#chris o’doyle

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

DINE & DASH ───

chris o’doyle 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Deep in my enemy I find the lover.” — ‘The Cid’, Pierre Corneille

pairing. chris o’doyle x waitress!reader

summary. you meet chris o’doyle 3 times. the 1st, he’s got a gun pointed at you. the 2nd, you learn his name. the 3rd, you’ve got a gun pointed at him.

warnings. swearing, guns, mention of death, robbery, shooting

word count. 4k

a/n. i recognize this fic doesn’t actually have any romance in it, so considering the reception i might make a part 2😄 (perhaps with an emotional love confession and fluffy smut :o)

i.

Now, here’s the thing about living in Boston, circa 1978, working at a diner: you’ve gotta buy a gun.

Especially because the shitty diner you work at is downtown. Downtown is utterly fucked at night, where all the doped up creeps, gangsters & prostitutes come out to play.

It’s by an off-chance (off-chance being that your boss was a day drinker who couldn’t handle the diner at night without throwing up) that you work the night shift. 

So, the gun. You don’t know how to use one, buy one, hell, you don’t even know what you’re looking for; you just know you need to buy a fucking gun, because you cannot take any more attempted robberies at the diner. 

(There have been several, at this point, and the only way you’ve avoided having the diner robbed blind is by pretending to be one of those rough-‘round-the-edges folk who could kill someone with a broom if properly motivated. 

Think, the kind of person, who, if faced with a gun in a robbery, would laugh at the colour of your gun and smash your head in with a napkin dispenser.)

One night, you’re coming back to the cashier after refilling all the coffee pots, and a man you’ve never seen before is sitting at the front counter. 

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” you say, retying your alabaster apron, smoothing down the wrinkles. 

The man - who looked exactly like those rough-‘round-the-edges folk - shakes his head. “No fault to you, girl.” He says, Irish accent curling around his words like a snake. 

“So, what’re you havin’?” You say, lighting a cigarette, reveling in the nicotine-filled rush it sends right up to your brain. 

The man inhales his own cigarette, staring at you intently for a moment. His gaze makes you squirm, running all over your body. It's nothing out of the ordinary for you, to be eye-fucked by a shady creep in the late night, but his attention is laser-focussed, like he could see through you.

“Mmm,” the man broke his silence, and his gaze drifted elsewhere, “d’you got red ale?” 

Your eyebrows lift at the request, but you complied, grabbing a pint and filling it to the brim with the man’s choice of drink. When you hand it to him, he looks as surprised as you do: “What kind of Boston diner sells red ale?”

“You ask, darlin’, you receive.” The pet name is a conscious decision on your part; there’s something about the man that sets alarm bells off in your head, but you can’t place any context, so you try to appease him.

The man looks at you, then the beer, and then shrugs. “Fuck it,” he murmurs under his breath, and downs the whole thing in one. 

You put out your cigarette, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; now, you’d have to fumble around, wait to see if he’d pay & leave or order something else. 

However, he does neither, pulling out a shiny Colt Python from his leather jacket pocket, pointing it at you and cocking off the safety. 

Your heart jumps in your throat, constricting your breathing, and your hands immediately come up. Everything happens so fast, and you can’t really process anything but your fear. 

You consider doing your act, your confident, no-nonsense, rough skank farse, but something tells you he won’t believe it, just shoot you point blank. Those eyes of his, crystalline blue with little to no emotion tinting them, sends shivers down your spine.

“C’mere,” he gestures to you, “‘round the counter.” He’s chewing on the end of his wet cigarette, not having had the chance to pull it out and inhale.

You do as he asks, taking gentle, tentative steps in front of him. You walk carefully, so as not to startle him; make him shoot you.  

“Where’s yer boss?” The man says, running a calloused hand through his brown hair, gun still trained on you. 

You gulped, focussing on breathing properly. “He’s - he does- he doesn’t work the night shift.” You make out in a painful stutter.

The man raised a brow at this, finally pulling out his cigarette and leaving it on the ashtray. “Well,” he looked as if he was weighing his options, “you lot keep a safe in here?”

You nodded vehemently, your throat still clenched in fear. 

“Go on then. Show me.” He waved the gun haphazardly, and you made quick work of the situation: grabbing the store keys from underneath the desk, and skittering to your boss’s office. 

You pushed open the loud, creaky door then you immediately dropped to your knees and unlocked the safe. Inside was a jaw-dropping amount of cash, an amount your boss had conveniently failed to mention was being kept in the store — as well as a cute little Smith & Wesson .38. 

Before either of you could tell what the other was doing, you’d gone in for the kill: he grabbed the cash, you grabbed the pistol. 

Sure, your boss was an absent-minded fuck who always did you dirty by giving you the night-shift, but he was your boss, and a good one at that; he paid you on time, usually never said no to your vacation requests, and was generally well-mannered and kind. To top it off, you knew he had a real large family to feed. 

“Sweetheart, I jus’ want the cash. Yer boss owes us a great deal of debt, alright?” The man said, his own hands in the air now. He had slipped his gun back into the holster that hung by his belt, and he knew just as well as you did that the slightest movement toward that area would have you shooting bullets like a fucking madman. 

Never underestimate someone who was jumpy and holding a gun: they were trigger happy. 

You inhaled and exhaled shakily, your fingers hesitantly brushing past the safety lever. “All of it?” you said helplessly, trying to erase the mental image of how your boss would look later, absolutely crushed that the store, his prized possession, had been robbed. Under your “watchful” eye. 

The stranger considered this, his mustache curling as his face contorted around the idea. “…Most of it,” he settled on, cornflower blue eyes peering past the gun and instead landing on you. 

“Why,” he continued, shifting the weight between his feet, “you wanna dip your toes in the water, doll?”

You recoiled, both at the pet name and the connotation you also wanted to rob your boss, but you knew that if he knew you were just going to give your cut back to your boss, the stranger would come back and rob the store all over again. 

Instead, you nodded curtly. You figured you could finally buy a gun with a portion of the money, so if this stranger ever came knocking ‘round your place, you could satiate his suspicion by pointing a piece at him. 

The man let out a sigh of relief at the compromise reached. “Guns down,” he said, and you dropped your hand to the floor. He didn’t reach for his Colt Python, so you visibly relaxed as well. 

After a few moments of mumbling under his breath and thumbing through the bills, he shoved two thirds of the cash into his leather jacket pockets, then tossed the rest into your trembling hands. 

“Spend it wisely, darlin’. Don’t go buying all the pretty dresses money can afford - you’ll get caught.” With that, the stranger stuffed his pockets with his hands and exited promptly. 

You gulped, beads of sweat trailing down your back and making you squirm — there was no way that just fucking happened, right?

Right? You thought. Jesus fucking christ, you really had to get a better job. A better place to live now, too; the stranger knew your face and your name — seriously, screw the diner waitress name tags meant to make you look approachable — so if you were, at any point in time, considered a loose end, they’d be coming for you next. 

It’s only then, you realize, he never paid for the ale. 

ii. 

The second time you see the stranger is not even two weeks after the diner-robbery incident. 

Following the robbery, your boss gave you time off so he could sort the mess out — as well as his debts, after you told him what the robber told you — and you found yourself with the small bit of cash you portioned off from the safe to buy a gun. 

You followed word of mouth on where exactly to purchase a gun for days, keenly listening in on loose-lipped men who came in too late at night or too early in the morning to even consider the possibility that the sweet waitress who kept butting in to give them a refill could be listening. 

Finally, you entered a bar in anticipation: one of the loose-lipped men mentioned a man who dealt out small revolvers that you thought would do just perfectly for space in your purse, right in that very bar. 

Time was dripping drearily toward midnight, and the wad of cash wedged within the waistband of your flare jeans burned guiltily against you as you searched for the man selling — it wasn’t your money, after all. 

You shook yourself mentally, however, reminding yourself to consider it hush money, or trauma money, for the ordeal you experienced. Then, you spotted the seller who’d been described: average height, lanky, wild brown hair. He was speaking animatedly at the bar counter, silver rings on his fingers gleaming in the dull bar light. 

You slid onto the black, faux leather stool beside him, quietly informing the idle bartender you wanted a rum & coke, before leaning into the ear of the seller. 

“Smith & Wesson, model 36.” you whispered huskily, then promptly preoccupying yourself with smiling at the barkeep and thanking him for the drink. You were a little nervous, getting involved in Boston’s underground crime world, even if it were just for a simple gun purchase. 

