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#cillian murphy x you
queenshelby · 2 days
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Story Revival Time
Should I revive ‘The Client’???
I had some ideas about it!
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your-nanas-house · 3 months
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I have an idea for a smutty dark/Dom Tommy fic if you're open to writing it! I'm not sure on a plot but involing him wearing and keeping on his leather gloves, thank you in advance!!!
Yessssss, love it. Thank you so much! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Not a virgin anymore
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(credits to the owner of the gif)
◇ Pairing: Dark!Tommy Shelby X Finn's girlfriend!Reader
◇ Warnings: smut, age gap (both off age), fingering, dry humping, mean Tommy
◇ Summary: Tommy checks if Finn's girl is as pure as he claims.
◇ Note: Sorry if it took me so long. A huge thank you to @mrkdvidal1989 that helped me so much, you helped me so much with my mood and the writing of this. Thank you 😭 Also It's pretty much a collab.
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“I think I wanna marry her” Finn informed his brothers without being able to hold back a bright grin, his eyes scanning them as he waited for a reply, any advice or.. a comment of any kind at least.
He knew that he was quite young to think about marriage, since he hit adulthood just two years before, but the emotions he felt for this young woman were true.
As no one opened their mouths to say something, just continuing to glance at each other, Finn spoke up again ”I fookin’ love her” his mood still so eager and happy.. like a puppy in love.
Still nothing, everyone was mostly waiting for Thomas to say something, but the older man kept staring blankly at his younger brother, seated on his armchair.. legs open and arms resting there, supporting his head and cigarette as if he was lost in thoughts.
“Nothing to say?” Finn asked, getting impatient, his eyes glancing between the older ones, Tommy and Arthur.
As the youngest brother got clearly frustrated, Arthur cleared his throat.
“Hmm… you fookin’ know her for how long, eh? Nearly six months?” he reminded his brother, mocking him before being interrupted quickly
 “SO? When John married he didn’t even know Esme’s damn name!” Finn quickly pointed out, already getting riled up by the situation. 
Fin always did that. Hating how his brothers treated him because of the age difference, completely oblivious to the fact that he… was acting very childish too often for Tommy to see him as an equal to John or Arthur. 
His poorly thought-out decisions and lack of discipline when it came to listening to orders of his older brothers were playing a huge part in how Thomas viewed him. 
”Have you thought about the responsibilities that come with becoming a Shelby, Fin? Have you already introduced them to your chosen one? Risk Our ways and how we deal with things?.. Have you thought about that? Huh?” He pressed, leaning forward as his patience ran short with how snappy Fin was. Lack of respect was just another thing he despised in his younger brother.
”I-I…” The young man stammered out, looking for any line to defend himself.. unsuccessfully, making Thomas scoff while putting out his cigarette into an ashtray. 
”What’s her name again?...” He rasped out, his now free hand tapping impatiently against the fabric of the armchair, his cold gaze piercing his brother's face without a hint of any positive emotions.
“Y/n..Y/n Y/l/n” Finn replied in a murmur, his older brother’s comments affecting him more than he wished they would. 
The name kept repeating in Thomas’ head, before a cocky amused smirk cracked his serious expression.
“Now I get why yer want to marry her” he chuckled bitterly leaning forward, face to face with Finn. 
“She’s as good as her mother, eh?” he asked mockingly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey “You don’t marry whores, you just tame them, Finn. Am I right?” he asked his other two brothers with amusement in his voice, not really expecting an answer.
His mischievous mood changed quickly as Finn suddenly got up from his seat.
“She’s not!.. She’s not like her mother.. She's a good girl, goes to church, helps around and works in the local bakery." The youngest Peaky Blinder informed them, narrowing his eyes at Tommy’s reaction. Watching with a clenched jaw as the older man hummed mockingly, gulping fast down the strong drink before he spoke again, not changing his attitude.
 “A good girl, huh… I bet”, making the other laugh at Finn as well.
“It’s true! You… I’ll make you fookin’ meet her”
.
It took him just a couple of days to organise a meeting between them, inviting them all to her house. It was a pretty cosy, little, modest house settled in Small Heath. Nothing fancy but it was visible that the people living there were doing their very best to keep it nice. 
The male part of the family of Shelby's stood on the porch on the agreed day and time. 
Their expensive suits looking odd contrasting with the domestic and homey look of the building and little wooden decorations standing in the garden. 
Finn was smiling, standing at the forefront of the group while Arthur and John kept joking back and forth, in front of Tommy, whose face remained serious and uninterested as he waited. 
After knocking on the door, they didn't have to wait long before an old woman, probably in her 60s, appeared in the doorway. A friendly smile lingering on her wrinkled face that looked great accompanied by the dark pink dress she wore.
”Good morning, Mister” She spoke up seeing Finn, earning a polite smile from him. They clearly had met each other previously, so she wasn't very alarmed by the sight of four men in suits standing at the door. “Good morning, nana” Finn greeted, removing his hat for respect, cleaning his shoes before entering the familiar house, heading directly towards the living room. 
John was the next to enter the house, along with Arthur, a smirk still on his face due to the jokes they were sharing previously 
“Good morning, na— Mrs. Y/l/n” he corrected himself quickly as Arthur slapped the back of his head “Be fookin’ polite” he murmured under his breath, smiling at the older woman before kissing her hand as he bowed his head slightly “Good morning, ma’am, thank you for inviting us into your house” he stated, winking before following the direction Finn took, not noticing the weird side eye Tommy gave him as he cleaned his soles before walking in as well with the same unbothered expression. 
”Mornin’” Thomas nodded, keeping his cap on. After all he didn't come here for a tea, he had his own purpose. 
Purpose of proving Finn how wrong he was when it comes to little Y/n. 
The older woman’s eyes widened as she felt the weird, intimidating aura surrounding the middle brother. Mumbling her greeting, she quickly disappeared into the kitchen, chatting with Arthur and John as she put the kettle on the stove. 
As Finn tried to head towards the same direction, Tommy's calloused hand grabbed his shoulder roughly. Turning him to face him, he leaned to his level. The serious and business expression on his face. 
”I’m going to have a chat with your little fiancé, eh? You stay there and entertain the old woman and your brothers while I check if she is who you say she is.” he stated harshly in a fierce voice, his eyes glancing at the older woman and back at him before messing up his hair as if he was still a child. 
Ignoring completely the worried expression on his face, because Thomas was aware that Finn knew better than to ask questions. 
The younger brother stood still for a moment before nodding with a resigned expression, turning around and slowly walking away towards the kitchen. Practically leaving his girlfriend in the lion's mouth. 
It was Tommy’s first time in that house so he didn’t really know where to go, luckily for him Y/n’s soft voice led him to what it looked like a small studio. A pretty dark room, with only one window which was close, it was decorated with lots of books and a wooden desk where the young woman was standing behind, holding an old phone, busy talking with someone.
”Yes, aunty. I'll let her know” she replied with a smile, despite the fact that the person on the other side of the phone couldn't see it, her hand busy playing with the tiny golden chain with a cross. Her eyes moving from the spot she was staring at to move closer to the desk “I have to leave you now, we were supposed to have guests today.. I think they are here already” she informed her, glancing towards the door, getting startled by Tommy’s figure standing there as if he owned the place.
He didn’t say anything to interrupt her call, his gloved hands just woven together in front of him, his head tilted to the side as he watched the girl. 
“I love you too, auntie. Bye” she murmured, hanging up the call to give Tommy’s her complete attention
 “Mr Shelby— Welcome, I didn’t hear you come in…” she started, eyeing him suspiciously, her innocent girl facade. staring back at him.
“Nana doesn’t like when people wear caps inside of her house… it’s a way to show respect” she pointed out, already a bit annoyed by his attitude. Thomas chuckled hearing her words, as he adjusted the peaky cap on his head.
”Nana didn't offer me a cup of tea, which isn't really polite either, eh?” He spoke up with a hint of mockery before entering her room and closing the door behind, making sure to lock it.
“She’s probably still preparing it, we have fresh baked cookies, though.” Y/n pointed out as her expression softened. Her demeanour changed as she tried to keep her temper down. It should have been a calm day but a lot of things that set her off happened, so she wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with Tommy fucking Shelby.
Be proper, Y/n thought just like she was always told. Plastering a small smile on her face, her eyes moving from Thomas’ face to the door and back. “They are in the living room, sir,” 
Tommy chuckled at her words, walking slowly further into her room, looking around with a grin as he hummed. 
“That's one way to decorate a girl's room, eh?” He scoffed, eyeing her suggestively, touching the colourful figurines standing on shelves. ”Definitely furnished to be a whore's own.” he casually pointed out, checking the books casually. “Guess they paid your mom good enough, huh? Family business it is, sweetheart?” the older man moved his gaze towards her standing form, smirking amused at her blank stare.
“Pardon?” she stuttered out through her utter shock, her head tilting  to the side.“You here to disrespect a dead woman, Mr Shelby? If so.. You can fucking leave!” she spat out angrily, staring blankly at him for a couple of minutes before sighing and looking away, playing nervously with her cross while she headed to the door.
“My condolences… I’m here because of the sick idea you put in my little brother’s head” Tommy spoke in an emotionless tone, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.. Lighting one without even asking for approval.
“Finn talked about you quite a lot lately, speaking about how pure, innocent, religious… and a good girl you are. You got him quite smitten, eh?” Thomas pointed out after inhaling deeply, his hand rubbing his chin “Well… what I was wondering about was how much of this is actually true.” He murmured, meeting her gaze with a smirk as he moved closer, hand reaching for her chin. “How much of a little saint you actually are, eh? Sweetheart.” he added, blowing out the smoke in her face, his fingers digging painfully into her skin as she looked into his empty, blue eyes. 
Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at his harsh tone, her eyes narrowing as her mouth remained shut. Struggling in his grip, she tried to free herself, unsuccessfully. 
She was losing her patience quite quickly and it wasn't something that happened frequently… but there she was, angrily standing in front of what was the most feared man of Birmingham.
“I am.. I'm.. intact, if that's your concern, Mr. Shelby” She informed him in a sarcastically pleasant tone, a hint of harsh arrogance clear as day, caused by how annoyed she was by the conversation they were having. 
Her small hands curling into fists, squeezing tightly when Tommy just nodded almost mockingly, his icy stare moving across her body slowly, carefully measuring each part of her body. Not worried about gentlemanly manners, Thomas stared, as if he was checking her out.
“Sure” he simply said, the tone of his voice intact, but the look in his blue eyes wasn't trying to hide how little he believed her. Putting out his cigarette, he threw it on the floor while keeping eye contact, showing disrespect to her words and the place she lived. Simply because he could. 
Y/n gasped at his behaviour, quickly moving towards his silhouette as she pushed her finger against his chest, threatening.
“I fucking am, fucking check if you don’t believe me.” she whispered yelled, staring in his eyes boldly as he looked down at her, not a single emotion visible on his face. Almost like he was a statue carved from stone.
Tommy’s eyebrows raised slightly, his cold stare piercing her own, before lowering down to her chest which kept heaving with her deep breaths, caused purely by the anger she felt. 
His hand moved to the edge of her dress, grabbing onto the fabric as he tried to raise it up, making Y/n realise his intention quickly and act impulsively… her hand made an impact with his cheek suddenly, throwing his face to the side slightly. Only after a second she realised what she's done, eyes widening in fear at the sight of his skin turning red.
The loud noise echoing in the room, as Tommy’s, now, dark gaze met her fearful eyes. Not a word was exchanged as his hands grabbed her roughly when she tried to escape from him, manhandling her smaller body harshly against the wooden surface of the desk. One hand kept her body flat against it, pressing painfully on the centre of her back, while his other gloved hand pulled up her dress.. revealing her white panties to him.
A hum of approval escaped his lips as he kneaded her flesh, ignoring her whimpers and pleads to stop. The view in front of him, so strangely innocent and pure, made his cock hardening in his pants, in a quite painful way. 
Lowering his icy eyes with his hand he moved her thighs apart, rubbing slowly two thick fingers against her clothed folds.
”Look at that, already wet” he cooed mockingly as he moved his fingers, spreading her wetness by using the fabric of her panties. 
His left hand digging in the flesh of her covered back, to hold her down and to keep his urges under control. It took much more self-control than he thought it would, not expecting that a girl that pretty would take interest in his inexperienced little brother.
Her eyes were tightly shut, forcing her mouth to stay closed, to make sure she wasn't making any noises. Her mind was a mess as his hands travelled down her heat, touching the places that nobody else ever saw. 
As soon as his thumb pressed on her clit, her hips involuntarily jerked forward as she bit her bottom lip, trying to muffle the sigh that so desperately tried to escape her lips.
”So needy, eh? What would your grandma think?” Thomas chuckled, feeling how her body tensed, her hands trying to reach him, and push him off, unsuccessfully.
The young woman was so focused on trying to make him stop that she didn’t notice the moment when he pulled her panties to the side, allowing the cold breeze of the room to hit her wet bare pussy. 
“No, please– sir!” she yelled in a moment of panic, Tommy’s free hand quickly covering her mouth as he toyed with her folds, opening her so that he could take a look that sent shivers down his spine. That sure was a pretty pussy, he thought while daring to move his index finger to her entrance. 
Her sweet nectar wetting his gloved hand, making it even more noticeable “Look at you, sweetheart” he cooed mockingly again, as his finger pushed slightly deeper, in need to find out the truth.
Angling it slightly to the side, with a tip of his digit he could feel the thin barrier that was in the way of her tight tunnel.
Shaking his head, he leaned towards her, his wet lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
”So innocent, aren't you? Such a small, untouched cunt.” He breathed out, the urge to fuck her becoming increasingly stronger.
Letting out a breath, he pressed his index finger inside without even warning her… just grunting quietly into her ear, as she bit down his hand because of the pain.
So tight and warm, he thought. Tommy could feel how wet she was as he moved his gloved finger against her walls, biting on his bottom lip as he kept going further.
By the way she was moving it looked like it hurt her, as if she was feeling the burning sensation. One felt by a pure woman when her cherry was about to be popped.
“I guess you were right, honey” Tommy hummed, now circling her clit with her gloved hand, his middle finger helping his index one to feel her hymen before pressing against it harshly. Leather covering his hands caused his fingers to appear even thicker, stretching her pussy out so much that they both had to fight the urge to groan at the feeling. 
Tommy's cock was fully hard at this point, leaking with precum into his underwear as his fingers explored the depths of her virgin pussy.
His eyes daring to close, so that his mind could wander in places it shouldn’t. The mere thought of his thick cock wrapped and squeezed for dear life by her pussy was driving him wild, making his finger start to thrust faster as he moved his hips against nothing, just unable to fight the fantasy that he was inside of her precious cunt.
“Fuck, that’s it, honey” he praised, moving his wrist in a quick motion, leaning closer again. His hot breath hitting her neck with each exhale. ”I knew you were a little slut.” He rasped out in a shaky voice, struggling to keep his composure while feeling her pussy clench down on his fingers like a vice. 
“Can feel your filthy cunt squeezing my fingers. Yer fookin’ close, aren’t ye?” he growled in a low tone, parroting back mockingly her noises of pleasure. 
Y/n cried out at the humiliation and the overwhelming feeling in her lower belly. Despite her desperate attempts to not give into it, she couldn't fight it as he kept fucking her with his thick, gloved fingers.
”Give it to me. Stop fighting it.” He commanded through his teeth, as he felt his cock throbbing impatiently in his pants, demanding attention. 
”N-no!” She pleaded quietly, trying her best to suppress the tension that pushed her on the edge of her first orgasm. Breathing deeply, she caught his wrist, trying to stop him, but Tommy just laughed quietly. 
”There you go” He whispered, leaving a small kiss on her temple before shoving his fingers knuckle deep, fucking her with hard and quick strokes, curling his fingers up to hit her g spot with each thrust. 
His other hand was clamped over her mouth, which she ended up biting as he made her cum so hard, that just a couple seconds into the orgasm, her body shook and vision went blurry as her juices shot out on his hand, wetting his glove when she squirted for the very first time in her life. 
Y/n’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she trembled, muscles relaxing as the feeling got… way too much. She was too long gone in her pleasure to notice at first the sound of his belt clicking open, the zip of his pants being pulled down with the fabric, so that his cock was finally free. 
After licking his gloves from her wetness, he grabbed a hold of her hips, pressing his rock hard cock against her flesh, hsi eyes fluttering shut when he started to move his hips. Grinding at an animalistic pace, his main goal his own pleasure.
He needed to rub his cock, keeping it squeezed tightly between their bodies, for a couple of minutes to finally shoot his load on her lower back.
As they both breathed heavily, he moved carefully away from her, gathering his cum with his hand to shove it in her mouth before fixing his suit and walking out of the room without a word.
He walked followed with the same powerful aura, at a fast pace towards the front door 
“Let’s go” Thomas ordered his brothers while walking to the front door, patting Finn’s shoulder with a serious expression 
“She’s not a virgin… anymore” he informed him as he stole a cookie and walked out, nodding at the old lady with a crooked grin. 
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Taglist:
@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher, @sleepycreativewriter, @mrkdvidal1989
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The Layers of Thomas Shelby - Frozen Fear (one-shot)
Synopsis: Fear was an emotion Tommy elicited in others. He never thought he'd feel it himself. Not like that. Never like that... 
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader
Genre: angst, slight fluff
Warnings: graphic descriptions of blood, injuries, kidnapping, swearing, death not sticking to canon whatsoever :)
Word count: 3028
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Fear was something Thomas Shelby was intimately acquainted with. He elicited it and made others tremble to their very core with just a glance or a whisper of his name from someone else’s lips. Fear was as much a shadow in his life, as his daughter who followed him around wherever she could.
But fear was also what he felt in that exact moment as he stared at the bloodied napkin on his table, the silver locket he’d gifted Y/N when their child had turned one inside it, a simple note of “For Angel” attached to it.
Sadie was tight asleep on his chest when he’d received the damned box. Y/N had taken her to Ada’s so she could have the day to herself, get her body pampered, do up her hair and maybe spend a bit of money on some new shoes or a winter coat as a birthday present from him. If she’d asked, Tommy would’ve bought her the Eifel tower, and she’d bloody well deserve it. Valentine's was coming up, after all.
He was so proud of her. Despite the certain things that’d happened, he wouldn’t want anyone else to share a life with. She’d picked up the broken pieces Grace had left his heart in and mended it with gold. But gold didn’t matter at that moment when he didn’t know where she was. Where her body was.
When Frances had brought in the box that’d been left by the doorstep, Sadie had been softly snoring on his shoulder for the better part of an hour while he ran tired blue eyes over the logs of the previous week.
He thanked her, his voice a whisper to not stir his toddler, before cautiously examining the square. When he opened it, Tommy swore his heart stopped beating. Or he wished it did. Because it wasn’t like that time when Grace’s boyfriend had taken Y/N, or like that time she’d gotten mugged behind a shop. No. This time, he knew she was dead, and he wished he was too.
It took all of his self-control to ring up his brothers and tell them to get to Arrow House right that second. It took all of his restraint not to shout or scream, the only thing tethering him to earth and sanity his pride and joy asleep in his arms.
When Arthur and John got to his home office, Tommy simply threw them the note, his eyes trained on the small oval locket, thumb tracing the inscription upon it, smearing blood more and more over his own hands.
“Find her.” Those were the only words he uttered.
For a brief second, he’d glanced up and saw terror rush through the eyes of his brothers; he knew how much the two loved his wife, they loved her like they loved Ada and Polly, so without a second to spare, they ran back out, no doubt to gather every Blinder and search every nook and cranny while he clutched the brown-haired girl to his chest, the silver locket clutched in his other palm.
He wasn’t a religious man, didn’t even necessarily believe what his gipsy ancestors did or even his aunt Pol, but at that moment he turned his head to the ceiling and prayed to whoever might listen, old gods and new, Norse and Greek and Slavic – anyone that would hear his pleas.
Tommy thought back to every time Y/N had smiled at him, had laughed and filled his world with light. He even thought back to all those insane moments where he felt like his jaw would snap with how hard he’d been clenching it because of some stupid thing she’d done. He wished he’d appreciated those moments more because when two hours later Arthur came back to the house, the coat his wife had been wearing that morning in his hands, soaked and dripping freezing water onto the Turkish carpet, Tommy knew she was gone.
***
Her whole world consisted of cold, nothing else. It was the only thing she could feel, taste and sense. Was there anything to sense? Y/N didn’t know. She didn’t even fully believe her legs were still attached to her body, but somehow she was making her way across the field.
Time had become a concept she couldn’t comprehend, and the only thing that showed it had passed was the ever-changing position of the moon - her only companion through the long journey.
She had stopped shaking a while back, which it didn’t take her being a genius to know meant trouble if she didn’t find a way to get warm, but even that didn’t matter. Nothing but getting home did. If she had to die, she wanted to do it there, not somewhere in a ditch let alone beneath the frozen surface of the lake where Luka Changretta had dumped her.
He thought she’d been dead. He’d slit her throat, but not before ripping off the beautiful little necklace Tommy had gifted her.
“So he has something to remember you by,” the Italian mobster had given her a mocking smile before taking a knife from his side and slicing it across her neck.
The pain had been blinding, knocking all sense of reality out of her mind. She knew it would be the end. When her body lifted above the chair she’d been tied to, when her back greeted plush leather seats, her blood staining them forever. She knew she would die sooner or later. Then sweet blackness greeted her.
But death was a lot more painful than what it’d been described to be like in all the books she'd read and edited, especially the wound in her throat. Her breaths were white-hot knives dragging down her oesophagus and her lungs were on fire with each shallow take of air.
Through a haze, Y/N heard Italian being spoken before two rough hands grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her out of the car.
Her body hit the frozen ground with a thud, and it took every bit of remaining brainpower not to whimper from the pain. The winter air stung every piece of her body inside and out, caressing her with icy nails.
Slowly her mind was coming to, the cold sobering her up, but when someone took her wrists and another took her by the ankles, setting her flying, it was the frozen surface of the lake she cracked through that awoke her completely.
Y/E/C eyes flew open, murky depths of the water greeting her while every nerve and cell in her got shocked. Instinct told her to swim up, get a breath, and get out of the water before it pulled her under, but with the mightiness of a Norse goddess, Y/N suppressed all that and allowed the lake to gently pull her down, and her mind finally started to understand what’d happened.
They thought she was dead and decided to throw her body in some lake, probably hoping it would freeze over before she floated to the top and would remain that way until the very spring, prolonging the pain for her family.
The thought of her family grieving her was the only thing keeping Y/N from not trashing below the still surface. Instead, she slowly slipped her arms out from the coat and let it move to the top, while she sunk lower and lower.
Soon enough her feet touched the slimy earth below, which is when she once more opened her eyes and glanced up. There wasn’t really anything to see, apart from the light of the moon streaming in through the broken place where her body had been thrown and two retreating headlights.
Y/N waited two more seconds her whole being in shock and begging to get out and away from the cold when she pushed upwards and broke the surface. She gulped the air down in greedy takes, not caring about her split neck or the trembling of her body - at that moment all she cared for was air.
Her teeth were chattering so hard she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, afraid it might get caught between them and she’d bite it off. Swishing her head around, she looked if the ice had broken anywhere else. Out. She needed to get out. And to whatever god had taken pity on her after everything, underneath a small makeshift pier where kids would come and fish, the ice had cracked right to the very edge.
She knew every second spent in the water was a second closer to hypothermia, so as quick as her frozen limbs would allow, she swam to the land. It was a hand’s stretch away when another pair of headlights came into view. Y/N cursed and instead of getting out of the lake, she ducked underneath the wooden planks, pressing a palm to her mouth, so whoever it was wouldn’t notice the air steaming up in the air from her mouth.
Her ears were ringing, so Y/N couldn’t hear whatever the men were talking about, only see how they fished out her coat and took it with them. They left another minute later, and she swore at whoever it was for costing it to her. Home. She needed to get home and fast, but she couldn’t be seen, couldn’t let Changretta know he’d half-assed her murder and she’d survived. He wouldn’t do so again, so Y/N waited another bone-chilling minute, checking if any car passed by again.
