to believe he was right.”

“What changed his mind?”

“At first, it was that every damn thing that came out of my mouth was about you,” he chuckles sheepishly, moving some of your hair off of your shoulder and kissing it. “No matter what we were talkin’ about, I always found a way to bring it back to you. Then, when I’d come ‘round with ya Mum, he could see the difference in the way I looked at her. The way I touched her. He saw me at her birthday party, and saw that I was constantly lookin’ around for ya. The way I smiled when my eyes finally found you...he could see it was much more than physical. He saw your Mum gettin’ worse, and the way you were always there, even when ya weren’t. When I told him that we...he wasn’t the least bit surprised. I guess anyone who knew what was goin’ on with us wasn’t. I could tell that he wanted to be angry with me, but he understood. He hated that he did, but he did nonetheless.”

“What does he know about me?”

“What doesn’t he know about ya? He knows that you’re in ya final year, he knows what you’re studyin’, he knows your favorite food, your favorite movies, he knows what my favorite things about you are, he knows that you’re scared...I tell him everything,” he shrugs, placing another soft kiss on your shoulder.

“When did you meet him?”

“His ex is best friends with Orla. We both broke up with them around the same time, and we just started hanging out. He’s a good one.”

“Can I ask-”

“I never cheated on Orla,” he sighs and it breaks your heart.

“Don’t get mad-”

“I’m not, Angel. I expect the questions. I just feel horrible that you feel like you need to ask.”

“I just-”

“I know.”

“I do believe ya, Jim. I believe that you love me and want this just as much as I do. I just...” “You’re scared, and you’d be a fool if ya weren’t. This isn’t gunna make things perfect overnight just because we want them to. I know I have to show you, and I know it’s gonna take time, and that’s fine with me.”

“I just know-”

“Angel-”

“Just let me get this out, please,” you sniffle softly. “I know ‘ve said some things that weren’t the nicest in an attempt to keep ya away. I want you to know that I’ve always loved ya, I was just tryin’ to do what was best. What I thought was best. I just want you to be happy, and I know you want the same for me. I know it’s gonna take some time and it’ll be tough, but I truly do want this. I’m all in,” you promise softly.

This time, he’s the one cupping your face and forcing your attention to him.

“Angel, don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“You know me well enough to know better. ‘m not gonna say somethin’ to make you feel better. If I’m sayin’ it, I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m all in.”

“I need to hear it one more time, Angel. Only say it if you’re sure.”

You take a deep breath as you turn in his hold and face him on your hands and knees.

“I’m all in.”

You laugh as he kisses you, pushing you back a little as water splashes around, and you kiss him back just as enthusiastically as you finally feel peace for the first time in a long time.

“I want to give you one of your gifts tonight,” he breathes once you two break apart.

“One? Jim-”

“One tonight, one tomorrow, and one when you’re back in school.”

“Jim-”

“I’ve already bought them, so you may as well let me do it,” he laughs as you shake your head.

“Jim?” you call softly once his laughter subsides.

“Yeah, Angel?”

“Say it for me, please?”

He smiles as his thumb caresses your cheek, “I love you.”

Yes, his smile is reaching his eyes, but you still see a bit of trepidation in them.

“What’s wrong, Jim?”

“Nothin’, lets just-”

“We’re not startin’ off like this. What’s wrong?”

“It’s dumb and it doesn’t-”

“Jim, it’s not dumb to me and it matters to me. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and leans back a little, “it really doesn’t matter.”

“Jim.”

“Remember when you rang your Mum...two months ago? She was askin’ about school and boys?”

You already know where this is headed.

You sit back down as you mutter, “yeah.”

“Did ya really-”

“It was only two dates and it didn’t go any farther than makin’ out. I felt so guilty the entire time, but I was tryin’ to get over you. It was wrong and, while ya still married to my Mum, it’s still wrong.”

“I’m changing that once you’re back at school. You don’t need to be here for that.”

“Jim, tell me that ya aren’t mad.”

“I’m not, Angel. I promise. I know why and I understand, it just...”

“It just...?”

“It irritates me because I don’t want you with anyone else but me. It scares me because maybe you’ll realize you don’t actually want this.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s not lost on either of us that I’m the older one. Maybe you’ll realize you actually do want someone younger-”

“Jim, no. That’s not...no. I love you. I’m in love with you. Those dates only happened because I was tryin’ to get over ya, and....maybe get a reaction out of you.”

“A reaction?” he scoffs, sitting up and taking a sip of his drink.

“I know I kept tellin’ ya to stay away, and maybe it was just because I wanted to feel like I was a good daughter after everything that happened over the Summer. I think it’s clear that, that’s not what I wanted at all, and in the back of my mind...I was jealous. She had you and I didn’t. Yes, that was my doing, but it didn’t change the fact that I hated that she had you and I didn’t. I wanted to see if you’d react. How you’d react. I wanted you to show up and tell me that I’m yours or...somethin’,” you scoff sheepishly. “It was childish and dumb, but it’s the truth.”

“You really are somethin’ else,” he laughs, shaking his head and you smile sheepishly. “Lets get out of here.”

You lean forward and pull him close, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him passionately. It’s not sexual and it’s not teasing. You just want him to feel that you truly do love him as much as he loves you, and you’re in this for the long haul.

You want him to feel and know that you’ll never need or want anything or anyone else ever again.

When you two break apart, he’s smiling wide and you giggle softly. Once you’re both out, you drain the tub and Jim wraps you in a towel, holding your waist tight.

“I promise, it’s all going to be okay, Angel,” he whispers in your ear before kissing the shell of it.

It’s so hard to be afraid of anything when you’re with him.

“C’mon, I’ anxious to give ya your gift,” you giggle before squealing as he kisses your sweet spot.