The man stopped his storytelling to down his drink — red ale, you noted, brows furrowing at the unexpected nostalgia of last time — and speak to you without turning completely. 

“Straight to business, are we?” He said silkily, and you froze, parsing through your memories to correctly match this voice with that voice— “Name’s Chris O’Doyle, and yes, thank you for “asking”, I can provide you wit’ a beautiful little S&W model 36.”

When you didn’t respond eagerly, in stark contrast to your previous behavior, the stranger from the robbery — Chris O’Doyle, you now knew — turned to face you completely.

“…Well, this is jus’ grand, isn’t it, doll?” Chris said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“Fuck’s sake,” you blurted out, pinching your nose bridge. “I didn’t— why the fuck are you here?”

Chris raised a tentative brow, “I’ve got my fingers in all kinds of pies, darlin’. Can’t expect a smart Irish man not to, eh?”

“Jesus christ,” you murmured under your breath. You thought you wouldn’t have to see this man ever-fucking again, but as fate turned out, you just did. 

You steeled your nerves: you’d buy the gun. It was just as well to buy it from him, so he could see you weren’t to be messed with. That, and so he wouldn’t go sniffing around for the money you gave back to your boss. 

“I need a —“ You began, but were irritatingly cut off by Chris.

“—Smith & Wesson, model 36. I know, darlin’, I heard ya the first time. Now, let’s get out of here, I can’t just hand the thing over in here,” he said, before pressing himself flush against you and whispering in your ear. “Plus, it’s best you leave: some of the shitstains in here are gettin’ ideas, seein’ a pretty lady like you, all alone.”

Suddenly, Chris got up, and snaked an arm around your waist. “Darlin’!” He exclaimed, sounding drunk out of his mind, “I don’t- don’t wan’ go feckin’ home!” 

“Play along, unless you wanna use that new gun of yer’s on one of the creeps in here later,” He continued sneakily under his breath. 

Begrudgingly, you did as asked, and supported him up, trying to look like a tired wife dragging her dumbass husband back home. “I told you to quit fucking drinking!” you shouted, smacking him upside the head and dragging him by the arm. 

“Christ, woman! Can’t a man jus’ have a wee drink?” 

“Shut the fuck up, you damn headache!” You screeched back at him. 

Okay, you admit: it was kind of fun to shout insulting names at the man who’d been haunting your dreams since that night.

You hadn’t been having the… best sleep, as of late. Always heaving, waking up at ungodly hours after the dream ended with the cold tip of Chris’s gun pressed neatly at your temple, always unable to get back to sleep for fear the dream would continue and you’d be shot dead in it. 

When you and Chris had successfully averted all public eye, exiting the bar and stumbling to a street a couple blocks away where a car was parked, he let up the drunken husband act. 

“Smart of you, y’know,” he informed you absently, leaning into the open window of his car. He continued by rummaging through the vehicle, trying to find the trunk key in his storage compartment.

“Smart of me to what?” you echoed back, looking up and down the street in case someone was walking past or driving by to witness your incredibly shady and conspicuous arms deal. 

“To buy a gun,” said Chris, a certain lilt to his tone that made you know he thought it was the obvious answer. 

“Yeah, well, you made sure of that.” you said with an eye roll. If you sounded comfortable, it’s because you were, at least a little bit. 

In the small timeframe you’d known and spoken to Chris O’Doyle, you figured out three things about him: he was a penchant for the theatrical, if not a little bit of a procrastinator, was plenty lofty, and probably treated customers and friends like pure gold. You knew that if you were buying, he would be on his best behavior, and do all in his power to keep that happening, be it moving the sun, moon and stars — or kill someone. 

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” Chris questioned, brow raised as he slipped out of his car window with the key in his hand. 

You thinned your eyes. “Hm, I don’t know, maybe the fact you threatened me with a gun and robbed me blind has me worried for my safety?

He rounded the vehicle, unlocking the trunk and pulling the heavy metal lid up. “I didn’t rob you blind, sweetheart. I robbed your boss blind. And, the gun’s standard business practice. Protect the messenger, threaten the target, all that.”

You sighed exasperatedly, but ignored him, instead opting to pull the wedge of cash out of your pants. You handed the entire wad to him, then opened up your other hand to receive the revolver.

 “You can count, right? Otherwise, your boss’s been robbed blind for a while.” Chris mocked, a sly grin spreading on his lips while his hand hovered above the trunk full of guns for the weapon of your choice. 

Once he found the gun, you snatched the piece out of his hand impatiently, discreetly tucking it away where your bills had been. “I don’t want any more dirty money on me. Enough to buy this damn gun is all I need.” 

“And a few cigarette packs it seems,” he shot back, clearly noticing the cash you handed him was short of the amount he originally gave you. 

“S’not any of your business what I buy.” You said tersely, then quickly walked off and left him without so much as a goodbye. 

After a second thought: “Now stay the fuck out of my life!” you shouted down the street, turning and not looking back.  

iii. 

The thing about living in Boston, circa 1978, working at a diner is that you’ve gotta buy a gun.

Now, you had gone ahead and bought a gun, but it was only ever supposed to be a precaution. Something you brought to work, or when you went out late at night. 

And, of course you never had to use it: you did have normal, functioning common sense, so you never found yourself in situations where your gun became more than just something taking up space in your purse. 

But with Chris O’Doyle, you found, you threw your common sense — as well as your precaution — straight to the wind. 

It’s late at night, quite similar to all the other times you’d encountered the man, like a certain time of night had him summoned like a fucking demon, and he appears. Right in the middle of the diner, sitting in that same spot he’d pulled out his pistol and robbed you. 

After a while, the incident stopped bothering you - as well as the fact you now owned a fucking gun - but you never did get Chris’s face out of your head, those piercing blue eyes. Said eyes were now staring at you straight, before trailing off, like the fucking criminal was embarrassed. 

You don’t know what exactly was running through your head, but, again, Chris O’Doyle and you equaled common sense and precautions funeral, and you immediately dragged yourself to the breakroom, where you kept your stuff during a shift — including your purse — and you came back out with your shiny, unused Smith & Wesson model 36 gleaming in your hands. 

“Fucking—“ Chris cursed, when he saw you come out with the gun, which was trained on him shakily. “Put the damn gun down! Jesus, d’you even know how to use that thing?”

You bit your lip, deciding not to answer his very valid, very biting question, for you did not know how to use a gun properly. “Just - what the fuck are you doing here, Chris?”

Deep in your mind, a more unbothered part of you wondered why you kept saying that when Chris appeared, like the mustached man was some creep ex who was stalking you. 

“I’m just fucking peckish, girl. This is a diner, is it not?” He exclaimed, like what you were doing was manic and unexpected. 

You stared at him incredulously, reluctantly putting down the hand that held the gun. You’d told him to, paraphrasing, “completely and totally fuck off”. What part of that did he not get?

“The part you don’t get, darlin’, is that I don’t care.” Chris shook his head, and you were so distraught you didn’t register you’d actually said what you were thinking out loud. 

“God forbid you do!” You said, an infuriated laugh coiling around your words. “Order, then please grant me the blessing of never seeing you, ever again. Like I already fucking asked.”

Chris puffed up his cheeks, then blew the air out of them. “Red ale.” he said simply, looking like that was it, before continuing and making you freeze midway between quickly running to the kitchen to grab and fill the glass. 

“And, eh…” he scanned through the plastic menu the diner offered, “a slice of Boston cream pie.”

You smiled at him tensely, hoping he knew it was fake as hell and meant to make him uncomfortable. “Coming right up,” you ground out through gritted teeth. 

You thus disappeared into the diner kitchen - though not without first expertly hiding your pistol back in your purse - busying yourself with warming up the slice of pie in the ancient microwave your boss believed to be a holy grail heirloom as it was from his mother. It was loud, took too long, and always made the food too hot — but now, you were reveling in its flaws.

Loud means you didn’t have to hear Chris and whatever the hell he was doing, too long meant you could stall (and, pray he’d get bored and leave), and too hot meant that, later, you could privately make fun of him for burning his tongue, then have to blow on it and look like a little kid. 

When it finished, you haphazardly threw it onto a plate, and filled Chris’s ale just half-way. If he wanted service here, fine, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get good service. 

Then, you handed it to him with a loud clatter on the counter, startling him out of his chain-smoking stupor. He made a face at your antics, but put out his cigarette and picked up the fork on the plate to begin eating anyway. 