And then she got out, her dress clinging to her body, hair against her face, matted with seaweeds and blood, one heel of her boot snapped off – a wraith come to life and ready to haunt.
The first step was agonising, and Y/N collapsed underneath her weight, needles piercing her feet. Her knees bruised and scraped raw against the stony earth as did her hands, but she welcomed the pain, let it ground her, and used it to remind herself – pain meant she was alive. No pain would be the real problem.
Y/N wrapped her hands around her body, digging her nails into her biceps, each step an arduous labour. Small pebbles cut the soles of her feet; she’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way; her bones ached from the very inside and each breath was a task, the wound in her neck, although scabbed over, split with every small movement, small streams of blood trickling down and staining her white dress.
Lights were visible in the distance, even as her vision blurred more and more, the small bright dots becoming stretched-out beams before everything tilted and she was staring up at the sky.
The stars were magnificent, she thought. You couldn’t really see them shine like that in the city. Even with Arrow House being further away from the centre, the beauty of it didn’t compare to that of the open field.
Her mind went back to Tommy, to how they met, how they used to bicker about every single thing and to that first morning she’d woken up beside him and instead of finding his pillow cold, a strong arm had been wrapped around the middle, his nose hidden in her hair.
Neither mentioned it a few hours later at breakfast, but it’d been the day things slowly had started to shift. Then she’d gotten shot, and the switch had completely been flipped. All those glances they’d shared, the soft smiles and tiny touches were no longer hidden, but out on full display. His hand now always gravitated to touch any part of her, they fell asleep facing one another, most times Y/N using Tommy’s chest as a pillow. And then someone else came along and used his chest as a pillow, his heartbeat as a lullaby and his eyes as the ocean to pull them in and never let go.
She’d been scared to become a mom, but even with that, she’d never seen Tommy so absolutely terrified. When Y/N had gone into labour, she thought he would pass out, but he swallowed the fear and stayed with her. Despite Ada being adamantly against a man being present during “women’s business”, she’d threatened to break her neck if she so much as looked at Tommy, Polly snorting beside her.
“He put me in this position, and by God, he will be here,” Y/N had sneered at her sister-in-law before a contraption rippled through her body and she almost crushed her husband’s hand.
But then the pain went away and a small wriggling person was placed on her chest. She’d never seen Tommy fully break down before that.
“Huh,” Ada had shrugged. “So he does have a heart.”
She’d promptly received a smack from Polly and Y/N for that comment, but Tommy had chuckled.
“No, I don’t.” He’d leaned in and pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple. “These two stole it a long time ago.”
After that day, it wasn’t uncommon to find Tommy either in his office or even in their bed with Sadie sound asleep on his chest. She just about melted each time.
But now all that stared back at her was the cloudless winter sky. Y/N wanted to sob at the thought she’d never see Tommy’s blue eyes anymore or fix the way Sadie’s curls framed her face, but every little movement was agonising, so she just laid there, staring at the cosmos and waiting for that black void to get her.
***
When Y/N came to she was confused as to why there was so much yelling when being dead, why her head was pounding and her body was racked by violent shivers.
“You undressed my fucking wife!” A deep voice boomed from somewhere very far away it seemed while at the same time, the noise echoed in her skull, rattling her brain.
“Oh, would you have liked me to have left her in that frozen fucking dress?” A deep, gruff one replied. “She was already hypothermic, but by all means, you’d rather no one saw her in her knickers than be alive.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Solomons!”
That name being said snapped her eyes open, which was a big fucking mistake, as even the warm light from a candle by the bed and from the fireplace was enough to make Y/N feel like she was looking directly at the sun and burning her retinas.
Another horrible shiver went through her frame, her teeth chattering nonstop. Pins and needles were running all over her skin and Y/N curled up in a ball as if trying to not let any of the heat she’d managed to get back escape, but that only made her feel more pain, a groan escaping her mouth. That small noise was enough though for the door to be busted open and for two men – one lean and tall, the other a burly, beard-covered menace to rush inside.
Tommy was by her in an instant, a careful palm placed on her cheek.
“Don’t try to talk,” his own voice was that of a whisper. “The wound’s pretty rough.”
If it didn’t feel like it’d hurt like hell, Y/N would’ve just rolled her eyes, but all she could do was squeeze them shut as shivers went through her body. When Tommy saw that, he was instantly on his feet, going for the fireplace and adding more logs to the dwindling flames.
When he turned around, Y/N had slid her shaking hand from underneath the duvet and extended it to him, a silent plea for him to come back.
It didn’t take much more than that for Tommy to take off his jacket and suit, not caring about the company in the room, his trousers following until he was in his breeches, sliding into the bed, wrapping her frozen body with his own warmth.
A groan escaped her mouth, as she clung to him, Tommy releasing a string of expletives when sensing just how cold Y/N actually was.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead and tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
Gently, he intertwined her legs with his, and his fingers went to card through her matted strands, the motion more so calming him down, than her.
He’d put their daughter in bed after calling for Polly to come, with the thought Y/N was dead, his whole being a numb void. He’d thought the only time he’d ever get to see her again was after her body was found, that was if it’d be in a recognisable condition, so he’d take her frozen feet against his calves, her cold lips against his chest and stiff fingers digging painfully in his sides, as long as it meant she was alive.
At some point, after Alfie and Tommy exchanged words, Solomons left, and they spent the whole night and early morning like that, tangled in one another until Y/N was no longer cold or more appropriately would snap her tongue off if she so much as opened her mouth. She still couldn’t speak despite how Alfie had cleaned and stitched the wound in her neck, but she could write.
Alfie had brought a pen and paper upon Tommy’s request so they could communicate and the first and only word she scribbled was “home”.
“We’ll go home soon,” Tommy promised. “Arthur’s just… taking care of a few things.”
To that Y/N just nodded; she didn’t need any more explanations.
She took the pencil again and flipped to a new page. “Alfie has shitty sheets.”
Tommy chuckled, tightening the grip he had around Y/N’s waist. “He does, doesn’t he? You’d think the fucker could afford silk by now. Did he even change them before he put you in the bed?”
She just smiled and nuzzled closer to Tommy pressing her no longer cold nose to his chest and breathing in his scent, as he cradled her nape.
Y/N could hear the rapid thuds of his heart. When he'd first joined her in the bed, it'd been racing like one of his horses, stuttering and trying to find a beat, but now it was a steady song, matching her own.
No longer were they afraid.
Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): 
Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @m-a-t-91​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​ @strangersstranger​
Thomas Shelby tags: @datewithgianni​ @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @screemqueen​ @mrsmalfoyshelby​ @theamuz​ @lyarr24​
A/N: sooo, it's been a while, hasn't it? Just wanted to drop something for the upcoming Valentines :)
P.S. hope you liked this :)
P.S.S. please don’t plagiarise my work and repost it/ translate it on other platforms (wattpad etc). re-blogs are very welcome
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floralcyanide · 8 months
Text
𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 - 𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲
cillian murphy x f!eader (nsfw)
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In which your breeding kink comes to light and causes a night full of undying pleasure with your boyfriend, Cillian.
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warnings: smut, breeding kink, nipple play, kind of mentions the idea of breastfeeding (not by Cillian lol), biting, choking, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), pussy slapping, dirty talk, fingering, tongue-fucking
word count: 2039
author’s note: warning I didn't read this after I wrote it so if it flows weird or has repetition or anything, I'm sorry lol I just needed to post this for ya'll!! please reblog/ like or comment if you enjoyed it, I love feedback < 3
main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here
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Your head is in CIllian’s lap, his fingers carding through your hair gently as the two of you watch a movie. The lighting is dim, candles are lit throughout the living room, and an almost empty bottle of wine sits on the coffee table. You’ve got a slight buzz, and Cillian’s massaging of your scalp is making you dizzier. Kids run and play in the movie you’re watching, and suddenly, a thought pops into your head and comes straight out of your mouth.
“I want kids someday.”
You freeze, holding your breath for Cillian’s response.
You feel a hum rumble through your boyfriend as he continues to play in your hair, “Really?”
“Yeah,” you say, rolling over on your back so your face was toward the ceiling, “I mean, maybe.”
“It’s life-changing. It can be rough, but it’s a beautiful experience raising children,” Cillian admits, looking down at you.
The thought of mothering Cillian’s children sends chills across your body and warmth in your belly. You know he’s probably content with his two sons and couldn’t possibly want more children, but the mere idea of him cumming in you with a purpose turns you on. You have a breeding kink but have yet to bring it up to Cillian, as it’s a risky type of kink. Even though the two of you are in a committed and established relationship, neither of you has ever brought up the topic of having kids together. And going through with the breeding aspect of the kink entails the possibility of pregnancy. At this point in your partnership, though, you don’t bother using protection anymore as you trust each other wholeheartedly. Birth control is still used, however. You don’t have to have kids, of course, but the carnal need to be filled up by someone you love deeply is thrilling to think about.
“I know you’re well past wanting any more kids,” you say, looking Cillian in his enthralling eyes, “So it’s not something I think about too often.”
“I’m open to the idea, but if this is something you really want, we should definitely discuss it,” Cillian says, tracing his thumb along your jawline.
“It’s more or so the process of having kids that has always intrigued me,” you purse your lips, trying to think of how to get your desires across to him.
“You mean sex?” Cillian chuckles, “This sure is an interesting way of asking.”
You roll your eyes, smacking his stomach lightly, “Yes, but that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
You sit upright, moving over to straddle CIllian’s lap before grabbing his face and kissing him deeply. 
Pulling an inch away from his lips, you press yourself into him, “I want you to fuck a baby into me.”
“But-”
“I want you to breed me like an animal in heat,” you whisper, dragging your thumb across Cillian’s bottom lip, “Fill me up with your cum.”
Cillian clears his throat, “I think I know what you’re hinting at here.”
“And?” you search his eyes for any inkling of distaste.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, my love,” Cillian shakes his head, snaking his arms around your waist as he stands up.
You wrap your arms and legs around him as he kisses you again, teeth clashing against yours. He nearly bumps you into the wall on the way to the bedroom, but you’re too focused on the feeling of Cillian’s mouth and his tongue lapping yours to really care. Finally arriving in the bedroom, Cillian drops you on the bed on your back, dragging you to the edge of the mattress by your ankles. You let out a squeal as he does so, giddiness shrouding you. The bedroom basks in soft light from the nightstand lamp, bringing out Cillian’s taut facial features. He focuses his weight on his hands, which are pressed into the bed at the sides of your head. He hovers over you, his icy blue eyes now darker around his blown pupils.
“A breeding kink, hmm?” Cillian smirks, leaning into your ear, “That’s hot. Good thing I’m into it as well.”
Shivers promptly cover your body in goosebumps as Cillian nips the shell of your left ear, sliding his tongue across your earlobe before taking it into his mouth. He bites it gently before pressing his lips to where your jaw meets your neck, cascading kisses along your skin. Your arms find themselves wrapped around Cillian’s shoulders as he travels to your neck with his searing lips. He then bites and sucks bruises on the column of your throat, marking you as his. Removing your sleep shirt, Cillian finds you have already shed your bra at some point in the evening. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he stares at your breasts, eyes hungry for you. Cillian then puts all his weight onto your abdomen, moving both his hands from around your head to grasp at your chest. He caresses his index fingers over your nipples, exhaling a satisfied laugh when they perk up immediately. Cillian dives his head down, taking your right nipple between his lips and slowly flicking his tongue across the sensitive bud. You groaned, unable to squeeze your legs together for friction as Cillian’s chest was between them. The other nipple is being lightly pinched, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He continues focusing on your breasts, gradually getting rougher and harder with twists and bites.
“Wanna see your beautiful tits swollen with milk,” Cillian mutters, leaving bite marks on the skin around your areola.
His words cause you to become wetter, your hips involuntarily thrusting into Cillian’s, “Fuck, Cill.”
He massages your breasts, squeezing them and pushing them upward as he plays with your nipples. 
“Need you to touch me, please,” you whine, your chest becoming sensitive.
Cillian moves down to your stomach, kissing and swirling his tongue around your belly button, “Gonna make your stomach nice and big with my baby.”
Cillian pulls down your lounge pants, tossing them to the floor. He grabs your hips, his thumbs anchoring you to the mattress as his breath fans across your damp underwear.
“So wet for me already? Ready to take me and let me fill you up?” Cillian nips at the skin of your thighs, his eyes not moving from yours.
“Yes,” you whimper, unable to wiggle your hips from his grip on them, “Need you inside me.”
“Need to prep you first, love,” Cillian kisses the wet spot of your underwear before pulling them off.
His tongue licks a fat stripe from your entrance to your swollen bundle of nerves, his beautiful lips encircling it as he lightly sucks it between his teeth. You can’t help but let out a deep moan at the contact, impatiently wishing he’d fuck you with either his fingers or his cock already. But of course, Cillian loves to tease and take all you have to offer before giving you what you want. He releases your clit, now focusing on your soaking entrance as he laps up your arousal there, pushing his tongue inside you. Cillian moves your hips upward so his tongue delves deeper into you, causing your toes to curl. Suddenly, a finger slides in underneath his tongue, exploring your g spot. You tremble at the feeling as pleasure courses through your veins. Then, Cillian adds another digit as he begins to fuck you with his fingers and tongue simultaneously. You thrust your hips as his free hand guided you to mercilessly ride his tongue and two middle fingers. You can feel the pressure of an orgasm creeping up on you, but you don’t want to cum yet.
“I need you inside of me,” you struggle to speak, your mind cloudy with lust.
Cillian slowly removes himself from your needy pussy, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. He takes off his shirt, followed by his lounge pants and underwear. His length is hard against his stomach, leaking and ready for you.
“On your hands and knees, darling,” Cillian orders, and you hurry to the top of the bed, hugging a pillow as you lean down and jut your ass in the air. 
Cillian flattens his hand on your shoulder blades, running his palm along your spine until it reaches your ass, where he gently squeezes. He spreads you open with both hands and your arousal glistens in the moody light of the bedroom. 
“Soaked and ready for this cock, huh?” Cillian pushes your back down even further until your chest and abdomen are flush with the bed.
“Yes, sir,” you say, quivering with anticipation.
Cillian aligns himself with your core, sliding his head along your wetness, gathering enough for him to push in slowly without struggle. Your walls clench around him tightly as he inches into you. Finally, Cillian’s hips are against your ass, and he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in. 
“Fuck,” you sneer, fingernails digging into the pillow.
“Taking me so well,” Cillian grunts, slamming into you again, “Gonna slam my cock into your womb and fill it up with my cum.”
You whine into the pillowcase as his rhythm increases, your body rutting into the mattress. Suddenly, a slap lands on your cunt, causing you to jolt and clench harder around Cillian’s length. 
“That feel good?” Cillian leans over you, his face now next to yours, “You’re so wet, I can feel you gushing around me.”
You moan loudly into the pillow as he pounds into your cervix, his head dragging along your g spot flawlessly with every thrust. Cillian slaps your clit over and over with the same rhythm as his thrusts, making you cry out. He grabs a fistful of your hair as he sits back up, pulling your head from the safety of the plush pillow.
“I wanna hear you, sweetheart. I wanna hear you take my cock like the cum-hungry slut you are,” Cillian says, pulling your hair harshly.
“God, fuck,” you scream as he thrusts particularly deep inside you, “I’m your slut. I need you to cum in me, Cill. So bad,” you whimper.
His pace becomes relentless, his hips snapping into your asscheeks forcefully as he takes you from behind. But he then pulls out, lets go of your hair, and flips you over on your back, and you nearly scream from frustration at the sudden emptiness. Cillian wastes no time pulling your legs onto his shoulders and rentering you, grabbing your hips and pulling them forward so he can fuck you as deep as possible. He slaps your sensitive and red clit again, over and over, before reaching his hand around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, dizzying you as he slams his cock into your cervix almost violently. You were definitely going to be sore tomorrow.
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp as Cillian grasps your breasts, harshly pulling and twisting your hard nipples.
“Do you want me to finish fucking this baby into you? Gonna milk my cock as you cum and feel me fill you up to the brim> Is that what you want?”
“Yes, please! Please, fuck, fill me up, Cillian. I need you so bad,” you moan, throwing your head back.
“Fuck,” Cillian growls, snapping his hips up, hitting you at a new and delicious angle.
It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm, as Cillian gives you one last particularly harsh slap to your clit before rubbing it vigorously. He soon follows with his own, his warm seed filling you as your walls milk him for every drop. Cillian runs his hand down your body until he pulls out, arousal and cum seeping out of you. He gathers some on his fingers before shoving them into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his digits, tasting a hint of yourself mixed with CIllian’s cum. 
“Did you want me to take my pill tonight?” you say after catching your breath and letting Cillian collapse beside you.
“Only if you want to,” he says, “But I think we’d have a beautiful child.”
You chuckle before rolling on your side and tossing your arm over his warm chest, “That we would.”
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taglist:
@baizzhu @aporiasposts @queenshelby @hjmalmed @amanda08319 @naty-1001 @orijanko @raineeace
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red-riding-wood · 2 months
Text
I Want You to Want Me
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Pairing: Neil Lewis x F!Reader
Fandom: Watching the Detectives
Summary: Neil receives a frantic call and finds you outside of Gumshoe after a date night gone wrong. Secretly habouring feelings for you ever since the two of you met, he finds you oddly irresistable in your tears and torn fishnets.
Warnings: SMUT, mutual pining, dub-con touching, dryhumping, riding, foreplay, teasing, begging (m), masturbation (m), clothed sex (semi), Neil being a wet paper towel, so just Neil being Neil, pervy Neil, switch!Neil, slight dom but mostly sub!Neil because c'mon guys it's NEIL, slight dom!reader, body worship, public sex (technically?), premature ejaculation (sort of?), angst, some fluff? by my standards anyway lol so take that with a grain of salt -- this ended up being more wholesome than I thought it would be
Inspired by this cover of I Want You To Want Me (the reader's song) and Creep (Neil's song) by Radiohead.
Huge thanks to @your-nanas-house for getting me started with a prompt for this and cheering me on!
Totally nicked the "jock boyfriend" inspo from @cillianmesoftlyyy's fic here; go check that out if you want more spicy Neil content, because it was fantastic!
And thank you and also fuck you to @rysko for dramatically beta reading this in my ear WHILE I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE HEADER
And now that I'm done thanking every fic writer on tumblr, my parents, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds, and Saturn and all of its rings, enjoy your filth!
WC: 4239
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He found you outside the back door of Gumshoe, huddled against the concrete step, the cool air of the spring night nipping at the wet tears that streaked your cheeks, the slight breeze stirring a shiver from one fretful limb to the next. The whites of your eyes burned red beneath the faint glow of the lanterns atop the neighbour’s picket fence. It wasn’t exactly the most incognito place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t have a key to Neil’s store, and it was nearly three in the morning. 
“Hey, I got your call. What’s going on?” A familiar voice broke the pitiful sounds of your sobbing, and the tension of your shoulders eased if only slightly at the mere sound. 
You tried to answer past your sobs, but found that your words came only in hiccups, in broken fragments of your splintered heart, and it didn’t take long for him to sweep an arm around your shoulders, lowering himself to sit beside you on the cold step. Instinctively, you found yourself leaning into his touch, trembling against the warmth of his body. 
Neil was never really great at these sorts of things to begin with, but it certainly didn’t help that his attention was drawn to the low-cut top where a tear streaked down the groove of your breasts, to the fishnets that you’d torn on your way out the door of your boyfriend’s, to the short skirt that rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lace hem of your panties. 
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he tried to keep his eyes on the face you so desperately tried to hide with your trembling fingers, for you were ashamed of your unkempt appearance. You must’ve looked like a cheap whore – a mess of one, no less. You couldn’t tell what was more embarrassing: the way you were dressed, like you were begging for attention, or the way your emotions seized you so cruelly that you could scarcely breathe. 
“Hey.” His warm, careful touch landed on your wrist, and as you pulled your fingers from your lashes, they came away black with smudged mascara. “I’m here,” your friend said. “Tell me what happened.”
You could still only speak in hiccups and broken vowels.
“Shhh,” Neil soothed you, fingers running up and down your spine, sending tiny shivers through each nerve as the fabric of your shirt bunched and his skin brushed yours. “Shhh. I’m here.”
Resting your head on his shoulder, your hair spilled in sticky threads over the jacket that, judging by the slight musty scent that lingered in the weave of the corduroy, had probably missed one too many washes. But you didn’t care. You’d come to appreciate the little imperfections about him, the details of his scent that made Neil Neil. Like the waxy tinge that seemed to always cling to his fingers after a long shift of rolling back tapes. Like the silk cream and smoke of the vanilla candle you’d gifted him last week. Like the artificial scent of cheap shaving cream and the slightest hint of blood where he’d nicked himself with the razor. The musk of his sweat and skin, buried beneath all these little things that you’d come to know almost as intimately as your own.
But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. And its unfamiliarity unnerved you.
His other hand came to rest on your knee, hot as fire in the cold of night. He thumbed at the tear in your fishnets and looked at you with bright, concerned eyes, but he used this as an excuse to touch you.
“Did he hurt you?” Neil asked. His hand stayed on your knee. In a way, it felt comforting; it grounded you enough so that, finally, after lulled by the rise and fall of his shoulder and the unique blend of his scent, you could speak.
“Is that cologne?” You wrinkled your nose and drew back to look him in the eye, your tangled hair peeling reluctantly from his corduroy jacket.
A rose blush came upon Neil’s cheeks, and he smiled nervously. He’d been sure to spritz himself with a good helping of it before he left, despite his hurried state. He needed to impress you; ever since you’d started dating that jock from across the street, he’d been trying to find more ways to steal your attention back.
“Yeah, it’s new,” he said, a little flustered, in a way that made your stomach flutter. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I should get, but you – well…” His voice cracked a bit as a hint of sadness crept into his tone. “… you’ve been pretty busy lately.”
“It’s awful,” you told him, laughing slightly, and your words seemed to cheer him up; his lips tugged into that playful grin of his again, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.
And then you both fell into silence, and he looked back to your knee, still thumbing the skin where the fabric had torn.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Neil said.
You swallowed, another lump forming in your throat, and when you looked at him, bottom lip in your teeth, reddened eyes pouting, rimmed by your messed mascara, his heart sped in his chest in both fear and arousal. The thought of James even touching you boiled his blood, made his skin crawl and tightened a noose round his neck, but seeing you like this, baring your soul to him with those tear-brimmed eyes and mournfully upturned brows, it made him want you even more.
If he’d been the one to take you out tonight, he would’ve brought you home to his bed, worshipped each inch of your hallowed skin and made love to you like you were the only woman in the world, splayed his fingers across your thighs and parted them like a sea, dropped to his knees and prayed with the hungered strokes of his tongue and lapped at your holy waters.
He’d started reading poetry lately. It had felt right; it was the only thing that seemed to express just how he felt about you. Echoed the words in private like they were gospel; chanted your name from desperate lips as he palmed himself each night – and morning – to your photographs, to the vanilla of the candle that reminded him so much of you, to the fantasy of your sweat-slicked thighs wrapped around his waist, your walls clenched around him as he bucked his hips against your weight and finally let himself go, spilling himself inside you and hearing you moan so sweetly for him from those heavenly lips, feeling his own cum dampen his stomach as you collapsed over him. He always knew you’d be so tight, that you’d fit so perfect around him.
But sitting here, staring at your shivering, impotent form in your torn fishnets and your skimpy attire, he could barely contain the urge to tear open your knees and fuck you against the concrete. It had been so long since he’d even been this close to you; James took up all of your time nowadays, and gone were the late movie nights and stolen games of basketball on the breaks he took so liberally.
He missed you. So much.
And you knew it. You knew it, deep in your chest where the remnants of your heart twisted, still hearing the words, “You’ve been pretty busy lately.”
You shook your head, choking out another sob as shame crept along your skin, and you shivered at its grotesque touch. “No, he didn’t hurt me… not – not in that way.”
You couldn’t look at him; his pearlescent blue eyes and his sun-kissed freckles and his boyish brown locks all fading into memory as you buried your face in his chest, inhaling once more the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the musk of him beneath the shirt that was flipped inside-out but still outlined the blatant logo of Back to the Future. Whether he hadn’t realised he’d put it on backwards or he’d been shy about it, you couldn’t be sure, but it lightened your heart all the same, your sobs turning to giggles.
