↪" you amaze me "
Bg3 x reader
Giving them a surprise kiss
Warnings : suggestive on Halsin's part... Spoilers for bg3 (duh).
Genre : fluff
A/n : I have 367 hours in this game so I believe that I am worthy enough to write for these characters I love so very much. I am extremely open to requests for bg3 please send me all the stuff you want to see! I'm not gonna include minsc and jaehira for obvious reasons.
Characters : halsin, astarion, wyll, gale, gortash, rolan, raphael
▢ astarion
Leans into the kiss almost immediately. Its usually how he responds to any affection coming from you. Rests a gentle hand on your arm as he deepens the kiss with a pleased little smile on his lips.
When you break from the kiss, still has the smile on his lips, his eyes looking down at you softly, " can't get enough of me, darling?" He cooed out teasingly, a giddiness to him that wasn't there a few minutes ago.
You nip his jaw," stop getting cocky. I caught you off-gaurd, admit it."
He gasped in offence," and here I thought my beautiful partner was merely expressing how much they loved me." Shaking his head at you with an exagerrated pout," shame on you."
"... That's a 'yes'." You smirked.
"Oh shut up," pulls you into another kiss full of laughter.
▢ gale
Blinks for a good 5 seconds before finally responding to the kiss in full, hand curling through your hair to cup the back of your head. A wistful sigh blows through his nose as he leans into the kiss more.
When you pull away, he still holds your head. You smile happily at him," Hello, love." You greet cutely.
Sends you a bashful little smile, pressing his forehead to yours," Well... hello to you too."
"Were you surprised?"
"Oh-hoh?" He grinned with amusement," there was a goal behind all this?"
You tilt your head from side to side," eh... I did have one. But I also just wanted to kiss my handsome husband."
Clears his throat, cheeks warming," Oh, well consider me th..thoroughly surprised, then."
▢ wyll
It only takes him a second to respond to your kiss, cupping both sides of your face so gently and rubbing a thumb across your jawline. A small happy hum falls from his lips as he's kissing you.
When pulling away, his lips chase after yours, giving you a final little peck," You amaze me. Everytime." He breathed out, always has something cheesy to say after every kiss but it never fails to make your heart stutter.
You huff," You're impossible to surprise, yknow? You're too smooth."
He laughs," will it make you feel better if I said you gave me butterflies?"
A hum and then a smile you nodded to him," I believe that's substantial. However, you need to pay for your indiscretions with a kiss."
"Whatever will I do?" Wyll leans down, nose pressing against yours," I have no choice but to give in, hm?"
"No choice." You agreed, hands moving to his waist as he cups your face.
He presses his lips to yours excitedly.
▢ gortash
He's doing some paperwork when you give him a little kiss on the cheek. Not reacting at first, he finished his signature before looking up at you, a softness to his eyes," Can I help you?"
You merely give him an innocent smile," just reminding you that I love you."
He blinks for a moment before he hums, a slow grin reaching his lips," I see.." He places a hand to your hip, rubbing it slowly with a thumb," Well, I fear I need another reminder then, my dear."
"Greedy," You cooed out before pressing a proper kiss to his lips.
▢ raphael
Is certainly shocked for a split second. He was only telling you about a recent poem he had read and enjoyed.
He cups the back of your neck with his clawed hand, deepening the kiss with huff of amusement. Before breaking the kiss he nips at your bottom lip with his sharp teeth," It's rude to interrupt."
You hum, pressing another kiss to his jaw," You're too endearing when you talk about your poems." You reply honestly.
"Oh good, I was afraid I was boring you." No, he wasn't. He knew how engaged you got in his little speils. That was endearing.
"You could never." He drags you into another kiss with a lot more flames stoked beneath it.
▢ halsin
A low hum of surprise and then a slow smile reaches his lips. His large hands rest on your waist as he deepens this kiss, feeling heat build between the two of you the more passionate it grows.
When you pull away from eachother there's a trail of saliva left between your lips. His eyes are a lot darker now, a yellow shine to them," is there something you need, my heart?" He questioned with that low tone of his.
"Just you."
Pins you to a nearby tree and kisses your neck," that I'll give you in abundance."
▢ rolan
Was in the middle of complaining to you about how you put a book in the wrong place. He had that cute little frown on his face, the grouchy furrow to his brows and the agitated swish of his tail.
You just couldn't help yourself. Leaning forwards, you caught his lips with yours, making him shut up completely. He stared down at you with wide eyes before he moans a little and leans into the kiss.
His tail curls around your leg, dragging you closer to him as he leaned back against the bookcase behind him.
When you pulled away for a breath, he still had his eyes closed for a good five seconds.
Looks into your eyes for a moment before he cups your jaw," you can't kiss your way through an argument." He huffs out.
"I just did."
"Did you? What if I'm still mad at you?"
You grinned at him," Your tail says otherwise, love."
He scoffed and tried to frown but his lips kept twitching," You're impossible." Pulls you into a more heated kiss, arms wrapping around you protectively.
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PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna
pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader
summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.
warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 4.5k
a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!
i.
“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“
You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly.
“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”
You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough.
The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours.
The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters.
“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“
“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.
Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”
The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood.
You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was.
His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross.
It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt.
You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out.
You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all.
He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same.
You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines.
You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head.
The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.”
You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers.
Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door.
“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care.
You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.
Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky.
His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself.
“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be.
“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”
You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in.
Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene.
Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.
However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago.
You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned.
“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”
You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.
His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?”
You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.”
With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now.
His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.
Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing.
He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?”
You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”
“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly.
You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself.
Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”
“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”
You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”
You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly.
So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.
This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.
“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“
Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity.
“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity.
“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features.
You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity.
His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script.
You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”
Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right.
Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.
“What are you—“
“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”
You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.
But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of.
All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?
Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.
When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth.
However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly.
“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”
His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”
“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”
He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”
“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side.
“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.
“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch.
He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.”
Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound.
“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.
He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.
“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”
You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.
Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction.
“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.”
He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.
You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides.
You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant.
“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”
You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you.
“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”
You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants.
He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.
You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes.
You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked.
“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”
You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch.
“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.
“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily.
You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan.
You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”
With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible.
Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock.
“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered.
“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding.
“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words.
You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background.
Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian.
His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure.
The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt.
“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”
He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace.
With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear.
When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy.
“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”
“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind.
After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity.
He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes.
You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?”
He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.”
“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly.
He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.
You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”
Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips.
“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light.
His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”
ii.
“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?
However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was.
Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.
The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly. “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.”
You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events.
As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”
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