Finally, with having served Chris his stupid pie and stupid red ale, you could count down to the second until you never had to see him again, and you could finally erase him from your mind, forget how his gun felt trained on you, icy blue eyes digging into your spine. 

However, much like you, it seemed an entirely different group of people with a grudge against Chris O’Doyle also threw common sense and precaution out the window when they saw him. 

One moment you were pulling a cigarette out of the sleek, metal case sitting in the pocket of your apron, the next, Chris was jumping over the counter and shouting at you to duck. 

You did as told almost immediately - his tone of voice had grown serious, cold, something you’d only heard briefly the night he robbed the diner. 

Bullets tore through the diner, completely shattering and destroying the glass windows. The shots ricocheted against the walls, making the whole diner shake and feel like it was going to collapse. After a few more minutes of rapid gunfire eating at the building, something flew in from the same direction of the bullets. 

“Good fucking riddance, Chris O’Doyle!” A voice called from outside, Several vehicles could be heard driving away as quick as they came, not even bothering to check if Chris was dead or alive. 

You guessed that they — whoever “they” were — were a confident bunch, but unfortunately for them, Chris was still alive following that clownish display of gunfire. 

Hidden beneath the diner counter, you laid against Chris’s bandy chest, his arms holding him close to you, like he was a kid and you were his prized balloon. One of his hands petted at the crown of your head, almost soothingly, while the other hand fumbled with his signature Colt Python. 

Then, an ear shattering boom exploded from the “something” that was thrown into the building. You supposed it also set fire to quite a few things, for the water sprinklers set off and soaked the entire building. 

For a long moment, it was just you and Chris, laying on the floor beneath the diner counter, sprinkler water soaking you both. Your hands were clenched impeccably tight on his leather jacket sleeve, and his hand had, like on autopilot, begun carding through your locks comfortingly. It seemed to comfort him more than you however, his breathing sounding stilted, and, with your pressed right up against his chest, you knew the situation had shocked him. 

“That happen to you often?” you said, disregarding all questions that were clambering around your head for this softer, more considerate one. 

Sure, the man maddened you to no end, and you still had dreams of him shooting you in the diner or jumping you in the street, but you were human, and he was too. Chris seemed like the kind of man who was inured to all sorts of sick and twisted things, so this event having shocked him surely had to be a large one. 

And so, you knew it was empathy that needed to be used here; you recognized the struggle of a human vulnerable. 

“More than I’d like,” Chris whispered back, his eyes shutting closed, surely replaying the entire situation behind his eyelids. 

You could digest this all later, and he could talk about it later - if he wanted - but for now, it was just you and him in the diner, your voice gentle, his touch shaky. 

[fuckiingloser]

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM CHERRY AND I 💞

The Perfect Gift (Chris x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Chris O´Doyle x Fem!Reader Summary: It´s christmas eve and you´re stuck at the airport because of the snow. Thankfully, a handsome stranger will make sure that you don´t spend your christmas alone.... Word count: 3,548 Contents: (Minors DNI). Drinking/tipsy sex, tit play, unprotected sex, cream pie, semi public sex. Author's notes: A new collab with @fuckiingloser. The draft of this fic has been in the backburner for over a month now. Also, I´m 90% sure that O´Doyle is a fan-given last name but it´s ok, it´s canon to me. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Pinterest moodboard and a playlist at the end so you can visualize!

The heels of your white tall boots clicked loudly over the near emptiness of the Boston Logan Airport. Luck was seemingly not on your side that night. It was christmas eve of 1977 and the snow storm outside had intended to hold you back for long. Your flight to Chicago had been canceled and no taxis were running this late with the weather. Against your will, you would have to spend your christmas eve and christmas morning on one of those uncomfortable terminal seats until another flight became available. 

Resigned, you walked towards a more secluded part of the dead airport. A small handful of people were asleep in chairs, smoking or reading a book. What at your arrival had been a chaotic, bustling center was now a still image of patience.

You set down your bags, thankfully a few vending machines were nearby. The packaged snacks were a far cry from a christmas dinner, but enough to keep you at ease. Quietly, you settled down on an empty chair and opened a book, the words your only company as you ate from a crinkly little bag.

The story was interesting, you had barely had time to read more than a few pages during your stay in Boston, so your curiosity aided your distraction. Time started to flow as fast as the snow outside fell. The howling wind and sometimes a few distant coughs or murmurs were imperceptible to your rolling imagination. It wasn’t until a masculine irish voice spoke to you, that you got pulled out of your trance.

“Excuse me, miss…” You looked up from the page to see a rather handsome man standing next to you. “Just wondering if this seat is taken?” He asked with a small smirk. You looked around, and confirmed that in your time distracted nothing had changed. The sea of empty seats still surrounded you. Yet, this handsome stranger wanted to sit right next to you…

You smirked back, taking in the sight of him: the shaggy brown hair, the perfect blue eyes, the sexy moustache. He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket, a button up shirt and dark pants. The preview of what you assumed to be a catholic golden medal peeked out from the confines of his shirt. He stood there with a confidence that was difficult to ignore.

“It's not taken…” You spoke with a smile, trying to not blush.

Your eyes discreetly roamed over his frame as he set down his bag and sat right next to you. The man was confident, he didn’t hesitate to face you right away and look over you, his pale blue eyes fixated on your mini skirt and the exposed softness of your legs that ended with your tall boots. Then, when his gaze went back up, he followed the curve of your black turtleneck and your chest, your lack of bra so noticeable it was almost endearing. In the end, he finally admired your beautiful face in all its glory.

“Couldn’t have a pretty thing like you all by yourself on christmas eve... So I figured I'd keep you company for the night…” The handsome stranger said with a cocky smile. 

“How sweet of you…” You replied with a soft little laugh. Any other man who would have tried that on you wouldn’t have seen such cuteness from you, but he was just so good looking and so sincere. The airport atmosphere, while quiet, was not completely empty. And he was right, you could use the company on this lonely christmas eve…

His name was Chris O’Doyle, and your ears hadn’t fooled you, he was as Irish as whiskey. Dublin born and raised and very proud of it. His deep, confident voice made you forget all about your book as you caught all his flirty hints and returned the sentiment. What a shame this was temporary, the snow canceled his flight as well, and just like you, he would wait until the morning for things to get better. The only difference was that you would get on a plane to your home in Chicago and Chris to his home in Dublin. 

“What brought you to Boston?” You asked, prompting a smile out of him.

“Just some business.” Chris said ominously, not giving any more details and no hints present in his body language. “What about you, love?” 

“I was here to see a friend for the week.” You answered simply with a little smile.

“A boyfriend?” He questioned with an eyebrow raised, curiosity and a faint mixture of caution and the foundations of healthy envy breaking a simmer in him.

“No boyfriend…” You laughed a little with a  headshake. “I was visiting a friend who just had a baby, actually.” Chris grinned at your answer, the simmer cooling off.

“Gotta say… I’m shocked that a pretty girl like you isn’t spoken for… But I guess it’s my lucky day…” It was hard to not feel the heat making your cheeks burn and the space between your legs tingle when he said that. Damn him for being so charming, and damn him for having those beautiful attentive pale blue eyes that made you understand why there was a whole song named like that. You crossed your legs in an attempt to snuff out the burning desire you had for this handsome stranger.

“I guess so…” You flirted back, and his smile grew. Goodbye to your attempt to keep your desires in check. 

Chris leaned in a bit closer to you, engulfed in the conversation and anchored to your gaze. In between words, he decided to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear very gently, the warmth brewing between you making you forget about the freezing hell outside. 

The passage of time was imperceptible in his company, the silence of the airport felt even comforting in a way, nobody to interrupt his flirty jokes, his talks about life in Ireland and his full undivided attention towards you. Not hard to believe you had grown infatuated with this handsome Irishman in the course of an hour.

“I was saving this for the plane ride...” Chris murmured, a little secret between the two of you. He reached down into his bag and pulled out a silver flask. “But I figure if we’ve gotta spend the night shacked up in the airport… We could have a little fun, hm? Whaddaya say?” 

His deep voice made everything inside you scream “yes”, but your actions just made you nod calmly with an accepting smirk. You took the flask and took a swig that made your throat burn. You coughed, whatever alcohol that was, it had nothing to do with the fun martinis and beer you were used to. Chris chuckled heartily at the face you made.

“That's real irish whiskey love. Strong stuff.” He announced really late, a laugh still echoing in his words. He took the flask from your hands and downed some of it for himself like it was water. 