Neil pulled you closer, his chin resting along the nape of your neck and his hand running up your thigh; you barely noticed how near his hand was to your panties as you tugged at his shirt, nails sinking past the fabric as if to keep him and never let him go.
You regretted all that time you’d spent with James, when you should have been spending it with him instead. Everything felt so much easier with him; your smiles were broader, your laughter more carefree.
But you wanted more – selfish and lovesick, you wanted more than what he already gave you. You needed more than his attention and his friendship.
You needed him to want you.
“I thought that…” You sniffled. “… I thought that James wanted me. I dressed up all… nice… fucking whorish… and I thought tonight was finally the night and that he would’ve… that he would’ve…”
The words twisted in your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Two hours ago, when you did up your makeup and clothes for your date with James, you’d felt sexy. Powerful, even.
Now, you just felt worthless.
Neil nestled his nose in the crook of your neck, brushed the silk strands of your hair aside, breathed your scent in so deeply that for a moment, the butterflies came back to the pit of your stomach.
“I just want to be wanted,” you admitted, losing it, sobbing uncontrollably into the now-damp shirt that clung to his thin frame. “I just want to be desired. That was the only reason I was with him, Neil. The way he looked at me that day when he came into the store, I…”
With a bitter pang in his chest, Neil remembered that day. The way James had looked at you like you were a piece of meat. The way he’d asked you if had any recommendations on which sports film he should rent and Neil had practically wedged himself between the two of you and started chattering to James about every little piece of trivia he knew about Chariots of Fire and Rocky. How, despite his efforts, James had still gone home with your number as well as the tapes. How you’d come in the next morning with a hickey on your neck and Neil had just known that where James had paused one of the tapes was when your movie night was likely cut short by… things he’d rather not think about ever again.
It should’ve been his couch you’d been curled up on, should’ve been him watching the movie with you. His mark on your neck.
And he would’ve picked something a little more fitting for the mood, too. Something more like Casablanca or Sin City. It was as if James didn’t even have to try to get you drooling over him. What was so special about him, anyway?
I wish I was special, Neil thought.
Neil’s grip on you tightened at the memory, nails digging in to the flesh of your thigh in a way that stirred a little gasp from your lungs, huffing against his collarbone as you tilted your head up to look at him.
“Y/N.”  His breath caught in his throat, and he reluctantly pulled from your neck to look you in the eye, locks of messy hair falling across his forehead and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers ghosted up your thigh, and you blinked past the sharp mint of his mouthwash – it burned your eyes slightly, but you didn’t care. You were so close to him, your breaths became one, a few threads of his hair tickling your cheeks and his nose brushing yours.
“Neil,” you breathed, the slightest of smiles tugging at your lip as your heart thudded between your legs, dangerously close to his fingers. Warmth spread across each fevered limb, taking you somewhere past the cold concrete and bitter chill of the wind, somewhere away from the graffiti-painted alley and the reek of broken booze bottles. Somewhere safe, and warm, and thrilling all at once.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Neil’s voice cracked around the words, a nervous laugh huffing against your fluttering lashes as his freckled cheeks darkened another shade of red. The hand that wasn’t between your legs played with a lock of your hair, twirling it in his finger but still supporting you beneath a quivering arm.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was real.
He had to have been playing some sick joke, right?
But the whimper that fell from his lips was very real, as his nails dug into your flesh again and he tugged you closer, his hips arching upward against your outer thigh.
“You look more than nice. You’re so fucking hot in this skirt, in anything you wear. That asshole is fucking blind,” he breathed, fingers grazing your panties and landing over your hipbone, testing the waters more and more as he tried not to rock his growing arousal too obviously against you.
But you noticed. You noticed the way his cock hardened and twitched beneath your weight; you noticed how even despite his body trembling from his attempts to resist his primal urges, his hips still gave little bucks upward, seeking friction. Seeking the heat that flared between your thighs, that ached for him so desperately that it was all you could do not to return the favour.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Staring into those gorgeous, bright eyes. Looking up at him with anything but innocence. So he scooped both hands around your ass, squeezing the flesh and lace and tugging you properly onto his lap with an alluring squeal tearing from your full lips.
“I want you, Y/N.” His hot breath pooled at your collarbone as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, your neck, and your lips parted in another gasp, back arching and thighs clenching around his waist as you ground wet panties against the bulge in his trousers.
“I fucking need you,” he whined, nipping like a needy puppy at the delicate skin of your neck. “Always have.” Another kiss. “Ever since I first saw you. Long before James.” A possessive growl stirred from his throat at that, the flare of dominance sending a jolt through your core.
“Neil, I – oh my God.” A moan broke your words as his fingers moved up your spine and his teeth grazed your collarbone, hovering over your pulse point.
“Fuck, baby. Say that again. Just like that.” His fingers began rolling your shirt up over the lip of your breasts, the sight enough to make him whine again in need. He couldn’t help himself from groping you, squeezing your breasts and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Bending his neck to trail more sloppy kisses down your torso, they were his next destination.
“Oh my – Neil. Neil, I – “ You had so much to tell him, so much you needed off your chest, but his hips bucked sharply against you at the sound of his name moaned so beautifully, a low groan in his throat and his cock digging slightly inside your heat, the fabric of your panties scraping almost painfully against your walls.
“Please, Y/N, please don’t make me stop. Please let me keep touching you like this. I wanna worship you.” His hot breath shattered against a pert nipple. “Wanna fucking prove to you how much I want you.”
For a few moments, you were rendered speechless, mind whirring like the wheels on a VHS. Everything was happening so fast, and the warmth of his touch was seeping into you like honey, inundating you in a sort of comforting flame.
He could almost smell the vanilla of the candle wick burning.
You left nail marks down his chest where you clawed at the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He sucked a nipple past his teeth and moaned around the taste of you, the sound so filthy that your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull as your parted lips tipped to the heavens. His name outlined by their perfect shape.
Reality came crashing down around you as you jumped, another squeal leaving your tongue as his teeth bit at your nipple and pain shot along your nerve endings.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, chest heaving, looking up at you with reverent eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I – “
You cupped his chin in your palm and shook your head. “No, Neil. I’m sorry.” A tear streaked down your cheek, beaded on your jawline. “I’m so, so sorry.” You were beginning to sob again, and his brow furrowed in concern, thumb beginning to trace small circles along your spine. “I’m sorry I abandoned you for James, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know you felt this way, I – I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he told you, his words sinking into your skin like a warm tide. With one hand, he brushed the tear from your jaw and wove his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer. ��Just let me keep touching you. Please.”
When you didn’t respond for a moment, caught up in the way his blue eyes seemed to hollow with a certain hunger, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the bare flesh of your stomach, he uttered that word again:
“Please.”
You smiled, elated and giddy with joy, blood pounding with arousal, and kissed him, threading your own fingers into the fluffy locks of his hair.
Another tear streaked across your lips as they met his, and you tasted like salt and vanilla, slightly waxy from your chap-stick but the sweetest thing he’d tasted nonetheless. At first, he was embarrassed by the noises he made, the way he’d accidentally called you “baby” because he’d always wanted to do so, but he melted beneath you like butter. Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that you were finally his, that you were in his arms and grinding against his cock.
Neil broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside somewhere on the concrete – he would buy you a new one. His hands flattened against your back and pulled you flush to his chest, taking any excuse he could to hear that little squeal you made each time.
“Please, baby, please let me be inside you,” he whined, biting his lip as he stared up at you with those powder-blue eyes. Nails dug into your skin. Hips bucked against yours.
Your heart soared with his words, his worship, his want; you’d never been this ecstatic in your whole life. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, make him beg, while another part of you ached to feel him buried to the hilt inside you.
“Patience, Neil,” you giggled, as you undid his trousers. You worked them down to his knees and your eyes widened as your hand brushed his cock, bare and springing flush against his stomach. You hadn’t expected him to not wear boxers.
Neil smiled sheepishly up at you, eyes still lidded, mouth still panting out a fevered breath. “I was in a rush getting dressed. I…” His cheeks reddened, and there was something so cute about how pathetic he looked in that moment. “You wanna know how much I want you, Y/N? I was touching myself thinking of you when you called.”
Creep, some voice in the back of his head hissed.
You bit your lip to suppress a moan, trying to ward off thoughts of Neil stroking himself to you, finishing to the thought of you. Oh, how you wished you could have witnessed the sight.
“Did you come?” you asked, a devious grin pulling at your lips as you took him in your hand, massaging a bead of pre-cum into his sensitive flesh.
His eyes fluttered, and he shook his head, his words coming out as a breathy whine,
“No, I promise. I didn’t come. Not yet.”
“Will you?” You dipped your head to let your words tickle his neck, your grip on him tightening.
“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, yes, oh God, I will. Fuck, baby. Fuck, gonna come if you don’t stop that, need to come inside you, please, please…”
His mutterings trailed off into a low hiss of a whine, and your movements stilled, dragging him to his peak and letting him teeter at the edge as you both caught your breaths, chest heaving and a cold chill racing down your sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling around him.
“You sure you can handle this?” you purred against his ear before pulling back once more to witness the shivering mess you’d made him, priding yourself in your accomplishment. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the fabric of your panties scraped his tip teasingly as you slotted them to the side.
Neil looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess, his breathing coming laboured, his throat stripped of words. The dazed, blissful look he gave you was all the answer you needed. But you wanted to reap him of every last praise he had.
“Use your words, Neil,” you giggled, smirking.
“Ah…” His lips parted, near soundless. You watched intently as they formed the word “Please”.
You almost felt bad for him.
But it wasn’t pity that brought your hips down around him, slowly, teasingly, savouring the stretch of him against your walls and the fullness in your belly, but rather, your own need.
Neil’s head rolled back against the brick wall, blood welling at his lip where he bit it to keep himself from toppling over his peak; he nearly did it to himself when he bucked his hips upward, burying himself inside you, making you whimper at the pain that blended so sordidly with the pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, and your nails grazed his scalp, and every little sensation sent him into overdrive. He used these little things to ground himself, as you had his tangled scents; he focused on how smooth your stomach felt against his own, his shirt hiking up so that you were skin to skin; he focused on the noises you made, huffing and whimpering, as you began to ride him; he focused on the softness of the breast that he cupped in his hand. Tried not to think about how you felt better than he’d imagined, how you clenched so tightly around his cock that he was almost pushed out each time you elevated your hips, but were so wet for him that he slid back inside so seamlessly each time.
“Neil,” you moaned as you fucked yourself on his cock, breast bouncing beneath his thumb, skirt fluttering around the bareness of his thighs. “Neil, fuck. Fuck.”
“Baby, I’m s—sorry. I’m gonna…”
You yelped again as pain shot deep inside your core, his hips bucking against yours with a violence you hadn’t known sweet Neil from the VHS store to possess, bottoming out inside you as his nails dug into the now-abused skin of your back and pulling you close, so close you were panting over his shoulder and his breath shattered against your ear. The hand that had been cupping your breast shot up to cradle your head, petting your hair.
He held you to him so tight, you didn’t think he’d ever let go. And you couldn’t have been happier.
Warmth spilled around his cock, sticky against your thighs, painting your insides white. You shuddered around him, balling his hair into a fist and digging your own, sharper nails, against his back.
“I didn’t mean it to be over so fast,” he mumbled into your neck. “I just… you’re so… fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
“So have I,” you breathed. You practically hugged each other, shivering in the night air but content in each other’s warmth. “Don’t worry.” Pulling away slightly, you smiled down at him, cheeks flushing bright red. “If anything, it… it’s endearing.”
“Really?” he chuffed out a laugh.
“It…” you looked down, unable to meet that crystalline gaze. “It makes me feel wanted.” You pecked a quick kiss to his jaw, and could’ve sworn you saw love in his eyes when you pulled away.
“God, you’re perfect.” His voice broke again as his lips sought yours, and his breath hitched in his chest when the action caused you to rock your hips forward, a new sensation he’d never felt before buzzing along his skin. His mouth hung open and you laid kisses to his lips, his jaw, the Adam’s apple that bobbed along his throat. He felt his cock stiffen again inside you, already eager for Round Two.
“I should take you home,” he murmured, hands running up and down your sides. “You must be so cold.” As if just realising that he still had his jacket on, Neil shrugged it off in haste and wrapped the heavy material around your shoulders. A chill ran down your spine, as the material was damp with sweat – you smiled at how predictably forgettable he was when he had a woman on his lap, just as you’d imagined –, but his scent soothed you.
Though you were cold, it was a small sacrifice to make to stay here, with him buried so deep inside you that you felt dizzy in the head. Depleted of your energy and sinking into his warmth, you smirked, and rested your chin on his shoulder.
“I was thinking of just staying like this a while,” you admitted.
“Whatever makes you happy,” he breathed, hugging you even tighter. “Whatever you want.”
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A.N. Sorry if this was a bit rough, guys. I smashed this one out the other day because I was tired of my writer's block.
I actually laid into some themes that I was planning on using for a Dark!Neil fic based on the song "Creep" which I don't know when I'll get around to writing, but let me know if you guys would like to hear more about the idea for the series or are interested.
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pinguwrites · 5 months
Text
A Daughter’s Duty | Cillian Murphy
Pairing -> dark!cillian murphy x stepdaughter!reader
Summary -> You’re stepfather has made a habit of sneaking into your room at night to use you, even when you don’t want it.
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Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: NON-CON, DARK!!, stepfather!cillian, age-gap (reader’s 18+, Cillian’s early 40s), Cillian’s manipulative and lowkey sexist and just overall disgusting, stepdaughter!reader, reader’s innocent, p in v sex, ddlg kink, use of daddy/little girl nickname, mention of periods, implied reader’s mother is neglectful, I got this idea off a porn video lol, mention of porn
Disclaimer: This is not a reflection of Cillian Murphy's actual life. This is completely separate and is not intended to harm him or his family in any way. DNI if you're a Yvonne hater. This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.
A/N: Probably gonna make a part two of the first time they did it 🤭 which I guess will be called part one lol
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“You awake?” your stepfather, Cillian Murphy, asked, lightly knocking. Your bedroom door was slightly open, and before you could even answer, he pushed it to the side, walked in, and turned the lock.
“Mhm.” You put aside your schoolwork and turned off the desk lamp. You immediately went to Cillian, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. He was warm, like always, and he immediately put his hands on your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing manner.
“Feeling alright? I know you just had your period,” he said, lifting your chin up. You noticed a dark look in his eyes, but you ignored it. “Do you need anything? Snacks? Heating pad? Massage?”
You shook your head. “Could we just cuddle?”
Your mother hated it when you two were close like this, despite the fact that she never tried to be affectionate with you. She was out now, however, partying at some friend’s house, so it’s not like she would know.
Cillian nodded and lifted you up, placing you down on the bed. He covered both of you with the blanket and started peppering sweet kisses on your face and down your neck.
“Little girl,” he cooed. “How did I get so lucky?”
You giggled. “How did I get so lucky?” you said in response, resting your head on his shoulder, when you noticed his fingers circling your clit through your panties. “Daddy, not now.”
He didn’t listen, and continued brushing his fingers against your clothing.
“I don’t feel like it,” you protested, trying to close your legs. “Can we do it later?”
Cillian still didn’t say anything. He crawled on top of you and planted a hot and heavy kiss on your lips, forcing his tongue inside, his hands slipping under your bra.
“Mmph!”
You didn’t struggle, knowing that your stepfather would never hurt you, but you did feel uncomfortable. Your pussy was starting to get a little hot, but even as your body reacted positively, your mind was still frazzled.
Cillian pulled away, a string of saliva attaching you both, until it broke.
He pinched your nipples through the bra and pulled on them, waiting for them to go hard. “Daddy!”
“Shh,” he murmured, leaning in to suck on your breasts. He licked them until he was satisfied, cupping them in his hands, leaving your bra with wet spots. It clung to your skin.
It did felt good. It always felt good, but it wasn’t about that. It was sweet, but it felt forced. Cillian had never forced you like this before.
“You just said you were feeling well,” he said, looking deep into your eyes. “You’ll like it. I’ll make sure.”
Cillian rubbed his clothed cock it between your legs, humping you like a horny animal. He let out quiet noises, holding you in place. Eventually, your panty got too wet, so he ripped it off, took off his own clothing, keeping his shirt on, and started grinding skin to skin.
“Yes,” he breathed out, sliding his fat cock through your folds. “So wet, such a pretty pussy.”
You whimpered. “Daddy, not now—”
“—Take off that damn shirt,” he growled. “Show me those tits.”
You hurriedly pulled your bra up, your breasts spilling out with a bounce that held Cillian captivated.
“Slap them for me,” he ordered. He held the tip of his cock and vibrated it on your clit, making you shudder in pleasure.
You did as he asked, trying your best to focus. As you tweaked and hit and played with your breasts, he watched, praising you, telling you what a good girl you were.
“You don’t do this for any other man, okay?”
“Yes, daddy.”
Cillian smiled sweetly at your response.
He positioned himself, pressing his body close to yours, your legs up and bent over his. You couldn’t move, all you could was push your hands up against his chest.
“Daddy, please, no.”
Cillian started thrusting. It wasn’t a very fast pace, but it wasn’t slow either. It had a rhythm, one he made sure got him as deep inside of you as he could.
He grunted. “So fucking tight. Need’a do this more often.”
You moaned, arching your back, a reaction you couldn’t help. “How often?”
“Every day.”
You stared at him, not sure what to think.
“Ah, I know. I know I said only once a week, but you know how Daddy gets. Remember what I said about men?”
You nodded. The first time he’d done this, he had sat you down. He told you that you needed to be taught about pleasure, and all things grown-up now that you were ready. He explained to you how men needed to fuck often, that it was a primal instinct, and that for him, you were the one he needed. He showed you how to suck his cock, how it felt like to be sucked in return — he even showed you porn.
It was a topic you had known little about. It was all so exciting and knew, and he made you feel safe and comfortable.
Well, except for now. You were rather uneasy as he pressed his body weight onto you, as his cock — that you always whined was too big — pushed in and out of you, stretching your walls, filling you up until you weren’t sure there was and space left.
“Ngh, y-you’re raping me, daddy,” you whimpered.
Cillian huffed, almost amused. He stopped thrusting, only for a moment, then he pushed his cock as deep inside of you as he could. You cried out, but he was too focused on the feeling of your walls clenching to notice.
“Ah!”
“Daddy’s raping you, hmm?”
“Yes!” you squeaked out, pushing your hands up against his chest. You were starting to feel a little sore.
“Where’d you learn such a big word like that?”
You didn’t answer, just kept struggling against him.
“Mmm, love it when you squirm like this,” he moaned in your ear. He grabbed your hands and put them to the side, only to completely drape his body over yours and let go.
You tried to push him off, but all you could reach was his back, and it was futile. A warm feeling coiled up in your lower stomach, and you knew you were about to cum.
“Come whenever you feel like, princess,” Cillian said, your pussy fluttering around his cock. “I’m not stopping till I feel like it.”
It wasn’t that it was hurting. It was just that you didn’t want it, at least a few minutes ago. Why couldn’t he understand?
“I know you don’t like it sometimes, but it’s your responsibility to please me. Just like it’s my responsibly to please you. You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”
You could feel your pussy heating up even more, that familiar feeling slowly building up.
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”
Your heart warmed at his words, despite how taken advantage of you were feeling.
“Daddy — please, ungh.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, “fuck, fuck.”
You both came around the same time. He took out his cock and held it by your face, his white cream spilling out on your lips, dribbling down your chin. Your own dripped down to the bedsheets. The ecstasy made you dizzy, but the good kind, and only for a moment.
“There ya go, sweetheart.”
Cillian wrapped you up in his arms. He rubbed his nose against yours, and then kissed it, his beautiful blue eyes filled with love and adoration.
“You liked that?”
“. . . I asked you to stop,” you mumbled, looking away.
Cillian sighed. It was one of disappointment, which made you feel like shriveling on the inside.
“But you liked it.” He ran his thumb across your cum-stained lips. “I would never have done it if hurt you. There was no pain, was there?”
“No,” you admitted.
“See?” Cillian paused for a moment, then chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “I would eat you out, but I have a feeling you’d say no.”
You glared, but to him it was adorable, not menacing.
“Alright, alright. How about we go downstairs and watch a movie? One of those princess ones?”
A smile made its way onto your face, though you tried to hide it. You were still upset.
“Fine.”
“Good girl,” he said, lowering his tone. He picked you up and held you bridal style. “But first, let’s clean you up, yeah?” He swiped a bit of his cum from your skin. “Can’t have you on the couch covered with this.”
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wutheringcaterpillar · 3 months
Text
A Lesson Learnt
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Summary: After dressing provocatively to the golden globes much to Cillian’s surprise. He becomes immensely irritated with how you’re acting, flirting with other men and having no public decency, leaving him no other choice than to put you in your place.
Warnings: daddy!kink, degradation, jealousy, Cillian is single in this with no kids, you’re his adopted daughter, brat!reader, smut a tremendous amount of smut, dumbification, ass slapping, age gap (reader is twenty one, cillian is 48)
sidenote- i may have gotten a bit carried away but seriously it’s a lot of smut. I am not an Yvonne hating person and respect his family. This is purely fiction and has no relation to Cillian’s real life. Don’t like the warnings, don’t read this.
There you were, standing there in a black skin tight dress that hugged your sides quite firmly, complimenting your hips. Your father stood there hand at his hip completely astounded, apalled that you would wear such a revealing outfit to such a prestigious event, if he were to take a guess you were taking a note from the book of Kylie Jenner.
Meeting his gaze, his eyes protruded dominance, his once baby blues eyes turning into a devilish shade of the cavernous ocean as he watched you walk down the stairs toward him.
Diamonds covered the top of your dress, curving elegantly over your revealing cleavage, just hardly holding them in place. 
Greeting the security guard who attempted to look anywhere but you, Cillian leaned up from the wall, holding out his hand for you to take like the gentleman that he always was.
“What the fuck are yuh wearing? This is an award show not a fucking playboy mansion.” You rolled your eyes and walked with him hand in hand to your designated table.
During the evening waiting on nominees and winners, he couldn’t help but notice the glances and innapropriate exchanges you had been making with Leonardo DiCaprio, it fueld his anger even more, knowing you were in this man’s age range of women.
Taking a cherry off of your desert, you popped it in your mouth, seductively tying the stem in a knot never breaking eye contact with Leo, whom was focused on your cherry red lips, imagining what they’d feel like wrapped around his cock.
Cillian had enough of this, he knew what you were up to, a not so poor attempt at getting under his skin. Clenching his jaw, he balled his fists under the table, when he locked eyes with Leo the man looked away, still smirking at the idea of all the positions he could have you in tonight.
Attempting to keep his composure, you felt his hand latch onto your thigh harshly, his knuckles turning white. You held back a yelp from the sudden pain, just barely keeping your knee from hitting the table. Turning to him with a playful grin, you raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong daddy? Can’t a girl have some fun?” He leaned ever so close, his lips just barely touching your ear, whispering in a harsh tone for nobody to hear.
“This is a televised show, I don’t need you flaunting yourself and acting like a whore for everyone to see. Cut the shit before I do for ya” Someone was feisty, just as you had planned. 
Cillian believed the problem to be your lack in parents growing up, no discipline whatsoever, and he was guilty for giving you anything you ever asked for, now he was reaping the consequences.
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“And the winner is Cillian Murphy!” As he took the stage and began giving his speech, his tongue lapped over his teeth in irritation when he noticed instead of listening to him, you were biting down on your bottom plump lip, before sucking the chocolate syrup of your dessert off of your finger, never once breaking eye contact with Leo.
He stayed composed finishing his speech, trying to not even look at you and your slutty shenanigans.
He didn’t talk to you the rest of the night until you were back at the hotel.
“What da fuck was dat eh? Did you even care about how long I waited for this moment or were you too lovestruck by a man nearly three times your age. You hurt me tonight Y/N.” Kicking off your heels, you approached him like a lion approaches its prey but in a teasing way, a clear note of sarcasm in your voice.