Soon enough, he’s back in his boxer briefs and you’re in a pair of panties and an old Bangles t-shirt.

“Alright,” you start, reaching into your bag. “Don’t scold me.”

“What did ya do?”

“You need it.”

“Angel-”

“It’s fine,” you promise, handing him a neatly wrapped box and a card.

“You need to focus on yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you laugh. “Open them!”

“I’m openin’ the card first,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes as you finish off your drink, pouring yourself another glass. “Jim, I’m hoping you’re reading this after everyone’s gone to sleep. Also, burn this letter after reading,” he laughs, giving you a quick wink. “I know that this...relationship (I guess) between us hasn’t been anywhere close to ideal, but I want you to know...I want you to know that I truly do love you,” he reads a bit softer, clearing his throat. “It’s never goin’ to be ideal for us, and I’ve accepted that, but I don’t want you to think I hate or resent you, or any of the time we’ve spent together, because being with you is the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t regret a second of it and my heart is always with you. No matter what happens...my heart will always be with you and it will always be yours. I love you, Jim. I am so in love with you, and I hope you never forget that. Anyway, I hope you enjoy your gift. Before you try and argue with me, the one you have now is a piece of shite and you’re too stubborn to buy yourself a new one. Happy Christmas and I love you. Yours, always; Angel,” he finishes with a sniffle.  “You are so fuckin’ precious, ya know that?” he laughs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I love you, Angel, and I’m not gonna burn this letter,” he laughs as he reaches for the box.

You sit back, crossing your legs as he rips up the paper like a child.

“Angel...”

“You need it!”

“You have so much to save for-”

“Stop it, Jim. I’m happy to do it for you.”

“I’ll pay ya-”

“That’s not how gifts work,” you laugh.

“Angel-”

“I saved up for it. Just take it.”

“I love it, thank you,” he smiles and you laugh as he tackles you with a hug.

You hadn’t initially meant to buy him a Mac Book Pro, it just kind of happened. The first few nights you were at your Mother’s, you’d heard him silently gripping about it. A few days after that, you just decided you’d start saving for the damn laptop. You honestly hadn’t meant to, it just happened. You liked him, you could tell he’d never buy it for himself, and you knew your Mother hadn’t even thought to. The more you got to know him, the more you liked him. By the time you two started fooling around, the money was more than half way saved.

You told yourself that this would be the last thing you ever gave him, and that seems to have been a complete lie. 

“How are even making money?” he laughs, looking over the box.

“I write papers for other students, I write little stories here and there, dog sit-”

“You should be spendin’ that money on yourself.”

“Jim, I was happy to do it and I love you. Enjoy ya gift,” you smile. 

He cups your face again, capturing you in a soul stealing kiss, before grabbing a small box and handing it to you, “I love you.”

“Jim-”

“If you’re allowed to give me this, I’m allowed to give this.”

“Jim...”

“Just open it, Angel.”

You timidly take the box, but you’re quick to rip off the wrapping paper.

“Jim...”

“It’s not gonna bite ya,” he laughs, eyeing you with small hints of amusement in his eyes.

“Did ya spend too much?” “Nothin’ is too much for you. Now, no more questions, open it.”

“Jim-”

“Open,” he laughs.

Slowly, you open the small velvet box, and gasp at what’s inside. Two bracelets that have your favorite charms on them. You’d been eyeing them a few months ago, but decided against getting them because you wanted to make sure you had enough for everyone’s gifts.

“Jim!”

“Read the inside.”

You cocked an eyebrow holding them up and reading the inscription.

‘Mar sin, más rud é, a stór, is cosúil go mbeidh uaireanta Sean droichid ag briseadh idir tú féin agus mise’ the first one reads.

‘Ná eagla. B’fhéidir go ligfimid na scafaill ag titim muiníneach go bhfuil ár balla tógtha againn’ finishes the second.

“You are so...I love them so much,” you sniffle, tackling him with the biggest hug.

“Top marks if you can guess the poet,” he chuckles, pulling you into his lap before hugging you back just as tight.

“Seamus Heaney,” you giggle as you try and reign in your emotions. “The poem is ‘Scaffolding’.”

“Looks like school is paying off,” he teases.

“I love you so much, Jim.”

“I love you too, Angel. No matter what.”

“I really want this to work, Jim. I don’t want this to end. I don’t was us to end.”

“We won’t. It’s not gonna be easy, but we can do this.”

“Promise me.”

He presses a soft kiss to your head as his hold on you tightens, “I promise.”

You two stay like that for a while, and you honestly can’t remember the last time you felt this safe and happy. You can’t remember the last time you felt this loved.

This is probably the best Christmas you’ve ever had. Setbacks and all. 

“What are my other gifts?” you joke with a sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“I told you when you’ll get them.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because you need to learn patience,” he teases. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“I don’t care what we do, as long as you’re here,” you mumble, putting on your bracelets and settling under the sheets. 

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Love.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve had water, a few bites of potatoes, and too much whiskey. You need food,” he reaffirms as he makes you a small plate of food.

“Jim-”

“Eat,” he tells you as he hands you a plate of many different things.

All of which are your favorite. “You take such good care of me,” you tease, taking the plate from him.

“I plan on doin’ it forever.”

“That’s awfully long time.”

“Not long enough if you ask me, Angel,” he smiles towards you softly. “I love ya.”

“I love you too, Jim. Always will.”

As you both settle in and find a movie to watch, Jim pulls you close and you feel as if you’re finally home. Yes, the road ahead is going to be scary and bumpy, but you know that as long as you have Jim, it’s all going to be okay. However, you don’t want to think about any of that right now. Hell is headed both your ways, and you just want a little calm before the storm.

You just wanna live in this moment you’ve been dreaming of.