Even if it had almost set your throat on fire, you sucked it up, taking turns sharing the flask with him until only one sip remained. Chris, being a gentleman, gave it to you, the last act of chivalry that survived since the whiskey made him progressively more touchy with you. His calloused fingertips brushed against your knee, then his hand gradually rested on it. Soon enough his entire palm laid comfortably over the soft flesh of your thigh, strategically positioned so it covered all your exposed skin and not the fabric of your skirt. But even tipsy and handsy, Chris still listened to you. 

“God, you’re just gorgeous…” he said somewhat out of the blue, making you smile, your face already warm thanks to the whiskey. “Pretty face… Even prettier body…” he added, his voice husky and heavily accented, caressing your ears like velvet and like his hand caressed your thigh. Your pussy immediately clenched at the touch of his rough palm. 

Chris’ attention, for the first time in a while, diverted from your face and found the clock upon the wall. It read 2 minutes after midnight.

“Well, would ya look at that? it’s christmas…” He announced, turning back to look into your eyes. “A pretty girl like you should always get a gift on christmas day…” 

His thumb rubbed slow circles over your thigh. His eyes gleamed, locked on yours.

“...and I think I have just the idea for the perfect present…” He whispered, and with that, his smile turned into a devious smirk. He stood up firmly and held his hand out to you, tempting the devils out of you.

“C'mon.. follow me, love.” Chris smiled just so charmingly, you didn’t think twice. Whiskey and charm were such a powerful tool for you. Happily, you obliged and took his hand, leaving the emptiness of the dead airport until a sign appeared in front of your eyes: Maintenance Closet. 

Chris took a chance and discovered the door was unlocked, a rush of cocky triumph running in his veins. 

“After you, love.” He practically purred to you and you made your way into the small room. Shelves of cleaning products, mops, brooms and a small desk tucked in the corner welcomed you two in between the dim light.

With the door locked behind you, Chris slowly started to back you against the wall, keeping you well placed between his chest and a safety poster hanging there.

“I-I’ve never done anything like this before… Always been a good girl...” You spoke so softly, playing the innocent angel when you knew very well your panties were getting wetter by the second. He smiled as if he could tell, one hand coming up to touch your hip and the other stroking your cheek in delight.

“Well… Being naughty gets you on my nice list...” His whisper was magnetic, imperceptibly so, you didn’t know when you leaned so close to him, to his whiskey lips. “Now let me give you that present I promised you…” 

Without another word his lips crashed against yours, his tongue slipped into your warm mouth like it belonged there and tangled with yours. Your soft hands buried in his curls for some needed leverage, desperation soaking the kiss. You groaned softly when his body pressed harder against you, sandwiching you between his torso and the wall and making you feel his hard cock through his jeans. 

You both knew just how risky this was, whoever worked in this closet would definitely come back at some unknown time, the possibility of it happening while Chris fucked you was just as slim as it was huge. But, in the very end, with your cunt clenching around nothing and his tongue swirling hotly in your mouth, you did not care at all if anyone found you. 

Chris shared the sentiment, his teeth gently nipped at your lower lip and pulled it deliciously before releasing it to whisper in your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty pussy till you come all over my cock…” He purred, his words going straight to your already aching cunt and making you moan a little. Pleased by your reaction, Chris’ hand pushed up your skirt over your hips and exposed the black lace panties underneath. 

“Mmm, you like that idea, huh?” He asked, moving to look into your eyes with a smirk. The pride of making a beautiful woman like you feel like this with mere words made his chest swell. His thumb found its way right to your clothed clit and gave it an experienced rub. The texture of the lace and the size of his fingertip sent a jolt of electricity to you, and more slick to your needy cunt.

“Fuck- you’re already soaked..” He said with a smirk. “All that because of me?” You nodded eagerly, it was the whole and only truth.

 “All for you…” You whispered back, another roll of his thumb on your clit making you moan. Chris smiled, more than satisfied with your submission. 

“You won’t be needing these anymore.” He whispered, pushing your panties down until they were a puddle on the well cleaned floor. Instinctively, you stepped out of them, and Chris couldn’t resist the temptation of picking them up and shoving them in his pocket like a thief. 

“Now as for your gift to me…” He started. “I need to see these perfect tits I've been trying not to drool over in this tight sweater of yours…” 

His bluntness made you giggle, and your inner christmas spirit made you comply with his request. Slowly, you pulled your black turtleneck up your chest, revealing that his early suspicions were very real: you had no bra on. Pale blue eyes fell from your face to your tits.

“Christ-“ He said breathlessly, his eyes wide. Your pretty tits bounced free for your sweater that now laid on the floor. “No bra… good girl.” He cooed, his large hand coming up to cup one in reverent greed, then his rough fingers grabbed your hard nipple and rolled it, earning a moan from you.

“They’re sensitive…” You whined softly.

“Mmm, I can tell love…” He whispered and did exactly what you imagined he would do: lean down and capture your nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling over it mercilessly. You gasped and buried your hands in his dark hair, his hand squeezing your other breast softly to balance things out for your sensitive tits. Quite the difficult task, as his moustache tickled the soft skin on your breasts and sent shivers down your spine and into your cunt.

You tugged on his hair, getting a groan from him and an increase in the intensity of his mouth. He sucked your nipple hungrily, letting it go with a loud pop before switching to the other side.

“These tits… Fuckin’ perfect...” He mumbled as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud. 

“Chris..” You whispered, followed by an exquisite series of moans. He hummed happily hearing you moan his name. 

Swiftly, he catched your nipple between his teeth gently, your eyes fluttering open to meet his in a silent conversation. He bit down ever so gently, the same care as if he bit his own hand. All you could do was moan loudly at the delicious junction of pain and pleasure.

“Chris, please… Need you…” You managed to beg so prettily that he released your nipple from his gentle bite. He stood up again and smirked. 

“I need you too, pretty girl…” He admitted, looking between you two at his painfully hard erection in his pants. “You’ve got me so fuckin hard…  Need to bury my cock in your wet cunt..” He growled at you, his hands yanked down his zipper and he pulled his briefs and pants off in one go. His thick uncut cock sprung free immediately, and you bit your lip at the sight.

“Big…” You whispered mindlessly, your eyes fixated on a drop of precum leaking from the head. 

“We'll make it fit baby… Don’t worry.” He groaned out, using a finger to tilt your face up. Then, he placed a hot searing kiss on your lips, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close in response. 

Chris showed off his strength to you when he picked you up effortlessly in one motion, putting your back against the wall and wrapping your legs around his hips. His hands gripped the underside of your thighs and held you up. Breaking the kiss with a wet sound, he looks between you, his eyes devouring your wet pussy before looking back up at your face.

“Are you ready for me?” He purred with a smirk. You bit your lip and nodded so obediently, it was cute.

“Good girl…” He growled, gently pushing you forward and guiding himself into your tight, hot entrance that had been ready for him ever since he said ‘hello’ hours ago… 

As his tip slid into you both moaned in unison, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. Your inner walls throb around him, slowly but surely getting used to his girth. You whimpered, letting your head fall back against the wall. 

“Fuuuuuuck…” Chris groaned loudly. “This cunt’s squeezing me so good… So tight n’ wet for me…” the lust in his voice fanned your neck and sent ripples through you, a few open mouthed kisses and nibbles following suit. He gave you the chance to adjust, more than aware of the sheer size of his cock. You felt him everywhere, almost splitting you apart, only moans came from your lips as a form of coherent sound. All your energies were focused on making his thick cock fit. At this rate, you were convinced that neither of you was going to last long.

Clinging to him, you felt him starting to move his hips, fucking you against the wall with your thighs held up. He had no time to waste, the faint rattle of the safety poster on the wall that your back hit with every thrust served as a reminder of the riskiness of it all. He pistoned his hips harder, desperate for release just like you.

“Fuck-oh-oh my god...” You babbled, he pounded relentlessly. Your cunt throbbed in racing desire against every vein and curve of his cock.

“You fuckin like it, baby?” He purred to you, his hot breath caressing your ear. His hips kept up their rhythm well. “This pussy is like heaven… It’s beggin’ me to come inside...” 

You moaned loudly at the thought, and he groaned when his cock got a tight squeeze from you. 

“Yes.. yes please…” You whimpered so desperately, pathetically but beautifully begging for a perfect stranger’s cum.