“Sounds to me like daddy’s jealous.” You batted your eyelashes innocently at him, pouting, mocking him with his emotions.
“Enough!” The back of his hand intertwined with the strands of your hair instantly, you let out a yelp, lips quivering in pain.
“You want to act like a whore, I’ll treat ya like a fuckin whore.” He bent you over the dresser aggressively, your chest slamming against the wooden surface nearly taking the breath out of you.
His chest heaved rapidly, adrenaline rushing through his blood when he lifted your dress, seeing the black laced thong that was barely even covering your asshole.
Scoffing, he moved the thin, soaked fabric to the side, only to reveal your little hole dripping, he could swear he could see a small heartbeat atop your clit.
“Well, well would you look at that?” His hand slapped your folds, your slick painting your thighs from how wet you were. You squirmed underneath him in a desperate attempt to crawl out from underneath his arm.
A stinging pain shot up your back when his hand collided with the fragile skin of your ass.
“Daddy!” Cillian shook his head, pulling your hair back, his hand wrapping around your throat in a deathly grip.
“Don’t you daddy me. Do I sound like I’m fucking around Y/N?” His fingers slid into your dripping core effortlessly. Your mouth dropped open from the sudden intrusion, the feeling of his thick fingers filling you causing you to moan desperately, needing more.
His fingertips curled up inside of you, making you gasp in pleasure. Your juices coated him instantly, it was pathetic to him how needy and impatient you were. “Be. Patient? Understand?” You moaned a yes, pushing yourself back against his fingers, grinding your pussy down the entirety of his lengthy fingers. He rolled his eyes in annoyance with you getting far too much enjoyment out of this. When he removed his fingers you whined, and he wasn’t having it, sending another sharp slap to your ass, stoping your crying immediately.
Unbuckling his pants with his other hand, his thick length slapped against your wetness, resting in-between your folds, sliding it up and down agonizingly slow. You released a whine, the anticipation getting the best of you.
“Please. The worst punishment you ever gave me was taking my phone away for a weekend in high school. You’re not going to- Ah!” He plunged his cock full throttle into your tight walls, causing your body to tense from the pain.
Flipping you over, his hands held your wrists at both sides of your head, his nails digging into your skin rather violently, surely to leave marks.
“What’s da matter? Daddy’s cock making yuh too dumb to speak?” At this point your boobs had fallen out of your dress, like Cillian expected them too.
Your round globe-like nipples hardening from how turned on you were in that very moment.
“Pl-please daddy I-“ Grabbing his tie, he shoved it in your mouth, shutting you up.
“Do yuh want the fuckin neighbors to here? Are yuh going to bed a good girl for once in yer life?” You nodded up at him with pleading eyes. 
His hands released your wrists, grazing over your thighs, holding them tightly as he fucked you mercilessly. The sight of your tits bouncing up and down consumed him. He couldn’t resist from latching his lips around them, biting down on one of them, making you release a desperate, muffled moan.
He’s pumping in and out of you at vigorous rate as your hands glided to the sides of the dresser, holding onto them for dear life.
Sweat began to form on Cillian’s pale skin, as he watched his cock disappear in your luxurious, dripping hole. The sight sending him into overdrive.
Ripping the tie out of your mouth, he lifted you up, slamming you up against the wall. 
“Lucky I’m even fucking you with whadda fuckin brat you’ve been. That all it takes is my cock for you to behave?” Your hands searched every inch of his back, pushing his jacket off, undoing the buttons frantically.
You pressed your boobs up against his chest as he drilled into you, the feeling of being so full, so completely fucked out taking over you.
The sweat causing your mascara to run down your cheeks in a beautiful, fucked out mess.
The sight of you so needy for him, so quickly submissive to his every demand turned him on immensely. He watched you with deep intent, paying close attention to every single facial expression with such precision.
He could tell you were close from the way your thighs were twitching around his waist.
Turning you around to face the mirror while his back was toward it, he wanted you to see how desperate you looked, how well you were taking his cock and how he was capable of taking complete control of you.
“Go on sweetheart, do what you do best and cum on my cock. Go on with da slut you are. My good little slut.” The way he spoke with such dialect, his voice as smooth was the wind in a warm summer day had you clenching around his length hard. Moaning and groaning loud enough for the whole hotel to hear.
“Daddy, daddy I- I’m gonna-“
“Cum on my cock, darling. Show daddy how well he treats his princess.”
Your body convulsed as you crumbled in his arms, losing yourself, fully releasing your hot slick all over his magnificent cock.
Cillian kept going, holding you up with a single hand while the other moved your chin up, forcing you to look at him with your fucked out eyes that were just rolling back down from the back of your head.
“Should I come in you? I’m not sure if you deserve it? You were such a bad girl tonight?” You nodded frantically, still hardly able to form words, feeling like you could potentially pass out from the over stimulation of his cock still hitting that sweet spot.
“Pl-please. I’ll be good. No- no more flirting.” His eyebrows raised, his lips curving into a smile, satisfied with your response before he released himself, painting your insides with his seed as his moans filled the room.
When he let you down, you would’ve fell to the ground if it weren’t for his arms catching you, helping you up onto the bed, tucking you in gently.
“Have you been taking your pill?” He asked, caressing  the side of your face with such care.
You nodded sleepily, making him smile softly at the sight of his sweet little girl. You may have drove him crazy at times, but with a little guidance he knew you’d straighten out. Seeing his cum drip out of you, he pushed it back in, making you moan tiredly.
“I have to go and do the closing photos. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed you on the forehead, already sound asleep like the angel you were.
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When he took the photos, he didn’t seem to notice how his collar was disheveled, not neat like it was during his speech, but he hadn’t cared.
When his assistant had pointed it out and offered to fix it, he waved her off kindly, repeating the fact he did not care, he just wanted tonight and this award show event to be over.
It was a small reminder to him of how much you needed him in every, aching way.
264 notes · View notes
pedropascallme · 7 months
Note
OH GIVE US SOME JEALOUS JIM!
Think He’d Do What I’ve Done?
Pairing: jealous!Jim x f!Reader
Summary: "He knew it was ridiculous, knew that what the two of you had was nothing short of intense, something wonderful and miraculous that had come out of catastrophe. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment surrounded by these people while the girl he loved was seemingly ignoring him."
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral (f & m receiving), fingering, p in v sex, creampie, cum play, praise kink, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics (dom!Jim x sub!Reader) (listen Jim FUCKS I do not make the rules), if I missed anything please let me know!
AN: Your wish is my command! Sorry that this took so long, but good lord I had fun writing it. I will always be a slut for dom!possessive!Jim it's not even funny.
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Jim was indebted to the people that surrounded him in the house he stood in; Hannah’s family, however distant they may be, had made an amazing effort to ensure you all had a fresh start in America. The cousins and aunts and uncles and whomever that stood around the living room, sharing well wishes and anecdotes, who had provided housing and employment opportunities, were all so kind. So he didn’t like the voice in the back of his head that told him otherwise when he looked over at you.
One of Hannah’s cousins had an arm around you while you admired the different pictures sitting on the mantle. Jim watched you laugh at whatever remark he was making and scoffed, disillusioned by the way your eyes shined up at the man when you spoke to him.
He knew it was ridiculous, knew that what he had with you was nothing short of intense; something wonderful and miraculous that had come out of catastrophe. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of humiliation surrounded by these people who bordered strangers while the girl he loved was seemingly ignoring him. After all that, it seemed as though every time you found yourself in a room with these relatives, this cousin found his way to you, and you to him. It had Jim silently fuming.
Jim left the gathering early, only muttering a goodbye to Hannah, who, for what it’s worth, rolled her eyes at his obvious melancholy.
“You’re not waiting for her?” In true fourteen-going-on-forty nature, Hannah pried.
Jim mumbled a noise of rejection, padding out of the house and heading for the apartment he shared with you.
~~~
“You left early!” You walked back into the apartment you shared with Jim, jokingly accosting him the moment you crossed the threshold. Jim didn’t look up from his spot on the couch, flicking through the TV channels and bouncing his leg.
“Didn’t think you’d notice.” He was dry, and you felt your heart somersault at his cadence—he felt his do the same. He knew he was acting like a child, but he didn’t know how to confront what in his mind was an issue.
“Course I noticed,” you shook off your jacket, dropping it on the coffee table in front of him, “you alright?” Jim shrugged, and you sat down on the couch next to him. You watched him continue to browse TV channels.
“Hannah’s cousin likes you.” It was blurted and came out as more of a shout than a statement; it caught you both off guard.
“No he doesn’t.”
“I didn’t say which one.” Jim was brooding, upset that you were further proving his point without even trying. He shut off the television and set the remote down next to your jacket on the table.
“You—you didn’t have to, I know who you're talking about,” you looked at your hands, folded on your lap, “but he doesn’t.”
“Do you like him?” Jim followed your line of sight, looking down at your hands. He felt a knot forming in his stomach; the concept of such strong feelings that had nothing to do with the need to survive made him anxious.
“Jim…” You looked up at him, brows knit and lips curving up at the edges, “are you jealous?”
“N—” he tried to protest before you cut him off.
“You are.” You grinned, and he could see the devious glint in your eye. “You think I want him.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“It was implied.” You crossed your arms, somewhat offended that he could think you would be able to look at any man the way you looked at him, but pleased by his possessive nature.
Jim reached around you and rubbed up and down the back of your neck, and you playfully turned your head away from him, hoping he would put in the work for whatever answer he wanted. When you moved your body away from his, you felt the hand resting on the back of your neck stop moving, taking hold of you in a gentle, haughty manner.
“Look at me,” he asked nicely, and so you did, “think he’d do what I’ve done?”
You smiled, enjoying the way he responded to your teasing, “I don’t know. Maybe.” You batted your lashes and Jim pouted. “Depends on what you think you’ve done.” You felt the hand he had on your neck tighten, and a shiver ran down your back.
“Think he’d kill for you?” The air felt thick around you, and you remembered how much you enjoyed Jim’s more domineering moments.
“No.” You whispered, tilting your head up in the hopes that he would give in.
“Do so much for you, don’t I?” He smiled, and you saw the Jim you fell in love with shine out from under the dominant exterior he had fashioned for himself tonight.
“Show me what you do for me.” Your pleading was acknowledged in seconds when Jim grabbed you by the waist and helped you find the proper footing to straddle him. You moaned into his mouth, and he made quick work of the top you were wearing, throwing it blindly onto the floor. You ground your hips down into his, and you could feel the gentle friction of his growing erection against your clothed core. The kisses were messy, teeth clacking gently against each other as you licked his tongue. You pulled away from Jim, who moved down to your neck and chest, marking you with love bites and licking gently at your pulse points. You pushed him back onto the couch, wordlessly lowering yourself to your knees and beginning to undo his zipper.
“Baby…” He smiled down at you, head resting on his arms as he leaned back into the cushion of the couch. He helped you remove his cock from the confines of his jeans, stroking himself. “Open.”
You opened your mouth wide, happy to let him take control, to prove that you were his and his alone. He watched as you placed a kiss on the head of his cock, taking his length in your hands and shooing his own hand, still loosely holding the base of himself, away. You moved your wrist up and down, steadily taking more of him in your mouth as you did, using the spit that dribbled down his shaft to lubricate the motion of your hand. Jim let out a breathy chuckle when you managed to fit most of him down your throat, running his fingers through your hair and pulling stray strands out of your face.
“God—yeah, like that.” His jaw was slack while he analyzed every move you made. “Just like that, sweetheart.” You tried to smile with his cock in your mouth, getting another huffed laugh from him, before you returned to your prior movements. You licked the tip of his cock in a circular motion, pumping up and down with your hand, before attempting to take as much as you could into your mouth. You repeated these gestures to Jim’s delight.
“Fuck, so good—fuck, that’s it, oh my god, baby.” He tugged on your hair in a half-hearted effort to remove you from his cock, but you allowed yourself a few more bobs up and down before listening to the message he was sending.
Jim cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb wandering over your swollen, saliva coated lips. “So good for me.”
“All for you.” You found a steady rhythm for your breathing.
“That’s right.” He pulled you in for a kiss, letting the spit on your face cover his own mouth and chin. “Do you like sucking me off, baby?” You nodded, eyes hooded and pupils blown out; you wanted to tell him that you could go down on him for hours, but the words wouldn’t come out, head too clouded with need. “Want me to show you more? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?” It was rare that Jim became this controlling, but you felt it go to your cunt every time he did. You nodded again, and Jim stood up, removing what remained of his clothes—and of yours—before easing you onto the couch and moving your legs to rest on his shoulders as he knelt in front of you.
“Say please.” Jim kissed your inner thigh.
You might’ve rolled your eyes under different circumstances, but something about his tone and the way he nipped at your leg turned you into the picture of obedience. “Please, Jim…”
“Please what?” He grinned, perfectly aware of how torturous his treatment was.
“Please,” you were getting impatient, and he knew it, you could see in his eyes how much he relished watching you squirm, “please fuck me, Jim—touch me, please, please.”
His smile turned into something more sinister when he heard you beg, and it was only then that he dove into you. You felt his tongue make contact with your clit and you yelped, the sudden and intense feeling making you jump under his hold on you. He tightened his grip on your legs, holding them firm against his shoulders so that your thighs all but engulfed his head. You could feel the vibrations of his moans travel through your body, and you wriggled underneath him when his tongue broke past your entrance and he licked gently into you. You couldn’t tell what was his spit and what was your wet, everything seemingly running together—and you didn’t really care, either. He suckled on your clit and teased a finger into you, looking at you intently while you came undone for him.
“Think he could do it better?” He moaned into your core, and you were broken out of your haze mostly by the shock that he still had the time to be jealous while he was buried between your legs —though not dissatisfied by the way he managed to show you who you belonged to while forcing you to acknowledge it.
“N—o!” You squeaked at him when his finger hit your sweet spot.
“Think anyone could do it better than me?” He continued to hound you between licks over your bud, fingers rubbing gently across the spongy spot inside of you.
“N—just—fuck, just you! Only you, Jim, only you.” You moaned, pleasing him immensely and motivating him to press down just a bit more on your g-spot while he sucked harder on your clit. Your legs, weak with gratification, shook in their spot on his shoulders, and you felt the fire that had started in your stomach spread across your body. He continued to lick stripes up and down your clit, finger still curling inside you while you rode out your climax.
“That’s right,” Jim kissed your dripping hole, noticing the way you flinched when his breath fanned the now sensitive area, “only me. All for me”
You moaned a pitiful confirmation, and he stood up. He rearranged you so that you were lying properly on the couch, head propped up by a pillow next to the cushioned arm.
“Gonna let me show you more, now, yeah?” You trailed a hand down his stomach, looking up at him from your spot underneath him as he straddled your legs. “Wanna let me fuck you into the couch?” You sighed dreamily, nodding with enthusiasm. “So good f’me.” He lined himself up with your entrance, continuing to whisper praises down at you, before pushing his cock into your desperate cunt little by little.
“Fuck, Jim!” You couldn’t help the expletive; no matter how many times he fucked you there was still so much joy in the way he filled you up to the very brim.
“Good, yeah? Feels good, sweetheart?” He bent forward and pushed your legs up more to allow him to fit deeper inside your cunt.
You whined, eyes screwed shut and lips parted, as he pressed his cock into you. You felt him bottom out, and he brushed his fingers over your cheek, kissing you gently across the face.
“Want—will you—will you fuck me?” You encouraged him, wanting—needing—him to move, to let you enjoy the way he pumped in and out of your pussy.
“You want me to move, baby?” He cooed, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, “Want me to fuck you nice?”
“Please!”
“Say it, then. Say my fucking name.” His breathing was labored, a product of the effort it was taking to hold himself back.
“Please, Jim, I need you to fuck me, I need it, Jim—I need it!” You felt like crying, the way he filled you up and mocked you was entirely too pleasurable. Hearing you beg as if you were on the verge of tears was all he needed, and he pulled out until the tip of his cock was just barely kissing your hole, before he thrusted deep and rough back into you. You cried out, feeling the friction from the way your back rubbed against the couch with each of his hard thrusts into you, and the way his hips rubbed against your own with every move.
“God, fuck,” Jim watched the way your eyes rolled back after a particularly deep plunge into you, “gonna fuck you like I own you.”
“Y—oh! You do—Jim! You do!” You were so far into your own pleasure, you weren’t even sure if the words had come out properly or if they had been reduced to gibberish between the time it took for them to travel from your brain to your mouth. But when you heard him growl in your ear you knew he had heard you, and it registered to you both what you had said.
“Yeah?” His voice was laced with care but was so outwardly assertive, “yeah, I own this fucking pussy.” He raised your legs to rest them on his shoulders as they had when he’d eaten you out, and he used them now as leverage to bend you backwards so his cock was seated as far as your body would allow him. His name fell from your lips continuously as he pounded into you with seemingly no regard; he managed to pick up the pace slightly and your eyes watered, overwhelmed by the sensation of being used to the fullest extent and absolutely loving that you had this effect on Jim.
“Gonna fucking cum—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly in sync with his thrusts, “tell me—tell me how you want it, sweetheart, tell me.”
You didn’t respond fast enough to satisfy him, and you whimpered when his hand came down to smack your clit, then gasped at the way he soothed you by rubbing tight circles on the bud.
“Tell me.” He grunted.
“Want—Jim!—please, please, want you to cum in me! Please—please, Jim, need—need it inside.” Your back arched up in response to his ministrations, and his hand that wasn’t massaging your clit came up to squeeze your leg to his cheek.
“Fucking—oh, hell, gimme one more, baby, please.” The mask of dominance slipped slightly when Jim began to beg for you to cum one more time, “cum on my cock, baby, I’ll give you what you need—all for you, fuck!—good girl, my good girl…” He placed kisses onto your calf, still holding it over his shoulder while he fucked you stupid. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you, every vein catching against your walls and the fat head of his cock nudging the spots that you could never reach on your own. He felt velvety inside you, and the way he spoke only heightened your pleasure, the promise of feeling him fill you up with his cum only spurring you on further to reach your peak.
“Ji—I—fuck!” You choked out a string of profanities, punctuating each with a gasp of his name as you came for him. He smiled into your leg, turning to look down at your face to watch your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open while you came on his length. He felt the way you clenched around him and the sheen that your cum added to his cock, his own head lolling back as he felt himself fall over the edge.
Still squirming under him, overcome with the strength of your second orgasm and the way he continued to use your spent cunt, you felt him paint your insides with his load. He moaned out your name, still shallowly thrusting in and out of you, admiring how your pussy milked him for every last drop he had to offer you. You whined, needy and messy and fucked out, and he gave your clit a final few swipes with his thumb, smirking sadistically at the way you cried out at the overstimulation. Jim began to pull out of you slowly, eyes glued to your hole to observe how the mixture of his cum and yours leaked out of you and down over the curve of your ass, dripping over your asshole and thighs. He leaned down, pulling your legs open to lick and kiss at the mess the two of you had made.
“Jim!” You squeezed your legs together, thighs pressing against his ears. He came up from between your legs, licking his lips, before he brought himself up to your face to kiss you softly. You wrapped your arms around him, and you could feel the pressure of his chest against yours as he rested his weight onto you.
“Too much?” He whispered after a while of heavy breathing and fingertips tracing over one another.
“No…perfect.” You squeezed him closer to your body, lips grazing his ear. “You’re right, y’do so much for me.”
Jim laughed against you, and you shook with his chest, “I do two things for you—kill and cum.”
“Hope you only have to do one of those things from now on.”
“I plan on it,” he smiled, then deadpanned; “you mean cum, right?” You pushed him away playfully and he laughed. Scooping you up into his arms, he let you rest yourself against him, letting the liquid seeping out between your legs trickle down onto him. He hugged you to his chest, eyes suddenly heavy and body light with satisfaction. “I’d do anything for you.” He whispered, breath fanning the top of your head.
You pawed at his chest, eyes closed. “I know you would. Feeling is mutual.” He cradled your head in his hands, “He doesn’t like me—Hannah’s cousin—he doesn’t. He’s married. You’ve met his husband.”
Jim felt you smile into his skin, and he felt himself go red, embarrassed that he hadn’t made the connection, but too blissed out and used up to backtrack and claim he had known all along. “I love you,” he chuckled, “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” You looked up at him, cozy and content with your position on his lap, “would’ve said something earlier, but I like when you get possessive.”
“Thanks for letting me prove a point.” He rubbed your back, head falling against the couch cushion behind him.
“Always happy to help.”
455 notes · View notes
floralcyanidee · 7 months
Text
ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ - ɴᴇɪʟ ʟᴇᴡɪs
Neil Lewis x AFAB!Reader (NSFW)
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After a fateful game night between your two rival video stores, Neil proposes a new way of playing your favorite games. Will this new idea lead to something more than playful rivalry?
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warnings: smut, face-riding, oral (f and m receiving), throat/ facefucking, cum swallowing, drinking, mentions of alcohol, strip poker/game
word count: 3632
author’s note: still shadowbanned on my main account yay /j but I'm so glad to have so much support and love on this new tumblr! thank you all for the follows and feedback. I didn't proofread some of this (but what's new), so if it flows weird I'm sorry >.< lol please enjoy!! I've had a few requests for Neil so (:
main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here
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“That’s it! You’ve got to be cheating.”
“I am not cheating, Neil. Jesus.”
“There’s just no way you’re better at this game than me.”
“There’s a lot that I’m better at than you.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Jonathan pipes up, coming in between you and Neil, “Let’s calm down here, guys.”
You glare at Neil, tossing your cards back into the pile. You had been playing UNO. It was tradition for your two movie stores to play against one another every first weekend of every month. And tonight, the players dwindled down to you and Neil as per usual, to which you won the final game of the night. Neil was obviously not happy about it. But lately, Neil hasn’t been happy about a lot of things. You chalk it up to his breakup with Violet. A sick, twisted part of you was glad he and Violet had finally broken up. Not because you didn’t like Neil or anything- it was quite the opposite. You were rivals, of course, but the tension between you was unmatched and intense. Every time game night came around, that tension became even more taut and thicker. But it’s not like you could tell Neil or anyone else you like him. Absolutely not. It would ruin the healthy competition between Gumshoe and your video store. And it would make you look hypocritical, considering how much you lightly bully Neil, especially when he wore those weird costumes at work.
“Two out of three?” Neil crosses his arms, sitting back in his chair, eyebrows raised.
“I think I’m gonna turn in, actually,” you start collecting the cards, neatly stacking them before putting them back in their respective package.
Neil mumbles a defeated, “Fine.” 
As you get up from the poker table, Lucien gives you an apologetic look from the ragged old couch sitting adjacent to it. Jonathan urges Neil to get up and accept his loss for the month. Meanwhile, your best friend and coworker Nina is busy aimlessly walking around the store, taking in the interesting scenery of Gumshoe Video. She acts as if she’s never been in here before, taking in various movies and movie posters. You walk over to her, card games in hand.
“Ready to go?” you ask her, and she looks up at you, only for her eyes to advert behind you as she becomes visibly flustered.
You turn to see Jonathan helping Neil pack up the games, smiling at your best friend.
“Does someone have a crush?” you coo, and Nina shoves your shoulder playfully.
“Me? Have a crush? You’re delusional!” she throws her hands in the air dramatically as she walks toward the door, you trailing behind her.
Nina goes into a rant about how she’d never date a guy from this city, much less a guy from our rival video store. You glance behind your shoulder, saluting Lucien and Jonathan as you leave. Neil doesn’t look at you.
The next few weeks are relatively slow at your movie store. You wonder if Gumshoe is doing any better. Judging by the new and more dramatic costumes that Neil has come up with, you’d say the answer is probably no. When you and Nina occasionally stop in there to casually scope out the place, you make sure to make a witty comment about whatever getup Neil is in that day. It always came with a frown from him and a laugh from you. Lucien would just act like he didn’t hear anything, a knowing smirk on his face when you meet gazes. You’d glare at him until he eventually went to do something else. You and Lucien are pretty cool with each other, and he figured out how you feel about Neil pretty quickly. Lucien wasn’t stupid by any means. Jonathan was too busy stupidly flirting with Nina to notice how your stare would sometimes linger on Neil for too long. Nina knew, of course, but she didn’t care much. She always figured you and Neil had something going on whether you two knew it or not.
It’s nearing the end of the month, which means another game night soon. You hope Neil has gotten over whatever animosity he felt toward you for winning the last game. How he reacted was odd- he usually didn’t make such a fuss. Once again, you figure it has to do with his breakup. But then again, he’s been kind of grouchy even before the split and well after it so far. You’re in your office at your video store gathering the games you’re bringing, along with a bottle of alcohol to spice things up. Maybe Neil could loosen up a little. Nina knocks on the door as she walks in, ready to go.
“Got the stuff?” she asks.
“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p’ as you turn out your office light.
The two of you begin walking to Gumshoe as the sun sets. Nina starts talking about something Jonathan said the last time you were at their video store, to which you roll your eyes. Definitely not a crush at all, you think to yourself. You arrive at the store, knocking on the glass as you wait for one of the boys to unlock the door. Neil approaches and opens the door, allowing you and Nina in. You walk over to the poker table, where Lucien and Jonathan are already seated.
“So tonight we’re gonna try something new,” Neil claps, rubbing his hands together as he grins deviously.
“And what’s that?” you wonder, sitting down the bottle of alcohol in the middle of the table.
“Strip poker,” Neil smirks, grabbing the bottle, “And this will definitely make it more interesting.”
“Strip poker?” you raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, or, well, strip UNO and whatnot,” Neil shrugs.
“Uhh,” Lucien chuckles nervously, “I’m good. I’ll just be the moderator tonight.”
“Oh, come on, Luc,” you pout, “Don’t make me suffer alone.”
“You won’t be suffering alone. Jonathan and Nina will be here with you, right guys?”
Jonathan opens his mouth and then closes it, looking to Nina for her response.
“Uhh, sure. I guess. But I’m not getting naked, that’s for sure,” Nina scoffs, falling into a poker chair.
“Thank you,” you throw your head back in relief, sitting beside Nina. Neil sits across from you as Jonathan takes the seat to your right, already grabbing the bottle of alcohol from Nina and taking a swig.
“Let’s get this started.”
You run your hands through your hair. Tonight was going to be a long night.
“Any article of clothing counts, right?” Nina asks after the first round of 21 is completed, meaning everyone but Jonathan, who had won, had to take something off.
“Correct,” Neil answers.
“Cool. Take my shoe and shove it up your ass, then, Neil,” Nina pulls off her shoe, pushing it into Neil’s chest.
He rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”
You decide to remove a shoe, and Neil does the same, tossing it behind him. 
“Another round?” Jonathan asks, sipping the whiskey that he brought.
You thought about taking a swig yourself but decided to wait until it was absolutely needed. 
“Sure,” Neil drawls, reshuffling the cards before dealing them.
This time, you win, and everyone begrudgingly removes another shoe or a sock. Nina snatches the vodka bottle from the table, taking a large gulp of it before slamming it back down. 
“Gonna chicken out already?” Neil taunts, gathering the cards to shuffle once more.
“No,” Nina says pensively, “It’s just lame that everyone else has to be involved in your weirdly sexual revenge plot against my favorite coworker over losing a stupid game.”
“I’m your only coworker,” you glare at Nina.
“Exactly. Now, if I will dip if it comes down to me flashing you guys my tits. Unless this alcohol starts setting in soon, then we’ll see.”
You raise your almost empty first cup, “Cheers to that.”
“Let’s get back to the game,” Neil grumbles.
No one says anything about Nina’s comment. After two more rounds of 21, you’re without a sock and shoe on your right foot and a shoe missing on your left. Neil has no socks or shoes, while Nina is just shoeless. Jonathan already took one for the team and removed his shirt and his other shoe after everyone lost to Nina twice in a row. Lucien cheered and clapped dramatically when Jonathan stripped his shirt, Lucien snatching the shirt and whipping it around like a lasso. It’s the first time tonight you see Neil crack a smile. 
“How about we switch to a board game now? Something quick, of course,” Nina shrugs.
“Be my guest,” Neil says, and Nina chooses Connect 4.
“Jonathan and I can go first,” she grins wickedly.
“Good luck, dude. She’s a master at this game,” you warn Jonathan, who cracks his knuckles.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I beat Lucien at this all the time,” he says, and Lucien protests.
“Only because you cheat,” Lucien says matter-of-factly.
“Well, since you're the moderator, you can make sure I don’t, huh?” Jonathan bites back.
Neil cackles while Lucien purses his lips together into a line, wordlessly watching as Nina separates the color pieces.
After 3 rounds of Connect 4, Jonathan has won one and Nina the other. You beat Neil once already, and now it was time to see if he’d win or lose this final round. You’re nervous because if you lose, you have to remove a pretty vital item of clothing. It didn’t matter if it was pants, your shirt, or whatever- it would be embarrassing. You carefully calculate your moves, studying Neil’s determined and methodical facial expression. He catches you in a trap, letting his color piece fall on top of yours, blocking you from your final winning move.
“Fuck,” you seethe, dropping your head onto your arms.
“Fuck is right, my dear,” Neil slides the lever, letting all the pieces fall onto the table, “Now strip.”
You scowl, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra, pulling the straps over your arms, and tossing it to the floor. Neil watches, his eyebrows raised. Jonathan scoffs, and Lucien is distracted by the music video playing on TV. Nina laughs at Neil’s face.
“Neil, my guy, you look like a tomato,” Nina teases.
“Do not,” he protests childishly, gathering the colored pieces and putting them back into their little bag.
Jonathan checks his watch, “Shit. Gotta head to bed. Double shift tomorrow,” he frowns.
Lucien also checks his watch, “Yeah, I oughta go too. Early morning.”
Neil sighs, “Well, if you guys are up for it,” he motions to you and Nina, “I’ll still play.”
“I actually am getting sleepy, but I think Y/N is totally down to stay,” Nina volunteers you with a smile. 
You go to protest, but everyone is already heading out the door, leaving you with Neil.
“Well, shit. I guess it’s just you and I,” you scratch your neck.
“Yep,” Neil nods, pulling out UNO, “Wanna rematch?”
“Sure,” you chuckle, “But you can’t pout when I beat your ass again.”
You’re nearing the end of the first round, and your heart is starting to beat out of your chest. Both of you have one card left. And you’re going to have to remove your pants if you lose. You aren’t sure if you want to cross that line with Neil or not, but a game is a game. And you aren’t about to turn down your win streak and look like a fool. You draw a blue 9, to which Neil slams down his final card. A blue 5. 
“Noo,” you drawl, and Neil cheers.
You put your head down on the table in defeat.
“Time to-”
“Strip. Yeah, I know,” you sigh, lifting your head.
You reach down and hesitantly undo your pants, pulling them past your thighs and down your legs before kicking them away. Neil doesn’t look anywhere but your face as he shuffles the cards, his cheeks turning red. You nervously keep your legs closed, scooting closer to the table. 
In the next round, Neil loses, removing his shirt. His torso is slim yet fit for his size, and you can’t help but stare. Neil clears his throat, and you quickly look away. Now, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was way more intense than your usual tension. Especially since if you lose this next round, you’ll be showing something very revealing. Thankfully, Neil loses again, having to strip his pants this time. But it only makes you more anxious.
“We don’t have to continue if you don’t feel comfortable,” Neil says.
You shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m not pussying out.”
“Alright,” Neil puts his hands up.
You watch him unwaveringly as he shuffles the cards, distributing 7 for each of you. As the game progresses, you and Neil exchange increasingly heated glances. You catch yourself pressing your thighs together, biting your lip when you catch Neil staring at your nipples poking through your shirt. It’s time for the final draw, and to your horror, you lose again. Sighing, you begrudgingly grab the vodka and chug it. When you put the bottle down, you look at Neil, and he looks at you. Hesitantly, you grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. Neil keeps his eyes on yours, visibly trying not to look at your breasts. He clears his throat and shuffles the cards, focusing intently on them. Neil tosses the cards between the two of you, his eyes nervously flickering between your tits and the cards. Neil gathers his cards, neatly stacking them and putting them face down before standing up from his seat.
“I’ll, uh, be right back. Don’t look at my cards,” he says, his voice strained.
When he stands, you notice the painful bulge in his jeans, and the alcohol gives you a moment of bravery.
“Neil. Stay.”
Neil stops in his tracks, not turning to look at you, “Can’t.”
“Why is that? Never seen a pair of tits before?”
Neil rolls his eyes at your joke, turning back to you, “It’s not that. I just-”
You grab Neil’s hand, pulling him down harshly so his face is level enough with yours to kiss him.
“You’re not helping,” Neil whines after he pulls away, uncomfortably shifting around. 
“I mean, I could if you let me,” you say, biting your lip nervously, worried he’d reject you.
But maybe he won’t. Maybe he needs you badly enough that he won’t pass up your opportunity. You hope he doesn’t.
“Wouldn’t it be, I don’t know, weird?” Neil grimaces.
“Not if you don’t make it weird,” you say sassily, your hand now in his hair, gently pulling at his locks. 
“Fine,” Neil closes his eyes, exhaling shakily, “Let’s go to the couch.”
He walks over to the beat-up sofa, letting himself fall into the cushions. You get up from your chair, moving quickly to kneel on the floor in front of Neil. He stares down at you, gulping as you fumble with the fly of his jeans. You aren’t going to lie, you’ve been waiting for this moment for some time. Granted, it wasn’t here in the video store, but you’ll take what you can get. You pull Neil out from the confines of his pants and underwear, immediately marveling at his size and girth. He groans at the contact of your hand around him and spreads his thighs apart as you kitten lick his tip. You take Neil into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you slide your head down into his lap. Your nose touches his pelvis, his hair tickling it as you let him hit the back of your throat. Gagging around him momentarily, you take a deep breath and focus on the feeling of him filling you up.
“Just like that,” Neil praises, his fingers carding through your hair.
A swirl of your tongue sends his head lolling back on the couch, and he glances down through his lashes to watch you bob your head along his length. Your hands grip his thighs to hold him steady as you gain a rhythm, letting his hand guide your head back and forth. Neil’s hips stutter as he involuntarily thrusts into your mouth, and you gasp through your nose as you try not to gag. 
“Sorry,” Neil cringes, a moan leaving him immediately after you keep him deeper in your throat, letting it pulse around his head.
You stare into Neil’s intense blue eyes, now overtaken by his dilated pupils. Both of his hands are in your hair, gripping harshly as you move your head up and down even faster. Neil curses, hissing as you play with his balls with one of your hands, urging him closer to the edge. You can feel him twitching inside your mouth, letting you know he’s close. Suddenly, you pull off him.
“Fuck my throat,” you say breathlessly, jerking his wet cock with your hand as you wait for his answer.
“Are you sure?” Neil asks.
“Yes,” you say before putting him back into your mouth. 
When you let his tip hit the back of your throat again, Neil then pulls out, slamming back into your mouth with a strangled cry. Slowly, he starts finding a good pace, not thrusting enough to hurt you but enough for your throat to be sore tomorrow. Spit and precum are spilling out of the sides of your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gag and moan around him. You wish you could see the situation from a different point of view just to see how Neil is wrecking you right now. 
“You like me fucking your face like this, sweetheart?” Neil grunts, his hands holding your face and wiping away your tears.
You attempt a nod but fail, letting out a hum of content instead. 
“Gonna cum in your pretty mouth,” Neil moans.
You let him continue fucking into your face until he twitches a final time, his cum shooting down your tongue and throat. You allow Neil to pull out of you, and you close your mouth to swallow his load. You open your mouth to show him it’s all gone, to which he lets out a weak groan.
“That’s hot. I didn’t know you could do that with that sassy mouth of yours.”
You shrug, “There’s lots of things I can do with it. Now, lay down.”
Neil obeys, scrambling to lie down on the couch. You stand up, peeling off your soaking underwear and moving it away with your toe. You climb above Neil, “Ever had anyone sit on your face?”
“No,” he exhales, shaking his head.
“Would you like to?”
Neil nods vigorously, and you move up enough to rest your foot on the couch's armrest and press your knee next to Neil’s head, spreading open enough for him to have plenty of access. He marvels at the sight of your arousal and the fact it was all for him. He reaches tentatively to your folds, spreading them further as you lower yourself to his face.
Neil then drags his tongue up your wet slit, avoiding your clit entirely as he gathers your slick. You whimper at the feeling of the contact of his warm tongue on you, your pussy sensitive from lack of touch and being incredibly turned on. Neil then flicks the tip of his tongue along your clit, circling and teasing it. You cry out, gripping the couch with one hand and his hair with the other. You buck your hips as he swirls his wet tongue around your cunt, lapping up everything you’re giving him. 
“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you moan, meeting Neil’s eyes below you.
Neil doesn’t respond but instead dips his tongue into your entrance, twisting it as he starts fucking you with it. Your grip on his hair tightens as you start rocking your hips on his tongue. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you seethe, feeling warmth spreading in your belly.
Neil replaces his tongue with two fingers, moving his focus back to your clit as he sucks on it, pounding his fingers into you. He finds your G spot relatively quickly, considering you nearly jump out of your skin when he rubs his fingertips against it. You’re a mess, sweating, moaning, and swiveling your hips shakily on Neil’s mouth and fingers. 
“I’m close,” you warn, the tight knot in your stomach threatening to come undone any moment.
Neil picks up his speed on flicking his tongue and harshly suckling your bundle of nerves, letting his teeth graze against it as he adds a third finger. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers hard as he lets his teeth bite into your clit softly, sending you over the edge. Your body shakes, your legs nearly giving out on you as Neil guides you through your orgasm. He holds onto your hips, keeping you steady as you buck them wildly. When you slow down, panting, he removes his fingers and sucks off your juices from them.
“You’re a filthy little fucker,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair as you dismount from Neil’s face.
Everything about Neil acting weird and ornery around you suddenly makes sense. From the sneaky glances during game nights to him occasionally stopping in your video store to snoop for no reason, it was all for you. Just like everything you did was all for him as well. 
“So who wins this round, hm?” he asks jokingly, wiping his face with the back of his arm.
“Truce?” you ask sweetly, moving to sit on Neil’s fully clothed thighs.
Neil sighs, a weak smile on his lips, “Sure.”
“Now take off your pants,” you urge, “It’s time for round two of this game.”
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Text
God made girls lethal, when he made monsters of men.
Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART TWO
PART ONE
warnings - blood, gore, attempted sexual assault, death.
Masterlist
REQUESTS OPEN - request here
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You’re sessions with Jonathan began to dwindle. No matter how much you screamed, bit, scratched and attacked the other shrinks, demanding to see Jonathan, no one would let you. Always claiming that he had other patients he deemed more severe.
“BULLSHIT!” You screamed. If he wanted dangerous, boy, was he gonna get dangerous.
That was how Jonathan Crane sauntered down the hall and into your cell where he saw you, straight jacket on, strapped down to a wooden chair, held by three guards. Your smile dribbled blood out of your red mouth.
“There are easier ways to get my attention than biting off a guy’s ear.” He sounded almost bored and this made you whimper.
“Well they clearly weren’t working as I asked for you a million times and you NEVER CAME!” Your voice rose into a shrill scream for the last words. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead he kneeled down in front of your shaking form and stroked your soft cheek.
“Now, now darling. There, there. I haven’t been a very good psychiatrist have I?”
“No.” You softly whimpered out.
“No. I’ve been neglecting you haven’t I?" He cooed. Your body softened at his caring words. You meekly nodded.
The guards around you were confused but one sharp glare from Jonathan shut them up and they daren’t look at your intimate moment any longer.
From then on, Jonathan allowed the two of you to have weekly meetings. But they weren’t designed to analyse you, but rather to court you.
He would come and sit down with you and you would talk for hours. About movies, books, games etc.
Some days he would bring you little treats. Secret chocolates, a teddy bear. One day he even brought a hairbrush and he sat behind you and the whole session consisted of him lightly brushing out the tangled locks of your unkept mane. No words were said. But it was ecstacy.
Your favourite gift was when he presented you with a white rose.
“What are those red splotches?” You enquired looking at the streaks which littered the pure base.
“You see I cut myself on the thorn and some dropped on the rose. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn’t help but be so intrigued by it. It really adds something, don’t you think?”
In lieu of a reply you merely reached forward and grabbed his hand where you could see the healing scar. Without breaking his gaze you leant forward and took the whole finger into your mouth. Jonathan struggled to hold back a moan as you salivated at the still iron taste.
In his time with you, Jonathan had noted the keen interest some of the male guards had in you. He sometimes laughed it off believing their stupidity knew no bounds if they were willing to take you on. But he couldn’t help but worry for you.
“God I wouldn’t mind taking a bit of that ass.”
“Are you serious dude? That bitch is crazy. Proper stone cold psychopath.”
“Don’t worry, she’s being sedated well enough, or at least she will be soon. She won’t give us any problems.”
Jonathan overheard the guards from the outside of the break room door.
Since meeting you he had become enraptured. Enchanted by your very being. He viewed you as the most sacred relic he could ever dare to possess. He knew your strength was unimaginable. But you were his. And no one messed with his Queen.
One day you were being transported from your session with Jonathan, who had now deemed it fit to have the sessions in his office rather than your cell. The two guards, who flanked your sides, spoke over you in silent code. Once they had deemed the corridor completely empty. They grabbed your sides, still held in the straight jacket, and began to drag you towards an abandoned closet. Taking your pants and underwear off on the way. Their intentions clearly immoral.
It took you by such surprise that you barely had time to react. You were not used to being manhandled but the shock of the moment meant you couldn’t clear your head enough to launch a good enough attack.
Before the three of you were over the doors precipice, a loud voice announced their exit from their office.
Jonathan called out to ask the two men a question, to which they responded after manoeuvring you out of a compromising position. He shot you a single glance before explaining how he would prefer to walk you back to your cell as well, as, in his words,
“I don’t want her to give you any problems.” with a knowing glint in his eye.
That night the two same guards were summoned to your cell.
They stood to the side of where you sat slumped in your chair. The previous encounter had scarred you and weakened your own sense of self. They were just men, you had killed them before. Why was it so hard now. What was this weak feeling and why did it make you want to scream.
However, your self-sabotaging thoughts were halted the minute Jonathan’s lean frame entered. His soft smile landed on your frame which appeared to have shrunk in the presence of the two guards. This lit a fire deep within his heart.
He brought his briefcase up to the table and popped it open. He pulled out a macabre clown mask, decorated with black and red. He walked forward, whistling as he went, and placed it on your face. You were unable to resist, but deep down you didn’t want to. You trusted Jonathan.
He returned to his briefcase, sat down, took off his glasses, and looked deep into your eyes.
“Would you like to see my mask.” He condescendingly teased.
He pulled out a ratty burlap sack which you noted had stitching which resembled a face. He placed it on his head and immediately pressed a hidden button which released a sulphuric green gas into the air. It was then you noted the breathing device attached to your own mask.
Jonathan bared his knuckles on the table and used it to raise himself into a godlike stance.
You were startled by the bloodcurdling screams which erupted from the two men behind you. You whipped around to see them collapse to the floor, writhing about in pain. Both looking and pointing up at Jonathan in pure god-fearing terror.
Suddenly, they both seized. Their last moments of fear etched onto their faces like stone. Their hearts had gone.
You tilted your head to look down, interestedly, at the two corpses. You turned back around when you felt a presence at your back.
Jonathan stood over you, masked and all. His hand outreached.
“Scarecrow will never hurt you, my love.”
You carefully lifted up your own mask to reveal a teeth-chattering grin plastered over your sadistic expression.
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PART THREE
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queenshelby · 22 days
Text
Babysitter
Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin Reader
Summary: You are the babysitter. You get a call but no one other but Cillian is home. He makes you an offer you cannot refuse.
Note: This was a request.
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"Where is everyone?" you asked, seeing that only Cillian was there when you arrived at the house after school.
The air felt different, heavy and charged, now that it was just you and Cillian in the Murphys' residence. He invited you to have a seat at the kitchen island before offering you a glass of water.
Cillian seemed nervous, fiddling with his glass, ice cubes clinking with every shift. He studied you, eyes trailing the curve of your cheek, tracing your jaw, and lingering over your lips.
The intensity of his gaze was felt like a physical touch, making you swallow hard as your cheeks warmed beneath his attention. Gathering his thoughts, he leaned in towards you, speaking in a deliberate tone.
"I am sorry for inviting you here on false pretenses, but I do have a proposal for you," he said while hesitatingly pulling out an envelope, containing five 100-dollar bills.
"What kind of proposal?" you asked hesitantly, eyeing the envelope in his hands. This was a lot of money and you were unsure what he was after other than babysitting his children. 
The curious look on your face spurred Cillian to continue, albeit with a hint of awkwardness punctuating his words.
"Well,  I'd like to pay you $500 to, umm, help me out with something," Cillian replied, softly sliding the envelope across the table towards your direction.
"What do you mean? Help you out with what?" you inquired, now thoroughly puzzled and increasingly uneasy.
Cillian took another deep breath before laying his proposition out on the table.
"I want to have sex with you, Y/N," he uttered almost inaudibly.
Shock and disbelief washed over you as your gaze flicked from the envelope to Cillian, paralyzing you for a moment.
"That's preposterous!" you stammered, clutching at your glass, the cool liquid inside sloshing about in disarray. He was so much older than you and he was a married man. You were taken aback by his forwardness, but in the quietness of that opulent kitchen, you couldn't hide your confusion.
Understanding your discomfort, Cillian chose his words carefully,
"I know you have a boyfriend and all, but I also know that you need the money for your college funds, and I can help you with that," he said, trying to appeal to your reason and financial needs.
"By having sex with me? You want to buy me?" you exclaimed, the words tasting bitter and harsh leaving your lips.
"I know it's not the most common request, and I understand how shocking it may sound to you, but yes, I want to pay you for letting me have sex with you. $500 for the first time and $100 for every other time thereafter. I promise you that this will be just between us, and no one will ever know about this arrangement."
He articulated the words with a calculated ease, his eyes unblinking. 
Now, time morphed, seconds stretched into minutes, as you both locked stares, occupied in your own thoughts, the tension between you palpable.
Finally, your lips parted, your voice tremorous as you relinquished your words to the air.
"Will you be gentle and wear a condom?" you asked, struggling with a trembling voice.
This question lingered between you, a necessary request during a moment that wavered between madness and desire.
"I will be gentle but I would prefer to do it bare," he replied, his voice deep and almost soothing.
"Bare?" you echoed, debating Cillian's words for a moment.
"Yes," he murmured, leaning towards you. "I want to cum inside you and feel you wrapped around me, skin-to-skin," he insisted, articulating every word with an unsettling clarity.
You nodded nervously, consenting to this unspeakable pact, even though the implications gnawed at your conscience.
"Okay. I mean, I am on the pill, so I suppose that will be fine," you whispered, averting your gaze.
The envelope beckoned you, almost as if enticing its contents into your possession. You extracted the crisp bills from within, sliding them into the side pocket of your backpack.
Cillian sensed your anxiety and unease, which he met with a gentle grip of your hand.
"Everything will be just fine, Y/N," he assured you with an attempt to allay your fears. "Now should we go upstairs?" Cillian asked, breaking the silence that hung in the air.
It was as if a switch had been flipped - the room suddenly felt too small, as if the walls were closing in around you.
You nodded, your decision now made, the remaining apprehension dissipated into thin air.
"Okay," you repeated softly, before standing up, unsteady on your feet, and following Cillian upstairs towards the master bedroom.
"Just please, never tell my boyfriend about this," you requested, a sense of shame and embarrassment gnawing at the edges of your voice.
Cillian glanced back at you, his face betraying a glimmer of understanding,
"Of course not," Cillian said before pushing the master bedroom door open. "Now, why don't you undress and lie down for me," Cillian requested, his tone deliberate.
Tentatively, you began to undress, ridding yourself of the layers of fabric that suddenly felt like a barrier between your past and unfortunate future. The eyes of a taken woman were staring back at you from the dresser mirror, and with every piece of fabric shed, you receded further - sliding deeper into the shadows of the room.
The breeze sighed its way through the half-opened window, gently grazing your bare skin, a whisper of cold against the fiery sensation that filled the room.