“‘Please’ what, love…? You gotta say it… Tell me what you need.” Your handsome stranger commanded between heavy breaths, fucking you hard into the closet wall. In between your blanking brain, you found the correct words in you to beg for the tight pressure in your lower stomach to turn into a needed orgasm.

“Please... Please, come deep.” You moaned, his hips pistoning in you and interrupting your speech. Chris felt his own brain short circuit at that moment, his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs.

“Fucking hell…  I’m not gonna last long…” He warned, keeping up his rhythm and leaning into your ear. “But this pretty pussy is gonna come first baby…” He then promised, nibbling on your earlobe like it was edible.

This man was pure magic, your pussy knew it. You moaned loudly at his words, not knowing what words were anymore. Your legs wrapped greedily around him and pulled him much closer, squishing your bouncing tits against his chest. A low growl of desire took over his huffs of hot air and he moved his hips harder and faster, going impossibly deep and hitting places barely explored. 

 “Oh my God…” You cried loudly, not even caring who could hear anymore. Chris was hitting all the right spots over and over again, making you melt in his strong arms. “Please…” You whimpered, clinging to him.

“Come for me… Come on my fuckin’ cock, baby…” He urged you desperately, mirroring the way he fucked you. Your eyes fluttered close, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure and finding yourself seconds away from an orgasm. His lips crashed into yours in a hot and messy kiss that just did it for your throbbing cunt.

You felt it. The pressure boiled over and your orgasm hit you hard, nearly senseless. 

“Oh fuck... Chris… I-I’m coming!” You whimpered as best as you could, letting out a series of moans against his lips. Your pussy clenched around him repeatedly, almost possessively, soaking his thick cock in your juices. Your legs around him trembled out of control, only the grip of his strong hands kept you nice and steady against the wall.

“Fuck.. me too.” He groaned loudly, his rhythm slowing down. “This pussy feels so good milking my cock..” 

Like clockwork, you felt him pulse inside you and heard his rough groan of pleasure. His hips finally stopped and he held you there, pinned against the wall, his hot cum dripping down inside you and down his softening cock. 

He rested his forehead against yours so gently, finishing. You panted heavily, reeling from the intensity and danger of what you just did and where you did it… 

“Holy shit..” He whispered after a minute, pulling out of your cunt. Carefully, he set you down on your feet and wobbling legs, the structure of your high boots keeping you steady.

Chris didn’t speak much as he pulled his jeans up and covered his well spent cock. He helped you adjust your miniskirt like a gentleman then put his hand on the wall next to your head like a flirt. The other hand was on your cheek, stroking your soft skin before leaning in to kiss you softly and sweetly. Butterflies in your chest and stomach at the gentleness.

When he pulled back, he looked into your eyes like he was trying to memorize the color of your iris, his thumbs gently brushing over your bottom lip leaving tingles on their wake. With a cheeky smile and a glint of mischief in his pale blue eyes, he spoke:

“How's that for a christmas gift, pretty girl?”

Pinterest moodboard by my dear @fuckiingloser.

Chris playlist made by me with mostly time accurate songs!

[fuckiingloser]

my master list 💓

last updated: 5/27/2025

currently only write for cillian murphy characters

all fics on my page co-written by my good friend/pookie bear @cherrycranes 🩷

all fics will most likely have smut

mostly one shots w/ a few multi-chapter stories mixed in

reminder: 18+ only minors DNI!

Neil Lewis (watching the detectives):

Make You Purr

Dream Girl - part one - part two - part three cs..

Jonathan Crane (batman begins):

Observed

Davin Mcderby (sunburn):

20 Minute Break

Mike Kiernan (broken):

Good Girl

Jim Ryan (the delinquent season):

A Real Man

coming soon…

Thomas Shelby (peaky blinders):

A Proper Thank You

Private Show

Emmett (a quiet place part 2):

Real Cowgirls Ride

Hotter Than Usual

Robert Fischer (inception):

The Arrangement

coming soon…

Raymond Leon (in time):

Come When I Call

Paul Montague (the way we live now):

Finally Home

Chris O’Doyle (free fire):

The Perfect Gift

Michael Mccrea (perriers bounty):

Boy Next Door

Damien O’donovan (wind that shakes the barley)

Religious Experience

[cillianslvt]

to follow up with my cillian characters as ocean eleven here’s my fancast i’m open to suggestions tho

Tommy Shelby as Danny Ocean

Lenny Miller as Rusty Ryan

Neil Lewis as Linus Caldwell

Robert Fischer as Reuben Tishkoff

Jim (TDS) as Frank Catton

Chris O’Doyle as Basher Tarr

Jonathan Crane as Saul Bloom

Darren (Pig) as Virgil Malloy

Davin McDerby as Turk Malloy

Tom Buckley as Livingston Dell

Jackson as Yen

Cillian Murphy as Terry Benedict

And last but not least

Kitten Braden as Tess Ocean

[erhiem]

Cameron Monaghan Age and Wiki:

Cameron Riley Monaghan is a talented American actor and model. He is best known for his role as Ian Gallagher in the satirical drama series Shameless. His date of birth is on 16 August 1993 in Santa Monica, California, United States. Cameron Monaghan’s age is 28 years

.

Famous Names: Cameron Monaghan Full Name: Cameron Riley Monaghan Gander: Male Ages: 28 years 0 months 12 days

birth place: Santa Monica, California, United States the nationality: American net worth: $5 million (as of 2022) Famous for: He is best known for his role as Ian Gallagher in the satirical drama series Shameless

Early life and family information:

She is the only child of Diane Monaghan, a security professed trained professional and a single parent. He and his mother moved to Boca Raton, Florida. Believing that Monaghan was a surprisingly sociable child, his mother sent his image to display organizations at the age of three. He appeared in his first index front at the age of five and appeared in his first local ad at the age of seven.

Education:

He went to Addison Mizner Elementary School and began to hone his acting abilities by appearing in Little Palm Children’s Theatre’s works of Stuart Little, Winnie-the-Pooh and The Pumpkin King.

School: Edison Mizner Elementary School, Boca Raton, Florida

Height, Weight, Body Stats:

Height: 6 feet (1.82 m) Weight: 67 kg (by 2022) chest size: 40 inches Waist Size: 30 inches Eye Colour: Green Hair Color: Red Measurements: 40-30-15 inches Body Size: Skinny Sexual orientation: Straight Zodiac sign: Leo

Livelihood:

Monaghan initially appeared in the 2003 ABC TV version of The Music Man for his role as Kristin Chenoweth and Matthew Broderick opposite Winthrop Paru. Monaghan began a recurring role as Chad, one of Dewey’s collaborators, in the Fox satirical series Malcolm in the Middle, which earned him a Young Artist Award. In 2011, The Visitor featured on the CBS series NCIS as Nick Peyton, a teenage child convicted of murdering his Marine father.

In 2014, Monaghan portrayed Adam McCormick, a modest community middle school contestant who is consumed by the death of one of his colleagues in the free show Jamie Marks Is Dead. He also starred as Usher in the tragic film The Giver alongside Brenton Thwaites, Odea Rush, Jeff Bridges and Meryl Streep. Monaghan plays the player character Cal Kestis in the 2019 computer game Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.

Debut Year: 2002 First TV (show): The Music Man (2003) Debut/Drama: The Wishing Stone (2002)

Movies:

The Wishing Stone (2002) (Alex)

Brothers in Arms (2005) (Timmy)

Desperate Hippies (2005) (Zach)

Click (2006) (Kevin O’Doyle)

The Escape Clause (2006)

The Three Investigators and the Secret of Skeleton Island (2007) (Bob Andrews)

Dream Machine (2008) (Stanley)

Dog Gone (2008) (Dexter)

Disarmed (2008) (Justin)

Safe Harbor (2009) (Larry Parker)

Running (2009) (Ryan)

The Three Investigators and the Secret of Terror Castle (2009) (Bob Andrews)

Another Harvest Moon (2010) (Jack)

Two Boys (2010) (Son)

Bad Bunny (2010) (Jack)

Prom (2011) (Corey Doyle)

Second Serve (2012) (Jake)

Jamie Marks Is Dead (2014) (Adam McCormick)

Vampire Academy (2014) (Mason Ashford)

The Giver (2014) (Asher)

Mall (2014) (Jeff)

Fantastic Men of the Year (2017) (Ross)

Amityville: The Awakening (2017) (James)

Anthem of a Teenage Prophet (2018)

Reign of Superman (2019) (Kon-El / Superboy)