"So beautiful," Cillian murmured, his gaze caressing your figure as you finally, timidly, lay back on the lavish king-size bed.
There was a warped sense of liberation knowing that today marked the end of your inexperience, a welcoming into the territory of adulthood and womanhood.
Cillian then too undressed, removing his t-shirt and jeans, forming a trail of clothing between you both as he approached the bed.
Discomfort and curiosity mingled together, battling for dominance in your mind as Cillian lay down beside you, cupping your cheek with the same gentleness of a lover.
He moved in to kiss you tentatively, parted lips seeking connection.
The sensation was novel, yet laced with a trace of guilt as your lips met in a timid exchange. His breath was warm and familiar, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was the taste of morality slipping away between your intertwined bodies.
"Look how hard you make me," he murmured in approval, gently guiding your hand to feel his growing arousal, his erection straining against the fabric of his briefs.
Anxiously, you gasped as he guided your hand under the waistband, your palm meeting the length of his shaft. The head of his cock was already slick with pre-cum, leaving a telltale mark on your skin.
"Take it in your hand and stroke me," Cillian commanded, his voice rendered a deep tone by the growing desire as, finally, he slid down his briefs and let your hand start wandering freely at the touch of his steely desire.
Slowly, you began exploring his cock in its entirety, uncertain but curious about the feeling of his shaft in your hand, its firmness, strength. Your fingers played with its full length, gently, not knowing how much pressure was enough or too much. It was so diverse from the fair amount of information you had gathered so far in your young life on the subject of a man's most intimate member.
"Good girl," Cillian murmured, stifling a soft groan as your innocent fumbling spurred sensations that ran down the length of his erection.
The flesh pulsed within your hands - alive, heat emanating from the veins tracing their way along the rigid, lustful organ. With every gentle stroke, you felt the delicate balance of power shifting, the weight shifting in favor of strength and surrender.
A sudden churning filled your stomach, an odd sense of revelation that stoked heat in your dampening loins locked within the paradox of curiosity and guilt.
With a shudder, you released your death-grip on the still-erect cock and allowed the slick, wet residue to smear between your palm and his shaft.
Cillian swallowed hard. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" he asked, gazing into your eyes, searching for any indication of uncertainty.
You candidly shook my head. "No, I don't," you admitted and, much to your surprise, this seemed to be an even bigger turn on for him.
"That's good," Cillian murmured, his thumb grazing your cheek. "That's very good."
He kissed you again, more deeply this time, his tongue seeking entrance and demanding your response.
The kiss tasted of a mixture of power and desire, but there was also an undercurrent of fear that accompanied it, fear of what you would become, offering yourself to a man for money. 
As his hand disappeared under the blanket, you could feel yourself tensing up, anticipating his actions.
He gently nudged your legs apart and began to trace his fingers along the thin cloth of your underwear. Every part of you wanted to resist his lecherous gestures, but there was this weird hunger of novelty creeping inside your core, provoking indescensible sensations coursing through your innocent veins.
Cillian then kicked the blanket aside. "I want to see you, Y/N."
His hands expertly slid your underwear down your hips, and there's a detachment you felt in this act, a shedding of layers that felt oddly freeing and frightening.
The brush of his fingers on your bare skin was foreign and bizarre and what he wanted to do next suprised you.
"Beautiful," he said, tracing the length of your slit to feel the wetness clinging to your pussy.
"Do you mind if I taste you?" Cillian asked, a hint of desire daring to taint his tone.
It took you a fleet moment to truly understand his proposition, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for dispute. The reality of his imminent act set in, making you tremble beneath his touch.
"I-if that's what you want," you barely managed to murmur, your breath hitching as he spread your wetness with his fingers.
"I do," Cillian replied hungrily, carefully lowering his head between your legs.
He teased your lips apart with his fingers before his warm, wet tongue gently traced the outline of your core. The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming, making you sigh and close your eyes.
"God, you taste good," he groaned as he was savoring your taste, sending shivers coursing up your spine. His movements were calculated, his familiarity with this act unquestionably clear as you surrendered yourself to him.
Your breath began to come in ragged pants, each deliberate flick of his tongue making you whimper involuntarily. The sensations seemed so wrong, so illicit, yet the pleasure outweighed the sting of shame.
Cillian's fingers slipped inside you then. It barely fit; the feeling was so tight and foreign that you couldn't help but gasp at the unexpected intrusion. You could feel your body desperately trying to adjust to the new presence, but it was a struggle you'd never before experienced.
"You're so tight," he whispered soothingly, his voice full of hungry desire as his tongue darted into your opening. It was frustrating to realize that he was enjoying this while your mind was fighting a relentless battle against betrayal and shame.
A single tear ran down your check. His tongue curled inside the folds of your womanhood, lapping at your lust unabashedly, evoking gasps and whimpers from your trembling lips.
"It feels weird," you said in a tearful whisper.
You were utterly unprepared for his ministrations, the invasive way your senses were awakened from deep slumber. You could hardly fathom how the forbidden pleasure could be so exhilarating.
"I know it's new, but just relax and let it happen," Cillian coaxed, his hot breath tickling the tender flesh of your inner thighs.
In an effort to comply, you took deep, steadying breaths, attempting to smooth the rigid line of your brow.
You cast your gaze over Cillian's sumptuous bedroom, trying to distract yourself from the growing sensation of embarrassment as he continued to lick you, but the distractions barely helped.
The strange feeling intensified when his thumb began to gently circle your clitoris while he continued to probe your tight opening.
It was too much, all too overwhelming.
"Oh my god, I can't do this," you cried out, feeling the shame rise within you.
The manipulations he was doing down there, owning and enjoying your body without the slightest hint of guilt on his part, felt like a bitter pill to swallow.
"Ssh, just let go for me," he pleaded, somehow knowing how close you were to spilling over.
"Ah, fuck," the words slipped out before you knew what was happening.
It sounded like a pained cry as Cillian continued to lazily flick at the extra-sensitive nub buried within soft, pink flesh and you thought that you might wet yourself by this point. 
"Oh god, please stop!" you begged, not knowing how to articulate the sensations rioting in your loins.
Despite your desperate pleas, Cillian continued his self-assigned, perfunctory torture with fervor, his tongue now demanding your surrender to this uncharted landscape.
"Fuck," you cried out, your inner thighs slick with perspiration, the back of your head soaked with a mixture of pleasure and angst as you grappled with this twisted game of forbidden desire.
"Oh my fucking god! Oh god!" escaped from you in a ragged gasp as the first wave of release tore through your body, your world exploding into a brilliant display of colors. It was an earth-shattering, mind-altering experience with a man who, by age alone, could be your father.
And yet, as the stars started to fade and you came back to reality, Cillian was still there, tasting you, his tongue brushing against your trembling thighs.
"Oh, you tasted so good," Cillian repeated, a satisfied expression on his face.
He rose, wiping his mouth, and placed a single, tender kiss on your trembling lips.
"But now, I want it all," he said, and the look in his eyes told you that nothing loudly whispered into your ear could change the finality in his voice. 
"Is it going to hurt?" you asked, your body growing rigid as you contemplated what was to come. How could such a moment play out when you were so inexperienced, when everything about this situation was a deviation from the norm?
Yet, doubts continued to assault you like waves on a stormy coast, threatening to break your resolve.
"It will hurt a little, but I promise to be gentle," Cillian reassured you, sensing the apprehension spiraling through your body. He traced the curve of your cheek with the back of his fingers, a futile attempt to soothe your worries.
A million thoughts raced through your mind like a tempest in your consciousness. Cillian, a married man in his forties who paid you for this. 
"Now lie back for me and spread your legs," he instructed you gently.
You hesitated, but your overwhelming need to secure the payment for your college funds left you no choice but to abandon every ounce of dignity you had left.
Slowly, you shifted positions, pulling your knees back towards your chest. Cillian knelt between your open legs, guiding his rigid penis toward your slick entrance.
The tip of his cock dented your soft outer lips as your heartbeat rang through your eardrums, its frantic rhythm leaving you momentarily breathless.
Pre-cum mixed with your wetness, creating a warm film over your entrance, allowing Cillian to smoothly press forward.
Trepidation built within you like a crescendo, even as your body welcomed his gentle probing.
A faint sheen of fearful sweat formed between your breasts, and your fingernails clawed into the plush bedspread beneath you.
"It's going to be alright, Y/N," Cillian whispered into your ear, his voice coated with affection. His reassurance was soothing yet entirely inappropriate considering the circumstances. "It's just going to be a little sting now," Cillian muttered, and gently applied pressure, allowing the head of his arousal to breach your untouched barrier.
Searing pain spread through your lower body, and the knives stabbing at your innocence stole your breath away. A ragged yelp escaped your lips as your nails gouged deeper into the bedspread, desperately seeking something to anchor your grip around reality.
"There you go," Cillian groaned in a low voice, his brow damp with sweat, as the first tears welled up in the corners of your eyes and began to trickle down the sides of your face.
"You feel so fucking good, Y/N," he murmured, his hands stroking your thighs with a tenderness that couldn't have seemed more out of place in that moment of searing pain.
Your hands reached out for him, grasping feeble handfuls of the bedspread in an instinctive attempt to regain control of your whirling thoughts.
Cillian paused, allowing you time to adjust to his presence.
You felt the unexpected fullness that remained when the pain ebbed, leaving only the spreading discomfort.
"You are incredibly tight," Cillian uttered while subtly shifting his hips forward, guided by a hunger desperate to obtain more.
As he cautiously filled you, you struggled to comprehend the surreal scene playing out before you.
"Raise your knees up towards your chest," Cillian instructed softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Initially, you hesitated, unsure of your next move. It felt like an eternity of eternities before you mustered the courage to reveal your vulnerability, following his directions as he eased in deeper, inch by inch.
"You are taking my cock so well, Y/N," Cillian whispered, admiration evident in his voice as, finally, he began moving back and forth at an unhurried pace.
A prickling sensation started to emit from where you were connected, slowly morphing itself into an unexplainable discomfort.
The initial intensity of the pain diluted as he continued to soothe you - both physically and verbally - which somehow felt paradoxically disconcerting.
"That's it, darling everyone finds it daunting at first," he comforted you as a fleeting moment of shame overwhelmed the initial shock. "But you have been such a good girl, letting me do this to you."
Cillian's tone transformed into a gratified whisper to his 18-year-old accomplice.
With time, your body slowly started to comply unwillingly, the tightness loosening to allow his slow rhythm to continue. 
"You are so much tighter than my wife," Cillian groaned, as his head lolled back.
His words stung, but the sweat dripping from his brow and the pleasure that silently escaped him were irrefutable.
"I want you to hold yourself open for me. Let yourself feel as much of me as possible." His voice was almost a whisper, betraying both his indulgence and the increasing hunger that he could no longer contain.
Your body responded involuntarily, shame flooding your veins as you dared to adjust your position to match his request. Your fingers brushed against the spot where his manhood dominated your innocence, causing a shuddering wave of pleasure-pain to ripple through your young frame.
"God that looks good," Cillian grunted, his gaze locked onto the place where he entered you, streaks of blood coating his manhood. 
It felt unreal, convoluted, as a surge of indescribable sensations coursed through your slender form.
The burning, stinging sensations eased, giving way to a rather odd feeling of fullness and a strange pleasure that seemed nearly blasphemous to embrace.
You moaned involuntarily - a helpless, almost guttural sound - as Cillian thrust deeper and deeper, your body becoming more accustomed to his presence as each expert stroke filled you whole.
"Ohhhh, god!" you cried out helplessly.
The pain was still there, but now muted, surrendering to this strange satisfaction that was slowly tightening its grip around your thoughts, and quietly luring you into the storm of forbidden ecstasy.
"Good girl. I want you to cum all over my cock, can you do that for me?" Cillian demanded, his voice low and rough, a clear streak of perspiration glistening across his brow as he plunged himself deeper within the tight sheath of your virginal core.
"Yes, I think so," you hesitated, your breath catching as a thousand fragments of pleasure and pain clashed within the confines of your budding climax.
"Good girl, I will go harder now," Cillian warned, withdrawing himself from the depths of your grasp, only to sink back inside with a force that stole your breath once more.
Ecstasy ignited in the pit of your stomach, spreading like liquid fire fueling your surrender. The room seemed to sway around you, a dizzying pleasure that threatened to pull you under, but you fought for control. Each thrust sent sparks of jolting pleasure cascading through your veins, like the harsh meeting of opposing forces converging in an intoxicating dance for dominance.
"I want you to focus on that tight little pussy of yours," Cillian demanded, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "Keep clenching it around my cock," he demanded and the sound of Cillian's urgent moans mingled with the wet friction of your bodies, a sinful symphony of indulgence and a haunting reminder of the boundaries you crossed today.
Your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting each of his powerful thrusts, as the exquisite pleasure amplified and your impending climax wavered tantalizingly at the edge of your perception - ajar but agonizingly out of reach.
Cillian leaned down, placing greedy kisses along your neck with each feverish plunge deep within. He bit and nipped at the sensitive flesh, a myriad of light pain-pleasure sensations that coaxed and excited you further.
Your hands reached up, tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as the energy built in electric sparks in the pit of your stomach.
"Fuck I am feeling so funny again," you cried, your body a quivering, whimpering mess under the mercy of this intellectual, ruggedly handsome man who had paid to relieve his frustrations with your innocent, young body.
Again, it felt like you were wetting yourself but this time you knew why. It was all so dirty, so wrong, yet the thought made something dark within you blossom, sparking your unwilling curiosity towards this new, twisted sensation.
A twisted smile pulled at the corner of Cillian's lips. He was so lost in the pleasure that he had taken, reveling in the strangeness of a situation where the girl beneath him was conquered with a newfound desire to please him.
He grabbed your hips, slamming them against his body with every few powerful thrusts.
"I am going to fill that young pussy of yours with my seed now," He growled with sheer dominance in his tone, his eyes as dark as an abyss - crazed with lust and an intoxicating hunger.
"Fuck Y/N, you are going to make my cum so hard," Cillian said as a shudder raced down his spine, his body tightening as he prepared to release the pent-up desire that had been plaguing him for weeks now.
His grip grew tighter on your hips, as though he would physically command your compliance. He drew his body back, until just the head of his cock was lodged inside you. Then, with a growl, he rammed back into your tight, aching depths.
You screamed in shock as he filled you so suddenly, until you felt him butt up against your cervix.
He roared loudly as he erupted inside you, the heat of his release spurring a strange sense of fullness that pervaded your very being.
You felt shame as his hot seed poured into you seeing that you had succumbed to a married man's desires, but there was also a peculiar euphoria that mingled with the sting of the loss of your innocence.
Beneath Cillian's weight, your body trembled as your heartbeat echoed in your eardrums, a maelstrom of emotions coursing through you.
"Thank you, Y/N," Cillian said, breathing deeply as he carefully slipped out of you, leaving behind a sticky residue. Your virginity was officially a thing of the past - sold for an ungodly sum of $500 and an uncertain fate. You knew that you would do this again, and not just because you needed the money, but also because the freedom of being wanted, the release of pent-up desire you never knew you had, the transformation into someone you did not recognize was far too exhilarating to ignore.
To be continued...
Tags:
@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn
@heidimoreton @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 @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred
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lucyswinter · 1 month
Note
i’d loveeee some jonathan crane x reader headcanons where he’s jealous because his gf is a baddie 🫣🫣🫣
pairing: jonathan crane x fem!reader
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genre: fluff (with a hint of smut)
warnings: mentions of SEX!!!! (😧😏)
(a/n): hey guys!! sorry for ditching y’all for like a month but I’m back!! I’ve just been busy with school and work but I have a lot of recs to fill so I’ll be posting some this week! recs are still open btw for anyone interested! also shoutout to aki for explaining to me what a baddie is😭
♡ ♡ ♡
-when jon gets jealous, he gets protective, and having a hot and confident girlfriend who other guys like to stare at can get him very jealous
-he looooves treating you when you go shopping. oh you want that lipgloss? done. that dress? it’s yours. the prada bag? pulling out his credit card as you speak
-he’ll even invest in those ridiculously scandalous outfits you love so much. even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it when you wear the skin-tight dresses or the see-through tank tops around anyone besides him, he enjoys seeing you happy, and he enjoys eventually tearing them off of you every night
-despite spoiling you so much, he tries to be controlling sometimes, but you could not care less because you think it’s cute when he gets jealous
-“you can’t possibly believe that im going to let you out in public wearing…that…” “well i do, because what are you gonna do about it?”
-whenever you go out, he secretly death stares every guy that sneaks a peek at your ass or your tits when you aren’t paying attention
-he’s gotten into multiple violent altercations at bars because guys have hit on you while he was in the bathroom or buying you a drink.
-“baby, that creep was flirting with you! i was simply standing my ground. that poor excuse of a dress wasn’t helping much though…” “sorry, what was that last part?” “nothing…”
-to remind people that you’re his, he likes to have his hands on you in some way. around your waist, holding your hand, fingers gripping your ass, whatever it was to assert dominance on anyone he thought was competition
-in private though, this man is the king of body worship. like he makes sure you know that every part of you is perfect, even though obviously you need no reminder
-even during sex, when he’s always the one in control, you still like finding little ways to tick him off
-“remember, you’re mine” “sure sure…”
♡ ♡ ♡
(a/n): thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 next up is a neil lewis blurb, and then a hotch blurb! stay tuned for those!! I promise i won’t go mia b4 posting those lol
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your-nanas-house · 4 months
Note
Could you write something about how cillian would deal with being married to a younger reader with a high sex drive. She's very needy and he tries his best to satisfy her but it's hard to keep up for him with his age and maybe he just lets her use him sometimes like a dildo.
I mean...plzzz? Love it 😭
My living dildo
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◇ Pairing: Cillian Murphy x wife!Reader
◇ Warnings: age gap (Cillian 40s and Y/n 20s), smut, needy reader
◇ Summary: Y/n gets horny after his husband gets a cramp because of his age.
◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.
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Y/n's gaze was fixed on her husband who was reading in their bed, wearing only boxers and a short-sleeved shirt.
She was leaned against the doorframe, wearing just her pink short nightgown, barefoot and hair down— her bottom lip caged between her teeth.
She shifted her attention for a moment, spreading the cream on her thigh, before hearing a groan of pain coming from her older husband. Her gaze shot up, looking at Cillian to see if he was alp right just to find him with his hands on his leg, complaining about a cramp he was heaving at his left leg.
In a quick motion, Y/n moved away from where she was to help him, her hand reached for his bare leg, helping him stretch it carefully— her touch moved higher and higher on his thigh, massaging his pale freckled skin and moving closer to his clothed crotch.
As soon as Cillian's cramp vanished and his attention quickly "jumped" on her hands which were still moving, reaching now his clothed crotch
"Love" he started, a mild-panic in his eyes "I can't—" he continued before Y/n shushed him with a loving kiss, pleading eyes looking at his handsome face while her hand rubbed slowly, following the length of his hardening and abused cock.
It was the fourth time that they made love that day and Cillian was clearly a bit exhausted, his cock— having its own mind— had other ideas, reason because he was rock hard in a couple of minutes, even though he hadn't energies to fuck his younger wife again.
"Yer so needy" Cillian commented, grunting softly due to her touch.
His hand rubbed her hips softly when her hand moved up to his torso to push him in a lying position
"Just for you, honey" she murmured in a soft tone, biting her bottom lip while her hips started to grind against him.
"Fuck, love" Cillian purred softly as Y/n worked on his pants, releasing his hard thick cock; her body moved fast on her own, reaching for the lube they had on the nightstand ready to spread it on her husband's throbbing cock— whom hissed at the sudden contact.
As soon as Y/n made sure that it was ready she quickly positioned his tip at her entrance, moving carefully down, letting him stretch and fill her again
"Fucking hell— yes!" Y/n screamed when she started to bounce, riding her husband wildly, using his length for their pleasure, mostly hers— Since she was riding him like if she was using her dildo in a lonesome night.
Cillian's moans and praises made her going, reaching the pick quite quickly but ending up continuing to steal orgasms after orgasms from both of them.
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Taglist:
@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989
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darkshelbyfiction · 5 months
Text
The Nanny Diaries (Part Two)
Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Innocent Reader
Warning: Dark Cillian has an innocence kink...Smut...Infidelity...Dub Con
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Two days had passed since your encounter with Cillian in the living room and, whilst you tried to pretend that nothing had happened, your guilty conscience couldn't help but torment you night after night. 
On one hand, you remembered your boyfriend back home while, on the other hand, you remembered how Cillian made you feel when he placed his fingers inside your virgin depths .
It was so sinful yet oh so pleasurable at the same time. Your heart raced whenever the memory of Cillian's touch swept through your body like waves lapping gently against sandy beaches.
You could not get this encounter out of your head and when, one early morning, you woke up earlier than usual, still struggling with the turmoil of these conflicting feelings, you noticed that something seemed different about him today. There was an air of expectancy around him, almost demanding attention.
"Where is Lorna?" you asked when you stumbled into the kitchen and noticed that the house was rather quiet. 
"Lorna went shopping," came Cillian's reply, casually sipping coffee from a white china cup.  "She said she needed some space." His voice sounded slightly more distant than usual - perhaps even tired. 
"And the kids?" you wondered aloud, feeling somewhat responsible.
"She took them to her mother's house for the day," Cillian responded nonchalantly before offering you a cup of coffee as well. 
As the two of you sat alone together in the kitchen, there was suddenly an eerie silence that hung heavily in the air. You felt yourself beginning to blush, unsure what exactly was going on. You were certain, however, that you did not want things to escalate further between you and Cillian, no matter how tempting it might be.
"So...", began Cillian, breaking the heavy silence. "How is that boyfriend of yours?", enquired Cillian lightly, taking another sip of his now cooling coffee. This question sent shivers down your spine – you knew deep down that if you didn't resist the alluring charm which radiated off Cillian right then, your life would crumble beneath you.
"He is fine. We spoke last night and he is going for a trip to Boston next week to visit his aunt," you replied, attempting to sound calm despite the sudden knot forming in your throat. It pained you deeply knowing that this relationship was merely sustained through phone calls and occasional Skype sessions. Yet here you stood in front of a man whose mere presence threatened to tear it apart entirely.
"Did you tell him? About the other night?" he continued, leaning closer across the table with his elbows resting upon its surface. The heat emanating from him caused you to tremble slightly. With your own hands clasped tightly in your lap, you fidgeted nervously, aware of just how close they really were. 
"No, I didn't," you finally admitted hesitantly, biting your lip. In reality, telling your boyfriend was indeed weighing heavily on your conscience ever since that encounter in the living room. But fear kept you silent. Afraid of losing someone precious in your life because of an irresponsible decision fueled by lust.
"I suppose that's a good thing. I wouldn't want Lorna to find out about it either," commented Cillian thoughtfully, running his index finger along the rim of his empty coffee cup. "But you know..." he added softly, lowering his gaze to meet yours intensely. "Denying yourself what you want isn't exactly healthy either ,"  he continued slowly before reaching for your hand and tracing his thumb across the top of it.
Your skin burned where his fingers grazed, sending shivers coursing throughout your entire body. Unable to look away, you found yourself powerless underneath the weight of his intense gaze. 
"I know, but what happened the other night was wrong, very wrong," you managed to stammer out, finding courage amidst your panicked state. As you pulled your hand free from his grasp, he smirked deviously.
"Morally, maybe. But you still enjoyed it, didn't you?" questioned Cillian, raising a skeptical eyebrow before taking another sip of his coffee. Even though you were terrified, part of you also desired the rush of adrenaline that surged through your veins during those moments spent with him.
"Yes, I did, but that doesn't make it right!" you snapped defiantly, refusing to admit any enjoyment from such acts. "You are married!" you exclaimed, pointing towards the ring on his finger, causing him to chuckle.
"I am married, yes," he conceded light-heartedly. "But that only just makes it more interesting," he quipped confidently, leaning even closer towards you. As the warmth from his breath brushed against your cheek, you caught a faint hint of mint lingering in the air, adding a mysterious edge to his allure.
"Maybe it's time you stopped fighting your urges," Cillian whispered seductively, tilting your chin upwards with his index finger. His eyes bore into yours, making you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. His proximity left little doubt in your mind regarding what he wanted and when you looked downward at his crotch, you saw the obvious bulge that told you everything.
Cillian noticed the direction of your gaze and gave you a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling playfully as you were left speechless by his advances.
"Have you ever touched your boyfriend down there?" he curiously probed, drawing your attention back to his own. Feeling your cheeks burning red, you shook your head silently in response and Cillian reached for your hand gently guided it towards his clothed crotch. 'Touch me,' he commanded huskily, his voice thick with desire. Uncertainty consumed you momentarily, leaving you frozen in place unable to comply. However, his guidance prompted your hand to explore his hardened length tentatively. Glancing up at him, you found that his eyes held a mixture of lust and control, evoking feelings of vulnerability within you. 'Good,' he breathed approvingly, reassured by your submission.
"You are very hard," you observed quietly, examining his condition, uncertain why you mentioned it, yet fascinated by the situation.
"Are you surprised?" he inquired with a devilish grin, his expression both taunting and inviting. 'Well, you do have quite the effect on me," he confessed truthfully, unable to hide the admiration etched across your features.
"Come on. Lets go to the bathroom. I want you to stroke me until I cum,"  Cillian said boldly, his eyes ablaze with passion as he stood up and asked you to follow him.
Nervousness washed over you as you trailed behind him, wondering whether you should truly give in to his demands and, when you finally reached the  bathroom, he turned to lock the door securely. 
"Come over here," he demanded, gesturing toward the marbled countertop nearby. Once you approached he unzipped his jeans and exposed himself fully to you. His member stood tall and proud, begging for your attention, already oozing a slight drop of precum. You swallowed audibly at the sight of him, intimidated yet oddly excited.
"Now take my cock in your hand and begin stroking me," instructed Cillian firmly, maintaining eye contact with confidence. His words reverberated around the lavish room, casting a spellbinding atmosphere full of eroticism.
Feeling flustered, you hesitated briefly before obeying his command, grasping him gingerly in your palm. His skin was smooth and warm, sending jolts of arousal through your body as you started moving your hand up and down his shaft in accordance with his subtle encouragement.
"Good girl… slow and steady," murmured Cillian appreciatively, watching your every movement with hooded eyes filled with raw sensuality. Encouraged by his praise, you quickened your pace, feeling an increasing sense of excitement building inside of you.
The intensity of the situation was heightening rapidly, consuming you completely. As sweat trickled down your brow, the rhythm became faster, your heart racing alongside. His eyes glared hungrily at you, conveying a powerful mix of domination and lustful satisfaction.
"Keep stroking me like that," purred Cillian huskily, his accent thickening the air. Your hand moved steadily, gliding up and down his rigid rod. Sweat dripped down your forehead, your breath becoming heavier as the anticipation grew stronger.
"Almost  there," you heard Cillian mutter, his tone low and laced with desire. Your pulse raced, mirroring the rapid beat of your strokes against his flesh. Every touch seemed to ignite a new wave of ecstasy, amplifying the electric charge humming between you.
"Fuck! That feels so good," moaned Cillian hoarsely, closing his eyes as he braced himself against the vanity.
Increasing the tempo of your movements, you felt emboldened by his reaction. The pleasure he derived from your ministrations fuelled a hunger inside you too, feeding off his energy.
"I am cumming... don't stop now," he groaned raggedly, a pleading note evident in his voice.
You could see the mounting pressure in his face as you relentlessly stroked him, witnessing firsthand the extent of his surrender to the carnal act. And as his breathing grew erratic, you couldn't help but wonder if this was something forbidden – a dangerous game played against morality itself. Yet the exhilaration was undeniably thrilling, filling you with an almost primal desire to continue pushing boundaries further than ever before.
"Here it comes!" Cillian cried out suddenly, arching his back sharply. His grip on the sink tightened as waves of pleasure washed over him. Hot semen spurted forth onto the marble surface below, creating an obscene artwork that reflected the nature of their tryst. Watching this display sent a shockwave of arousal shooting straight to your core, awakening a fierce yearning within you.
"Fuck, that felt incredible," uttered Cillian roughly, catching his breath. Panting heavily, he reached for a nearby towel, wiping the evidence from his hands and genitalia just as the front door opened unexpectedly.
"I am home," Lorna yelled out from the hallway, wondering where you all were.
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floralcyanide · 8 months
Text
𝟑𝟎,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 - 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐫
jackson rippner x f!reader
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Usually, airports were the bane of your existence due to your career and the constant requirement to travel. But when you stumble upon a handsome man at the airport bar, your disdain for flying seems to change.
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warnings: smut, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, public sex, mile-high shenanigans
word count: 2780
author’s note: not proofread again lulz but when do I ever?? anyway I got a request for this and had to write it right away because I love jackson sm omg. please lmk if you enjoyed and send some feedback <3
main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here
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You wouldn’t mind it if you didn’t have to step foot inside another airport for the rest of your life.
Unfortunately, your career requires you to travel every month, so your escape from airports will have to wait. You doubt there’s anything that will make your experiences with the liminal spaces any brighter or more profound- you doubt there’s anything that would make them even a smidge exciting. But, who knows, maybe one day you’ll eat your words. So, until then, you’ll fast-walk through airports and terminals with your carry-on with the deepest resting bitch face you can conjure up. And it appears that today will be yet another day that you muster up one.
Deciding to hit the best bar in the DFW airport during your routine TSA spiel, you weave around the other flyers in the corridors in a hurry. Even if your red eye flight has been delayed about two hours, you figure two hours in an airport could be better spent drinking. After scouring the entire airport numerous times on each trip you’ve taken from DFW, you finally settled upon a corner bar near your gate. After passing by it a few times, you decided to give it a chance. Its appearance is initially off-putting- it is dark and moody. Still, it had an oddly comfortable atmosphere and good drinks, obviously. You stroll up to the bar, smiling and nodding to the bartender you’ve come to know here. Going to sit in your usual booth, you discover there’s someone already seated there.
“If this were middle school, I’d tell you this is my spot,” you joke as you approach the man, whose face is covered by his long bangs.
A pair of sharp blue eyes glance up at you from their place on the cocktail menu in his large hands, and a sweet smile graces his lips when he looks you over, “I certainly apologize for stealing your spot. Care to join me? I can buy you a drink to make up for it.”
You give him a questioning look, half-joking with your tone, “What’s in it for me?”
“A free drink and your spot back,” the man says haughtily, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
“Deal,” you reach a hand out for him to shake.
“Deal,” the man says, accepting your hand and shaking it firmly.
You slide into the booth, sizing the man up, “What’s your name?”
“Jackson,” the man says, his eyes nearly piercings into yours, “Jackson Rippner.”
“Oh,” you raise your eyebrows, suppressing a giggle, “your parents must hate you.”
Jackson laughs, shrugging, “Yeah, you could say that. But you can’t hate anyone if you’re dead.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry-”
“No need. Finished them off myself,” Jackson says, deadpanning.
You pause before laughing at his joke, “Gotcha.”
“So, what’s your drink of choice?” Jackson asks, changing the subject lightly.
“Hmm, I don’t think I’ll tell you just yet,” you let your eyes roam everywhere but Jackson’s face until you land your gaze back on him.
“You want me to guess, then?” Jackson asks, “I’m good at that, actually.”
“Oh, really? Prove it, then,” you say with a playful edge to your tone.
Jackson puckers his lips, furrowing his eyebrows in thought, “I’m thinking white liquor,” he trails off, “Maybe vodka, something fruity but not too skimpy.”
“You’re close, but not quite,” you bite your lip.
“I think you’re the type to have a classic no one considers.”
“Which is?”
“Dirty Shirley,” Jackson snaps his fingers, pointing at you confidently.
“Nope,” you say, grinning, “Just a vodka and Sprite for me.”
“Ah, but I was close.”
“Yes, you were very close,” you say, having the urge to flirt with this man you don’t even know.
“I’ll go grab that for you,” Jackson says, getting up out of the booth and heading to the bar.
While he’s gone, you rummage through your bag for a perfume roller, quickly rubbing some on your pulse points. Then, you unbutton the first two buttons of your blouse, revealing your cleavage just enough to be subtle. Turning around for a second, you see Jackson heading back to the booth, and you brush yourself off before slipping the perfume back into your bag.
“A vodka and Sprite for the pretty lady,” Jackson places your drink down in front of you before returning to his spot across from you.
“‘Pretty lady,’ huh?” you raise an eyebrow, taking the two black straws into your mouth.
“What can I say?” Jackson raises his hands in defense, “You are a pretty little thing. I’m glad I sat in your spot.”
“Oh,” you say, trying not to let your face heat up at the compliment, “Well, I’m glad too.”
The both of you silently sip your drinks after that, sharing fleeting glances while giggling. You decide to be cheeky, slipping off one of your heels and running your foot underneath Jackson’s pant leg. You nonchalantly look around the bar, chewing on your straw as if you weren’t up to anything. Jackson is staring right at you with a smirk as his eyes stare holes into your off-cast ones. 
“Feeling a little naughty, are we?” Jackson whispers, just loud enough to hear over the music.
You move your eyes toward him, “How do you mean?”
“I see,” Jackson looks down at the remainder of his second drink, “You wanna play like that, huh?”
“Play like what?” you challenge him, pushing your foot farther up his leg, now going over his pants and toward his thigh.
Jackson chuckles, about to say something, but he’s interrupted by the airport intercom. Your flight is a few minutes from boarding.
“Oh, that’s me,” you frown, downing the rest of your second vodka and Sprite before looking at Jackson, “What do I owe you?”
“For the drinks? Nothing,” Jackson licks his lips, “But for the teasing? We’ll have to see about that.”
“Oh really?” you ask, your heart rate now picking up at the obvious flirting.
“Really.”
“And what will you do about it?” you daringly ask.
“Well, we are on the same flight,” Jackson says, “So we’ll have to see.”
The two of you head over to the gate, getting in line to board. You boredly flip through a book your friend suggested for you to read on the flight. Jackson takes notice of this.
“Bookworm? Didn’t pick that up about you,” Jackson asks, rolling back and forth on his heels and toes. 
“Depends on the book,” you say, pursing your lips as you skim over the words, “Don’t think I’m a fan of this one, though.”
“That’s a shame. Any ideas of what you’re gonna do on the flight?” Jackson inquires, a flirty undertone in his question.
“Hmm,” you wonder, “Probably sleep. Unless I find something else to do.”
“Ah,” Jackson nods, “Hopefully, you will.”
“Hopefully,” you chuckle.
You and Jackson get separated during boarding, but you do a double-take when you arrive at your seat.
“Are you in the right seat?” you ask.
A familiar pair of striking eyes look up from a book to meet yours, “Did I steal your spot again?”
“No,” you shake your head, laughing, “I’m seat fifteen B.”
“And I’m fourteen B,” Jackson closes his book.
“Interesting,” you say, “Small world, huh?”
“Small indeed,” Jackson exhales, about to say something, until a lady a few rows down asks for help with her carry-on.
You move to the side, allowing Jackson to scoot by you. As he does, he puts a gentle hand on your waist, sending goosebumps up your spine. You watch as he helps the lady, and you try not to laugh when she tries flirting with him. Jackson returns to the row, moving past you again and plopping into his seat. 
“I know we talked for what, two hours? But I never asked, why are you headed to Miami? Work or play?” Jackson asks, buckling his seatbelt as the flight attendants announce preparation for take-off.
“Work, unfortunately. I take this trip often, red eye and everything,” you say, resting your head on the headrest behind you.
Jackson nods, “I’m here for work too. I hate flying, not going to lie.”
“Me too,” you grumble, “I hate everything about flying, including the airport and everything that comes with it.”
“Everything?” Jackson presses jokingly.
“Well, today was different. I actually had a nice time at the airport, especially since I got to meet you,” you say, keeping your eyes on the flight attendant as she goes over the safety precautions and flotation devices under the seats. 
“Good to know,” Jackson says, placing a hand on your knee.
You look at his hand, feeling very warm all over. The plane begins to speed up and ascend, and you relax in your seat, Jackson’s hand still on your knee. His nose is in his book as you try your best to read your friend’s book suggestion. When the plane finally reaches 30,000 feet, the seatbelt light turns off, and the lights dim. Flight attendants offer pillows and blankets, and you take a blanket, tucking your book away and covering yourself with the blanket. You’re on the verge of sleep when you feel Jackson’s hand slide up your thigh. You pretend you’re asleep, not moving or reacting to his touch. His hand is hidden by the blanket, so no one can see his hand move further up, dangerously close to your core. You’re wearing a dress, so there’s easy access. Not that you were complaining that Jackson was touching you. You were feeling him up earlier at the bar, so now it’s his turn. 
Jackson sneaks his hand back down your thigh and over your dress, slowly making his way over your hip and waist, up to your clothed breast. The blanket‘s hem was tucked behind your shoulders, covering up your entire body, so no one could see Jackson’s hand crawl underneath your dress again. This time, to squeeze at your breast. You try not to move or make a noise as Jackson takes your nipple between his fingers, pinching it lightly. Pretending as if he woke you up, you rouse and sit up straight.
“What are you doing?” you ask, acting as if you were asleep.
“I know you’ve been awake the whole time, sweetheart,” Jackson whispers.
“No, I wasn’t,” you say innocently.
“Don’t lie to me,” Jackson chastises, twisting your nipple harshly.
You bite your lip, muffling a moan. You squeeze your legs together as he continues to tweak the bud. 
“Is this what you want? Hmm? Teasing me earlier with your foot, I figured I’d play with you too.”
Jackson’s hand moves to your other breast, flicking your nipple. His other hand travels under your dress, his fingernails pressing into your skin. You bite your lip to stifle a moan from the sharp sensation on the sensitive skin of your thigh. His fingers ease to your core again, ghosting over your clit as you open your legs.
“Be quiet like a good girl,” Jackson says, eyes darting around to ensure no one is looking despite the lights being off.
You nod as he presses two fingers to your clit, rubbing slow, soft circles. Warmth gradually spreads in your lower belly at the sensation, and you widen your legs further. Jackson pulls his fingers away momentarily to slip them inside your underwear and continue his movements on your bare bundle of nerves. You cover your mouth, exhaling shakily at the stimulation. Jackson slips a finger inside you after playing with you for a while.
“Already so wet?” Jackson teases in your ear, his lips brushing against it.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.
Jackson slowly pumps his finger in and out, eventually adding a second one. You shutter from the delightful stretch. You look around before subtly jerking your hips forward, riding his fingers.
“Fucking yourself on my fingers so good,” Jackson nibbles at your ear lobe, “Can’t imagine how you’d feel around my cock.”
You bite your knuckle to hold in a desperate whine at his words, “Please,” you whimper.
“Please, what?” Jackson asks, his fingers picking up the pace.
“Fuck me,” you whisper, “Take me to the bathroom and fuck me against the wall.”
“What a brazen little one you are,” Jackson grins, pulling his fingers from you and sucking your arousal off them, “It’s gonna take a little more than that, though.”
You groan at the loss of fullness, “Like what?”
“Beg.”
You pull Jackson’s hand back to your soaking slit, “Please touch me, fuck me, do anything you want to me. Please.”
“Keep going,” he pants, circling your clit with his fingers again.
“Jackson,” you sigh, “God, I need you inside of me. So bad,” you hiss.
“Go,” Jackson whispers, “I’ll meet you there.”
You hurry to pull down your dress, pulling the blanket off you before quietly walking to the bathroom. You check the vacancy before pulling the door open, leaving it unlocked for Jackson. You sit on the toilet, waiting patiently as your pulse thumps in your ears. A few moments pass, and the door opens slightly, revealing Jackson before he slips inside the bathroom. You stand up, but before you open your mouth to say something, he picks you up and presses you against the wall. You wrap your legs around Jackson’s waist, kissing him with a bruising force. Jackson slides his tongue through your lips and into your mouth, exploring it as his hands grip your ass. You reach a hand down and unzip and unbutton Jackson’s pants, your hand snaking past his underwear band and wrapping around his cock. 
“Fuck,” Jackson seethes, already hard from previous events in your seats earlier.
He pushes up the hem of your dress around your hips, pulling your underwear down far enough for him to slowly enter your throbbing core. Both of you gasp at the feeling, hours of pining hitting the climax. You thought Jackson was attractive the moment you laid eyes on him. You aren’t passing up the opportunity to join the mile-high club with such a gorgeous man. Jackson pushes further into you, and you relax more so he can press his hips into yours. Your fingers grasp at his hair as he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Your back roughly hits the wall behind you, but it wouldn’t be the last time. You have to hold onto the wall with one hand to not bang into it, your other hand holding onto Jackson’s hair for dear life as he fucks you without mercy. 
“God,” you say, the word drawn out as you and Jackson’s hips slam into each other. 
Jackson covers your mouth as you stare into his blue eyes, now darkened with lust, “Stay quiet.”
You nod, “Mhmm,” you hum from underneath his hand.
Your eyes stay on each other as you move your body forward in time with Jackson, his cock hitting that spot inside you perfectly, sending shockwaves over you. Jackson wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady as his other hand moves between the two of you to rub tight figure 8’s on your bundle of nerves. You squeal, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Jackson continues to fuck into you like you’re a sex object. You feel yourself clenching around him as your orgasm creeps up. You pull on Jackson’s hair harshly, causing him to moan as his hips stutter. You do it again, and he has to bite your neck in order not to moan out loud. 
“Are you gonna cum?” Jackson grunts into your ear, “Huh?”
“Yes,” you gasp, “Fuck yes, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum around my cock, pretty thing.”
Your release smacks you in the face, sending your body reeling as it nearly convulses against the lavatory wall. Jackson cums right after you as the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock sends him over the edge. You milk him for all he’s got, rutting your hips through both of your orgasms. You both catch your breath as Jackson lets your legs collapse back to the floor weakly. He holds you up as you regain your posture.
“I suddenly really like flying now,” you push your hair out of your sweaty face.
“Me too,” Jackson says with an expressionless face, which you match.
Suddenly, both of you burst out laughing but cover your mouths quickly before anyone can hear in the plane. After cleaning yourselves up, you both successfully sneak out of the bathroom and back to your seats, covering up with the blanket.
“Ever barhopped in Miami?” you ask Jackson, trying your best to hold your eyes open.
“Nope. You?’
“Nope. Want to?”
“Absolutely.”
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red-riding-wood · 3 months
Text
Coldfire - Pt. I
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Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader
Fandom: Red Eye (2005)
Summary: As if catching his eye wasn't dangerous enough, you just had to tease him.
Warnings: SMUT. porn with plot but the plot is hush hush, non-con, teasing and a LOT of foreplay, semi-public sex, violence, near somnophilia, rough sex, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, strangers, power imbalance, ("schoolgirl" university theme, but reader is of age)
WC: 6591
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You’d smiled at him. That was all.
And now the man beside you was tapping you on your knee, firmly enough to let you know he wanted your attention. Badly.
Flopping your head to one shoulder, you looked up at him, startling blue eyes catching yours again as he smiled around white teeth. “May I help you?” your tone bordered playful and annoyed.
As if to address you more directly, the young man cocked his head slightly to mimic the motion of yours, smile fading as his eyes narrowed, roving across your features.
“I haven’t seen you around.” His voice was low, soft as silk. Were you not focused, you could’ve gotten lost in it. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
You tapped the end of your pen against your chin absently, looking him up and down. “I just enrolled a week ago,” you answered. “I haven’t seen you, either.”
“It’s my first time taking this class.”
Your eyes wandered to the empty desk in front of him, the space that only his shoes occupied on the floor. He’d dressed for the occasion, charcoal suit jacket and slacks pressed to perfection, silver dress shirt undone a button, but he’d brought no bag. Chestnut hair was swept to either side, settling perfectly over his ears, not a strand out of place, but he had no fucking bag.
A black watched poked from the cuff of his suit jacket.
1:07.
“You don’t say,” you murmured, and drew your gaze from his lazily, your pen lowering back to your page as you turned your focus back to the professor. This was important. You didn’t have time for distractions, even if they looked at you with big, blue eyes and smelled like sandalwood and…
Cinnamon, you realised, as your pen laid its haphazard strokes to the page.
Black ink streaked across the line as he tapped you again, this time on the stretch of bare flesh between your stockings and your skirt. Convenient, you thought. Goosebumps rose where his touch had been, and you sighed, clicking your pen as you turned to face him again, those frighteningly blue eyes boring into yours and his bottom lip nearly turning to a pout.
He was going to be a problem.
“Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow?” He asked, almost apologetic by the way his brows pressed together and his soft voice rose. Almost.
Tension eased from your body as you sighed, the breath having built in your lungs without you knowing, and you reached for your bag on the floor. Cold air kissed your skin where your shirt hiked up from your waist, your fingers rifling around for a loose page from your book and your spare pen. When you came back up, your cheeks were flushed and you had to brush a few strands of your hair from your lashes, but you still caught his eyes venturing lower than they should have for a split second.
“Usually, you bring stuff to take notes with,” you told him, an edge to your tone. As he reached for your spare pen, you pulled it back, a coy smile on your mouth. Something dark flashed in the bright of his eyes. “Often people bring a bag, or something. I’m assuming you forgot that…” you reached the pen out to run along the line of his hair, a strand coming undone and flopping over an unblinking lash. “… when you were doing yourself up all pretty.”
The corner of his mouth quirked, ever-so-slightly, but eyes of shattered ice seemed to latch to your soul, sinking hooks of steel into your chest. He blew a puff of air from his lips, the strand of chestnut hair settling messily over his forehead. You smirked as you handed the pen over, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt as it brushed yours. Repaying him in kind, your fingers brushed his thigh as you passed him the sheet of paper.
His gulp was audible, and you couldn’t help but be pleased with yourself. That would shut him up for a while.
You glanced up at the clock.
1:10.
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart.” That silk voice drifted to you again, and your grip tightened round your pen, the tip stilling on the page. “Bit of a short skirt for the schoolgirl look, don’t ya think?”
This time, when you looked, his gaze was shamelessly glued to the patch of skin above your stockings, and when those blue eyes met yours, you could tell you knew exactly what he was doing.
“Got the hots for the professor, or something?” he pried, biting his lip as he side-eyed you. Your brain went fuzzy at the motion, and you found you couldn’t stop staring at the way those lips parted, the bottom chapped slightly from the dry air and flushed pink from his teeth.
You straightened your spine, hiking your skirt up with an intent that surprised you. “It got you to look, didn’t it?” you almost purred, your teeth running along your lip to imagine, for only a moment, they were his.
It was a game now. He had you where he wanted you, and you knew it.
His watch read 1:11.
Attention sweeping back to the guest speaker, you tried to ignore the blue eyes that darted down to your thigh in the corner of your vision.
Focus, you told yourself, the world blurring at its edges as a heat began to build between your legs.
The guest speaker was drawing a diagram of an atom on the chalkboard. He was some hotshot physicist, recently employed by the military, lecturing at one of the top universities in the state. You were certain it was all very interesting, what he was saying. It was a shame you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the vexing stranger beside you.
Of all the days he could’ve picked to sit beside you.
“You want people to look, don’t you?” His voice wasn’t silk. It was poison. His tongue, a knife so sharp you wouldn’t know you’d cut yourself on it until it was too late.
1:13. Your eyes darted from the clock to the physicist, to the board, to the piece of chalk he gesticulated with. He was one of those well-dressed, prissy types who seemed to look down their nose at you when they talked. But you were sitting close enough to the front row that you noticed the faint lines of purple beneath tired eyes, the shadow of stubble growing in along a sharp jaw…
Fuck. Without realising, your thoughts had wandered back to the stranger, and you shot a look at him as if to blame him for all of this.
“Something wrong?” the stranger asked, brow furrowing in something akin to mockery. The bastard, he wasn’t even using the supplies you gave him, that he had asked you for. He was slouched back in his seat, pen tapping idly against a blank page. Why was he even here?
Your eyes darted to the lines of fatigue beneath his bright eyes, to the shadow of stubble along the jaw he shifted.
“You’re not taking notes,” you pointed out, before turning your attention back to the speaker, and then the clock.
1:17.
“Neither are you.”