Shattered (TBA) (Chris Decker)

Television:

The Music Man (2003) (Winthrop Paru)

The Adventures of Tango McNorton: Licensed Hero (2005) (Tango McNorton)

Malcolm in the Middle (2004–2005) (Chad)

Threshold (2005) (Josh Foster)

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005) (Voice)

NEED’s Declassified School Survival Guide (2005-2006) (Palmer Noid)

Criminal Minds (2006) (Jeffrey Charles)

Shorty McShorts Shorts (2007) (Andy)

Numbers (2009) (Todd)

James Gunn’s PG Porn (2009) (Young Boy 1)

The Mentalist (2009) (Elliott)

Safe Harbor (2009) (Larry Parker)

Monk (2009) (Danny Cooper)

Three Rivers (2009) (Auden Drinkwater)

Fringe (2009) (Tyler Carson)

Glades (2010) (Shane Connors)

Terrier (2010) (Cody Grice)

Shameless (2011-2021) (Ian Gallagher)

NCIS (2011) (Nick Payton)

Rizzoli & Isles (2011) (Jonathan McKenna)

Law & Order: Special Victims Unit (2012) (Eddie Sandow)

Gotham (2015-19) (Jerome Valeska / Jeremiah Valeska)

Mercy Street (2016) (Tom Fairfax)

Son of Zorn (2017) (Jeff)

Award Winning:

Young Artist Award

Teen Choice Awards

net worth:

Cameron Monaghan’s net worth has been assessed as $5 million till 2022. He is also a famous actor.

Social media accounts:

Source

The post Cameron Monaghan Net Worth, Age, Career, Wiki, Movies, Awards, Bio appeared first on Spicy Celebrity News.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

CILLIAN MURPHY MASTERLIST

main masterlist

(✧ = smut, ☾ = angst, 𖦹 = fluff, ♤ = dark)

➸ CILLIAN MURPHY

practice makes perfect | 4.5k, ✧𖦹 sugar daddy!cillian murphy (✧𖦹, drabble)

➸ JONATHAN CRANE

folie á deux | 4.5k, ✧ guinea pig | 6.1k, ✧𖦹 all yours | 3.3k, ✧ knight in shining armor | 6.1k, ✧♤

➸ NEIL LEWIS

take you down a peg | 5.3k, ✧𖦹 dark!neil lewis (✧♤, drabble) pillow princess!neil lewis (✧𖦹, drabble) visions of such sweet days (𖦹, headcanons)

➸ CHRIS O’DOYLE

dine & dash | 4k, 𖦹

➸ JACKSON RIPPNER

prove it | 3.6k, ✧𖦹 honey, i’m home | 6.1k, ✧♤

➸ ROBERT FISCHER

toeing the line | 6.8k, ✧𖦹 sub!robert fischer (✧, drabble)

➸ JONATHAN BREECH

it’s you, happy all the time | 10k, ✧☾𖦹

➸ WILLIAM KILLICK

a series of letters | coming soon… ✧☾𖦹

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

Omg I’m so happy you replied!! I definitely have more questions.

1. What Cillian character do you like writing about the most and why?

2. What story from your master list are you most proud of?

3. Do you personally have any fic recommendations/ must reads? Other sites included.

4. What gets you inspired to write? Following that question have you ever abandoned a fic?

5. What do you think made you a better writer? If you have any doubts about your work, how do you get past it enough to continue?

6. Is there a Cillian character that you just don’t like, or aren’t interested in watching/ writing about? (Sorry if that’s a loaded question)

omg thank u so much for this!!! i srsly love interacting w u guys, tysm for the thought provoking questions😄🙌

i think i like writing most about robert fischer:) ik it probably doesnt translate considering ive written most for jonathan crane but robert fischer is just such a little sweetheart to me,,, and can go both ways in being a sassy dom douchebag or being a sobbing daddy issues sub darling LOLLL i just think he has a lot of duality to delve into and develop (which ive definitely not done so far☠️) and it helps that his characterization in inception was also very surface level— i have a lot of wiggle room y’know??

i think im most proud of “dine & dash” which im aware probably no-one has read, but getting chris o’doyle’s sassy little dialogue down was like taming a wild beast,,, otherwise, considering my more well-known work, i rly liked writing “honey, i’m home”. i go crazy for the unhinged readers (if u couldnt alrdy tell lmaooo) and seeing jackson get messed with like that was a real treat.

i seriously just recommend anything by @mypoisonedvine,,, they’re literally genius & are the reason i started writing for cillian:)!! other mentions include kitten fics by @pictureinme and, a personal fave, @floralcyanidee’s jackson rippner mile-high club fic!!! these writers are all incredibly talented and im just blown away at their work every single time🫶

my thirst is such a big motivator for writing LMAO😭i wrote “guinea pig” ‘cus i wanted to absolute wreckkk jonathan crane and have him be a sub, and i got a 6.8k words long fic out of said thirst! music & book quotes motivate me a lot too— i spend sm time digging thru my pinterest for a good quote for the beginning of my fic its actually insane☠️and yes,,, im ashamed to say ive abandoned fics numerous times,,, but thats because they were series’, not oneshots. i get bored of series’ pretty quickly, ‘cause i feel kind of trapped by the initial dynamic or mood set in the first chapter. with oneshots, its like writing one long chapter of this trope and this kink or whatever and then its done, and i dont have to exhaust myself going back to tropes or kinks or storylines ive already done.

i think reading made me a better writer. expanding my vocabulary through the words of others was a biggie; seeing something be described in a certain way in someones story had me thinking of out-of-the-box ways to describe another thing (that doesn’t make much sense but lets pretend it does😭). i have many, many doubts about my work, like constantly, but i usually just suck it up. i sound like an attention whore but seeing the reposts & comments & tags on my other work reminds me people like what i’ve written before and certain people will enjoy what ive written now, so i should just finish my work for them. i also take like 100 years rereading my stuff until i think its good enough lmao,,,

ive kinda watched his whole roster of films (atleast ones i could actually find on the internet and not gone missing as a lost piece of media lmao) and i could probably write for any cillian character given i had a good idea and proper motivation. writing for certain characters is definitely harder for me to do though, so its likely i wont write for them/will take a long time to do so. an example is lenny miller— anna was such an insufferable movie to me, and lenny’s screentime wasn’t long at all, atleast not long enough for me to properly grasp his character. he just felt like a horny hardass fbi goof the whole time i could not take his 5’7 ass seriously😭cillian is smexy as hell in anna tho, so we’ll see😈another would probably be robert capa from sunshine,,, hes beautiful and deliciously musty in that but the whole spaceship setting kinda freaks me out (considering i know 0 zilch nada about space, spaceships, or anything of the sort, so it’d definitely be inaccurate). an au with him id definitely do, though! (with that hair of his my mind is already forming a 90s band au, guitarist!capa x singer!reader story…)

again thank u so much for these questions!! i feel like i rarely get to chat to u guys so this was well appreciated😄🫶thank you so much for reading, for sending these questions in, and for being an overall sweetheart, anon!

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

its that time around again: i dont know what to write so,,,, you guys can choose for me!

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

I love how you’re putting cillian murphy’s characters “on the map” lol <3

this is so kind!!! it certainly doesn’t feel that way LMAO i js feel like im sharing the thoughts rolling ‘round in this head of mine! :^) definitely tho writing for his various characters when no-one else has is super fun (and incredibly daunting!!!) and i hope it encourages others to contribute. god knows theres not enough jonathan breech or chris o’doyle fics out there!!

[cillianslvt]

is there anyone that writes for chris o’doyle? i have a fic idea

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

do you have any upcoming works? (also i ADORE your neil fic!) 💕

omg ur so kind tysm for reading🫶 as for upcoming works, i have a smut blurb for chris o’doyle (free fire) that i wanna tweak into a full length oneshot, some of a smutfic written for jonathan breech (on the edge) which im kinda on the fence abt considering the movie has rly sensitive themes (lmk if that’s something you guys want anyway) and an idea or two rattling around in my head for william killick, robert fischer, and raymond leon. thank u again for reading!!!

[cherrycranes]

The Perfect Gift (Chris x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Chris O´Doyle x Fem!Reader Summary: It´s christmas eve and you´re stuck at the airport because of the snow. Thankfully, a handsome stranger will make sure that you don´t spend your christmas alone.... Word count: 3,548 Contents: (Minors DNI). Drinking/tipsy sex, tit play, unprotected sex, cream pie, semi public sex. Author's notes: A new collab with @fuckiingloser. The draft of this fic has been in the backburner for over a month now. Also, I´m 90% sure that O´Doyle is a fan-given last name but it´s ok, it´s canon to me. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Pinterest moodboard and a playlist at the end so you can visualize!