Your pen stilled and your blood ran cold. Looking down at your paper, you realised it was utter nonsense; something about isotopes, scribbles, uranium, scribbles…
You decided to go back to tapping the pen against your chin.
1:18.
You watched the physicist’s lips move, but no sound seemed to come out. Your blood was starting to pound in your ears.
But the scoff of the stranger cut through the noise like a knife through butter. “How much did they pay him for this?” he said. “An IED won’t detonate without an oxidizing agent… potassium, chlorine, hydrogen peroxide, fuck’s sake, is this paranoia or laziness?”
It was as if he was talking about mundane, everyday things. His voice was so sweet, his words seemingly so benign that you almost didn’t register what he was saying. It was his frustration that caught you off-guard.
1:20.
“Hey, pal,” someone hissed behind you. “Some of us are trying to listen.” Their voice was so jarring in contrast to the stranger’s that you nearly jumped. You were too antsy. Sweat pricked at the back of your neck, stress creeping in to your joints.
Chewing at your pen, your head swivelled to the side. The chatty stranger was staring down the guy who’d shushed him, a familiar darkness flashing once more through his eyes. The darkness, it met you briefly, as he turned back around, taking notice of your attention. He fluffed his collar and smiled. The shards of ice in his eyes melted, jagged edges blurring.
Had you imagined it?
Probably, you thought, your head weighing heavy on your spine as you turned it to settle your gaze once more on the physicist. Hell, you were practically drooling around your pen; it felt wet against the swell of your lip. Murderous glares were apparently your thing.
1:22.
“You know…” A hot breath raked down your neck, and his silken words seemed to unravel in the space between you like a spool of thread, his lips softer than they looked as they brushed your ear. “ … I think you want to catch someone’s attention.”
You froze up, the strings of his breath sending shivers along your neck. Your jaw turned sore around your pen. You shifted in your seat, practically rubbing your thighs together to sate the itch between them.
1:23. Fuck it. You had work to do, but this man seemed intent on getting under your skin. Why not get under his?
“Oh, and that’s yours, is it?” you purred, not an inch between you as you met his gaze boldly. A freckled nose brushed yours, and bright eyes blackened from dilated pupils. His lip caught in his teeth again, and you had to look away to stop yourself from combusting. You thought you saw him smirk.
1:24.
“You sure are glancing at the clock a lot. Got somewhere to be?” he said, and you tensed.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you muttered under your breath, tearing your eyes from the clock and regarding him with a tinge of suspicion, pen rapping lightly against your front teeth.
“Maybe I already know.” He leaned forward again with a sly grin. “You see, you’ve caught my interest.”
“Really,” you purred, biting your pen. He was forward; you would give him that. He thought he was winning this game, this game that only he knew the goal of. Whether you were more excited or infuriated, you couldn’t tell, but your blood burned hot beneath your flesh and your heart raced within your fluttering chest.
Mirroring his grin, you set the pen down, and fixed him with your gaze. “You see, maybe I do want to catch someone’s attention,” you spoke to him in a soft, slow tone. “Not the professor. His bodyguard, in the doorway.” Blue eyes bore into yours so intently, you swore he didn’t blink. “Maybe after the lecture I’m going to drop my notes on the way out. Bend down to pick them up, my skirt hiking up to reveal a pair of lace panties,” your fingers curled around the bottom of your skirt, revealing more of your flesh, his eyes darting down to take in your little show as his tongue caught gently in his teeth. Before he could catch a glimpse of what was underneath, you released the fabric, and it tumbled over your thigh. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as they returned to yours and his smile faded, chest heaving with quickening breath.
“Maybe I stand up too fast,” you said. “I stumble, backing into him. I spin on my heel and apologise and I look him up and down, all-innocent like.” You demonstrated your words, letting your gaze rake across the buttons along his shirt, the simple leather belt above his slacks. When you looked back up to meet his gaze, batting your lashes, it was as if the ice in his eyes had completely melted into pure, white-hot need. This only spurred you on, your heartbeat pounding between your legs as you brought your finger up to a lock of your hair. “Maybe I twirl my hair. We get to talking. We end up in the hallway, on the way to a storage room. Thing is, see…” With your other hand, your finger began to slowly trace up his thigh, making small circles. “… I can’t keep my hands to myself.” Darkness collided with blue fire as you grabbed at his thigh, nails digging in. He looked almost wild, ready to devour you, his perfect hair flopping a little over his eyes. “There are wet floor signs up. No one goes down there. So he grabs me by the hips and lifts me against the wall. Maybe you’ll walk by, catch a glimpse of my heels knocking together behind him. Maybe you’ll hear me whimper, my lips parted and eager.” His eyes darted to your mouth, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he leaned in ever-so-slightly, entranced. As if you were giving him ideas.
Cold washed over your face as you sprang up in your chair, your hand returning to your own lap as you looked at him triumphantly and said, “Or maybe I just dress like a slut because I really want to get an A.”
Yup, you definitely hadn’t imagined his murderous look. Because right now he was looking at you like he wanted to either rail you against the desk or choke you out cold. Maybe both. And if you weren’t careful, you were going to melt under that coldfire gaze.
A sigh escaped a pouted lip as you set your sights back on the rather disinteresting chalkboard. Above, the clock’s hand inched dangerously closed to half-past. 
This time, the scratch of his stubble brushed your earlobe and you shuddered beneath his panted breath. “Stop pretending like you care about the lecture. I know you just want to be fucked.”
Time, for one moment, seemed to freeze. Everything went still. People around you were packing up books, but no sound travelled past the deaf ring in your ears, punctuated only by the thud of your heart.
And then the clock’s hand reached 1:30. And the world slammed into you, the screech of chairs against flooring and the bustle of rowdy students seeming to split open your head, and streaks of red and blue and grey moved in front of you – binders, cardigans, hoodies, varsity jackets, all spilling through the aisles in one converging mass.
“I have to go,” you told the stranger, who stayed planted in his seat, staring up at you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and pressed your book to your chest. “You can keep the pen and paper.”
A puff of hot breath warmed the backs of your thighs as you purposely turned your back to him, skirt swishing in his face as you shimmied past.
Smoothing out your clothing, you released a shaky sigh, slipping into the mass of students as if swept up by a tide. The flurry of air sent a shiver down your sweat-dampened neck, and you tried not to focus on how the lace seemed to cling, already messy and wet and used, between your thighs.
As you passed the bodyguard in the doorway, your elbow caught in the crook of someone’s arm, and your notebook fell to the floor. Knees bending slightly, your fingers grasped for the metal bindings, your index snagging one of the rings. The world seemed to spin as you straightened, and when you backed up a pace or so, your ass hit something solid. Fingers ghosted over your hips, and your breath hitched in your chest.
“There you are, sweetheart,” a familiar, silken voice met your ears. Confused, you turned, and a hand settled in the groove of your waist, pulling you close.
“This one, she’s a little clumsy when she’s not on her meds,” the stranger told the bodyguard, and indignation passed across your features, but his fingers tightened around your waist, and his side felt sturdy against you. “Excuse us,” he said, and pushed you back into the flow of the crowd.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” you hissed at him, eyeing the bodyguard as you passed. He disappeared among the many bobbing heads.
“I have a special assignment for you.”
“Look, if you wanna give me your number, I – “
“Will do exactly as I say if you want to live,” he finished your words. “See, you’ve created a bit of a problem for me. It wasn’t meant to go like this.”
“Go like how?”
“You’ll see.”
His fingers were wrapped around the curves of your waist almost possessively, the heat of his palms burning through your thin shirt, guiding you through and from the crowd and into a hallway where the click of your heels punctured the silence and yellow, wet floor signs seemed to race past your vision. His stride was long, yet purposeful, with a contagious sense of urgency, as if he were on a mission, and you couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement that seemed to stir in your belly. Gravity tugged you downward for one cruel second, adrenaline seizing you as your heel slipped from under you, but his body was there to catch you, firm against your spine, and his hand scooped beneath your skirt to grab a handful of skin and lace. You were righted with a startled huff, your ass dragging against a rather prominent outline in his slacks before you were shoved through the doorway.
“Sir, this is the women’s bathroom,” you sassed, as he manhandled you into the room that you hoped wasn’t as empty as it sounded. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here.” The last words left your lungs in a spool of thin air; you nearly went stumbling forward as he shoved you again, this time with the intent to put space between the two of you. Whirling on your heel, you saw him draw a lanyard from his pocket and you frowned.
“Oh, I don’t think anyone will mind,” the stranger said, turning the key in the lock of the door. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion as a smile stretched across white teeth and bright eyes gleamed with equal parts annoyance and mischief.  
“Bit overdressed for a janitor, don’t you think?” You looked him up and down, your heart pounding against your ribs, with nothing but your words to arm you. You glanced at the stalls, all swung half-open.
Darkness flashed through bright eyes, and another lock of chestnut hair flopped over his forehead as he tilted his head down to glare at you, like a wolf would its prey. “Do I look…” He advanced, and you backed up instinctually, ass hitting the edge of the counter. “… like a fucking janitor to you?” His hot, minty breath raked across your face, your painted lashes fluttering, and his fingers snaked through your hair, gathering a handful in his palm and forcing you to look up at him. Fire raced along your scalp, and a sneer pulled over your teeth.
“Hey, the jumpsuits aren’t really my style, either… but if you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be…” The second you pushed yourself off the counter, his weight pinned you against it, the ceramic digging harshly into your spine. Your eyes darted to his watch.
1:35.
Damn him.
“I really think this is more important.” His voice dropped low and husky, caution laced into his growl of a tone, and something about the way you looked at him seemed to make him all the more feral.
You could barely contain your scream as you plunged your neck forward, white-hot pain stinging your scalp as your teeth snapped at his wrist and he pulled; your lips brushed flesh before your head was yanked back in a dizzying wave, and the fluorescent bulbs of the bathroom exploded like fireworks as your skull came crashing against the counter. The sounds of your struggle faded away into a harsh ringing; everything was too bright, too loud, the brilliant white of the fireworks flooding through the thick mass of hair that fell over your eyes. You shuddered, the fight leaving your body, and you were sinking, the world turning on its shaky axis.
A warmth brushed over the bare flesh of your thighs, the curve of your hip, blocking your fall and lifting you almost gently atop a hard, damp surface. Knives of white sliced your retinas as your head rolled back, and you groaned, squinting your eyes shut. It felt as if the knives were cleaving open your skull, smoldering with heat as if drawn from hot coals as your head met another hard, solid object.
A soft tutting filtered through the ringing of your ears, and distantly, a voice spoke to you, edged like the blades that split your skull, “Vicious little thing, aren’t you? Rabid bitch. Gonna have to put you down if you pull something like that again, sweetheart.”
What was he talking about? Why were you in so much pain? Why wasn’t the man reacting to the world rocking back and forth?
“Open your eyes…” The knives began to dull, their edges softening into silk spools. “Look at me, sweetheart… I want you to look at me.” You winced as light flooded your vision, a gentle hand sweeping the hair from your face and ghosting your parted lips before cupping your chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, firmer this time. It must have been important, so you peeled back your eyelids, weary.
The fireworks bled across your blurred vision, and pain tap-danced along your skull, your gut churning but the stranger’s hand steadying you. Navy and grey and white all undulated around the distinct figure of the man, black suit eclipsing the light. Your head was heavy, so heavy that you could’ve toppled, but he still held you firm, and each time you blinked, a new detail came into focus. His hair, dark, messed; his lips, parted, flushed pink.
His eyes, blue. So blue.
“That’s it… good girl.” Were it an object, you could’ve sunk into that voice, let it chase away your pain and soften the fall when gravity finally won you over. A soft whimper came shattered from your lips, suddenly dry. You snaked a tongue between them and felt the sting of your teeth as his hand lowered beneath the weight of your skull. Warmth danced along the flesh of your thighs, stretching your panties taut, a finger brushing the heat between them. Another whimper rose to your tongue, which watered as the spice of cinnamon and the creaminess of sandalwood collided with your senses. The fresh bite of mint, joining the mix as his breath pooled at the base of your neck.
“I think you want to stay awake for this, sweetheart.”
“Wha…” Your lips barely formed a sound as your eyes fluttered, and no sooner did you wonder why he wanted you awake did the thought disappear from your clouded mind, and a jolt travelled from the pool of heat between your legs to the very top of your skull, numbing the pain for a split second of bliss.
Shards of light danced across your vision, black lashes streaking across white, and oxygen raced to your skull as you gasped at the feel of a finger inside you.
“Can’t believe you’ve been wet all this time for me,” the man murmured into your ear, the ringing seeming to soften around his silk voice. “Turns out you were a slut after all.”
“Mm…” The sound came involuntary from your lips as his finger dragged against your velvety walls, curling against just the right bundle of nerves to send a warm tide of relief all the way up your body, your flesh buzzing and your eyes rolling back as the pain gave way to bliss.
“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” the stranger cooed, the cool trace of mint still on the hot breath that flushed your cheeks.
Your hips rolled forward as he wedged another finger inside, needy and pathetically desperate, but you didn’t care. You merely sought the friction of his hand, the release he granted you from the white-hot pain that was beginning to melt like butter into the background. You squirmed around him. His chuckle was warm, and encouraging; your jaw lolled open to uncage your heavy breath, and when he curled both fingers, your world erupted into tremors of euphoria and sweaty flashes of heat. Everything was fuzzy, your mind softening at its edges and your back arching as another jolt came racing through you. Your thighs clenched around him, and, by some cruel twist of fate, before you could tumble over the precipice of rapture, he withdrew his fingers and left you aching, empty, as you slumped over his shoulder, panties snapping back over your flesh.
With your lips parted against his neck, you could taste him, the creamy undertone of his aftershave and the spice of the cinnamon shampoo as his hair tickled your forehead. Even the scrape of the slightest trace of stubble along your nose was strangely comforting. The solidness of his chest, beneath your trembling form, keeping you from sinking to the cold ground.
“Wh-why did you stop?” you finally formed a coherent sentence, though your words came out in more of a whine than anything.
“Because…” The silk threads of his voice frayed as a growl reverberated through his chest, buzzing against your sternum, and sticky fingers, sweet with the scent of your juices, wrapped round your chin and forced your head back so you could look him in those blue, blue eyes. “… I had work to do, until you created a bit of a problem for me.”
Blinking hard, you tried to bring his features into focus, the sharp line of his cheekbones reminding you of the sharp slashes against a chalkboard. With his other hand, he took yours, your nails hooking along the metal buckle of his belt before brought to rest over the outline of his cock through his slacks. Instinctively, your fingers curled, as if seeking warmth, and you felt him twitch in your palm as his jaw clenched and his coldfire gaze devoured you, ice prickling at the back of your neck and molten lava seeping between your legs.
“This is the consequence of your actions…” He pressed your palm harder against the line of his cock, and your thighs shifted, aching for friction. Yearning to feel something more substantial inside you than his fingers. “Your fault… your problem… my slut… ” Now that you were awake enough to hold your own neck up, he released your chin to press his finger to your parted lips. You tasted yourself on him, but it does not repulse you; if anything, the addition to the delectable potion of sandalwood and cinnamon and mint only seems to spur your appetite, moistening your lips as saliva pooled on your tongue.
“Now you have to deal with this problem of yours.” His thumb stroked your cheek, his hips rutting gently into your hand. His lips flushed brighter after he caught them in his teeth, and your eyes traced the bow of them, mesmerised by the lurid colour in your world of black and white and navy.
“Now, I’d have liked to see you getting on your knees for me, would’ve liked to see these pretty lips around my cock, would’ve liked to see what that sharp tongue of yours could really do, but, I think it’s clear you���re a little too out of it for that, so…” He scrunched his face up in mock sympathy, and the slivers of ice in his eyes glinted like knives. “It looks like I’ll have to fuck you instead.”
I know you just want to be fucked, his voice seemed to echo in the empty chamber of your skull, and your brow furrowed despite your hips grinding feebly against the ceramic of the counter. Your heart thudded against your chest, seeming too quick for how slow everything else moved around you, and as he wedged his thumb past your lip, prodding at your teeth, your head flinched back and the blurry image of a clock materialised on the wall.
“Remember…” he said as your eyes focused on the object on the wall, wondering why it was so important to you. “… it didn’t have to be this way. If only you hadn’t resisted… if only you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease in the first place…”
Alarm shot like electricity up your arms, leaving goosebumps, but you couldn’t tell exactly where the hand of the clock was, or what it meant. Your head was still too fuzzy, your memory of how you even ended up here still just out of reach.
“Open your legs,” he ordered you.
“I have somewhere to be…” you mumbled. “Got something really impor –“
“No, you don’t,” he said, barbed wire weaving itself into the silk of his tone. A hand ran between the parting of your thighs, sending shivers along your flesh, causing your heart to pound faster in your core. His teeth grazed your neck as he growled in your ear, “Open. Your. Legs.”
Despite the soft moan he managed to pull from your diaphragm, you didn’t obey, and a huff of disgruntled breath stirred the wisps of hair from your neck as he forced your legs open with a sudden violence that got your heart hammering and your veins singing with fire. You attempted to slide off the counter, finding yourself unable to lift your own weight, and for one moment, you seemed to fall, with nothing beneath you but the harsh pull of gravity.
And then your face was nestled back in the crook of his neck, and those hands cradled your ass, and the hard line of his cock shifted the lips of your pussy apart ever-so-slightly.
“Shhh, it’s all right.” His tone smoothed into a hushed, gentle whisper, and the shift was so jarring that the clock and the urgency and the fuzzing memories of what had occurred before all faded away. “You don’t need to think about anything right now except me being inside you, about how good you’re gonna make me feel, babygirl.” He placed a kiss so soft to your shoulder that you couldn’t help but ease, his soothing voice lulling you into submission. “I’m gonna take care of everything… just so long as you let me do what I like to you… just so long as you know you’re mine… my good girl.” You could feel his lips pull into a smile against your flesh, a hint of darkness creeping into the melody of his tone. “You’re not going anywhere.”
All that existed now was him, and the distracting feel of his cock begging for entrance past your thin layers of clothing, and the heat that came in waves over your limbs as your heart beat too fast for your body. With your mind drawing blanks on your prior concerns and the scent and taste of him against your tongue so sweet, you found yourself giddy, a giggle chiming from your chest as you began to nip playfully at the soft flesh of his neck. Your hand came up to his throat, as if to have some kind of control over him as he did you in this moment, applying force as if to push him away, and beneath your palm was the rumblings of a warning growl.
“You’re not being a very good girl,” he remarked, and in another violent outburst, your spine was slammed against the corner of the counter, and pain shot from your tailbone all the way up to your skull, reminding you of the injury you’d sustained. Your gut churned again as his fingers dug into your sides, twisting you around until you caught a blurry glimpse of your reddened face in the mirror, mascara smeared across your cheek and your lips parted in a sinful gasp.
Bitter cold washed over your thighs as he pulled your skirt up, the sound of a buckle clanging through the slight ringing still in your ears. You barely had the time to process what was happening before feeling the sharp snap of your panties being torn from your thighs, the burn they left against your skin a welcome distraction from the pounding in your skull, and your thighs tucked together instinctively as cold nipped at the most sensitive part of you and his cock brushed teasingly against the line of your legs.
The stranger tutted in disproval and forced fingers between your thighs again, his other hand weaving itself through your hair and grinding your jaw against the cold ceramic of the counter. “No, no, sweetheart… don’t play those games with me,” he reminded you, and a hint of defiance coursed through you, ready to land on your tongue in the form of some venomous remark, when the words, breath and energy were ripped from your aching body and the desire that simmered beneath your surface was finally met.
Your scalp burned as he pulled you flush to his chest, sliding down on his cock, the thickness of him seeming to split you in two. Your eyes shuttered and you panted in exultation, knuckles chafing against the countertop as he began to fuck you, his own breath hissing against the sensitive groove of your neck as he adjusted to your tightness.
You whimpered from the bursts of euphoria that accompanied each thrust of his hips, some rolling over you like a heavy tide that left you trembling and weak, ready to unravel around him, others striking you quick as lightning and threatening to plunge you over your precipice. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair so tight explored your body as if you were his property, slipping beneath your shirt and groping almost painfully at your breasts. The feel of his thumb brushing across a pert nipple made you arch your back, his cock pushing deeper inside you and causing your whole body to shudder.
“F-fuck – “ you hissed, your hand reaching around to grab at his hair, needing something to pull at, something to sink your nails into as pain blended with pleasure.
“That’s my good girl.” His hot breaths came panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with each thrust. “That’s my good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word came out raspier, growled from the darkest recesses of his chest, and his hips bucked so violently into you, you remembered for a brief moment that he’d had the audacity to call you rabid.  
You could do nothing as he left himself sheathed inside you, warmth spilling along your inner thighs as he came, his teeth biting at your skin as your fingers tugged at his messed hair. Still grinding desperately against his length, you stirred a deep, resonating moan from him, and his breath shattered against your neck.
You hadn’t realised just how firm his weight had held you in place until he pulled away, gradually, his hands slipping from your hair and your stomach and twirling you in a daze back around to glimpse soft freckles and sharp cheekbones undulate in your vision. His cock, slicked with his your nectar, brushed your stomach, leaving residue that was warm at first and cruelly cold as he backed away.
“And now you have a mess to clean up,” he told you once he’d caught his breath, swiping a finger across the slit of your still-throbbing heat, gathering the unique elixir of sex and forcing it past your teeth. Your lips curled around his thick finger and you suckled, a moan catching in your throat at the sordid taste.
Roughing the same hand through your wild hair, he flashed a grin at you, and though your vision still swam, it couldn’t obscure the wicked glint in his eye. He looked you up and down, as your weak legs trembled beneath you and you shivered with the cold rush of your sweat and his cum on your thighs. You were sinking again, gravity slowly claiming you, your consciousness feeling as if it might slip into oblivion.
“Do you need me to take care of you, babygirl?” He almost taunted, though his words were woven soft as silk spools again. A hand grazed your thigh, and you shivered beneath his touch. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you, because you can barely stand after getting fucked so hard.”
You could only whimper in agreement as you sank to the floor, thighs still burning from chafing against the counter and darkness teasing the edges of your vision. He wasn’t there to catch you this time, instead busy buckling up his belt. “Fine, fine… I’ll take care of you, just as soon as I finish your job for you…”
Something heavy settled in your gut, and you blinked away the darkness, panic rising in your throat as you curled against the tile flooring. Looking up at him, you watched as he straightened his shirt, groomed his hair back to its meticulously tailored façade, felt spite tinge your tongue like bile as you watched the hand of the clock tick by a fraction.
“So incompetent…” he muttered, his gaze torn between you and his reflection now, trying desperately to smooth out his hair, to brush out the last wrinkles from his suit jacket. “It’s fine. I think I have a new assignment for you, anyway.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, pain exploding behind your temples. “You wha… you… “
Swallowing against a dry throat, keeping yourself upright by the sheer force of your quivering arm and white knuckles against the tile, you watched as he made his way to the farthest stall. The panic wove itself round your lungs, stealing your breath and blackening your mind’s edges again. You flinched as you heard him rifle around in the toilet paper dispenser, the sound familiar to you – you’d done such a thing not even an hour or so prior – until he emerged with the reason why. The black metal of your Ruger was small yet menacing in his hand as he checked the magazine, and pain exploded in your skull as fragments of your mission came screaming back to you, the preparation you’d put into this particular assignment because you knew you were being tested by the higher-ups…
“Seriously, Y/N? You thought you’d be able to hide this up that short skirt?” He shook his head, tutting again as you wondered how he knew your name. Cocking the action caused you to flinch one more time, and asked, voice wavering,
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Rippner. Jackson Rippner.”
Your hand slipped from the tile, and came to your mouth in a silent gasp, the blackness overtaking you as you realised that not only had you failed your mission, but you’d just been fucked by your boss.
The world seemed to narrow and close like the end of an old film, until all you could make out was the silhouette of his cocked head, the flash of white teeth as his lips curled into a smile so dreadful that it would forever etch itself into your memory.
And that was all.
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A.N. Please let me know if you would like a Part 2! Now excuse me while I go hide I've stayed up all night and am posting this on half-dead 7 am brain before I can regret it
PART II HERE
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