The heels of your white tall boots clicked loudly over the near emptiness of the Boston Logan Airport. Luck was seemingly not on your side that night. It was christmas eve of 1977 and the snow storm outside had intended to hold you back for long. Your flight to Chicago had been canceled and no taxis were running this late with the weather. Against your will, you would have to spend your christmas eve and christmas morning on one of those uncomfortable terminal seats until another flight became available. 

Resigned, you walked towards a more secluded part of the dead airport. A small handful of people were asleep in chairs, smoking or reading a book. What at your arrival had been a chaotic, bustling center was now a still image of patience.

You set down your bags, thankfully a few vending machines were nearby. The packaged snacks were a far cry from a christmas dinner, but enough to keep you at ease. Quietly, you settled down on an empty chair and opened a book, the words your only company as you ate from a crinkly little bag.

The story was interesting, you had barely had time to read more than a few pages during your stay in Boston, so your curiosity aided your distraction. Time started to flow as fast as the snow outside fell. The howling wind and sometimes a few distant coughs or murmurs were imperceptible to your rolling imagination. It wasn’t until a masculine irish voice spoke to you, that you got pulled out of your trance.

“Excuse me, miss…” You looked up from the page to see a rather handsome man standing next to you. “Just wondering if this seat is taken?” He asked with a small smirk. You looked around, and confirmed that in your time distracted nothing had changed. The sea of empty seats still surrounded you. Yet, this handsome stranger wanted to sit right next to you…

You smirked back, taking in the sight of him: the shaggy brown hair, the perfect blue eyes, the sexy moustache. He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket, a button up shirt and dark pants. The preview of what you assumed to be a catholic golden medal peeked out from the confines of his shirt. He stood there with a confidence that was difficult to ignore.

“It's not taken…” You spoke with a smile, trying to not blush.

Your eyes discreetly roamed over his frame as he set down his bag and sat right next to you. The man was confident, he didn’t hesitate to face you right away and look over you, his pale blue eyes fixated on your mini skirt and the exposed softness of your legs that ended with your tall boots. Then, when his gaze went back up, he followed the curve of your black turtleneck and your chest, your lack of bra so noticeable it was almost endearing. In the end, he finally admired your beautiful face in all its glory.

“Couldn’t have a pretty thing like you all by yourself on christmas eve... So I figured I'd keep you company for the night…” The handsome stranger said with a cocky smile. 

“How sweet of you…” You replied with a soft little laugh. Any other man who would have tried that on you wouldn’t have seen such cuteness from you, but he was just so good looking and so sincere. The airport atmosphere, while quiet, was not completely empty. And he was right, you could use the company on this lonely christmas eve…

His name was Chris O’Doyle, and your ears hadn’t fooled you, he was as Irish as whiskey. Dublin born and raised and very proud of it. His deep, confident voice made you forget all about your book as you caught all his flirty hints and returned the sentiment. What a shame this was temporary, the snow canceled his flight as well, and just like you, he would wait until the morning for things to get better. The only difference was that you would get on a plane to your home in Chicago and Chris to his home in Dublin. 

“What brought you to Boston?” You asked, prompting a smile out of him.

“Just some business.” Chris said ominously, not giving any more details and no hints present in his body language. “What about you, love?” 

“I was here to see a friend for the week.” You answered simply with a little smile.

“A boyfriend?” He questioned with an eyebrow raised, curiosity and a faint mixture of caution and the foundations of healthy envy breaking a simmer in him.

“No boyfriend…” You laughed a little with a  headshake. “I was visiting a friend who just had a baby, actually.” Chris grinned at your answer, the simmer cooling off.

“Gotta say… I’m shocked that a pretty girl like you isn’t spoken for… But I guess it’s my lucky day…” It was hard to not feel the heat making your cheeks burn and the space between your legs tingle when he said that. Damn him for being so charming, and damn him for having those beautiful attentive pale blue eyes that made you understand why there was a whole song named like that. You crossed your legs in an attempt to snuff out the burning desire you had for this handsome stranger.

“I guess so…” You flirted back, and his smile grew. Goodbye to your attempt to keep your desires in check. 

Chris leaned in a bit closer to you, engulfed in the conversation and anchored to your gaze. In between words, he decided to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear very gently, the warmth brewing between you making you forget about the freezing hell outside. 

The passage of time was imperceptible in his company, the silence of the airport felt even comforting in a way, nobody to interrupt his flirty jokes, his talks about life in Ireland and his full undivided attention towards you. Not hard to believe you had grown infatuated with this handsome Irishman in the course of an hour.

“I was saving this for the plane ride...” Chris murmured, a little secret between the two of you. He reached down into his bag and pulled out a silver flask. “But I figure if we’ve gotta spend the night shacked up in the airport… We could have a little fun, hm? Whaddaya say?” 

His deep voice made everything inside you scream “yes”, but your actions just made you nod calmly with an accepting smirk. You took the flask and took a swig that made your throat burn. You coughed, whatever alcohol that was, it had nothing to do with the fun martinis and beer you were used to. Chris chuckled heartily at the face you made.

“That's real irish whiskey love. Strong stuff.” He announced really late, a laugh still echoing in his words. He took the flask from your hands and downed some of it for himself like it was water. 

Even if it had almost set your throat on fire, you sucked it up, taking turns sharing the flask with him until only one sip remained. Chris, being a gentleman, gave it to you, the last act of chivalry that survived since the whiskey made him progressively more touchy with you. His calloused fingertips brushed against your knee, then his hand gradually rested on it. Soon enough his entire palm laid comfortably over the soft flesh of your thigh, strategically positioned so it covered all your exposed skin and not the fabric of your skirt. But even tipsy and handsy, Chris still listened to you. 

“God, you’re just gorgeous…” he said somewhat out of the blue, making you smile, your face already warm thanks to the whiskey. “Pretty face… Even prettier body…” he added, his voice husky and heavily accented, caressing your ears like velvet and like his hand caressed your thigh. Your pussy immediately clenched at the touch of his rough palm. 

Chris’ attention, for the first time in a while, diverted from your face and found the clock upon the wall. It read 2 minutes after midnight.

“Well, would ya look at that? it’s christmas…” He announced, turning back to look into your eyes. “A pretty girl like you should always get a gift on christmas day…” 

His thumb rubbed slow circles over your thigh. His eyes gleamed, locked on yours.

“...and I think I have just the idea for the perfect present…” He whispered, and with that, his smile turned into a devious smirk. He stood up firmly and held his hand out to you, tempting the devils out of you.

“C'mon.. follow me, love.” Chris smiled just so charmingly, you didn’t think twice. Whiskey and charm were such a powerful tool for you. Happily, you obliged and took his hand, leaving the emptiness of the dead airport until a sign appeared in front of your eyes: Maintenance Closet. 

Chris took a chance and discovered the door was unlocked, a rush of cocky triumph running in his veins. 

“After you, love.” He practically purred to you and you made your way into the small room. Shelves of cleaning products, mops, brooms and a small desk tucked in the corner welcomed you two in between the dim light.

With the door locked behind you, Chris slowly started to back you against the wall, keeping you well placed between his chest and a safety poster hanging there.

“I-I’ve never done anything like this before… Always been a good girl...” You spoke so softly, playing the innocent angel when you knew very well your panties were getting wetter by the second. He smiled as if he could tell, one hand coming up to touch your hip and the other stroking your cheek in delight.

“Well… Being naughty gets you on my nice list...” His whisper was magnetic, imperceptibly so, you didn’t know when you leaned so close to him, to his whiskey lips. “Now let me give you that present I promised you…” 

Without another word his lips crashed against yours, his tongue slipped into your warm mouth like it belonged there and tangled with yours. Your soft hands buried in his curls for some needed leverage, desperation soaking the kiss. You groaned softly when his body pressed harder against you, sandwiching you between his torso and the wall and making you feel his hard cock through his jeans. 

You both knew just how risky this was, whoever worked in this closet would definitely come back at some unknown time, the possibility of it happening while Chris fucked you was just as slim as it was huge. But, in the very end, with your cunt clenching around nothing and his tongue swirling hotly in your mouth, you did not care at all if anyone found you. 

Chris shared the sentiment, his teeth gently nipped at your lower lip and pulled it deliciously before releasing it to whisper in your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty pussy till you come all over my cock…” He purred, his words going straight to your already aching cunt and making you moan a little. Pleased by your reaction, Chris’ hand pushed up your skirt over your hips and exposed the black lace panties underneath. 

“Mmm, you like that idea, huh?” He asked, moving to look into your eyes with a smirk. The pride of making a beautiful woman like you feel like this with mere words made his chest swell. His thumb found its way right to your clothed clit and gave it an experienced rub. The texture of the lace and the size of his fingertip sent a jolt of electricity to you, and more slick to your needy cunt.

“Fuck- you’re already soaked..” He said with a smirk. “All that because of me?” You nodded eagerly, it was the whole and only truth.

 “All for you…” You whispered back, another roll of his thumb on your clit making you moan. Chris smiled, more than satisfied with your submission. 

“You won’t be needing these anymore.” He whispered, pushing your panties down until they were a puddle on the well cleaned floor. Instinctively, you stepped out of them, and Chris couldn’t resist the temptation of picking them up and shoving them in his pocket like a thief. 

“Now as for your gift to me…” He started. “I need to see these perfect tits I've been trying not to drool over in this tight sweater of yours…” 

His bluntness made you giggle, and your inner christmas spirit made you comply with his request. Slowly, you pulled your black turtleneck up your chest, revealing that his early suspicions were very real: you had no bra on. Pale blue eyes fell from your face to your tits.

“Christ-“ He said breathlessly, his eyes wide. Your pretty tits bounced free for your sweater that now laid on the floor. “No bra… good girl.” He cooed, his large hand coming up to cup one in reverent greed, then his rough fingers grabbed your hard nipple and rolled it, earning a moan from you.

“They’re sensitive…” You whined softly.

“Mmm, I can tell love…” He whispered and did exactly what you imagined he would do: lean down and capture your nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling over it mercilessly. You gasped and buried your hands in his dark hair, his hand squeezing your other breast softly to balance things out for your sensitive tits. Quite the difficult task, as his moustache tickled the soft skin on your breasts and sent shivers down your spine and into your cunt.

You tugged on his hair, getting a groan from him and an increase in the intensity of his mouth. He sucked your nipple hungrily, letting it go with a loud pop before switching to the other side.

“These tits… Fuckin’ perfect...” He mumbled as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud. 

“Chris..” You whispered, followed by an exquisite series of moans. He hummed happily hearing you moan his name. 

Swiftly, he catched your nipple between his teeth gently, your eyes fluttering open to meet his in a silent conversation. He bit down ever so gently, the same care as if he bit his own hand. All you could do was moan loudly at the delicious junction of pain and pleasure.

“Chris, please… Need you…” You managed to beg so prettily that he released your nipple from his gentle bite. He stood up again and smirked. 

“I need you too, pretty girl…” He admitted, looking between you two at his painfully hard erection in his pants. “You’ve got me so fuckin hard…  Need to bury my cock in your wet cunt..” He growled at you, his hands yanked down his zipper and he pulled his briefs and pants off in one go. His thick uncut cock sprung free immediately, and you bit your lip at the sight.

“Big…” You whispered mindlessly, your eyes fixated on a drop of precum leaking from the head. 

“We'll make it fit baby… Don’t worry.” He groaned out, using a finger to tilt your face up. Then, he placed a hot searing kiss on your lips, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close in response. 

Chris showed off his strength to you when he picked you up effortlessly in one motion, putting your back against the wall and wrapping your legs around his hips. His hands gripped the underside of your thighs and held you up. Breaking the kiss with a wet sound, he looks between you, his eyes devouring your wet pussy before looking back up at your face.

“Are you ready for me?” He purred with a smirk. You bit your lip and nodded so obediently, it was cute.

“Good girl…” He growled, gently pushing you forward and guiding himself into your tight, hot entrance that had been ready for him ever since he said ‘hello’ hours ago… 

As his tip slid into you both moaned in unison, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. Your inner walls throb around him, slowly but surely getting used to his girth. You whimpered, letting your head fall back against the wall. 

“Fuuuuuuck…” Chris groaned loudly. “This cunt’s squeezing me so good… So tight n’ wet for me…” the lust in his voice fanned your neck and sent ripples through you, a few open mouthed kisses and nibbles following suit. He gave you the chance to adjust, more than aware of the sheer size of his cock. You felt him everywhere, almost splitting you apart, only moans came from your lips as a form of coherent sound. All your energies were focused on making his thick cock fit. At this rate, you were convinced that neither of you was going to last long.

Clinging to him, you felt him starting to move his hips, fucking you against the wall with your thighs held up. He had no time to waste, the faint rattle of the safety poster on the wall that your back hit with every thrust served as a reminder of the riskiness of it all. He pistoned his hips harder, desperate for release just like you.

“Fuck-oh-oh my god...” You babbled, he pounded relentlessly. Your cunt throbbed in racing desire against every vein and curve of his cock.

“You fuckin like it, baby?” He purred to you, his hot breath caressing your ear. His hips kept up their rhythm well. “This pussy is like heaven… It’s beggin’ me to come inside...” 

You moaned loudly at the thought, and he groaned when his cock got a tight squeeze from you. 

“Yes.. yes please…” You whimpered so desperately, pathetically but beautifully begging for a perfect stranger’s cum.

“‘Please’ what, love…? You gotta say it… Tell me what you need.” Your handsome stranger commanded between heavy breaths, fucking you hard into the closet wall. In between your blanking brain, you found the correct words in you to beg for the tight pressure in your lower stomach to turn into a needed orgasm.

“Please... Please, come deep.” You moaned, his hips pistoning in you and interrupting your speech. Chris felt his own brain short circuit at that moment, his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs.

“Fucking hell…  I’m not gonna last long…” He warned, keeping up his rhythm and leaning into your ear. “But this pretty pussy is gonna come first baby…” He then promised, nibbling on your earlobe like it was edible.

This man was pure magic, your pussy knew it. You moaned loudly at his words, not knowing what words were anymore. Your legs wrapped greedily around him and pulled him much closer, squishing your bouncing tits against his chest. A low growl of desire took over his huffs of hot air and he moved his hips harder and faster, going impossibly deep and hitting places barely explored. 

 “Oh my God…” You cried loudly, not even caring who could hear anymore. Chris was hitting all the right spots over and over again, making you melt in his strong arms. “Please…” You whimpered, clinging to him.

“Come for me… Come on my fuckin’ cock, baby…” He urged you desperately, mirroring the way he fucked you. Your eyes fluttered close, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure and finding yourself seconds away from an orgasm. His lips crashed into yours in a hot and messy kiss that just did it for your throbbing cunt.

You felt it. The pressure boiled over and your orgasm hit you hard, nearly senseless. 

“Oh fuck... Chris… I-I’m coming!” You whimpered as best as you could, letting out a series of moans against his lips. Your pussy clenched around him repeatedly, almost possessively, soaking his thick cock in your juices. Your legs around him trembled out of control, only the grip of his strong hands kept you nice and steady against the wall.

“Fuck.. me too.” He groaned loudly, his rhythm slowing down. “This pussy feels so good milking my cock..” 

Like clockwork, you felt him pulse inside you and heard his rough groan of pleasure. His hips finally stopped and he held you there, pinned against the wall, his hot cum dripping down inside you and down his softening cock. 

He rested his forehead against yours so gently, finishing. You panted heavily, reeling from the intensity and danger of what you just did and where you did it… 

“Holy shit..” He whispered after a minute, pulling out of your cunt. Carefully, he set you down on your feet and wobbling legs, the structure of your high boots keeping you steady.

Chris didn’t speak much as he pulled his jeans up and covered his well spent cock. He helped you adjust your miniskirt like a gentleman then put his hand on the wall next to your head like a flirt. The other hand was on your cheek, stroking your soft skin before leaning in to kiss you softly and sweetly. Butterflies in your chest and stomach at the gentleness.

When he pulled back, he looked into your eyes like he was trying to memorize the color of your iris, his thumbs gently brushing over your bottom lip leaving tingles on their wake. With a cheeky smile and a glint of mischief in his pale blue eyes, he spoke:

“How's that for a christmas gift, pretty girl?”

Pinterest moodboard by my dear @fuckiingloser.

Chris playlist made by me with mostly time accurate songs!